(John W. Robinson lives in Montana.)

Most times when we think of Americanism we think of events of great magnitude. The Revolution. The Westward Movement. The Civil War. The industrialization of the country. The Great Depression. Things of that magnitude. In reality, those are only the products of Americanism.

I am going to tell you a story about someone I know. It was an event that personifies Americanism. It happened almost thirty years ago. It was so impressive that I can clearly recall it today.

It was in the spring of the year. I was a teacher and coach at Victor High School in Victor , Montana . It was a very small school in a very small-unincorporated town. Football and basketball seasons had passed. All there was left to coach was track. Track and field were areas where I was particularly inept. Oh, I had a few books on track but I had none of the skills or desires a person should have to coach the sport.

A young man who was a senior came to me and said he wanted to pole vault. He had tried it the year before. He had just a little success but this year he was really going to succeed. He told me he had set a goal for himself. His goal was to vault twelve feet by the end of the season. This was about the first of April so he had about two months to achieve his goal.

I asked him what was the highest he had ever vaulted and he told me about eight feet nine inches last year. He wanted to vault and he wanted to know if I could help him. I had to be honest with him. I told him I didn’t know a thing about how to teach the pole vault. He would have to be on his own.

I did help a little. The fiberglass poles were coming into general use and I was able to scrounge up $150 bucks to buy a new pole, proper for his size and weight. Other than encouraging him to jump higher every once in awhile, sometimes resetting the bar for him when he had knocked it down in practice. I didn’t do much more coaching.

I usually arrived at school about seven thirty in the morning. I would see him out at the jumping pit. He had dragged the wool sacks full of foam rubber out of the storage shed, across the football field and put them in place so that he could practice. I asked him what time he started. He said he usually got there about six thirty and could get in an hour and fifteen minutes before he had to shower and get to class. I have a fair eye for height and I never remember the bar getting up over nine and half feet.

We had our first meet in Corvallis on a cold and windy Saturday. When the day was over and we were all chilled to the bone we checked over the achievements of the day. The young man had cleared nine feet and finished fourth in the pole vault. He was disappointed but undaunted. In a couple of weeks we had another meet. The weather was better and when all the dust had settled he had cleared nine feet six inches. There were four or five weeks left in the season and two and a half feet to go.

The wool sacks with the foam rubber were out in the pit every morning. I knew we put them away every night. The young man was getting in his hour or so of extra practice every morning.

With about three weeks left in school the district meet arrived. Anyone who placed in the top five in their event got to go to the divisional meet about a week later. The Victor team’s strength was in the dashes and the hurdles and as a coach I was paying attention to those events. The meet was almost over when I went over to the vaulting area. The bar was set at ten feet. The young man had missed twice. He was preparing for his final jump. If he clears the bar he will be in fifth place and on his way to the divisional. If he misses his season will be over.

I wish that I could tell you his vault was a thing of beauty. The pole bending, his feet pointing skyward, the release of the power of the bent pole, the arching of his body over the bar, straightening up and falling to the pit. I wish I could tell you that but in all honesty that was not the case. Grace and style had nothing to do with his success. Brute strength and determination got him over the bar. Even his landing in the pit was a pratfall. The smile on his face told it all. The season was not over. He had at least another week to make up two feet and achieve his goal.

He had the wool sacks with the foam rubber out on Sunday afternoon. He still did his morning practice every day. He was still out after school every day and the day before the divisional meet he cleared ten fee six inches. A little more grace. A little more style. Still ugly. If we had video tape at the time we would not have saved the tape.

The divisional meet was held at the University of Montana track facility in Missoula . There is a little more hoopla then the district meet but the first five places will get to go to the State Championship meet. This year the State meet would be in Billings . Victor had some sprinter and hurdlers and a 440 man who I was pretty sure were going to State. For our vaulter to go would take a miracle. Have I got you ready to believe in a miracle?

The divisional meet was kind of the district meet all over again, only more so. I spent time with the sprinters and hurdlers and when they had finished I wandered over to the vaulting area. The bar was set much higher than at the district meet and the young man was sitting along side the runway with the vaulters who were still competing. He was still in the running.

I went over to the scorer and checked the standings. Eleven vaulters had cleared eleven feet. Four vaulters had cleared eleven feet six inches. Six vaulters had failed on their three tries at eleven -six. The young man had failed twice and had one attempt remaining to make that height. It is down to this. If he makes it he goes on to the State Championship Meet. If he misses there is a seven way tie for fifth place. Under the scoring system he will not go to State because he has more misses on his way to eleven feet than the other jumpers. This vault is do or die.

I watched as he went through his pre vault routine getting ready. He appeared outwardly calm but you could see the resolution in the set of his jaw and the glint of fire in his eyes. The successful pole vaulter needs speed down the runway, power when he sets the pole in the box, upper body strength to bend the pole at impact, and courage to turn himself upside down and let the spring of the bent pole vault him up and over the bar. Once he is up and his legs are over, it is straightening up and just letting gravity draw him down into the cushioned landing area.

The young man ran hard. He had a powerful plant of the pole. His upper body strength pulled down, the pole bent. His legs swung up toward the sky. The uncoiling of the bent pole drove him up, up, up, he was over the bar. He straightened up and fell down to air bag in the pit. It was not amazing grace but he was over the bar at eleven feet six inches. He was going to State. He missed three times at twelve feet but he was going to State. He had another week and only six inches to reach his goal.

His practice routine continued and a couple of times that week he cleared eleven feet but he never got it up to eleven six again the whole week. Victor High School had four boys going to State and one of them was a pole vaulter.

The State meet is a little different. At the lower meets the coaches are allowed on the field and they can encourage their charges and verbally help them along. At the State meet all of the coaches have to sit in the stands and just watch.

My wife and I sat in the stands and watched. Victor’s sprinter finished second by a whisker in both the 100 and the 220. The young man running the 440 finished fifth and the hurdler ran sixth in his event. Our vaulter was still vaulting. We were sitting up in the stands where you can look right down on the vaulting area. The young man had cleared eleven feet on his second attempt and the bar had been moved to eleven-nine. We watched and struggled with him as he missed his first two tries at that height. He was visiting with another vaulter and before his final try he borrowed some spray and applied it to the gripping area of his pole. On his final attempt at eleven-nine he had a good run and plant and the rest of the vault was not classic vaulting form but he sailed over eleven feet-nine inches. Just three more inches and he would have his goal.

Eleven-nine is not twelve feet. There were still seven vaulters who had cleared eleven-nine. One of the rules in pole vaulting is that the best vaulter at the last height gets to choose where the bar will be set for the next vault. The lead vaulter told them where he wanted it and it was set. They measured and it was twelve feet three and one half inches. Not just twelve feet but three and a half inches more.

On his first attempt the young man made a picture perfect vault. Until this vault determination was the greatest factor. On this vault it was grace and beauty. His speed down the runway was good. He made a strong plant in the box. His upper body strength put a great bend in the pole. He made a great reversal and his feet were pointed up in the air like and arrow. The uncoiling of the bent pole released the energy upward and catapulted him straight up in the air. His feet were above the bar; it was almost at his chest. His feet bent over the bar. He released the pole. He straightened up clear of the bar and smiled and clicked his heels as gravity did its job and drew him down to the air bag cushion. He lit on his back, bounced to his feet and leaped out of the pit. He had done it. He had done it. He had done it.

Four of the seven remaining vaulters missed all of their tries at twelve feet three and a half inches. The young man missed his three tries at twelve feet nine inches, but when Larry Mahe came home from the State Championship Track and Field Meet, he had achieved his goal and had the third place medal for the State Class C pole vault in his pocket.

My friends, that is Americanism. The right of a person to set his own goals. The freedom to pursue their goals. The willingness to make the sacrifices necessary to achieve their goals. The right to make the effort and to fail or succeed. That is Americanism.