Canadian sprinter Ben Johnson at the start of the 100 Metres semi-final at Seoul Olympic Stadium during the Olympic Games in Seoul, South Korea, on Sept. 24, 1988. Johnson won the final in a world record time of 9.79 seconds, but was disqualified for doping.Tony Duffy/Getty Images
After winning the 100-metre final at the 1988 Seoul Olympics, now remembered as “The dirtiest race in history,” Canadian sprinter Ben Johnson failed his drug test and was stripped of his gold medal. He later admitted to steroid use and has lived in ignominy since. In her new book World’s Fastest Man*: The Incredible Life of Ben Johnson, author Mary Ormsby raises serious questions about the science, procedures, and prejudices that led to Johnson’s disqualification. This is the last of three excerpts
Ben Johnson is not finished trying to clear his name and restore his reputation. Since 2019, he’s been working with an experienced sports lawyer to research his legal options. These include possibly filing a claim against World Athletics, formerly called the IAAF. Details are not clear, but it’s likely any litigation would involve restraint-of-trade and due-process allegations.
Johnson doesn’t have a winning record in seeking redress through the courts, but he believes this attempt, unlike the others, is solid. His energy to keep fighting is rooted in his belief that he was set up in Seoul and that his “enemies” expected he would go away quietly.
“Over the years, when I reflect on what happened in Seoul, sometimes I use it as a great positive,” he said of his motivation. “All the sacrifice I made since I was 14 years old and all the hard work I put in over that 12-year span, the pain, the suffering, the anxiety, and the depression, it was all for my mother, to give her something back in this world. And my father, [who] saw his youngest son become the best athlete to ever run the 100 metres.”
He often refers to his mother’s prediction of his redemption. “I won’t live to see the day, but you will get your gold medal back,” Gloria Johnson told her son.
Johnson remains angry with sports officials, especially in Canada, who didn’t run interference for him in Seoul. “All those people who screw me over the years, go on to have better paycheques, better job opportunities, and make a name for themselves.” They had the power to advocate for him, “but they put me on the chopping block.”
He is also angry about what he perceives as a double standard in 1988: “None of the American athletes ever tested positive. It’s a no-no, it can’t happen.”
Does Johnson have any remorse for having used steroids?
Not at all. That five other runners in that 100-metre-medal final in Seoul were later linked to doping infractions tends to support Charlie Francis’s argument that many were using, and in the decades since, countless athletes across many sports have been caught up in drug violations. It’s hard to keep the body count straight. Johnson’s head-on-a-pike was supposed to clean up doping in sport forever, but it never came close.
“If that is my destiny, I’d do it again,” Johnson said of doping. “I wasn’t the only one out there using steroids.”
He wears his defiance on a vanity licence plate affixed to his Cadillac SUV: Ben979. Pedestrians call out or wave to him when he motors past. Drivers stop at traffic lights and roll down windows to shout the familiar, “Hey, world’s fastest man!”
Johnson revels in it. “It makes me feel good in a lot of ways because people respect me. They know what track and field is all about and what athletes need to do to get [to the elite level] or even win the gold medal.
“It’s nice when people come up and say, ‘I remember where I was, I saw the race, you are still the best and the fastest man on Earth.’ That makes me feel good, to have great fans out there who believe in what I accomplished.”
That said, he wants a fresh start. And it won’t be in Canada. Johnson is planning to make Jamaica his home base and visit Toronto periodically. The move isn’t solely to escape cold winters, although the glorious Caribbean weather is a factor. Toronto holds less appeal for a man deciding where he’d be happiest when he retires.
Estrangement is part of the issue. Johnson is not as close as he’d like to be with family members – many relationships are strained or broken – and often he spends holidays or birthdays alone. In reflective moments, he’ll admit how much this hurts him. Johnson still has plenty of friends in Canada and abroad, and he’s big into social-media chatting. Some people from his competition days keep in touch. Others have moved on without looking back.
Two of the most cherished people in his life in Canada are gone: his mother, Gloria, and Charlie Francis. In recent years, more have followed. Former Optimist club and Olympic teammate Desai Williams has passed, as has Toronto lawyer Terry O’Sullivan, one of Johnson’s fiercest supporters. Johnson counts off other contemporaries who have died, including American Olympian Harvey Glance and Canadian Olympians Angela Bailey and Marv Nash, and is alarmed by their relative youth, too many jolting reminders of his own mortality.
After the pandemic, which shuttered gyms and arenas for many months, Johnson got his personal-training business back on track. When travel was still restricted, he was unable to get to his paid overseas gigs, which became a bigger problem for him than most because he refused to get a COVID vaccination. He didn’t believe in the vaccination science or the government’s reasons for shutting down borders.
Now that he can travel freely again, getaway flights to Jamaica have also become reconnaissance missions to study floor plans, check out beachfront properties, and ponder business ventures on the island.
He understands that Jamaica is transitioning too. The harbour in Falmouth, once the domain of sugar freighters, now docks cruise liners. Tourists can spend their money in the large new malls on the edge of town, bypassing the British-engineered streets where, long ago, young Ben Johnson raced his friends for pennies.
Ben Johnson’s story has staying power. Love him or hate him, he remains a compelling historical sports figure whose downfall retains a stubborn wisp of mystery.
His post-Seoul decades are peppered with documentaries, essays, and books that feature his ‘fall from grace.’ Most media offerings have news hooks, meaning they are tied to an event or a special date, like the 25th anniversary of his 1988 Olympic win and disqualification. But some projects break that mould.
One that veers sharply from tradition is a Canadian-based television series called Hate the Player, which began development in 2023. It’s the brainchild of Toronto’s New Metric Media founder, Mark Montefiore, and it’s written by showrunner Anthony Q. Farrell, who has writing credits with the NBC sitcom The Office. The twist in Hate the Player is that it uses humour to tell Johnson’s tale but is anchored to the facts of his dramatic history.
“[We] are obsessed with the outrageous scandal-behind-the-scandal of Ben’s story that we have no choice but to convey it as a comedic series, or we will be forever lost in the one-sided tragedy that we think we know,” Montefiore said. “He went from ‘hero to zero in 9.79 seconds’, and we as a country disowned him even faster without truly knowing the circumstances surrounding the event. The series aims to bring a bit of shine back to Ben’s name and shed more light on ‘the dirtiest race in history.’”
Sangster International Airport in Montego Bay was jammed. Lines snaked through the check-in area, with passengers pushing massive luggage sets or jauntily holding a single carry-on bag over a shoulder. Ben Johnson was in the Toronto-bound queue. Fellow passengers had spotted him walking in, giving nuanced head nods or sometimes a hearty backslap and an arm-pumping handshake. He juggled two passports and a couple of cell phones, like an amateur James Bond, and tried to remember which passport, Jamaican or Canadian, to use at the counter.
Directly behind him in line, a good-looking, sharply dressed woman about his age cheerfully asked: “Ben, do you remember me?”
Johnson spun and gazed at her with a deer-in-the-headlights look, an awkward pause. “You look familiar,” he ventured politely.
Bored people in the slow-moving line began listening. The woman was a good sport and gave him major hints, like her first name, and where they used to spend time together in Toronto.
He clued in: they dated in the late 1980s, and yes, of course, he remembers her. The people in line were now deeply engaged in the scene, watching the world’s fastest man backpedal as chivalrously as he could, while the woman was equally courteous, filling in the blanks. The two shared a few laughs and parted ways on good terms.
In the departure lounge, Johnson is again recognized. He gets fist bumps, finger points, high fives, and “Hey, Ben!” One chap buttonholes him about a business venture, and they talk for a while.
When it’s time to board, Johnson hangs back. His seat is at the front of the economy section, and there’s no need to rush while people are cramming bags into the overhead storage.
When he gets to the jetway, he teases two beautiful young women ahead of him. They are carrying boxes of duty-free rum – maybe they could spare a bottle? The women laughed and chatted with him for a few minutes. One asks, rather earnestly: “Does it ever get old being recognized all the time?”
At that moment, a man from Vancouver has his arm around Johnson’s shoulders and his cell phone in front of their faces.
“No,” Johnson answered, as the Vancouver man snapped a selfie of the two smiling into the camera.
“It never gets old.”
Excerpted from World’s Fastest Man*: The Incredible Life of Ben Johnson, now available from Sutherland House.