One touch.
That’s all it takes.
And I’m back in the middle of Georgia’s hosting the Centennial Olympics.
I keep the metal tube—with its intricate engravings and wooden handle—on an oak bookcase in my office. I must walk past it to get to the file room and copier. I don’t have to touch the Olympic torch that I carried in 1996. But I do to make sure that I never forget that incredible summer, filled with I-can’t-believe-this-is-happening experiences.
I can thank two friends.
Billy Payne
Billy and I connected at UGA. He was a standout defensive end for the Bulldogs and a student body president. Bringing the Olympics to Atlanta was his dream. The Atlanta lawyer gave up his day job to rally Georgians into becoming believers, too.
How can we ever forget International Olympic president Juan Antonio Samaranch’s “It’s Atlanta!” announcement? And as 1996 approached, Billy called to invite Pam and me to be presidential ambassadors on his team.
Pat Allen
Pat and I connected through Leadership Georgia in the 1980s. And less than a decade later, the banker—who was also chairman of the Athens chamber of commerce—called. Pat asked, “How would you like to chair a newly formed group called Athens 96?”
That put me in the middle of helping coordinate four competitions (the most outside Atlanta) that were coming to Athens and the University of Georgia. What followed was four years of intense planning.
Thirty years later, here are a few other Olympic memories:
Vince Dooley
To create a soccer venue, UGA had to remove its iconic hedges. As machines were ripping out the famous greenery, Coach Dooley called and asked, “Hey, how would you like some of Sanford Stadium’s hedge?”
I hustled over and retrieved two clumps—one for me and one for my friend Joe Phelps. Years later, I reported, “Coach, thought you’d like to know that my hedge is doing fine.” And Vince quipped, “That’s good, Dink, but you really can’t kill privet hedge.”
Muhammad Ali
With accepting Billy’s invitation to serve as ambassadors came a pair of royal blue blazers with special insignia. During the Games, international guests flowed in and out of our home. True to our South Georgia roots, we made sure every menu included samplings of grits.
Wearing those blue blazers, we traveled back and forth to Atlanta. Perhaps Billy’s best-kept secret was who would light the cauldron’s flame to signal the opening of the Centennial Olympics. We were among the masses who tested the limits of our vocal cords when Muhammad Ali appeared carrying a torch.
Mystery bomber
A dark chapter of the 1996 story was the murderous bombing in the Centennial Olympic Park. Seven years later, Eric Rudolph was arrested in Andrews, North Carolina.
Another bombing happened in our front yard. Perhaps it was a directed threat or a random act of vandalism. A pipe bomb obliterated our mailbox. I held a federal agent’s ankles as he hung out our son Eric’s upstairs window to dig out the 2-inch cap of the bomb from the side of the house. Fortunately, we were away at the time of the explosion. Alarmed, Billy called to check on us. The bombing still remains a mystery and a memory.
Torch Run
There was another call from Billy. He asked, “How would you like to carry the torch?” Even in his hectic schedule, he noticed that I hadn’t applied for the privilege.
What a friend.
Thanks, Billy.
Thanks, Pat.
And there sits that torch.
My Olympic memories will forever flicker.