Runner Outrun

As gentle as a deer and as ugly as a monkey, little El Ouati, the Algerian Marathon runner who won the Olympic race at Amsterdam last summer came to the U. S. in order to race for Promoter Bill ("Easy") Pickens. Last fortnight in Manhattan, he ran against Joie Ray whom he had beaten, by a last minute sprint, at Amsterdam; with frightened looks behind him and a low scooping stride. El Ouati beat Ray for the second time by seven laps. After this race it was planned to send El Ouati and Joie Ray on a tour of U. S. cities, beginning with Boston and Philadelphia.

It is the idea of Promoter Pickens that the world of sport, like a modern marathon, moves in cycles. The time has now come for a resuscitation of long distance running; the best long distance runner in the world is this jolly timid Algerian, who cannot speak a word of English and shakes hands in a complicated. North African fashion. Promoter Pickens chose him to make the marathon famous again.

Until El Ouati and Ray should start their U. S. tour, it was necessary for Promoter Pickens to find stunts that should keep El Ouati in the public eye. The Algerian was led to various Manhattan newspaper offices ; reporters and photographers were invited to visit him so frequently that El Ouati, sick of removing his clothes to pose for pictures, murmured "que j'suis . . . fatigue!"

At last an even better idea was produced. It was decided to have El Ouati run an exhibition race against Johnny Hayes, the man who 20 years ago made the marathon popular just as it is hoped that El Ouati will do now. This exhibition race took place last week; as had been expected, Johnny Hayes did not really try to beat the Algerian but merely trotted around with him once and then watched from the sidelines while El Ouati continued to drum circles on the track. The race did not at tract a crowd; for when people saw "Johnny Hayes" in a headline for almost the first time in 20 years, they had for gotten who he was. "Johnny Hayes," they said, "What did he do?"

Johnny Hayes, in 1908, ran the most exciting marathon since the one in 480 B.C., whereby Phidippides carried the news of a battle over cliff roads to Sparta. The 1908 marathon was run over English high ways from Windsor Castle past Slough, Wexham, Heath, Ruislip. Wembley, to a stadium 26 miles and 480 yards from the start. Marathon races were well-patronized then; the greatest of runners was Dorando, a confectioner from the island of Capri. Hayes was 22, the son of an East Side Manhattan Irish baker; he was 5 ft. 3 3/4 in. tall and his number was 26. One hot. windless day. late in July, a gun was fired, and the runners strung out along the road, jogging slowly in the haze of early afternoon.

An announcer in the stadium, wearing a scarlet tailcoat because the Queen was expected to be present at the finish, called the positions. Dorando was leading; Hefferon. a South African, was second and Hayes, who started slowly, took third place in the last six miles. Just after 5 o'clock the stadium track was cleared and at 23 minutes past, Dorando and Hefferon were in sight, running heavily down a hillside.

As the leader came into the stadium, the crowd roared and then became quickly silent; Dorando was swaying in his stride and his face was that of a man charging against some invisible monster who held his shoulders and would not let him move. His legs were red with running; they twisted under him suddenly like sticks of cinnamon and he lay crumpled in the dirt just beyond the bicycle track. A man named McAndrews ran out and helped him to his feet; Dorando staggered three steps and fell again; two men helped him up this time; the track was full of people and Hayes, who had passed Hefferon, was in the stadium, running like the wind. Dorando fell the third time in front of the Queen's box and lay there wriggling. His teammates ran out and dragged him across the finish line into the hands of a cheering crowd. Hayes finished 21 3/5 seconds later.

Obviously, the U. S. runner had won the race, but after watching Dorando wriggling to the finish like a wounded fly, no one wished Hayes to have the prize. The Italian flag went up; the U. S. protest was allowed at 8 in the evening. British newspapers scored the decision of the committee; the Queen of England gave each of the runners a bronze medal, and the king from nearby Windsor sent each one an oak wreath.

Johnny Hayes, after the day he won his country the race, returned to Manhattan and the sports department of a cheap store where he had previously been a clerk. After 1910, he ran in no more races; in 1912, he coached the U. S. Olympic marathoners.

For three years after that he wrote sporting articles for the Hudson Despatch; he lived with onetime editor of the New York Mirror Phil Payne who a year ago disappeared into the ocean with the airplane Old Glory. After the War he became an agent for a California fruit company. Now he is an independent food broker; a seedy little Irishman, his office in Manhattan is decorated with labelled cans and a print of The Reaper; it has this sign upon the door:

The Beckwith Co.

Johnny Hayes

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