Kindling the Country's Heart

By Jacob V. Lamar Jr.

The Olympic torch burns brightly and warmly

Perhaps what is most surprising is the tears. Such as those that came to the eyes of the young boy watching from a bed in front of a Connecticut hospital when the runner paused by his side and let him hold the torch. Even Joey Glenn, a 15-year-old in a Van Halen T shirt who hardly seems the crying type, admitted that the sight of the proud flame made him feel like "crying for America" as he watched from the dry roadside in Collinsville, Texas. Almost as surprising is the excitement: the deaf children in West Virginia who each got to pass the torch, then broke into a flurry of sign language; the thundering chants of "USA! U-S-A!" that erupted in St. Louis; the 4,000 people in Oklahoma City who crowded so close to Runner Ken Hardwick that he could only walk his route.

What started as a venturesome symbol, attacked as blatant commercialism by the Soviets when they boycotted the Summer Games, has become a national phenomenon, provoking an outpouring of good feeling for community and country. Flown to the U.S. in miner's lamps from Greece, the Olympic flame is being carried on a serpentine 82-day, 8,700-mile journey through 33 states to the 1984 Summer Games in Los Angeles. The runners include more than 200 regulars (a team of experienced amateur runners sponsored by A T & T who form the core of the relay) and 3,500 local torchbearers who have raised or donated $3,000 for the privilege of carrying the flame for one kilometer (five-eighths of a mile). The money that is raised goes to athletic programs for youth clubs and the Special Olympics. "I think it's all right," drawled D.L. Morton, 80, of Tioga, Texas. "Patriotism. You hardly see it any more."

The runners are frequently besieged by people seeking autographs or taking pictures, eager to touch the torch or even its bearer. Roberta Ciccarelli, 38, a schoolteacher in Blairsville, Ga., raised $2,150 by knocking on doors in her town of 530, and her husband put up the rest. When she trotted through Blairsville, 1,000 people lined the route, cheering her on. "I kept hearing people yelling my name, 'Go, Robbie!' and 'Come on, Mrs. Ciccarelli!' I don't remember breathing. My lungs didn't hurt, my legs didn't hurt. It was like nothing I had ever experienced."

Nancy Nix, 9, of Gainesville, Ga., announced to her mother at breakfast one day that she wanted to be part of the Olympics. After Mrs. Nix persuaded AT&T to waive its requirement that runners be ten years old or older, she and her daughter set about raising the money. "We baked Easter cakes, Mother's Day cakes, pound cakes and sheet cakes," Nancy's mother recalls. Nancy made some of her own crafts and set about selling them to her neighbors. When her turn came, she took off so fast that she passed up the press truck and had to be called back. "I felt nervous," she said afterward. "There were a lot of people. But I was proud."

Jay Rowell, 14, of Richardson, Texas, whose legs are crippled, carried the torch last week in a specially designed wheelchair. A local auto dealer had donated the money for his kilometer. "I pushed around my block four times--that's three miles--last night to get in shape," Jay said proudly.

Equally part of the pageant are the spectators who gather at lonely crossroads and along city streets, waving flags by day and holding candles at night. There is a ripple of electricity as a runner is spotted, and applause begins to build. Some of those who came to watch spontaneously start to run too. "We got a bunch of runners alongside the road here," radioed a worried local policeman as the torch went through Denton County, Texas, last week. Replied one of the coordinators in the caravan: "Ten-four. That's been pretty well a common thing." Small kindnesses abound. When Olympic Committee Staffer Bill Schulz, 27, accidentally left his work folder at a market in Pauls Valley, Okla., the manager drove more than 60 miles to catch up with the caravan and return the folder. One Kentucky woman insisted on taking home a runner's laundry and cleaning it for her.

The Olympic torch has engendered a sense of community, but the emotions can also be personal and solitary. In front of a Connecticut nursing home, an elderly woman trembled as the runner paused and held the torch toward her. She kissed it. When Kerry Blette, 40, finished his run through Collinsville, he held out the torch to Edgar McKee, 9, who came from nearby Sherman, Texas. It weighs 4 1/2 lbs., and inscribed on the side is CITIUS, ALTIUS, FORTIUS (swifter, higher, stronger). Edgar grasped it with both hands and stared in wide-eyed silence.

--By Jacob V. Lamar Jr.

Reported by David S. Jackson/Dallas and Kelly Scott/Atlanta

With reporting by David S. Jackson/Dallas and Kelly Scott/Atlanta