The Front Runner

with," I said. "He and Mike and Martinson and Sachs are going to room together in Montreal. I'm so glad he's not in there alone and being avoided."
    "Right," said Vince. "I shouldn't be selfish. But I am ..."
    Mike Stella was, in fact, the only good straight friend that Billy had ever had. And, in addition to his new allies among the athletes, Billy also had a couple on the coaching staff. I had been steeling myself to continue being his shield in Montreal, which would be difficult from outside the team. I had envisioned myself making sure he got to the stadium in time to warm up for his events, feeling that Lindquist might not bother to look after him.
    But the distance coach, UCLA's Ed Taplinger, had taken Billy under his wing, and sided with him in disputes with Lindquist. Like Stella, Taplinger had begun feeling that enough hassling had been done.
    Lindquist pestered Billy every chance he got. While I respected the man as one of the country's leading track coaches, I found it hard to escape the conclusion that he wanted to spoil Billy's chances. Perhaps he thought that if he poured on enough pressure, Billy would lose his Montreal psych. If so, he didn't know Billy. Billy's stubbornness increased in direct ratio to outside pressure.
    A major bone of contention was Billy's program. Lindquist couldn't believe, or said he couldn't, that Billy got such results on only 100-130 miles a week. "You're not working hard enough," he told him, and pressured him to add more mileage. Billy set his jaw and wouldn't add a single yard. Taplinger infuriated Lindquist by saying that he thought I knew what I was doing.
    I was amused to see Billy defending this program that sixteen months ago he had fought me so bitterly about. The Olympic track coaches, really, do very little actual coaching. Mostly they are just putting finishing touches on work that other coaches have done. They are babysitters with blazers and whistles, shepherding finished athletes to the Games.
    Lindquist hassled Billy about his diet too, and made it hard for him to get the things he needed to eat. This meant that we were always smuggling nuts and fresh cereals into the camp via Mike. Luckily, the team doctor, Tay Parker, another new ally of Billy's, was fascinated by his diet, and kept close check on Billy's condition.
    This meant that Tay, too, had sharp words with Lindquist.
    "He -pick at dose salads like a goddamn girl," roared Lindquist.
    "I'd like to see a girl run a 27:43 10,000," snapped Tay.
    Lindquist was always complaining to the USOC that Billy was a constant cause of discord between himself and his staff.
    Billy got into the politics on the team with a great deal of zest. He wanted to repay the honor shown to his cause by supporting others' causes. He was involved in the politicking that got the curfew-breakers reinstated. When six black sprinters got mad at Lindquist about something, Billy and Mike were the two mediators that smoothed things over. Lindquist didn't like that either. "Dot boy, he is not only qveer, he is vun big troublemaker."
    The day that the Time cover story hit the newsstands, USOC chairman Frank Appleby called Lindquist, who yelled at Billy, who told me and John. We called Frank back.
    "Why weren't we informed about this?" asked Frank coldly.
    "It was done before the Trials, so it wasn't any of your affair," I said.
    "Do you realize that the IOC eligibility committee might question us on Billy's eligibility?" he asked.
    "We asked them not to use Billy's name in the advertising," I said, "and they agreed, and it's all in writing. If you want, we'll send you copies of the correspondence."
    "I fail to understand," he went on in the same tone of voice, "why you two are such publicity hounds."
    "We didn't go to them," I said. "They came to us. And I can think of several amateurs who have been on Time covers and never had their eligibility questioned, so ..."
    A couple more days after the Time story appeared, the owner of the motel came around to us. "You're the guy in the story?" he asked. "That kid who comes is the other one?"
    "Yes," I said.
    "I'll give you an hour to pay and check out of here. Don't come back."
    Finally we found a motel in a nearby ski area. The lady owner let us stay even after she found out who we were. She was broad-minded, having seen all kinds of goings-on with the young ski crowd in winter.
    Billy and I didn't enjoy that uprooted life. We were back on a schedule eerily like the one we'd had before we