The following piece is by Jerome McFadden, University of Missouri 1963 and runner up in the mile in the Big 8 Outdoor meet that year. He had his PR in that race at 4:05. Shortly afterward, Jerry joined the Peace Corps and was assigned to coach track in Morocco. The article is a condensation of a piece he wrote for Runners' World in the early days of that magazine. I ran twice against Jerry in 1963 and he hammered me both times. Years later we reconnected when two of the guys he coached in Morocco came to Quebec and became coaches. I happened to also be coaching there and when they learned of my background, they asked me if I knew Jerry and where he was. At the time I couldn't answer that and there was no internet back then, but eventually I did find Jerry and we've become friends since then. We were both in the Peace Corps and both married French wives. We all got together about 15 years ago in Dayton. Jerry had contributed much to this blog over the years. He is frequently in Paris and scours the book stalls along the Seine for old track journals and books with info about the past. Here is his story about coaching in Morocco.
Jerry in action, (black shorts) Big 8 meet 880 in Boulder about 1962
Peace Corps Coaches
In 1963 we were the second Peace Corps group going into Morocco but definitely the
first contingent of athletic coaches being sent out into the world. Our small crew
included three track and three basketball coaches, two swimmers, and two wrestlers.
The term “Coach” was a big word considering all of us but one had just graduated
from college or grad school in May or June of that year. The main part of our gang were
to be English teachers, surveyors, and female home economists.
After three months of training at Utah State University, (French, Arabic,
Moroccan culture, coaching techniques and psychological evaluation) we arrived in-
country in September. the track coaches were immediately spread out to Casablanca,
Rabat, and Marrakech. I inherited the 350 meter cinder track in downtown Casa,
adjacent to the Ministere de Junesse & Des Sports ((Ministry of Youth & Sports).
The infield was hard dirt, all of this surrounded by a mini three tiered cement
spectator stand The first look at the available equipment was equally discouraging: a
rusty set of hurdles, a warped discus, and a pock marked shot that looked like replica
of the moon. Welcome to African track & field, circa 1963.
But we did have night lights!
That was because training sessions were held Tuesday through Friday
evenings, 7:00 to 9:00pm, with competitions on Sunday morning. Similar to Europe, all
sports in Morocco were based on the club system rather than the scholastic system as
in the USA. Half of the league came on Tuesday and Thursdays, with the other half on
Wednesdays and and Fridays. Sunday mornings were for competitions.
The high jump and long jump all landed in the same pit, a large rectangular sand
box with varying degrees of lumpiness. There were three cross bars to work with on the
high jump, but we tended to save them for the competitions as they were easily bent or
broken. We practiced instead with a red elastic rubber rope tied to the uprights. The
elastic would throb and bob in gross exaggeration at at the slightness touch. If the
jumper landed solidly on it, the elastic would tangle around his legs and pull the
uprights down on top of him. Needless to say, pole vaulting was not on the program.
The starting gun for the runs was too wooden clappers attached by a leather
strip. Nothing dramatic but sufficient.
Jerry (kneeling) at the finish line
The Sunday morning competitions were adjusted to however many athletes
showed up, which meant most were half track meets, skipping those events of little
interest and giving special attention to record attempts. In spite of the third world
equipment, the runners were serious, dedicated, and competitive, filling the track on
the evenings allowed to them and giving their best efforts at the Sunday meets.
My chief value was my stop watch (provided to me by the Peace Corps), my two
running shoes (provided to me by the Peace Corps), and my availability to be at the
track whenever needed: stop watches were as scarce as the other equipment, the
shoes could be lent out in emergencies (stuffing newspaper into the toe section helped
for a better fit), and I had no where else to go as I was assigned to this track.
Two years is too fast for any coach. You concentrate on one race at a time, or a
series of races designed to bring your runners along, with the series of “one races”
making a season. Then you suddenly wake up to realize you haven’t accomplished all
you wanted with the kids and the two years are past. And two years is too short to see,
hear, smell, and touch all that there is to see, hear, smell, and touch in Morocco - the
snow capped mountains, the labyrinth of the medinas, the market places in the south
with their Berber dancers, snake-charmers, and story tellers.
But I made some lifelong friends and have some great memories, and was not
surprised when the African runners became a force to be reckoned with.
Hi George , I confirm what Jerry said, I was there in la Casablancaise , Parc de la ligue Arabe.
Jose Sant
Jose Sant and Jerry McFadden at Jerry's home in Bethlehem, PA
With Canada's gold medal HJ 2016 Derek Drouin in France
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