1968 Olympic Torch, Scandal and Beer.

Add a Comment

April 16, 12:33 PM

by Charlie Papazian, Beer Examiner

 

 

In 1968 a blurry image of me was splashed on the front page of newspapers all over America.  There I was having the real flame of the Olympic Torch clandestinely handed to me in the hills of Mexico in exchange for a fake flame.   In possession of the real flame the publishers of Rapier Magazine (whom I voluntarily worked for) at the University of Virginia claimed that we were the true keepers of the flame.    Front page controversy erupted and the benevolent publishers which we were, decided to return the true flame to the Mexican Embassy in Washington, DC. 

            In two days we organized a 116-mile relay run from Charlottesville, Virginia north along Highway 29 through Georgetown and eventually to the Mexican Embassy.  On the Virginia highway news helicopters hovered above charting the progress of the endangered flame. We communicated logistic by way of the nearest pay telephone booth. Once we crossed Key Bridge we were met and escorted by a full police escort, sirens blaring to the Embassy.   After the two-day marathon, we arrived at the entrance of the embassy.  No one answered our knocks.  Our publisher extinguished the flame and later assured the Olympic Committee that we had a candle burning back at our Charlottesville office above the Prism Coffee House.   It was over.   That afternoon in DC, we schemers and runners went quietly back to M Street in Georgetown to have a beer and watch our escapade on the national news coverage.

            There was no scandal.  No finger pointing and outrage.  No politics embroilment.   No embarrassing apologies by governments.  No investigations.  Just a sense of nervousness in Mexico and Greece. 

            These were simple times.  I had been chosen to be the covert Mexican runner in the blurry photo.  I am not Hispanic looking, but I am of Armenian descent.  I specifically recall that the staff figured I was the most ethnic looking person they knew on campus and I would do just fine in an out-of-focus image portraying this scandalous exchange.  Go figure. 

            Simple times.   Did we have any grand direction other than a mere publicity stunt?  Not really.   I suppose the whole scheme was reflected in the kind of beer I drank.     As a young student I was legally drinking 3.2%, 69 cent a six pack Ballantine Ale.   And when offered anything else yellow and fizzy for free I indulged.

            These were simple times and the whole notion of having a choice and embarking on a beer journey would have been outrageously absurd.   We drank yellow, fizzy, cold, cheap beer on M Street and wherever they’d serve us.  That was about as sophisticated as it ever got.  Did I enjoy the beer?  Not at all.  I drank it for the buzz and it was something to fit in the crowd with.  I probably would have stopped drinking beer if it were not for an invitation I received in 1970.  But this was 1968, two years before my first taste of homebrew and a flavor that interested me.  These were times that changed my life forever.

   Subscribe   Feed

Include other special offers from Examiner.com
Terms of Use