A Kind of Grace Read Free Page B

felt appreciated and respected for my accomplishments. “She is clearly the greatest female athlete of her day,” Tom said. “If judged by her heart, then surely the greatest of all time.” Tears came to my eyes.
    Then Bobby's face appeared on screen. I could see how red his eyes were through his tinted glasses. As he described our conversation before I withdrew, he choked up and tears filled his eyes. In the hotel room we were all crying.
    “Jackie Joyner-Kersee is very, very important to track and field,” Dwight said in conclusion. “There's no argument that she is the greatest female athlete of all time.”
    Most people never get to hear such tributes, because they're bestowed after they die, at their funeral. I felt so privileged to hear them while I was alive. It was a shining moment for me at a time of darkness.
    Bobby returned to the hotel room just in time for a call from Bill Cosby, our friend and trusted advisor for many years. Bill said he was thinking about us. Then, he teased me about the fight he figured Bobby and I were having about the decision to withdraw. It made me laugh. “I know you and Bob are going to get into it,” he said. “But why don't you listen to your husband one time?”
    Then he talked to Bobby and kidded him, “Try not to be so evil to your wife, man.”
    Flowers arrived throughout the day. One vase was from Aretha Franklin. Another arrangement arrived from Arsenio Hall. Lionel Richie also sent a bouquet. Late that night, we received a message that President Clinton was trying to reach us. He left a number to the retreat at Camp David, Maryland.
    I was dumbfounded. To think that the President would take the time to call me and offer his support! I hadn't even won anything. Bobby called the number right after reading me the note. It was about 11:00 P.M. We worried that it was too late. But the President told us to call, so we did.
    When Bobby handed me the receiver and I heard President Clinton say, “Hi, Jackie,” I was speechless. He told me I'd done a lot to inspire the youth of the nation. Of all the nice things he said during the conversation, that compliment made me proudest. He also said he believed that Bobby had made the right decision in pulling me from the heptathlon, because it preserved my chance to come back for the long jump. I smiled as I listened to him, but I was tongue-tied. All I could manage was “thank you, Mr. President.”
    The question on everyone's mind after my withdrawal was whether I had a realistic chance of making it back to the track for the long jump. I had four and a half days to rest, but the hurdle race had further weakened the muscle. Subjecting it to additional stress would be like playing Russian roulette. It could rip the very next time I tried to run hard. That would surely end my athletic career, and possibly maim me for life.
    But in my mind, the decision came down to this: I couldn't let that tearful withdrawal stand as my final Olympic act. Though my entire athletic career might be at risk, I knew what I had to do. It was time to reach deep into the core of myself, to call on the voices from my past—alternately sympathetic, challenging, even derisive—that had urged me on over thirty-four years of living and competing. At the appointed hour, I would show up at the long-jump pit, and hope and pray I could respond one last time.

1
    My Roots
    T he night in October 1960 when Alfred Joyner and Mary Ruth Gaines eloped, they told their grandmothers they were going on a date. Ten months earlier, in January of that year, Mary had given birth to a baby boy, Alfrederick. Mary's grandmother, Lena Rainey, didn't approve of teenage pregnancy, but she allowed Mary and her baby to continue living with her. Mary didn't dare tell her about the marriage. She was just sixteen. Her groom was only fourteen.
    Mary was my mother, one of four children born to Estella and Sylvester Gaines. Momma and her younger sister Della were born in Ruleville,