su The Great

Pettey Six-Day Races

A History in Six Parts

There Is Little New under the Sun. Just When We Feel We’ve Moved into New Territory, We Learn the Roadmaps Have Long Since Been Drawn

by Ed Dodd

I wrote the following in 1977 as the introduction to my half of a book called Ultramarathoning: The Next Challenge, which I wrote with longtime friend Tom Osler for World Publications:

In 1958, Vernon Ordiway, a young medical student at Temple University Hospital in Philadelphia, was given a dusty scrapbook by an aged and dying patient. The man had no family or friends except for Vern, who would sit and talk COURTESY oF €0 D000 to the man whenever he had / the chance. The old man had beena professional runner at the turn of the century. The scrapbook was filled with clippings from local newspapers and the National Police Gazette magazine from the years 1899 to 1903.

Vern took the scrapbook and gave it to Browning Ross, who was then writer, editor,

The original scrapbook given to Browning Ross in 1958.

and publisher of Long Distance Log. Browning in turn gave the book to Tom Osler, one of the fathers of ultrarunning. Tom was amazed at the detailed accounts of a group of athletes called “pedestrians,” who competed professionally in races up to six days long. Tom said it was like reading science fiction. In the late 1950s the marathon was considered the ultimate test of one’s endurance. To discover that men had covered more than 500 miles within six consecutive days was indeed incredible. Tom read through the scrapbook and then put it away, occasionally bringing it out to show fellow marathoners.

Ten years passed. Tom won three national championships in the 25K, 30K, and 50M, and in 1968 was invited to Dr. David Costill’s Human Performance Lab at Ball State University in Muncie, Indiana. Costill showed Tom an article written by Professor John A. Lucas of Penn State University about a series of five 6-day events called the Astley Belt Races that were held in 1878 and 1879. Tom was surprised to see that these crazy six-day affairs had existed almost 30 years prior to the races chronicled in the scrapbook.

FRANK LESLIE’S ILLUSTRATED NEWSPAPER.

The Astley Belt Races were held in 1878 and 1879.

Seven more years passed. Tom had run in several 50-mile races, and I was beginning to give them serious consideration. One day in 1975 Tom recalled Lucas’s article, made a copy, and showed it to me. The time was right, and our enthusiasm for ultrarunning was high. We reread the article and the scrapbook, which I showed to my wife, Denise, a librarian. She started a search for all possible material on pedestrianism, led in the beginning by the references in John Lucas’s article. This search is not yet ended. In fact, I see no end in the immediate future. We have, however, accumulated, with the help of scores of friendly people, notebook after notebook of information on the history of distance running in general and ultramarathoning in particular.

We have concentrated our study on one phase of this history. the incredible six-day, go-as-you-please contests of the late 19th and very early 20th centuries. Since the beginning of recorded history there have been stories and legends of men who could travel long distances on foot. The legend of Pheidippides, for instance, is well known. In the late 18th century in England two men, Foster Powell and Captain Barclay, won fame and fortune with their pedestrian ventures. Powell covered 100 miles in 22 hours in 1788, and Barclay walked 100 miles in 19 hours in 1806. Later, in 1809, Barclay won a huge wager when he became the first man to walk one mile in each and every one of 1,000 consecutive hours.

In 1777, a young boy of 19 by the name of Jonas Cattel ran 10 miles through the night from Haddonfield to Fort Mercer, New Jersey, to warn the American troops of an impending attack by the British. He became known as the “Paul Revere of South Jersey.” At the age of 55, in 1813, Cattel won a wager by running in one day from Woodbury, New Jersey, to Cape May, New Jersey, a distance of 80 miles. He then turned around and ran back to Woodbury the next day.

Still, there is no more astounding record of man’s endurance and tenacity than that found in the exploits of the six-day pedestrians. When [first read through the scrapbook, I was filled with wonder and amazement. How could they do it? How could they circle a dusty 8-laps-to-themile (sometimes as small as 16-laps-to-the-mile) track in smoke-filled arenas, living in small tents, competing in inadequate shoes, without the great knowledge of diet and training that we runners of the modern age have had?

After four years of research and nine ultramarathons of my own, I remain in awe of their ability and pluck. In the chapters that follow I have detailed the birth, growth, decline, and death of the pedestrian mania that swept the United States and Great Britain in the latter part

of the 19th century. I have attempted to convey to the reader what it must have been like to witness or participate in a six-day, go-as-you-please event. Who knows? In the future we may have the opportunity to experience such an event ourselves.

It’s been 20 years, 45 ultras, and five 6-day races since I wrote that introduction, yet I am still filled with “wonder and amazement” when I consider the achievements of the 19th century pedestrians. I’m delighted to see this history of the six-day races and the long-distance artists known as the “pedestrians” revived and again published in its entirety for the marathon and ultramarathon public in Marathon & Beyond. The six-day races were, in fact, revived in 1980, and all interested ultrarunners have had the opportunity to experience such an event ourselves.

Each issue of Marathon & Beyond published in 1997 will contain updated chapters from The Great Six-Day Races. And, in order to bring my book as upto-date as possible, the last installment will include an additional chapter that brings the story of the six-day races through this year, along with a personal reflection on competing in such a race. I hope you find the story of these very special athletes as inspiring as I have.

CHAPTER 1: WESTON’S WALK IN NEWARK

Outside the Washington Street Rink the weather was cloudy, windy, and cold. Inside, it was damp and warm. A haze of tobacco smoke hovered over the arena. As night approached, the Saturday crowd became denser. Before seven 0’ clock that evening the central space of the vast amphitheatre began to fill up, and the galleries and aisles “swarmed with an excited throng.”

This scene was far different than it had been earlier in the week. At that time the attendance was sparse, and there seemed to be little interest in the event taking place. Perhaps it was the Newark Daily Advertiser’s comment on Wednesday that “from this evening on until the end of the walk the pedestrian may be seen at his best,” or ex-mayor Ricord’s pleading in Thursday’s paper that “Newarkers should show their appreciation of the athlete’s effort,” that finally had the people pouring off the Broad Street horsecars and walking the short but chilly distance to Washington Street. The 6,000 spectators composed all classes of society. A group of city and state dignitaries gathered at the judges’ stand and the enclosed space in front of it that was reserved for the walker’s attendants.

Mayor Perry and the chief of police, Captain Dwyer, were in attendance. The day before, the mayor had threatened to mobilize the entire Newark police force and the militia if necessary to guard against any attempt to hinder the success of the historic pedestrian feat being attempted by the well-known

Edward Payson Weston. Since Weston had failed in his three previous tries that same year to walk 500 miles insix consecutive days, there were large sums of money bet on his failure this time also.

Rumors had spread rapidly early in the week that some type of disruption was planned. In fact, Captain Dwyer had received telegrams from New York City to the effect that Joe Coburn (a New York City gambler) and a gang of roughs intended to visit the rink and stop Weston from finishing. The rink was surrounded by the police to guard against any intrusion, and warrants were issued for the arrest of Joe Coburn and his entire a “gang.” ‘COURTESY OF ED DODD

By eight o’clock it was Egward Payson Weston, circa 1862. clear that Weston would succeed. Waves of contagious excitement swept through the crowd. They were about to witness the conclusion of an extraordinary feat of human endurance never before accomplished. Many of the best pedestrians in the United States and England had attempted to cover 500 miles in six days, but they had all failed.

Edward Payson Weston was born in Providence, Rhode Island, on March 15, 1839. His father was a merchant and later a school teacher in Rhode Island and California. His mother was well known for her poetry and romance stories that appeared in the leading journals and magazines.

Weston showed no special athletic ability while growing up in New England. His capacity as a pedestrian first became apparent while he was an office boy at the New York Herald in 1858. As the story is told, Mrs. Bennett, the wife of the paper’s Scottish owner, was about to leave on a European vacation when it was discovered that an important package had been left behind. The 19-year-old Weston

Ed Dodd THE GREAT SIX-DAY RACES M 77

volunteered to run the 12-mile round-trip to Bloomingdale’s to retrieve the package. He surprised everyone by returning on time. The Herald’s owner was so impressed that he doubled Weston’s wages on the spot to the envied sum of six dollars a week.

Weston became a Herald reporter a few months later. In this era before rapid transportation and telephones, Weston’s ability to cover ground swiftly on foot won for him many journalistic scoops.

His first attempt at a long walk was in the winter of 1861 to attend the inauguration of Abraham Lincoln. He started at the State House in Boston on February 22 and reached the nation’s capitol on March 4, traveling 453 miles in 208 hours. He missed the inauguration by half a day.

Weston’s career as a professional pedestrian really began in 1867. From October 29 to November 28, a period of 25 days (Weston never walked on Sunday), he walked from Portland, Maine, to Chicago, Illinois, a distance of 1,326 miles, winning a $10,000 wager for his effort. Weston’s tenacity won him recognition from crowds and whole towns. The newspapers of the day gave long, detailed reports of the walk. “This walk,” said Harper’s Weekly, “made Weston’s name a household word.”

In 1868, in White Plains, New York, Weston walked 100 miles in 22:19:10, a world record. In January and February of 1869, Weston walked from Bangor, Maine, through New Hampshire and Vermont, passing over the Green Mountains and through northern and central New York to Buffalo, New York, covering a distance of 1,058 miles in 30 days. All but the first eight miles were over snow. In 1871 he walked 400 miles in four days, 23 hours, and 32 minutes at the Empire Rink in New York City. This walk included 112 miles in 23:44:00 in one day.

In addition to these accomplishments, however, there were numerous failures. It was reported that Weston unsuccessfully attempted to cover 100 miles in 24 hours some 47 times before finally succeeding. Three times during 1874 he failed in attempts to cover 500 miles in six days. But even in failure he achieved a measure of success. His first failure took place at the American Institute Hall in New York City. The New York Times of May 17, 1874, reported his failure on page one:

Greeted by the cheers of several thousand spectators and amid a scene of excitement not often witnessed, Edward Payson Weston, last evening, within a few seconds of midnight, completed the 430th mile of his great journey. It will thus be seen that he fell short by seventy miles of accomplishing the task he had undertaken, but nevertheless he has found himself the champion pedestrian of the world, and his feat of walking 115 miles in twenty-four hours, the first day, stands without parallel. . .

As the pedestrian crossed the score on the completion of the last round of the 430th mile, he was greeted with the wildest applause, and an eager throng of spectators rushed towards the judge’s stand to congratulate him. Weston himself was so overcome that he could do no more than bow an acknowledgment of the applause, and by the advice of the doctors he was removed from the room. Despite the wonderful pluck and spirit he displayed to the last it was but too painfully evident that he was thoroughly tired out.

Weston had duplicated his “feat without parallel” the first day of this walk. From 12:05 a.m. Monday, December 14 to 12:04 a.m. Tuesday, December 15, he covered 115 miles. The Newark Evening Courier had this to say: “We have become so accustomed to his (Weston’s) great pedestrian triumphs that we are apt to underestimate the remarkable endurance and pluck, not to say speed, which this great undertaking calls for. What he has done ought to be amazing.”

Monday’s labor (accomplished with only an hour of rest), subsequent efforts of 75 and 80 miles on Tuesday and Wednesday, the lack of sleep, the low attendance early in the week, and the threat of physical violence had so affected Weston that by Thursday morning he was “approaching the highest point of nervous tension, being so susceptible to outside influence that the slightest untoward accident would be sufficient to break him down for the whole journey.”

But the pride and satisfaction generated by anticipated success after an arduous struggle, and the sheer exhilaration of being the focus of attention before a standing, wildly cheering crowd of 6,000, whose shouts of “bravo” and “well-done” reverberated off the wooden walls of the arena, drove Weston on. The adrenaline surged through his body. His nervousness was gone. He accelerated his pace. :

A touch of comic relief was added when, at 8:30 p.m., the mayor set out to walk a bit with Weston. Two laps of the 33 1-foot track left the poor mayor redfaced and panting much to the delight of the spectators, who roared with laughter.

The Newark Daily Advertiser captured the spirit and mood of the final hours in their edition the following Monday, December 21, 1874:

The closing scene at the Rink was the most extraordinary occasion within the memory of Newark audiences. The appearance of the pedestrian, who was dressed in his usual black velvet knee-breeches, with ruffled white shirt and black leather leggings reaching to the knee, doubtless suggested extreme fatigue and lameness. His hollow cheeks, disordered hair and unmistakable limp seemed to betray the extent of the physical strain and the immensity of the task. Yet to those familiar with

Ed Dodd THE GREAT SIX-DAY RACES ® 79

the man, these signs conveyed no hint of the real condition. They knew he was absolutely free from consciousness of fatigue, cheerful in spirits and full of indomitable will.

Ladies and sedate elderly gentlemen distinguished themselves by their extravagant display of enthusiasm and extreme anxiety for the result, vying successfully with the boys in the noisy and ostentatious methods of getting rid of superabundant feelings. By nine o’clock the scene had grown stupendous. Between the divided mass of noisy humanity that choked the ground floor of the building lay the narrow path of the pedestrian, kept sacred from the intrusion by a police guard forming a cordon around the entire parallelogram.

Round about the galleries was packed an army of gentility and respectability, six rows deep, hooting, gesticulating, and otherwise manifesting the intensity of its interest in the feat so soon to be decided. Between the divided phalanx below, the white-garbed central figure spun on his everlasting round, pale, earnest, eager, adding circuit to circuit and mile to mile. As each mile was called from the timekeeper’s desk, the general enthusiasm bubbled over into cheers and at times the noise of the band was lost for whole minutes amid the uproar.

Still the walker walked on while the time drew on to eleven. His pace had increased with the growing excitement, and was fast and strong. At his side marched, or rather trotted, the chief of police and a martiallooking captain, while close behind followed two policemen and a detective. In this order the walk was continued for the next two miles amid the thunder of applause and such notes from the band as survived the general uproar.

The progress of the pedestrian was measured by the motion of the mass of faces in the galleries as they followed his course. When the last sixteen laps, comprising the last mile, were begun the enthusiasm that had been working frantically towards its climax rose higher and higher with each successive circuit of the walker.

Twenty minutes to twelve. This is the last circuit. As the six days’ trail was narrowed to the last strides, the crowd at the judge’s stand condensed, and the final step that measured off the greatest feat of physical endurance on record, was made into the arms of friends who bore the hero in triumph to the stand.

This was the climax and the scene was indescribable. Hats and handkerchiefs waved and danced in the air while the yelling crowd overcame the police guard in an effort to surround the place where Weston stood, pale, panting, but smiling as he stood supported by the arms of friends.

NEWARK PUBLIC LIBRARY

The old Washington Street Rink, the site for Edward Payson Weston’s historic 500-mile, six-day performance in 1874.

Mayor Perry then made a short speech that was completely drowned by the roaring crowd. The bedlam did not stop until Weston was carried from the track to his room at the rink, where he was undressed, his feet soaked in salt water, and put to bed. Weston woke at 6:00 a.m. Snow had just started to fall. He dressed and walked over to his hotel, the Mansion House on Broad Street. There he ate his first leisurely meal in a week. Later he attended church services at Association Hall, where the minister, Dr. Nicholson, preached an appropriate sermon from the text “And Anoch walked with God,” and the choir sang Weston’s favorite hymn, “Nearer my God to Thee.” He walked to and from church through what had now become a raging blizzard that would eventually drop 17 inches of snow on Newark that Sunday. The brief sleep had revived him completely. Perhaps the one quality of Weston that amazed people as much as his physical endurance was his incredible recuperative powers.

Weston had done it. The impossible. Not even the legendary English pedestrians of the late 18th and early 19th centuries, Foster Powell and Captain Barclay, had ever accomplished 500 miles within six days. Now, however, the barrier was broken. Others would follow. One was waiting in Chicago.

CHAPTER 2: THE CHALLENGE TO SUPREMACY

Daniel O’Leary was born on a small farm in the village of Carrigroe near Clonakilty, County Cork, Ireland on June 29, 1846, at a time of widespread famine and desolation in Ireland. O’ Leary worked on his father’s farm until he was 20, then emigrated to the United States. Finding no work in New York City, he quickly settled in Chicago and found a job in a lumberyard.

He stayed at the lumberyard only seven months and, with the coming of the winter of 1866, headed south to the fields of Boliver County, Mississippi. Here, O’Leary picked cotton for a year and a half before going back to Chicago in the spring of 1868. He became a book and picture agent selling door-to-door on the installment plan. John E. Tansey, in his 1878 biography of O’ Leary, gives us a description of a book canvasser’s life:

In order to obtain the three square meals necessary to supply the wants of the inner man, a book agent must rise with the sun, toil hard all day, climb numerous stairways (often descending much quicker than he ascends), and not infrequently is bamboozled in the end out of at least four-fifths of the money for which he sells a book, owing to the “moving system” so much in vogue among the monthly-paying purchasers.

O’Leary was moderately successful at this venture until the great fire in October 1871. The fire scattered his customers, and he lost more than $3,000 in stock and unpaid bills. After the fire, financially crippled, he started out in business again, but money being scarce and books being considered a luxury to the burned out and homeless Chicagoans, O’ Leary was forced to sell his books in the surrounding villages. This often meant an early morning walk of 10 to 15 miles and a similar trek home in the evening. For two years he continued his daily rambles about the Chicago suburbs, laying the foundation for the great things to come.

Then, as Tansey recounts, one day in the fall of 1873 business brought O’Leary into one of the large dry goods stores on Wabash Avenue. There, he found three or four men busily engaged in discussing the merits of Edward Payson Weston, who was then attempting to walk 500 miles in six days. The prevailing opinion was that if Weston failed no one else could possibly accomplish such a task.

“None but a Yankee can place on record such a gigantic performance,” said one of the men.

“Hold on, not so fast,” said O’Leary, “perhaps a foreigner could do it.”

“He won’t be an Irishman, though,” chimed in another of the party.

“Treland has sent forth good men,” O’ Leary suggested calmly.

“Yes, wonderful fellows, indeed. They can accomplish almost anything with their tongues,” was the sarcastic response.

“But the tongue is no mean member of the human frame,” said O’ Leary.

“Bully fellow, hire a hall, and get your name up,” remarked another as they all burst out in a fit of laughter.

From that moment on, the story goes, O’ Leary left nothing undone by way of training for a 24-hour race against time.

O’Leary Becomes a Pedestrian

On July 7, 1874, O’ Leary rented the West Side Rink in Chicago and announced that one week later he would walk 100 miles inside 24 hours. At half-past eight on the evening of July 14 he began his first public exhibition and a career that would span more than half a century. He succeeded in covering the 100 miles in 23:17:00.

Determined to force Weston into a showdown, O’ Leary traveled east in March of 1875 to begin his full-time professional pedestrian career.

One month later, August 12, in the same building, O’Leary walked 105 miles in 23:38:00. This performance gave him the confidence to challenge Weston who, even at this early date, was acknowledged as “The Champion Pedestrian of the World.” Weston, however, refused O’ Leary’s challenge on the grounds that O’ Leary was not sufficiently established as a pedestrian to warrant the challenge. He told O’ Leary, “make a good record first and meet me after.”

Determined to force Weston into a showdown, O’ Leary traveled east in March of 1875 to begin his full-time professional pedestrian career. On April 9 he walked 100 miles in 23:38:18 at the American Institute Building in New York City. Two weeks later he surpassed Weston’s best 24-hour effort by completing 116 miles in 23:12:53 at the Chestnut Street Rink in Philadelphia. This clearly established O’Leary as a first-class long-distance walker. He again challenged Weston, who once more refused to meet him. While O’ Leary excelled at 24 hours, he was untested over six days. So back to Chicago he went to prove that he was worthy of a race with the “father of modern pedestrianism.”

Ed Dodd THE GREAT SIX-DAY RACES @® 83

Within two weeks, O’ Leary had made arrangements to rent the West Side Rink for an attempt to walk 500 miles in six and a half days. When O’ Leary and his handlers arrived at the rink early Sunday afternoon, May 16, 1875, they found the walking surface in horrible condition. The Rink was used for skating during the winter, and the flooring rested on a bed of mud and water, which splashed up between the boards at every step. It would have been impossible to walk on such a course. O’ Leary and his friends went to work. They obtained some boards and placed them around the circumference of the track and then covered the boards with large quantities of sawdust and shavings. This caused a three and a half hour delay in the scheduled 1 p.m. start.

Finally, at 4:30 p.m. with Mayor Colwin and Senator Miles Kehow in attendance, O’ Leary set out, accompanied by an officer Connors, who had agreed to do 50 miles with him. The Chicago Tribune describes the start: “The ambitious peeler (Officer Connors) dropped out before the third mile was made, and though he started off again in the sixth, will probably make fifty miles sometime next week.”

While officer Connors added a touch of slapstick to the scene, O’ Leary was all business. With his arms held high, elbows far back and head erect, his short, quick hip-step carried through 10 miles in 96 minutes, 50 miles in 8:56:00, and 100 miles in 23:01:00. This was far faster than his time in New York City one month before, and here he had more than five days of walking left.

O’ Leary had scheduled a three-hour rest every evening from about 11 p.m. to 2 A.M. The excitement of the trial had made him so nervous, however, that he rarely slept the three hours.

O’Leary completed his 500th mile amidst the “wildest cheers,” three hours within the allotted six and a half days…

By Thursday he was 13 miles ahead of schedule and moving ahead “tireless as alocomotive.” Most of the mud and water had drained off, and fresh sawdust made the track quite adequate for the task. Enthusiasm had been gradually building all week, and on Thursday night the rink was packed. Hundreds of gas jets brilliantly illuminated the scene, and a band played lively music constantly. O’Leary seemed to derive inspiration from this and would time and again put on a spurt for the benefit of the crowd. As this was his first walk for a great

distance, he had made up his mind that his condition at the end must be regarded with care. He was not concerned with achieving an unheard-of performance; rather, he wished to finish well within himself.

Saturday evening at 6:10 p.m., O’ Leary finished his 470th mile and went off the track for his last rest. During this pause Dr. Dunn, his physician, rubbed him down with alcohol and bandaged a blister on his left heel. This was the only sign of discomfort exhibited by the pedestrian.

O’Leary went back onto the track at 7:30 to finish his last 30 miles. He walked with “astonishing vigor.” Shortly after starting the final miles, he was detained briefly to be presented with an elegant easy-chair by A. L. Hale and Company and a beautiful gold medal by his friends, bearing the inscription “champion pedestrian of the world.” From the Chicago Tribune we read

The great walker during these grateful performances paused for a moment. The medal was pinned to his breast amid tumultuous cheers, and then he started forward again. About twelve o’ clock he finished 490 miles, and again was detained an instant, to accept a purse containing $1,000, which was made up by his admirers, the Hon. A. L. Morrison making an enthusiastic presentation speech. He walked thenceforward without a pause, except to stop occasionally for an instant to partake of beef-tea, which was generously supplied to him.

The crowd during the latter part of the walk was simply immense. The police, of whom there was a large number in attendance, had all they could do to keep the track clean. Everybody was determined to stay till the finish.

O’Leary completed his 500th mile amidst the “wildest cheers,” three hours within the allotted six and a half days (156 hours). He appeared in no distress and had walked the last 10 miles “at a speed that would be considered rapid under any circumstances.”

At the conclusion, O’ Leary was hurried to his carriage by the police to avoid being trampled by the crush of the over-enthusiastic well-wishers. He was driven to his home on the corner of Robey and Lake streets, where he took a short nap and then a light meal. As most athletes have experienced after an outstanding performance, O’ Leary was full of life. He felt so elated, in fact, that he took a walk over to the South Side to see and astonish some friends that very day. He was greeted by numerous cheers and hearty congratulations all along his stroll that Sunday afternoon.

The Chicago Tribune was not so full of praise for the infant sport of pedestrianism. On May 24, the day after O’ Leary finished his walk, the paper had this to say:

We have no disposition to deprecate Mr. O’Leary’s feat or feet, although we fail to see where the cui bono comes in, but it does seem a little inconsistent that, while the pedestrian has been walking and receiving his handsome rewards, thousands of people have been walking on errands of mercy, and charity, and despair, traveling the hardest and the most flinty roads, and have never been interrupted to receive even a penny or a good wish.

Weston could no longer claim that O’Leary was “not sufficiently established as a pedestrian.”

At the same time that O’Leary was succeeding in his attempt, Weston was in New York City failing not once but twice more. He set out to cover 118 miles in 24 hours and 515 miles in six days at the Rink on Monday, May 10. He was immediately in trouble. At 22 miles he stopped to have his shoes cleaned of pebbles, and it was discovered that his left foot was badly cut just below the ankle, where it had come in contact with the raised portion of the track. On advice from his doctor, Weston rested 4.5 hours, and all chances of his success were gone. He managed only 370 miles by the end of the sixth day. Undaunted, the following Monday, with only one day’s rest, he began his second attempt at 515 miles. Once more he failed.

Weston could no longer claim that O’Leary was “not sufficiently established as a pedestrian.” O’ Leary’s walk in Chicago had been his baptism. Not only was he swift over the shorter distances of 50 and 100 miles, but now he had demonstrated that he could keep moving, and move well, for six days.

needed the five and a half months to prepare.

O’Leary warmed up for his confrontation with Weston by walking 100 miles against John Ennis for a purse of $500 on October 16. He won easily, with Ennis retiring at 68 miles. O’ Leary went on to a time of 18:53:40, an American record. O’ Leary was ready.

What about Weston? It had been a year since his brilliant triumph in Newark. Since then, he had failed miserably three times in six-day trials. The prevailing opinion was that he was hopelessly outclassed by O’ Leary. Everyone in Chicago certainly thought this way, but not Weston. He came into Chicago

full of confidence, ready to take on O’ Leary and have fun at the same time. It is in this performance that we see, for the first time, the showman in Weston.

Weston Takes On O’Leary

The site was changed from the West Side Rink to the larger Exposition Building, downtown. Each athlete walked on a separate track: Weston on the inside, one-seventh mile track, and O’ Leary on the outside, one-sixth mile track. The race began at 12:05 a.m. November 15, 1875, before a sparse crowd of 300 to 400. From the outset Weston was playing a waiting game. He was sitting back taking his time, watching O’Leary and expecting him to walk himself to a standstill. O’ Leary did move out at a fast pace: 100 miles in 20:48:00, with a total of only two hours’ rest made up of four short stops. He finished 110 miles on the first day and went to his room for a few hours’ sleep. At this point Weston was already 20 miles behind.

As the crowd increased in size and vitality during the evenings of the second day, Weston also livened up. After a two-hour rest he returned to the track at 7:20 p.m. in the best of spirits. “His gestures, scraps of song, mimicry of actors, and other recreations were greatly enjoyed by the audience, and seemingly by the actor.” O’ Leary went to bed at 10:30 p.m. the second night with 190 miles completed. Weston walked on in his casual manner, entertaining the spectators until 2:30 A.M., at which time he had covered only 168 miles.

The remaining days went much the same way. Weston never even attempted to close the gap on O’Leary that was opening wider every hour. Each man would take several 15- to 40-minute breaks to eat, change clothes, bathe, and be rubbed down during their “walking” day and retire for three to four hours of sleep somewhere around midnight.

The Newark papers had described the crowd during Weston’s solo walk as “comprising all levels of society.” The Chicago Tribune gives us a far more detailed description of the spectators who filled the Exposition Building to capacity the final two days of the match:

The crowd was dense, sweeping hither and thither, shouting, yelling, or cheering. The crowd was motley, but largely respectable. It represented wealth, standing, and brains, and thieves, gamblers, and roughs. Ladies were there in large numbers, some with husbands, some with lovers, but all had a terribly hard time of it in the ceaselessly moving and noisy throng. . . . In front of the judges’ stand the crowd assumed the character of a mob, and was largely composed of the bummer, political, and gambling elements, scattered through which was astill greater portion of thieves, rowdies, and pick pockets, etc., who, no doubt, by pretended

crowding on many occasions, plied their nefarious vocations. The police had trouble with the crowd, and were several times overwhelmed, the mob taking possession of the tracks. . . . The greater portion by far of the mass was orderly, and consisted largely of working men, many of whom brought their wives and children. . . .

A large crowd of urchins had taken possession of the mammoth flywheel at the north end of the building, which by some means began to turn, and in a short time, a dozen or more were sprawling in the pit… . The great elevator, the town-clock, and the pagodas, all had their crowds on top of them, but up in the galleries the loftiest perches presented themselves. Numerous boys and men climbed up the trusses and squatted on the iron supports, near the roof, and held their positions calmly, cooly, and deliberately.

Near the elevator some boys sat down on the planking laid on the iron roof supports, but the planks began to sag, and a fall of over 100 feet was threatened to those upon them, which resulted in a quick retreat and a very bad scare to some.

Though the crowd made a great deal of noise, it was very goodnatured, and though it felt pleased with O’ Leary’s feat, it did not forget to heartily cheer the New York lad.

O’ Leary finished with 503.33 miles in just under the six-day, 144-hour time limit. Weston completed 451.6 miles. Both Weston and O’ Leary concluded the walk without suffering any undue fatigue. Weston had waited all week for O’Leary to collapse and had lost the race because of this overconfidence. If he was upset at losing, it was not evident. He had covered a respectable distance, had avoided damaging exhaustion, and had had a good time. It seemed as though Weston was not overly concerned with the title “Champion Pedestrian of the World,” which he had just surrendered to Daniel O’ Leary. Weston had, in fact, a number of years before expressed his actual disdain for the title “champion” in a letter he wrote to the New York Times:

Ido not aspire to wear the title “champion’”….I repudiate the word, since it is associated with every feat characterized by brutality and with every species of humbug. If there is one thing I claim not to be, it is that of “champion.” I undertake feats requiring physical endurance to prove to the capers of the Old World that the prize ring does not embrace all the physical manhood in America; to demonstrate that our climate is not averse to muscular development and to stimulate our youth to the practice of walking, which I regard as one of the most beneficial branches of athletics. This is my ambition, and if it is not a laudable one, I am

content to bear whatever odium may be attached to it. Assuredly, as a people, we do not walk enough to meet the requirements of health.

Whether Weston “repudiated” the word or not, he was no longer the champion pedestrian in the United States. He had, in the eyes of the sporting world, failed once more. Daniel O’ Leary had vanquished the “father of pedestrianism,” and now wore the crown.

The Chicago Tribune again editorialized on the day after the conclusion, November 14:

The race being over, there is now no good reason why the city should not settle down again to its customary pursuits. The members of the Board of Trade can return to their betting on oats, peas, beans, and barley. His honor the mayor will not have to make any more speeches nor be aroused at midnight for pedestrian purposes. The race decided nothing except that Mr. O’Leary can walk faster than Mr. Weston. If the two “walkists” want to try again, we entreat Mr. O’ Leary to take his gold medals and laurels, and Mr. Weston his ruffled shirt, and go to some other locality. We are satisfied with the fact that Chicago is once more ahead, even in the leg business. The most grateful thing that O’Leary and Weston can do is to walk to St. Louis. The people there need amusement.

Reprinted with permission of Ed Dodd.

The Great Six-Day Races will continue in the next issue with

Chapter 3: Two Americans Storm Britain

Chapter 4: The First and Second Astley Belt Races

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