Twenty days at the Atlanta Centennial Olympics: a final wrap-up (08/18/96)

Twenty days at the Atlanta Centennial Olympics: a final wrap-up

by Roman Woronowycz

Spending 20 days in Atlanta during the Centennial Olympics would leave anybody with information overload. So as not to forget the vast array of information, impressions and behind-the-scenes looks that were availed The Ukrainian Weekly by reason of the 3x5 card called a press credential which hung around my neck, I kept a journal. Not everything fits into a story. I accumulated many little tidbits and blurbs that I found interesting, but which were of themselves not sufficient to turn into an article. With so many snippets of information, a final wrap-up story on the Olympics could have become a meandering and disjointed piece on various reminiscences. So we decided a list of short anecdotes, stories and impressions of 20 days at the Olympics would be more appropriate. Here they are.

The computerized information system instituted by IBM was initially an outright disaster, later a minor irritation and at the end of the Games even helpful. When I first arrived in Atlanta, I met a writer for the Associated Press who made an interesting comment regarding this first attempt at widespread computer usage at an Olympics, which would connect the dozens of venues and provide reporters immediate access to events results. He said, "This is my sixth Olympics, and I haven't used a computer to get information yet. If that's what you need to get information, you aren't doing your job."

He was especially smug a week later with computer databases not functioning properly and most reporters reverting to the old system of telephoning for information or relying on printed matter issued by the various federations and the organizing committee.

Particularly screwed up was data on the Ukrainian team. Although the system was set up to give biographies on the athletes, medal and competition histories, team and sport histories, medal results and a rundown of how the competitions went, little was available when one prompted the menu on Ukraine. Most often "This data is not available at the present time" would appear on the screen.

The information that was there was in at least one instance glaringly erroneous. One screen, a general history of Ukraine, showed the blue-yellow flag, named the Ukrainian national anthem and gave other data accurately. However, it identified Pavlo Lazarenko as head of state (should be Leonid Kuchma) and listed the official language as Ukrainian/Russian. ACOG said that each country's National Olympic Committee was responsible for providing such information.

The Atlanta Committee for the Olympic Games provided information on the current Games, events and medal results, all of which was accurate, although much of it appeared in the data banks many hours after individual events were completed.

NOC-Ukraine was disorganized on another informational level: printed materials as sources of information for journalists. It had no team guide books available at the information desk. On a sheet that was supposed to list the phone numbers of the 197 NOCs at the Games, NOC-Ukraine's number was one of about five that were not listed.

With better information, maybe more would have been printed about Ukraine's exploits.

In the Olympic Village, the office of NOC-Ukraine was well-staffed and seemed to have all the components that would make it a real headquarters.

One noticeable inadequacy was a dearth of escorts for guests, including journalists. Everybody except for authorized individuals who wanted to go from the international area of the Olympic Village, which was accessible to all who had daily passes, to the inner confines where the residents stayed, was required to be escorted by authorized individuals at all times.

NOC Envoy Oksana Foltyn explained that there were not enough volunteers to keep running to the gates to escort the dozens of guests they received every day. That left me on my own as I entered the "forbidden zone" after several NOC members got me past the gates and the guards. No problem, except that my accreditation would have been pulled had I been caught roaming the area unescorted.

Atlantans were friendly and eager to show how happy they were that you were visiting their city. Their sugar-coated greetings of "Hi y'all" and "Y'all have a good time now," became almost nauseating to hear, although I must say everyone seemed sincere in greeting out-of-towners.

One incident in particular was memorable. I was on the MARTA (Atlanta's subway system) and ready to exit at the next stop. A couple was staring at my press accreditation (which was hanging from my neck), as many people did, trying to figure out what it meant. The couple must have noticed "The Ukrainian Weekly" and my obviously foreign name inscribed on it, for as I was disembarking, the lady blurted out, "I don't know if you understand English, but I would just like to welcome you to Atlanta. "I couldn't restrain myself. As the doors were about to close, I turned around and said, "Thank-you, but I'm from the New York area," and walked away, probably leaving her somewhat puzzled.

Some people were less hospitable, especially the United States' Olympic press office. The gymnasts' press representative, Luan Peszyk, just did not seem to have time for The Ukrainian Weekly. During gymnastics events she would service, seemingly hand and foot, every need and whim of the three reporters who sat in front of me, from the Houston Chronicle, the Indianapolis Star and the Seattle Times.

I asked her at one point if she could tell me the title to the music to which Dominique Dawes danced during her floor routine, music that was interesting to The Weekly because it sounded very much like traditional Ukrainian folk music. Her answer: "I don't know." She did not offer to find out (isn't that part of her job?) until I asked her specifically to do so. I never received a response, although I e-mailed her and paged her several times.

When I saw her again I asked her if she had found out. She said she hadn't "yet," and then pointed me to a gentleman who she said was a gymnastics coach. Well, he wasn't, and when I went back to where I had spoken with her, she was gone.

Yes, Olympic Rings Fountain in Centennial Park, with its water show and the kids romping beneath the spray, was a delight. But the rest of the park was more like a commercial trade show or a very commercialized World's Fair. It was a series of pavilions sponsored by some very major corporations, including IBM, Swatch, Coca Cola, Budweiser, AT&T, Nike, etc.
One of the best quotes in my three weeks here was spoken by a person passing the Budweiser pavilion, which featured free beer and, of course, the accompanying long lines. As the dense pedestrian traffic moving past the pavilion slowed and thickened before getting around those waiting to get inside, he said, "It figures there's a 'bottleneck' at Budweiser."
The day after the bombing, everything changed in and around Centennial Park. The guards at the Main Press Center, which was located about 200 yards from the site of the explosion, were no longer as cheery in their greetings. Lines became even longer as police and security became more thorough in their searches of people and possessions. More areas were cordoned off from public access. Even the weather changed: it was the first dreary overcast and rainy day in the 11 days I had been there.
One of the highlights of my time here was "golden" Monday, when Ukraine took three gold and two bronze. I heard the Ukrainian anthem played three times - twice at the gymnastics event and once after the weightlifting competition.

It felt good to see the Ukrainian flag being raised in the auditoriums, first rising above the U.S. banner and then above Russia's.

During the medal ceremony, after Rustam Sharipov won the gold medal in parallel bars and just as Ukraine's national anthem was about to be played, a person screamed out in the quiet arena, "U-kra-yi-na," which resounded throughout the hall (and was distinctly heard on NBC's coverage).

A Russian journalist who was sitting between correspondent Pavlo Shilko of Gala News Radio of Ukraine and me, turned to Mr. Shilko and said, "Your people?" To which Mr. Shilko replied rather proudly, "No, that's our diaspora."

If anybody is wondering why The Weekly did not get an interview with multi-medal winner Liliya Podkopayeva, well, we thought we had arranged it. She and I had agreed that we would meet in the Olympic Village on August 1 for an interview, just before she left for Ukraine. I asked that we do it after 12 noon, when I was to speak with fellow gold-medalist and gymnast Rustam Sharipov. She held out for 6 p.m. because she wanted to go shopping before the delegation left, she explained. I agreed.

The next day Mr. Sharipov, when told when I was to meet Liliya, said that would be impossible. The team was scheduled to leave Atlanta for the airport at 4 p.m. A misunderstanding? Maybe a sly way out of another interview? We'll never know.

It was obvious Ms. Podkopayeva felt burdened by the many interview requests. In her defense it must be mentioned, as Mr. Sharipov explained, that she was a bit overwhelmed by all the attention, and, after all, she is only 17 years old.

One more note on NOC-Ukraine. When I called NOC-Ukraine the day after Liliya won her gold and bronze in the individual all-around competition, to get a second source on the fact that her grandmother had recently died, the person who picked up the phone and hung up before I could get his name said, "Why do you want to know about that, that is not important." Duh. After explaining that maybe it had an effect on her performance, he mumbled a confirmation, that she had passed away a week before the Games began.
On a tram between the Omni Dome and the Georgia Dome I met a volunteer from ACOG who, after noticing my credentials, explained to me that her grandfather had lived in Ukraine. It seems that he was born in the Bukovyna region of Ukraine (and she surprised me with her knowledge of the tangled political history of that region), and that he had been forced into the Red Army during the Revolution, even though he was Romanian and at one time a Romanian officer. He served a short period of time in Ukraine with the Red Army, before escaping to Vienna, from where he emigrated to the United States.
Three Ukrainian fencers trying to sell their Adidas warm-up suits at the soiree for the Olympians were an embarrassment. So they wanted to make some money to take home, that's fine. But it was plain rude and offensive to dismiss an older gentleman, after he said he was sorry but he had not brought that kind of money with him, by excusing themselves with the words, "Come on, boys, the 'diadko' (old man) has no money."
People with Ukrainian blood in their ancestry seemed to come out of the woodwork in the last days of the Olympics. One woman's must be blue and yellow. I met Janet Mykytyn, 35, on the Saturday before the final day of the Games as I walked just outside Centennial Park looking for souvenirs at a discount (there weren't any real discounts until Monday). I stumbled onto the most blue-and-yellow draped person I had ever seen. She wore a blue-yellow baseball cap, a blue-yellow t-shirt, yellow shorts, blue-yellow socks. Sticking out of her knapsack was a (you guessed it) ...flag.

She said she was wearing the garish ensemble because, "I like my heritage." I discovered that she is a fourth-generation Ukrainian American whose great-grandparents arrived at Ellis Island just after the turn of the century and settled in Philadelphia.

By the way, she had purchased the shirt and cap at officially sanctioned kiosks, and they were both Hanes products.

Then there was the reporter from the Atlanta Constitution, Elizabeth Kurylo, who had been invited as a guest to the party for the athletes held the night before the first contingent went home. She approached me as if I reeked of ink and newsprint and said, "Are you a reporter?" She explained that she was a third-generation Ukrainian born and bred in Iowa and had been a reporter in Atlanta for more than a decade. She said that although her father knew the language, she had forgotten what little she had learned. She did admit that since Ukraine's independence she was slowly getting back in touch with her ethnic heritage.