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Panorama of the Playground
Mixing With International Athletes.

(Specially Written for “N.Z. Railways Magazine,” by W. F. Ingram .)

What is the predominant personal factor about the champion athlete? What manner of man makes the best athlete? These are two questions that come to my mind when recalling my associations with some twenty-four of the best athletes who have visited New Zealand since the Great War.

Men of the calibre of Jock Oosterlaak, Bukes, and Dave Leathern, from South Africa; Kirksey, Krogness, Merchant, Hahn, Scholz, Lermond, Simpson, Rothert and Kiser, from America; Carlton, Golding, Fitt, Cooper, Metcalfe, Barlow and Hampson, from Australia; Peltzer, from Germany; Perasalo and Sippala from Finland; and the four British athletes, Craske, Murdoch, Powell and Rampling, come readily to mind as one visualises the excellent athletic contests seen and personal friendships made.

It is not my intention to sort out the greatest sprinter, middle-distance runner or field event man from that assortment, but I will endeavour to analyse the personalities of the men who helped to encourage athletics in New Zealand—men who have won honours in big company.

Take Jock Oosterlaak, the wellbuilt Springbok athlete, who came to New Zealand in the 1921–22 season. He had an ideal temperament for big athletics. He knuckled down to serious business when the occasion justified it, but he could see the humorous side of sport as well. What New Zealander would see the funny side of travelling nearly 200 miles over the rougliest roads in New Zealand when seated on the door of a motor car? Well, Jock thought it an experience worth the while and is it any wonder that his memory, to-day, is cherished by those who had the good fortune to know him? Yes, he sat on the side door of a car when travelling from Napier to Gisborne; there was insufficient room on the seats, so Jock volunteered to sit on the door—and would not change places with any of the others. He won the big sprint at the meeting next day!

And J. W. Bukes, another Springbok athlete, was a fine fellow. Here we had the more stolid type of athlete; a man who would go to sleep twenty minutes before the start of his race, wake up and run 73/5 sees, for 75 yards! Dave Leathern, the third member of the Springbok team I met, was more serious than any other athlete I have seen. He took his sport as a serious mission and was always anxious to return good measure to the public. Before any contest he desired most of all a cup of tea.

Now for George Krogness, smiling young American hurdler and high jumper. Fair-haired, capable and courteous, George was happiest when he was showing the novices how to hurdle or to high jump. I recollect him being approached at one meeting to show a lad how to hurdle. George had already dressed, but immediately stripped off, donned his athletic gear, and went back to the track and gave a practical demonstration.

Maurice Kirksey was a different type of athlete. Perhaps I was unfortunate in meeting Kirksey when he was not feeling just right, but he was certainly not 100 per cent. affable—particularly when the competitors in a championship race kept breaking at the start. He was inclined to think that the world was not using him kindly, but I understand that he altered his opinion before he concluded his tour of New Zealand. My happiest recollections of Kirksey are of seeing him match his skill against George Gillett, 1905 All Black, at table bowls and at punting a Rugby football. Few New Zealand footballers could do better at kicking the ball than the same Kirksey, who represented America at athletics and Rugby football at the Olympic Games. George Gillett voted him a champion kick.

Jack Merchant, admired by males for his skill with the hammer and by the females for his figure and his looks, was a real man. For all-round skill he is probably one of the best athletes to visit New Zealand. He could throw the hammer, putt the shot, throw the javelin, high jump, hop-step-and-jump, sprint and, believe it or not, tell a good yarn! But his greatest joy was extolling the virtues of his team-mates Kirksey and Krogness. He was of the free and easy type of athlete, ready to congratulate a winner and quick to sympathise with a loser.

Lloyd Hahn, the Boston farmer who made it possible, for Rose to earn fame, was a deep thinker, gifted with a large slice of humour. The story is told that, when in Wellington, Hahn was shown the Government Building and assured that it was the largest wooden structure in the world. “Well,” replied Hahn, “I'll have to believe you, but we have a barn on our farm at Springfield, Massachusets, that looks just as big!” Hahn never complained about the handicapping of races in New Zealand, but I know that at one meeting he had to concede 270 yards in a mile race with the nearest man, myself, on 130 yards! The winner, off the limit, ran 4.131/3 sees., time never bettered off scratch in New Zealand before or since.

Jackson Scholz was in the eventide of his career when he came to New Zealand and was not taking the sport seriously. Nevertheless, he was the handicapper's friend. By that term I mean that he never won by large margins; it was usually his famous “shrug” finish that won him the race. When Scholz arrived in New Zealand he had left America a “dry” country and his expressions of pleasure after imbibing page 62 a pint of ale in a Gisborne brewery still linger in my memory. “Boys, that drink alone is worth travelling across the Pacific Ocean to get!” was his verdict as he wiped the froth from his lips.

Leo Lermond, another Boston athlete, was a misjudged lad in New Zealand. Only a young fellow, he missed the advice of his coach and had arrived in New Zealand with blistered feet, caused during a strenuous campaign in Australia. After defeating Rose in a thrilling mile race at the Basin Reserve, Wellington, Lermond notified the officials that he would not run twice the same day. He had the courage of his convictions and held out despite all endeavours to persuade him to change his mind. Leo had a will of his own and wasn't frightened to use it. But, with it all, I found him excellent company.

Dr. Peltzer, the German and world's record holder, was an enigma. Few athletes met him off the track, and he did little to improve sport in New Zealand. His was truly a flying visit —he spent most of his time at Rotorua—but his duels with George Golding, the Australian, proved him to be a wonderful runner, gifted with a marvellous judgment of pace.

At the same time that Lermond, Peltzer and Golding were in New Zealand, two Australian professional athletes, Jack Fitt and Lynch Cooper, were here. They did not compete in Wellington, but Fitt, world's recordholder and professional champion, had a training run at Athletic park. An old idea of a professional athlete being over-prone to “crooked” running was completely dispelled by my association with these men. Fitt, who came over under contract, returned most of his winnings to assist the promoting club and this was typical of his nature. He used to assist amateur athletes to train in Melbourne and offered to assist others in Wellington.

The memory of Simpson, Rothert and Kiser is still fresh. George Simpson, who ran more “91 sec.” hundreds than any other athlete in New Zealand, worried unduly, and always thought that he had not done well enough; that the public were disappointed.

Harlow Rothert was just a big boy, but a very capable boy at that. He smiled his way through New Zealand and made many friends. What a pity that most of his competition was done on the side of the ground away from the spectators when he competed at the bigger meetings. Spectators at Napier and Gisborne saw him at close range and could appreciate his efforts. As manager of the team Rothert had a worrying time; Kiser was out of form and Simpson injured his leg, but at no time did the “big boy” let the public down.

Rufus Kiser disappointed because he was not allowed to get well! He arrived in New Zealand with blistered feet caused by training on board ship, and, instead of taking things easy at first, he had to run against good men and concede big starts. He had a happy disposition for all that, and I think that it was his “to the devil with worry” nature that kept him going until he eventually triumphed over Rose in the fastest mile yet recorded at Athletic Park. He then went on to defeat Don Evans, New Zealand champion, at Taihape. Kiser had struck form, but it was too late! It was the end of the tour.

Jimmy Carlton, I had little to do with, but one incident should serve to illustrate his evenness of mind. Just before his “big test” against George Simpson, I was asked to introduce a friend of Jim's Australian trainer. The friend and I approached Carlton and the introduction was effected. Carlton was in the care of Dave Paris —and very capable care at that—and after a few minutes conversation Dave suggested that Jimmy should lie down and rest. Jimmy asked that he be allowed to yarn away with his old trainer's friend—“He's a link with Australia, Dave,” he explained. Ten minutes later Carlton had beaten the American.

The visit of the Australian, Jack Metcalfe, is too recent to need much comment. Metcalfe was a stylist and student in all his events, but it did not detract from his most attractive personality, and he was the nearest approach to Rydbeck among the many athletes I have met.

The British quartette, Craske, Murdoch, Rampling and Powell, here last season, had too much travelling to do, and seldom had time to fraternise; but during many conversations I discovered them to be of a totally different type from any other athletes. I have talked with. They were not keen on their sport; they looked on it as just part of a necessary day's plan.

Veikko Perasalo and Matti Sippala were handicapped by lack of knowledge of English, but they proved a happy pair, and Viekko, in particular, did not allow the language barrier to prove insurmountable. He had a smile for everyone, and his “I understand” was always accompanied by a happy grin. Matti could not understand one word of English, but when various humorous or semi-humorous remarks were translated for him by Veikko he would reveal that great gift—natural humour. Had he not been handicapped by this lack of language, Matti Sippala could have explained earlier why his arm was troubling him and thus saved himself many hours of pain caused by too much javelin throwing. Like Rydbeck, he triumphed over physical injury, and left New Zealand with a great record both as an athlete and as a man.