All the best for your 50th birthday, Uncle Simon, from the three Robinsons in Massachusetts (Margaret, Phoebe and Alan) and Margot in Jordan. We hope the celebrations are somewhat toned down from the last milestone you celebrated – your 21st -- which anyone within Cambridge city limits at the time won’t forget in a hurry!
Over the years, “Uncle Simon” stories have always been favorites with the girls, and this last holiday, the story of the Big Race – in the one year that Corpus got into the finals for Athletics at Cambridge -- caused roars of laughter and tears with Gwen Owen’s children during our reunion in Spain. To the best of my knowledge, although it has caused you much grief, the story has remained in the Klemperer oral tradition. It is now time to record it for posterity, so Emma can share it with her children and grandchildren, and so that posterity might know that you are only human.
Emma, your father was an excellent athlete in his youth. I remember him primarily as a fearsome squash player, who I never came close to beating. I also vaguely recall that he did some rowing at Corpus, and if I am not mistaken, some cricket, too.
The story begins when Corpus Christi College (where your father and I met), got into the CUPPERS Athletics finals. Corpus was where the geeks like your Dad and I went. We were facing some very strong jock colleges, some with athletes who competed at the international level. The call went out, and your dad answered the call. One of his events was the showcase event, the mile, where he would go up against two runners who ran for Great Britain. The mile race is always eagerly anticipated by the crowd – and there was a significant and distinguished one at this event. The race lasts five minutes or so, and involves four laps of the track. Few people would forget what your dad did on this historic day.
In the race, each college had three runners, of which only the first two over the finish line counted for points. Your father was part of a devious plan, in which he would sacrifice himself spectacularly in an effort to throw off the runners from the other colleges, while the two other Corpus runners, in on the plan, would take advantage of the confusion and disarray to make their move.
Normally the race is run at a fast and steady trot. The plan was for your Dad to sprint off at top speed as soon as the gun went off, and to hold this sprint for a full lap. The plan depended on the rest of the pack thinking they were up against a new running phenomenon – a Superrunner, if you will – and trying to keep up with him. If they fell for the ruse, they would be exhausted at the end of the first lap, like your Dad would be, and the other two Corpus runners would go right by them and win. Your dad would then drop out.
So far, so good. But just as the gun went off, we got the bad news. One of the Corpus runners had missed the start! Now your father, instead of sacrificing himself, had to finish the race. It was too late to help your Dad. Like the Charge of the Light Brigade (ask your Dad about that), your Dad was off, and had already sprinted out well ahead of the pack. He looked good and strong, but he wasn’t going to be able to keep it up for long. When a runner goes well out in front like that in a long distance race, it always creates excitement, because people wonder if he can really keep it up, or if it was just a big mistake, made by an amateur who craved a brief moment of attention.
“Young Klemperer seems awfully keen, don’t you think”, the Master of Corpus commented to the group.
Just as your Dad got to the end of the first lap, and was ready to fake his injury or trip over his shoelace to pull out of the race, a teammate got to him and told him he had to finish the race, because the other runner hadn’t showed up, and Corpus needed his points.
Emma, when your father heard this, he used some very bad words -- words that I hope he never teaches you, that you never learn, and never use. Your dad, who was completely spent, now had to stagger and limp for another three laps. The embarrassing thing was that the crowd didn’t know of his courage and bravery. In their eyes, your dad, hopelessly naïve, had made a dash for the limelight and immortatility, and predictably failed. He was mortified (so were we) and it took him months to get over the humiliation.
But he did, and it made him a stronger person.
That is the kind of man your father is, and why we love him so much.
The Robinsons
