Faster than the Fastestsportsillustrated.cnn.com /longf orm/peacock/

Jesse Owens wasn’t afraid of Adolf Hit ler or Jim Crow, but he feared

Eulace Peacock

By Michael McKnight

Jesse Owens arrived in Lincoln, Neb., on a roll. It was July 4, 1935, six weeks after the Ohio State sophomore had burstonto the scene at the Big Ten championships, where he set three world records and tied another in less than an hour.The 1936 Olympics were 13 months away, but Owens’s stunning performance in Ann Arbor, etched into sports history as“the Day of Days,” made his success in Berlin a foregone conclusion.

It was hot in Lincoln. One hundred degrees, according to some reports. Others said 102. A rare photo shows theUniversity of Nebraska’s Memorial Stadium in an unplanned white-out: 15,000 white faces and white shirts glowing underthe midday sun, everyone braving the heat to watch America’s new marvel dominate the AAU championships.

The photo shows only four black faces amid the throng. One belonged to a short man peering from behind a starchedshoulder about four rows back, the others to three of the six men racing in the 100-meter final. Arthur Daley, who coveredtrack for The New York Times and would sail to Berlin the following summer as the first Times sportswriter to receive a

foreign assignment, called the sprinters who took their marks that day the greatest field ever assembled.

Foy Draper of USC, the 5- foot-5 world- record holder in the 100-yard dash, was in Lane 1. George Anderson, the long-legged 10.4 man from Cal-Berkeley, was in Lane 2. Owens, approaching the starting line in Lane 4, his spikes leavingtiny volcanoes in the parched soil, was probably most concerned about the man on his left, in Lane 3. Ralph Metcalfehad won silver in the 100 at the 1932 Los Angeles Games, and two straight AAU golds. “The clash in this AAUchampionships meeting was supposed to be Owens (the new star) v. Metcalfe (the champion),” wrote Neil Allen of theLondon Times.

Owens had no fear of the man on his right. He had blown Eulace Peacock off the track while winning the NCAAChampionships in Berkeley two weeks earlier, after which he’d gone out dancing to celebrate. He had beaten Peacockand everyone else in San Diego a week after that. There was no reason to expect a different result in Lincoln.

There were no starting blocks. Nineteen thirty- five lies closer to the Civil War than the present. Owens and the others dugholes in the cinders and tossed their hand-shovels to the infield before pressing their spikes into the footholds and theirfingertips behind the chalked starting line.

The starter, Johnny McHugh, fired his gun. The runners convulsed forward, then relaxed into a canter. False start. Then10 more false starts. There were no disqualifications in those days. “McHugh finally walked over and talked to thefinalists,” reported William Weekes of the AP, “then tried again. This time they got away in perfect order.”

The gnat- like Draper darted to the lead, a hair ahead of Anderson, the loping F. Scott Fitzgerald look-alike fromBerkeley. Not two seconds later, symbolic of the black man’s takeover of the sprints, Metcalfe, Owens and Peacock, inthe middle three lanes, moved past the white men as if riding a segregated conveyor belt.

“At forty metres the three Negroes were level,” Allen wrote. At 60 meters Metcalfe found the extra gear he was known forand shoved Owens behind him. Judging from the crude film of the race and records of previous meets, it’s safe toassume Metcalfe was surprised to find himself still a step behind Peacock.

A woeful starter, Metcalfe stands with Usain Bolt as perhaps the greatest finisher in sprint history, and he proved it againin Lincoln, finding yet another surge, his long strides eating track in huge chunks. Peacock did not respond with his ownburst as much as he continued the steady acceleration that began with McHugh’s 12th gunshot. He was the only manwho appeared to gain speed throughout the race, like a coin dropped from a skyscraper.

The whiteout photo was taken at the finish line. The first thing to breach it was the M on Peacock’s TEMPLE tank top, in atime of 10.2 seconds. A virtual unknown outside New Jersey and Philadelphia, the Temple sophomore had just brokenone of sport’s most hallowed records (although it would later be ruled that “the Colored Thunderbolt was helped by afavoring wind,” as a journalist from West Virginia put it). Metcalfe finished second, Owens third.

In Lincoln, Neb., on a brutally hot Independence Day in 1935, Peacock (left), a virtual unknown at the time, swept pastprerace favorite Owens (Ohio jersey) and Metcalfe (second from right) for a landmark victory.

Courtesy of Temple University

The ever-gracious Owens (left) congratulated Peacock after the Temple star’s stunning double upset. “This was to havebeen Owens’ show, and Peacock took the play right away from him,” wrote Arthur Daley in the Times.

Courtesy of Temple University

Peacock recalled 50 years later that his first words were, “I won?”

Owens tried to redeem himself in the long jump, where he twice surpassed the rare 26- foot mark. Then Peacock leapt26-3 and won that event, too. The next time a long jumper exceeded 26 feet in a losing cause, the calendar read 1960.Daley called what he witnessed in Lincoln “one of the greatest double upsets in the history of track.”

Neither Daley nor anyone else could have foreseen that Peacock defeating Owens was about to becomecommonplace. Or that after Owens attained immortality in Berlin, Peacock’s string of successes against him would fade

into obscurity, as would Peacock himself. Owens, according to his biographer William Baker, did not dance that night.Instead, he “spent a restless Fourth of July night in Lincoln.”

Much of what we know about Owens today is myth, a tapestry of inaccuracy woven by sportswriters typing unfetteredabout a man who was both a once- in- five- lifetimes athlete and a people pleaser. Much like Satchel Paige, Owensgenerously wanted every scribe to have his scoop, such that he often gave several versions of the same story, eachone tailored to whoever was listening.

Owens had recently died when Baker, a history professor at the University of Maine with no experience in eitherjournalism or track, began working in the early 1980s on what would become the definitive Owens book, Jesse Owens:An American Life. Baker did not seek to dispel the myths about Hitler “snubbing” Owens during the Olympics, or Owensreceiving congenial advice from German long jumper Luz Long on that Berlin infield, but he ended up dispelling themanyway, the unavoidable result of an exacting historian conducting years of research. Baker also, for the first time,devoted more than a passing mention to Eulace Peacock.

On May 31, 1983, the elderly Peacock, true to his reputation as a consummate gentleman, drove from New Jersey toManhattan for an interview with Baker for a biography that not only wasn’t his, but also one that he knew would exhumehis most painful defeat. Baker, now 74, no longer has the audio cassettes from that interview, only a fraction of whichmade it into his book. Fortunately, the University of Maine archived them. Along with a filmed interview of Peacock from1985 (recently preserved by Washington University in St. Louis), these conversations offer a fleeting glimpse - - like apassing sprinter - - of the man whose defeat of Owens in Berlin wasn’t just possible, but probable, had Peacocksomehow been able to outrun the Fates.

They were born a year apart - - Owens in 1913, Peacock in 1914 - - in opposite corners of rural Alabama. By 1923 theirfamilies had left the sharecropping life and moved north - - the Owenses to Ohio, the Peacocks to New Jersey. In 1933,in the last meet of his high school career, Peacock set the national scholastic record in the long jump. He went home,clicked on the radio, and learned that a kid in Cleveland had just broken the world record. Name of Owens. It was thefirst time he’d ever heard of him. It was the first time anyone had heard of him. “I had that record for two hours,” Peacockjoked to Baker.

Peacock’s first love was football. He grew up wanting to play for legendary coach Glenn “Pop” Warner. When Templehired Warner away from Stanford in 1933, Peacock’s stars seemed to have aligned, for his older brother, James, wasthe Owls’ captain.

On the first day of fall practice in ’33, Warner put Eulace and the other Temple freshmen through a series of fitness tests.Ben Ogden, Temple’s track coach, meandered by as Peacock sprinted the length of the field. He did not need astopwatch to realize what he’d witnessed.

Over the next few days Ogden somehow wrested Peacock from Warner, robbing him of a weapon who had scored 138points, the equivalent of 23 touchdowns as a high school senior. “That broke his heart,” Peacock’s daughter, LindaFreundlich, said recently of her father’s disappointment. “’So I can run fast, so what? I want to play football.’ That hurt himmore than what happened with the Olympics.”

Owens and Peacock first met at the AAU Indoor championships in 1934, where neither man sprinted but Owensoutjumped Peacock by a full foot. There or soon afterward, their laid-back dispositions melted into a friendship thatwould endure until both men were gray and their records were being tested by hypertrained athletes sprinting acrossrubberized tracks.

Hundreds of congratulatory telegrams arrived for Peacock in Philadelphia after his victory in Lincoln. Owens, meanwhile,was paying the price for his growing popularity. Responding to a media storm that had erupted a month earlier when hewas photographed with a beautiful socialite in Los Angeles, Owens had hopped the first train from Lincoln to Clevelandand married his longtime girlfriend Ruth Solomon, the mother of his two-year-old daughter.

The morning after that, Owens was on another train, this one headed north, where he intended to set straight the losshe’d suffered in Nebraska. The sporting world lifted its binoculars. Owens and Peacock would race twice more in the

next five days.

CRYSTAL BEACH, ONTARIO,

JULY 6, 1935

Every vision Owens held for his future depended on winning big in Berlin, and for the moment, at least, he wasn’t eventhe best sprinter or long jumper in his own country. Peacock would have myriad career options, and Metcalfe would goon to serve four terms as a U.S. Congressman, but Owens knew he was neither a scholar nor a businessman. He andhis first coach, Charles Riley, had been plotting victory at the 1936 Olympics since Jesse was in middle school. “ForOwens, the Olympics would mean either glory or a future pumping gas at the Sohio station,” Jeremy Schaap wrote of inTriumph: The Untold Story of Jesse Owens and Hitler’s Olympics.

As Owens’s train hissed to a stop on the Canadian side of Lake Erie, not a day removed from his wedding, and twofrom his defeat in Lincoln, he must have felt what no camera would ever capture him feeling: pressure.

The lakeshore resort in Ontario would be the site of a key Peacock-Owens matchup five years later.

Crystal Beach wasn’t Nebraska, and it definitely wasn’t Berlin. It was a quirky Coney Island built on a wavelesslakeshore, 15 miles from Buffalo, its main attraction a massive roller coaster that kept a nurse on hand to tend to thewoozy. The athletic field was across the street from the rumbling “Cyclone,” and the sprinters who appeared there aspart of the local police carnival were as much of a sideshow as the ride, whose latticework reached that day towardwhat the local paper said was “a broiling sun.”

The Crystal Beach race took place in a vacuum. Not much was written about it. There are no known photographs. Thearea’s foremost historian, William Kae, recently dug up a damaged microfiche of that weekend’s Buffalo Courier-Express,which introduces us to a local track hero named Isaac Meadows who also ran that day - - the “third Negro of the startingfield of three.”

“Before a crowd of 5,000 made up of Buffalo policemen and their friends,” Meadows got off to a perfect start, “but theothers drew away from the Buffalo youth quickly.”

Owens held the edge all the way down the ashed path in front of the grandstand, until the 75-yard mark was reached. HerePeacock made his bid. Calling on every reserve, the Temple ace pulled to even terms, then surged ahead to win bypractically a yard... There was some question as to whether Peacock in his winning struggle had jostled the Ohio Statespeedster. Their lanes was [sic] adjacent and each appeared to have pushed over toward his rival as they drove downtoward the tape... Officials saw nothing untoward in the entire race.

Owens must have been at least mildly flummoxed. His times weren’t slow. Peacock’s were simply faster. The newsreached both coasts quickly. “Swing wide the gates for a new sports hero,” blared the Los Angeles Times.

The Buffalo Courier-Express touted the race result, along with a photo of Owens and Peacock upon their arrival atCrystal Beach. Owens, who had wed the day before, told Peacock, “I’ll bet the old married man still can give you apretty good race.”

NEW YORK CITY,

JULY 9, 1935

The tide had turned so thoroughly that when The New York Times touted that Tuesday’s meet at NYU’s Ohio Field, itmentioned Peacock as the attraction, not Owens. The photos from that evening show a cloudy twilight brooding over theBronx like a film noir set, complete with rain- flecked trenchcoats and fedoras on all the extras. The track was like dampcake.

Someone shot a film of the race from on high, with the five runners coming toward the camera. It flutters to a start with therunners already 20 meters in, the smoke from the starter’s gun drifting toward the sky.

Peacock is in Lane 2, Owens in Lane 4. As they pull away from Draper, Anderson, and a man named O’Sullivan, thefield takes the shape of a perfect W. Owens is a picture of calm symmetry. Peacock swerves all over his lane, headwagging, no stride looking the same. The W grows taller and skinnier as Owens and Peacock surge ahead.

The news stories describe Owens making a final push, but the film shows their positions staying the same over the lasthalf of the race: Peacock a hair ahead, Owens running more efficiently but gaining no ground.

The flurry of snapshots taken at the finish show Peacock throwing his arms up, wearing an exultant, wide-eyed look. Thefilm, however, reveals that this was not joy, but panic, for he was about to crash into a cluster of photographers kneelingin the runners’ path to capture the moment of truth.

BRONX, N.Y., JULY 9, 1935 Peacock takes his third win over Owens in six days. Owens is second from left (in dark top);Peacock is fourth from left (in white top).

The most telling image recorded by those kamikaze photographers - - the one that flies in the face of everything wewould later come to believe about Owens - - is the look on his face. It is the slightly embarrassed expression of a manunaccustomed to finishing second, but being forced to get used to it.

Even Owens’s hero, three- time Olympic medalist Charley Paddock, was jumping on the Peacock bandwagon. “I canonly see Peacock as a certain performer at the Games in Berlin,” Paddock said after the New York race. “ ... I can’t helpfeeling that Owens is pretty much burned out... the Ohio State boy is far too slow off the marks to do much good in the100.” America’s head track coach, Lawson Robertson, was even more blunt. “Peacock is the fastest and most consistentof all our sprinters,” said the man who would fill out the U.S. lineup card in Berlin. “He also has a better finish thanOwens.”

“Eulace is a great runner, and a very good jumper,” Owens graciously told New York Times writer John Lardner. “Thisboy has been right behind me for quite a while. It looks as though he’s more than caught up now...

“[H]e caught me after I done my best work for the year. You know, a man has only got so many record jumps and recordsprints in his system for one season... Maybe he’ll make me run and jump better. Maybe he’ll drive me right on to somenew records. You can’t tell.’”

Owens was more prophetic, and more candid, with Harlem’s Amsterdam News: “I don’t know whether I can defeat himagain.”

As it turned out, he never would.

After the New York race, Owens returned to his wife and daughter and their spare bedroom at the Solomons’ house inCleveland. He resumed his job pumping gas at the Sohio station on the corner of Cedar and 92nd Street.

Peacock, meanwhile, departed for Europe with nine of the best track athletes in America. With the AAU providing meagermeal money, Peacock and his teammates competed in Luxembourg, then the French village of Nancy, then in themassive stadium that had staged the ’24 Paris Games. On Aug. 6, 1935, Peacock tied the world record in the 100meters in Basel, Switzerland. This time there was no wind, and no one called him a colored Thunderbolt, either.

On he went to Zurich. Biarritz . Lyon. Strasbourg. Brussels. Paris again. Victories all. A French photographer capturedPeacock’s opponents straining against the last 10 yards while the tape whipped behind Peacock like a kite tail. Whenhe boarded the train to Milan, the Berlin Olympics were less than a year away.

While Owens remained back home in Ohio, Peacock blazed a trail through Europe with a group of U.S. athletes, herewinning a 100-meters race in the same stadium that had hosted the 1924 Paris Olympics.

MILAN

AUGUST 25, 1935

Twenty- five thousand people attended the track meet at Arena Civica, which was 128 years old but looked older, itsarches and ivy evoking the days when the 100 meters’ ancestor, the “stadion,” was run in the nude by the earliestOlympians.

It was 79 degrees and muggy. The venerable La Stampa newspaper described the sky as disturbato dalla pioggia - -disturbed by rain. The sprinters awaiting Peacock on that soggy oval were the strongest he had faced in Europe, andwere led by Edgardo Toetti, who had won Olympic bronze in 1932 as part of Italy’s 100-meter relay team. Peacock, theyoungest man running, could not coast the way he had at his other European stops.

He was comfortably in the lead at the 80-meter mark when what he would later called “the beginning of the end” foundhim.

The initial pain of tearing a hamstring is not as searing as it is confusing. It probably felt the same for Peacock as it didfor Houston McTear, the 100-meter prodigy whose hamstring ruptured at the 1976 Olympic trials, and contributed to hisliving most of the ‘80s as a homeless addict on a California beach. The athlete usually hops once - - a weird, involuntaryspasm - - the moment the muscle gives way. There is often the sensation of a windowshade rolling up the back of thethigh.

Peacock bounced home on his good leg, in last place. A tattered photo, recently unearthed by his daughter, shows himbeing carried off the track by two Italian officials and American hurdler Tom Moore - - Peacock’s arms over theirshoulders, their arms under his legs, Peacock wincing at the muscle that had just betrayed him.

La Stampa reported:

La vittoria di Toetti sui centro metri non ha valore... poiche Peacock, vittima di un malaugurato incidente, non ha potutobattersi come avrebbe voluto...

[Toetti’s victory in the 100 meters held no value... because Peacock, the victim of an unfortunate accident, could not fightas he wished ...]

A sprinter tearing a hamstring is like a car snapping its drive shaft. The only remedy for the injury is time, and therein laythe only silver lining for Peacock. His injury had coincided with the beginning of his offseason. A few days after his 21stbirthday, he sailed home to a winter of heat compresses, rest and crossed fingers.

He and his rival kept in touch that winter. In December, Owens, Peacock, Metcalfe and two other black athletes wrote aletter to the American Olympic Committee stating their eagerness to compete in Berlin, despite the demonstrationsacross the U.S. calling for a boycott of Hitler’s Games. By New Year’s Day the issue was settled. The Americans weregoing.

CLEVELAND

MARCH 28, 1936

Owens held home- field advantage for his first showdown against Peacock since Peacock’s injury. The race inCleveland’s Public Hall (home today to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame’s annual induction ceremony) was unique frommost other Owens-Peacock races because it was indoors and because it featured makeshift starting blocks. Owens’sstrong suit, his starts, would be made stronger. And because the race was just 50 yards, Peacock would have less timeto catch up.

The new blocks and the urgency of the distance probably contributed to Peacock’s slipping and falling out of the gate.As Owens sprinted to victory, all Peacock could do was rise from the floor and watch.

The Call and Post reported that Owens then offered “one of the grandest exhibitions of sportsmanship ever witnessed” agesture that cemented one detail about him which was not myth: he was as graceful a person as he was an athlete.“[H]e immediately put his arm around Peacock’s shoulder and led him back to the starting line. He insisted that the racebe run again.” After all, none of the 5,700 spectators on hand had come to see Owens outrun Dave Politzer and BobLewis.

A “half- hour” passed between races, according to the Associated Press. Plenty of time for Owens to recover from hisfirst sprint. This time Peacock’s start was clean. He and Owens exploded from the blocks in lock-step.

“Owens forged to the front but Peacock caught him halfway down the floor,” wrote AP track editor Allan Gould. The finalmargin was “less than a foot... as the Philadelphia Negro outdistanced his Buckeye rival for the fourth straight time.”

The Call and Post reported on Peacock’s narrow win in a race rerun at the behest of Owens, after Peacock slipped on

the first start.

Peacock and his hamstring were back. In his own gesture of sportsmanship, Peacock wrote a letter to meet officialsdeclining to accept first place: “Jesse, one of the finest sportsmen I have ever met, is entitled to the medal more than I.”As admirable as both of their gestures were, Owens and Peacock were far more focused on the race that would be runat the Olympic trials in three months, and in Berlin a month after that.

PENN RELAYS, PHILADELPHIA,

APRIL 24, 1936

The day that would end their rivalry was “chilly,” said Dave Johnson, longtime director of the Penn Relays, and curatorof its rich history. “Overall the performances were not good.”

The exception was the University of Texas’s 440-yard relay team, which ran “like scared jackrabbits,” according toGould, and were led by All-America anchorman Harvey Wallender. The Longhorns’ greatest challenge in the relaycame from Temple and its possible Berlin-bound anchorman.

Peacock assumed his starting position in the fourth and final transition box, where he watched Temple’s first threerunners fall desperately behind. When Wallender received the baton, he had a lead that most estimates placed between30 and 40 yards. It was a 100-yard showdown now, but one man was nearly halfway done while the other was juststarting.

Peacock thought he could fetch him. “And as I felt myself closing in on him,” he told Baker, “I said, Well, maybe I cancatch him before hitting the tape.” That’s when “a look of pain and surprise spread over his features,” Daley wrote. Thistime it was Peacock’s right hamstring, and the rip in it was deeper and more jagged than the one his left had suffered inMilan. Peacock hopped home in second place, having pushed Wallender and the Longhorns to a meet record thatwould last 23 years. Peacock was taken to Temple University Hospital, where the doctors found a muscle so flayed thatthey kept him there three more days. Owens won the 100-meter final in a walk.

For nearly 50 years, Peacock kept his deepest feelings about the aftermath of that day to himself. To his family andeveryone else, he provided the equivalent of a brief press conference. Sure, I almost made it to the Olympics... Whoknows if I would have beaten Jesse over there? He was awful fast...

He shrugged off Baker’s questions on the subject, dismissing his missed chance to have books and movies andawards created in his honor as “just one of those things.”

For reasons only Peacock knows, the interview he sat for on Feb. 13, 1985 - - just 15 seconds of which appeared in BillMiles’s acclaimed PBS documentary Black Champions — was different. It features a man frustrated by how emotional therecollection was making him, and unable to stanch the flow of a river he thought he’d dammed a half- century earlier.

“Well, I ran anchor at the Penn Relays,” the 70-year-old Peacock said, “and uh” — here he paused, near tears, andtook a deep breath.

“When I received the baton I was about 20 yards behind the leader, and I thought that I could overtake him after I had runabout 35 to 40 yards.” A beleaguered look and another deep breath. “Because I was closing in, and when I reallypoured it on, because I was overcoming the lead, that’s when I pulled the muscle.” His eyes wet now, Peacock raised ahand to his face and looked away. “And of course I went up in the air and I landed on my opposite foot and I hoppedacross the line.”

The cameraman pushed in, eager to capture the wetness of Peacock’s eyes. Peacock did not look keen on continuing.The next question was about his subsequent attempts to qualify for Berlin. Peacock’s answer does not live today onfilm, and is noted on the transcript only as “cross- talk” between him and the interviewer, along with the notation “NG.” Notgood.

With just two months until the Olympic Trials, time was now Peacock’s enemy. An elderly trainer from Newark named

Maney Gordon massaged Peacock’s leg daily as priceless pages fell from the calendar.

Peacock said very little to reporters during this time. Two months after his injury he limped onto Harvard’s track for theregional Olympic Trials - - “his right thigh taped up like a baseball bat,” Daley wrote. There he failed to qualify for Berlinin the 100 and the long jump, his leaps falling three feet shy of his personal best, his sprints abandoned at the halfwaypoint because of the divot behind his thigh that made accelerating impossible. The normally pitiless Olympic bossesmade a rare exception for the man Neil Allen called “the only man Jesse Owens ever feared,” allowing Peacock to tryonce more at the final Olympic trials the following week.

Peacock’s last chance came at Randall’s Island, N.Y., during a heat wave that made Lincoln in ‘35 seem nippy. Nineteenthirty- six was the hottest summer on record in America. The week of the trials, the heat killed 40 people in Manhattanalone.

After failing to make the U.S. Olympic team at the regional trials in Boston, Peacock got one last chance in New York.Though his form was good in this practice start on the track at Randall’s Island, Peacock would hobble home last in the

qualifying race.

Charles Payne/NY Daily News Via Getty Images

The Olympics, for all its sentimentality, is not about sentiment at all once the athletes’ knuckles find the starting line. TheGames are about the moment, and at that moment Peacock could barely crouch next to Metcalfe for their preliminaryheat. Old Johnny McHugh, whose pistol had started that momentous race in Lincoln one year and one week earlier,raised it skyward again.

Metcalfe won. Draper, who would die a soldier’s death in Tunisia in 1943, finished second. A runner from Pasadenanamed Mack Robinson - - Jackie’s big brother, destined for Olympic silver in the 200 - - finished third. They werecatching their breath when Peacock hobbled home last.

A week later, these men, and others to whom Peacock had once shown the back of his jersey, would board the USSManhattan, bound for Germany.

“Naturally I am sorry that I am not making this trip since so many of my friends are going,” Peacock said beforecollecting his bags from the Hotel Lincoln and catching his train to anonymity. “But I wish them all the luck in the worldand hope they bring back the championship in their events. They have the stuff.”

John Woodruff had it, winning 800-meter gold in Berlin before growing gray with Owens and Peacock, two of his closestfriends. In a conversation with Frank Litsky shortly before he died at 92, Woodruff told the Times writer a secret: “Jessewas kind of glad Eulie didn’t make the team.”

Herb Douglas, who won bronze in 1948 and was probably closer to Owens than anyone, said recently: “Jesse neverdiscussed it with me. But I feel as though psychologically, those two in that position, if either one of them gets hurt - - justput yourself in that position. You’d probably feel a little relieved that Eulace got injured. You might not say it, but...”

There are myths about Peacock, too. The most common one is that he beat Owens in seven of 10 races at one point.Peacock said it to Baker. It’s been printed as fact in several reputable publications. It isn’t true.

Eliminating all of the heats they ran against each other - - races that served as a means to advance toward a final, notwin one - - Owens and Peacock ran 10 sprints in which both men were uninjured and both men crossed the finish line.Peacock finished ahead of Owens in five of those 10 races. Owens finished ahead of Peacock in five.

Peacock won five of those races outright, beating everyone else in the field, too. Owens won four.

Is it far- fetched, then, to envision a healthy Peacock nipping Owens at the tape in Berlin, affixing “World’s Fastest Man”behind his metaphor- ready last name? Is it sacrilege to envision a face other than Jesse’s in those iconic black-and-white images snapped from beneath the podium at the Reichssportsfeld?

“I really thought if Eulace hadn’t pulled a muscle there was a 50-50 chance,” said Douglas. “I truly believed that.”

“It’s one of the great mysteries in the history of sports,” Schaap said in a 2007 interview. “If Eulace Peacock is healthy,does he dominate the Games the way that Jesse Owens did?... [Owens’s] best times were better than Eulace’s, his bestlong jump was better than Eulace’s, but whenever they competed against each other, Eulace beat him... Just knowingthat Peacock was standing next to him in the finals of the 100 meters might have made him more nervous.”

Might Owens have been even more nervous if Peacock’s winning streak against him had continued through the 100meters in Berlin, headed into what would already prove to be an erratic long- jump showing for Owens? History mighthave hinged on where they landed in that sandpit, with a third gold going to the man who, in this alternate universe,would end up with two each in other events - - Owens in the 100-meter relay and the 200 (where he was untouchable),Peacock in the relay and the 100. (A healthy Peacock would have almost certainly joined Owens and Metcalfe on thegold-winning relay team, displacing Draper or Frank Wykoff.)

To Bill Cosby, it isn’t speculation. Granted, Cosby is a Temple man (conference high jump champ in 1962), and he knewPeacock when the great runner was graying, but Cosby is also a rigorous track historian not prone to hypothesiz ing.“The mystery of whether Peacock might have beaten Owens in Berlin,” Cosby said recently, “sounds like a fluke or areach, but the greater question is whether - - in that setting, with history waiting for something remarkable to happen, and

with their rivalry being what it was - - we might have seen a record that is much closer to what sprinters on today’ssurfaces are running.”

Litsky, the Times writer, was more succinct: “Eulace could have been Jesse.”

There were no Olympics in 1940 or 1944 because of the war. Peacock would have been 34 at the London Games of1948, but the question of his success there is moot because his sprinting was never the same after his hamstring tore atthe Penn Relays in ‘36.

Owens, here atop the medal stand for the 100 meters with silver medalist Metcalfe of the U.S. (right) and bronzemedalist Martinus Osendarp of Holland, ran and jumped his way into sporting immortality before a world audience inBerlin on Aug. 4, 1936.

Fox Photos/Getty Images

In 1937, however (the year before Hitler was named Time’s Man of the Year), Peacock won his third national

championship in the pentathlon. He would win three more - - in ‘43, ‘44, and ‘45, each time building huge point leads inthe leaps, throws and the 200, then ignoring the last event, the arduous 1,500, for which he never bothered to train. “Iwould ask whoever was in second or third, What do you have to run to beat me?” Peacock told Baker. Their desperateanswers would allow him to “just jog along” in the 1,500.

He financed his extended amateur career by working for the IRS, then as a trainer in the Coast Guard during the war. Hisgreatest career success was the liquor store he owned in Harlem. It was a skinny business - - just a stoop, a door and awall of bottles - - but it was neat as a pin. By then he had married a whip-smart, college-educated knockout namedBetty. Their love was by every account pure and real, and it lasted even after cancer took her from him in 1989.

In the early ’50s they had adopted a boy and a girl and settled in a modest home with a big yard in Yonkers. Onsummer weekends they entertained Eulie’s friends from the city, men the Peacock kids knew only as Uncle Nat (Nat KingCole), Uncle Paul (Paul Robeson) and Uncle Gene (Gene Krupa). One of their most frequent guests was a quiet,stooped man who was introduced to them as Uncle Jesse.

When Linda was in fourth grade, during what was then called Negro History Month, she and her classmates were givena book to read. “I thought, Man, the guy in this book looks like Uncle Jesse,” said Linda, who is now gracefully enteringher mid-60s in Arizona. “I came home and said, ‘Daddy, is Uncle Jesse Jesse Owens?’

‘You figured that out, huh?’

“And that’s when I thought, That must have been a really big deal, not to make it to the Olympics,” Linda recalled. “Hecould have been Jesse Owens.”

Owens’s life wasn’t always enviable. He’d been banned by the AAU before he even got home from Berlin - - fordeclining to take part in a hastily arranged and exploitative tour of Europe. He never ran competitively again. To feed hisfamily, Owens performed onstage, sprinted against horses and agreed to other stunts and promotions that would soonprove empty. The masses criticized Owens for chasing money instead of more medals, but Peacock, who knew thehand- to-mouth world of American track, defended his friend. “After the glory is gone, what have you?” Peacock said inthe fall of ‘36. “Jesse made a smart move.”

Owens peddled his celebrity across the world for the rest of his life. He continued to wave the stars and stripes as hefought tax problems and survived the jabs of Civil Rights soapboxers who called him an Uncle Tom, his family lifefraying throughout.

Each time Owens left the Peacock home, Linda’s dad would always mutter to her mom: “Jesse’s gotta quit smoking.”Owens had been a chain-smoker since the 40s. He died of lung cancer in 1980, at 66.

One of Linda’s most vivid childhood memories is of walking through the front door of the Yonkers house to find her father“sitting there with a cup of coffee the size of Montana,” chatting with Uncle Jesse while they listened to Sinatra playinglow on the hi- fi.

“Hi Linda!” Owens would say. “Come over here and let me see how big you’ve gotten! Eulie, she’s gotten so big!”

Her biggest thrill came on days when her parents couldn’t find a sitter and her Dad was forced to bring her to the liquorstore with him. School was where she’d learned about Uncle Jesse, but she learned who her dad was on a Harlemsidewalk. “Fastest man in the world?” she said, hearkening back to that day. “No, no, no, my dad lives in Yonkers andowns a liquor store.” Her dad had never told her any different.

Litsky recalled running into Peacock 20 or 30 times over the years, when Peacock officiated college track meets. Askedfor one word to sum him up, the Times writer paused several seconds.

Peacock and his wife, Betty, with their children Eulace and Linda, circa 1953. “Uncle Jesse and John Woodruff camearound the house a lot,” Linda recalled recently. “When I got older I realized that they maybe didn’t have the home lifemy father had. They admired him for the peace he had found.”

Courtesy of the Peacock Family

“Classy,” he said.

Shortly after her mom died, Linda noticed that the family dog looked emaciated. She asked her dad why. He stared ather blankly. He’d forgotten to feed it. For several days. It was Alzheimer’s.

Peacock moved in with Linda and her husband until it became clear that he’d be better cared for by professionals. Hebecame the toast of St. Joseph’s Nursing Home in Yonkers. The middle-aged caregivers were old enough to rememberhis track days and were honored to have him. Nearly all of St. Joseph’s residents were women. Eulie was the big manon campus again, lifting things for his weaker friends (he had the body of a 50-year-old), asking them to time him as heambled around the hallways, swing dancing slow to his beloved Sinatra.

It didn’t matter that he had no memory of being the fastest man in the world. If a staffer mentioned it, “he’d just go alongwith it and he’d get really happy,” Linda recalled, “because it usually meant it was exercise time.”

Peacock died peacefully in 1996.

The word Linda uses most often when talking about him is generous. When she was a teenager, he gave her twopasses to watch her Uncle Jesse hold court at a fancy event in some big Manhattan hotel. The attendees were asked toscribble questions and pass them up to the emcee, who read them aloud to the great Olympian. In the back of theballroom, Linda scrawled: Who was really the fastest man in the world, you or Eulace Peacock?

“He answered a few questions - - there were some double questions in there, everyone was asking the same thing - -then they came to mine,” Linda said. “Uncle Jesse looked up and said, ‘Who asked that question?’”

With a smile and a big wave, Linda yelled, “I did, Uncle Jesse!”

“He just smiled back at me and said, ‘Ohhhh, Linda.’” After a chuckle and a quick explanation to the crowd, Owensresumed the Q-&-A.

Linda’s laughter at the memory trails off into one of those long sighs that punctuates a good story. In the silence, herbrow wrinkles.

“I don’t think he ever answered the question.”