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Jim Thorpe's family would have the circle closed where he was born and grew up: in the blackjack woods, between the Moccasin Highway and Oklahoma's North Canadian River.
Meanwhile, on Pennsylvania Route 903, just outside an old coal-mining town in the Lehigh Valley, a 20-ton, polished, mini van-sized chunk of brown granite graces a small, hillside park. Inscribed on the rock face is the quotation: "Sir, you are the greatest athlete in the world."
The king of Sweden addressed those words to the Native American athlete, who is entombed in the massive memorial. Thorpe was the hero of the 1912 Stockholm Olympic Games, winning the pentathlon and decathlon gold medals.
Afterwards, he led his Indian school to victories over football powerhouses, including Harvard and Army. Twice he was named an All-American. He played with the baseball New York Giants and was a running back for New York's other Giants. He took his place in the National Football League Hall of Fame.
In 1950, sportswriters in an Associated Press poll recognized Thorpe as the greatest football player and the best American athlete of the fist half of the century. Jack Thorpe, however, the athlete's son and former chief of the Sac and Fox Tribe in Oklahoma, feels that his father is one big victory short of peace.
"He'd like to buried in the family plot in Oklahoma," he said.
After the athletics, Jim Thorpe's life wasn't an easy one. When the glory days faded, Thorpe tumbled down.
"My father was easy going, gentle and funny," Thorpe said.
Jim Thorpe became an alcoholic. The former champion paraded in front of Hollywood's cameras. W.C Fields egged him into bar-room brawls. He ended up working as a security guard in Detroit. Thorpe died in 1953, destitute, in a California trailer. The body was returned to his native Oklahoma.
He had married three times. His last wife had grandiose visions. She saw a grand monument, a Jim Thorpe Memorial Cancer and Heart Foundation Hospital, the Jim Thorpe Tipis Motel and the Jim Thorpe All-American Cafe.
Back east, twin towns Mauch Chunk and East Mauch Chunk, Penn., were dealing with hard times and the closure of their mines. The towns had once boasted more millionaires per capita than any other town in America.
In Oklahoma, the rent went unpaid at the crypt where the casket was stored. Mrs. Thorpe shopped around for a town that would provide a suitable, ostentatious burial site. Like missing luggage, the exhumed body was shipped to Tulsa, Okla., then to Pittsburgh and Philadelphia.
Meanwhile, a light bulb went on in the Chunks' collective mind. To revive their economies, the twin town approached the widow. They pledged to construct a $12,500 memorial. Eager suitors, the two towns even proposed to merge and rename themselves-Jim Thorpe.
They did so in 1954. A relieved Mrs. Thorpe authorized her deceased husband's entombment, out on Route 903, in Jim Thorpe, Penn.
Then, it was the town's turn to dream. They envisioned a tourist bonanza. They were promised an Olympic-size stadium and even a cut of the NFL gate receipts. The boom never occurred.
Disappointed, Jim Thorpe residents have had mixed emotions about their adopted home-town hero. Townsfolk have considered reviving the original names. Though not out of disrespect for Thorpe, some old-timers are proud "Mauch Chunkers." Younger residents have never known any other name, and are happy with the one they have.
"We're proud of Jim," declared Mike Sofranko, Borough of Jim Thorpe council president. "The memorial and park are dignified and beautiful. The grounds are well kept."
"There's also a nice view," agreed Jack Thorpe. "But its still a tourist attraction, a commercial venture.
"We're appreciative," he continued, "but Dad wanted to be buried back home." But Jack Thorpe has not taken his crusade to the courts.
"We would probably win, but I want the town to do the right thing voluntarily," he explained. "I don't want hard feelings." The town's name is not the sre point with Jack Thorpe.
"My dad's remains will not make or break the town of Jim Thorpe," he said. "The monument needn't be mothballed." The borough has never received a formal request to transfer the body.
"It was dad's wish to be buried with the family," said a quiet and resolute Jake Thorpe. "I'd like to close the circle."
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