Finding Tim
A Fourth Alternate Reality
by Charlie
With editorial assistance from Dix and John
Secret
"OLYMPIC HEROES"
The Minneapolis Tribune, Sunday, June 19, 1988 [sic]. Special to the Minneapolis Tribune. By Susan Wilfield.
I first met Tim in 1963. He was a high school diver at Southwest. For a decade after that date a reference to Tim in these sports pages would have needed no explanation. Now, more than two decades and a whole generation later, only for my middle aged and senior citizen friends will no further introduction be needed. Tim, no last name Tim, was the man who walked away with more gold than Fort Knox after the 1968 Olympics in Mexico City. A national hero, he earned gold as a diver and gymnast - a feat unparalleled in Olympic history. Now the President of the University of North Dakota, he prefers to be known for his current leadership of that institution than for past athletic successes.
But this is an Olympic year, and it is my great good fortune to be able to tell an Olympic story about not one, not two, but three, Olympic heroes. Newspaper editors want to go for the superlatives, but this is really just the story of two Olympians:
I recently received a telephone call from Tim's father Norman; who, along with his wife Betsy, still lives in Minneapolis, where Tim first came to the attention of the sporting world. Norman and I friends more than twenty years ago when Tim and his partner Charlie had "come out." Norman and Betsy see Tim and Charlie regularly, but they still miss the time when the four of them lived together in the house in Minneapolis. I think that I remind them of those happy times. In any case, Norman's call was to invite my husband Karl and me to spend a week with them in Nevis.
"Nevis? What or where is that?" I asked. It rang a little bell, but I really wasn't sure about Nevis.
"An island in the Carribean."
Questions like, "When?" " Why?" "How much?" were resolved and Karl and I agreed to join Norman and Betsy for a week on the Nevis beaches. The answer to "Why?" was most interesting: They had spent a happy time there with their two sons, Tim and Carl, just before Charlie joined the family. They wanted to relive old times. It seems that Tim and Charlie and a group of close friends had returned to Nevis for a wonderful week, but Norman and Betsy had never been back. We felt honored to be invited to join them.
Karl and I have been casual friends with Norman and Betsy for years, but this was the first time we had spent a length of time with them, and it gave us many opportunities to relive exciting moments from the past. Of course, these centered on Tim and Charlie and the Olympics of 1968. Charlie got the gold medal in archery, Tim got two in diving, four in gymnastics (three individual events and the individual medley), as well as a silver and two bronze: An unprecedented total of 9 in two totally different sports! Tim's Olympic career didn't end in Mexico, but that is a separate story. This story is about the 1968 Olympics in Mexico City.
Sitting on the beach one afternoon, Norman casually asked, "Have you visited Tim and Charlie in Grand Forks?"
I answered, "Yes, several times."
"Was that since became President and they moved into Dakota House?"
"Yes. I've visited them in both of their houses."
"Did you see the Olympic medal display over the mantle at Dakota House?"
"Yes. One is not likely to miss it. Those boys are very proud of their achievements, as well they should be."
"Did you count the medals?"
"Yes, in fact, I did. I wanted to see if Charlie's was there along with Tim's nine. There were ten."
"Did you count the gold medals?"
"No. There must have been seven, Tim's six and Charlie's one."
"There are six gold, two silver, and two bronze."
I said to Norman, "There is a story here, isn't there?"
"Only if you can get the right people to tell it, and I'm not sure you can."
"Norman, be honest. Is this why we were invited to Nevis? To plant the seeds of a story?"
"Perhaps unconsciously. But I really hadn't planned to talk about the mysterious medals. It just sort of spilled out a few moments ago. You know, Betsy and I don't know the story at all - beyond counting the medals."
That's all Norman would say, and I think all he could say. He was being honest when he said that he didn't really know the story. The rest of our vacation together in Nevis was delightful, but beyond the scope of this story.
Back in Minneapolis I decided to play detective and see if I could track down the story Norman was leading me to. Upon thinking about it, I was sure that neither Norman nor Betsy could explain the odd medal count. I didn't think that Norman was refusing to tell me the story; he was in the dark himself. If that was the case, either he didn't feel comfortable asking Tim or had asked and not learned anything. That suggested that starting with Tim might not be the best place to start. If not with Tim, then where?
If there was a missing gold and an extra silver whose might it be? Tim must have traded medals with someone. Who? And why?
I supposed that he might have traded the medal to any of dozens of silver medal winners. Tim always insisted that he wanted an Olympic medal and didn't care about the color. But why would anyone want an unearned gold medal? It didn't make sense.
Tim had been very close to Billy Carson, the silver medalist off the platform and bronze medalist off the springboard. In fact, Billy had sort of been Tim's discovery or protege. Where was Billy now? That was easy, he was coaching diving at the University of Indiana, having succeeded his old Olympic diving coach, Ralph Billings. I decided to fly down and visit Billy. I called and set up an interview. I asked if I could come to his home instead of the University and he said, "Sure. Why does a Minneapolis sports writer want to interview me, anyway?"
"Tim is still a good story in Minneapolis, especially with the Olympics coming on. And you knew him as well as anybody."
"As well as anybody outside of that Gang of his. Have you talked to them?"
"Yes. I know most of them. You are the unknown quantity for me."
I did visit Billy in his home. He lives not far from the University with his wife and two boys, both young divers in their early teens. My first question related to how often he saw Tim. It seems they see each other often, traveling back and forth, mainly to allow Tim to coach his boys on their diving.
I asked what I hoped would be the key question, "Have you ever competed against Tim since the Olympics?"
"No. Tim retired from all but collegiate diving right after the Olympics. We were Fighting Sioux together one year; he was a senior and I was a freshman, but we agreed that one of us would go from the platform and the other the springboard, trading off at each meet. We never went head to head."
"Why not?"
"Tim insisted. He always said that he had beaten me once, and he wasn't going to risk being beaten."
"Is that the whole story?"
"It's Tim's story."
"What's yours?"
"I don't have a story. I was a freshman, in awe of a senior. If that's the way he wanted it, it was OK with me."
"I think there's more."
"Could be. You'd have to ask Tim."
"Billy, you're holding back."
"Next question?"
"Shortly after Tim returned from Mexico he announced that he was retiring, except for diving as a Fighting Sioux his last year at UND?"
"Yes."
"I just looked at an old videotape of that press conference. You were there, and you were having a hard time holding back tears. Why?"
"You only think you saw tears."
"It was said at the time that you were relieved that you wouldn't have to compete with Tim in Nationals and Worlds the following year."
"People say a lot of things."
"You got the silver medal off the platform, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"Where is it?"
"I'm not sure."
"Where is Tim's gold medal?" I was taking a real risk with that question, but I had to try.
"In the case with his swimsuit."
"Can I see it?"
"I guess. This way." We walked into the front hall and there was a beautiful mahogany case with a glass front. In the case was a Speedo swimsuit and a 1968 Olympic gold medal.
"Will you tell me the story of the swimsuit?"
"I was a fourteen year old star-struck kid from Fargo. I liked to dive, I was fairly good. Tim was my idol. When I heard he was coming to North Dakota I couldn't believe it. I read in the newspaper that he was going to present a one-man freshman show - gymnastics and circus performances of all things. I talked my parents into taking me to his show, called Tim. It was incredible. He did gymnastics, flew on the circus trapeze, rode a bicycle, and even sang with Charlie. Afterwards, my parents and I stood in line two hours to shake his hand. I let everyone go ahead of me so that I would be last in line with my parents. When I met him I couldn't speak, but my Dad told Tim I was a diver and that Tim was my hero. I was able to say 'Hello' and that I couldn't wait to see him dive in a UND meet. His answer was to invite me to go to dinner with him and dive with him afterwards! I almost fainted. My parents were embarrassed and said, 'No.' Charlie intervened, and convinced them to let me go. With that I was swept along with Tim and Charlie in their car to a diner for dinner with a huge crowd - the whole Gang, parents, maybe you were there. (I wasn't.) Then to the UND pool. I didn't have a suit, and Tim loaned me one of his."
I said, "That one there, in the case?"
"Yes. We climbed up to the top of the platform and Tim seemed to disappear into a different world. He took me with him. He asked all kinds of technical questions about my diving, my practice, my parents, my coach. Then he told me to do my best dive. I dove. We talked some more. Then we dove alternately, usually with him showing me either what he wanted me to do, or what was wrong with my previous dive. He was oblivious to anything in the room but me and the diving board. He brought me into that world and I became equally oblivious. It was amazing. And wonderful. I went back to that world time and again, until I was the best diver in the world - at least that is what the medals say. I visit that world every morning at the University pool. I still dive regularly. When Tim comes we dive together. Always in that world by ourselves. Every now and then I am able to bring one of my IU divers into that world with me. When I do, I know that I have my next champion."
I realized that that was an Olympic story all by itself. But I still had to find out about the medal.
"Billy, why do you have Tim's medal?"
"He gave it to me. He said it looked good with his swimsuit."
"I believe he said that, but why the gift?"
"You'll have to ask Tim."
"I will, but I think the answer is here, in Bloomington. Can we go back to the 1968 Olympics? Those were your first. You returned two more times, and won gold both times. But you got silver in Mexico."
"Right."
"In Mexico you did well off the springboard, but you only managed to get a bronze."
"Right."
"Like Tim, you were better off the platform. But you didn't do well on your first two dives. Two fairly easy dives."
"If 9.7's isn't doing well, then, yes, I didn't do well."
"After that it was all 9.9's and 10s - mostly tens. For both you and Tim. If it hadn't been for the first two dives you would have beaten Tim - you had one more 10 that he did."
"But he had no 9.7's."
"Billy, your two most difficult dives were your first two, weren't they?"
"They were the easiest."
"For everybody else, but not you. It's harder to aim for a 9.7 than for a 10, isn't it?"
"I can't answer that. No, I won't answer that."
"With the two low dives on the books, followed by virtual perfection, you put it straight to Tim, didn't you. Perfection wins the gold, less than perfection gets you the silver. And you knew Tim could deliver perfection."
"And he did."
"And you were just as capable of delivering perfection, weren't you?"
"I screwed up my first two dives. Everybody said I was too young, that I needed to get adjusted to the high level competition. That I settled in on my third dive."
"That's nonsense, isn't it? You did amazingly well in the Worlds that summer. The Olympics didn't intimidate you. You went off in that little world that you and Tim created, and it didn't matter whether those were Olympic judges, or just some UND teammates. But you screwed up your first two dives."
"Could we move on to your next question?"
"Let's go back to those tears. They were tears of relief that you wouldn't face Tim again in a diving competition?"
"Yes. The coast was now clear for me to become a champion. Tim was stepping aside."
"Tim has a word for that: Bullshit."
"Yes, that's a favorite word of Tim's."
"And it fits here, doesn't it?"
"Yeah."
"It wasn't that you could now be the champion, but that now you could let yourself go to your full potential. There was no way on earth that you were going to beat your hero, was there?"
"No, there wasn't. And there isn't. At some point I got better than him. That was inevitable. But at the 1968 Olympics, he was better than me. That's why they gave him the medal."
"And that's why its in his medal box over his mantle, right?"
"Ms. Wilfield, it's long enough after the Mexico Olympics for you to write this story. If its OK with Tim it's OK with me. When you called and asked to interview me, I called Tim. He said I could trust you, and that you wouldn't print anything that I told you not to. Well, you can print all this interview, if it is OK with Tim. But you have to print this: For the record. Tim dove better than I did, and that's why he got the gold medal in Mexico City. Speculation about my first two dives is forever only going to be speculation. They were judged 9.7. The judging was fair. Tim won. I have nothing further to say."
It was time to talk to Tim. I know him well. We trust each other. The first thing he told me was that I could print my interview with Billy. Then I asked him about Billy's first two dives. "Susan, only Billy knows and he's not saying. Billy was a Hell of a good diver in Mexico. He got even better. Did he get better than me before or after Mexico? We'll never know. Did I retire from diving because of Billy? Yes, I did. I knew that Billy would never reach his potential competing against me. It simply wasn't in him to beat me. So we never competed again. We still dive together non-competitively every time we see each other. Today he is the better diver."
"Why does he have your gold medal?"
"It looks good with the Speedo, don't you think?"
Later I asked Charlie about the medals. He told me, "Susan, I didn't know the medals were switched until they had been on our wall for several weeks. Nobody notices when you look at that array of medals. And people who count the golds don't realize that they have counted mine. When I asked Tim about the missing medal he answered, 'Charlie, please don't ask.' I have respected that ever since. You are the first person to push the question. And none of us will ever know for certain the truth about Billy's first two dives. You know, 9.7 is a Hell of a good dive for your first dive that counts in an Olympic Games. It's incredible to suggest that a 17 year old kid, in his first Olympics, would have to contrive to get a low score of 9.7. It's almost ludicrous to suggest it. That he could get as high as 9.7 is wonderful. But there is the story. Only Billy knows the answer, and I'm sure he will take it to the grave with him."
Almost certainly he will.
- Susan Wilfield, Minneapolis, Minnesota, May, 1988.
This reprint appears in my story about twenty years ahead of the chronology. But it belongs here, for whatever insight it can provide as we speculate on the Olympic Games of 1968, and the medalists that made them the games they were!
Oh, yes. Not mentioned in the published story was the story within a story: That the four visitors to Nevis followed in the footsteps of the younger generation and found themselves getting a little "frisky." They have never been too specific as to what that implied!
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