Over the years, Route 66 has been the locale for many rides and races—classic car rallies, motorcycle runs, and even marathons, but perhaps none as notable as The Bunion Derby of 1928. From the start Route 66 was a link to the West, a road winding through America’s frontier. Promoters along the highway were looking for ways to get Americans on the road, spending their money along Route 66. As more Americans purchased their first automobiles in the late 1920’s, they became more interested in the highway and its attractions.
Lon Scott, publicist for the National U.S. Highway Association, thought of a creative idea to draw American motorists to the wonders of Route 66. He envisioned a 3,422 mile foot race from Los Angeles to New York City to gain publicity for “The Main Street of America.” C.C. Pyle was put in charge of overseeing the race. Red Grange, a grid-iron hero from the University of Illinois and Arthur Duffy, the first man to run the 100 yard dash in 9:3.5 seconds were referees for the cross-country. Pyle planned on cashing in on the race by charging a $100 entry fee from each runner, selling programs in towns along the race and obtaining sponsorship from cities along the route.
As they lined up in Los Angeles on March 4, 1928, the 199 runners from across the country and around the world had their eye on a $25,000 prize in the longest race ever held on the longest road ever paved. Some ran barefooted, some carried Bibles, one had a cane and another played a ukulele, but all had that prize money on their minds. Perhaps America’s first brush with integrated sports, the starters included five African Americans, a Jamaican-born Canadian, and as many as fifteen Latin Americans, Native Americans, and Pacific Islanders, representing about ten percent of the competitors.
It proved to be a grueling race and as early as the second day, more than a dozen runners had already dropped out. The uphill slog of the Cajon Pass in southern California known for freezing fog and high winds took out another fifty runners. The hardships they dealt with were treacherous—primitive roads, desert heat, numbing cold, sunburn, lack of food and chronic injuries from running 30-60 miles per day, seven days a week.
They were faced with a blizzard for thirty-seven miles from Vega to Amarillo and on April 5th, only ninety-one runners made it into the Texan ball park where the Amarillo Broncs were scheduled to play a rival team. Patrick LaMarr, a former lightweight boxer, sprinted in ahead of the others. LaMarr had developed blisters and bleeding feet after the first few days of the race, and he was advised to drop out. Refusing the medical advice, he proceeded to hobble with two walking canes until his blistered and bleeding feet healed to form a callous which gave him a unique pair of running soles. Amarilloans cheered the only Texan in the race, Kenneth Campbell, who was among the early arrivals. The ballgame was cancelled due to the inclement weather and it was only a brave crowd that stayed to hear the runners names as they entered the stadium. The runners camped on the ball park that night in the wind, rain, and snow.
Amarillo’s close proximity to Oklahoma made Andrew Payne of Foyil, Oklahoma another favorite. As he entered Amarillo, he was in 3rd place for lapsed time and Arthur Duffy said this young man of Cherokee descent was not developing the physical problems that so many of the runners were experiencing and his attitude was growing stronger every day. This unlikely contender was met by the Oklahoma governor as he entered the state and he took a breather to speak to the crowd, “Hello, home folks, I’m glad to be back. Hope to see you in New York.”
Amarillo marked the thirty-third day of the long grind which was expected to end around May 25th. They had survived the ninety-five degree heat in the Mojave Desert, freezing mountain passes, the thin mountain air in Arizona and New Mexico and a Texas Panhandle blizzard and they weren’t even half-way there. The hardships they dealt with were treacherous—primitive roads, unbearable desert heat, numbing cold wind, sunburn, lack of food and chronic injuries from running 30-60 miles per day, seven days a week. As they left for Groom at 7:00 a.m. the next morning, the desk sergeant at the city jail reported a very busy evening the night before.
Black runners ran side by side with white runners into the Jim Crow segregated South where they were forced out of the communal tent into a “colored only” ten. In Western Oklahoma, a farmer trained a shotgun on Eddie Gardner’s back and rode behind him the entire day, daring him to pass a white man. They also found tightly knit black communities that supported them, raised money for them and gave them a clean bed and solid meal to keep them going in the face of so much hate. White runners had bonded with them like brothers over the brutal miles of Route 66. They protected and supported their black brothers from the angry mobs claiming that blacks had no business racing against whites.
Stories revolved around the promoter, C.C. Pyle, who saw the race as a cash cow. But with many towns refusing to pay the sponsorship fee, it became questionable whether the winners would receive any prize money at all. Between the absurdly Spartan accommodations and broken promises, Mr. Pyle became so hated by the runners that they cheered when his luxury travel vehicle was seized by creditors. Many tales were told of the runners and their tribulations across America on Route 66.Take Pat LaMarr, who after running 50 miles one day—on feet that had just healed from bleeding and blisters, was found shuffling away the hours in a dance hall in Holbrook, Arizona. There was Frank Chavis who insisted on wearing red trunks—not a problem until he met a bull that was attracted by the red shorts and helped Frank make the best time of the race for a few minutes that day. A few runners were hit by cars and there was at least one hit and run. A few runners suffered nervous breakdowns. By the time the runners reached New York City, they looked more like POW’s than athletes. Somehow they all survived.
On May 26, 1928, fifty five weary men made their final laps around Madison Square Garden, marking the end of the eighty-four day ordeal. These men had all been looking for a piece of the American dream. They did not run for medals or trophies, but for that prize money that could pay off a mortgage, buy a house, or give their children decent clothes to wear. In 1928, $25,000 was a small fortune.
In the end, it was the twenty one year old Cherokee Indian farm boy from Foyil, Oklahoma that finished first. Andy Payne finished the 3,421.5 miles in 588 hours, 40 minutes, and 13 seconds hours ahead of all other competitors. That is a 4 ½ hour marathon, all the way across the country—over the mostly unpaved and potholed Route 66, in all kinds of weather, every day for eighty-four days. His youthful endurance and fearlessness embodied the American “go-getter” attitude and he quickly became a true American hero using his prize money to pay off the family farm.
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