Spirit Perseveres

“May joy and fellowship reign and, in this manner, may the Olympic torch pursue its way through the ages ... ,” wrote Pierre de Coubertin in “Expression,” a poetic reiteration of modern Olympic precepts that were to “pave the way for a more valiant humanity, stronger, and consequently more scrupulous and generous.”

To Coubertin, the Olympics were a meeting of nations, rather than entertainment for nations. Olympic competitors, in his view, showcased the vigor and capabilities of the people from whose ranks they arose and, through appreciation of one another’s skills, promoted respect and peace.

Since the beginning of the Modern Olympics in 1896, adherence to Coubertin’s precepts has waxed and waned. Munich in 1972, while attempting to re-create Coubertin’s idyllic Olympic family, instead exposed the tragedy of the human family.

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These were my fifth consecutive Olympics Games. I was almost 40.

When I married American hammer thrower Harold Connolly in 1957 and immigrated to the United States, I was a fourth-year medical student in Prague at Charles University. Upon my arrival to Washington, D.C., I received one single bit of advice from a State Department official: To explore diligently the life in this land so that upon my eligibility to become a naturalized citizen I could do so with a true love and commitment.

I followed that advice. When, 15 years later, I was elected to carry the U.S. flag during the opening ceremony in Munich, I joyfully and humbly exercised that privilege, which matched the honor of winning a gold medal for Czechoslovakia in 1956.

I loved Olympic competition. And I loved the Olympic village. There, instead of fears, hatred and suspicion, curiosity about one another led to efforts to communicate with everyone. The easygoing or even more serious chats illustrated that Coubertin’s vision of building a civilized peaceful world was worth pursuing.

Yet, although I had seen signs of it in previous Olympics, little did I realize until Munich how vulnerable that vision had become to criticisms that it was elitist and impractical.

Records alone seemed to have captured the interests of millions and, therefore, Munich embraced commercialization of sport as the way toward progress.

Amateur athletic principles lingered among the delegations of nonwinners, but the statistically highest echelons were already contracted by money.

Specialized performance-enhancing pharmaceuticals were replacing the glucose tablets, coffee and vitamins of the old times.

Intense searches for wealthy sponsors shaped medals into bank-safe keys. As the Dassler brothers’ rival shoe companies, Adidas and Puma, fought hard for publicity and worldwide sporting goods markets, they showered favored competitors with free shoes and clothing.

“Ordinary” Olympians began to think about leaving their countries for places with better training facilities and publicity agents.

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The women’s discus throw was scheduled for the last day of track and field competition. Having come to Munich in excellent physical shape, with a new technical understanding of my event, I felt confident.

One day, however, several European women discus throwers entered the weight room where I was finishing a training session. After an exchange of hearty greetings I offered to share the bench press area. They said they would wait.

I then put on a show of strength with my maximum bench press lifts--one push with each of about 180 and 185 pounds.

Then I watched them add to the rack another 30 pounds with which to warm up. Oh, wow! The playing field was going to be much less level than I’d expected.

The excellence of European training systems, undoubtedly combined with the effectiveness of steroid experimentation--this was before stringent steroid testing--pushed up the statistics in women’s sports far more dramatically than in men’s events.

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A few days later, the competition became almost irrelevant. After the events of Sept. 5, when a deadly hostage plot was implemented, we were all numbed.

I placed a flower at the fenced-in area in front of the Israeli team’s apartments.

“That’s for you,” I whispered to the murdered Israeli athletes and coaches. “The world abandoned you and I want you to know that I grieve it.”

I was profoundly upset. The German police tried to save the Israeli hostages through violent means. But since the terrorists had stated to the whole world that their goal was to exchange the athletes for prisoners from Israel’s jail, I believed that Olympic officials from all participating nations should have gone all out in an effort to peacefully protect the athletes.

Two nations that had participated with the Greeks in the Olympic Games of antiquity, Egypt and Libya, offered possible shelters in which negotiations could have been conducted. I believe that it might have taken a few days, but had the world governments and Olympic Committees ever internalized the fullness of Coubertin’s work, the Olympians would had been saved.

The Olympic village, the greatest village on Earth, dropped the Olympians’ fate into the hands of Israeli Prime Minister Golda Meir, who refused any negotiations.

How could the finest representatives of a country be so offered for sacrifice! Earlier, an Israeli had told me that, should a conflict develop at their borders, he and all other Israeli Olympians-patriots would give up their long-dreamed-of competition and go home to help. Who would ever have believed that their leaders would choose grieving over negotiating!

Somehow, things could not be dismissed with a sigh that Israel and Palestine were at it again. Toward the end of the Games, German and Scandinavian acquaintances shared with me their fervent wish that Olympians answer the tragedy by some public commitment to building a better world. There had to be a hopeful, constructive closure to events that smeared with blood and death this page of Olympic history. Therefore, I drafted, others translated into several languages, and the staff of the Olympic village newspaper printed this letter to Kurt Waldheim, then secretary general of the United Nations:

Dear Mr. Waldheim:

We, the undersigned, the athletes and Olympic officials assembled in Munich, Germany, from August 26, to September 10, 1972, appeal earnestly to all peoples on earth to employ their brilliant and sensitive minds toward a settlement of old disputes through genuine dialogue rather than through violence. Only if all nations reconsider their ancient hostilities with reason divorced from stubborn emotion, the family of man will be able to break through the vicious circle of mistrust, friction, conquest, and revenge, and be able to focus its attention on the cooperation desperately needed for solving the problems of poverty, lack of medical care, and the ever more threatening environmental destruction that affects us all.

Brothers and sisters that we are, we beg all nations to halt further accumulation of weapons of mass destruction, and to cast away the racial, religious, social and economic prejudices that have traditionally and painfully separated us.

The letter was displayed for Olympians’ signatures, but the Olympic village administrator accused us of bringing politics into the Olympics and seized it immediately.

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The competition, of course, did continue. On the morning of Sept. 10, four days after the memorial service for the slain Israelis, the women’s discus throwers were crowded at one throwing ring in a warmup area. As competition began I tried desperately to stay with my new technique, but the years of less efficient habits took over. Crushing fatigue replaced the usual fire and gusto of absorption in the contest. I did not qualify for the afternoon finals.

I could not keep up with the new era in women’s athletics. Slower than slowly, I was walking out the stadium gate when a man stopped me. He said his name was Erich Segal and that he was glad only the athlete had broken down in me, rather than the human being. The gentleness of the “Love Story” author’s words and warmth of his handshake woke me up from the blinded stupor of disappointment. Now I could cry, but keep walking.

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Is the Olympic flame sturdy enough to pursue the path of peace through the ages?

Twenty years after Munich, the Norwegian Olympic Committee decided that the legacy of world-class athletes should surpass statistics and medals. Johann Olav Koss, winner of four golds in speedskating at the Winter Games in Lillehammer became the first Ambassador for Olympic Aid, which promotes health, dignity and athletic excellence among children throughout the world. Multitudes have contributed to that effort to restore fields of national fitness from which Olympians can grow and become ambassadors of mutual respect and peace. Multitudes keep aflame the joy and fellowship for which humanity so yearns.

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Olga Connolly is a five-time Olympian who recently was nominated for induction into the U.S. Track and Field Hall of Fame.

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(BEGIN TEXT OF INFOBOX)

MUNICH OLYMPICS 30 YEARS LATER

SEPT. 11, 1972: DAY 17

*--* HEADLINES

*--*

Frivolity, Sorrow Blend Into Olympic Closing Ceremony

In hushed silence, the Olympic flame was extinguished to the melancholy strains of a trumpet, the stadium lights dimmed. There was a moment of silence for the 11 slain Israeli Olympians. Then came a five-gun salute, as spotlights took turns playing on the Olympic flag, which then was lowered and carried out of the stadium. Everyone seemed relieved that the Games were finally finished.

*--* MEDALS

*--*

*--* Country G S B T Soviet Union 50 27 22 99 United States 33 30 30 93 East Germany 20 23 23 66

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*--* QUOTE

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“It was to have been known as the ‘Joy Games.’ It will be forever known as the ‘Massacre Olympics.’ ”

--Times columnist Jim Murray