School kids required to memorize the names of their state’s senators and representatives no doubt have had difficulty with one of the latter.
As hard as it is to understand why Jim Ryun’s name is spelled with a “U” instead of an “A” is conceptualizing how Ryun could be characterized as a track icon when no such animal exists in their world.
I can’t tell you why the Kansas Congressman’s name is spelled the way it is, but I can prove Ryun indeed was a track phenomenon in an age when you actually could find the sport on television without having to search through the triple-digit cable channels.
A sensation at Wichita East High, a legend at Kansas University and a world-record holder, Ryun is responsible for luring the largest crowd in the 77-year history of the Kansas Relays.
As difficult as it is to envision 32,000 people into Memorial Stadium to watch a track meet — heck, recent KU football games have drawn fewer fans — that’s approximately how many poured in to watch Ryun run the mile on a late April day in 1972.
The word approximate must be used because the KU facility used primarily for football does not have turnstiles, and a ticket count wouldn’t have been accurate because thousands — mostly students — entered without paying.
Who made that estimate?
“It was me,” said John Novotny, a Lawrence realtor who was KU’s business manager 32 Aprils ago. “We based it on each section holding 1,100 people. We could have been a little high, but a lot of people wanted to see Ryun run.”
At that time, Ryun was the Barry Bonds, Michael Jordan and Lance Armstrong of track and field. People wanted to see Ryun run because they wanted to be able to say they were there when he broke a world record. Or just to tell their grandchildren — and I’m sure some do today — that they saw the great Jim Ryun run the mile at the Kansas Relays.
Everyone knew Ryun would be running at 2:40 p.m. that day because KU officials publicized it heavily. Still, word of mouth surely was a factor.
“At about 2 o’clock we looked around and saw we had a pretty good crowd,” Novotny said. “We were feeling pretty good. In those days we weren’t getting big television checks. Tickets were our prime source of revenue.”
As the time for Ryun’s race grew nearer and nearer, people kept coming and coming.
“The lines started backing up because we didn’t have enough ticket people,” Novotny said. “Pretty soon they were massing over behind the east gates trying to get in.”
Realizing there was no time to collect ticket revenue from the horde and fearful of a potential riot, KU officials opened the gates and the throng poured into the east stands.
“I can remember seeing three sections fill up just like that,” Novotny said.
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Incidentally, KU officials had good reason to fear trouble, because 300 or so anti-Vietnam War protesters were waving signs and chanting on Campanile Hill. Ryun’s race was delayed because a KU student had been allotted time by the school administration to deliver a short anti-war speech over the public-address system.
Later, after running what was for him a routine 3:57.1 mile, Ryun said he had been warmed up and ready, but that the speech interlude caused him to cool down too quickly.
A few months after that Ryun was tripped in a heat at the Munich Olympics, ending his hopes of winning a gold medal.
Still, no one who was among the estimated 32,000 in Memorial Stadium — the previous largest crowd was 23,700 for Ryun’s first Relays appearance in 1967 — ever will forget they helped make history while watching the last great Kansas miler unleash his uncanny kick coming around the last turn and breaking the tape ahead of the pack.