With 126 events tallied from seventeen different sports, the United States finished first with forty-five gold medals, then Finland with fourteen, and France with thirteen. Great Britain ranked fourth with nine medals—and an unforgettable performance, especially for the Flying Scotsman. Not only had Eric been the first from Scotland to win a medal in the 200 meters (the bronze), he was the first Scot to medal in any Olympic event since 1908, when Wyndham Halswelle won gold in a final that became controversial when, after an American runner became ineligible due to illegal maneuvers, the race was rerun with Halswelle as the only contender.
Despite the joys of victory, what Eric looked most forward to was returning to normal life. But he soon discovered there was nothing normal about being a gold-medal champion.
After Eric returned to the United Kingdom, he shifted from training for the Olympics to preparing for graduation from the University of Edinburgh, which was only a few days away.
On Thursday, July 17, 1924, Eric walked into McEwan Hall of the University of Edinburgh with his classmates, each one dressed in graduation-day finery.
These were the days before microphones and PA systems, so graduation marshals were required to use the power of their lungs and voices from the center of the stage. As the graduating class of 1924 received their diplomas, family and friends sat quietly within the massive Italian Renaissance–inspired room when the students’ names were called. As the graduates received their diplomas, the applause came as light patter, the people being respectful of the reverberations caused by the large dome ceiling. Then Principal and Vice Chancellor Sir Alfred Ewing called out, “Bachelor of Science degree, Mr. Eric Henry Liddell.”
Eric took the steps, and as his foot met the highly polished floorboards of the stage, the crowd—both observers and students—rose in deafening applause. Long minutes passed as Eric cast his smile from the teary-eyed faculty and distinguished guests who sat on red velvet seats, to his fellow classmates, then outward to the rest of the audience. The tide had turned in his favor—and Eric had been made a better man because of it, in spite of having been in fine standing to begin with. He’d endured the confusion of his countrymen—those who, even of the same beliefs, could not quite understand his steadfastness. He had returned from the Olympics as a gold medalist and as a national hero but—more importantly—as a man who’d stood his ground.
Finally, Sir Alfred raised his hands and requested silence. Slowly the people quieted and returned to their seats.
“Mr. Liddell,” Sir Alfred began, “you have shown that none can pass you but the examiner!” A light chuckle met Eric’s ears, and he smiled. Sir Alfred continued,
In the ancient Olympic tests the victor was crowned with wild olive by the High priest of Zeus, and a poem written in his honour was presented to him. A Vice-Chancellor is no High Priest, but he speaks and acts for the University; and in the name of the University, which is proud of you, and to which you have brought fresh honour, I present you with this epigram in Greek, composed by Professor Mair, and place upon your head this chaplet of wild olive.[12]
Sir Alfred then placed a wreath made of oleaster atop Eric’s head. (He used oleaster because olive trees do not grow in Edinburgh, but oleaster, which does, is a garden derivative from the olive plant.) Again, the crowd cheered.
The epigram, translated into English, read as follows:
Happy the man who the wreathed games essaying
Returns the laurelled brow,
Thrice happy victor thou, such speed displaying
As none hath showed till now;
We joy, and Alma Mater, for thy merit
Proffers to thee this crown:
Take it, Olympic Victor. While you wear it
May Heaven never frown.[13]
After the other names had been called and the diplomas received, neither Eric’s friends nor the crowd had any interest in modesty. They hoisted Eric up on a chair supported by poles at its base and paraded him like a pharaoh, navigating him through a cheering crowd of men, women, and children, all the way to the doors of St. Giles’ Cathedral, the birthplace of the Presbyterian Church, for the traditional service of thanksgiving. Overtures quickly came for Eric to give a response to the accolades.
Eric recalled his trip to the Penn Relays in the United States and mustered an extemporaneous response. “Over the gates of Pennsylvania University,” he said,
are inscribed these words: “In the dust of defeat as well as the laurels of victory there is glory to be found if one has done his best.” There are many men and women who have done their best, but who have not succeeded in gaining the laurels of victory. To them, as much honor is due as to those who have received these laurels.[14]
After the service at St. Giles’, Eric moved onward to the graduation luncheon at University Union. Though it was not normal for a recent graduate with only a bachelor’s degree to be so honored, Eric became the central focus. Professor Richard Lodge, a noted historian, gave a special tribute to Eric: “Even a bachelor of science graduate should have no difficulty in translating his fancy Greek epigram, since the recipient is both a Liddell and a Scot.”[15]
Those in the room laughed at the jest toward the popular Liddell and Scott Greek-English Lexicon.
After Professor Lodge concluded his speech, the crowd again pressed Eric to say a few words.
Eric said,
I ask you to remember today that I suffer from a certain defect of constitution. I am a short-distance runner, a sprinter. Because I suffer from short-windedness, therefore I will not detain you for long.
The papers have told you that my form, my action, is extremely bad. But this condition can probably be traced to my forefathers. As we all know in Scotland, the Borderers used to visit England now and
