ED FRIEDMAN'S WEBSITE
Stories about Ted (as told by those who knew him)
Lowell Paul used to pride himself in not being into awards, championships, and so on. He'd give away his Kansas and Penn relay watches as unimportant. Ted was talking to him, saying: "How many national championships have you won, 9 or 10?". Lowell quickly replied "11". Ted countered, "But who's counting, right?". Lowell was put in his place.
In the early 1970's, some university bureaucrats questioned the special status of the Track Club, even threatening to discontinue it. (I, and others, helped to combat this - ultimately we were successful.)
But when I told Ted about the danger, he thought a bit and said, "Well, the worst they can do is to close us down".
After a pause, he smiled and said, "But they can't undo the good we've done."
After Tommie Smith had been kicked off the Olympic team in Mexico, I saw him in the hotel lobby where I was staying. I went up to him, offered my hand and my congratulations. He did not take my hand, but asked, "What's that for man?". I said, "You won a gold medal, that's what it's for.". He took my hand, saying, "That's what it's all about. Where are you from?"
"Chicago."
"Do you know Ted Haydon?"
"He's a good friend."
"No wonder. That explains it."
In 1979, I approached Ted at Stagg Field during a track meet. I introduced myself and asked "How do I become a member of the club?". He answered, "What do you run?". I said the mile. He said, "It starts in 5 minutes". After the race, I asked "Now what do I do to join...?" He just smiled... And I'm still here! And I'll be here next year!
One of my favorite times as a child was when my father would share stories of his track and cross country days. While in seminary, he ran for Ted and the UCTC for several years. Of course, I recall his telling of the unique kind of man that Ted was and the appreciation he had for Ted as a very capable coach and as a caring human being.
Now, 26 years later, I am at seminary and am honored to be running for the UCTC. In a sense, my running has deep meaning here because I feel a part of the tradition of caring, quality, and idealism that my father, Ted Haydon, and many others have invested themselves in. Each run with the UCTC keeps "the dream" alive!
My shining memory of Ted is the image of that great right hand with its Olympic ring reaching out to shake my hand (and swallow it up) when I arrived to help officiate a meet.
Ted was the speaker at the class of 1933 40th reunion. He particularly wished to have Mrs. Ned Merriam, my mother, as a guest at the head table. He saw that she had a special seat at the track meet that afternoon for a quadrangular meet. The Chicago team won every event after she arrived. Ted gave my mother (widow of Ted's track coach and mentor, Ned Merriam) all the credit for winning the meet. Mother was happily honored by him and our classmates. His thoughtfulness is legendary. This is just one example!
Ted once looked at my shoulders and said, "Mark, you shouldn't have much trouble with wind resistance". Then he said, "but I guess you don't have much in the way of lung power".
Ted had a tendency to be a stubborn navigator to varsity cross country meets. Once, upon leaving Cleveland after NCAA nationals, which featured the UofC varsity team drinking with their coach. Ted sent us in the direction of Columbus rather than Chicago. As compensation, we got to eat prime rib in Delphi, Ohio.
Several years ago Ted said to me, "Rev. Jordan, tell me all about your church". About five words into telling Ted about my church, he gave me this deadpan look that only he could give, turned his back on me and started talking to someone else. Fot the next five minutes I lost interest in my church. God forgave me.
Several years ago, I purchased a UCTC sweatsuit. As I wrote the check, I was reflecting on what "rationale" or "excuse" I could use for spending such an amount. (After all, I am, at a best, a middle-of-the-pack runner and my wife does not understand any of this!) Ted responded, "Chris, if you would cut down on your visits to Jimmy's, there would be no problem financially!!"
I had been running for the track club for about a year and 1982 had been a pretty good cross country season. The week before the team was to go to Nationals, I still hadn't heard from Ted and figured I probably wouldn't go. On the night of Thanksgiving, however, at 11:00 pm (I had been in bed for a half an hour), the phone rang and Ted was on the other end. As I woke up and realized what he was trying to say, he asked me if I wanted to got to Nationals. I said "Sure, when?". "Oh, we leave tomorrow morning at 7:45 am from O'Hare. I was thrilled, yet when I had to get up at 5:30 am to get from Milwaukee to O'Hare, I wondered what I was doing. He was always coming up with the unexpected and had some of the best lines and such a warm personality.
One evening I was being encouraged to run some 440's with the club. I declined, saying I didn't think I was up to it (having rarely broken 100 seconds for a quarter). Ted said, "Oh, don't be intimidated, I've timed some pretty slow quarters here: 80 seconds, 85... even a 90 seconds..." That cinched it: no UCTC for me.
Ted Haydon upon meeting my wife for the first time said... "How's Bill feeling - is he doing OK? He looks quite thin - are you feeding him?" (I wrote to Ted the following week to explain to him that I'm doing OK, training hard, and am not anorexic!!)
It was Ted's 73rd Birthday Party held at Zeus' place - I approached Ted, who was in a very crowded group, and I said to him: "Ted, you know you don't look 73." He said, "Say that again.". Thinking he didn't hear me, I yelled back and said "You look younger than 73". He said "Say that again" (his hand at his ear and smiling). I got the message.
Ted Haydon was a good coach. When I met him in the spring of 1980, we used to have good humor about the club. I had an opportunity to improve my skill in track. After I left to California to settle there, in January of 1985 I gave Ted a call, telling him I would be back next season. He said he'd be glad to see me again.
When I came back from Europe and went to the Summer Festival track meet, he wasn't there. All I saw was a track schedule and two new coaches. Then I called Zeus to find out that Ted had passed away.
Ted, watching a 10,000 meter race go by at the U of I (a fast pace): "They look like they're walking". This is memorable because I had never met a coach who was irreverent of his runners' efforts.
Although Ted never really condoned the Tuesday - Thursday run (a 7 mile run), as it conflicted with his workout, he would often stop and say hello as we finished. We started one run as Ted pulled up at the end of the summer with a fully loaded car returning from his summer place, but had to stop to see his runners first before going home.
The time he got shot and they left the bullets in him he liked to say with glee, "get the lead out" to his runners and he really meant it. He told the robbers he was coach at the University of Chicago, but they shot him anyway.
Ted, for all his achievements, always was low key and down to earth. I remember one evening at a track workout at the fieldhouse, when he made fun of a track coach who was wearing one of those high-tech stopwatches that did everything but scramble eggs and make coffee. The only problem was that even with that, the coach could not keep track of the one runner he was timing. So Ted started to time that runer with one of his six stopwatches.
Sitting in a bar in New York City, Ted said how he could just sit there all night and just watch the different people.
Once Ted had a nationally ranked distance runner come to the University of Chicago as a graduate student. This student was following workouts sent to him by his previous coach and reporting back his progress to him. Soon, however, he discovered that the academic rigor of the university prevented him from having the time to do his workouts. He asked Ted what he should do about his predicament, and Ted told him to lie. So he wrote back to his coach that he was doing the scheduled workouts, when in fact he started doing lighter workouts under Ted's supervision. Soon he was running faster times than ever before.
I was 34 -- almost 35 -- when I first met Ted Haydon and became involved with UCTC. After a particularly hard workout, I asked Ted what advice he had for a 35 year old half miler. "Who's 35?" he asked. "I am, almost", I said. "When did you graduate from college?", Ted asked. "1972", I replied,starting to walk away. "Geez ..I thought you were 25 and graduated in '82", Ted said. "No", I answered, moving farther away. Before I got out of the fieldhouse, Ted called me over and said: "Take it easy. You've got to be careful at your age". This was in 1984 when Ted, I think, was 72.
My favorite Ted Haydon story was when at the age of 12 or 13 I was standing at the check-in table at the UCTC Holiday Meet, my father behind me, when Mr. Haydon introduced my father and me to his wife. Ted said, "This is Ditra and Ditra Henry's father".
Ted was alway whistling a little tune - you were never quite sure what it was, but you'd think, "What is that?". Ted always had a wonderful sparkle in his eyes.
I recall Ted tracing out the area where the old track was - the curbs still visible south of the fieldhouse. Ted's coach, an early track devotee, asked that upon his death his ashes should be spread on the track. Ted undertook to fulfill the request. The only problem is the white ashes contrasted strongly with the black cinders. Before the meet could start, Ted dumped the ashes in the steeplechase pit. Years later they dug up the coach's grave and built a library.
The first time I saw Ted was on TV at the Munich Olympics - he was on national TV, admitting to a mistake. The interviewer was dumbfounded. I was too.
I once bought a couple of turtlenecks on sale for $2 each. The first time I wore one to the track on a cold day, I exclaimed that it was the best $4 I ever spent. Ted suggested it was probably the only $4 I ever spent.
I was talking with Ted in the fieldhouse one time when a bossy fellow came up and started talking with Ted. The fellow bragged and bragged about a cousin of his who was a great runner and who had won all kinds of awards, etc., etc. I was beginning to wonder if the fellow would ever finish his stories and leave us alone when Ted broke in and asked the fellow: "Did he ever win any awards for modesty?". There ensued a period of profound silence while Ted and I shared a smile.
When I showed Ted my pair of spikes (used) which I tried on the track for the first time, they were two sizes too big. I asked him what to do, if there was another pair around. His suggestion was ... wear a few extra pairs of socks.
Ted and I were at a high school city meet at Hanson Park. Ted was the starter and I was the clerk of the course (F. Lee Slick). I was yelling and screaming at the kids to get in line, get to the line, get your blocks set, get your sweats off. Ted walks up to me and says "Just calm down, Lee, we'll get it done.". Those of you who ran for Ted know that we always got the meets done. It may have taken a long time, but we got it done.
I was with Ted at a track meet at the University of Missouri in Columia. The meet was going well and the Track Club was winning. I said to Ted, "It looks like we'll win.". Ted said, "I hope not". I was shocked and questioned him about it. He replied that "if we win, we'll not be invited back.".
Its late in the afternoon in the Field House, perhaps early evening, and a few of us were at the finish line kibitzing with Ted as we often did... waiting for the next quip or joke or observation, all this while he had a watch on two or three guys doing laps. His big feet were planted planted firmly on the track, dead flat, as if they were attached somehow. The way he stood, I think it was reprehensive of what his message was to all of us. "I'm here for you and I'm not going anywhere". A track club member (UCTC), one of those guys Ted took under his wing even though he wasn't very serious about running, said: "Ted, I don't know what to do .I don't have a girlfriend. I can't pay my rent. I don't have any friends. I think I'm going to kill myself." Ted always took in guys like this. He gave them a uniform and allowed them to run in open meets, though few of them had the nerve to do so.
Ted, the ex-social worker, didn't bat an eye. He just looked at the guy, clicked one watch, started another as someone went through and said calmly: "I think you should". This defies all the accepted suicide prevention responses... But he knew his man. The guy thought for a while and said, "Well, maybe I won't, at least not until after the meet on Sat. Haydon said: "Are you going to run tonight with your clothes on? Go down and get your sweats on."
I was on the varsity and the track club, and was very fast and very insecure. Even though I tied an American record in the 70 yd dash, and ran a 9.4 100 yd. I was always worried I wasn't good enough, either as a runner or a person. My teammates barely tolerated my cocky ways, perhaps realizing they were just a cover for the real me. I used to complain to Ted all the time about not getting my picture in the papers enough. I would nag him to get the reporters to do that, nagged him a lot. He always said I really did have quite a lot of publicity. But to a voracious ego-maniac it was never enough. There were were fellow sprinters, Jim Golliday and Ira Murchison around then as well. Golliday was the world record holder at 100 yd., 9.3, and Ira at 100m, 10.1. They got the big stories.
I beat both of them occasionally... But they were clearly better, having each been a "world's fastest human" at one time or another. They were both cool, confident in the knowledge that they were, or had been, the best in the world. These guys were running all over the world and I was just a little below that level. They both very graciously helped me a lot.
In 1957 I was invited to go to the Maccabiah Games in Tel Aviv, the Jewish Olympics. I was a really a shoo-in for the 100 and 200 and 4x100. Everyone around the track club was kidding me about being the world's fastest Jew. Well I got my ass kicked, finishing second in both the 100, and 200. When I got home I went over to the field house during practice and Ted quipped:
"Well if it isn't the world's second fastest Jew".
At a Notre Dame cross country meet their coach yelled at us and said "tell Ted that if he enters his runners late again I won't take them." We told him to go tell Ted himself. He didn't.
At the TAC Nationals in cross country in NYC, after finishing 5th team I smuggled a case of beer on the plane. When Ted (who was sitting in front of me) found out, his hand reached behind his seat for one.
A great man who made me believe in myself.