“A Fierce Rivalry and Genuine Animosity“
by Rob Leachman
From the “Great Rivalries of Olympic Track and Field” Series
This Series
“I can’t really hate people and thrive on beating people. That’s a negative thing. Hate can really turn on you—even though John Powell is an ass and I love to beat him,” as Mac Wilkins wryly but honestly suggested in the run-up to the Montreal Olympics in 1976. Partly in response, John Powell offered, “Actually I could die a happy man if I finish next-to-last in Montreal—as long as Wilkins finishes behind me.”
These two comments spoke volumes about the relationship between two of the top three discus throwers in the world in the months before the 1976 Olympics. In the lead-up to the Montreal Games, one of these athletes had seen his world record broken and the other had taken that record and then extended it in one of the greatest performances in the history of the event. Then at Montreal, both would be challenged by a young athlete from East Germany who arguably had more raw talent than either of them. What resulted was one of the most memorable discus competitions in Olympic history.
John Powell
Though to many observers the discus throw seems like a simple movement, it is an incredibly technical and complex event and one that most athletes require years to master. John Powell’s track career began rather inauspiciously after getting cut from his high school baseball team. In his junior year, his track coach suggested he try the discus, and he made consistent if modest progress as he learned the challenging throwing motion. He considered his high school coach, Al Baeta, to be an inspirational force in his young life, and when Baeta accepted a coaching job at American River College, Powell followed him there after graduating from high school in nearby Sacramento. His development with the heavier college implement was steady, if not exceptional early on. After two years, he moved on to San Jose State University and a track program known much more for its sprinters than throwers. Powell reached a very solid personal best of 195-0 and finished as high as fourth at the NCAA Championships. He was unquestionably athletic but, at 6-2 and 235 lbs., on the smaller side for a world-class discus thrower.
Though small for a top-level discus thrower, Powell struck a commanding figure in his first post-collegiate job as an officer in the San Jose Police Department. When asked in an interview several years after ending his career in law enforcement about his intimidating bearing, Powell admitted that he brought a naturally imposing demeanor to his police duties. (“I was nasty before I was a cop.”) Expanding on that notion, he discussed his reputation of being intimidating and unlikeable. “It’s not how I see myself, but it is how others see me. I’ve heard it from enough people that I know I’m perceived that way. Therefore, you’re generally not liked on your first impression.” As a policeman, however, Powell’s imposing figure and intimidating nature, his nastiness, often came in handy.
In part because of his smaller stature, but also to better play to his athletic strengths, Powell utilized a technique that differentiated his throwing motion from the form of most of his rivals. Beginning in the 1950s and exemplified by athletes like Fortune Gordien and in particular, Jay Silvester, both former world record holders, discus technique became increasingly focused on creating rotational, or circular, force. Without becoming overly technical, right-handed circular throwers utilized wide levers with their right arm and leg to generate controlled but increasing rotational force behind the discus as they moved or spun across the ring. Such a technique generated significant force and momentum that could be difficult to control, leading to a greater propensity to foul. But particularly to seasoned discus enthusiasts, when the rotational technique clicked, it could be a thing of beauty.
John Powell, with no small sense of pride, took a different approach to his discus technique. As he explained it, “Basically it’s a linear style rather than the circular others use. I direct my body power forward instead of around . . . I’m quick technically and I’m efficient in using that quickness in the throw.” Given his speed and quickness across the ring, he became known to rivals and track fans as the “Roadrunner.” But with his smaller stature, he needed that quickness and efficiency in competing with his larger and more powerful rivals. “My style isn’t based on natural quickness but on quickness that comes from doing all the little movements correctly,” he reflected. “The others can pretty much muscle it because they are bigger and stronger.” As he later suggested regarding one of his huge rivals, South African John van Reenen who was 6-7 and 285 lbs., “If van Reenen had my form he would throw 250.”
In terms of gauging his progress competitively, Powell indicated that his only goal each year was to better his personal best. He accomplished this goal for the first ten years of his career, making steady incremental improvements that eventually moved him into the upper echelons of the world’s discus throwers. Still, in the yearly rankings offered by Track and Field News, the preeminent periodical covering the sport, Powell had been unranked in the world in 1971 and eighth-ranked in the United States. Heading into the 1972 Olympic year, it was apparent that without additional improvement, he would be at best a longshot to make the team headed to Munich the next year, with competing for a medal little more than a dream. John Powell would do both.
As the throwers arrived at historic Hayward Field in Eugene, Oregon for the 1972 Olympic Trials, they quickly realized that conditions would contribute to a challenging day. As much as any other track and field event, the discus can be greatly influenced by wind velocity and direction. The discus implement has some of the same aerodynamic qualities as an airplane wing, and just as an airplane gains lift from taking off into the wind, so too does a discus. Unlike sprint and jumping events in which performance is enhanced by a tailwind (which if sufficiently strong disallows any record consideration in those events), the distance of a discus throw is lessened by winds blowing the direction of the throw. Similarly, a throw directly into the wind tends to be knocked down by the breeze as much or more than the additional lift that is gained. The sweet spot for discus throws is a wind coming toward the right-handed thrower but at an angle from the right side of the throwing sector. “Right quartering winds,” as they are known, have historically been a contributing factor to countless discus records.
On this day at Hayward Field, with three spots on the Olympic team on the line, the wind was ominously blowing straight in at the throwers, making long distances unlikely. But then as John Powell stepped into the ring as the first thrower in the final, the wind momentarily shifted to the advantageous right quarter. Taking advantage, on that throw he reached 205-10, one of the longest throws of his career thus far. It was his only throw over 200 that day but was long enough to earn second place and a ticket to Munich behind Jay Silvester, the winner of his fourth consecutive Olympic Trials. As Powell explained afterward, “I’ve always maintained that there is a certain amount of luck involved in the discus. When I threw, I had a wind that slightly favored a right-handed thrower. Soon after, the wind began to come straight in.” Lucky or otherwise, John Powell had made the first of what would be four Olympic teams in his career.
Making an Olympic team is a tremendous accomplishment in and of itself, and few gave Powell much chance of medaling. Most prognosticators considered the favorites to be the legendary Ludvik Danek of Czechoslovakia, who had finished second in 1964 and third in 1968, the massive Swede Ricky Bruch, the co-world record holder, and the other co-record holder Jay Silvester, who had set six world records in his career but who had faltered in his two previous attempts to win an Olympic medal, finishing fourth in 1964 and fifth in 1968.
In many respects, John Powell shared the view of those prognosticators who minimized his competitive chances in Munich, the belief that he had done well in simply making the American team. As he recounted two years after those Games, “A few days before the meet, I threw 226 in practice (beyond the world record at the time) and I knew I had come to Munich with the wrong dream. You have to be careful what you dream—it can come true.”
As the discus final progressed through the early rounds, John Powell had good reason to believe in himself, for after the second of six rounds, his 206-1 throw had placed him in the early gold medal position. Then a good third-round throw by Jay Silvester knocked him down to second, and then Ricky Bruch pushed him to third in the fifth round. Entering the final round, Silvester was positioned to win his first Olympic medal with the longest throw of the day, Bruch in second, and surprisingly John Powell was poised to win the bronze medal. Outside of the medals entering the final round was the crafty veteran Ludvik Danek, one of the greatest throwers of all time who was seeking his first gold medal after previously finishing second and then third. As Danek entered the ring for his last throw, history was not on his side, as records suggested that no Olympic discus competition had been won on the last throw for at least the previous sixty-four years. But the talented Czech was a special competitor and spinning more quickly than on any previous throw that day, he released the discus on a high arc that landed a gold medal-winning 211-3½ away. In the process, John Powell was relegated to an impressive but out-of-the-medals fourth place. As he sardonically reflected on this competition a few years later, “I was the gold medal winner . . . for one round, and then I was the silver medal winner for a while and then I dropped down to the bronze and I wound up with a hearty handshake.” Though he had finished off the podium, John Powell’s 1972 Olympic experience had been a confidence-builder. As he later offered, “At least now I know the potential is there to win a gold.”
By 1974, with his continued steady improvement, Powell had become the top discus thrower in the US and second-ranked in the world. He had increased his personal best to 223-4, just a foot under the world record. That performance at the California Relays in Modesto, his favorite place to throw in the United States, had come at the expense of John van Reenen, the massive South African who had been 4th-ranked in 1972 but had not been allowed to compete in Munich due to his country’s apartheid practices.
John van Reenen had first come into prominence by winning three consecutive NCAA titles while attending Washington State University. Given his immense size and athleticism, there was a sense with van Reenen of great but untapped potential. At least until March 14, 1975. On a beautiful fall day in South Africa, van Reenen was competing in a minor track meet against minimal competition. As he stepped into the ring for his second throw, the wind was coming from a favorable direction though was not particularly strong. The world record of 224-4¾ had stood for over six years, first set by Jay Silvester and then matched four years later by Ricky Bruch. On this throw, van Reenen spun in the ring with the deliberateness his huge body required, and as the discus seemed to explode out of his hand, the thrower and many of the 2,000 spectators sensed this was a good throw. Even before the throw was measured, van Reenen exclaimed, “That’s the big one, I know it. That one’s my dream come true!” And a dream throw it was, spanning 224-8 to break the long-standing world record by three inches. The new record holder suggested afterward that this performance was a sign of what was to come. “This is just the beginning,” he proclaimed. “It’s not good enough. I want to reach seventy meters (229-8) and put the record out of reach for a few years.” John van Reenen would never exceed his record throw of that beautiful spring afternoon in 1975, though another athlete would far exceed the seventy-meter mark just fourteen months later.
John van Reenen’s time atop the discus world lasted a mere six weeks.
Early in the 1975 season, John Powell had been throwing well and with an improving level of consistency. In early May, he traveled a short distance to compete at his alma mater in the San Jose Invitational. Motivated to perform well before a hometown crowd, Powell threw a solid 218-7 for a win against a strong field. He had planned to travel a few hours south the next day to throw at one of his favorite venues at the Long Beach Invitational, but after competing and winning in San Jose he considered withdrawing. As he reflected afterward, “. . . I was a little tight and so when it was over I kind of decided not to even come down here. I actually came down as an afterthought.”
Regardless of his motivation or lack thereof, Powell was glad he made the trip to the site of countless long throws over the years by event legends like Ludvik Danek and Jay Silvester. Throwing in front of a small number of spectators on a side field after the track meet had largely concluded, he faced little opposition in a competition he would win by more than thirty feet. It was a beautiful springtime afternoon with a wind that was described as “very favorable, but not ridiculous.” Powell entered the ring for his second throw after reaching 221 on his opener, and the atmosphere was incredibly relaxed, nothing suggesting what was about to occur. As he offered afterward, “I came down here with nothing in mind. I had no adrenalin flowing. I was just treating this like a practice.”
After taking a couple of practice swings, he moved across the ring with his characteristic speed and precise technique. The throw carried, and carried, and ultimately skipped across a service road before coming to rest in a grassy area some distance from the throwing circle. World record performances are rare, and the officials working the discus event in Long Beach sensed they were involved in something special so they took pains to ensure that all proper steps were taken should a record need to be ratified. The throw was initially measured with a fiberglass tape measure, a world record distance of 225-9. Then believing that a steel tape was required for world record ratification, the officials scurried about trying to find another tape measure. The second measurement with the new tape was 226-7, an inexplicable increase of ten inches. Powell half-jokingly shouted to the officials, “Hey you guys, why don’t you measure again?” They did just that, and the third measurement yielded yet another inch to 226-8, the official measurement that would ultimately be recognized as the new world record.
After four years of Jay Silvester sharing the world record with a Swede and six weeks of the record residing in South Africa, the discus standard was back firmly on American soil, and John Powell was arguably the best thrower in the world.
Just as John Powell was rising in the discus world rankings, a very versatile thrower was making waves in several events at the University of Oregon. The rivalry that would develop between these two fierce competitors would rank among the most fiery and legendary in the history of the discus event.
Mac Wilkins
Early in his collegiate career, Mac Wilkins demonstrated considerable proficiency in all four throwing events. This versatility earned him the moniker of “Multiple Mac” and the accolades of some, including the legendary Al Oerter who labeled Wilkins the greatest all-around thrower in history. But he never approached the hammer throw with any long-term seriousness and an injury ultimately ended his javelin career. “My most natural event was probably the javelin,” he lamented, “but I never learned how to do it correctly before I fatally injured myself.” This injury, in 1971 during his sophomore year as an Oregon Duck, luckily only killed Wilkins’ career as a javelin thrower. Had it occurred just a few years later, after the perfection of the “Tommy John surgery” that might have repaired the injury, the trajectory of Mac Wilkins’ career might have been greatly altered. He ultimately focused on the shot put and particularly the discus throw; in the latter event, he would become one of the greatest in history.
When he won both the NCAA and AAU discus titles in 1973, Wilkins was a shy and mild-mannered twenty-two-year-old who was still a bit awestruck by both his surroundings and accomplishments. Exemplifying his youthful demeanor, he commented that same summer, “At first being mentioned as the greatest all-around thrower was kind of neat, but I’d rather be the best discus thrower.” Within three years he would emphatically get his wish. After his time at the University of Oregon concluded, Wilkins continued to get bigger and stronger and spent a summer training in West Germany before ultimately settling in San Jose, the epicenter of the discus world in the mid-1970s and the hometown of John Powell.
He eventually grew a beard that contributed to the menacing look that would become one of his trademarks during his dominant years. And as his distances increased and as he developed greater consistency, so too did his confidence. In time the shy, mild-mannered kid from Beaverton, Oregon came to exhibit as a young adult a level of brashness and searing bluntness that similarly became another of his trademarks.
But if Mac Wilkins developed what at least some of his rivals felt was arrogance, he more than backed up his brashness with his performance in the discus ring. As a high schooler, he weighed 190 and struggled to reach 170 with the smaller implement. By 1976, he had added over sixty lbs. to his 6-4 frame, and as the Olympic season began, he had incrementally increased his personal best with the international implement to 219-1. When asked before the season about his goals, he responded with characteristic boldness, stating, “My goal? Oh, I don’t know—but it is farther than the world record . . . As far as distance, I can’t say, but I know I’m capable of throwing farther than 226-8 (John Powell’s world record at the time), or even 230-11 (the never-ratified best-on-record throw by Jay Silvester).” Brash? Perhaps. Arrogant? Maybe. But by the end of that Olympic year, Wilkins would back up that bold statement definitively, completing a near-perfect season highlighted by the most amazing day in the history of the discus event.
As the 1976 season began John Powell and Mac Wilkins were unquestionably the top two throwers in the United States, with Powell the world record holder but with Wilkins the rising star on the cusp of a stellar season. These two top athletes had a great deal in common beyond throwing the discus long distances. Both had attended college on the West Coast. Both had won national championships. Both resided in the San Francisco Bay area. And both competed for the Pacific Coast Club, which was a dominant force in post-collegiate track and field in the United States in the 1970s.
But there were some distinct ways in which they differed. Powell was a policeman with a more conservative view of the world while Wilkins was a liberal former schoolteacher who had taught subjects like Economics, European History, and US-Soviet Relations. Wilkins had become more socially outgoing and verbose while Powell seemed more introverted and less vocal. And though to the casual observer they both spun one-and-three-quarter turns in the ring and then released the discus, technically they were very different, each very proud of the form he utilized.
As Wilkins explained the differences, “Powell is probably most efficient, but he has a very simple technique. My technique is harder to learn, more all-or-nothing. When it clicks, it really goes.” And go it did, especially in 1976.
Powell had perfected his “linear” technique to a point that to the untrained eye, his movements across the ring were nearly identical from one throw to the next. Precision and speed and consistency were the keys to the ongoing success John Powell was experiencing.
Particularly to a trained observer, Mac Wilkins’ technique was radically different from Powell’s. To provide some historical perspective, in the 1940s, University of Minnesota athletes Bob Fitch and then Fortune Gordien, each of whom would break the world discus record, developed and perfected a technique that was known at the time as the “Minnesota Whip.” Previously discus throwers had utilized a relatively slow turning movement in the ring to gain minimal momentum behind the implement and to put them in a position to primarily use their arm to throw the discus. Fitch and Gordien realized that such a traditional technique added little momentum to the throw and that much more could be gained from those turns across the ring. As a result, the “Minnesota Whip” worked to increase the distance the discus traveled during those turns in the ring, and when applied appropriately, increased the distance of throws. Though a graduate of Utah State rather than Minnesota, Jay Silvester applied and perfected this rotational technique, set multiple world records, and became a technical role model and motivational force for Mac Wilkins. (“He is the thrower whose technique I try to emulate,” Wilkins offered.) The rotational technique could result in less consistency and more of a propensity to foul, the rotational forces being much more challenging to control. But with great risk can come great reward, and this newer technique would be utilized for the longest throws in the history of the event.
Particularly when performing at a high level, Wilkins brought an even greater level of intensity to each throw, appearing to eke out every ounce of effort from his body. On a typical throw, he would begin his turn with his right or lead leg very wide, his throwing arm with the discus away from his body and lagging behind his mid-section, gradually gaining speed across the circle, reaching the front of the ring in a strong but still fluid power or throwing position. He would then use his entire body to create a long pull on the discus. He generally created so much rotational force that after releasing the discus he completed yet another turn and still at times struggled to stay in the ring. To discus enthusiasts, when Mac Wilkins’ form was working it was fascinating to watch.
Not unlike his appearance and demeanor, with his hair carefully combed and singlet tucked into his shorts, a John Powell discus throw was typically clean, precise, orderly, and most often very long. By contrast, also in line with his seemingly less-controlled appearance and demeanor, a Mac Wilkins throw was intense, a bit chaotic, generally on the edge of being out of control but typically not, and, particularly in 1976, even longer.
The Wilkins – Powell Rivalry
There was one other area in which Wilkins and Powell were similar; neither particularly cared for one another, and the intensity and openness of their animosity contributed to one of the greatest rivalries in the history of the event.
It’s not entirely clear when, where, or how this animosity originated, but as Wilkins asserts, after gaining prominence with his first AAU national title in 1973, “I ran afoul of Powell.” By some accounts, as Wilkins was rising into prominence, the outgoing thrower sought both acceptance by the top throwers and insight that might enhance his performance. And in the United States at the time, the best of the top throwers was John Powell. As Wilkins approached Powell, the world record-holder often ignored him, turning away in a manner that Wilkins found to be rude and brusque. Powell, who had honed his linear technique and took great pride in the form he had developed, at times reacted with sarcasm when Wilkins’ technique was being discussed. Much of this was perhaps a manifestation of Powell’s personality, but it increasingly grated on Wilkins. “John is the only discus thrower I’ve ever disliked as a person,” he reflected years later.
There is no doubt that intense competitiveness played a distinct role in the development of such an animosity-laden rivalry. As a rising star, Wilkins had upset Powell to win the 1973 AAU national title, with Powell coming back to win titles in 1974 and 1975. Powell had broken the world record in 1974, but by 1976 Wilkins was positioned to dethrone his rival as the top American thrower. This natural tension was heightened by the conflicting personalities of the two athletes, the subdued Powell irritated by the more outgoing Wilkins, and vice versa. In the end, they simply didn’t care for one another, and Wilkins in particular was willing to vocalize that hostility. As he reflected years later, “I considered myself friends of all the discus throwers, with the exception of John . . . I wasn’t the only one he didn’t get along with . . .” And then he continued, suggesting that perhaps time had taken some of the edge off his negative feelings. “John is an interesting guy. I always wanted to hang out and talk to him and figure him out. There were times when he irritated me, and I thought he was a jerk. There were times when I just wanted to understand where he was coming from.”
It was a fierce rivalry, clearly, and it is likely not coincidental that in many respects both athletes performed at their best when that rivalry was most contentious. And the rivalry was most contentious in 1976.
Four World Records in Eight Days
Since its beginning in 1959, track fans at the Mt. SAC Relays in Walnut, California had witnessed world-record performances in multiple events. But one event in which the competition had gained great notoriety was the discus, with three world records broken in the first five years after the meet’s inception. The event in 1976 would add to the reputation of Mount San Antonio College as a discus-friendly venue.
As the throwers arrived at Mt. SAC, they realized that the advantageous winds that characterized the Mt. SAC event had materialized, not a PR-inducing zephyr like in some past years but a steady breeze of around ten mph coming in from the right quarter. Otherwise, though, circumstances did not foretell the record-setting performance that would ensue. The competition was not particularly strong, as Mac Wilkins would win by over seventeen feet. Of greater significance, he was injured. As he reflected afterward, “. . . I didn’t think I was ready for a world record. I would have been satisfied with anything over 215. I hurt my back weightlifting a week ago, and I can still feel it.” Then because his back was tight and sore he decided to take a longer warmup than normal, providing the first indication that this day might be special. As he explained, “I went down to another field and took ten easy throws. I had (a hurdler) throwing them back . . . He asked me what the last line was, and I told him about 213. He told me I was landing about five steps past the line. Then (another thrower) came over and told me I had a couple of at least sixty-nine meters (near the world record).” If Wilkins had needed a spark, he had found it.
And then as the actual warmup began, Wilkins watched as the legendary Jay Silvester cranked out an impressive practice throw. Wilkins looked up to the former world record-holder, who had come out of semi-retirement seeking to make his fourth Olympic team. “Watching him made something happen; everything kicked in,” he reflected. “I just blasted three warmup throws. It was just like a competition, they were all out there.”
When the actual competition began, Wilkins was pumped, perhaps too much so, and he opened with a 202-9 throw. (“That was crap,” he pronounced afterward.) On his second attempt he reached 225-7, the fourth longest throw in history behind only Powell’s world record and two unratified marks of Jay Silvester. He felt the throw had been subpar technically, and he was surprised by the measurement. In the third and final round of the prelims, Wilkins threw poorly and intentionally fouled.
Wilkins contemplated not continuing. He had a long throw, the longest of his career thus far, and his back was beginning to hurt. But he took some warmup throws, felt better than he had anticipated, wanted to work on his technique, and decided to continue. He was soon glad that he did.
His first throw of the finals and fourth of the competition was what he would call a “pretty good throw.” The flight of the discus on this throw was not particularly high, it wobbled in the air, and after it hit the ground it bounced several times, suggesting there was still a great deal of power left in the throw. The measurement was 226-11, surpassing his rival’s world record by a scant but significant three inches. While he was excited to break the record, in terms of both distance and technique, Wilkins was far from satisfied with the throw. As he explained, “It wasn’t a PR throw. When you get one of those everything is effortless and you can’t even feel the implement in your hand and it’s just like you’re not doing any work because technically you’re very efficient and the body mechanics are throwing the implement.” Wilkins offered that if he had connected on such a throw that day, it might have gone five to ten feet further.
Wilkins concluded with two throws beyond 221, averaging an impressive 219-6 for his five legal throws (including the first-round toss that he had characterized as “crap”). It was arguably the greatest series in the history of the discus event, astounding because of that average distance but also because of the low expectations coming in. As he offered immediately after the competition, “I think my technique is catching up with my athletic ability. It’s not there yet, but it’s getting there.” It “got there” just a week later.
Eight days later when the new world record-holder arrived for the San Jose Invitational, there were numerous significant factors at play. For starters, it was Wilkins’ first competition since breaking the record. Additionally, it would be his first competition of the year with his archrival, John Powell, the athlete whose record he had broken. And he was on Powell’s home turf, at his alma mater San Jose State. The Olympic Trials were around seven weeks away, with the Montreal Games just a month later, and Wilkins, Powell, and the other top throwers believed they weren’t yet approaching their peak level of performance. But of most significance on that beautiful day in early May, the wind was blowing in from the right quarter at a consistent five to ten mph, with occasional gusts up to fifteen to twenty. Top-level competition, a fierce rivalry, and particularly good winds, circumstances were ripe for historic performances. As Wilkins reflected after the competition, he arrived at the meet “very serious about breaking the record again . . . And when I saw that wind, I was even more psyched. But I really wanted to beat Powell.” For Powell, performing where he had attended college, he had been stung not just by losing his world record but also by the fact he had lost it to Wilkins. He wanted to perform well, perhaps regain the record, and win the competition. Powell would perform well, perhaps nobly given the onslaught he faced, but this day was not to be his.
The fireworks began even before the event officially began as Wilkins bombed a warmup throw out to the 230-foot mark, bringing cheers from the knowledgeable fans who had gathered around the discus area. It was merely a sign of what was to come. As the world record-holder entered the ring for his first throw in the competition, the mood around the discus area was absolutely electric in anticipation of monumental performances and the clash between Wilkins and Powell. Wearing a white Pacific Coast Club singlet and a pair of warm-up pants and with a headband trying to contain his unruly long hair, the bearded Wilkins had a particularly menacing look on his face. Spinning quickly and releasing the discus in a high arc, he rotated again at the front of the ring as he struggled to stay in the circle. Sensing he had yet another record even before the measurement was completed, Wilkins yelled to his rival and nemesis, “Put it away, John. It’s all over.” The new record, his second in eight days, was 229-0, an improvement of just over two feet.
For most athletes, one world record effort in a day, with the emotional and physical response such a performance engenders, would be sufficient. But Mac Wilkins in 1976 was not like most athletes, particularly given the ideal throwing conditions. “I wanted it again,” he reflected later. So, in round two he reached yet a second record for the day, 230-5. In the history of the men’s discus event only two athletes, Adolfo Consolini in 1946 and Jay Silvester in 1968, had broken the world record twice in the same series, but no one had done so three times. As Wilkins recounted his thought process afterward, he told himself, “Damn, I’ve still got to catch Jay (referring to Silvester’s unratified best of 230-11) and Faina (referring to Faina Myelnik, the Soviet thrower who had recently extended the women’s discus world record to 231-3).” So on his third throw of the day, he did just that, extending his record to 232-6, over five feet longer than the standard had been at the beginning of the day and the longest throw in history, regardless of conditions or gender. With three final throws of 219-9, 223-4, and 218-5, his series averaged 225-6, within one-and-a-half feet of his previous world mark. By any standard, in terms of quality of marks, it was the greatest performance in the history of the men’s discus event, and one of the greatest in the history of track and field.
On this day of dominance, in which he defeated the runner-up in a quality field by over twelve feet, Wilkins kept up his contentious banter with his chief rival. As he walked by Powell as the finals were ready to begin, he wryly shared, “John, I think you’re trying too hard.” As he would reflect after the meet, “I guess I was at my ass-holiest today. But I was so psyched. I was ready to go.” On virtually any other day, Powell’s performance would have been viewed as much more than an afterthought, as he reached a solid 220-4 on his last throw to finish second.
But the day belonged to Wilkins, who despite his amazing performance lamented that none of his throws were technically outstanding, that he had made significant technical errors even on the three record throws, and that he was capable of throwing much farther. Regarding his technique that day, he lamented, “It just isn’t there yet. I made some terrible mistakes out there today. Not one of my throws was really technically excellent. I’ve still got that big one inside me.” Thinking back on this day decades later, the passage of time had made Wilkins more reflective, suggesting, “You are always seeking the perfect throw. You know there is no such thing, but you still seek it.” It would be Wilkins’ last world record, though he would set his final personal best four years later. It is doubtful, though, that he ever had an effort that approached what he would consider the “perfect throw.”
And with the Olympics almost three months away, the analytical Wilkins put his record-breaking performance in perspective: had he peaked too soon? He indicated at the time that he believed he had not. But as he reflected on this question decades later, “It was a long way off to maintain a peak, let alone try to improve. Did it happen too soon? There was some uncertainty there.” But he would come to realize that he didn’t necessarily need to throw a world record to win in Montreal, he just needed to approach the level at which he was capable. Unstated by the record holder was the simple fact that in the spring of 1976, he was throwing at a level well beyond that of any other thrower in the world.
There would be no more world records in the men’s discus during the Olympic summer of 1976, though Mac Wilkins would come close and would continue his near dominance of the event. He continued to perform at an incredibly high level while his main American rival, John Powell, was having one of the best years of his career, though he still consistently threw five to ten feet behind his nemesis. As an example, at the AAU Championships at UCLA in which Powell finished second with a very good 221-7, Wilkins won with a throw of 230-0 in a series that averaged 227-1.
The US Olympic Trials were conducted before large, enthusiastic, and knowledgeable crowds at Oregon’s Hayward Field. And while most assumed that former Oregon Duck thrower Mac Wilkins would be joined on the team by John Powell, the greatest intrigue involved which athlete would secure the third and final spot on the Olympic team. Throwing with virtually no wind, Wilkins opened with a 224-2, which would be his best throw of the day and would stand up for the win. Powell finished second with a solid 220-11 in the penultimate round, causing Wilkins to acerbically quip to his rival, “Things change pretty fast, huh? How does it feel to go from being the world record holder to just another thrower?” Responding in a more subdued tone, Powell dryly commented, “Mac isn’t very nice to his elders. His parents obviously did a lousy job of raising him. In fact, I’ll bet he was a test tube baby.”
Bravado aside, Wilkins was unimpressed with a winning performance that gained him a spot on his first Olympic team. “I had a mediocre day,” he offered. “My technique was bad. My mind and body are not connected very well.” Speaking reflectively but also realistically, Wilkins had come to realize that in the upcoming Games, he would be competing against himself as much as any of his rivals. As he had suggested before the Trials, “For me, the Olympics won’t be much different than any other meet. The best discus throwers in the world will be there, but I’ll be competing with Mac Wilkins.” As he continued, “It’s like when I set the world record. I was pleasantly surprised, but I’ve never been after the world record. I’m after the Mac Wilkins record, to do the very best I am capable of.”
That Wilkins and Powell had secured the first two spots on the Olympic team was a surprise to virtually no one. Unexpected by some given his relative inactivity since winning a silver medal in Munich four years earlier, the third ticket to Montreal was secured by the venerable Jay Silvester, who qualified for his fourth Olympic team. The former world record-holder was in third place behind Wilkins and Powell after the first round, a position he would not relinquish and would solidify with his 212-5 in the fourth round. When asked afterward if, at the age of thirty-eight, it wasn’t time to retire with some finality, Silvester just smiled. “I read where Al Oerter is planning on coming back for the 1980 Olympics,” he offered regarding the retired four-time gold medalist who was only one year older. “If he really does that, I promise you I’ll be there too. I love to compete against Oerter. It’s sorta like Wilkins and Powell.” Four years later, competing for a spot on an Olympic team with nowhere to go due to the US boycott of the Moscow Olympics, both Al Oerter and Jay Silvester would make the final of the men’s discus at the 1980 Olympic Trials, with Oerter finishing fourth and Silvester eighth.
The American team in 1976 was strong, deep, and experienced, with all three members either current or former world record-holders, and with Silvester and Powell having finished second and fourth at the last Games four years earlier. Perhaps ironically, Mac Wilkins, the best thrower in the world and the odds-on favorite to win the gold medal, would be competing in his first Olympics.
References
Berger, Dan, “Van Reenen’s Reign Short: Powell 226-8,” Track and Field News, June 1975
Conrad, John, “Wilkins Takes ‘His’Event with Vets Two-Three,” Eugene Register-Guard, June 22, 1976
Conrad, Roy, “Don’t You Love Success Stories?,” Track and Field News, May 1976
Eggers, Kerry “‘Multiple Mac’ Wilkins Stays on Career Track,” Portland Tribune, June 16, 2016
Hendershott, Jon, “Mac: Still Multi-Piling,”, Track and Field News, April 1976
Hendershott, Jon, “Soaring Above the Sound and the Fury,” Track and Field News, II June 1974
Hendershott, Jon, “T & FN Interview – John Powell,” Track and Field News, November 1974
Hill, Garry, “Discus,” Track and Field News, July 1976
Hill, Garry, “Not Once, Not Twice, but THRICE,” Track and Field News, May 1976, p. 18
Jares, Joe, “Multiple Mac’s Singular Heave,” Sports Illustrated, May 3, 1976
Litsky, Frank, “Wohlhuter Wins 800-Meter Run at Trials,” The New York Times, June 22, 1976
Moore, Kenny, “The Old Men and the Discus,” Sports Illustrated, July 25, 1988
Nelson, Cordner, “Discus Throw,” Track and Field News, II July 1972
Potgieter, Org, “Van Reenen Scales 224-8, Track and Field News, April 1975
“Powell Breaks Discus Record,” Associated Press, The NewYork Times, May 5, 1975
Putnam, Pat, “Flying Start Toward the Olympics,” Sports Illustrated, July 5, 1976
Robinson, Bob, Oregon Sports Stories: History, Highlights, and Reflections, The History Press, 2013
Steffens, Don, “Multiple Mac Dishes It Out,” Track and Field News, II June 1973
Willman, Howard, “T & FN Interview – John Powell,” Track and Field News, December 1984
“World Scene,” Track and Field News, July 1976
