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All gall, divided into three parts
Ron Reid
February 04, 1974
When I was in high school, my peer group said I was conceited, but that was just jealousy. I really am quite modest, but my personality is an outgrowth of my early childhood when I was so uptight, hyper and introverted that I was just ruined. Whatever normal was, I was minus-five. Now I have to project a plus-five as an extrovert just to get even."
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February 04, 1974

All Gall, Divided Into Three Parts

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When I was in high school, my peer group said I was conceited, but that was just jealousy. I really am quite modest, but my personality is an outgrowth of my early childhood when I was so uptight, hyper and introverted that I was just ruined. Whatever normal was, I was minus-five. Now I have to project a plus-five as an extrovert just to get even."

The speaker is Dwight Stones who, in his campaign to maintain a profile higher than his world-record high jump, is given to extravagant flights of self-analysis. However, his self-proclaimed introversion is perhaps a matter of interpretation. In the fourth grade Stones built a jumping pit in the front yard of his Highland Park, Calif. home. "I could have built it in the backyard," he says, "but no one could see me there. It's no fun when no one can see you." Actually, Stones' immodesty is more the expression of wonder than the milking of applause. He is, for example, fascinated by the fact that through his freshman year at college he progressed almost six inches a year from his best of 5'1" as an eighth-grader. It intrigues him that he has leaped seven feet or better on 150 occasions. The mention of his world record of 7'6�", which Track and Field News called the Outstanding Performance of 1973, evokes a wistful "Golly." Stones fascinates Stones, not without reason.

There is also the mitigating factor of age. Last Dec. 6 Stones turned 20. "In a lot of ways I'm not as mature as a normal 20-year-old," he says, "especially with my mouth. I mess up often enough to hurt my image. But in other ways, because of my travel and experiences, I'm more mature than any 20-year-old I know. I have to concentrate on my personal life the way I do on the high jump."

Stones' personality may gall many, but no one can complain about his demeanor before, and over, the bar. Coach Tom Jennings of the Pacific Coast Club, for which he competes, says, "Stones has his technique down perfectly. If he misses a jump, it's usually because he didn't put enough into it." Stones puts on an elaborate enough prejump show. He walks up to the right standard, raises his right leg and clasps it to his chest while gazing imploringly at the heavens. He lovingly pats his hairdo in several places, shakes a finger at the bar as though admonishing it to stay put and waves his right hand as if conducting a small orchestra whose music only he can hear.

A flopper, the 6'5", 175-pound Stones is a fanatical defender of the style. "One regret I have," he says, "is that I've never met [Valery] Brumel. He struck terror into the hearts of his opposition. If I can do for the flop what he did for the straddle, if I can remain a force with my technique, then I'll accomplish what I want to in track and field. I'm convinced that the flop is a much more natural, logical, normal technique, the best way to correlate maximum speed with the right amount of strength. When all goes right, it's a great feeling. I feel that there is this one small tube that you flow through up over the bar and float right down. Sometimes three steps before the bar I know I'll make it."

Usually Stones' forecasts considerably precede his last three steps, and if he is to be chided for being cocky, the blame lies with his accuracy. "I've always known I was going to be a complete success," he says in one of those appalling confessions that make his friends wince. "I knew I'd be a great high jumper. I told the kids on my high school team that I'd make the Olympic team, and they just laughed and laughed. I also was convinced, just convinced, that I'd be the world-record holder before the '76 Games."

Now only Stones is laughing. Last summer in Munich, returning to the scene of his bronze-medal finish in the '72 Games, he soared 2.30 meters to shatter Pat Matzdorf's old standard by three-eighths of an inch.

"I'm a predictor of marks," he says. "I know when a good jump is coming, and every time I've predicted one I've made it or exceeded it." Stones showed up uninvited at the Los Angeles track writers' luncheon one day last June and with his customary brashness promised he would jump 7'5" to win the AAU championships. Five days later he jumped 7'5" to win the AAU championships.

"People who know me rib me about my cockiness," Stones said the night before he competed in New York's Mill-rose Games last week. "I have three personalities. One is the way I wish I could be all the time, the way I am right now—relaxed, confident, matter-of-fact. Two is when I'm with the team, being sarcastic, cutting people up, generally cynical. We really get carried away with that. Three is when I'm concentrating on a jump. I can get so involved I don't hear people call my name. When I'm intense, I'm hyper, but it's hard to produce if you aren't."

Strangely, Stones says he could not produce during his "introvert" period for the same reason. Through one year of military school and 3� in a parochial school he was an athletic bust. "I had no confidence in anything I did even when I knew I could do it," he says. "Glendale High School was different, but not a great deal happier. Glendale has some very rich people whose kids are very spoiled. As a result, everyone is trying to get into that top group and it's put-down city. The kids who don't excel get beaten back. It was an unhappy time in my life because of put-downs from friends, and the ironic thing was that the only reason I wanted to attain the level I did was to please that group."

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