By Verna Wormgear as told to Larry Caringer

The dream of Olympic Gold! Who hasn't dreamed that dream where you find yourself wearin' that gold thingy around your neck? Occasionally, even today, I let my mind drift back to that secret place in my memory with the three tiered podium. I'll close my eyes; suddenly, there I am standin' on top wavin' at the crowd while the Olympic band plays "Stairway to Heaven" -- 'cause they'll do that, you know! They'll play whatever song you want 'em to play when you're the winner.

The winner. One time, years ago, I was almost the winner. I was so close to that top step on the podium, if the breeze had been just right, I might have gotten a whiff of the sweaty insoles of the track shoes of those who had gone before me. Back then, the aroma of sweat, foot fungus and Absorbine Jr. was like an aphrodisiac.

It was 1959. I was a college senior. Well, okay, I was 29. And, I wasn't in college. This was partly because I wasn't sure what kind of advanced degree I should get...and, partly because I never finished high school. But, be that as it may, I was a 29 year old old on the move. Well, okay, actually, I was working for a moving company. Now, you'd think that kind of job would have kept me in great shape; after all, lifting, pushing, scratching and breaking personal possessions all day requires lots of strength and stamina. But, since I was only the receptionist, answering phones didn't do much for my conditioning.

That's why I used to go to the track behind my old high school. Not to run; but, to have a nice, relaxing smoke. And, that's where I met him. Edgar Snodgrass was a magnificent athletic specimen. I say that because, at 5'3" and 115 pounds, very few Olympic athletes were as wiry as he was. It was there, one August evening, right after Edgar had finished an eight mile run and I'd finished my last Camel, that he shared with me his dreams of being on the American team for the 1960 Olympics in Rome.