One of the Great Ones
I only have a handful of memories of Wayne Collett; fortunately, the ones I have are all wonderful.
Wayne and I met through a mutual friend a few years ago as part of a 100-mile bike ride for charity. By that point, his big moment in the spotlight was more than 30 years removed - at a time when I was still in diapers - but I recognized the name and the person instantly. Wayne was one of the best athletes in UCLA history, and won a silver medal in the 400 meters at the 1972 Olympics. I was a fellow UCLA grad and a devoted track geek, so his story was one of those little facts I just carried around with me for no real reason.
When our mutual acquaintance (also a UCLA guy, and Wayne’s lifelong best friend) introduced us, Wayne and I hit it off right away. It turns out that he was fascinated with endurance sports, and wanted to hear all about my Ironman and ultrarunning experiences; I, of course, was fascinated with the Olympics, and wanted to hear all about his world-class track and field experience. And we both lamented the sorry current state of UCLA athletics. Needless to say, we found a lot to talk about over the course of those 100 miles on the bike.
Our paths crossed a handful of times in the ensuing years, at a couple more fundraising rides, a small party here or there, and at a particularly memorable UCLA football game we attended together as part of a larger group. In every one of my encounters with him, he was one of the kindest, most caring and humble people you’d ever hope to meet.
When Wayne died last month after a long battle with cancer, his legacy in the track world was large enough to merit a handful of nationally-syndicated obituaries. Unfortunately (but predictably), most of those obits focused on Wayne’s somewhat infamous moment on the world stage, which he used as a platform for some Olympic-style civil disobedience. All of his friends – both from the time of his fame and throughout his life afterward – were dismayed that singling out this one particular moment didn't nearly do justice to the positive impact of Wayne's life on all those who knew him. So my latest Monterey Herald column was an attempt to put that incident in perspective, and to create a larger appreciation of the person Wayne truly was.
It’s clearly not enough to offset anything written by The Paper of Record, but I feel better knowing that this account is out there.
**
Running Life 4/8/10 “Remembering Wayne Collett”
Last month marked the passing of a remarkably talented runner who once reached the pinnacle of athletic accomplishment, but was unfortunately remembered more for his role in a collision of athletics and politics on the global stage nearly four decades ago. He also had ties to the Monterey Peninsula, and those of us fortunate enough to experience Wayne Collett’s friendship and goodwill are feeling great sorrow in the loss of such an admirable man.
Wayne is best known – and most misunderstood – for his actions at the 1972 Munich Olympics, where he won the silver medal in the 400m dash. During the awards ceremony, Collett and fellow American (and gold medalist) Vince Matthews visibly disregarded our National Anthem by not standing at attention, and diverting their gaze from the flag while casually fidgeting and chatting.
Wayne Collett (L) and Vince Matthews (R); photo courtesy Los Angeles Times
This came four years after the more famous medal ceremony demonstration by African-Americans Tommie Smith and John Carlos in Mexico City, and the International Olympic Committee had zero tolerance of further political statements intruding upon their Games. The IOC immediately banned Collett and Matthews from future competitions for acting disrespectfully, and that was pretty much the last the track world saw of Wayne Collett.
Wayne was frequently criticized for his actions, but he held strong to his principles in explaining his conduct. He felt strongly that the promise and potential of America were unattainable for many of its citizens due to widespread social and institutional injustices. He was often compelled to affirm his nationalism, once telling the Los Angeles Times, “I love America … to suggest otherwise is to not understand the struggles of blacks in America.” Wayne was never anti-American; he simply wanted his country to be a better place, with equal opportunities for all.
Nowadays, the racism and exclusion that Wayne spoke out against are much more easily recognized; with historical hindsight, we can better appreciate the frustrations of his experience and the accuracy of his point of view. For those who knew Wayne personally, there was never – at any point in his life - any question about his patriotism or his passion for social justice. And although he couldn’t compete in track meets anymore, Wayne never stopped excelling in all aspects of life.
Once called the “greatest athlete I’ve ever coached” by UCLA track coach Jim Bush - no small statement considering the number of Olympians Bush trained during his 56-year career - Wayne was also one of that college’s most successful students, earning an undergraduate degree in 1971, an M.B.A. in 1973, and a law degree in 1977 all on the same campus. He worked against many of those injustices he demonstrated against in Munich, in hopes that today’s children enjoy the opportunities that many of his generation lacked. He gave his time and effort generously to many charitable organizations, with some of his fundraising efforts bringing him to our Monterey Peninsula, where he enjoyed a wide network of friends. Wayne also spent several years working for the United States Olympic Committee prior to the Los Angeles Olympics, and carried the torch in the 1984 relay through his hometown.
Wayne died last month at age 60 after a nearly four-year battle with cancer. While the most public moment of his life occurred at age 22, all who had the privilege of knowing him will remember his lifelong accomplishments, integrity, and commitment to social equality. For track fans as well as Wayne’s friends and family, we know we’ve lost one of the great ones.
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Wayne and I met through a mutual friend a few years ago as part of a 100-mile bike ride for charity. By that point, his big moment in the spotlight was more than 30 years removed - at a time when I was still in diapers - but I recognized the name and the person instantly. Wayne was one of the best athletes in UCLA history, and won a silver medal in the 400 meters at the 1972 Olympics. I was a fellow UCLA grad and a devoted track geek, so his story was one of those little facts I just carried around with me for no real reason.
When our mutual acquaintance (also a UCLA guy, and Wayne’s lifelong best friend) introduced us, Wayne and I hit it off right away. It turns out that he was fascinated with endurance sports, and wanted to hear all about my Ironman and ultrarunning experiences; I, of course, was fascinated with the Olympics, and wanted to hear all about his world-class track and field experience. And we both lamented the sorry current state of UCLA athletics. Needless to say, we found a lot to talk about over the course of those 100 miles on the bike.
Our paths crossed a handful of times in the ensuing years, at a couple more fundraising rides, a small party here or there, and at a particularly memorable UCLA football game we attended together as part of a larger group. In every one of my encounters with him, he was one of the kindest, most caring and humble people you’d ever hope to meet.
When Wayne died last month after a long battle with cancer, his legacy in the track world was large enough to merit a handful of nationally-syndicated obituaries. Unfortunately (but predictably), most of those obits focused on Wayne’s somewhat infamous moment on the world stage, which he used as a platform for some Olympic-style civil disobedience. All of his friends – both from the time of his fame and throughout his life afterward – were dismayed that singling out this one particular moment didn't nearly do justice to the positive impact of Wayne's life on all those who knew him. So my latest Monterey Herald column was an attempt to put that incident in perspective, and to create a larger appreciation of the person Wayne truly was.
It’s clearly not enough to offset anything written by The Paper of Record, but I feel better knowing that this account is out there.
**
Running Life 4/8/10 “Remembering Wayne Collett”
Last month marked the passing of a remarkably talented runner who once reached the pinnacle of athletic accomplishment, but was unfortunately remembered more for his role in a collision of athletics and politics on the global stage nearly four decades ago. He also had ties to the Monterey Peninsula, and those of us fortunate enough to experience Wayne Collett’s friendship and goodwill are feeling great sorrow in the loss of such an admirable man.
Wayne is best known – and most misunderstood – for his actions at the 1972 Munich Olympics, where he won the silver medal in the 400m dash. During the awards ceremony, Collett and fellow American (and gold medalist) Vince Matthews visibly disregarded our National Anthem by not standing at attention, and diverting their gaze from the flag while casually fidgeting and chatting.
Wayne Collett (L) and Vince Matthews (R); photo courtesy Los Angeles TimesThis came four years after the more famous medal ceremony demonstration by African-Americans Tommie Smith and John Carlos in Mexico City, and the International Olympic Committee had zero tolerance of further political statements intruding upon their Games. The IOC immediately banned Collett and Matthews from future competitions for acting disrespectfully, and that was pretty much the last the track world saw of Wayne Collett.
Wayne was frequently criticized for his actions, but he held strong to his principles in explaining his conduct. He felt strongly that the promise and potential of America were unattainable for many of its citizens due to widespread social and institutional injustices. He was often compelled to affirm his nationalism, once telling the Los Angeles Times, “I love America … to suggest otherwise is to not understand the struggles of blacks in America.” Wayne was never anti-American; he simply wanted his country to be a better place, with equal opportunities for all.
Nowadays, the racism and exclusion that Wayne spoke out against are much more easily recognized; with historical hindsight, we can better appreciate the frustrations of his experience and the accuracy of his point of view. For those who knew Wayne personally, there was never – at any point in his life - any question about his patriotism or his passion for social justice. And although he couldn’t compete in track meets anymore, Wayne never stopped excelling in all aspects of life.
Once called the “greatest athlete I’ve ever coached” by UCLA track coach Jim Bush - no small statement considering the number of Olympians Bush trained during his 56-year career - Wayne was also one of that college’s most successful students, earning an undergraduate degree in 1971, an M.B.A. in 1973, and a law degree in 1977 all on the same campus. He worked against many of those injustices he demonstrated against in Munich, in hopes that today’s children enjoy the opportunities that many of his generation lacked. He gave his time and effort generously to many charitable organizations, with some of his fundraising efforts bringing him to our Monterey Peninsula, where he enjoyed a wide network of friends. Wayne also spent several years working for the United States Olympic Committee prior to the Los Angeles Olympics, and carried the torch in the 1984 relay through his hometown.
Wayne died last month at age 60 after a nearly four-year battle with cancer. While the most public moment of his life occurred at age 22, all who had the privilege of knowing him will remember his lifelong accomplishments, integrity, and commitment to social equality. For track fans as well as Wayne’s friends and family, we know we’ve lost one of the great ones.
