Carl Lewis has won two home Games: in 1984 in Los Angeles, he opened his record with four Olympic titles; in 1996 in Atlanta, he closed it with a fourth in a row in the long jump. A rare feat.
He apologises for being late. A children's charity event that ran a little long. At the age of sixty-three, Carl Lewis sometimes finds it difficult to keep to his ever-tightening schedule. Nevertheless, on this day in April, he took to the stands of the University of Houston stadium that bears his name, which he attended as early as 1979, and where he has been head coach since July 2022.
Under the Texas sun, the legend of ten Olympic medals, nine of them gold, reflected on his rare opportunity to play in two home Games. In 1984, he copied his idol Jesse Owens in Los Angeles, completing the 100m-200m-4x100m-length quadruple; in 1996, he rounded off his career by winning the Atlanta long jump for the fourth consecutive time.
In the entire history of the Games, only two of you have been crowned Olympic champions on home soil in two different editions: you and basketball player Teresa Edwards, in 1984 in Los Angeles and in 1996 in Atlanta.
It's just incredible! Teresa and I have known each other since the early 1980s, and we've met a lot since then, but I don't think we'd ever really thought about what we had in common. The fact that we're the only ones to have won gold medals twice at home Games is crazy! But, in her case, it's worth remembering that while the men have sometimes faltered, the American women's basketball team has always remained consistent. I can only bow my head and congratulate Teresa... To think that it took a hundred years for the Games to return to Paris, and I'm about to attend my third Games in my country. I can't wait to return to Los Angeles in 2028!
Your Olympic adventure began in 1984. What do you remember about it?
To be honest, it's all a bit hazy (he laughs). I still have a very clear vision of the preparation, but once I got to Los Angeles, I competed almost every day. I started with the 100m, and... boom, boom, boom! One thing led to another. I know it sounds crazy, but it reminds me of a day at work. You get to work in the morning, and keep your head down until the evening. The intensity was so high! People didn't necessarily understand it; myself, because I'm getting older, I understand better now what I went through back then (he smiles).
What do you realise?
That I had embarked on a challenge that no living person had taken on. With Tom Tellez, my trainer, we had no reference. We couldn't call Jesse Owens or his coach for advice. Personally, I'd never even competed in the Olympics before 1984 (because of the 1980 boycott). I had no idea what it would be like.
Did you enjoy this week?
Oh, absolutely! It was wonderful. The first 100 m title was incredible. The most difficult, the most demanding. But, as I had to compete the next day, I went home, had a bite to eat and went to bed, only to get up at 6 and do it all over again. I couldn't party! At the end of the whirlwind, I was physically and emotionally exhausted, but relieved to have reached the end of the adventure.
Did you experience the Games as if you were in a bubble?
We were in Los Angeles, and I couldn't go to a restaurant without creating a sensation. Even in the Olympic Village: I spent two hours there before the opening ceremony. There was non-stop banging on my door. My roommates were fed up. They asked me: "When are you leaving?" (he smiles) But I had anticipated all this, I knew I'd need security. So I rented a house in Hollywood.
There was even a room for my sister, who was competing in the Games (Editor's note: Carol Lewis was eliminated after the qualifying round in the long jump), but she only slept there one night. She preferred to stay in the village. (he hesitates, then bursts out laughing) It's amazing what a difference a single letter in a first name can make!
How did you come to want to copy Jesse Owens' quadruple in 1936?
The idea came to me after my first university victory in the long jump, then my qualification for the Moscow Games... During a discussion with my coach, I asked him if he thought I could win four titles like Jesse Owens, who was my idol. He replied that he didn't know. I wanted to try, but I didn't feel it was possible until the Olympic Trials.
How did you experience this season?
I think I've been through every possible emotion! (he laughs) I didn't leave a single space for doubt. But certainly for fear. Not physical fear, but emotional fear. I was moving forward in uncertainty and, at the same time, my name was on the cover of every magazine before the Games began. From January onwards, and for the rest of the year, every time I arrived at a grocery store checkout or a restaurant, people would call out to me: "So, is this going to do it?" All that attention was out of control.
But you had it coming, didn't you?
You can ask the question directly: yes, I absolutely wanted to be rich, famous and the best athlete I could be. As soon as I arrived in Houston at the age of seventeen, I told my coach that I wanted to be a rock star, that I was willing to work very hard for it. My career would be my business. The only real emotion I allowed myself was when I crossed the line at the end of a race.
How did you manage the pressure?
Thanks to those close to me. Coach Tellez looked after the track, Joe Douglas, my manager, represented me on the business side, and my family made sure I felt good. Together, they protected me and allowed me to be that guy on the track who didn't have to worry about anything else. Honestly, I also think my youth protected me.
I was naive, I didn't know enough about life not to try and follow through on such a crazy dream. And I didn't listen to those who tried to dissuade me. Today, I look at the young people who are training, who are graduating... It's fabulous! They're twenty-three years old, but they're still kids, babies. Except that when I was twenty-three, I was also a baby (he laughs).
Babies play. When did you play?
The fun part of the Games is the opening ceremony. I felt chills when Gina Hemphill, Jesse Owens' granddaughter, entered the Los Angeles Coliseum with the flame, when Rafer Johnson, whom I adored (Olympic decathlon champion in 1960), lit the cauldron... Above all, I had made myself a bet: as host, the American team would be the last to enter the stadium, and I would be the last of the last. So I waited and waited. I spent a lot of time with Michael Jordan and the basketball players, I combed my hair, I put on my glasses... And I kept my word.
Many people have seen this constant desire to set yourself apart as arrogance…
I'm not sure I was aware of it. Some didn't understand me, others didn't try. But the majority liked what I proposed because it was unique. From 1982 onwards, I presented myself more as an artist on the runway, breaking free from codes, changing the design and colors of outfits. For many, it was incredible. I was young, fiery, ambitious. And successful.
I wanted to win and I knew I had no alternative: either I ran faster and jumped farther, or I gave up and retired. All the same, I was aware that some people didn't like me. Like in a third-grade class, you'll always come across five or six kids who'll say: "I can't stand him. Because he always wears red." You're never unanimous.
One of the misunderstandings came from the long jump competition, where you only jumped once…
Yes, that's an excellent point. You have to understand the complexity of the whole situation. Even beyond the Games, I was already lobbying for the development of professionalism in our sport, and I became the Antichrist. In the case of this competition, both the US federation and the media deliberately forgot to explain what was at stake in my challenge.
None of them defended me, when it would have been so easy to say that jumping was unnecessary risk-taking. The nights are cool in California, and I couldn't have broken Bob Beamon's world record in those conditions. So some people burned me to prevent me from growing and building the legitimacy I needed to advocate greater professionalism.
How do you explain the fact that the Los Angeles Olympic Games will go down in history?
I don't know if any other Games have captured the essence of the event to such an extent. It was Hollywood! It was like being in a movie, with a hundred pianos, Lionel Ritchie... Incredible weather too, without that city-specific fog. It was just perfect! And I fell in love with the Games.
How have they changed your life?
With those four gold medals, I entered another dimension. I became one of the world's three superstars. There was Prince and his Purple Rain (released in 1984) and Michael Jackson (Thriller dated from 1982). I mean, we were on top of the world when we were only in our twenties (both musicians were born in 1958). I could do anything, go anywhere. I remember the day after the Games, we wanted to celebrate my success in a restaurant.
Joe Douglas was the first to arrive, and we told him it was sold out and there would be a wait. But when I arrived with the rest of the group, they recognized me: "Oh, Mr. Lewis! We'll find your table..." I don't know if they ejected anyone, but we were seated within seconds. And to the applause of the entire audience. It just goes to show the difference between public perception and what the media portrayed me to be.
On the other hand, you seem to have reconciled everyone by winning the long jump at the Atlanta Games…
Maybe because I won when I was no longer dominant. At the 1992 Games, a year after my world record in the 100 m (9'86), I didn't even qualify and didn't defend my sprint titles. On the other hand, although Mike Powell had beaten the world record in the long jump at the 1991 World Championships (8.95 m, compared with Lewis's regular 8.87 m), it was I who retained the Olympic long jump title in Barcelona.
Only, in 1993, I had an accident when someone ran a sign and hit my brand-new car. My back was affected (he finished 3rd in the 200 m, 4th in the 100 m at the Worlds and did not take part in the long jump). In 1994, I was weakened by giardiasis (an intestinal infection caused by a parasite), and my second season was ruined. But I felt I could still win, jump far. Without any certainty.
So you weren't in the same frame of mind at the Atlanta Games?
No, but I'm extremely proud of that sequence. I felt I had a chance. I was 35 and some people thought I was finished. But I made the best jump of the qualifying round (8.29 m). And I let my rivals sleep on that, racking their brains wondering what I'd be capable of producing in the final. I announced that I'd have to jump 8.50 m to win, and went back to my hotel room alone to concentrate. And then, in the final, there was that third attempt, and I landed at exactly 8.50 m! (he smiles like a kid happy with his prank).
How was the experience different from Los Angeles?
Atlanta was more commercial, there was none of the Hollywood magic. But I think that in terms of legacy, it's the city that has benefited most from the Games over the last ten editions. On a personal note, I'm often asked if I enjoyed the moment more because it was the end of my career. No doubt, but I didn't see things any differently then.
In 1984, I was the center of attention, all the time. But in 1996, as I walked around the stands and listened to people, I realized that they were looking at me with hope. "Oh my God! If he wins a fourth title in a row, and I'm there, I'm going to live a moment of history." Even those who weren't fans were aware of this and knew they could tell their families about it. I fed off that incredible energy. As for the haters, who were hoping I'd lose, they ended up bowing out. Maybe they hated me again the next day, but not that day.
What image do you retain?
I think my two laps of honor remain one of the highlights of my career. For once, I felt a kind of communion. The only people who weren't happy were the American federation. But it reinforces what I still think: they missed a unique opportunity to develop our sport. Instead, they showed the world their pettiness. The athletes lost all control, and the general interest declined. Today, it's almost a marginal sport."
(L'Équipe)
