Otto Westerfeld announced he was divorcing Myra and marrying another woman—a much younger woman, barely older than twenty-four-year-old Sherri. Though the Westerfelds had physically lived apart for several years now, the stigma of divorce was hard to swallow for them. In that era, divorce rates were low, largely because of gender roles that required women to simply accept whatever their husbands decided. Myra’s largest sphere of influence centered on her daughters and their skating. With her marriage ending, her last chance to succeed at anything depended on Steffi. The pressure must have been suffocating, but Steffi remained composed and mature throughout the ordeal, although she did occasionally show the depth of her feelings, usually by confiding in her older sister.
Steffi (left) and Sharon Westerfeld in 1960.
It is not clear when Otto began romancing the younger woman. Regardless, it seemed that there had always been three members of the Westerfeld marriage. Skating was the mistress, its seductive lure of future glory pulling the Westerfeld family apart at its once-solid foundation.
Otto’s role in Sherri and Steffi’s lives declined sharply after the divorce proceedings began. Sherri felt especially betrayed, and a rift developed. It was during these trying times that Sherri’s life took an interesting turn. She married her boss at the jewelry store, an Italian immigrant named Roberto Agnolini. As far as family and friends knew, there had been no courtship, no developing romance. Differing accounts exist as to the nature of this marriage, which seems to have been done to secure Agnolini’s ability to stay and work in the United States. Sherri never moved in with her husband, and there is some question about whether Myra or Steffi even knew about the marriage. Sherri may have kept it a secret, particularly from Myra.
Steffi, meanwhile, through her loyalty to her father and desperate need of his approval, found herself caught between two battling parents. Making the situation even worse, Myra began to blurt out hateful things about Otto at the rink. This new and very public disdain for Otto, combined with Myra’s constant vigil over and commentary about her skating, annoyed Steffi, who by nature was both a private person and one who set very high standards for herself. Arguments between the teenager and her mother grew more frequent. Sherri, always ready with a cheerful phrase to encourage her sister, was the mediator in these arguments. Sherri was the calming influence in Steffi’s life, and the two sisters, though eight years apart in age, grew closer through the turmoil.
Steffi found solace on the ice, where younger pupils often followed her around asking, “How do you do such lovely tricks?” Edi had to remind the youngsters that Steffi needed time for her own practice.
One bright spot during these painful times was the presence of a new family pet. The Westerfeld women named the black French poodle “Seric,” which was short for “Sir Eric of Broadmoor.” Myra and Sherri kept the dog with them at the rink sometimes, and he became the Broadmoor’s unofficial mascot.
The Westerfelds had one last shot to make it to the World Championships and the Olympics. Steffi’s success would validate the enormous sacrifices that had been made and show that they had been, in the end, worth making. Yes, the 1961 Nationals were three full years away from the next Olympics, but following any Olympic year, there is always great anticipation about who will fill the shoes of former champions. The top performers, including Steffi and Laurence, were eager to stand out in a mostly unknown competitive field and to fill the places left open by those who had moved on from the sport.
Steffi and Laurence both did the same jumps and spins, but they had vastly different styles. Steffi’s skating was perhaps more pure than Laurence’s emotionally nuanced routines. Steffi had a gentle style that had a universal appeal. On the ice, she was like a Monet painting—soft lines, gentle shades, an airiness. Laurence, on the other hand, was like a Picasso—bold, unpredictable patterns, strong colors, very abstract. The skating purists of the world likely would have found Steffi more pleasing to watch, but Laurence skated with such remarkable panache she captivated an audience.
The stage was set for a dramatic showdown between dozens of competitors, but the stakes seemed highest for two families, the Owens and Westerfelds, whose members, in many ways, were mirror images of each other. Devoted, driven, and dynamic single mothers far ahead of their time, set out on a daunting, lifelong quest to achieve the best result for their overachieving daughters in the face of family tragedy. The elder daughters, often the mediators in their frenetic worlds, set the pace in skating, but never reached the skill level of the younger siblings, on whose shoulders the most thrilling golden hopes rested. On January 25, 1961, the lives of these women would be forever changed as they pursued what only one could have—the gold medal, and the royal title of America’s new ice queen.
Chapter Four
Athletes from around the globe descended on the small, snowy mountain enclave of Lake Placid, New York, population four thousand. The year was 1932, and the occasion was the very first Olympic Games to take place on United States soil.
Maribel Vinson, America’s reigning ice queen, had been training for this moment since she was a little girl. She possessed a mastery of school figures, sure and steady jumps, elegant spins, and speed. Maribel also had a nemesis—Sonja Henie. “She already has one Olympic gold medal,” Maribel must have thought impatiently. “Why is she going for a second?”
Lake Placid Olympic organizers were eager to impress the world in their role as host, despite the fact that the village was going broke getting ready for the Games—so broke, in fact, that the president of the Olympic organizing committee, Dr. Godfrey Dewey, donated land owned by his family to be used for construction of a bobsleigh run.
Just three years into the Great Depression, it hardly seemed logical to be spending bundles of money on an athletic competition. The soup kitchen lines and abandoned lumber mills in nearby towns were not far from the Olympic venues. Because cities had placed bids for the Games well before the economic catastrophe, there was no turning back. The Olympic Games, in their short modern history, had already amassed a great deal of respect and prestige among all nations who participated, and brought about a goodwill among nations for which there was no price tag.
Europeans, especially those from the Nordic countries, dominated winter sports in the early twentieth century, but that did not assure that all the most competitive athletes would come to Lake Placid. Traveling from Europe to the States was difficult and expensive. Commercial aviation wasn’t yet commonplace, and tickets on an ocean liner were costly. For these reasons, an almost embarrassingly tiny delegation from across the Atlantic even bothered to show up. Two hundred fifty-two athletes from seventeen countries were present, most from the United States or Canada. Only twenty-one of the competitors were women, and fifteen of those women were figure skaters. This unbalanced ratio was a testament to the social status of women—whose more accepted place was at home raising children, rather than bouncing around on a sports field in front of audiences.
Aside from the abysmal attendance numbers, unseasonably warm weather for a February in the Adirondacks delayed many of the events. Some of the events didn’t even wrap up until days after the closing ceremonies. Because of the melted mountainside mess, snow had to be shipped from Europe and Canada to assure the downhill skiing events could go on as planned. By the time the competitors reached the bottom of the hill, their skis splashed down in puddles of slush. This emergency snow import also added to the already bursting budget of these Games.
Though a disaster on many important levels, the Lake Placid Games were also triumphant and majestic for many a participant and fan. The governor of New York, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, kicked off the opening day celebration with a resounding welcome to competitors from all nations. First Lady Eleanor became part
