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The Legacy of Al Cantello: A Javelin Thrower’s Role in Cold War Espionage

Al Cantello found himself in a remarkable predicament as a promising javelin thrower in late 1959, when an enigmatic figure reached out with a peculiar request. A phone call led him to the Willard Hotel in Washington, D.C., sparking a sequence of events that would intertwine his life with the shadows of espionage. Upon his arrival, Cantello was greeted by a dimly lit room and a man whose accent hinted at a foreign origin, igniting his curiosity and apprehension.

During their conversation, the man offered Cantello a drink, and as he consumed it, the athlete grew suspicious—was it just alcohol, or something more? “Suddenly, I thought I got a little loose-lipped,” he recounted in a 2017 discussion with historian Austin Duckworth, who was studying the interplay of espionage and the 1960 Summer Olympics in Rome. Could it have been truth serum? Although the existence of a scientifically proven truth serum remains in the realm of speculation, the CIA and other agencies have a history of attempting to coax secrets from subjects through a variety of substances.

In June 1959, Cantello had solidified his status as a world-class athlete by smashing the javelin world record with a throw of 282 feet, 3.5 inches. Standing under 5-foot-8, he was compact and tough, compensating for his height with a unique throwing technique that involved a dynamic follow-through. With aspirations to compete in the upcoming Rome Olympics, a pivotal event predicted to capture global attention through its comprehensive television coverage, Cantello was on the verge of a sporting milestone.

However, the individual who summoned him to the Willard Hotel was not concerned with Olympic triumphs but rather sought to gather intelligence regarding Cantello’s recent encounters with Soviet long jumper Igor Ter-Ovanesyan. Earlier that summer, both athletes had participated in a track meet that pitted U.S. athletes against their Soviet counterparts. Cantello noted that despite the competition’s tension, he found his Soviet counterparts relatable, remarking on their mutual interest in American pop culture.

He recalled, “You know what they wanted? They wanted Playboy magazine and to meet chicks.” His fond exchanges with Ter-Ovanesyan highlighted a commonality that crossed ideological barriers, fueling the CIA’s interest in potentially encouraging Soviet athletes to defect.

Cantello was questioned about his impressions of Ter-Ovanesyan’s willingness to defect from the Soviet Union. He downplayed this possibility, suggesting that the interactions stemmed more from curiosity than a genuine desire to escape. Despite his dismissal, Cantello’s meeting with the covert operative hinted at a larger intrigue involving Olympic athletes as pawns in the Cold War chess match.

Espionage has long lurked within the Olympics’ storied history, coinciding with its very origin. The first Games, steeped in myth, revolve around the tale of Pelops, who cleverly sabotaged a chariot to win his bride’s hand. This legacy of deception continues, as modern Olympics become fertile ground for spy craft, bringing together powerful figures from politics, business, and entertainment.

Historian Barbara Keys expressed that such grand international gatherings provide ample opportunities for intelligence gathering, while former CIA officer Doug Patteson reinforced the need for nations to pursue their interests in these environments. The tragic events of the 1972 Munich Olympics serve as a glaring reminder of the grave security failures that can unfold when espionage is overlooked.

As preparations for the 2024 Olympics in Paris unfold, experts are concerned about potential security breaches, including acts of sabotage and cyber espionage. While the Games symbolize the spirit of competition and unity, they simultaneously present a stage for geopolitical maneuvering.

Back in the tumultuous atmosphere of 1960, the CIA was deeply invested in the Olympics, aiming to exploit opportunities to foster defection among Soviet athletes. They recruited figures like Mykola Lebed, a controversial figure with a history of violent nationalism, to spearhead operations focused on destabilizing Soviet control. This alliance, however morally questionable, illustrates the lengths to which intelligence agencies will go to achieve their objectives.

As the Olympics faced scrutiny, Lebed’s operatives’ efforts included less direct tactics as well, attempting to disseminate anti-Soviet propaganda and facilitate defections through American athletes. While Cantello perceived himself as a minor player in this covert drama, noted stars like sprinter Dave Sime were significantly more involved, having agreed to assist the CIA in its mission.

On one occasion, when Ter-Ovanesyan hinted once more at his interest in defecting, Cantello connected him with Sime, who had the necessary links to the CIA. A well-planned meeting was set up between Ter-Ovanesyan and a CIA operative, though, lamentably, the intended goal fell flat, revealing Ter-Ovanesyan’s lack of enthusiasm for any nationalist fervor or defection.

Despite facing the pressures of both competition and intelligence operations, Cantello finished tenth in the javelin event of the 1960 Games, never returning to the Olympic stage. His subsequent career as a celebrated track coach spanned decades; he passed away at the age of 92 in January 2024.

Reflecting on his clandestine rendezvous of the past, Cantello regarded it as a minor anecdote from an era marked by Cold War tensions. It serves as a reminder that even amidst the grandeur of the Olympic spectacle, there exist unspoken stories of ambition, intrigue, and the darker side of competition—a reality as gripping as the athletes’ performances themselves.

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