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The unmarked man
Former Olympian, Cowboys player Bob Hayes remains without headstone
Norm Frauenheim
The Arizona Republic
Aug. 16, 2007 12:00 AM
He was always way ahead of everybody. That's why they called Bob Hayes the World's Fastest Man. Go ahead and argue with the title. There was Jesse Owens before him and Carl Lewis after him.
But it was never more appropriate than during the end of an era, just before high-tech sole on tartan track replaced spikes on cinders. Hayes didn't turn those tracks into cinders. It just seemed like it.
Look at the pictures: Hayes is so far out in front in winning the 100-meter dash at the 1964 Olympics, or so far away from the nearest defensive back as a Dallas Cowboys receiver, that he is virtually alone. Nobody can catch him, capture him or perhaps know him.
But fast shouldn't mean forgotten and, sadly, that is what is happening to an athlete who is unique on any clock and in any time.
Hayes is buried in an unmarked grave in his hometown, Jacksonville, Fla., according to the Florida Times-Union. A street, sports complex and high school track meet are named after him. But there's no headstone above a patch of grass where Hayes was buried after he died nearly five years ago, Sept. 18, 2002.
It's hard to believe that the Cowboys, or the NFL, or the United States Olympic Committee or USA Track & Field hasn't provided a headstone. How about the NFL Players Association? The union is under attack these days for not doing enough for retired veterans. A Hayes headstone would be a small but powerful answer to Mike Ditka's complaints.
Hayes' unmarked grave is sad because it represents a life that went unappreciated.
His receiving records in Dallas - 20 yards per catch and 71 touchdowns - put him in the Cowboys' Ring of Honor. Football historians put him in their book because he changed the game by forcing defenses into sophisticated zones. But there was never induction to the Pro Football Hall of Fame, probably because of a 10-month sentence on cocaine charges in 1979. Sports Illustrated's Paul Zimmerman quit the selection committee over a slight he argued was an outrage.
By then, Hayes knew too much about slights. Other than his unrivaled speed, he knew little else. He grew up in Jacksonville during segregation. In late 1950s and early 1960s, the old Jacksonville Journal, an afternoon newspaper, published two sports sections, White and Black.
For the White schools, there were big headlines and photographs. For the Black schools, there were only the results, which the papers acquire on the phone from correspondents.
Just before Hayes burst onto the world scene in 1961 and then 1962 at 9.3, 9.2 and then 9.1 in the 100-yard dash as an 18-year-old freshman at Florida A&M, he was at Jacksonville's Gilbert High.
Even then, there were whispered stories about this kid, "R. Hayes," on the streets and sandlots of downtown Jacksonville.
At all-White Robert E. Lee High, however, there was a kid making big news with a 9.9, sometimes 9.8, 100-yard dash.
In the small print at the back of the paper, however, R. Hayes, Gilbert, kept showing up at 9.5, 9.4.
An old copy editor was responsible for taking results for the Black schools. Finally, he said, he asked the Gilbert correspondent, a coach, about R. Hayes.
"Is this R.. Hayes really running a 9.4, 9.5?"
"Yes, sir, maybe faster."
"Well, why haven't you told us more about him?"
"Well, sir, we never thought it was that big a deal."
"You've got to be kidding. Why?"
"Because, sir, he's been doing it in the sand."
While at Florida A&M there's a story he was clocked at 9.0 in 1962 at a Black-college meet in South Florida. But his time was officially listed at 9.3. His coach reportedly told him nobody would believe 9.0 because all of the officials were Black.
Two years later, Hayes won Olympic gold in a pair of borrowed spikes. He blamed boxing gold medalist and future heavyweight champ Joe Frazier for kicking one of his own shoes under a bed. He didn't realize half his spikes were missing until he reached the Tokyo stadium. Luckily, somebody had a pair that fit.
Then, there was his 1964 anchor leg on America's 4-by-100 relay. Hayes had a running start. But what a finish. With the world watching him and the clock, the slowest estimate of his 100-meter split was 8.9.
Unbelievable, but true.
As unbelievable and true as an unmarked grave.
Former Olympian, Cowboys player Bob Hayes remains without headstone
Norm Frauenheim
The Arizona Republic
Aug. 16, 2007 12:00 AM
He was always way ahead of everybody. That's why they called Bob Hayes the World's Fastest Man. Go ahead and argue with the title. There was Jesse Owens before him and Carl Lewis after him.
But it was never more appropriate than during the end of an era, just before high-tech sole on tartan track replaced spikes on cinders. Hayes didn't turn those tracks into cinders. It just seemed like it.
Look at the pictures: Hayes is so far out in front in winning the 100-meter dash at the 1964 Olympics, or so far away from the nearest defensive back as a Dallas Cowboys receiver, that he is virtually alone. Nobody can catch him, capture him or perhaps know him.
But fast shouldn't mean forgotten and, sadly, that is what is happening to an athlete who is unique on any clock and in any time.
Hayes is buried in an unmarked grave in his hometown, Jacksonville, Fla., according to the Florida Times-Union. A street, sports complex and high school track meet are named after him. But there's no headstone above a patch of grass where Hayes was buried after he died nearly five years ago, Sept. 18, 2002.
It's hard to believe that the Cowboys, or the NFL, or the United States Olympic Committee or USA Track & Field hasn't provided a headstone. How about the NFL Players Association? The union is under attack these days for not doing enough for retired veterans. A Hayes headstone would be a small but powerful answer to Mike Ditka's complaints.
Hayes' unmarked grave is sad because it represents a life that went unappreciated.
His receiving records in Dallas - 20 yards per catch and 71 touchdowns - put him in the Cowboys' Ring of Honor. Football historians put him in their book because he changed the game by forcing defenses into sophisticated zones. But there was never induction to the Pro Football Hall of Fame, probably because of a 10-month sentence on cocaine charges in 1979. Sports Illustrated's Paul Zimmerman quit the selection committee over a slight he argued was an outrage.
By then, Hayes knew too much about slights. Other than his unrivaled speed, he knew little else. He grew up in Jacksonville during segregation. In late 1950s and early 1960s, the old Jacksonville Journal, an afternoon newspaper, published two sports sections, White and Black.
For the White schools, there were big headlines and photographs. For the Black schools, there were only the results, which the papers acquire on the phone from correspondents.
Just before Hayes burst onto the world scene in 1961 and then 1962 at 9.3, 9.2 and then 9.1 in the 100-yard dash as an 18-year-old freshman at Florida A&M, he was at Jacksonville's Gilbert High.
Even then, there were whispered stories about this kid, "R. Hayes," on the streets and sandlots of downtown Jacksonville.
At all-White Robert E. Lee High, however, there was a kid making big news with a 9.9, sometimes 9.8, 100-yard dash.
In the small print at the back of the paper, however, R. Hayes, Gilbert, kept showing up at 9.5, 9.4.
An old copy editor was responsible for taking results for the Black schools. Finally, he said, he asked the Gilbert correspondent, a coach, about R. Hayes.
"Is this R.. Hayes really running a 9.4, 9.5?"
"Yes, sir, maybe faster."
"Well, why haven't you told us more about him?"
"Well, sir, we never thought it was that big a deal."
"You've got to be kidding. Why?"
"Because, sir, he's been doing it in the sand."
While at Florida A&M there's a story he was clocked at 9.0 in 1962 at a Black-college meet in South Florida. But his time was officially listed at 9.3. His coach reportedly told him nobody would believe 9.0 because all of the officials were Black.
Two years later, Hayes won Olympic gold in a pair of borrowed spikes. He blamed boxing gold medalist and future heavyweight champ Joe Frazier for kicking one of his own shoes under a bed. He didn't realize half his spikes were missing until he reached the Tokyo stadium. Luckily, somebody had a pair that fit.
Then, there was his 1964 anchor leg on America's 4-by-100 relay. Hayes had a running start. But what a finish. With the world watching him and the clock, the slowest estimate of his 100-meter split was 8.9.
Unbelievable, but true.
As unbelievable and true as an unmarked grave.
