A Final Drive To The Finish

A long-abused ego burst out in a cockiness that was usually forgiven because boasts of what he could do were followed by proof. He set a national high school record of 8:41.5 for two miles, and at the University of Oregon he won four NCAA three-mile championships and three cross-country titles. He ran the mile in 3:54.6. He held U.S. records at 2,000 meters (5:01.4), 3,000 meters (7:42.6), two miles (8:18.4), three miles (12:51.4), 5,000 meters (13:22.2), six miles (26:51.4), 10,000 meters (27:43.6).

Yet he had not won when it meant most to him. In the 1972 Olympic 5,000, he ran his last mile in about 4:04, but Viren, the winner, did 4:01.2, and Mohamed Gammoudi, who was second, did 4:03. Prefontaine, staggering at the finish, was passed a few yards before the line by Ian Stewart to lose the third-place medal, too. Last year he set three American records in Europe, all in losing races to Knut Kvalheim and Rod Dixon. "When he's in a race with someone who is capable of beating him," said Anderson, "I think his thoughts, or the kind of man he is, make him press too hard."

Given the kind of man, the defeats were met by increased resolve. Early this year he was offered the largest contract in the short history of the professional track circuit, $200,000. He turned it down. Until the Europeans were well and honestly thrashed, he said, "What would I do with all that money?" Yet he displayed little of the traditional distance runner's feeling for austerity. "I like to be able to go out to dinner once in a while. I like to be able to drive my MG up the McKenzie River on a weekday afternoon. I like to be able to pay my bills on time." With a sense of humor more lascivious than droll, he relished low tavern life ("Envision a satyr," said Shorter). He delighted in describing the ruinous modes of recreation practiced in Coos Bay establishments. "I know places you better speak low if you've been to college," he would say. "Men will come across the room and cold-deck you if you hold your glass wrong."

Two days before his race with Shorter, Prefontaine ran a brief workout under the eye of Oregon Track Coach Bill Dellinger, himself a three-time Olympian and bronze medalist in the Tokyo 5,000 meters. While he held a watch during Prefontaine's 330-yard interval runs Dellinger said, "That man has something no runner in my time had. We used to warm up out of sight behind the stands, and we would never have considered taking a victory lap. But Pre...he's almost like a movie star in his relationship with the crowd. He thrives on it."

Asked if he considered himself a major influence in Prefontaine's life, Dellinger said, "Well, I render advice. I don't know how often it is taken in areas away from running." Prefontaine finished his last 330 and approached us, sweaty, his barrel chest heaving, displeased with his times.

"Do you have a guru?" I asked. "Is there someone you would go to if you found yourself in a situation you couldn't handle?"

His reply was thrown back, almost defiantly. "I don't have anybody like that," he snapped, and he was jogging off, shaking out his arms.

"I told him that sounding off about how strong he was was a mistake," said Bill Bowerman, Prefontaine's first coach at Oregon and later his Olympic coach. "He runs an American-record 2,000 meters in Coos Bay and Viren cables that he's hurt. If he wants to get those runners over here to his lair, he's got to be more sly." Yet Bowerman had no illusions that Prefontaine could do that, could lie low and wait. "No, that's hard for him," Bowerman said. "He's too outspoken and honest." In the act that meant the most to him, that he defined himself by—driving for the finish in a hard race—it was hopeless to expect him to hold off, to slow down. "He doesn't look beyond races," said Bowerman. "He doesn't look beyond laps."

Frank Shorter had come to Eugene as a favor to Prefontaine. His wisdom teeth had been extracted eight weeks before, and then he had overtrained and had been ill. But with Viren out and the financial success of the meet in doubt, he was needed. Prefontaine had barely clawed past him in the stretch to win a three-mile in Eugene a year earlier—his American record—so Shorter's return attracted a twilight crowd of 8,000.

Before the race Shorter and Prefontaine lay on the grass of the infield. They spoke almost shyly with Erin Forbes, a beautiful, angular 14-year-old from Portland who had recently run an age-record 4:48.6 mile. "I hope she's blessed with nonpushing parents," said Shorter after she had gone, and Prefontaine slapped the ground in agreement. They watched as Gary Barger won the mile in 3:58.8, to become the 16th Oregon trackman to go under four minutes. Prefontaine went over to half-miler Steve Bence, who had fallen in a relay in the Pacific Eight championships and had broken his jaw. Now, with 14 stitches in his chin and his mouth wired shut, Bence faced his last chance to meet the NCAA qualifying standard of 1:49.8. Prefontaine bent close and spoke intensely. "I don't think I could do what you're doing," he said. "So why don't you make it worthwhile?" Bence nodded, silent, and Prefontaine withdrew to watch. With 220 yards to go, Bence had a chance but could not kick. Prefontaine turned away.