The man who risked it all — and lost most of it — the man who made Colin Kaepernick’s social protest last year look like an afternoon tea, was talking about Fruit Loops, the cereal that was his breakfast, lunch and dinner.
“I had nothing,” Tommie Smith said.
Athletes, like sportswriters and 7-year-olds, are prone to exaggeration.
“Nothing!” said Smith, raising his voice. “You hear me? NOTHING!”
Yes, Tommie Smith may have left Mexico City in 1968, but it’s clear Mexico City has not left him. How could it? More so, why should it? Smith in Mexico City is Jesse Owens in front of Hitler, Muhammad Ali in front of the draft board, Jackie Robinson in front of white baseball players. Smith and John Carlos complete the five-person athletic advisory board for social justice.
A concept worth revisiting today.
When Smith stood on the Olympic podium in 1968, having just won the 200 meters with a world record, with Carlos behind him on the third-place platform, both men raised their straightened arms, their black-gloved fists clenched.
The reaction was swift and uncompromising. Everyone flee to the bunkers. America had just come under attack.
“A Nazi-like salute,” wrote the Los Angeles Times. “An embarrassment … an insult to their countrymen,” wrote the Chicago Tribune. “A pair of black-skinned storm troopers,” wrote Brent Musburger, then a sportswriter.
“I knew there would be problems,” said Smith, 72, who spoke at Sonoma State University’s Student Center Tuesday night. “My life was threatened before I ever left for Mexico City but, still, I didn’t know how bad it would get. I didn’t know it would get so harsh.”
A brick was hurled through the plate-glass window of his home. It flew into the room that contained a crib and his six-month-old son, Kevin. Smith’s head was on the proverbial swivel, looking front-and-back every day, every moment, at every face, to see what was on it.
“I watched everything,” he said. Smith said it with a Biblical finality. He was kicked off the U.S. Olympic team. Medals taken away. Told to go home. They were athletes. Didn’t they know their place? Perform. Keep your mouth shut. Keep your opinions to yourself. Keep your actions PG-13. Hug babies and cancer kids. Otherwise, keep us amused by being a physical specimen. You’re on stage; stay on stage. A suffocating mentality, Smith believes, exists to this day.
“We’re entertainers,” Smith said simply of athletes.
Truth to tell, there’s not a pro athlete today who would do what Smith and Carlos did in 1968. Not one. Oh, you say, I’m wrong? There’s a lot of courage out there. Look at Kap. Look at what he went through. Let’s examine that. First, let’s see what Smith had going for him.
“I wasn’t on scholarship anymore (at San Jose State),” he said. “I didn’t have a job. I had no coach. I was still a junior in college, so I had no education.”
But Smith did have Fruit Loops.
“When Puma (the shoe company) came to me and asked me how much money I wanted,” Smith said, “I said I didn’t want money. I wanted Similac for my baby. I didn’t even have baby food.”