OMAHA, Neb. | Ken Treadway was picking at a cluster of mixed greens when the topic of Michael Phelps came up.
Could Phelps actually do it? Could he break the most prized record in swimming: Mark Spitz’s seven gold medals in the 1972 Olympics?
Treadway looked toward two of the men sitting with him at a riverfront restaurant. He asked the men, Peter Deland and Don Gambril, what they thought. Deland and Gambril had known Treadway before he worked with Spitz during the 1968 and ’72 Olympics. They knew him after Treadway had retired from swimming, when he and his wife, Bettie, bought the house in Overland Park that they’ve lived in for 22 years.
“So,” Treadway says, his fork still in his hand, “who is the best swimmer of all time?”
The men thought for a moment.
“There’s no question,” Deland says. “It’s Michael Phelps.”
Now it’s Gambril’s turn.
“I don’t know,” he says. “Phelps is definitely the heir apparent. I still think it’s Spitz.”
Treadway smiled and took another bite of black and bleu salad. He was in town to receive the Presidents Award for lifetime achievement by the International Swimming Hall of Fame. He’ll get that today. But on the banks of the Missouri River on Saturday, the 70-something men with chlorine in their blood had a debate going.
Treadway went through heaven and hell with Spitz. The son of Oklahoma sharecroppers had been on the Olympic team staff while the wunderkind blazed through the ’68 Games for gold medals in the 400- and 800-meter freestyle relays.
Then, four years later, Treadway was on the platform when Spitz won seven golds, a number never before touched or even dreamed of — until Phelps came along. And Treadway was in the coaches’ condo when shots rang out in an adjacent building: Palestinian terrorists had assault rifles in their hands and hostages in their control. Treadway’s first thoughts weren’t of his own safety but were for the 22-year-old swimmer he’d grown to think of like a son.
Treadway and Spitz remained friends long after the triumph and the ordeal. That was Spitz’s final Olympics, and Treadway began downshifting toward retirement. Now, Treadway is the bridge that spans the 36-year gap between Spitz and Phelps.
Treadway leaned back in his chair and looked out the window toward the Qwest Center, where in a few hours Phelps would qualify for his eighth event.
Treadway’s friends were waiting for Treadway to chime in.
“You know what?” Treadway says. “It’s Mike Phelps. And I think Mark would tell you the same thing.”
•••
Treadway recognized the sound of gunfire. He had been a soldier in the Army, and he learned during three years in Korea what enemy rifle fire sounded like.
Treadway rolled over and out of bed, staying low while he ran down the hall to tell his fellow Olympic team staff members to get away from the windows. It was the night after the final swimming event of the 1972 Olympics.
Treadway didn’t know if the shots had come from his building or the one he could see 200 yards out his window. When the shots stopped and 11 Israeli athletes had been taken hostage, Treadway peeked out his hotel window and saw the outline of a terrorist wearing a brown mask. At the end of the ordeal, all the hostages were dead, killed by members of the group Black September.
“Sad day in the world,” he says now.
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