By Bill Simons

“Pick me up, feed me and bring me home. I hope you agree or otherwise, forget your interview.” That blunt ultimatum came to me in the form of a letter dated October 8, 1985, and signed “Abel R. Kiviat.” Then 93 years old and a widower, Kiviat, one of the great runners of the 20th century and a proud Jew, lived, at the time, at the Cedar Glen West retirement community in Lakehurst, NJ. Driving over 230 miles from Oneonta, NY, to Lakehurst in early November 1985, I acceded to Kiviat’s demands and am glad that I did. He offered me cough drops, a pen, a Jewish calendar and a place to sleep for the night.

I found Kiviat direct, candid save for a few episodes of off-the-record discretion and embellishment, informative, somewhat contentious, warm and incredibly energetic, and sharp of mind for a man in his mid-90s. The Winter 1986 issue of the Journal of Sport History devoted 32 pages to the interview. As for our restaurant dinner, it was memorable. Wearing a stylish Olympic red blazer, Kiviat, gray-haired and mustachioed, ate prodigiously, talked volubly and savored a Dewar’s Scotch Whisky on the rocks. 

This is a Summer Olympic year, making it timely to recall Kiviat, a medalist at the 1912 Stockholm games. He was the eldest of seven children of observant Jewish parents who left Manhattan’s congested, Yiddishkeit Lower East Side for the then semi-rural Staten Island, where they opened a small grocery. At Curtis High School, Kiviat excelled as an All-Interscholastic baseball shortstop, football pass receiver and track phenom.

Bow-legged, 5’3” and 120 pounds, Kiviat, primarily a middle-distance runner noted for the wild flapping of his arms, established several United States and track world records between 1911 and 1915. Individually and as a member of relay teams, he dominated many indoor and outdoor events during an era when track generated significant attention. Versatile and tenacious, Kiviat’s individual world records included the indoor 600-yard, 1,000 yard and one-mile runs, as well as the outdoor 1,500-meter competition. Three times he won the one-mile title at the United States Nationals. 

As the 1912 Stockholm Olympics approached, experts designated the 20-year-old Kiviat the pre-race favorite in the 1,500-meter run. Anticipation animated the passage across the Atlantic aboard the S.S. Finland as it made its way from Hoboken, NJ, to Sweden. Aboard ship, Kiviat roomed with Jim Thorpe, arguably the greatest all-around athlete in history. 

In Stockholm, Kiviat won his first three trial runs. Then, in the 1,500-meter finals, Kiviat took the lead, but, at the turn, Arnold Strode Jackson of England flew by him on the outside, temporarily taking a five-yard lead. Kiviat thought he caught Strode for a dead heat. Nevertheless, the judges declared Jackson the winner by a nose, 3:56.9 to 3:56.8 minutes. Recognizing that he had waited too long to start his sprint, a disappointed Kiviat was not happy with his second-place silver medal in the 1,500-meter run. As part of the American team in the 3,000-meter relay, however, Kiviat earned a first-place gold medal. 

Growing up, and then as an adult, Kiviat lived in Jewish households while fully engaging the opportunities of American secularism. Both of his wives were Jewish. His marriage to Yetta Schiminsky, an ambitious designer of theatrical clothes and the mother of his son, Arthur, a career army officer, ended in divorce. Kiviat’s happy 40-year marriage to Isabel Solomon, an executive secretary, ended with her death, leaving a permanent void. Isabel travelled annually to Israel, kept kosher and ensured her husband’s attendance at weekly Shabbat services. In addition to the Jewish calendar, Kiviat’s Lakehurst home contained a mezuzah, an electric yahrzeit light and a few yarmulkas. 

Despite two disturbing antisemitic incidents – serious threats from a massive discus thrower and a savage beating by unknown assailants – Kiviat, overt about his Jewish identity, always felt comfortable with people from other ethnic and racial groups. Growing up in a heavily Irish and Italian part of Staten Island, he felt secure and enjoyed friendships with people from diverse backgrounds. From childhood through their venerable years, Kiviat and Tommy Lennon, an Irish Catholic, remained best friends. As an athlete, Kiviat, barred from the restrictive, WASP-dominated New York Athletic Club, competed for the Irish American Club, marched under the group’s banner at the St. Patrick’s Day parade, and captained the squad for five years. His Gaelic teammates presented their Jewish captain with a kippah inscribed with the Irish American Club’s logo. 

Kiviat did not allow sports to define him, nor did he obsess over his disappointing finish in the 1,500-meter Olympic run or a long, unduly severe, suspension from amateur competition for accepting appearance money. Unlike so many contemporary world-class athletes who fail to find balance in their lives, Kiviat typically trained only twice a week. During World War I, he served overseas in an army supply unit, nearly meeting a catastrophic fate when a land mine exploded 50 feet from him. For 29 years, Kiviat took pride in doing his job well as deputy clerk for the Southern District of the Federal Court in Manhattan. A longtime press steward and racing official, he enjoyed staying part of the track world. Kiviat remained vibrant and robust during most of his 99-year life. 

On the cusp of the 1984 Los Angeles games, the media rediscovered Kiviat, designating him America’s longest-living Olympian. Resilience rendered Kiviat ready for late-life fame. On television, Kiviat’s feisty charm elicited laughter from Johnny Carson and “The Tonight Show” audience. As a nonagenarian, he jogged the 1984 Olympic torch one kilometer on a windy, rainy Manhattan day as part of its journey to Los Angeles. For a Bud Greenspan documentary, Kiviat returned to Stockholm, scene of his 1912 Olympic competition. He made the most of his late life return from obscurity.

Rereading transcripts and listening to recordings of my Kiviat interview of two generations ago bring to mind lessons from his life. Value the duality of American pluralism and Jewish identification. Maintain balance between ambition and accessible satisfactions. Remain resilient as the best might come last. Thinking of my dinner with Abel Kiviat engenders aspiration for a Dewar’s Scotch Whisky on the rocks.