Bob Beamon

Delinquency History: Assaults, truancy, and running away from home. Referred to the juvenile court in New York for getting into a fight in a school. Spent some time in a detention center and sent to the "600 School" in Manhattan, an alternative school for juvenile delinquents.

"I was lucky. My grandmother stepped up for me and said she would take responsibility for me and a compassionate juvenile judge took a chance and gave me one. They were getting ready to send me away to do real time, but they sent me instead to a juvenile alternative day school. And I guess that was the beginning of my turnaround."

What a turnaround it was. Bob Beamon would go from being a gang leader and adjudicated juvenile delinquent to performing what is considered one of the most spectacular athletic achievements ever. In the midst of the wild and politically charged Mexico City Summer Olympics of 1968, he captured the world's attention by shattering the world and Olympic records for the long jump with a leap of 29 feet 2 1/2 inches. Perhaps even more importantly, he went on to become a motivational speaker who now tries to move others like himself to get back on the "straight and narrow."

Bob Beamon never knew his biological father or mother. His mother died when he was an infant and his stepfather assumed responsibility for him. His stepfather did little in the way of parenting. He drank a lot; beat his wife, his mother, and Bob; and finally ended up in prison. Little Bob never "had anyone to look up to" and no one to parent him. His grandmother, Bessie, was the one who tried the most. She worked long hours as a domestic worker, kept a roof over his head, and put food on the table. But, there was little supervision and "certainly were no hugs or affection."

His neighborhood in Jamaica, New York, was poor and life there was hard. "For most of my childhood it was just more or less survival," Beamon says. "I grew up by learning and getting hurt at the same time." As a child he experienced and witnessed violence and a lot of what he calls "very serious scenes." As a young boy he once saw a man literally being beaten to death on the street.

By the time he was 9, Beamon was already getting into trouble. He was stealing things, getting into fights, and skipping school. "I was hanging out with thugs and the whole nine yards," Beamon says. The juvenile authorities put him in a counseling program for one year and tried to intervene, but over the next five years he kept getting into trouble, finally "graduating into juvenile court."

At 14, he ran away from home, skipped school, drank, and fought. He couldn't even read. He joined a gang, worked his way up the gang hierarchy and got into lots of fights.

One of those gang fights spilled over into school and into a classroom at Queens P.S. 40. A teacher intervened and was struck. Beamon was expelled from school and charged with assault and battery. The judge looked over his record (dating back four years) and his school reports. Court social workers recommended he be sent to a prison-like facility in upstate New York where, Beamon describes, "juveniles were locked up and locked down for a long time."

Beamon remembers "being real scared and looking down at the ground the whole time the judge was talking." But his grandmother told the judge she would take more responsibility and would take charge of Beamon. The juvenile judge was thoughtful, compassionate and obviously interested in helping kids. He sized up the situation and "must have seen something. He said he was going to take a chance," Beamon says.

Instead of jail, he was sent to an alternative or "600 School" in Manhattan with other juvenile delinquents. It was a hard place where the teachers were tough and the kids were locked up inside during the day. But Beamon learned some things, made some good friends and was given the opportunity to grow. It was a place where he had time to learn that there was more to life than trouble.

By the time he left the 600 School he had a good relationship with the staff and recognized how important that was. He still remembers two teachers, Mr. Rogers and George Goggins, among others, because they showed him that there was a different way to live and behave. There is no doubt in his mind that the 600 School experience was the "key to his turnaround." And his grandmother stayed true to her word and closely supervised him.

By the time he was 9, Beamon was already getting into trouble. "I was hanging out with thugs and the whole 9 years," he says.

"I got off the corner and into the community center and school," Beamon says. "Going into Manhattan every day from Queens showed me a world that intrigued me."

And while he still got into a little trouble here and there by "dipping and dabbling," he was definitely on a different path—one that would take him up and out of the gang lifestyle.

After setting a Junior Olympics record in the long jump while in Junior High, Beamon was determined to go to Jamaica High School. He learned to "stay away from the old crowd and stay with better influences." He was helped by Larry Ellis, the school's dean and track coach, who took Beamon under his wing. Ellis recognized Beamon's athletic ability and encouraged him to have dreams and to pursue them. At 16, Beamon started setting city-wide records in track, culminating in a New York State record for the long jump. Now, he had a purpose, an opportunity, encouragement from others and an Olympic dream.

His grandmother stayed true to her words to the judge by staying after Bob. He began to "get off the corner and into the community center and school."

Five years later, in Mexico City, Bob Beamon realized his potential by leaping 29 feet 2 1/2 inches, thereby setting new world and Olympic records in the long jump. In a sporting event where records were broken by inches, Beamon jumped nearly two feet longer than anyone else ever had. His world record remained intact for 23 years. Indeed, in modern sports lingo, a record shattering event or feat is now termed "Beamonesque."

Following his Olympic triumph, Beamon went on to graduate from Adelphi University and entered a career in public relations first at a bank, then coaching college track, and later running Parks and Recreation programs in Miami-Dade, Florida. He has lived and worked in Mexico and Spain and has remained active in the Olympic movement. Along with actor Arnold Schwarzenegger, he organized the South Florida Inner-City Games for at-risk kids and is Chairman of the Bob Beamon United Way Golf Classic, which benefits youth-related programs of the United Way. He is a member of the New York Track and Field Hall of Fame, the Olympic Hall of Fame and is in the ESPN's list of the top 100 athletes of the 20th Century.

Beamon's story did not end with his athletic gifts and accomplishments. Indeed, he has gone on to pursue new dreams. He operates his own corporation, Bob Beamon Communications Inc., in Miami, Florida where he now lives with his wife and daughter. He is an exhibited artist, has designed and marketed a successful line of neckties and spends much of his time as an inspirational speaker and corporate spokesman. He has developed his own motivational program, The Champion in You, in which he describes how, "Champions are made by the things you accomplish and by the way you use your abilities in everyday life situations." His autobiography, The Man Who Could Fly: The Bob Beamon Story, has just been published. Most recently, Beamon accepted an appointment as the Director of Athletic Development at Florida Atlantic University.

Beamon emphasizes that "we must all do our part to make sure children are a priority in our society." He concentrates on working with troubled kids, "trying to give something back." Acknowledging that, while some kids today are involved in more serious crimes and appear to be less attached to society, he says that "kids are still basically the same; they have the same needs and problems; they are kids; they need our love and attention."

"The backup systems—family, church, neighbors—are simply not there like they used to be. Kids are basically the same—they have the same needs and problems—they are kids."

He notes, however, that kids today are subjected to more violence—be it in the streets, in the classroom, on TV, on the internet or in video games. He is particularly concerned that the inner cities, where many troubled kids live, are even more devastated than when he was a boy. "The backup systems—extended family, church, neighbors—are simply not there like they used to be." Beamon also observes that while today's children are being exposed to more dangers, parents are becoming less watchful over, and less involved with, their own kids. Families are far more fragmented and disconnected.

"They are not sitting around the dinner table, talking and bonding," he says. "They are in their own worlds."

He speaks of the need for those in power to understand the realities of troubled kids—to know their devastated worlds and lives—and then to begin to make those kids' lives better. "We need to get out of denial and reach out to these kids. They need to understand what can happen to them and what is in store for them in the penal system. We must teach them that there is a better, more interesting world out there."

Beamon says despite his early troubles, he was given the opportunity to make mistakes and to learn from them. He had a grandmother who cared, a thoughtful juvenile judge, a responsive juvenile system, all of which encouraged him and enabled him to become a better person. There is no question that his early life experiences were not much different than those of many of today's troubled kids. However, he worries that too little attention is being paid to them. Today's society is "clearly less tolerant and more willing to throw away many kids." Beamon believes it is very possible that he would not have been given that same chance today.

The opportunities provided by a competent juvenile justice system gave Beamon time to find himself, to learn to work hard and to achieve his Olympic dreams. And the rest is Beamonesque history. He leapt into the record books and into our hearts in the Mexico City Olympics. And we are still talking about him.