While rummaging through my storage room recently, I stumbled across an old sports program from 1964. I had apparently kept that ragged keepsake for nearly sixty years, and the mere sight of it brought a smile to my face. It was a program for a track meet that no longer exists, held in a building that no longer exists, sponsored by a newspaper that no longer exists. But the memory of that evening is as alive for me as if it were yesterday. Fifty-nine years ago, Chicago’s Tom O’Hara set the track world on its ear by setting two world records within 21 days in the marquee event of indoor track, the mile run. A product of Chicago’s St. Ignatius HS and a member of the Loyola University team at the time, O’Hara ran a world record 3:56.6 for the mile on February 13, 1964 in New York City. Then, on March 6th, he returned home for an attempt to break that record at the Daily News Relays, held at the old Chicago Stadium.
I remember that day well because it was the first track meet I ever saw in person, and it made me a life-long track fanatic. Ten years old at the time, I managed to get free tickets through the Chicago Sun Times and something called “The Fun Club,” which I believe was a promotional gimmick to help kids get to see big-time sports events. I had gotten the tickets weeks earlier, when there was little interest in the meet, but, after O’Hara’s world record in New York, it had become the hottest ticket in town. My dad never wanted to leave the house after a day’s work in the factory, but he, too, was excited by the hype built around the race and agreed to take me to the meet that night.
The Daily News Relays was one of the premier stops on the indoor track circuit in 1964, and many of the sport’s stars were competing. The city’s papers, of which there were several at the time, played up the meet and Chicago’s own world record holder in the days preceding the event, so there was a standing-room-only crowd of over 18,000 on hand at the Chicago Stadium that Friday night. As the attendance would indicate, track was still regarded as something of a major sport in those days. Further, the city had no professional basketball team to distract attention, as the Chicago Zephyrs had moved to Baltimore the previous year, and the Bulls’ franchise would not be born for another two years. So, the entire city was focused on the skinny, red-headed local runner that weekend.
The track itself was typical of indoor facilities in the 1960. The standard size of 160-yards-per-lap, 11-laps-to-a-mile, was dictated by the size of arenas built for basketball and hockey: the track had to fit inside the stands. The track was made of plywood and pieced together in sections, with banked curves so that the runners wouldn’t fly off into the stands on each tight turn. The wooden sections were old and chewed up by years of being exposed to metal running spikes, so the bouncing, splintered surface was not especially conducive to fast times. Moreover, smoking was allowed at sporting events in those days, so I recall a haze of cigarette smoke hovering over the entire interior.
Despite the presence of track stars such as high jumper John Thomas, pole vaulter C.K. Yang, and two-miler Bruce Kidd, the “Banker’s Mile” was clearly the main event. (In the days of so-called “amateurism,” local sponsors such as Chicago banks would put up piddly prizes like a wrist watch for feature events and get the event named for their business). To assist O’Hara in his effort to topple the record, the field was limited to five runners, one per lane on the narrow track, and a pacesetter was provided to keep the field at the proper speed on the early laps. It was a solid field, with the challengers led by Oregon great, Jim Grelle, who at one time boasted impressive American records in the outdoor mile (3:55.4) and 2-mile (8:25.4). The gun went off, and O’Hara shot to the front immediately but soon relinquished the lead to a pacesetter from Canada. The 58.1 first quarter was two seconds faster than the time in his world record race. He passed the half-mile mark in 1:58.8, gaining even more time on the previous record pace. Shortly after the half, Tom surged to the lead and every person in the house rose to their feet, cheering, willing him to break the record.
If you remember Chicago Stadium as I do, it was the loudest sports arena on the planet. I attended a Black Hawk game there once where the wooden rail on which I was leaning, high in the rafters, was visibly shaking from the incredible noise, and I felt certain the entire structure would soon collapse, and I would plummet to my death. The volume approached that sort of decibel level as Tom broke away from the field and set off on his own. Grelle gave chase for a while, but this was O’Hara’s night. All alone, he passed the ¾ mark in 2:59.8 and everyone in the place knew the record was within reach, as he had what was regarded as a blazing finishing kick. When the gun fired for the final lap, the noise increased exponentially, and I could no longer hear myself screaming. He crossed the line with the clock frozen at 3:56.3, a new record, and the place exploded with even more ear-piercing cheers.
The official time was eventually announced as 3:56.4, two-tenths under the old record, which may not sound spectacular compared to today’s times. But the new mark stood for a full decade, until Tony Waldrop took it down in 1974. Such luminaries as Marty Liquori, Dave Wottle, Steve Prefontaine, and Jim Ryun had numerous chances, but could not beat that time, although Ryun tied it once with his own 3:56.4.
Dozens of athletes have run faster than O’Hara’s time since then, using better equipment, competing on bigger and faster tracks, and utilizing superior training methods. For me personally, however, nothing will ever top that race. The day after the record, a ten-year-old Chicago boy was out on his sidewalk, holding a stopwatch his dad had stolen from work, in the bathing suit he thought looked like track shorts, running laps around the block, training for the mile. I certainly never attained the heights that Tom O’Hara did, but I still have the yellowed program from that meet, and I can still hear the cacophonous cheers reverberating in that decrepit old building. Distance running took me to college, broadened my outlook on the world, brought me some life-long friends, and gave me the opportunity to dream of a bright future. One glimpse of that old souvenir reminded me that, in less than four minutes back in 1964, Tom O’Hara forever changed the path of my life.
Here is the video of that race.