Jim Thorpe was one of my fascinations as a child and teen. I spent a lot of time watching old movies on TV, and one day stumbled on "Jim Thorpe: All American," starring Burt Lancaster as Thorpe. I also read from a biography series in my school library, and there was a book on Thorpe. Thorpe was considered the greatest athlete in the world, and he was Native American. I don't know why his story captivated me so. The underdog? The outsider? Indigenous? For whatever reasons, I was star-struck.
My early interest in Indigenous peoples and cultures has lasted a lifetime, as has my abiding interest in the nexus of social issues and sport. So when I saw that David Maraniss had written a biography of Thorpe, I immediately put the title on my list: Path Lit By Lightning: The Life of Jim Thorpe.
It's a masterful work, and also a very sad story. While Thorpe's accomplishments are truly amazing, and should be much more widely known, his life story is more about frustration and loss than about excellence and winning.
Over the years, journalists often portrayed Thorpe as down and out, a shadow of his once grand self, working his way back to a better life from the bottom he hit digging ditches in Los Angeles during the depths of the Depression. It was an understandable if inadequate depiction. The arc of his life after his prime athletic years was less a series of jagged ups and downs than an unceasing exertion against the tide. He had launched so many endeavors in and out of sports, always temporary, always on the move. Hollywood extra. Indian organizer. Seamen. Bar greeter. Banquet speaker. Parks employee. Sports entrepreneur with the Tampa Cardinals in football, the World Famous Indians in basketball, Harjo's Indians in baseball, Jim Thorpe's Thunderbirds in women's softball. [His third wife] Patsy had many more plans for Jim, ranging from a national television show to an agreement to return to pro football with the Philadelphia Eagles, to serving as a pro wrestling manager -- all, they hoped, leading to the ultimate goal of fulfilling Jim's long-held dream of running the Thunderbird Fishing and Hunting Lodge along Florida's Indian River. As usual, most of it would never happen.
Just how good was Thorpe?
In his prime, Thorpe was universally considered the greatest athlete in the world. He ran faster, jumped higher, threw farther, and excelled in more sports than anyone the world had ever seen. He was unquestionably the greatest American football player the world would see for decades, perhaps a century -- possibly ever. He was big and strong, and also light and graceful, winning trophies for ballroom dancing. Thorpe's sports intelligence was so keen that he could watch someone perform a feat or technique once, then effectively imitate it, then best it.
In the 1912 Stockholm Olympics, he won gold medals in both penthalon and decathlon, which then consisted of long jump, javelin throw, 200-meter dash, discus throw, and 1500-meter run. In an incident now famous on social media, someone stole Thorpe's track shoes only moments before the competition. Scrambling, he found two shoes, a mismatched pair -- one retrieved from a trash can -- and won a gold medal wearing those.
After the Olympics, in the Amateur Athletic Union's All-Around Championship -- equivalent to today's world championships in any given sport -- Thorpe won seven of the 10 events he competed in and placed second in the other three, breaking the world record for total points scored. Martin Sheridan, a five-time Olympic gold medalist, was present when his record was broken. He told the press, "Thorpe is the greatest athlete that ever lived. He has me beaten fifty ways. Even when I was in my prime, I could not do what he did today."
I don't watch football (in any of its forms), but reading Maraniss's thrilling descriptions of Thorpe's preternatural ability to avoid tackles, running around, through, and over any opponent in his path, I would give anything to have seen Thorpe play. Sportswriters ran out of superlatives to convey what they had seen.
Here's a view from 1950.
The Associated Press, after polling 391 sportswriters and broadcasters, declared Thorpe "the number one gridiron performer of the last 50 years," as he far outpaced Red Grange and Bronco Nagurski, the only other players in double figures in the voting, followed by Ernie Nevers, Sammy Baugh, Don Hutson , and George Gipp (who had four votes).
When the same electorate chose the greatest track athlete of the half century, Thorpe finished second behind Jesse Owens. More bests were named in succession in baseball, boxing, basketball, golf, tennis, swimming, and horse racing -- until on February 11, 1950, the AP announced the ultimate crown.
The group of 56 athletes who received at least one vote as greatest athlete of the half century included Willie Hoppe in billiards and Dave Freeman in badminton, but the top 11 formed a gallery of major sports legends. At 11th came the electric Jackie Robinson, in his third year as the pioneer of [B]lack players in the major leagues, with two first-place votes and 24 total points. Next, counting down, came Nagurski at 10th, then Lou Gehrig, Owens, Grange, Joe Lewis, and Bobby Jones, none of whom reached 100 votes.
For the top four, the numbers jumped exponentially. Ty Cobb had one first-place vote and 148 points for fourth. Jack Dempsey claimed 19 first-place votes and 246 total points for third. Babe Ruth had 86 first-place votes and 539 total points for second.
All overshadowed by the colossus. Jim Thorpe finished with 252 first-place votes and 875 total points.
Disgraced by a disgraceful injustice
In 1913, one year after Thorpe's internationally celebrated success in Stockholm, he was stripped of his titles, and his medals and trophies were confiscated, after it was revealed that Thorpe had played some loosely organized semi-pro baseball.
Playing bush-league baseball during the summer was a fact of life for hundreds of college athletes. This was technically against the rules, but the rule was rarely, if ever, enforced. Most college athletes would play under a fake name, and officials simply looked away. Thorpe made the "mistake" of using his real name and took no great pains to hide his play. The price for his honesty was catastrophic. The Olympic Committee invalidated Thorpe's wins, and declared the silver medalists the victor.
Protest rang out all over the world. The silver medalists in pentathlon and decathlon, athletes from Norway and Sweden respectively, refused to accept the gold, saying Thorpe had earned it and they had not. Athletes, coaches, fans throughout the world, and the King of Sweden were united in their opposition to the decision. It was not reversed.
Thorpe would press his cause throughout his life, writing letters, speaking to sportswriters, and mentioning it in public appearances, asking for his gold-medal status to be reinstated, and to be given the medals and trophies he had won.
One man made sure this didn't happen: Avery Brundage.
Nazis and ordinary snakes
Avery Brundage was a powerful Olympic official (and a competitor of Thorpe's) who staunchly defended the elitism of the Olympics. Under his vision, the modern Olympics were a celebration of amateurism -- meaning, people wealthy enough to have copious leisure time, unsullied by the need to support oneself or one's family. He defended this vision at the expense of an incredibly talented, honest, and vulnerable athlete.
Brundage, not incidentally, was a Nazi. He had a long, glorious career defending racial purity and the murderous, racist regimes that sought to enforce it.
Arguably more devastating than the rescinded gold medals was the betrayal that enabled it. Thorpe's influential coach, Glenn "Pop" Warner, and the head administrator of the Carlisle Indian Boarding School claimed to have no knowledge of Thorpe's baseball play. They took the athlete on whose talents their careers -- and profits -- were built, and threw him under the proverbial bus. They blatantly lied about their knowledge of Thorpe's activity, and feigned shock and outrage, thus saving their own careers and ruining Thorpe's.
The rest is struggle
The rest of Thorpe's life would become a series of struggles, or perhaps one long struggle and a long series of disappointments. People would routinely rip him off. He would go on a baseball barnstorming tour, play all the games, live on a meager allowance, then at the end of the tour, the producer would say, sorry, I have no money to pay you, goodbye. There is story after story like this. Bad investment deals. Grand schemes for a football league. Organizers doling out hope and stringing him along. And always, Thorpe's generous nature, always wanting to help others, giving away money he himself desperately needed.
Maraniss writes:
Over the years, journalists often portrayed Thorpe as down and out, a shadow of his once grand self, working his way back to a better life from the bottom he hit digging ditches in Los Angeles during the depths of the depression. It was an understandable if inadequate depiction period the arc of his life after his prime athletic years was less a series of jagged ups and downs than an unceasing exertion against the tide. He had launched so many endeavors in and out of sports, always temporary, always on the move. Hollywood extra. Indian organizer. Seamen. Bar greeter. Banquet speaker. Parks employee. Sports entrepreneur with the Tampa Cardinals in football about that the world famous Indians in basketball, hard joes Indians ing baseball, Jim Thorpe's Thunderbirds in women's softball. Patsy had many more plans for Jim, ranging from a national television show to an agreement to return to Pro Football with the Philadelphia Eagles to serving as a pro wrestling manager dash all, they hoped, leading to the ultimate goal of fulfilling gene gyms long held dream of running the Thunderbird fishing and hunting lodge along Florida's Indian River. As usual, most of it would never happen.
The Hollywood Indians, the Big Chiefs, and the warpath
Thorpe had a minor movie career, at a time when Hollywood was making westerns, in which the Indians were always bad guys, while also promoting the "noble savage" stereotype. It comes as no surprise that the Hollywood Indians, as they were called, were paid less than white actors, and used only as extras. If a movie called for a starring Indian role, it was invariably played by a white actor. This was, of course, a practice that Hollywood employed for decades with leading roles depicting Asians, Latinos, and Native Americans, and has only recently begun to drop, from public pressure.
Thorpe became a spokesperson for Native Americans in the movie business, advising newcomers on how to survive in the business and advocating for Native actors, pushing for them to get their fair due. I had no idea, and I loved this.
If you've never had occasion to read sports pages of old newspapers, you might be shocked at the way the press covered Thorpe. The racist stereotyping is constant and so pervasive, you might think it was a parody.
Native American athletes were always called Chief, and said to be "on the warpath". Headlines routinely read "Big Chief Thorpe Runs Heap-um Fast", "Injun Thorpe Say You No Catch Me," and similar.
Having read a lot of this kind of thing over time, I was not surprised. When Joe DiMaggio signed with the New York Yankees, sportswriters gleefully told their readers DiMaggio hardly smelled like garlic at all. Seriously. These "jokes" never stopped. There were pitifully few instances of game stories or features about Thorpe that did not contain these racist stereotypes. His greatest champion in the press, the talented and famous Grantland Rice, wrote seriously and beautifully about Thorpe. But even Rice employed the accepted wisdom of the day, that Thorpe was the last of a "dying race," childlike in his innocence.
Crossing many paths
Thorpe didn't lead an exemplary life. He struggled with alcohol and relationships. In that, he was no different than millions of others, and he had the additional burden of racism and discrimination. Thorpe lost his twin brother when he was a little boy, and his first child to the influenza pandemic. There was a lot of sadness and loss in his life.
Thorpe's career intersected with many people who would later become famous. He demolished both George S. Patton and Dwight D. Eisenhower on the football field, he batted against the great Walter Johnson, he was friends with Babe Ruth (he and Thorpe had much in common), and was befriended and aided by Bob Hope. Maraniss skillfully uses each encounter to illuminate facets of Thorpe's personality and talents.
Maraniss has an excellent take on Native American issues. Living at the Carlisle Indian Boarding School worked out well for Thorpe, not unlike how St. Mary's Industrial School for Boys worked out for Babe Ruth. But Maraniss doesn't use this to mount a specious argument on the effectiveness of the
Indian Boarding Schools. He is very clear on what was going on -- the destruction of families and culture, the infantilizing of adults (Native Americans were forced to petition Indian Agents to access their own money), the forced assimilation, the school conditions that were ripe for, and rife with, abuse.
Here's an interesting and maddening note.
Ten days before Christmas, a letter arrived from Horace J. Johnson, chief agent at the Sac and Fox Agency in Stroud. One document inside proclaimed that James Francis Thorpe had qualified to be deemed a United States citizen. He was 29. He had lived his entire life on American soil. He was educated at government schools. He could read and write. He had brought glory to the United States as the greatest athlete at the Olympics in 1912, praised by President Taft for representing "the best type of American citizen". His income as a professional baseball and football player exceeded the $3,000-a-year minimum that required him to pay federal taxes. All of that, yet only now was he granted citizenship.
* * * *
Many years ago, I put Maraniss's book
They Marched Into Sunlight on my List. Looking over the list for our
recent pilgrimage to Powell's in Portland, I thought, do I still want to read this? Nah. I moved the title into the "no longer want to read" section. (No deleting!) Now that I've read
Path Lit by Lightning, my interest in that earlier book is renewed. Maraniss has also written a
biography of Roberto Clemente, among many other works,
I will also note that Path Lit by Lightning reminded me greatly of my partner Allan's first book, 1918: Babe Ruth and the World Champion Boston Red Sox. 1918 has a shorter time-span and narrower focus, but the two books and the writing styles have a lot in common. Maraniss's play-by-play of football games is almost as good as Allan's recreation of baseball games from those long-ago days.
