The Big Mile

For two hours the jampacked thousands in Madison Square Garden had watched a kaleidoscopic spectacle: a multitude of lithe young men in multicolored jerseys whirling through the early events of indoor track's classic Millrose Games. But at 10 p.m. the Garden lights dimmed. The jogging regiments of runners gathered quietly in the infield. A spotlight was turned on a huge U.S. flag. The band brassily essayed The Star-Spangled Banner and a fight-night baritone swelled his chest and shamelessly drowned it out.

When the lights went up again, six deceptively slim and pale-skinned runners were waiting in a lonely and nervous group on the homestretch of the hardwood track. The loudspeakers announced the famed Wanamaker Mile. The crowd rumbled. Even those who did not quite understand the amateur's willingness to suffer for glory could feel the tension; the six were meeting in indoor track's main event, a punishing and uncertain contest which would be won only after all were half dead with blinding, burning fatigue.

Clock In the Head. The question to be decided: Could last year's winner, the University of Wisconsin's 22-year-old Don Gehrmann, win again against 1950's middle-distance sensation, 29-year-old FBI-Man Fred Wilt? Gehrmann, a brown-haired Milwaukee boy, had a precious asset--speed in the homestretch drive. But Wilt, a converted cross-country man and two-miler with a "clock in his head," had been winning steadily by killing his opposition with his early pace (TIME, Jan. 30).

As the gun popped at the start of the mile's eleven laps, the crowd expected

Wilt to fight for the lead. But as the field jostled into the first of the high-banked turns, Gehrmann's red jersey was in front; it stayed there. He ran the first quarter in a brisk 59.3, the second in a slow 64.8. Wilt toiled calmly along in the pack.

Then Gehrmann slowly began to fade. "I felt kind of sick," he said the next day. "In the third quarter the other runners started going by ... I kept telling myself to stick with them and they kept passing me . . ." As the crowd roared at the action on the steep turns and in the short straightaways, Yale's tall George Wade took the lead. John Twomey of the Illinois Athletic Club shouldered past him. With 2 1/2 laps to go and Gehrmann apparently in trouble, Wilt swung ahead of the field.

Caught at the Tape. He was in front by a couple of yards and running strongly as the gun popped for the final lap. Then the crowd started to scream--Gehrmann was coming to life on the backstretch. He was second as he came off the turn. Twenty yards from the finish he was trailing by five feet. He gathered speed, plunged desperately, caught Wilt at the tape.

The tuxedoed judges spent an embarrassed ten minutes after that--both runners thought they had won, and the officials were divided among themselves. The three judges assigned to pick first and second voted 2 to 1 for Wilt; the third-place judge voted for Gehrmann. The photofinish camera crew had snapped a picture, but that was no help; the judges had gotten in the way. The chief judge stepped in and broke the deadlock. His choice, and the announced winner: Don Gehrmann. Both men were credited with the same time: 4:09.3, fastest competitive mile either of them had ever run.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.