on the “flats” of the blades—that part of the steel between edges that keeps the speed slow and carves thick lines into the ice.
Figures demand control. They take a precise, steady blade, perfect placement of body weight, strong ankles and torso muscles, and correct timing to trace just the right marks into the ice. The figures consist of two or three circular lobes with different variations in position and edge of the blade. Some of the more complex figures required tracing a pattern, then retracing over it with the other foot. Judges looked for perfect, wobble-free circles, all with the same shape and diameter. The judges hovered nearby as skaters completed this portion of the competition, then they inspected the marks up close.
By the time the 1960 Nationals had arrived, Steffi was known as one of the best practitioners of figures in the country. Being as modest as she was, she nearly competed at the junior level in 1960 but decided instead that she should challenge herself and skate on the senior level. If she could perform her figures perfectly, a medal would be within reach. In fact, if her figures went well, she could create a sizeable enough lead over other bronze medal contenders to secure her Olympic berth before the free skate even began.
This lopsided kind of judging frustrated many fans, and ultimately led to the abandonment of school figures. American skater Janet Lynn, a superb artist on the ice who seemed to practically float along the surface, never won a World Championship or Olympic gold medal—largely because she was not strong in school figures. At the 1972 World Championships, Austrian Beatrix Schuba had built such an enormous lead after the school figures that she won the gold despite placing ninth in the free skate. Lynn finished third after a breathtaking free skate performance.
Television helped lead to the demise of school figures. Because only the more visually exciting free skate was shown on television, audiences at home were confused and appalled by the outcome of the 1972 Worlds. The complaints were so abundant that the International Skating Union created what we now know as the short program to lessen the overall importance of figures in the final placements. The death knell for figures rang in 1990, when they were removed from international competition altogether. In their place, skaters are now required to perform what are known as “moves in the field,” a mixture of dance steps, turns, edgework, and stroking. These moves are designed to show a command of both blade and body. They are not part of national or international competitions, but skaters do have to take proficiency tests in these moves in order to “graduate” to different levels of competition.
Laurence was similar to Janet Lynn in that she was known to be better in the free skate than in school figures. At the 1960 Nationals, Laurence performed admirably in the school figures, allowing Steffi to take only a slight lead for the bronze. The free skate would settle the matter. As predicted, Carol Heiss and Barbara Roles won the gold and silver, respectively, and when the bronze medal was decided, Laurence bested Stephanie by only one sixteenth of a point.
Laurence was jubilant. Steffi was crushed. It would have been much easier to take had she finished near the bottom of the field. Finishing fourth, however, was truly painful; being first alternate was proof that Steffi did belong in the senior level, but they may as well have named it the “oh-so-close-but-you’re-not-going-to-the-Olympics” award.
The Owen family celebrated not one, but two Olympics berths. In a fortuitous, but not entirely surprising, turn of events, Mara and Dudley had claimed the silver medal in the pairs event. Laurence’s mother, as their coach, viewed this moment as an affirmation of her own coaching abilities. Her pride in her daughters’ accomplishments was beyond measure.
It didn’t seem possible to make Steffi a harder worker, but her fourth-place finish had just that effect. Her disappointment simmered for a year. She had something to prove at Nationals. She entered the Ice Palace in January of 1961 and began her customary routine of stretching in the hallways and performing off-ice jumps, sometimes getting so lost in her practice maneuvers that she didn’t notice the people coming perilously close to her as she heaved herself into the air.
Steffi was the golden girl of the Broadmoor. Despite this, she must have felt like an underdog. The Boston club members stormed into the rink with a confident swagger. They were fully aware that Boston’s skating scene was synonymous with winning championships.
Laurence had a slight advantage over Steffi. She had, after all, already appeared in one Olympic Games and one World Championships. Laurence finished sixth at the 1960 Squaw Valley Olympics, and ninth at the World Championships (at Worlds, she was skating on an injured knee). Sports reporters at the time felt Laurence’s dance elements were so modern the judges did not know how to score her in the Olympics. Laurence was not a skater to simply jump and spin to music. The music took hold of her soul and she interpreted it with an unabashed joy. The judges were not accustomed to this type of exuberance. Laurence’s sister and pairs partner finished tenth in both the 1960 Games and Worlds.
The 1960 Squaw Valley Olympic Team included two members of the Owen family. Mara is second from left, and Laurence is third from left.
In the 1960 Olympics, Laurence had her fair share of admirers. Carol Heiss, en route to her gold medal, shared a room with Laurence in the Olympic Village. Heiss recognized the younger skater’s potential and knew she was on the cusp of a magnificent career.
Heiss told Laurence affectionately, “My time is over. I’ll be looking forward to seeing you on the podium in the future.”
Laurence, like Steffi, was a perfectionist, and a stubborn one, too. Laurence’s reflections of how she viewed her own drive to succeed, and how skating shaped her life, appeared in a school essay saved by a classmate.
As mum has often said, my determination is fine just so long as I use it in the right direction, but use it in the wrong way …. This stubbornness is curiously mixed. Although I enjoy being independent and often resist control, I went through a stage of longing for protection from the world’s realities. I resented and enjoyed responsibility at the same time. As I see it now, this resentment was a childish dream, merely a longing for that which I didn’t have. However, I feel that it is good to have a bit of the romantic thrown in with the realistic. Otherwise my outlook might too easily become cynical and any creative impulse be stifled.
As a corollary to this romanticism, I am very inclined to over-dramatize myself. I often build up a pleasant fantasy over my “deplorable” position when it is anything but that. I also attach too much importance to a relatively minor catastrophe, such as “B” on a composition for which I confidently expected an “A.” My instantaneous reaction is complete disappointment, sometimes even to the point of despair. Such a reaction is slightly ridiculous to many people. Certainly to me, also, in the clear perspective of later reasoning. Perhaps this poem states my feelings better:
Ah despair, what are you?
A sinking of the heart, of hope?
You are many things but mainly
Loss of clarity, of perception.
Nevertheless, I will probably go on being disappointed when I fail to do as well as I feel I should, or could, have done. This feeling is part of the influence which skating has had on me.
All my life I have Figure Skated, an exacting sport at the least. The older I have grown, the higher the standard of perfection in this pastime has become. Now, at the top level of international competition, I must constantly strive to keep my average of performance between 86 percent and 100 percent. Consequently, my standard of perfection has also risen in other fields. I cannot be content with a mediocre piece of work, or with one that a few years ago might have seemed quite good. I’m used to comparing my skating with the best in the world; thus
