Culture
Sha'Carri Richardson, chasing an Olympic legacy, has already made one back home
DALLAS — It’s the middle of June and just shy of 11 a.m. on a Wednesday. The track and infield at David W. Carter High School is bustling. The sky is mostly clear and bluer than a teenager’s tongue after a Jolly Rancher. The Texas heat is already sweltering, as if the sun rose from the East and loitered just south of I-20. It was hot enough to laminate skin with sweat. To dehydrate the dandelions on the barren grassy field across the street. To wonder if Willis Carrier deserved a Nobel Prize for his 1902 invention of the modern air conditioner.
But it’s not even remotely too hot for Kennedy Jackson-Miles, a 14-year-old whose fingers are spread on the rubbery surface of the track, her feet pressed against metal blocks. She’s a sprinter heading to high school and a prodigy for the Cedar Hill Blaze summer track club. It’s apparent as she explodes out of the blocks, throttles down after about 10 meters, then returns to do it again. Her T-shirt is soaked. Her forehead glistens. Her braces sparkle, because she’s smiling.
“I’m going to be in the Olympics in 2028,” she said during a break after her umpteenth rep from the blocks. “Because I have the mindset for it and I see it in my future.”
Sounds fantastical, predicting an Olympic debut at 18 years old. And then you see the look in coach Marcus Stokes’ eyes when he says she’ll be in Los Angeles in 2028. And then she spouts her birthday as if she’s bragging about its recency — “March Fourth, two-thousand ten” — and reminding you 14-year-olds aren’t choosing hours of work in this Texas oven, during their summer break, unless they’re built differently. And then you remember who preceded her on this journey.
On this same track, at this same school, in this same heat, Sha’Carri Richardson put in the same work. She is about to make her Olympic debut, qualified for the 100-meter in Paris, with a chance to secure her spot as a national legend and one of the marquee faces of American track and field.
“There’s no doubt about who’s the greatest to ever come out of Dallas,” said Robert DeHorney, a long-time coach in the area who is taking over as head coach of cross country and track at Hillcrest High School in North Dallas.
“And it’s Sha’Carri Richardson. … She was lights-out from the beginning. This baby was fast when she came out the damn womb.”
But Richardson was first, and still is, the face of a region and culture. The pride of Dallas. The might of North Texas. The ambassador for a local community teeming with talent.
For the longest time, it was undercover, hidden behind the monstrosity of Texas football. But Michael Johnson, Oak Cliff’s own, shined a spotlight on the track culture with his heroics in 1996. He had people all over North Texas claiming to be his cousin.
“Still,” Johnson said during an interview at Hayward Field in Eugene, Ore. “I got cousins I don’t even know.”
Sha’Carri Richardson runs at the U.S. Olympic trials in June. She’ll compete in her first Olympics later this week in the women’s 100-meter. (Patrick Smith / Getty Images)
Johnson became a legend with his all-time performance in the 1996 Olympics, winning gold in the 200- and 400-meter races. But according to locals, he wasn’t a prodigy during his Skyline High School days. He was a late bloomer who blossomed at Baylor, where he won five NCAA championships and helped establish the Bears’ reputation as “Quarter Mile U.”
Johnson’s heroics, though, shined a light on a gem of a culture. Nothing tops the Friday Night Lights, but the Dallas sprint scene is one of fervor, immense talent and strong community — especially following Johnson, the first from the area to make it big in the sport.
“Great athletes are made across the country,” Johnson said. “There are special places everywhere. But Dallas is special to me. It’s home.”
Now, 28 years after Johnson put North Texas track and field on the international map, Richardson, also from the Oak Cliff area of Dallas, carries with her the spirit of her region. She’s taken it to new heights, especially for women sprinters.
Having already secured an epic world championship, she embarks on her debut Olympics in Paris with her home, her culture, on her back.
In Richardson is the sheer talent reminiscent of Roy Martin. They called him “Robot” because of his mechanical running style, but he’s one of the greatest high school sprinters ever. Straight out of Roosevelt High. His 200-meter dash of 20.13 seconds in 1985 is still the national high school record.
In Richardson is the competitive spirit of Marlon Cannon and Derrick Cunningham. Famous rivals in the 400 meters whose battles against one another lit up the city. Both local superstars, Cannon from South Oak Cliff and Cunningham from Carter High, would have Sprague Stadium teeming with excitement.
In Richardson is the strength of Henry Neal, the 5-foot-7, 177-pound sprinter from Greenville High, who, as a senior in 1990, ran the 100 meters in 10.15 at the state championships, a national high school record that lasted until 2019.
In Richardson is the showmanship of Michael Johnson. The ability to not only meet moments, but look good while doing so. He went into the Atlanta Games as the prohibitive favorite and illustrated his expectations with a gold earring, a gold Cuban link chain and his now-iconic gold Nike spikes.
In Richardson is the inspiration of the Texas Relays, the seminal event in the state. Held at the University of Texas, the high school portion is where kids put their big dreams on the line. Before packed stadiums, with their neighborhoods behind them, they test themselves against the best in the state. And Dallas always shows up.
“That’s how you make your mark,” said Vance Johnson, host of the Texas Track Dads podcast, and, most importantly, father of Indiana University-bound sprinter Aliyah Johnson.
“I tell everybody the same thing when their kids go down to Texas Relays their freshman year — they will never be the same. You have to qualify for the Texas relays. UT will post the names of who made it. And once they go, they’re gonna see the best in the state. And when they come back, they’re really gonna want to go hard. Because they’ve got to get back to Texas Relays.”
Richardson made her name living up to those occasions. Before she shocked the world with the race of her life in the 2023 world championships, before she became a national star at LSU by winning the national championship in the 100 meters and the coveted Bowerman Award, she was a must-watch in North Texas. Where summer meets are packed and high school meets carry the intensity of decades-long rivalries.
Students practice at Carter High’s John E. Kincaide Stadium in Dallas, Texas, where Sha’Carri Richardson once plied her trade. (Aric Becker / AFP via Getty Images)
In middle school, she won the 200-meter at the Dallas Independent Schools Invitational by three seconds. She was a freshman at the Leon Hayes Relay when she clocked 12.00 seconds in the 100 meters at John Kincaide Stadium in Dallas in 2015. Second place was 12.80 seconds.
As a sophomore, she won the 4A state title in the 100 for Carter and was runner-up in the 200. She defended her 100 title as a junior and won the state championship in the 200.
Richardson finished her high school career with another state championship in both. Her time of 11.12 seconds in the 100 bested the national record (11.14) set by Marion Jones 26 years earlier, though Richardson’s time was wind-aided. Her 200-meter time in 2018 was second-best in the nation and set a Texas state meet record. Richardson had fans, classmates and meet officials asking for photos and autographs.
Richardson has long been a show to behold.
“One time,” said DeHorney, who coached against Richardson all four years, “I can’t remember if it was a state meet or Texas relays, but she pulled up at least 10 meters from the line. And still ran 11.4. Blew my mind. She was on her heels for the last seven to 10 meters. Still 11.4. Never seen anything like that.”
Her swag didn’t come from nowhere. She absorbed it. From her people. From her neighborhood. From the track soil from which she sprouted.
Her particular section, Oak Cliff, has endured some of the same issues prevalent in the inner city around the nation. Raised by her grandmother, Betty Harp, Richardson’s life has been touched by many of the issues common in poverty.
“It’s a pretty tough area. You’ve got to come correct,” Michael Johnson said. “When I was growing up, it was a pretty good neighborhood. It became a lot more difficult after I left. By the time Sha’Carri came along, it was a rougher area. But it was always tough as far as competition. You had to have personality. You had to have confidence. Otherwise, you’d get eaten alive.”
Character is the fruit of struggle’s labor. The ones who survive, who thrive, do so because they’ve managed to harvest intangibles from the adversity.
And in North Texas track, when the work ethic merges with talent to produce greatness, it gets your name in the mouth of the neighborhood.
“Have you ever heard of Indya Mayberry?” DeHorney said. “She’s going to TCU. You ever heard of Nasya Williams? She’s going to LSU. Royaltee Brown is going to Baylor. Christine Mallard is at USC now. I’m trying to tell you it’s ridiculous down here, the amount of talent.”
That includes DeHorney’s daughter, Kennedy, a sprinter headed to Memphis on a full-ride scholarship.
They all know the name Sha’Carri Richardson. The next generation has developed an affinity for the superstar. Not only is she from their soil and has reached the pinnacle. But they’ve watched her fall from grace in the public eye and bounce back.
That matters in a community of overcomers.
“There’s no doubt about who’s the greatest to ever come out of Dallas,” says Robert DeHorney, a long-time coach in the area. “It’s Sha’Carri Richardson.” (Christian Petersen / Getty Images)
“They really look up to her,” said Vance Johnson, the host of Texas Track Dads, who interviews area runners on his show. “She made an adjustment but she never changed who the person is. She’s a professional, but she’s still Sha’Carri. And out here we like the spice. But she knows how to be professional, too. I think that’s important. It goes a long way. These young athletes, they see her.”
Krystan Bright, 18, is one of those youngsters who sees Richardson. That’s why, though she’s graduated from Cedar Hill High and no longer runs with the Blaze, she’s still on this Carter High track on this hot summer day. Right next to Kennedy Jackson-Miles, Bright working on hurdles in the thick warmth of June.
Bright’s AAU Junior Olympic T-shirt is soaked and tucked beneath her sports bra. Her face glistens with sweat. She pants as she talks after a rep on the first two hurdles. She is preparing to run track in college this fall. In her first-ever meet as a freshman, she ran the 300-meter hurdles in a minute. She was so slow, the team cut her. The magnitude of track in Dallas was instilled. She couldn’t go out like that. So she joined the Cedar Hill Blaze and committed to hurdles.
She just finished her senior season. She made state in the 300, finishing sixth in Texas at 42.67 seconds. She also holds her school records in the 100 and 300 hurdles.
In her is the resilience of Richardson.
“She’s such an inspiration,” Bright said. “To see her story and everything she’s been through, it gives a lot of motivation. She’s always been a superstar. It was a little different for me. I was an underdog. But once you get on that track, it’s the same for everybody. You gotta produce. And it’s all fun. It’s all good. It’s all love. It’s community.”
GO DEEPER
Sha’Carri Richardson, with emphatic win at trials, closing in on Olympic glory
(Top illustration: Dan Goldfarb / The Athletic; photo: Hannah Peters / Getty Images)
Culture
What Happens When We Die? This Wallace Stevens Poem Has Thoughts.
Whatever you do, don’t think of a bird.
Now: What kind of bird are you not thinking about? A pigeon? A bald eagle? Something more poetic, like a skylark or a nightingale? In any case, would you say that this bird you aren’t thinking about is real?
Before you answer, read this poem, which is quite literally about not thinking of a bird.
Human consciousness is full of riddles. Neuroscientists, philosophers and dorm-room stoners argue continually about what it is and whether it even exists. For Wallace Stevens, the experience of having a mind was a perpetual source of wonder, puzzlement and delight — perfectly ordinary and utterly transcendent at the same time. He explored the mysteries and pleasures of consciousness in countless poems over the course of his long poetic career. It was arguably his great theme.
Stevens was born in 1879 and published his first book, “Harmonium,” in 1923, making him something of a late bloomer among American modernists. For much of his adult life, he worked as an executive for the Hartford Accident and Indemnity Company, rising to the rank of vice president. He viewed insurance less as a day job to support his poetry than as a parallel vocation. He pursued both activities with quiet diligence, spending his days at the office and composing poems in his head as he walked to and from work.
As a young man, Stevens dreamed of traveling to Europe, though he never crossed the Atlantic. In middle age he made regular trips to Florida, and his poems are frequently infused with ideas of Paris and Rome and memories of Key West. Others partake of the stringent beauty of New England. But the landscapes he explores, wintry or tropical, provincial or cosmopolitan, are above all mental landscapes, created by and in the imagination.
Are those worlds real?
Let’s return to the palm tree and its avian inhabitant, in that tranquil Key West sunset of the mind.
Until then, we find consolation in fangles.
Culture
Wil Wheaton Discusses ‘Stand By Me’ and Narrating ‘The Body’ Audiobook
When the director Rob Reiner cast his leads in the 1986 film “Stand by Me,” he looked for young actors who were as close as possible to the personalities of the four children they’d be playing. There was the wise beyond his years kid from a rough family (River Phoenix), the slightly dim worrywart (Jerry O’Connell), the cutup with a temper (Corey Feldman) and the sensitive, bookish boy.
Wil Wheaton was perfect for that last one, Gordie Lachance, a doe-eyed child who is ignored by his family in favor of his late older brother. Now, 40 years later, he’s traveling the country to attend anniversary screenings of the film, alongside O’Connell and Feldman, which has thrown him back into the turmoil that he felt as an adolescent.
Wheaton has channeled those emotions and his on-set memories into his latest project: narrating a new audiobook version of “The Body,” the 1982 Stephen King novella on which the film was based.
A few years ago, Wheaton started to float the idea of returning to the story that gave him his big break — that of a quartet of boys in 1959 Oregon, in their last days before high school, setting out to find a classmate’s dead body. “I’ve been telling the story of ‘Stand By Me’ since I was 12 years old,” he said.
But this time was different. Wheaton, who has narrated dozens of audiobooks, including Andy Weir’s “The Martian” and Ernest Cline’s “Ready Player One,” says he has come to enjoy narration more than screen acting. “I’m safe, I’m in the booth, nobody’s looking at me and I can just tell you a story.”
The fact that he, an older man looking back on his younger years, is narrating a story about an older man looking back on his younger years, is not lost on Wheaton. King’s original story is bathed in nostalgia. Coming to terms with death and loss is one of its primary themes.
Two days after appearing on stage at the Academy Awards as part of a tribute to Reiner — who was murdered in 2025 alongside his wife, Michele — Wheaton got on the phone to talk about recording the audiobook, reliving his favorite scenes from the film and reexamining a quintessential story of childhood loss through the lens of his own.
This interview has been edited and condensed.
“I felt really close to him, and my memory of him.”
Wheaton on channeling a co-star’s performance.
There’s this wonderful scene in “Stand By Me.” Gordie and Chris are walking down the tracks talking about junior high. Chris is telling Gordie, “I wish to hell I was your dad, because I care about you, and he obviously doesn’t.”
It’s just so honest and direct, in a way that kids talk to each other that adults don’t. And I think that one of the reasons that really sticks with people, and that piece really lands on a lot of audiences, and has for 40 years, is, just too many people have been Gordie in that scene.
That scene is virtually word for word taken from the text of the book. And when I was narrating that, I made a deliberate choice to do my best to recreate what River did in that scene.
“You’re just a kid,
Gordie–”
“I wish to fuck
I was your father!”
he said angrily.
“You wouldn’t go around
talking about takin those stupid shop courses if I was!
It’s like
God gave you something,
all those stories
you can make up, and He said:
This is what we got for you, kid.
Try not to lose it.
But kids lose everything
unless somebody looks out for them and if your folks
are too fucked up to do it
then maybe I ought to.”
I watched that scene a couple of times because I really wanted — I don’t know why it was so important to me to — well, I know: because I loved him, and I miss him. And I wanted to bring him into this as best as I could, right?
So I was reading that scene, and the words are identical to the script. And I had this very powerful flashback to being on the train tracks that day in Cottage Grove, Oregon. And I could see River standing next to them. They’re shooting my side of the scene and there’s River, right next to the camera, doing his off-camera dialogue, and there’s the sound guy, and there’s the boom operator. There’s my key light.
I could hear and feel it. It was the weirdest thing. It’s like I was right back there.
I was able to really take in the emotional memory of being Gordie in all of those scenes. So when I was narrating him and I’m me and I’m old with all of this experience, I just drew on what I remembered from being that little boy and what I remember of those friendships and what they meant to me and what they mean to me today.
“Rob gave me a gift. Rob gave me a career.”
Wheaton recalls the “Stand By Me” director’s way with kids on set, as well as his recent Oscars tribute.
Rob really encouraged us to be kids.
Jerry tells the most amazing story about that scene, where we were all sitting around, and doing our bit, and he improvised. He was just goofing around — we were just playing — and he said something about spitting water at the fat kid.
We get to the end of the scene, and he hears Rob. Rob comes around from behind the thing, and he goes, “Jerry!” And Jerry thinks, “Oh no, I’m in trouble. I’m in trouble because I improvised, and I’m not supposed to improvise.”
The context for Jerry is that he had been told by the adults in his life, “Sit on your hands and shut up. Stop trying to be a cutup. Stop trying to be funny. Stop disrupting people. Just be quiet.” And Jerry thinks, “Oh my God. I didn’t shut up. I’m in trouble. I’m gonna get fired.”
Rob leans in to all of us, and Rob says, “Hey, guys, do you see that? More of that. Do that!”
The whole time when you’re a kid actor, you’re just around all these adults who are constantly telling you to grow up. They’re mad that you’re being a kid. Rob just created an environment where not only was it supported that we would be kids — and have fun, and follow those kid instincts and do what was natural — it was expected. It was encouraged. We were supposed to do it.
They chanted together:
“I don’t shut up,
I grow up.
And when I look at you I throw up.”
“Then your mother goes around the corner
and licks it up,”
I said, and hauled ass out of there,
giving them the finger over my shoulder as I went.
I never had any friends later on
like the ones I had when I was twelve.
Jesus, did you?
When we were at the Oscars, I looked at Jerry. And we looked at this remarkable assemblage of the most amazingly talented, beautiful artists and storytellers. We looked around, and Jerry leans down, and he said, “We all got our start with Rob Reiner. He trusted every single one of us.”
And to stand there for him, when I really thought that I would be standing with him to talk about this stuff — it was a lot.
“I was really really really excited — like jumping up and down.”
The scene Wheaton was most looking forward to narrating: the tale of Lard Ass Hogan.
I was so excited to narrate it. It’s a great story! It’s a funny story. It’s such a lovely break — it’s an emotional and tonal shift from what’s happening in the movie.
I know this as a writer: You work to increase and release tension throughout a narrative, and Stephen King uses humor really effectively to release that tension. But it also raises the stakes, because we have these moments of joy and these moments of things being very silly in the midst of a lot of intensity.
That’s why the story of Lard Ass Hogan is so fun for me to tell. Because in the middle of that, we stop to do something that’s very, very fun, and very silly and very celebratory.
“Will you shut up and let him tell it?”
Teddy hollered.
Vern blinked.
“Sure. Yeah.
Okay.”
“Go on, Gordie,”
Chris said. “It’s not really much—”
“Naw,
we don’t expect much from a wet end like you,”
Teddy said,
“but tell it anyway.”
I cleared my throat. “So anyway.
It’s Pioneer Days,
and on the last night
they have these three big events.
There’s an egg-roll for the little kids and a sack-race for kids that are like eight or nine,
and then there’s the pie-eating contest.
And the main guy of the story
is this fat kid nobody likes
named Davie Hogan.”
When I narrate this story — whenever there is a moment of levity or humor, whenever there are those brief little moments that are the seasoning of the meal that makes it all so real and relatable — yes, it was very important to me to capture those moments.
I’m shifting in my chair, so I can feel each of those characters. It’s something that doesn’t exist in live action. It doesn’t exist in any other media.
“I feel the loss.”
Wheaton remembers River Phoenix.
The novella “The Body” is very much about Gordie remembering Chris. It’s darker, and it’s more painful, than the movie is.
I’ve been watching the movie on this tour and seeing River a lot. I remember him as a 14- and 15-year-old kid who just seemed so much older, and so much more experienced and so much wiser than me, and I’m only a year younger than him.
What hurts me now, and what I really felt when I was narrating this, is knowing what River was going through then. We didn’t know. I still don’t know the extent of how he was mistreated, but I know that he was. I know that adults failed him. That he should have been protected in every way that matters. And he just wasn’t.
And I, like Gordie, remember a boy who was loving. So loving, and generous and cared deeply about everyone around him, all the time. Who deserved to live a full life. Who had so much to offer the world. And it’s so unfair that he’s gone and taken from us. I had to go through a decades-long grieving process to come to terms with him dying.
Near the end
of 1971,
Chris
went into a Chicken Delight in Portland
to get a three-piece Snack Bucket.
Just ahead of him,
two men started arguing
about which one had been first in line. One of them pulled a knife.
Chris,
who had always been the best of us
at making peace,
stepped between them and was stabbed in the throat.
The man with the knife had spent time in four different institutions;
he had been released from Shawshank State Prison
only the week before.
Chris died almost instantly.
It is a privilege that I was allowed to tell this story. I get to tell Gordie Lachance’s story as originally imagined by Stephen King, with all of the experience of having lived my whole adult life with the memory of spending three months in Gordie Lachance’s skin.
Culture
Do You Know the Comics That Inspired These TV Adventures?
Welcome to Great Adaptations, the Book Review’s regular multiple-choice quiz about printed works that have gone on to find new life as movies, television shows, theatrical productions and more. This week’s challenge highlights offbeat television shows that began as comic books. Just tap or click your answers to the five questions below. And scroll down after you finish the last question for links to the comics and their screen versions.
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