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                                                                                OLYMPICS, Page 62

1992 SUMMER GAMES

DECATHLON: Dave on His Own


He grew up running from the cops. Now, at 29, Dave Johnson may
outpoint everyone in the Olympic decathlon.

By SALLY B. DONNELLY/AZUSA


    This was not the way the script was supposed to turn out.
Dave Johnson and Dan O'Brien, the rival U.S. decathlon stars
who have been battling for three years to see who would capture
the "world's greatest athlete" laurels in Barcelona, last week
met on a rain-soaked track at Azusa Pacific University outside
Los Angeles to film a hastily rewritten Reebok shoe ad. As they
waited for the cameras to roll, their conversation remained on
emotionally safe subjects like new golf clubs. There was no
discussion of O'Brien's memorable miss in the pole vault at the
U.S. Olympic trials a fortnight earlier, which had unexpectedly
eliminated him from the Barcelona competition, or of Johnson's
record-setting performance, which had dramatically turned him
into the odds-on favorite for the gold.

    For the past year, Johnson had been focusing on catching
up to the favored O'Brien at the trials and beating him at the
Olympics. "He trained like a maniac to beat Dan," says
Johnson's coach, Terry Franson. Johnson's emotional response to
O'Brien's inexplicable miss -- shock at first, and then a bear
hug of support -- reflected Dave's conflicted feelings. On the
one hand, O'Brien no longer stood between Johnson and the gold
medal. On the other, the competition would somehow be diminished
by his friendly rival's self-demolition.

    Johnson's success came as a surprise to both the track
community and the outside world. Some observers had openly
wondered why Reebok, in its much publicized $25 million
advertising campaign, had even paired O'Brien with Johnson. A
knee injury and Johnson's withdrawal from the world
championships last fall seemed to signal his decline. No matter.
Reebok needed a foil for its sure thing, O'Brien.

    But as a 1988 Olympic veteran, the 29-year-old Johnson had
battle-tested nerves. O'Brien did not. "I've walked this road
for a decade," explains Johnson. "I expect what comes along."
Bruce Jenner, the 1976 decathlon gold medalist and the last of
10 Americans to win the event at the Olympics, concurs. "What
makes Dave Johnson stand out is that he knows how to win," says
Jenner. "That is crucial. You've got to be the best you can be
on that given day -- and know it."

    That Johnson would even be competing in Barcelona came as
a surprise to certain law-enforcement types in Missoula, Mont.,
where he grew up. Johnson and his friends seemed in training
merely to become hoodlums. Johnson half-jokingly explains that
his early running from police officers and wrestling with other
boys kept him in shape. "He's still got a wild side, a sharp
edge," says Franson. "He's a committed risk taker, which is just
what you need when a competition comes down to the crunch."
Although Johnson made a local all-star baseball team as a
pitcher, he continued to put much more energy into such
nighttime activities as breaking into the warehouse of a local
beer distributor.

    When the mill where his father worked closed, forcing a
family move to Oregon, Johnson chose to reinvent himself. He
talked his way onto the football team at Crescent Valley High,
and when track season rolled around, he tried a few events.
Johnson was introduced to Evangelical Christianity by a fellow
football player. "Once Dave got involved in athletics," his
mother Caroline told a reporter, "I noticed a big change. He
became a different person."

    In 1984 Johnson headed south to enroll in Azusa Pacific
University. There he developed his motivating conviction that
he could be the best. "He told me that first year he could score
with the best in the country," recalls Franson, who coached
Olympic athletes in 1976, 1984 and 1988. "I thought that was
crazy then, but a key to Dave's winning record is that he has
always been able to visualize success. He has continued to stun
everyone, me included."

    At Azusa, Johnson's legendary workhorse regimen -- which
involves up to eight hours of training each day, including
multiple runs into the nearby mountains -- made him one of the
most consistent decathletes in the world. Although he lacks the
spectacular style and speed of some other decathletes, he
developed into a second-day wonder. When most other athletes
begin to tire in the last two events, the javelin and the
1,500-m race, Johnson has just hit his stride. In the past three
months alone, Johnson has broken the world's second-day
point-total record twice.

    The casual family atmosphere at Azusa also gives Johnson
peace of mind in the face of the twin pressures of training and
public appearances. He is a regular at the school cafeteria,
where he eats the meat-and-potatoes offerings. Last week he gave
a pep talk to a group of 200 wide-eyed kids in which he
described his own life as an example that if they worked hard
enough, success was possible. After that, he met with the staff
and faculty of Azusa and asked for their prayers that "I not
get caught up in all this hype."

    Coach Franson tries to make sure that does not happen,
chiding his superstar every now and then for trying to park his
huge black pickup truck in a restricted parking space. Franson
also administers regular doses of perspective. "Athletics is
kind of silly when you think about it," he says. "It's a
question of who can run around a track faster." But Franson
takes track extremely seriously; the soft-spoken coach has
transformed his tiny college into a sports powerhouse. This
year, besides Johnson, five of Franson's athletes will be
competing in Barcelona.

    Johnson hopes his success will allow him to reach people,
like victims of the L.A. riots, who might not listen to a
nonathlete. "I felt a little part of me die when all that was
happening," Johnson says of the riots. "But if -- uh, when I
come back here with a gold medal, maybe I can provide a positive
impact for someone."

    But even positive-thinking, clean-living Dave Johnson
knows there is a gap between aiming for the gold and grasping
it. His erstwhile rival O'Brien will be in Barcelona, not to
inspire Johnson to greater performances but to comment on his
results from a broadcasters' booth. Nor will Johnson be
competing in a vacuum; there are other decathletes who have a
solid shot at the top. Canadian Mike Smith, who finished second
to O'Brien in last year's world championships, is the prime
candidate. France's Christian Plaziat and Czechoslovakia's
Robert Zmelik are also potential contenders.

    Although O'Brien will not be down on the track, he intends
to send a pointed message to his rivals, Johnson included. Just
before the Olympic decathlon, O'Brien will compete in a meet in
Stockholm. The idea O'Brien has involves clearing his opening
height in the pole vault. That done, he plans to put up a score
that no competitor could top at the Olympics. If Dan sets a new
world record, it will still be a small consolation. Dan can
settle nothing in Barcelona. Dave can grab the gold.