Route 66 in the News

Recalling a Publicity Spectacle

2008-04-13 14:45:13

THE 1928 BUNION DERBY -- a dramatic race across the country along Route 66 -- had all the elements of a true American story: a part-Cherokee farm boy from the heartland with determination, integrity and humility who was trying to pay off the farm and marry his sweetheart.

It was a story from a time when everyone needed money and counted on the American dream of tough effort being rewarded -- and the $25,000 top prize.

And it was a movable spectacle put on by flamboyant promoter C.C. Pyle, who created an eccentric extravaganza that captured America's attention.

Foyil native Andy Payne, 20 years old in 1928, ran the Bunion Derby foot race on America's longest and newest highway, hoping to pay off the mortgage on the family farm, get his education and earn the means to marry Virginia, the woman he loved.

Payne's father owed mortgage payments on his farm, but he believed in the dreams of his oldest child. So even though Oklahoma was at the doorway of an agricultural depression in 1928, he took out a bank loan for the fees and for Andy's trip to the starting line in California.

Payne was joined by runners from America, Africa and Europe, all looking to take their chance on the new Route 66.

Some were professional athletes. Others ran barefoot, in moccasins or lumberjack boots -- which caused the injuries that inspired the press corps to call it the Bunion Derby and its participants the Bunioneers. One ran with his Bible, another with a ukulele.

Payne, who competed in state high school track meets, knew something about running, about conditioning and about feet. He brought high-top shoes and changed into clean, dry socks every day. He had a trainer and knew to pace himself and get a good night's sleep. He understood this would be not a speed race, but an endurance test. So he had none of the foot problems that pulled many out of the race.

Racing toward New York

Along the way, the highway was lined with gravel and pocked with potholes. The runners slogged through mud to get around roadwork crews. They crossed the Mojave Desert through sandstorms and heat waves; in the Texas Panhandle they encountered a "blue norther" blizzard.

Payne developed tonsillitis, ran during the day and collapsed at night. But he ran on.

Construction started on Route 66 two years before the start of the Bunion Derby, in 1926. It would become the longest American road ever paved, but would take a few more years to complete.

Jim Ross, an author and Route 66 researcher who lives in Arcadia, said the Bunion Derby "was a tremendous promotion ... it literally put Route 66 on the map, making it known beyond the people who traveled it."

The race, officially called the First Annual International rans-Continental Foot Race, would follow "America's Main Street" from Los Angeles to Chicago, break off and continue to New York, a total of 3,422 miles. The winner would receive $25,000, with a few smaller prizes for the runners-up. Time would be recorded each day for legs ranging from 15 to 74 miles. Runners would stop for the night.

The race started March 4, a Sunday. Some 500,000 people turned out at 3:30 p.m. at the Ascot Speedway in Los Angeles as 199 men took their first step forward. It was a spectacle from the beginning.

Runners enjoy celebrity

The nation, fascinated by this unique adventure, followed the sensational news reports daily.

Traveling with the pack were 20 vehicles, including a mess tent, a sleeping tent, a portable hospital, a gigantic headquarters bus and the national press. A carnival was in the caravan to provide entertainment and raise money in each town. The locals could meet the runners and visit a tattooed lady, football icon Red Grange, food booths, vaudeville acts, a mobile radio station and a huge Maxwell House coffee pot on a trailer that served 90 gallons a day. For a while, the carnival included the mummified Oklahoma outlaw Elmer McCurdy, who had been dead for 17 years but still was a major attraction.

The Bunioneers spent extra time in the cities because more revenue possibilities existed there. Police escorted them through the crowds that lined the streets and shielded them from the automobiles that threatened to hit them.

Five of the racers were black men. There were incidents with the Ku Klux Klan. At one point in Oklahoma, shotgun-wielding farmers traveled alongside the racers, to warn the black men not to try to pass any white men. On the other hand, black people came out to support the black runners, thus creating more traffic tie-ups.

Often, runners were slowed by fans. The race was in the newspapers every day. People followed the runners as celebrities are pursued today. Larry O'Dell, an Oklahoma Historical Society historian, said sportswriters treated the event with cynicism until they realized some of the racers were serious athletes.

A hero's welcome

When the race crossed the Oklahoma border on April 13 -- 41 days into the race -- Payne was in the lead, and his state was in a Bunion Derby frenzy.

Gov. Henry Johnston was among those who came to the western border to greet him. Payne received a $1,000 check, which he handed over to his father, also at the state line.

Schools were dismissed for the day; people left their homes and stood along the country road, and when Route 66 snaked through urban areas, they crowded into the streets. Promoter Pyle printed a revised program, with Andy Payne's photo on the front.

Payne was a perfect folk hero. He was young, fearless and dedicated; he was running for his family. Oklahoma took him to its heart.

The Oklahoma City Chamber of Commerce paid Pyle $5,000 to divert the race briefly off Route 66 and through downtown, carnival and all, then to the local fairgrounds. The next day, they were back onto America's Main Street, racing to Tulsa.

It was a perilous parade for Payne. A hundred honking cars followed him. People stopped him to talk. Fans slowed him down so much that for a short time in Oklahoma, he lost the lead.

But he had it back as the runners headed into Claremore and his hometown of Foyil. Payne had dinner with his family that night and met Oklahoma's other favorite son, Will Rogers, who was there to greet him.

Payne would not let his home-state fans down. Slow and steady, sensible and dogged, Payne won the race. He ran the road in 573 hours over a period of 84 days, for an average of about 6 miles an hour.

One hundred and ninety-nine racers started in California on March 4. Fifty-five arrived at the finish -- Madison Square Garden in New York -- on May 26.

The promoter

C.C. Pyle had not expected even 55 to make the finish line. The slick promoter could manipulate almost anything to make a profit. He dreamed up the grueling and flamboyant footrace and pitched it to the Route 66 Association, headquartered in Tulsa, as a way to publicize the new road and make himself wealthy.

Each competitor had to pay Pyle a $25 entry fee and a $100 "deposit," which Pyle saved back in case the runners dropped out and needed money to get home. It met with some resentment, but it was used often.

Pyle planned to sell programs and other items, and to market endorsements for shoes, foot ointments and suntan lotion. Pyle's nickname was "Cash and Carry" Pyle.

Ross said Pyle "had a talent for raising money, but wasn't the most scrupulous or the most honest. He was egotistical. He didn't treat the runners very well and he didn't fulfill a lot of the promises he made."

During the race, expenses were higher than Pyle planned and profits from his big promotions less than he hoped. For a while, he skimped on the runners' food and overnight housing, but when they complained, he paid off.

Some doubt arose and rumors spread as to whether Pyle would have the funds to pay the prizes. He met his obligations as well as he could. O'Dell said Payne didn't receive the entire $25,000, but enough of it that he didn't complain.

The following year, Pyle tried to organize the second annual footrace, along a different route, but the magic was gone. He made even less money than he had on Route 66.

Back in Oklahoma

With his winnings, Payne paid off the mortgage and boosted his family. He married Virginia, who was his age but had been his teacher in high school. He started a family, served in the U.S. Army and enrolled in law school.

In 1935, aided by the fame his feet had earned, he was elected clerk of the Oklahoma Supreme Court. He served in that position for 38 years; he has come down through history as a dedicated and honest public servant.

Other than the elections, he didn't exploit his achievement.

Norma Roupe, daughter of Andy and Virginia Payne, lives in Oklahoma City. She was born after he ran in the race and before he ran for office at the Supreme Court. She said it wasn't a conversation topic in the home she grew up in.

"My father did not bring it up," Roupe said. "Other people would talk to me about it when I was a little girl."

From that, she learned that her father transported some characteristics from the foot race to the Oklahoma Bar Association.

She knew him to be determined, steady, honest and a man who paced himself. Always, a hero.

But as the author Ross noted, Payne never ran again. Not a professional runner, he entered the race because at that moment, he needed the funds.

What Payne did in the spring of 1928, however, left its mark on Oklahoma.

O'Dell said the Bunion Derby probably established the character of the Mother Road and marked the beginning of Oklahoma's fascination with sports and sports figures.

And a lot of that is owed to a part-Cherokee farm boy who wanted only to help his dad and marry his sweetheart.

~Oklahoman-McClatchy-Tribune Information Services