Some Stories are Hard to Write

As I write this it’s been almost two months since one of my editors died. I had worked with Greg Marr, editor of Silent Sports, regularly for the past two years.

Marr was only 52 years old when, seven minutes into a cross-country ski, he died of a heart attack. Cross-country skiing was Marr’s favorite of the ‘silent sports’ so one could argue his death as a bit ironic. I just find it confusing. Greg was so full of life, so active. He was looking forward to what he thought would be some of his best ski racing ever in 2004.

Fast forward one month and I find myself knee-deep in research for another editor. I’m researching the lives of Ron Daws and Steve Hoag. Hoag was a little easier – I could still talk to him. I thought Daws would be more of a challenge.

More of the challenge has been trying to get people to stop talking about Daws so I can catch up with my notes. Even 12 years after his death, it’s so apparent the way he ran and lived his life had a great influence and impact on many people. They still can’t help but laugh as they tell story after story.

And they still can’t help wondering - why? Daws was only 55 when he died of a heart attack in July 1992.

As I talked to people about his story I became more and more caught up in the life of Daws, as told by his family, friends, athletes he coached, and people with whom he ran. I loved hearing all the stories that people were so eager to share with me. And I loved the opportunity it gave me to also think about Marr.

Ironically, I had met and talked to Daws. I never actually met Marr. I just assumed I would meet him one day. I guess technology gives us the best and worst of our world. All of my work for and with Marr for two years was done by email (he lived in Waupaca, Wisconsin). Not even one phone call in all that time. Seems amazing to me now but I just took our communication style for granted.

I can’t claim to have really known Daws either. In fact, I met him for the first time less than a year before he died. And I’ll be completely honest: I didn’t know who Ron Daws was before I met him. It wasn’t that I wasn’t into running and/or the Olympics. On the contrary, I’d spent a lot of time studying Evelyn Ashford, Wilma Rudolph and other great sprinters. I just used to be one of those people who believed anything over 800 meters on a track was way too long. And a marathon? Come on…

I could use as an excuse the fact that I wasn’t even alive in 1968 when Daws ran in the Olympic Marathon. However, he’d certainly run some impressive races locally, regionally and nationally since then.

So it was that I found myself walking into my coach’s house in Stillwater for a post-race party after the U’s biggest cross country meet in the fall of 1991. I had graduated earlier that year and was now a spectator and volunteer for the program. A friend leaned over, pointed to a man, woman and one of the U’s female athletes sitting on the living room floor talking. He said, “That’s Ron Daws.” The way he said it made me think I should know who he was. But all I remember thinking was, “Oh. Who?”

I was introduced to Daws that day, spoke to him briefly and actually connected more with his wife, Mary Hanson. I had recently graduated from the U’s School of Journalism where I had studied broadcasting. Hanson had produced her own cable television show for years (and still does!) [The Mary Hanson Show.] But I remember noting the quiet presence that Daws had. Not in a ‘look at me!’ kind of way. He just seemed like he might be interesting to talk to.

That winter and spring as I attended indoor and outdoor track meets, if Daws was there we would inevitably end up talking, at least for a few minutes. Each time I saw him I thought, “Oh good, now’s he’s going to tell me stories about his glory days!” I wanted to hear all about the Olympics, Boston Marathon, etc.

But he never talked about himself; at least not with me. He always wanted to know about my running background and my views on running in general. I was always embarrassed thinking, “What does it matter what I think? You’re the one whose lived this life of exciting, high-level running.” I was injured all the time at the U.

I realize now (and maybe I did a bit then, too) that he really did care what others thought. Probably about running and lots of other topics too.

Now comes the tough part. I’ve been assigned the unenviable task of trying to put Daws’ life into words. Luckily, many people have gone before me. I have them as interview sources and their great works as reference material.

Silent Sports now has the task of capturing Marr’s impact and contributions in their magazine. Maybe I should call them. I need someone to tell me – how do you take a person who was larger than life and condense him down to one story?

---

The Daws/Hoag Human Race Heroes Series (the first 3 of 5 articles):

Daws, Hoag Connected to Event, Each Other. Part I: The Beginning
Daws, Hoag Connected to Event, Each Other. Part II: The Self-Made Olympian
Daws, Hoag Connected to Event, Each Other. Part III: The Road to Boston