Berlin was to have been the venue for the 1916 Olympic Games, the quadrennial rite for young athletes around the world. With World War I tearing Europe apart, however, Olympic officials suspended the games. Two years later, the "War to End All Wars" was over, and the games were hurriedly reassigned to battle-ravaged Belgium and scheduled for August 1920. That year the American team consisted of three separate components—civilian, Army, and Navy squads—who traveled independently and marched as separate units under the American flag. It was an event that will forever remain part of U.S. Naval Academy athletic lore.
In June, Dan Gallery (the same Dan Gallery who would make rear admiral after his task group captured the German submarine U-505 during World War II), graduated from the Academy with half of the class of 1921.1 The education of half of this class had been sped up a year because of the war. Gallery had been a featherweight on the wrestling team and won all his matches in collegiate competitions that year. At Olympic tryouts, the Navy wrestlers, including Gallery, lost several key decisions, and only one of them was chosen to compete in Olympic freestyle (collegiate-style) wrestling. However, several were asked if they would like to attempt the Greco-Roman style favored by Europeans that was also contested at the Olympics. The Navy wrestlers agreed.2 Recent Academy graduates like Gallery and several continuing midshipmen joined officers and enlisted men from the Fleet, as well as a few Marines, to make up the Navy's Olympic contingent. The armored cruiser USS Frederick (CA-8)—formerly the USS Maryland—was designated as passenger liner and hotel for all the men.
The deck of the large vessel was converted into a kind of gymnasium, and the athletes regularly worked out during the voyage to Europe. During off hours, Gallery and his mates were delighted to find they had no duties other than training. And the food was top-notch. When they were not training or eating, the athletes played cards, slept, and listened to a jazz band (or just a "jazz j.g." on the piano) play the latest music.
A World Record at Sea?
They also watched in admiration as Marine Second Lieutenant Harry Liversedge put the shot a distance of 43 feet (As a student athlete at the University of California, Berkeley, Liversedge had been intercollegiate shot put champion). According to Gallery, at one point several officers got all worked up over whether Liversedge had set a world record or not. When the Marine put the shot, some of them figured:
it stayed in the air 3 sec. during which time the ship moved ahead 9 feet so that should be added to his distance. 43 & 9 = 52 feet. There was a big argument about the proposition in which all the commanders and lieut[enant] com[mander]s on the ship took part. The momentum of the ship & shot, air resistance and gravitational effect of [the] ship were all dragged in without clearing the math up so the gang finally repaired to the topside and we dropped the shot from the main mast to see if the ship ran out from under it while it was dropping. When everything was ready, a plumb bob was hung from the top, a dead line chalked on the deck, all the wise guys stood around and prophesied and then the shot was let go and timed with stop watches. The old shot came crashing down on the deck and broke up the argument by hitting forward of the line.
The Navy men continued to train and talk and play cards for the 11 days it took to get across this "cradle of the deep," as Gallery called the Atlantic Ocean. Competitors in everything, Gallery and his shipmates were delighted that the Frederick beat both the civilian ship Princess Matoika and the Army-chartered Pocahontas into the Scheldt River basin, where they could peer past windmills over the dikes down into Holland, some 35 feet below sea level.
Then the Frederick steamed upriver, and Belgians from small towns nearby lined the banks of the Scheldt, their children cheering the Americans. When the athletes went ashore on the evening of 6 August and began to saunter through Antwerp itself, they took note of the old buildings, the crowded streets, and the lively barrooms.
On Sunday, the 8th, Gallery and four shipmates attended mass in the local cathedral, then climbed to the top of its spire (450 feet high). From there they got a terrific view of the whole metropolis, which seemed to be filled with parades and bands, all celebrating.
'I Was Damned Proud'
After training for a few days more, the American athletes marched in the Olympic opening ceremonies. In his diary entry for 14 August, Gallery described the event:
"The stadium was a gay looking place. It was decked out all over in bright colors and all around the top of the grandstand were the flags of the nations competing. The royal box was decorated and the stands were full of color. The flags of all countries carried by spectators were scattered all thru the crowd. . . . The king, queen and Cardinal were there. The grandstand was much more dignified than a U.S. crowd and the Americans did most of the yelling and cheering. . . .
The army led our bunch, civilians next, and we brought up the rear. It sure made a fellow step high to march in that parade. When we marched down the track past the royal box and the crowd started cheering I felt a thrill that I thought you only felt when you rushed the lane and when you sang no more rivers [Academy slang for "no more exams"]. I was damned proud I was an American then."
Once all 29 countries had marched in, Belgium's King Albert spoke briefly, Belgian Cardinal Mercier gave a blessing, artillery thundered, a flock of carrier pigeons was released, and the VII Modern Olympiad was under way. As the Americans marched out of the stadium, they found themselves being given three cheers in ten different languages.
Like the other wrestlers, Gallery had by then begun sweating down to meet his weight. On 16 August, he competed in his first Olympic match, against the champion of Holland, Johannes van Maaren. According to Gallery, Van Maaren was:
. . . the stongest little mutt I ever got hold of. I got on top in about 30 sec when he tried a flying mare and stayed there the rest of the 10 min[utes]. I felt after I tried a couple of nelsons and felt his strength that I could never throw him. We started on our feet in the second ten and I got behind him again. Was afraid of my wind . . . but got my second wind after a while. He nearly got me for a fall in this period but I pulled out due to poor head work on his part. Felt rather desperate going into the last 20 min. round but I got behind him again and he only got up once. He didn't seem to know how to work on the bottom side and though he made me feel like a baby whenever I got a hold and tried to throw him he never tried anything at all worth a hoot to come out with. Was pretty tired after and rather surprised that I lasted 40 min. It sure sounded great to hear the U.S.A. yell after I got the decision.
The "U.S.A. yell," or cheer, used at Antwerp went like this:
Rah Rah Ray
U-S-A
A-M-E-R-I-C-A
Hurrah Hurrah Hurrah.
Between competitions, as they walked about the city, Gallery and his friends ribbed their wrestling teammate, Navy heavyweight Eddie Willkie, saying of every hulking brute they ran across, "Oh, he's a Greco-Roman heavyweight."
The Navy wrestlers often watched other competitions, too. Early on, Gallery went over to the stadium, where he saw "some good races and some beautiful high jumping." He was delighted to see Americans leading in every event the afternoon of 15 August. The American men ended up winning seven of the track and field events at Antwerp. Of the naval track and field contingent, Second Lieutenant Liversedge (who, during World War II, would earn two Navy Crosses and command the Marine regiment that raised the flag on Iwo Jima's Mount Suribachi) won a Bronze Medal.
'The Old Olympic Feeling'
Gallery's next competition was a Finnish wrestler named Oskar Friman. Gallery knew he was in for a challenge, since Friman was the favorite in his weight. Of the experience, he wrote:
I got the old Olympic feeling when we stepped into the ring. He was as strong as a mule and got behind me in about 30 sec. Then I tried something and we spun around the mat for about a minute but he finally blocked me. He was fast as a streak. Then he casually dug his arm in for a forward bar and gave a heave and the next thing I knew I was sliding down his back and lit on my gong with both arms locked and nearly down. Pulled out of it somehow or other and he immediately slapped on a wristlock and near nelson. He nearly got me with that but I pulled out in about a min but it was the hardest pull I ever made. Almost gave up hope when I felt his strength. Then he slipped on a bar hammerlock and jerked my head the other way. I was nearly gone so I tried a roll and it was all over. They say I nearly got him with the roll but nearly don't count.
This Finnish wrestler went on to win the Gold. As for Gallery, he still had a shot at a medal, so he kept in training.
Gallery's views about his opponents changed dramatically during this competition. When he weighed in for the Olympics, he regarded his northern-European opponents as "a gang of thugs" who "looked like they had never had a thought in their lives." However, the "bull-necked" Finns, in particular, quickly became defined as the cat-quick Finns of great self-confidence and nonchalance when Dan literally had to come to grips with them. Similarly, over the diary's four years, Gallery's early deprecating view of American enlisted Sailors (as just "gobs" or "coal-heavers") changed when he found himself coaching men in wrestling or in baseball and began to see them simply as talented athletes. For Gallery, as for many other officers, participation in sports aided enormously in developing perspective and leadership ability.
American civilian Olympic competitors won several Gold Medals in 1920. Of special note, Charlie Paddock won the Gold in the 100-meter dash at Antwerp; he would lose the same event to Harold Abrahams in the Paris Olympics of 1924, one of the two major events from those games celebrated in the Academy Award-winning British movie, Chariots of Fire. And the Hawaiian swimmer Duke Paoa Kahanamoku won a Gold at Antwerp in the 100-meter freestyle (he had also won Gold in this event at Stockholm in 1912).3
Gallery's wrestling competition eventually ended with a loss to Belgian Alexander Boumans. According to his diary, the young ensign kicked himself for not winning that one. In the end, none of the five Navy wrestlers won medals, but a couple of them, including Eddie Willkie, came very close. This was impressive in its own way, since Greco-Roman wrestling was essentially a new sport for them.
8-Oared Crew
One Olympic event involving naval athletes finished well after Gallery had completed his competition. In 1920, the Naval Academy 8-oared crew had defeated Harvard, Columbia, and Penn in collegiate regattas, but had lost to Syracuse. This Navy team then won the Child's Cup in the prestigious American Henley crew competition. At the Olympic trials in Worchester, Massachusetts, in mid-July, Navy faced Syracuse again, and this time Navy won, thereby securing the right to represent the United States in the Antwerp Games. The 8-oared crew that competed in the Olympics was drawn wholly from the 1919-20 Naval Academy rowing team, coached by Richard Glendon, the Academy rowing coach for more than two decades.4
On arriving in Antwerp, like the rest of the Americans the crew members toured the city. According to the 1921 Lucky Bag (the Academy yearbook):
the mademoiselles would look up at Buck [Jordan], for instance, then at Johnny Johnston, and loud cries of 'Boeuf! Boeuf!' would be heard on all sides. Then Buck (being a true caballero) would graciously ask: 'Voulez-vous shimmie avec-moi, petite?' ['Would you like to shimmy with me, little one?'] 'Ah, Oui, Oui, Monsieur, avec plaisir.' ['Yes indeed, Monsieur, with pleasure.'] And so it went.
Not impressed by such distractions, Coach Glendon moved the rowers from the American cruiser to quarters located in an old inn near the rowing venue, some five miles from Brussels. The inn's windows had been blown out during the war, and it had no beds and few other furnishings, so the Navy team had to bring cots and food with them.5
There the Americans discovered that all the races were to be rowed in a 165-foot-wide canal, the narrowness of which would require several heats. On the first day, a U.S. Navy gig served as a referee's boat on the canal, but its propeller became so clogged with the grass growing along the shore that officials decided to ride automobiles on a road running beside the canal to judge subsequent contests.6
The Americans anticipated that their chief competition would be from Great Britain, which was represented by the Leander Crew—a team that had won the Olympic Gold Medal at Henley during the London Olympics of 1908, had set a world record in a heat at Stockholm in 1912, and was undefeated in 1920.
America and Britain were on opposite sides of the draw. While the Navy team beat Belgium in a heat, and then defeated France in the semifinals (by five lengths), the Leander team beat first Switzerland and then Norway. Navy and Leander (the USA vs. Britain) met for the Gold at 1700 on Sunday, 29 August.
The Leander crew took the lead, rowing at a murderous pace. At the halfway mark of this 2,000-meter contest, there was open water between the British and the Americans. However, the Navy crew dug deep, surged even with the British and finally took the lead in the last 100 meters, in a killing last sprint. The Americans ended up winning by three-quarters of a length.
It was a great victory, not least because Navy crew had been aiming at defeating the British for many years. The Navy team tossed its coxswain in the canal, and then, brandishing their oars, the crew members celebrated by racing through the streets of Brussels.7
Three More Naval Golds
Besides the crew's victory, three other naval athletes at Antwerp won Gold Medals in shooting events. Marine Sergeant Morris Fisher won individual Gold in the free rifle competition at 300 meters, while champion marksman Carl Osburn, Naval Academy class of 1907, won individual Gold in army rifle, standing, also at 300 meters. Both shooters as well as Willis "Ching" Lee, Naval Academy class of 1908 (later Vice Admiral Lee, head of Pacific battleship lines from Guadalcanal onward during World War II), helped the United States win several team medals. Lee, in fact, led the 1920 Olympics in medals earned, taking home five Golds, a Silver, and a Bronze, all in team shooting.8
An unlikely connection to Annapolis came with the Canadian athlete who won the 110-meter hurdles at Antwerp in world record time, Earl "Tommy" Thomson. He ended up coaching track and field at the Naval Academy for 37 years. In 1964, Thomson helped with Marine athletes during the run-up to the Olympic Games at Tokyo. A young Marine officer and native American named Billy Mills attributed much of his improved mental attitude to Thomson, an attitude that helped Mills win the Gold Medal in the 10,000 meters at Tokyo in a famous upset.9
After their competition, the naval athletes in Antwerp, like everybody else, took the opportunity to visit Europe, touring World War I battlefields, seeing famous cities, sampling the liquor at various watering spots, and generally having a great time. Then, the American cruiser Pittsburgh went aground in the Baltic and the Frederick had to go to her aid, so Gallery and several of his friends were held over for few weeks more. They used the time for further travels.
Given strict orders to stay away from Berlin and Vienna, these men decided to "take a chance on Berlin and Vienna," wrote Gallery, and traveled there anyway. They bluffed their way over borders despite lacking visas, toured the cities, bought everything in sight, ran short of cash, borrowed money from a couple of Americans they met (including a West Point cadet), and almost failed to get back to Antwerp on time. But they eventually found their way to their assigned steamer, the Pocahontas. On the way home, they had a wonderful time getting to know some young American women who were on board, playing poker and roulette, and sampling the last of somebody's ample store of alcoholic beverages. Gallery concluded this first section of his youthful diaries by saying, "The whole trip has been a wonder" and by expressing hope he could compete again in 1924.
Author's Note: This article is based largely on diaries kept by Navy wrestler Dan Gallery. Contained in several closely written steno pads, the diaries were discovered in the Gallery Papers at Special Collections, Nimitz Library, U.S. Naval Academy, in 1997.
1. See C. Herbert Gilliland and Robert Shenk, Admiral Dan Gallery: The Life and Wit of a Navy Original, (Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 1999).
2. Gallery tells of the circumstances of his Olympic competition in his autobiography, Eight Bells and All's Well, pp. 39-41 and 45-48. See also the "Olympic Section" of the 1921 Naval Academy Yearbook The Lucky Bag, pp. 321-334; Louis J. Gulliver, "Academy Alumni in the Olympics," Shipmate, September 1948, pp. 11-12; and the Navy's Annual Report for 1920, pp. 117-19.
3. See David Wallechinsky, The Complete Book of the Olympics (New York: Viking, 1984).
4. Susan Saint Sing, 2004, "Olympic Scrapbook: Richard A. Glendon & 1920 Navy Olympic Crew," http://www.rowinghistory.net/glendon.htm.
5. Raymond H. Swartz, "Navy Men in the Olympic Games," U.S. Naval Institute Proceedings, August 1960, pp. 57-61.
6. Ibid., p. 59.
7. See Saint Sing, "Olympic Scrapbook."
8. For the medal count, see http://www.hockoksports.com/history/ol1920.shtml#leaders.
9. See Frank Coffey, "Olympian Billy Mills, long may he run," posted 20 August 2003, http://www.indiancountrty.com/content.cfm?id=1061386694.