Media accounts routinely adopted a nationalistic frame, echoing the prevailing spirit.10 American athletes hitched a ride to the Games aboard military vessels. Upon their return home, they complained bitterly of “the treatment they received at the hands of foreigners” in the Olympic city. Some athletes claimed that conditions in Antwerp were so terrible that they almost opted to withdraw entirely from the Games. They alleged Belgians “displayed the greatest hostility to the competing Americans and created feelings which greatly hampered the work of the men.”11
“Men” was the operative word. The Antwerp Games highlighted the lopsided gender relations that were typical of sports of the era. Twenty-two female athletes had taken part in the 1900 Olympics, and by Antwerp that number had climbed to sixty-three. But as a percentage of overall Olympic participants, this translated to a minuscule upward blip from 2.2 percent to 2.4 percent over the twenty-year period.12 Women’s participation had essentially flatlined. They were still not allowed to participate in track and field at the Antwerp Games. For that they would have to wait until the 1928 Amsterdam Olympics.
In the early 1900s a worldwide women’s movement was demanding political inclusion, with some success. In 1906, Finland granted women full voting rights, followed in subsequent years by Norway, Denmark, Iceland, Armenia, Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, Russia, Ukraine, Uruguay, Austria, Germany, Poland, Russia, the United Kingdom, Belgium, Georgia, and Luxembourg. The United States passed the Nineteenth Amendment to its Constitution in 1920, granting women full voting rights in that country. The times were changing, but they weren’t changing the Baron. Behind the scenes, some IOC members were quietly moving to expand women’s participation, but Coubertin was implacable, angling for the continued marginalization of women’s sports. After the 1912 Stockholm Games, he and many of his IOC colleagues believed “an Olympiad with females would be impractical, uninteresting, unaesthetic and improper.”13 Other members of the Olympic family who wished to keep the lineage patrilineal included the Americans James Sullivan and Avery Brundage. But as we shall see, many condemned the exclusion of women.
The 1924 Olympics were awarded to Paris as a shout-out to Coubertin for his decades of dedication to the Olympic cause. The Baron had announced he would retire as IOC president after the Games, perhaps in part to ensure that the Olympics ended up in France, but perhaps also to fend off accusations of an “Olympic monarchy.”14 Coubertin had sent a letter to his IOC brethren notifying them of his impending resignation following the 1924 Games and urging them to award the Olympics to Paris. “At this moment when the reviver of the Olympic Games judges his personal task to be nearly at an end,” he wrote, “no one will deny that he is entitled to ask that a special gesture should be made in favor of his native city, Paris.” The IOC granted this “special gesture,” completing what Coubertin dubbed in his memoirs “a masterly coup d’etat!”15
But politics jeopardized his “masterly coup.” In 1923 the French government sent troops into Germany to enforce war reparations, raising the specter of another armed conflict. Moreover, in what was becoming a regular headache for the IOC, elected officials in the host city challenged the use of public funds on the Olympics. In March 1922, the Paris City Council voted to contribute only 1 million francs to the Games instead of the expected 10 million. But the Chamber of Deputies eventually came through with the funds, ensuring Coubertin’s dream.16 Still, the Baron wasn’t taking any chances. With the possibility of war, European economic collapse, or simple underfunding endangering the Paris Games, he had quietly forged a back-up plan with organizers in Los Angeles who were eager to debut as hosts of the Games. While the backdoor plan to transfer the Games to LA didn’t become necessary, it did lay the groundwork for the city to secure the 1932 Olympics. In any case, the Paris council’s fiscal concerns were well merited—the Games wound up saddling the city with debt. And once again, the Olympics dissuaded tourists who otherwise would have visited Paris to spend their money, an example of what economists came to call the “stayaway factor.”17
Political friction tarnished Coubertin’s swan song. The French, like their counterparts in Antwerp, did not extend an invitation to Germany.18 The British Olympic Association insisted on an “empire plan”; rather than enter alphabetically during the opening ceremony, Great Britain would walk in first, followed by its “Dominion teams” from countries like Canada, Australia, and New Zealand.19 During a rugby match between France and the United States, the Americans were drowned in boos; two US fans were roughed up in the stands.20 After a contentious fencing match between a Frenchman and an athlete from Italy, the Italian squad stalked off chanting the Fascist anthem. Against this backdrop, the IOC argued against calculating standings based on a point system in an effort to minimize jingoism. Nevertheless, a whole host of entities—from journalists to sports lovers—devised point systems and then argued over which one was most just.21 All this led the New York Times to report that the Games “have left in the minds of not a few of the contending teams and with the public a feeling of irritation and distaste.”22 Ever the optimist, the Baron acknowledged the “irreparable repercussions” of the funding battles prior to the Games, before extolling “the universal good humour of the athletes” and the steady progression of Olympic spirit. “From Stockholm to Antwerp, from Antwerp to Paris, its encouraging action continued,” he wrote.23 Perhaps most significantly, the 1924 Olympics brought the first incarnation of what eventually became the Winter Games, as the IOC gathered athletes to compete in Chamonix, France, ahead of the Summer Games in Paris.24
For Coubertin, the Olympics were a religion. Fortunately for him, there were enough disciples to carry on the five-ring gospel. In 1925, at its meetings in Prague, the IOC replaced the retiring Baron with a Count—more precisely Count Henri Baillet-Latour of Belgium. More arbiter than firebrand, Baillet-Latour had long been a member of the IOC, serving competently on various committees. Most observers saw Baillet-Latour’s selection as staying the Coubertin course.25 But one place where the Count differed was his grudging willingness to allow the increased participation of women at the Games.26
The 1928 Olympics in Amsterdam—the first without Coubertin at the helm—doubled the number of female participants: almost 300 women took part in the Games, thanks largely to the inclusion of a small slate of women’s track and field events. However, citing medical “evidence,” the IOC ruled after the Amsterdam Games that the 800-meter run was too dangerous. In Amsterdam, after completing the race, a number of competitors fell to the turf to regain their strength. Anti-feminists pounced at the opportunity, arguing that women were too frail to run such distances, and quite remarkably their views won out. Women were not allowed to compete in the 800-meter run until the 1960 Olympics in Rome. Still, in 1928 women comprised about 10 percent of all Olympic athletes. Germany was also allowed through the Olympic gates for the first time since World War I. The Amsterdam Olympiad continued the trend started in Paris four years earlier of including all sports played on snow or ice in a separate Winter Olympics, this time at St. Moritz, Switzerland. The Summer Games featured an Olympic flame for the first time, thanks to architect Jan Wils, who designed a cauldron for the Amsterdam stadium. On the commercial front, Coca-Cola became an Olympics sponsor, a relationship that has lasted through the present day.27
Amsterdam was nearly derailed as host when the Dutch Parliament rejected public funding for the Olympics, partly because of fiscal considerations but also because many parliamentarians felt holding sports competitions on Sundays would desecrate the Sabbath. The Dutch Olympic Committee, forced to conjure an end run, found financing through a hefty loan from the Municipal Council of Amsterdam: some 5 million guilders (about $2 million at the time). The Dutch East Indies also kicked in a substantial sum, backed by a group of wealthy Dutch bankers. Nevertheless, the center of gravity for Olympic funding was shifting toward the state.28
The Amsterdam Games was the five-ring farewell for one of the most successful Olympians ever, Paavo Nurmi of Finland. Nicknamed the Flying Finn, Nurmi won nine gold medals and three silvers over three Olympic Games in 1920, 1924, and 1928. Nurmi was a long-distance specialist who excelled in the 1,500-meter, 5,000-meter,
