Did Otis Campell cost me the race?

               I was a competitive runner in our class on a local level in the 1971 track season. Due to senioritis and injuries, our team at Booneville High School was not very good, but I was the high point man at the District Meet. In fact, coach had told me very pointedly before the meet that he wanted eight points out of me, and he didn’t care how I got them. Back then the scoring was on a 6-4-3-2-1 basis, so he meant I had to have a win and a fourth place, or two second places.

              All season long I had battled with Charleston’s Greg Luther in both the mile and the 880. He was a strong, competitive runner, and I never was able to beat him. In fact, he went on to win the 880 at the state meet the next weekend, so the was the real deal. There were several good competitors in our district, including my younger brother, Robert, but Greg and I were the two best middle-distance runners in our class in the immediate area, and he was by himself in first place.

               With Coach’s ultimatum ringing in my ears, I knew I had to run a good race in the mile, which was the first of the two races, and the one in which I had the better chance against Luther. As we came past the end of the first lap, two runners from Paris boxed me in – obviously a deliberate tactic to hinder my progress. One ran just in front of me and the other on my shoulder, so that I could not get out without fouling one of them and possibly forfeiting the race, or falling back until I could get outside the pack, which would cost time and energy. They stayed there for the entire second lap, but as we came past the finish line I noticed that the man on my shoulder had dropped off the pace a little and left enough of a gap that I could get through without fouling him, so I darted through and took off. Luther took off after me, and we quickly broke away from the pack.

               I kept the lead all the third lap. He was just sitting there behind me, waiting to launch his potent kick when the time was right. I knew that if I could fight him off down the final back straight, I had a chance; and I probably did some of the best running of my modest career down that long straightaway. If I could hold him off to the curve, I knew he likely would not try to pass on the outside lane; and that is the way it worked out. I had a half-step lead on him, holding the advantage of the inside lane as we came out of the final curve into the stretch.

               If you will think  back, you will remember a character from the Andy Griffith television program named Otis Campbell, the town drunk. There was a kid from Dardanelle whose last name was Campbell, who was nicknamed after the TV character. He had  been required by his coach to run the mile, probably as off-season training for football, and undoubtedly unwillingly. He was a full lap behind the leaders and knew nothing about the etiquette of running, which requires runners being lapped to move to the outside lanes so that the leaders are not hindered. All he knew was that he was exhausted and still had another lap to go, so he was doggedly plugging along, head down, and nothing in the world was going to make him run farther than he had to by moving to an outside lane.

              Because “Otis” was in lane one, I was blocked, so I had to break stride to get around him, by which time Luther had rushed past and there was no chance I was going to catch him with only a few yards left and my momentum broken. I have no idea if I could have beaten Luther, because he was a fine, tough runner; but I have always wished that I had had a chance to see how it might have ended.

               The postscript to the story is that I set the school record in that race, but I held it only six days. Luther dropped out of the mile in the state meet to concentrate on the 880, so my brother was moved into his slot. I was nervous and did not run well at all, but Robert did; and he broke my school record. Ah, how fleeting is fame!