Frozen in Time: The Enduring Legacy of the 1961 U.S. Figure Skating Team

Copyright © 2006, 2009 by Nikki Nichols

First trade paperback edition 2009

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any fashion, print, facsimile, or electronic, or by any method yet to be developed, without express permission of the copyright holder.

For further information, contact the publisher at

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Nichols, Nikki, 1975–

Frozen in time: the enduring legacy of the 1961 US figure skating team/by Nikki Nichols.

p. cm.

Includes bibliographical references.

ISBN-13: 978-1-57860-334-3

(previous ISBN for hardcover edition: 978-1-57860-260-5)

1. Figure skating. 2. Figure skaters—United States—Biography. 3. Aircraft accidents—Belgium. I. Title.

GV850.4.N55 2006

796.91′2′0922—dc22

2005021563

Front cover: Photo of Laurence Owen, courtesy of Vinson Owen School; photo of Stephanie Westerfeld, courtesy of Diane Yeomans Robins

Back cover: Photo of Laurence Owen, courtesy of Winchester Massachusetts Archival Center

Title page: Photo of members of the U.S. Figure Skating Team posing before boarding Belgian Sabena Airline plane at New York’s Idlewild Airport, February 14, 1961. Photo courtesy of AP Images

Cover designed by Doug Klocke and Scott McGrew. Interior designed by Andrea Kupper.

Printed in the United States of America

Distributed by Publishers Group West

Edited by Jack Heffron

Table of Contents

Acknowledgments

Foreword

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Afterword

Appendix

Autobiography: Self-Analysis

References

About the Author

Dedicated to the members of the 1961 U.S. Figure Skating Team, their coaches, the officials, and the loving family members who died in the crash of Sabena Flight 548, and to everyone who works to preserve their memory.

The biggest thank you of all to my parents, Michael and Catherine Nichols, who supported me throughout this endeavor in countless ways, and to my beloved husband, pairs partner, and friend, Michael J. Cunningham, who believes in me as a writer, skater, and person.

Acknowledgments

Special thanks to the USFSA and World Figure Skating Museum and Hall of Fame for immense assistance in archival research and interview contacts, and a sincere thanks to everyone who took the time to share their stories for this tribute.

Great thanks to my coaches, Kim Seybold Catron, Sandy Lamb, and Serguei Zaitsev, for inspiring my growing passion for skating. And a huge thanks to Ronald Ludington, who helped in countless ways. Thank you to Dr. Alvin Swonger who granted permission to use his written remembrances of Laurence for this book. Greg Hill and the Vinson Owen Elementary School must also be thanked for providing additional materials for the revised paperback edition of this book.

Thanks to two talented writers, Charles Haas and Matthew Gladden, for their wonderful editing suggestions and moral support. Most of all, I offer my most profound thanks to Jack Heffron of Clerisy Press for his editing acumen and great belief in this project.

Thanks to the following individuals for granting interviews and providing materials and support:

Roberto Agnolini

Dr. Tenley Albright

Randy Bairnsfather and the Town of Winchester Archives

Belgian Ministry of Communications

William Boeck

Sophia Bowers of the Vinson Owen Elementary School

Jim Browning

Joyce Butchart and the Seattle Figure Skating Club

Diane Cassidy and the Cheyenne Mountain Heritage Center

Sven Christiansen

John Clemson

Dr. Lorraine Hanlon Comanor

Debbie Conrad

Michael J. Cunningham

Carol and William Cunningham

Howard Deardorff

Ann de Brabander

Annie and Diane de Leeuw

Kathi Doak

Susan Duncan

Jane Dystel

Charles Foster

Belinda Gillett

Diana Hall and the Ottawa Public Library

Ruth Harle

Greg Hill

Dan Hollander

Eileen Seigh Honnen

Lee Hubby

Maria Jelinek

Tanya Howe Johnson

Jane Bucher Jones

U.S. Senator Edward M. Kennedy

Sally Knoll

Mr. Pieter Kollen

Tonia Kwiatkowski

Sandy Lamb

Emery Leger

Mickey Leiter

Ron Ludington

Paul Maca

Sandy Masengale

Virginia Might

Melody Miller

Mark Mitchell

Catherine and Michael Nichols

John Nicks

Kevin O’Sullivan

Roberta Parkinson

Amy Partain

Pikes Peak Library

Barbara Ramsay

Yvette Reyes

Diane Yeomans Robins

Richard Rosborough

Elizabeth (Sherry) Ruch and the Minto Figure Skating Club

Tom Schiebel

Allison Scott

Shelley Seyfried-Bourg

Skate Canada

Cathy Stevensen

Diana LeMaire Squibb

Bob Sullivan

Dr. Alvin Swonger

United States Olympic Committee

Elizabeth Viken

Rose Anne Wager

Dixie Wilson

Peter Winters

Ben and Mary Louise Wright

Barbara Yeager

Beverly Yeomans

Pam and Gary Yohler

Foreword

Every time I lace a pair of figure skates and take to the ice, a corner of my heart aches for the skaters of the 1961 U.S. figure skating team. I silently pay homage, occasionally practicing the layback spin variation performed so enchantingly by 1961 champion Laurence Owen. Those skaters were stolen before their time—never again able to grace the frozen paradise they roamed in life—and never able to prove their mastery while the world watched.

As a skater, I know all too well what drew them to the sport. Skating can be a sanctuary. The wondrous feeling of flight, of gliding across the ice, strips away any stress or sorrow, any pain or pressure. For a figure skater, every ice rink possesses a seductive power, offering freedom from everything outside it. And there is pleasure in the rituals of skating: the precision of lacing a pair of boots to just the right tightness, paying no mind to the hardened blisters and calluses on the fingers; the first moment of contact with the ice, when the ears are more sensitive to the sound of the blades scraping the first lines on a freshly cut ice surface; the chilly wind hitting the face as more speed is generated. And then there is landing a jump perfectly on one foot, arms stretched out and chin up, as if to say, Take that!

The skaters you’ll read about in these pages were the top finishers at the 1961 U.S. National Championships. Winning a medal at Nationals earned each skater passage aboard Sabena Flight 548, a state-of-the-art Boeing 707. The plane would take them to Brussels, where they planned to board a new plane for Prague, host city of the 1961 World Figure Skating Championships. Some of the skaters brought parents or older siblings as chaperones. Coaches and judges also boarded the plane, and some of them brought spouses and children. When the plane crashed in a Belgian field on February 15, 1961, entire families were shattered, and the American skating program suffered a staggering blow that threatened to cripple it for many years. That tragic event still resonates deeply with champion figure skaters today. Michelle Kwan, whose longtime coach, Frank Carroll, was coached by Maribel Vinson Owen, cited a cosmic connection to Maribel after winning her ninth U.S. national figure skating title in 2005. On that evening, Michelle tied Maribel for the highest number of women’s titles in American figure skating history.

Frozen in Time takes you on a journey back in time to experience the highly competitive U.S. National and North American championships of that fateful year. The skaters performed in a different way and in a very different atmosphere than the one we know today. Beginning in 1960, television revolutionized the sport, bringing skaters to unforeseen levels of popularity and even changing the rules of competition. This story takes place in the final days of what now seems like an antique era, when the world was black and white, when figure skating was not a well-publicized sport. It also takes place on the cusp of new media interest, when the skaters on that team would have become stars whose names are as well known as the stars who followed them, such as Peggy Fleming.

I’ve done my best to provide a portrait, sometimes an intimate one, of the skaters’ and coaches’ lives—from their beginnings on the ice to the many painful sacrifices made to continue in their quest for gold. During the three years it took to research and write this book, I remained continually surprised that it had not been told before in book form. It was an unprecedented moment in the history of American sport. On board the plane were some of the most revolutionary people figure skating has ever known. I often felt inadequate to the task of providing for such amazing people a fitting tribute. As I wrote, I also fell under the spell of two families of women—the Owens and the Westerfelds. This is very much the story of women—women ahead of their time, living independently, mothers and daughters and sisters with complex relationships that were demanding as well as nurturing, full of sacrifice and laughter and love.

In their lives, the people on board the plane were vivacious, talented, graceful champions. In death, they have become heroes to many who don’t realize the impact their deaths continue to have on the sport. In these pages, I hope a new audience will gain an appreciation for their gifts—an audience denied the chance to see them pursue the Olympic dream.

Laurence Owen skates at an outdoor pond in 1958.

Chapter One

Laurence Owen bounded through the hallways of the Broadmoor Ice Palace sporting a luminous grin as she shook the fresh coating of snow off her boots. Mother and sister in tow, she walked with a self-possession beyond her years. Her long-legged stride suggested a genuine confidence hard to find in girls of sixteen. Her mere presence brought pause to the host of rabidly busy people working to ready the venue for the 1961 U.S. National Figure Skating Championships.

They must have wondered in amazement, What is she so happy about? Isn’t she nervous? Though only sixteen years old, Laurence seemed to absorb her surroundings with a sort of nostalgia about the history she was poised to make. She knew, too, that this was not simply a competition—but a coronation. In a country with only the fictional monarchies of beauty pageants and movie stars, in America there were, too, the ice queens. They had all the qualities befitting true royalty. With their sparkling, brilliantly colorful costumes, they looked as regal and lovely as any fairy tale queen. They were graceful and strong under pressure, in a world where their every move was scrutinized. And their lives were as dramatic and heartbreaking as the lives of true royals. In 1961, the title of ice queen was vacant, and dozens of eager ice princesses readied themselves to leap, spin, and dance to obtain it.

While other competitors, keenly aware of the life-altering importance involved in such an event, paced the arena’s halls in a perpetual state of panic and worry, Laurence, readily flashing her wide, joyous smile, was the picture of serenity. As she bounded along the hallways of the arena, her dark-brown hair cropped close to her face, she radiated an internal contentment. She was poised, sure, smiling, and relaxed. The bounce in her step didn’t suggest arrogance, yet it appeared that she knew what others would soon find out. This was her year. She was going to make her peers at the Skating Club of Boston proud. She smiled as if she had already won, though the biggest test was still days away.

Competitors, rink employees, journalists, judges, officials, and parents overwrought with nerves crowded the halls, creating warmth in the usually cold ice rink, which had just been remodeled for the event. The smell of fresh paint hung in the air.

Some of the skaters prepared for their practice, the first opportunity to see if nerves remained under control, or if pre-competition jitters had transformed otherwise good legs into something with the consistency of Jell-O. While others walked the hallways or sat in the seats of the mostly empty arena, those getting ready to glide onto the ice stretched their legs, bending their knees, touching their toes, each seemingly oblivious of everyone around them. In the intimidating atmosphere competitors donned their most serious and focused facial expressions. They did not have time to socialize with each other on the ice, for every minute of practice was needed for the business of winning a championship.

Each practice session clicked by faster than most of the sweater-clad competitors would have liked. The superstitious types often felt that a poor practice signaled a good competition to come. The more relaxed skaters felt that at this point it would be hard to improve upon what had already been toiled over hundreds, if not thousands, of times before.

As the growling Zamboni emerged through the wide swinging doors, most of the young men and women hurriedly tried to throw one more jump into the practice, believing that just one more time would help the moves snap into place—that one more successfully executed double loop or flying camel would spark the confidence they needed.

Some of the skaters left the ice grudgingly. Others were ready for a cold drink and a comfortable chair, but coaches, many of whom doubled as coach and parent, urged their prodigies to keep going even in the face of fatigue. As one practice session ended, the Colorado College hockey team, bright and blazing in their white, black, and gold uniforms, thundered onto the ice, nearly knocking several skaters off their blades and into a battered heap. Disaster was averted, but this interruption meant additional work would have to wait.

The usual gathering of newspaper reporters mingled with the competitors, coaches, and parents as well as with a new group of participants at the event—production and camera crews from CBS. For the first time in the history of the sport, the United States Figure Skating Championships would be shown on television. In living rooms across America, hundreds of thousands—maybe even millions—of viewers would take a front-row seat to watch every spin, landing, and fall. The event would be broadcast a few weeks later.

CBS television had aired the 1960 Winter Olympic Games from Squaw Valley, California, a year earlier to rave reviews. The most celebrated moment in those games occurred when a group of American college boys defeated the heavily favored hockey team from communist Russia. For those who lived through it, this team showed just as much grit as the 1980 Miracle on Ice team that beat the Soviets in the Lake Placid Winter Games semifinal. Though the U.S. hockey program had won the two previous Olympic silver medals, in the 1960 Games, these scrappy American amateurs were considered overwhelming underdogs to the Soviets, Czechs, and Canadians. Just as in 1980, the U.S. faced the Soviets in the semifinals. The U.S. beat them, the first time the Americans had ever beaten the Soviets in hockey. They went on to beat the Czechs for the gold. In the height of the simmering Cold War, these victories ignited a fire of enthusiasm in America.

Figure skating, in addition to hockey, captured many eyes and hearts in the 1960 Olympics. Carol Heiss, the movie-star-pretty American figure skater, took to the ice with a fierce athleticism, landing a double Axel and forever securing her legacy as a brilliant champion. She had already won a silver medal at the 1956 Olympic Games, and now Heiss had won the gold medal to complete her stellar collection. Newspapers of the day labeled her Cinderella of the blades. Her triumph was part of only thirteen hours of Olympic competition shown on television—a stark contrast to today’s wall-to-wall network and cable coverage.

Following the ratings success of the Winter Games, the television network decided to broadcast portions of the 1960 Summer Olympics. The Rome Games produced some of the most enduring champions in their respective fields—Wilma Rudolph in track and field, and the indomitable Cassius Clay in boxing.

Carol Heiss, Cassius Clay, Wilma Rudolph, and the USA hockey team created a spark that leapt right through television sets to captivate viewers. Suddenly, these athletes were the toast of America, even if tense race relations tempered this new social status for some of the black athletes. Television executives longed to capitalize on this new fascination with sport and its beautiful, fiery players. Their athletic gifts and human imperfections fascinated equally, and all facets of both the sport and the athlete seemed to make for dramatic television viewing.

The presence of television cameras at the Broadmoor Ice Palace added a new sizzle of excitement for the skaters, who must have sensed, at some level, that their sport, like many others, was entering a new phase of visibility. Television, as they knew, was influencing all areas of modern life. In the 1960 presidential election, John F. Kennedy famously wore makeup during the first-ever televised debate between presidential candidates. Richard Nixon did not powder his face, and Americans ended up choosing Kennedy as their president. No one can say with certainty that Kennedy won the election because of the new medium, but Kennedy himself credited TV with making a definite difference in the election returns. He said, We wouldn’t have had a prayer without that gadget. And so Camelot began.

FCC Chairman Newton Minnow did not share the new president’s enthusiasm for the new medium, referring to it in a famous 1961 speech as a vast wasteland. Regardless, in 1961, ninety percent of Americans owned television sets, and millions of sets of eyes were about to be treated to the first broadcast of a U.S. National Skating Championship.

CBS devoted Sunday afternoons to the new sports craze, in a show fittingly titled CBS Sports Spectacular. The anthology-style show began just thirteen weeks after the 1960 Summer Olympics and featured everything from the sublime to the ridiculous. The vast array of sports seen on this Sunday afternoon broadcast ranged from skating, to fishing, to drag racing, to one episode featuring a man who strapped dynamite to his chest, then blew himself up. (Thankfully, the man survived the stunt.)

Thanks to CBS Sports Spectacular, skaters were about to have access to far larger audiences and far greater fame than ever before. In the past, the top skaters were well known within a small community of serious fans and perhaps at least familiar to a wider audience of people who followed sports. Now the best performers, for the first time ever, would be household names throughout the country. The awareness of this new level of visibility and renown no doubt may have made some skaters more nervous than usual, while for others the event would have seemed like the opportunity of a lifetime.

Whatever you called it—The U.S. Championships, or just plain Nationals as many skaters did—this event was by far the most important to date on the 1961 competition calendar, cameras or not. The competition wasn’t just about winning medals or trophies, either. Winning a gold, silver, or bronze medal in the ladies, men, pairs, or dance events meant a stronger chance of actually being seen in the televised portion of the championships. With only one hour to cover the four major disciplines, the broadcast editors could only concern themselves with the standout performances. Most important of all, however, was the opportunity a top-three finish presented. Finishing on the podium earned each of the victors a spot on the team that would represent the United States at two important competitions: the North American Figure Skating Championships and the World Figure Skating Championships.

The North American Championships no longer exist today, replaced by the more frequent Grand Prix events, but in 1961 the North Americans were considered a vital precursor to the World Championships. The North Americans that year would be held in Philadelphia. The team then would head for the World Figure Skating Championships to be held in Prague, Czechoslovakia. A trip behind the forbidding Iron Curtain would put the skaters in a very select group at a time when such travel was much more difficult and more expensive than it is today. Inclusion in that group, as every skater knew while warming up on that day in Colorado Springs, required earning a medal at the Nationals, where their years of training and sacrifice would come down to just a few minutes on the ice.

The pressure of making history rested on the shoulders of the vibrant Laurence Owen, eager to live up to the championship expectations written about so frequently in the press and born of her membership in an elite skating family, a family that had been dubbed the first family of skating by newspaper reporters who covered her