Written by Fletcher “Butchwax”Ferguson
Track and field was, next to baseball, a sport that I had relative good success with. Relative in the sense that the small college I attended was an NAIA school which competed against a level of competition that wasn’t much better than some of the high school aged competitors I have coached. Having been burnt out with baseball, I turned down a Division II school's offer to play ball and accepted an offer to run track and cross country at the small college.
During our first indoor season I was fortunate enough to set an indoor school record in the 440 that stood for twenty years. That aside, I had the pleasure of being the anchor leg of a mile relay team that established itself quite a legacy. With the exception of one race our freshman year we were undefeated in that endeavor for the four years we competed.
The one race we lost was at the Heart of America Conference Track and Field Outdoor Championship our freshman year. The meet was a close one and the mile relay had to win the race if the team was to be crowned champions. The mile relay was comprised of “Smokin” John Lafferty, “Mighty Mouse” Bob Mac Pherson, “Trucker” Bob Sloan, and of course yours truly. As the race developed we ran from behind the other seven relay teams in the race. Smokin John came in off the lead off leg a very close seventh as the teams made the exchange. There was not a tenth of a second between John and the first place runner. Mighty Mouse held his own and gained a place before giving the stick to the “Trucker”. Then big Bob Sloan closed the gap and moved us into a solid third with not more than a step between us and the leaders. When I got the stick it was three abreast for four hundred and forty yards each runner inching in front at one point or another. It was an exciting race to watch according to those that did. We were nipped at the tape and beat by an eyelash taking second in the race and second in the meet.
As a group of four we made a vow to each other and the rest of team, that was never going to happen again. Our relationship was a brotherhood we ate, slept, drank, dreamed and trained together with the goal to never be second again. We adopted a philosophy. “There are those that will and those that won’t, we were four that will.” We were a bit sullen after that race and took the blame for the team’s loss. Everyone said it was the greatest, most exciting race they had ever witnessed. They said at least you guys tried. That statement stuck in our gullet. Those that just try never win. You never hear a winner cross the finish line and say “Well I tried.”
The next two years afforded many dire case scenarios where we had to win the relay to win the meet. It was a team effort but in some very close races when the meet was on the line I had to come from behind in order to win. I was real good at it, but only because of the efforts of those that ran before me. Sometimes I would purposely allow a few runners to take the lead only to blast a round them off the final turn leaving them behind down the stretch. I would always feel the pressure and pleaded with my team teammates to just keep us close. They always did, more often we were in the lead when I received the baton. Each one of them doing the extra to enable us to keep the streak alive. The togetherness and the confidence we had in each other was like no other relationship.
We were a tight foursome. All four of us felt the pressure of the undefeated streak. Every team in our limited competitive neighborhood was after us. Putting up countless challenges. We were all some times just plan sick with nerves over the ordeal. Time and time again, race after race we were put in the position of having to win the mile relay to win the meet. The whole track and field team would line the track barking and screaming encouragement as the foursome dealt the competitions another loss. The big discus thrower was especially animated as he lurked around the area of the last turn where I usually made my then notorious move of blasting around the other runners, finding another gear and racing towards the finish line. He put the fear of God in all of us as we rounded that corner of the track.
At near the end of our senor season we had maintained the undefeated mile relay streak and set the school record many times over. We had participated in our graduation ceremony and were still hanging around campus for the last meet, the NAIA District Sixteen Track and Field Outdoor Championship which we had won as a team the last two years. John and I had appointments in Columbia. Mo. at respective areas of study for graduate work. We were to drive to Columbia on the Friday morning before the meet, visit with the grad schools and then drive to Branson, Mo. To compete in our last race.
On our way to Branson John’s car and old Volvo had a fan belt bell housing crack and we were stranded. These were the days of no cells phones. We pushed and coasted our way to Osage Beach, Missouri where we scoured the yellow pages for a mechanic, a parts store or somebody who could get us on the road again. Foreign car parts were hard to come buy in the big city much less the little rural community of Osage Beach. Mo. We finally connected with a buddy who bought the part and drove to Mobley where the parents of another buddy relayed the part and tools we needed to fix the Volvo.
We had been told that there was a guy by the name of Gary Mueller that worked on foreign cars in the Ozark area. He was elusive. Every place we checked for him he had either not been seen or had left. He was a phantom mechanic. Years later I called John out of the blue and said I was Gary Mueller returning his call. We had a good laugh.
John and I sat by the side of the road. Out of dimes and out of time. Night fall was upon us. We had left a message at the front desk of the motel we were to meet the team at, hoping that the coach would come rescue us but he choose not to as he was put out with us for not traveling with the team in the first place.
Thinking that all was lost we got into the beer we had brought for the trip home. By nine p.m. we were good and drunk. That’s when the part showed up. We fixed the Volvo thanked the good people who made the delivery and raced to Branson. The beer continued to go down.
When we arrived in Branson we went to the front desk and located Coach’s room where we thought he had a room for us. He didn’t. I’m sure he could smell the beer on us but said nothing. Not having a room John and I were forced to sleep in the same king size bed with the old cinder boss. We about got in a fist fight over who had the middle.Both John and I had to pee real bad but neither of us wanted to risk letting on a hint that we were beer drunk. What a miserable night.
At the meet the next day John and I had less than banner efforts in the open 440. I finished seventh and John a close eighth. The School of the Ozarks finished one, two, three, four sweeping the event. Their runners posted 440 times faster than any one on our team had ever run. The mile relay streak was in serious jeopardy.
Long before the race the four relay members made a group decision,. In an effort to keep our undefeated streak alive we would not run the relay,let the freshmen run it and went to the parking lot, fired up the hibachi and got into the beer, again. After several beers and an a couple of bratwurst, “Mighty Mouse’s” mother came out of the stands in a fury. She kicked over the hibachi, knocked the beer out of our hands and scolded us with extreme prejudice. Full of guilt, we relented and got warmed up for the last race of our lives.
We started the race more relaxed than ever. We knew we were gong to be beat. “Smokin” John ran the race of his life, besting his previous best mark. We were still a distant third. “Mighty Mouse” also posted his fastest split ever closing the gap a bit but we were still third. “It was the performance of “Trucker” Bob that put us within striking distance. His effort was both thrilling and exciting as his long and strong legs churned up the crushed brick track with a two second best effort split. S-of O’s anchor leg was three seconds better than I had ever run. I WAS PETRIFIED. As “Trucker" blasted through the exchange zone, S-of O highly regarded anchorman muffed the exchange and gave us all that we needed to finish the race in first, win the meet and maintain an unbelievable streak of undefeated mile relay races. We were champions to the end. We set another school record that day, despite bellies full of brats and beer. The streak was what had mattered most to us. We owe it all to a mother.
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