Olympic decathlon gold medalist Rafer Johnson, who died Dec. 3 at age 86, epitomized the phrase “American hero.”
When his event’s winner was known universally as “the world’s greatest athlete,” a megastar above other megastars, Johnson showed not just the skill and grit of a champion but the class of a true sportsman, along with a consummate dignity, a palpable patriotism, and a heart for charity.
His extremely narrow 1960 Olympic victory over his friend C.K Yang, then the closest in history, was the stuff of legend, culminating in the two literally leaning on each other for physical support while trying to find air in their lungs after the thrilling 1,500-meter finish. The rest of Johnson’s life also had the aspects of a Hollywood epic: class president at UCLA; basketball player under the unparalleled John Wooden; NFL draftee as a running back; brother of an NFL Hall of Famer; an actor, first recruited to the movies (for Spartacus) by Kirk Douglas, who later ran the gamut of co-stars and films from Bob Hope to Elvis Presley to Frank Sinatra to Lassie and James Bond; and, of course, famously, a dear friend of Robert F. Kennedy.
The story is well told of how Johnson was with Kennedy when the latter was assassinated, and how Johnson and football player Roosevelt Grier wrestled assassin Sirhan Sirhan to the ground before Johnson ended up putting the gun in his own pocket. After the shock and depression wore off, Johnson and Eunice Kennedy Shriver became the driving forces behind the creation of the Special Olympics, and then Johnson served that cause devotedly, including years as chairman, for another half a century. He also volunteered for the Shriver-led Peace Corps, for the Red Cross, the March of Dimes, the Muscular Dystrophy Association, and for numerous boards of UCLA.
As 1984 Olympic chairman Peter Ueberroth put it, Johnson was “just one great person, a marvelous human being.”
Please allow, though, a somewhat more impressionistic take. Just by Johnson being Johnson, his bearing, his decency, his solidity, he was an exemplar for civil rights in a profound and desperately needed way. In the 1960s, there were plenty of famous and accomplished black Americans, but there weren’t many who, in that time when overt racism was still somewhat common, transcended race to become nearly universally admired. In admittedly subjective retrospect, only five come to mind. Two of them, Louis Armstrong and Willie Mays, were so stunningly gifted, and with such dazzling personalities, as to be virtually epochal figures, in a class by themselves. One, Jackie Robinson, earned his way into the pantheon by a combination of hard-won effort and breathtaking courage.
But it was left to Johnson, and perhaps to actor Sidney Poitier, to exemplify another trait necessary to change hearts and minds. That trait was a reassuring and tangible dignity — an indelible impression of good heart, mind, and character in a remarkably strong but unthreatening package. Johnson was not just black America at its best, but whole America at its best. He was a living, breathing advertisement for a common humanity.
Only someone with a character defect of his own could fail to admire Rafer Johnson. He wasn’t just the world’s greatest athlete; he was truly a great man.
