Tommie Smith Interview

Tommie Smith at the 1968 Summer Olympics in Mexico City - Credit: Getty Images

Quick Bio

Sage advice can be gleaned indirectly from the words of men who've done amazing things. In this interview series by Jim Clash called "The Right Stuff," we share nuggets of wisdom from great men who've taken big risks in life -- balloonists, test pilots, astronauts, mountain climbers, ocean divers, scientists, Olympians, boxers, race car drivers, surfers, Nobel laureates -- and come out the better for it.

What exactly is the right stuff? Other than the name of a famous movie and book about the space race, it’s a state of mind. The term is a throwback to a time when character really counted -- when men routinely risked their lives not to get rich, bloviate or self-aggrandize, but for their country, science and exploration. Some of the interviews were published in The Explorers Journal, the flagship publication of The Explorers Club, others in Clash's book, Forbes To The Limits (John Wiley & Sons, 2003).

Clash, a fellow and director at the Club, is a seasoned adventurer. In reporting for Forbes and other publications over the last two decades, he has skied to the South Pole; driven the Bugatti Veyron at its top speed of 253 mph; flown in a MiG-25 at Mach 2.6 to the edge of space; visited the North Pole twice; and climbed the Matterhorn, 23,000-foot Aconcagua and virgin peaks in Antarctica and Greenland. He has also purchased a ticket from Virgin Galactic Airways to fly into suborbital space in 2013.

On October 16, 1968, after breaking the world record in the 200-meter dash at the Mexico City Olympics and winning gold, Tommie Smith became even more famous -- or infamous, depending upon your perspective. On the medals podium, during the ceremonial playing of "The Star-Spangled Banner," he and fellow U.S. sprinter John Carlos (bronze medalist) bowed their heads and shot black-gloved fists into the air.

For that brief act of protest in support of the Civil Rights Movement, Smith went from hero to instant goat; he was banned from the Olympic village, then pretty much ostracized from mainstream society. After a year in the National Football League as a wide receiver for the Cincinnati Bengals (1969), Smith had trouble finding work as a teacher and track coach. He received death threats for years.

But now, looking back more than four decades, most of the public outrage has faded, and more and more, Smith and Carlos are looked upon as heroes, ahead of their time, instrumental in a movement which eventually helped Barack Obama get elected 44th president of the U.S. A 20-foot statue of the two men in their controversial medal-stand pose was erected in 2005 at San Jose State University, their alma mater.

Smith, 66, lives in Stone Mountain, Georgia, now with wife Delois working with the Tommie Smith Youth Initiative. In 2007, he published his autobiography, Silent Gesture (Temple University Press).

First, talk about the 200-meter race that put you on the podium.

Tommie Smith: That final was very taxing: one, because it was after all the trials, quarter-finals and semi; two, because of the politics involved; and three, I had received a groin injury earlier. Running the final would be different -- not difficult, but different -- because I had to rely on my knowledge of anatomy. I had to pull strength from the muscles around the groin because I didn't want to assault it. And I had to make a strategy quickly, deciding to run the curve conservatively -- enough to stay in the pack -- then hope my training and speed with 60 meters to go would kick in without pulling my groin. And it did! I think anyone who's watched film of the race can see everything was working pretty fluid[ly] at the end.

John Carlos kept looking over as you blazed by, almost in disbelief.

TS: I didn't even see him look over. I was very focused. Like most of my races, I feel it before I run it. I stood behind my blocks and ran the race mentally first. I always knew what I was going to do in a race, because I had already seen it.

You threw your hands up before the finish line. Did you know you had set a world record [19.83 seconds]?

TS: Oh no -- and I didn't care. Had I cared, I could possibly have run 19.7, or even 19.69. In my last four strides, my front leg was straight as it hit the ground, meaning I was pushing against power, not with power.

Let's talk about the historic pose on the medal stand after your win.

TS: The Olympic Project for Human Rights was the umbrella for most actions we planned. But the victory podium pose stood alone. At the last meeting of black athletes in Denver, en route to Mexico City, it was decided there would be no boycott as had originally been discussed, but that each athlete would represent himself according to how he felt about the country. I began to think -- how was I going to represent myself and still be classified a successful athlete and academian? And that's the idea of the victory stand pose: my head bowed in prayer, wearing artifacts from my past -- [shoeless with] black socks. The black glove represented empowerment. I wasn't a Black Power advocate; I was a black-empowerer advocate. John had his own idea. I don't know what it was, but when we talked just after the race, I said, "I have another glove," not really believing he would use it.

What were you thinking on the podium?

TS: "Please, God, get me off of this stand." There are a lot of crazies out there, and we'd been threatened before. John said he wasn't afraid. I had mixed emotions: I was afraid, I was proud, I was sad. So when my arm went up, I just bowed my head in prayer, thanking God for what he had done. Next Page >>