The men’s 100m freestyle final at the 1924 Summer Olympics, held in Paris just as it is this year, showcased intense competition. A century ago, swimming symbolized the Roaring Twenties, a period characterized by fast music, speedy cars, and rapid swimmers. This fierce rivalry in the pool took place under unprecedentedly equitable conditions: elite athletes of various backgrounds shared the spotlight in an Olympic final, countering the popular eugenics theories and widespread anti-immigration feelings in the US at the time. Todd Balf’s new book, Three Kings: Race, Class, and the Barrier-Breaking Rivals Who Launched the Modern Olympic Age, revisits the 1924 100m freestyle final as we approach the upcoming 2024 Games.
“The interest stemmed, in part, from these three swimmers of different ethnicities, all striving to become the fastest ever in the premier event, the 100m,” Balf shares about his inspiration for writing the book. “While researching these athletes, I discovered they were referred to in the media almost as if they were superheroes – like mermen, flying fish, or torpedoes.”
The book’s title refers to the three kings: Americans Johnny Weissmuller and Duke Kahanamoku, along with Japan’s Katsuo Takaishi.
Before gaining fame as Tarzan – a role he would portray for the first time in 1932 – Weissmuller was a pool sensation in Chicago, rising from humble origins to break numerous records. The legendary Hawaiian Kahanamoku, whose records he frequently surpassed, faced racial discrimination in his pursuit of competitive sports. Takaishi encountered similar derogatory evaluations, particularly regarding his physique, which was deemed inferior to the contemporary Western standards.
Duke Kahanamoku (back row, third from left) with fellow Hawaiian swimmers at the 1924 Olympics. Photograph: Outrigger Canoe Club Historical Committee
The book delves into the backgrounds of these athletes, contextualizing their stories within significant historical developments. Weissmuller, originally Johann Weissmuller, was born to German-speaking parents in the Austro-Hungarian Empire, who emigrated to the US during tough economic times. Kahanamoku matured during the American annexation of Hawaii, a time when the Hawaiian language was banned in schools in 1896 and whites-only swim clubs began to emerge. Takaishi grew up in a Japan grappling with its place in the world, contemplating whether to abandon ancient swimming styles rooted in samurai tradition for Western techniques that provided greater chances of Olympic success.
Balf’s renewed interest in swimming drew him to this narrative. Following a cancer diagnosis a decade ago, he faced complications after surgery that left him unable to walk. Aiming to maintain an active lifestyle, he sought alternative exercise methods while rehabilitating in a Massachusetts hospital. Though he initially dismissed swimming due to a prior, troubling experience recounted for Yankee magazine, he soon discovered a wetsuit that permitted him to swim in the hospital pool. His curiosity ignited as he explored the origins of the strokes he practiced, especially the crawl, now the hallmark of freestyle swimming.
“I was consuming a lot of information,” he says. “During my reading, I stumbled upon the fascinating stories of samurai swimmers, Hawaiian champions, and the man we recognize today as Tarzan – the three main figures of the book. This exposure hooked me, leading me to uncover their identities and backgrounds.”
Kahanamoku’s determination to swim was evident. Unable to access segregated clubs, he and friends established their own – Hui Nalu, or “Club of the Waves.” After a challenging start at the 1912 Olympic trials, he went on to compete in the Stockholm Games that same year, embarking on a storied career that included three Olympics and five medals. Balf, who devoted considerable time in Hawaii researching Kahanamoku and interviewing prominent surfers, found his story profoundly inspiring. “Duke remains a legend in Hawaii,” he remarks.
As the 1924 Games loomed, Kahanamoku faced a young contender nearly half his age: Weissmuller, who endured hardships during his upbringing in Chicago after his father abandoned the family. Weissmuller found solace and recognition at the Illinois Athletic Club, under the guidance of coach Bill Bachrach, who recognized the potential for publicity through Weissmuller’s swimming prowess.
In Japan, a promising teacher-student dynamic was developing. Takaishi, heir to traditional swimming techniques used in warfare, faced mockery following the use of those methods by Japanese athletes at the 1920 Olympics in Belgium. It was not until coach Den Sugimoto from Osaka invested time in analyzing Western techniques and imparting them to his students, including Takaishi, that significant progress was achieved. Sugimoto even encouraged students to construct their own pool, sourcing water from local farmland.
Katsuo Takaishi and his wife Mineko Nagai, who was also a distinguished swimmer, at their home in Osaka. Photograph: Courtesy of Takaishi Family
Each of the three contenders approached the 1924 Games with uncertainties looming. Japan was still recovering from the devastating 1923 Great Kantō earthquake, which claimed over 100,000 lives, leading to doubts about their Olympic participation. Kahanamoku faced a professional crossroads and diminished expectations at the US Olympic trials, held in Indianapolis, the same city hosting this year’s trials. Meanwhile, Weissmuller dealt with early 20th-century provocations questioning his American citizenship. His eligibility was challenged due to his birth abroad, although Balf suggests his family manipulated records to secure his Olympic position, a secret that would remain buried for years.
“You could imagine the fear he felt about being exposed and potentially losing everything won in Paris,” Balf reflects.
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The Games themselves were enveloped in uncertainty as well. Were they genuine sporting occasions with the world’s leading athletes every four years, or simply a grand spectacle? Balf elaborates on the stark contrast between the noble aspirations of modern Olympic founder Pierre de Coubertin and the often embarrassing moments in Olympic history; athletes had to contend with frigid open water swimming in the initial Games in Greece in 1896, the 1900 St Louis edition featured a notorious event deriding indigenous cultures, and the 1920 Olympics took place in a recovering Belgium, close to war-torn battlefields. However, by 1924, the Olympics were inching closer to professionalism in Paris. The City of Light had newly constructed the Piscine des Tourelles, still in existence today, which featured designated lanes and could accommodate over 10,000 spectators. Notably, the men’s 100m freestyle final would be broadcast live for the first time.
“Swimming emerged as an unexpected star of the Games,” Balf asserts. “It deserves far more recognition than it has received. Swimming truly captivated the audience.”
Weissmuller claimed victory in the 100m sprint final, setting an Olympic record with a time of 59.0 seconds. He secured three gold medals altogether, achieving victories in both the 400m freestyle and the 4x200m freestyle relay, along with a bronze medal. Kahanamoku earned a silver, with his brother Sam winning bronze.
Takaishi finished in fifth place, while Duke Kahanamoku enjoyed minor Hollywood roles and contributed to the rising popularity of surfing. Takaishi’s Olympic journey was just beginning, and he ultimately won a silver and bronze at the 1928 Amsterdam Games, paving the way for greater Japanese success in swimming at the Olympics.
“Despite their starkly different cultural backgrounds, these three men shared a unique contrast,” Balf reflects. “At first glance, they seemed to have little in common, but swimming served as their unifying link.”
“I was genuinely curious about their perspectives on one another,” he continues. “In many respects, swimming overshadowed all the differences that set them apart.”
