Wonderful Whoop Of Good Will

By Tom Callahan

In a climate of overpowering good will, but with temperatures fluctuating almost 60 degrees, the XVth Winter Olympics began last week brilliantly. A crowd of 60,000 people glowing from the cheeks and hearts brimmed Calgary's McMahon Stadium for the opening ceremonies, donning colored ponchos that formed a lot of little symbols across the stands and one large display across the world.

Twice every four years, in the winter and summer, the earth's youth come together in one emotional place, and the effect always astonishes. As easy as $ a change of costumes, even the most professional and venal of the athletes is transformed during the Olympic procession to an ebullient amateur again, to a waving child.

Owing to a simple wisdom and a gust of wind, the Canadians stuck to human sentiments: happy children were the heart of the show. Kept to a blessed minimum were gimmicks like an inflatable mountain that wouldn't inflate and obligingly blew away. Folk dances prevailed, so much sweeter than production numbers, and the prancing horses of the Mounties outdid the screeching jets. Lassos twirled, cowboys strummed guitars, and a twelve-year-old girl lighted the candle.

A momentary thaw (one of Calgary's snow-eating chinooks) melted the town three days before fledgling Figure Skater Robyn Perry got up on her toes to reach the Olympic cauldron. Two years short of the competitors' minimum age, the local whiz kid represented youth's considerable promise; also, bravery. A week earlier, before the thermometer shot from 11 degrees below to 45 degrees and back to 21 degrees again, the Olympic torch blew up spectacularly. Engineers called it a "minor malfunction," but Perry may have wished for a longer handle.

Melting in a warmth toastier than a chinook was a child-labor flap ignited by cross parents of the gala's youngest stars. In rehearsal, the youngsters worked up to twelve-hour days on short rations (sometimes just hot chocolate, a ham sandwich and a butter tart), although David Roberts, 12, reacted cheerfully: "Practice makes perfect. What I'll remember is the glory."

Among the lovely effects that the children of Calgary kept secret for weeks, even from their folks, were the moving pictures they formed on the stadium floor, first a snowflake, then a hockey game, a luge run, a dove. Scrambling to their stations, the ice blue snowsuits skipped and danced and punched the air with their sleeves. Meanwhile, the audience of athletes swayed and clapped, and laughed along.

The Greeks, the original Olympians, who never have won a winter medal, led the parade as always. In the 57-nation caravan there was the normal quota of Christmas elves and bright-parkaed snowmen, but a new theme emerged: intrigue. Fedoras and spy-length overcoats were the fashion of France, Italy, Bulgaria and others, including, in a gasping surprise, the Americans. Abandoning their customary ranch outfits ("Thank heavens," said Skier Debbie Armstrong), the U.S. team wore overcoats long enough to hide tommy guns (blue coats for the men, white for the molls) and snowy, wide-brim hats from out of the '30s. "Al Capone!" exclaimed Japanese Speed Skater Atsushi Akasaka, 20, who has no English. It looked a little like a jolly bootlegger's funeral.

Carrying the flag for the Americans was four-time Olympian Lyle Nelson, 39, a biathlete. "I hope I don't turn left when everyone else goes right," Nelson had fretted. He promised to wield the staff gently. "Having stood in a lot of parades ((he is a product of West Point and remains a National Guardsman)), I don't like to be nationalistic at the Olympics. It's a place for international brotherhood." His fellow biathlete, Josh Thompson, is given a chance for the first American medal in this arcane sport that marries cross- country skiing and shooting. Thompson shares Nelson's perspective. "Who else can carry a rifle on his back," he rejoiced, "and hug a Russian?"

Dark worries attend every modern Olympiad. Besides a delicious forum for political commentary, the Games present an international spotlight for terrorists. But in the bright face of this city, treachery has become a distant concern, as Organizing Committee Chairman Frank King indicated in his wonderful proclamation, "The prospects of problems that are large are small." Asked about the unfailing good humor of every bus driver and security guard in western Canada, King cited the region's natural resistance to cynicism, "almost a central naivete."

At the same time, the athletes' Village at the University of Calgary has been equipped with sensory fences able to detect a handhold, and the sentries manning the X-ray entrances are cordial but resolute. "Security is tighter than at an airport," says U.S. Luger Bonny Warner, though the ultimate effect inside is "homey, comfortable and no glitz." Underground tunnels connecting the dormitories are funneling the world's sportsmen into a closer association. U.S.A. and Soviet C.C.C.P. jackets are elbow to elbow in the video game room, and the "Countries' Club" discotheque is more popular still. Besides the music, it has the immense virtue of a liquor license. (As far as the Village was concerned, Sarajevo four years ago was dry.)

The food has been going down well. Particularly fussy about pasta, the Italians were told they could bring their own, provided there was enough for everyone. The pasta bar is booming. Regarding training and technical facilities, the athletes have universally been raving about the handsome running tracks, swimming pools and gymnasiums. Only a sedentary visitor would complain that Olympic Villages used to be less efficient, more charming.

By nighttime of the first day, when the U.S. hockey team drummed Austria 10-6, the temperature was down in the teens, a relief to all the snow studiers, especially the Alpine skiers. At Nakiska, 55 miles from downtown, only one team is living on the mountain: the Swiss. And only one skier occupies a private room: Pirmin Zurbriggen. These facts might be considered clues to the fortunes ahead, though the first word Zurbriggen had for the hill was pompy (lousy). Silvano Meli, for ten years a member of the Swiss team, now a sponsor's publicist, describes the mood of the lonely mountain dwellers: "They have a German mentality, and for fun, well, they don't do anything for fun." Except, perhaps, celebrate.

In terms of overall medals, the East Germans and the Russians are the favorites once again. As a merchant might say, to the victors go the jeans. Calgary's largest denim shop, Mark's Work Warehouse, has taken out a full-page ad in the morning Herald -- in Russian -- urging, "Present your Soviet Olympic accreditation and receive a 25% discount on the purchase of up to six pairs." Business was described as "brisk."

At Olympic ceremonies in the West, the Soviets always seem to hear special cheers, and their deep brown furs this time plumped with particular appreciation. Of course the greatest clamor at the opening was for the Canadians, dressed as maple-leaf cowhands in red and white fringe. A native North American wearing buckskin stood alone in the field and hauntingly sang O Canada in the original tongue. After that, finding voice for the reprise wasn't easy for anyone. On this soft note, the Games began.

With reporting by Lee Griggs and Paul A. Witteman/Calgary