Sport: Topping the Kangaroos

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The shadows of early evening were beginning to creep across the infield, but nobody made a move to leave. Other athletes in brightly colored warm-up suits lounged on the grass, spectators now themselves. The attention of everyone in cavernous Stanford Stadium was focused on a lanky figure poised at the end of the high-jump runway.

Russia's Valery Brumel danced a little jig to loosen his leg muscles. He lifted his left hand in a crisp salute—a signal that he was ready. Suddenly he was galloping violently toward the pit. His left foot slammed into the ground and his body hurtled upward—left arm tucked against his chest, right leg thrust high. He barely grazed the crossbar; then he was clear and falling, the bar quivering behind him. The jump measured 7 ft. 5 in., a new world's record. And as Brumel bounced joyfully from the sawdust pit, 81,000 people, on hand for last week's U.S.-Soviet track meet at Palo Alto. Calif., cheered themselves hoarse. "Now there,'' blurted a track fan, "is one Russian you can't help but like."

Touching the Rim. Brumel has a matinee-idol grin, a great fondness for watching U.S. television and a compulsion to jump—anywhere, any time, over anything. Standing in the Stanford gym before the meet. Brumel happily demonstrated his technique by leaping up under a 10ft.-high basket and touching the rim with his right foot.

When he was not practicing, he wandered about the Stanford campus, signing autographs for hordes of young admirers and startling passers-by with sudden, gazelle-like leaps into the air. The night before he was to compete, Brumel sat in the Stem Hall lounge, feet propped up on an overturned wastebasket, watching Gunsmoke. Behind him. other Russians were learning the twist to a loud-blaring phonograph. Mildly annoyed, Brumel stood up, walked around his overstuffed armchair to the phonograph, and turned the volume down. Then he leaped clear over the chair, landed on his feet, and sank back with a satisfied smile. Commented one Russian: "Valery may not be the best athlete we have ever produced, but he is certainly the most flamboyant."

Adding on Inches. Son of a Siberian coal-mining engineer, Brumel had never competed in a major international meet before the 1960 Olympics. At 6 ft. 1 in., he was considered too small to be a threat to such towering kangaroos as World Record Holder John Thomas of the U.S. (6 ft. 5½ in. tall); coaches still held to the idea that the highest anyone could jump was about one foot above his own head. At Rome, Brumel jumped that foot, beat Thomas with a leap of 7 ft. 1 in., and he has been adding on new inches ever since. His record against Thomas is six wins, no losses, and he holds the listed world records for both indoors (7 ft. 4 in.) and outdoors (7 ft. 4 in.). Said Brumel last week: "I'm still not satisfied. By the time the summer is over, I should do 7 ft. 7 in. It just means more work.''