Egg in Your Beer

There are no professionals in track, at least according to popular theory. One often wonders, then, just why a fine runner like Fred Wilt places his head on the chopping block twice a week for over a four month stretch.

It seems that the winter track season is once again in full swing. All over the Eastern seaboard underclad young athletes are running for sport, glory, and a possible Olympic berth this summer. Mr. Wilt, who doubles as an F.B.I. agent in his spare time, would like very much to represent the United States. Chances are he will, but so too will an amazing runner by the name of Don Gehrmann.

Before the advent of Mr. Gehrmann in the winter track circuit last year--he had previously been concerned with winning tiny, uninteresting dual meets for the University of Wisconsin--Wilt had distance running pretty well monopolized. He had succeeded Parson Gil Dodds as mile king and was proving himself one of the best two-milers since Greg Rice. The A.A.U. had given him the Sullivan Award as the best male athlete for the 1949 year. Then came Gehrmann, and Wilt's fortunes took a decided turn for the worse.

Dictates of Fanatics

American track fans come to meets to watch the big name stars flex their muscles--they also came hoping to get what may be called a track thrill. This thrill can come from a vaulter going over a bar 15 feet above ground, from a name star breaking a record, or more often than not, from some comparative unknown showing the big boys his heels. No matter what they come for, however, there are certain dictates the public makes upon promoters. One of these dictates is a good mile race.

Gehrmann and Wilt consequently are a promoter's dream. They always run a good mile race, and the public loves it. Last Saturday, the 17th installment of their series of mile races took place in the Boston Garden to the delight of 13,000 avid track fans. The race went perfectly according to script. Wilt let one of the lesser known runners set the pace, moved out in front after the quarter mark, and then tried to run away from Gehrmann. He failed just as he had failed the night before in Philadelphia, and 15 out of 16 times during the previous winter.

And as usual . . .

The crowd went wild as Gehrmann put on his usual sprint at the finish to go past Wilt in the last ten yards. The difference in time between the two runners was one tenth of a second, just as it had been the night before. A searchlight played on Gehrmann as he jogged around the track to the applause of the enthusiasts. Wilt walked along the outside of the boards hardly noticed. He showed no emotion--he was used to it by now and doubtlessly realized that the same thing would probably happen next week in the Millrose meet at New York and the weekend after at both Milwaukee and again, Boston. And so on till the indoor grind ends some time near March.

One wonders if any emotion crossed Wilt's face when he watched some fairly good runners pace through the two mile run. He could have made a shambles out of the race had the track fans let him.