The dive of death is a reverse 3-1/2 somersault in the tuck position. At the 1988 Olympics in Seoul, it had a degree of difficulty of 3.4, compounded by 2-the number of divers who had died attempting it. But the Dive of Death is what Greg Louganis needed to win the gold medal in the 10-m platform competition, his second of the Games. He nailed it, straight in, no splash.
That was 6-1/2 years ago. Had we known then what we found out last week, Louganis might have been hailed even louder and longer than he was. Then again, the greatest diver anyone has ever seen might not have been allowed to compete. Appearing with Barbara Walters on abc's 20/20 last Friday in conjunction with the publication this week of his autobiography, Breaking the Surface (Random House; $23), Louganis revealed that he was hiv-positive when he competed in Seoul and that he now has AIDS. Imagine the uproar then-it was cacophonous enough last week-over the cut Louganis received when he hit his head on the springboard during the preliminaries. Carrying his teddy bear with a matching bandage to and from the pool might not have played quite so well, or assuaged the AIDS paranoia of the time.
Only a handful of people, among them his coach, Ron O'Brien, knew of Louganis' condition in September '88. When the diver pulled ahead with that last platform dive, he embraced O'Brien and started sobbing. Asked by Walters what he told O'Brien, Louganis replied, "I said that nobody will ever know what we've just been through."
They know now. Following the sweeps-month interview with Walters, Louganis embarked on a nationwide tour to promote his book, co-authored with Eric Marcus (Making History: The Struggle for Gay and Lesbian Equal Rights, 1945-1990). Excerpts will be published this week in People just as Louganis appears on Oprah. The publicity blitz seems calculating and somewhat cynical, adjectives never before ascribed to Louganis. The big question hanging in the air last week was, What took him so long? And right below that were some others: Should he have told the International Olympic Committee in '88? Didn't he at least have a responsibility to tell the team physician, Dr. James Puffer, who stitched him up right after the accident? Why hadn't he come forward before and made himself a standard-bearer for the cause?
In truth, Louganis began to come out of his tuck a year and a half ago. He took over the role of Darius in Jeffrey, Paul Rudnick's sometimes hilarious, sometimes moving off-Broadway play about gay love and sex. Darius, who dies of AIDS in the play, is described as "a true innocent, a handsome, completely sweet dancer in his 20s." It's hardly the sort of part Louganis would take if he wanted to keep his sexual orientation a secret. Says Rudnick: "He was wonderful in the role because he was playing a character who the audience had to believe was innately good and wanted to embrace. That's very tough because you can't act that."