Before Lebow, marathoning was a sport only in Boston, Nike a sneaker only in Portland, Ore., and aerobic fitness a movement only in Dr. Ken Cooper’s Dal-las. Lebow changed all this on Oct. 24, 1976 – the day he moved the New York City Marathon from the anonymous confines of Central Park to the street theater of the city’s five boroughs. ““Fred’s genius was in realizing he had the greatest stage in the world and in opening it up to average runners,’’ says Bill Rodgers, winner of the 1976-1979 Marathons. A then-incredible 2,090 runners entered in 1976. By 1980 the number had grown sevenfold. The London Marathon began the next year, then marathons in Paris, Rome and Stockholm, followed by others in Asia, South America, Eastern Europe and Africa.
Lebow entered these other marathons whenever he could, running 69 of them in 30 different countries. Usually he finished near the back of the pack, which suited him just fine. It was a good place to learn how each marathon handled the key logistics: volunteers, water cups, medals. He studied every marathon and never stopped trying to improve his own. In the early 1980s, I would often bump into Lebow the morning after that race, sitting alone and looking depressed on a bench in Central Park. I’d try to cheer him up by saying he’d just put on another great marathon. ““I’m glad you think so,’’ he’d reply wearily. ““But all I can think about are the things that didn’t work out.''
Before Lebow, amateur ways and amateur thinking paralyzed the sport of road running. When he organized the first New York City Marathon, in Central Park in 1970, he had to pay for the prizes, 10 $15 wristwatches, from his own pocket. He was a tireless, and sometimes shameless, promoter. He coaxed several Playboy bunnies to the women-only Mini Marathon, taunted King Kong at the Empire State Building Run Up and bussed Elsie the Borden cow at a press conference. A lesser man, or a poseur, couldn’t have survived these shenanigans. Lebow thrived because there was nothing disingenuous about him.
Born in Arad, Romania, in 1932, he immigrated to the United States in the early 1960s and did well in the garment industry. A few years later, intending only to get in better shape for tennis, he began running, got hooked, and determined to make the sport prosper. Lebow kept knocking on corporate doors, courting sponsors, and in time the New York Road Runners Club boosted membership to 31,000 and scheduled 100 races a year. He served as NYRRC president for 20 years and was then named chairman in 1993, steering the club into civic and charity work.
As his own fame grew, Lebow changed little, living for years in a $67-a-month rent-controlled apartment and wearing running clothes everywhere he went. He wore running shoes to Bill Clinton’s White House and to an audience with Pope John Paul II. After developing brain cancer in 1990, Lebow began raising funds for research. Doctors said he had only six months to live, but Lebow was walking and jogging laps around his hospital floor. ““Why are you doing that?’’ other patients wanted to know. ““The question should be “Why are you sitting there doing nothing?’ ’’ he replied.
Two years later, in 1992, Lebow announced that he planned to run the Marathon. Pale, thin and spindly-legged, he somehow shuffled the 26.2 miles in the company of nine-time winner Grete Waitz. They reached the finish nearly 31/2 hours after the winner and fell into each other’s arms, tears streaming down their faces. That moment now stands as the high point of Lebow’s Marathon stewardship, more emotional and more impressive than the victories of all the great champions. From his first days in the sport, Le-bow understood – and symbolized – its Everyman quality. ““In running it doesn’t matter whether you come in first or last,’’ he once said. ““A jogger can’t dream of being an Olympic champion, but he can dream of finishing the marathon.’’ Lebow dreamed, and he finished strong.
Last Wednesday an estimated 4,000 friends and colleagues massed in Central Park for a Lebow memorial. A small speaker’s stand was hastily erected for a teary-eyed Grete Waitz and New York Mayor Rudy Giuliani, among others. The speeches concluded, we joined hands and began to walk toward the Marathon finish line. ““No, wait. Wait for Grete and the mayor,’’ yelled Allan Steinfeld, Lebow’s second in command for 16 years. And then, a bit sheepish for the stridency of his voice, he said, ““Well, someone’s got to be Fred.’’ No, Allan, no one else can be Fred. But thank goodness somebody was.
