Glory Halleluiah!

By Tom Callahan

An appealing collection of young American gymnasts, most stirringly Mary Lou Retton but also some wondrous men for a change, have given the Olympic Games what they wait for every four years--and sometimes eight--the gift of renewed youth. Last week in Los Angeles, a pretty and pleasant time, occasionally even captivating, the U.S. began swimmingly against most of the world, less the Soviets and East Germans of course, maybe too successfully for some tastes. After so many choruses of our national anthem and chants of "U.S.A.!," the impulse might be to wish for someone else to win, just in the interest of seemliness and hospitality, if not future international relations. But the athletes can hardly be expected to understand any such qualm, particularly those whose true primes passed silently in 1980, and who therefore never really had a prime. Maybe ABC is not just being parochial or pragmatic in seeming to do little else but pan from one American face to another, because frankly it has been hard to look away. Almost to a man and woman, they are crying.

Now Mary Lou moves over for Carl Lewis as he goes for the rest in his quest for four; the "Gang of 10s" gymnasts hand off to Mary Decker; the swimmers make way for track and field; and the ongoing sports, like boxing and basketball, get down to particular climaxes, as if there have not been plenty already. The little events continue merrily. A problem with the Olympics is that the perfect vault is followed immediately by the perfect encore, by the national anthem, by the next game, race or relay. The gold medals run together.

The first one in these Games and in the history of China was won by pistol-shooting Xu Haifeng, a fertilizer salesman recruited just three years ago on his rustic reputation for being handy with a slingshot. Throughout the week, the Chinese dominated the weight lifting, a Bulgarian and Soviet preserve, occasionally spicing the entertainment with wonderful backflips. From the top stand, Gold Medal Featherweight Chen WeiQuiang reached down and vigorously pumped the hand of Bronze Medalist Tsai Wen-Yee of Chinese Taipei, or Taiwan. "We are all Chinese" was the translation for both.

But the second anthem heard was American, and this became the dominant theme straight from opening day, which dawned for the U.S. in prosperous Mission Viejo at the cycling road races. Charmingly, many of the estimated 200,000 spectators who lined the green curbsides or climbed the brown hillsides arrived astride their own ten-speeds, even bicycles built for two-and-a-half (the baby on the back fender). It was the freest event in the most expensive Olympics, and a sunny Sunday for a picnic in suburbia, where neighborhood residents favored hearts of palm and caviar over potato salad and baked beans.

Freckled redhead Connie Carpenter-Phinney, 27, an Olympic speedskater in 1972 who rowed for the University of California at Berkeley and is built on the order of an oar, joined Teammate Rebecca Twigg, 21, in the lead pack--a six-pack--bearing down on the finish after more than two hours of the first women's road test in the history of the Games. Then the U.S. pair broke out on the wings, and screeched practically side by side across the line. Even before coasting to a stop, they came together in a sweet embrace. After 49.2 miles, Carpenter-Phinney's edge over Twigg could be measured in centimeters, and blushing West German Sandra Schumacher, 17, seemed delighted with third. How fast was Carpenter-Phinney going at the end? She smiled. "Fast enough."

Nothing keynoted the swimming competition or the week itself more sharply than the women's 100-meter freestyle race, the first finals in the rapid white-water stream of them. When a Swiss timepiece was unable to choose between Carrie Steinseifer and Nancy Hogshead, duplicate gold medals were struck, and naturally those two were immediately dubbed the Gold Dust Twins. From their wide expressions on the unusually crowded victory stand, neither swimmer minded the company or gave much thought to absent East Germans. Regarding the boycott generally, the athletes know where the asterisks go, and will cheerfully tell anyone else.

Relieving some of the embarrassment of U.S. riches, the most imposing swimmer on the premises was actually a West German, Michael Gross, 20, a world-champion freestyler and butterflyer with the wingspan of a pterodactyl. But even he was overhauled in an exciting U.S. relay and by a 17-year-old Aussie, Jon Sieben, in a butterfly. Though the Australians and also the Canadians had their moments, the drama at the pool was fundamentally and expectably intramural.

Unreasonable expectation will be a problem for the next male class of U.S. gymnasts. But for Peter Vidmar, 23, Bart Conner, 26, Mitch Gaylord, 23, and the rest of these new heroes in white, the team victory over China was an occasion for unrestrained celebration. If the hockey upset of the Soviets in 1980 is an imperfect analogy--and it is--the feeling inside the arenas was similar. Until now the men of this sport have drawn less attention than the women, an inequity Conner can explain in a single word: leotards. But a Nadia Comaneci's or Olga Korbut's influence may have been triggered for boys finally by six amazing young strongmen who are not only their own standard but their own barbells as well.

Nationalism at the Olympics is essentially unavoidable because of the flags and the anthems and the money for the badges. So the home court must be acknowledged as a powerful advantage, though at least it did not extend to ragging the Chinese gymnasts (whom Mitch Gaylord reassuringly called "very human human beings") or to begrudging the Rumanians their corresponding triumph over the U.S. women gymnasts. News that the Rumanians' traveling expenses were defrayed by the Olympic organizers had no noticeable effect on their popularity since it did not change the fact that they had stood up to the Soviet Union.

Everyone stood up for Retton, a resilient child and a killer competitor of 16, whose 92 Ibs. of forthright chunkiness rises scarcely 4 ft. 9 in. from the preposterous base of a pair of size3 feet. Among her best reflexes is a snappy smile, but the hunter's look with which she fixed Rumanian Ecaterina Szabo, 17, was memorable too as fortune started Szabo off on her best apparatus and Retton on her worst. They proceeded inversely until Szabo dismounted the parallel bars with relief and Retton came to the vaulting horse, her pet pony. A loud bear, Bela Karolyi, the defector who instructed Comaneci and Szabo and now teaches Retton and Julianne McNamara, quietly watched the team ceremony two days earlier and listened to his old anthem from a doorway. "I coached Szabo from the time she was five, [Lavinia] Agache from the time she was six," he said. "I'm feeling happy for Mary Lou and Julianne and the same thing for my former girls." Little Szabo looks like she would sooner fall off the balance beam than neglect eye shadow. When Retton was the winner and she was the loser in the all-around, it was Szabo's turn to watch Karolyi dance.

"I feel sorry for the foreign athletes," said a South African visitor, Glynnis Crouch. "They're not only competing against the U.S. teams but against the spectators as well. They are being demoralized before they even set foot on the field." But except at the boxing matches, where fighting any American must be a bloodcurdling prospect, few opponents have been blatantly rooted against. When Gymnast Koji Gushiken of Japan edged Peter Vidmar by 25 one-thousandths of a point in the all-around competition, and Gushiken cried the tears of a 27-year-old warrior who had been holding fast with more than chalk, not even Vidmar seemed to mind. The U.S. exhibition baseball team was able to square accounts (2-1) with those Taiwanese Little Leaguers, all grown up, without excessive jingoism at Dodger Stadium. Swivel-hipped Mexican Walker Ernesto Canto pleased everyone in the Coliseum with his grand sombrero. Admittedly, that "U.S.A.!" chant can sound a little sour in a 40-point basketball blowout.

Both of the U.S. basketball entries, men's and women's, were devastating during the first week. "Are there a lot of coaches who could take this team and medal? Yes," Canadian Men's Jack Donohue asked and answered. "But are there a lot of coaches who could make them play like this? No. There's only one Bobby Knight." It occurred to the Los Angeles Times's Jim Murray that putting Indiana's famous bully in charge of an Olympic team is like "assembling an aircraft carrier to ply the waters between Staten Island and the Battery." Murray wonders: "All this to beat Uruguay?" Behind former North Carolina Tarheel Michael Jordan, the Americans crushed Uruguay, 104-68. As yet no international incidents have fulminated from Knight, who is still wanted in Puerto Rico five years after menacing a gymnasium guard at the Pan American Games. He has caused some celebrity to be visited on French Translator Marie Holgado, who is having to fumble for literal meanings to some of his characterizations, and who has set a press-conference record in the use of the word derriere. "Nice man," she said. "Big mouth."

To prepare for a couple of 9 a.m. starting times at the outset of the tournament, the U.S. basketball women forced themselves into a habit of rising at 5:30. Pat Head Summitt, their quieter coach from Tennessee, complained drowsily, "I keep pouring coffee into my cereal." But the players, notably U.S.C. Star Cheryl Miller (6 ft. 3 in.) and Louisiana Tech Guard Kim Mulkey (5 ft. 4 in.), have looked more than alert. In the view of Australian Coach Brandan Flynn, the U.S. women's team is "by far the greatest ever." The Aussies were beaten, 81-47.

Developmental programs in the sports that Americans tend to label minor have evidently taken hold, because the improvement is apparent in even boycotted company. The number of years that the women's volleyball team has stayed and played together were reflected down the stretch in a thrilling victory over China as well as a taut 12-15, 10-15, 15-5, 15-5, 15-12 comeback against Brazil, one of the singular excitements of the Games.

Several clutch spikes were cracked by 6-ft. 5-in. Flo Hyman, 30, a member of the U.S. national team since 1975. In the oddest-sounding events, like the men's English match small-bore rifle competition (won by West Virginian Ed Etzel), the impression of a rout was confirmed. Where did the U.S. find Air Rifle Markswoman Pat Spurgin, or Greco-Roman Wrestlers Steve Fraser and Jeff Blatnick, or Cyclists Steve Hegg and Mark Gorski? All have won gold medals.

Some of the unexpected moments have been the brightest. Blatnick, 27, a super-heavyweight from upstate New York, had his spleen removed because of cancer two years ago. When he won, the level of his emotion was stunning. "It was just an offering of thanks," he said, after dropping to his knees and crossing himself at the moment of victory. "I've been given a lot of chances in my life, and I wasn't going to go without thanking somebody for it." Gorski left the silver medal to Nelson Vails, 24, who learned to ride delivering messages in the mayhem of Manhattan traffic. "If I had to lose, I'm glad it was to somebody like Gorski," he said generously.

There has not been much mean news. One Japanese masseur received a twelve-year suspension for prescribing a forbidden herbal remedy, and a sheared oarlock gate on a French eight-oar boat showed all the marks (file marks) of a saboteur. The regatta venue, Lake Casitas, is the last place one would expect intrigue.

More than 31,000 annuals, marigolds and petunias (the Olympic flower budget is $250,000), have been trucked in, along with several sycamores. Picnickers piped through the gates each day by a flutist watch the seamanship from blankets spread out on the grass. The civility of the place must be affecting, because though the French and their wounded oar finished last in the heat, the final was broadened to accommodate fairness and one extra craft. "From a sport point of view," the announcement said, it was the only thing to do. What a nice phrase.

A cheater was turned up--where else?--in the modern pentathlon, General Patton's Olympic event, recalling the Soviet pentathlete Boris Onischenko, renamed "Disonischenko" eight years ago when he hot-wired his sword in Montreal. The chicanery of Sweden's Roderick Martin last week was less elaborate, trying to catch up on a neglected target by squeezing off two shots quickly.

Any kind of gunplay is a serious matter at the Olympics, where a Paraguayan trackman put up such a scuffle over a starter's pistol he had been waving around recklessly that he spiked a policeman and was charged with battery. At a city hall ceremony belatedly honoring the eleven Israeli athletes murdered in 1972 (unattended by the International Olympic Committee), weapon-bearing officers were posted on the rooftop. Wherever Israel's team travels in one of the Games' old yellow school buses, a wedge of police motorcycles and cars clear the way.

But the first week passed peacefully, with a swath of petty arrests and just one momentary scare: a security guard aboard an athletes' shuttle bus radioed that they were being followed by a suspicious car. In swooped the highway patrol and a sheriffs helicopter. The lawmen arrested a man, who explained his cache of weapons and explosives by describing himself as "a warrior of the people" and voluntary protector of the athletes. He was held for psychiatric evaluation.

Contrary to the direst forecasts of terminal gridlock and rampaging tourism, Los Angeles has seldom seemed so vacant or livable since freeways were invented. A strange term, "freeflow conditions," has been revived, and "Black Friday," the first day all the downtown venues were in session at once, has been survived. The most worrisome congestion may be in the sky, where security men, sheiks and chairmen of the board are churning around in helicopter jams. "All of the talk about smog and heat and traffic scared a lot of people away," said Charles O'Connell, the Olympic traffic-operations chief in Los Angeles. "There was a feeling of 'let's not come to L.A. this year.' " So traffic is also thinner at movies, restaurants and Disneyland's Space Mountain, as the out-of-towners have not kept pace with the let's-get-out-of-towners, rendering hotels uncrowded and compelling rent-a-car companies, among other profiteers, to restore normal rates. Since fully 70% of those attending the Games are estimated to be local, this almost qualifies as a home-town Olympics.

For Juanita Hollands, 38, a bookkeeper at Radio Shack, the fever arrived with the flame. "It didn't seem real to me until I saw the torch," she said from her place in a ticket line. "Now I want to go to every event." It seemed that the only lines in town were for Olympic tickets; officials said they had already surpassed their $90 million projection by $30 million, and that sales were at 80%, compared with 62% in Montreal.

Not only to Americans, to Olympians, the heart of the Games is the track meet, which started on the run over the weekend with Hurdler Edwin Moses going for his 105th straight victory.

One gold medal down, three awaiting, Carl Lewis has begun his flight finally. At times this year it has seemed that he has had more publicity before taking off than Charles Lindbergh enjoyed upon landing. But the evidence of the journey's first 100 meters started to corroborate the cause for anticipation. He gusted past Sam Graddy and Ben Johnson to win, tossed his arms again, plucked an oversize American flag out of the crowd and bounced around the stadium, all eyes where he wanted them. The margin of victory, one-fifth of a second, tied the largest in Olympic 100 history. He cracked 10, but missed the 9.93 world record by .06 sec. Then his gaze shifted to the long jump, the 200 and the relay, to Jesse Owens certainly, maybe even Bob Beamon. The miraculous jump of 29 ft. 2 1/2 in. might still be 4 in. beyond him, but it may be that nothing is beyond him. As the XXIII Olympiad turns for home, his medals will mark the rest of the way. --By Tom Callahan. Reported by Steven Holmes, Joseph J. Kane and Richard Woodbury/ Los Angeles

With reporting by Steven Holmes, Joseph J. Kane, Richard Woodbury