Frozen in Time. Nikki Nichols

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СКАЧАТЬ the venue for the 1961 U.S. National Figure Skating Championships.

      They must have wondered in amazement, “What is she so happy about? Isn’t she nervous?” Though only sixteen years old, Laurence seemed to absorb her surroundings with a sort of nostalgia about the history she was poised to make. She knew, too, that this was not simply a competition—but a coronation. In a country with only the fictional monarchies of beauty pageants and movie stars, in America there were, too, the “ice queens.” They had all the qualities befitting true royalty. With their sparkling, brilliantly colorful costumes, they looked as regal and lovely as any fairy tale queen. They were graceful and strong under pressure, in a world where their every move was scrutinized. And their lives were as dramatic and heartbreaking as the lives of true royals. In 1961, the title of ice queen was vacant, and dozens of eager ice princesses readied themselves to leap, spin, and dance to obtain it.

      While other competitors, keenly aware of the life-altering importance involved in such an event, paced the arena’s halls in a perpetual state of panic and worry, Laurence, readily flashing her wide, joyous smile, was the picture of serenity. As she bounded along the hallways of the arena, her dark-brown hair cropped close to her face, she radiated an internal contentment. She was poised, sure, smiling, and relaxed. The bounce in her step didn’t suggest arrogance, yet it appeared that she knew what others would soon find out. This was her year. She was going to make her peers at the Skating Club of Boston proud. She smiled as if she had already won, though the biggest test was still days away.

      Competitors, rink employees, journalists, judges, officials, and parents overwrought with nerves crowded the halls, creating warmth in the usually cold ice rink, which had just been remodeled for the event. The smell of fresh paint hung in the air.

      Some of the skaters prepared for their practice, the first opportunity to see if nerves remained under control, or if pre-competition jitters had transformed otherwise good legs into something with the consistency of Jell-O. While others walked the hallways or sat in the seats of the mostly empty arena, those getting ready to glide onto the ice stretched their legs, bending their knees, touching their toes, each seemingly oblivious of everyone around them. In the intimidating atmosphere competitors donned their most serious and focused facial expressions. They did not have time to socialize with each other on the ice, for every minute of practice was needed for the business of winning a championship.

      Each practice session clicked by faster than most of the sweater-clad competitors would have liked. The superstitious types often felt that a poor practice signaled a good competition to come. The more relaxed skaters felt that at this point it would be hard to improve upon what had already been toiled over hundreds, if not thousands, of times before.

      As the growling Zamboni emerged through the wide swinging doors, most of the young men and women hurriedly tried to throw one more jump into the practice, believing that just one more time would help the moves snap into place—that one more successfully executed double loop or flying camel would spark the confidence they needed.

      Some of the skaters left the ice grudgingly. Others were ready for a cold drink and a comfortable chair, but coaches, many of whom doubled as coach and parent, urged their prodigies to keep going even in the face of fatigue. As one practice session ended, the Colorado College hockey team, bright and blazing in their white, black, and gold uniforms, thundered onto the ice, nearly knocking several skaters off their blades and into a battered heap. Disaster was averted, but this interruption meant additional work would have to wait.

      The usual gathering of newspaper reporters mingled with the competitors, coaches, and parents as well as with a new group of participants at the event—production and camera crews from CBS. For the first time in the history of the sport, the United States Figure Skating Championships would be shown on television. In living rooms across America, hundreds of thousands—maybe even millions—of viewers would take a front-row seat to watch every spin, landing, and fall. The event would be broadcast a few weeks later.

      CBS television had aired the 1960 Winter Olympic Games from Squaw Valley, California, a year earlier to rave reviews. The most celebrated moment in those games occurred when a group of American college boys defeated the heavily favored hockey team from communist Russia. For those who lived through it, this team showed just as much grit as the 1980 “Miracle on Ice” team that beat the Soviets in the Lake Placid Winter Games semifinal. Though the U.S. hockey program had won the two previous Olympic silver medals, in the 1960 Games, these scrappy American amateurs were considered overwhelming underdogs to the Soviets, Czechs, and Canadians. Just as in 1980, the U.S. faced the Soviets in the semifinals. The U.S. beat them, the first time the Americans had ever beaten the Soviets in hockey. They went on to beat the Czechs for the gold. In the height of the simmering Cold War, these victories ignited a fire of enthusiasm in America.

      Figure skating, in addition to hockey, captured many eyes and hearts in the 1960 Olympics. Carol Heiss, the movie-star-pretty American figure skater, took to the ice with a fierce athleticism, landing a double Axel and forever securing her legacy as a brilliant champion. She had already won a silver medal at the 1956 Olympic Games, and now Heiss had won the gold medal to complete her stellar collection. Newspapers of the day labeled her “Cinderella of the blades.” Her triumph was part of only thirteen hours of Olympic competition shown on television—a stark contrast to today’s wall-to-wall network and cable coverage.

      Following the ratings success of the Winter Games, the television network decided to broadcast portions of the 1960 Summer Olympics. The Rome Games produced some of the most enduring champions in their respective fields—Wilma Rudolph in track and field, and the indomitable Cassius Clay in boxing.

      Carol Heiss, Cassius Clay, Wilma Rudolph, and the USA hockey team created a spark that leapt right through television sets to captivate viewers. Suddenly, these athletes were the toast of America, even if tense race relations tempered this new social status for some of the black athletes. Television executives longed to capitalize on this new fascination with sport and its beautiful, fiery players. Their athletic gifts and human imperfections fascinated equally, and all facets of both the sport and the athlete seemed to make for dramatic television viewing.

      The presence of television cameras at the Broadmoor Ice Palace added a new sizzle of excitement for the skaters, who must have sensed, at some level, that their sport, like many others, was entering a new phase of visibility. Television, as they knew, was influencing all areas of modern life. In the 1960 presidential election, John F. Kennedy famously wore makeup during the first-ever televised debate between presidential candidates. Richard Nixon did not powder his face, and Americans ended up choosing Kennedy as their president. No one can say with certainty that Kennedy won the election because of the new medium, but Kennedy himself credited TV with making a definite difference in the election returns. He said, “We wouldn’t have had a prayer without that gadget.” And so Camelot began.

      FCC Chairman Newton Minnow did not share the new president’s enthusiasm for the new medium, referring to it in a famous 1961 speech as “a vast wasteland.” Regardless, in 1961, ninety percent of Americans owned television sets, and millions of sets of eyes were about to be treated to the first broadcast of a U.S. National Skating Championship.

      CBS devoted Sunday afternoons to the new sports craze, in a show fittingly titled CBS Sports Spectacular. The anthology-style show began just thirteen weeks after the 1960 Summer Olympics and featured everything from the sublime to the ridiculous. The vast array of sports seen on this Sunday afternoon broadcast ranged from skating, to fishing, to drag racing, to one episode featuring a man who strapped dynamite to his chest, then blew himself up. (Thankfully, the man survived the stunt.)

      Thanks to CBS Sports Spectacular, skaters were about to have access to far larger audiences and far greater fame than ever before. In the past, the top skaters were well known within a small community of serious fans and perhaps at least familiar to a wider audience of people who followed sports. Now the best performers, for СКАЧАТЬ