What about pro track? Both of them were interested, but money was not their primary concern. They claimed to be a new species—men who are moved by their art.
"I couldn't take a chance," Feuerbach said. "This pro track could fail and then where would I be? Besides, if I were a pro I couldn't represent the U.S. against the Eastern Europeans. That's real kicks." Ah, a patriot. Feuerbach was not as up to date as he thought.
A few minutes and drinks later he announced, "I'm going to break the world record."
"I'll break the vault record first, Rhino," said Smith.
A $50 bet was laid on who would be the first.
An hour later Feuerbach was asleep in Smith's apartment. Suddenly, Smith entered and pounded him awake.
"Al, I'm in love," he shouted. He then recounted a romance that had flourished in five cities the week before. He met her on a flight to Houston. She flew to see him in Los Angeles. He flew to see her in Miami. She met him in New York, then San Francisco. Tomorrow she was flying to Los Angeles.
"You'll meet Rosemary tomorrow, Al," Smith shouted.
"I can't, Steve," mumbled Feuerbach. "I have to go home and lift."
The next morning Feuerbach left to lift, while Smith went to meet Rosemary (whom he married three weeks later). That afternoon Feuerbach flew back to San Jose. Samsam was there to meet him. On the drive to their apartment, Feuerbach recounted the bet with Smith. "I'm going to wipe Matson out of the record book, Sam," he said.