McDermott won low-key first Boston Marathon

Olympic gold medalist Tom Burke scraped a line in a dirt road in front of Metcalfe’s Mill in suburban Ashland, Mass., and instructed 15 runners to line up. At 12:19p.m., he fired a pistol in the air, and the modest field dashed off.

The date was April19, 1897, and the first Boston Marathon had begun. Nowadays it is the world’s most famous distance race, one whose 108th running today will attract more than 20,000 runners, hundreds of thousands of spectators and media attention around the globe. But its beginnings were strictly modest — as beginnings usually are.

For one thing, the marathon wasn’t really a marathon; the course covered 24.7 miles instead of today’s official distance of 26.2. The winner was a 22-year-old lithographer named John J. McDermott, who covered the course in two hours, 55 minutes, 10 seconds.

McDermott’s behavior that day must be a source of amazement to modern runners. He ate a big lunch beforehand, wore heavy boots, stopped along the course for a massage and became entangled in a funeral procession near the finish line.

In what passed for a victory statement to reporters, McDermott said, “I doubt I shall ever again run in a marathon race.” The following year, however, he returned and finished fourth. Then he pretty much disappeared into racing history.

At least McDermott survived to run again. The first such runner was Pheidippides, who sprinted from Marathon to Athens bringing word of the Greeks’ victory over the pesky Persians in 490 B.C. — and promptly keeled over dead before anybody could celebrate. (Talk about short-lived glory.)

Perhaps because of Pheidippides’ sad fate, no one else tried to run a marathon for more than 2,300 years, or until the first modern Olympic Games in Athens in 1896. That revival — and possibly the lack of resulting fatalities — prompted the Boston Athletic Association to schedule a similar race the following year on Patriots’ Day, when Bostonians traditionally commemorate the Battle of Lexington in 1775.

According to historian Glenn Stout, 17 men signed up for the race and were treated to a hearty repast at a local inn. While most of the men relaxed and chatted, six runners from New York huddled to plan race strategy. Even then — 23 years before the Red Sox traded Babe Ruth to the Yankees and 107 before Alex Rodriguez donned pinstripes instead of crimson hose — Gotham apparently was plotting to take advantage of Beantown.

Casual probably best describes the first Boston Marathon. Three runners dropped out at the last minute, and a Harvard student named Dick Grant showed up and persuaded officials to let him take part. Among the field, only McDermott had ever run anywhere near that far, winning a long race along the New York-Connecticut border the previous October. Most of the entrants were novices, though some had competed in cross country events. A few spectators noted that some appeared in no condition to run 25 yards, much less nearly 25 miles.

At Burke’s signal, the 15 runners sprinted away from the mark before slowing to a more advisable marathon gait. After five miles, four runners broke from the pack: McDermott, interloper Grant and New Yorkers Hamilton Gray and John Kiernan. Because of the dust churned up by their bicycling escorts, the leaders had to battle clouds of dust as well as fatigue.

After 36 minutes, some overzealous spectators in Framington decided to join the fun. Then on the runners’ heels came a motley caravan of horse-drawn wagons and carriages, even one or two sputtering motorcycles. Three of the contestants, undoubtedly fearing injury, promptly decided to drop out.

Halfway through, Gray and Grant were tied for the lead as a group of women from Wellesley College cheered them on. A few minutes later, as Gray generously offered Grant refreshment from his own canteen, McDermott sped past both.

Entering Auburndale, McDermott still led, with Kiernan now second by a mile. The New York resident appeared in solid command as he crested what later became known as Heartbreak Hill, but as he descended it his calves knotted and cramped. Momentarily, he slowed to a walk as Kiernan and a runner named Edward Rhell closed the gap.

When McDermott resumed running, his calves cramped again, and he stopped. Frantically, his escorts massaged his legs, and one handed him a flask of brandy. Finally, the cramps disappeared, and he began running once more. As he ran through Brookline and entered the city of Boston at Kenmore Square, thousands cheered. (There was no Fenway Park nearby to block access; it wouldn’t be built for another 15 years. In fact, Boston’s only major league team was the Beaneaters, who that season would win the pennant in the 12-team National League with a record of 93-39.)

As McDermott approached the finish adjacent to Copley Square, 3,000 excited spectators awaited his arrival. Then an obstacle appeared: a solemn funeral procession that blocked his way. Undeterred, he sprinted through the throng of race watchers and between carriages as the cortege finally halted. When he reached the Irvington Oval track and began perhaps sport’s first victory lap toward the finish line, dozens of onlookers left their seats to surround him and slap his back.

When McDermott fell into the arms of the mob at the finish line, his time had bettered the recent Olympic mark and therefore set a world record. In years to come, that time would be greatly reduced as the sport and its practitioners became more sophisticated and technology took hold. Female and wheelchair competitors would be added to the mix. Boston’s fame and aura would grow until winning it became the benchmark of marathon success — and in the late 20th century and early 21st, runners from Kenya and other nations would dominate what had begun mostly as a low-key local event.

But in the beginning, there was just a mark in the dirt to start the race and McDermott to finish it in first place. People like Ted Williams, Nomar Garciaparra and Tom Brady were far in the future of Boston sports history. Now, for one spring afternoon, there was only John J. McDermott.