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Pampered Legs. At 23, Mel Patton looks fragile enough to be bowled over by the smell of locker-room sweat. But he has run the 100 yards faster than any man living or dead—in 9.3 seconds (an unofficial world's record). In the chow-line last week, a husky teammate yelled at him: ''Step aside and let us weight-men in. No fuss, now—you're the one man around here I can lick." Patton, grinning, yelled back: "Better be careful, Moose, I gained a pound last week."
He is tall (6 ft.) and thin (146 Ibs.), like the hand of a stopwatch. His toothpick legs must be pampered; he ran seven races in two days last year and pulled a hamstring muscle. Although a chronic worrywart, Patton usually manages to control his worrying. In his crowded schedule there are special times for fretting, just as there are set times to go to classes at the University of Southern California and a set time to be home for dinner (he has a wife and two-year-old daughter). The proof of Patton's iron control under pressure: he has never jumped a starting gun.
When he runs, Patton's face becomes a study in desperation— teeth gritted, eyes squinted. He is the opposite of Charley Paddock, who was what trackmen call a "driver." Because of Paddock's high knee action and short back kick, people some times swore that "he ran sitting down." Patton, whose legs revolve' with a smooth wheel-like motion, is a "floater."
Early last year Mel began equaling the fastest 100 yards ever run by Paddock (9.5). Then he squeezed out a mite more speed and equaled the world's record (9.4), first set by Frank Wykoff,‡ another old U.S.C. hero. Was it possible to pump more speed out of human legs? It was. At Fresno, Calif, this spring, Patton ran his unbelievable 9.3. His archrival, Lloyd La Beach, was only inches behind him.
La Beach, a Negro with a weakness for red, white & blue berets, is Panama-born, Jamaica-raised, U.S.-schooled (at U.C.L.A.) and the big reason why Mel can make no misstep in the 100-and 200-meter dashes at London.
Forbidden Subject. In Southern California, the Patton-La Beach rivalry was a high spot of every big meet. Betting odds were freely quoted in Los Angeles bars and barbershops. One night at Los Angeles' Coliseum, a record crowd of 59,661 turned out for a meet and saw Patton win.
All season the subject of running was rarely mentioned in the Patton home. Mel never read the sport pages: "I might begin believing those things they write." When the afternoon paper was delivered to their neat, $35-a-month apartment on Beverly Hills' Burton Way, his wife tore out the sport section and put it away. As sensitive to excitement as a punch-drunk fighter is to bells, Patton didn't want any gongs ringing inside him.