Posted: October 8, 2004

Athletics: A Remembrance of Johnny Kelley

From David Monti

(c) 2004 Race Results Weekly, all rights reserved RaceResultsWeekly.com

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The legendary marathoner Johnny Kelley died on Wednesday at at 97, just three hours after entering a nursing home, according to the Associated Press. He won the Boston Marathon twice and ran in a mind boggling 61 times.

I had the good fortune to spend a weekend with Johnny and his wife, Ginger, in August, 2003 while at the Beach to Beacon Road Race in Maine. I wrote this story for Runner's World On-Line and repeat it here for you as my little tribute to Johnny. I was fortunate to have known him, even for those few days.

David Monti

Of Joanie, Johnny and Ginger
By David Monti
(Originally published at Runner's World On-Line, August 20, 2003)

I am not an old friend of Joan Benoit Samuelson's. But as I recruited her to run the New York City Marathon and the U.S. Marathon Championships back in 2001, our friendship unexpectedly grew.

Our conversations about New York began in June of that year, and Joan, always wanting to perform her absolute best, was uncertain about her fitness due to a nagging foot injury. She asked if I could wait until late September for her decision.

"I've got a 20-miler to do then," I recall her saying, which would tell her if she could be ready for our race in early November.

We kept in touch over the next few months, and when I finally got the call that she would run, I was elated. It was a particularly big boost for me in the wake of 9/11. Fighting sadness every day, it meant a lot to know that Joanie would be with us.

However, I soon found out that Joan had a number of special needs, and despite her Olympic gold medal and a 2:21 personal best, she seemed to worry a great deal about the race and the attendant details. In the end, although she asked a lot, she gave even more in return: she trained hard, was gracious and tireless with the media, remained attentive to her family despite her race obligations, and gave her best on race day.

The following year, Joan invited my wife, Jane, and I to be her guests at the Beach to Beacon 10-K, the race she founded in her hometown of Cape Elizabeth, Me. We had been to the race before, but attending as a friend of Joanie's was an altogether different experience. We were hosted at one of her friend's beautiful homes; we went running together the day before the race, as she gave me a nostalgic tour of the town before dropping me; and she invited us to their sumptuous post race lobster bake. It was a wonderful trip.

When she asked us to come again this year, we gladly accepted, but there was a small twist. Although we would stay at the same home as last year, our hosts, whom we adored, wouldn't be home. Then Joanie said, "I've got to ask you a favor."

I was suddenly worried, because I had learned back in 2001 when Joan asked for a favor it always meant two things: 1) it was going to be a big favor and 2) nobody says "no" to Joanie.

"Would it be OK if Johnny and Ginger Kelley stayed with you for the weekend?"

That would be Johnny A. Kelly, the legendary two-time Boston Marathon champion and seven-time runner-up. Twice an Olympic marathoner, he was now nearly 95 years-old. That Johnny Kelley.

The Kelley's arrived in Cape Elizabeth shortly after we did on Thursday afternoon. Johnny seemed so happy to meet us. Despite his age, he was trim with brilliant blue eyes and a warm smile. He struck me as being a little boy who had mistakenly grown old.

Ginger told me that Johnny liked to get up early, and that he liked eggs for breakfast. "Over easy," she said.

On Friday morning I was in the kitchen at 6:00 making breakfast for John. I made one egg over easy, with a slice of toast and a strong cup of coffee. He sat at the dining room table quietly waiting for his plate of food, and when I brought it, his eyes lit up, his gratitude genuine.

"We're friends for life, now," he said when he finished eating. "Friends for life."

He began to tell me stories of his past: how he didn't like his lieutenant in the Army, what kind of work he did at Boston Edison, what happened to his previous three wives (two died, one divorce), and how his youngest brother was killed in World War II, shot out of a plane over the Pacific, something that still made him profoundly sad. He showed me how he thumbed his nose at Hitler at the Berlin Olympics in 1936, and explained that he would have won at Boston more than twice had he just been more patient.

"I would go out too fast," he said shaking his head.

On Saturday, Johnny and Ginger rode in the lead vehicle at the race, but I knew that he would have much preferred to run it. Later, we drove them to the lobster bake where Johnny gobbled up his lobster with gusto, then took a turn at the microphone and sang, "Young at Heart" with the band. He brought the house down.

By now, I had made breakfast for Johnny twice, and he wanted to make sure I'd be cooking again for him on Sunday, even though we had to leave quite early to go home. At 5:30 a.m. I was padding softly down the stairs trying not to wake anyone, when I saw Johnny pacing impatiently in the darkened kitchen. Our eyes met.

"You're going to make me breakfast," he asked?

In a few minutes the coffee was brewed, the egg was cooked and the bread was toasted. Jane and I sat with Johnny at the table and he told me a few of the same stories he had over the past few days and a couple of new ones. He asked me to write down my address and phone number so we could remain in contact.

"We're friends for life, now," he said more urgently than before. "Friends for life."

A few days later, Jane got an e-mail from Joanie. "I owe you big-time," she wrote, for looking after the Kelley's.

But this time, it was she who had done us the favor.