Frozen in Time. Nikki Nichols

this tendency definitely hinders me from maintaining an even temper, I am not sorry that it is a characteristic of mine. The one personality trait I despise above all others is hypocrisy. I believe that one should take a definite stand towards a situation or person either pro or con and then remain loyal to that stand. Often this belief has led me into trouble. Once, after violently criticizing a certain shoe polish, I was told that the father of the girl with whom I was talking had invented it. I think that I have learned it is best to say nothing … in certain situations at least. The odds are against me, but “You’ve got to have heart.” I’ll get that temper under control yet!

      Despite the occasional mother-daughter tempests, Laurence and her mother were extremely close—and both found their greatest happiness on the ice.

      Maribel, Jr., known as Mara to family and friends, was the calm voice of the house. She, too, was a champion, but she was growing wary of the sport. Mara had achieved success in the national pairs ranks beginning in 1956, when she won a bronze medal, but it was only when she teamed with debonair partner Dudley Richards that the delicate and wispy brunette showed her greatest potential. Together, they had won two bronze medals at Nationals, along with a silver medal in 1960. They had placed as high as sixth at the World Championships.

      Mara’s skating, however, had most certainly taken a backseat to her little sister’s dramatic rise through the ranks. After all, only the singles skater could reach that mythic status of ice queen. Only the singles skater seemed to harness the public’s imagination and adoration. Mara never fully developed as a singles skater, struggling to land all the perilous, high-impact jumps required of an ice queen. Her destiny was to become a pairs skater—one whose victories would be shared by a partner, and eclipsed by a more gifted younger sibling. The great love shared between these two sisters belied the great pain and disappointment Mara often felt while seeing the younger excel beyond her own capabilities. Chuck Foster, Mara’s former pairs partner and a former president of the United States Figure Skating Association, said, “She often found herself outside of the publicity circle. It could be tough on her sometimes.” Mara had one wonderful comfort, though. As her pairs partnership with Dudley matured, they became inseparable off the ice, too. It appeared Mara and Dudley were showing the preliminary sparks of a beautiful relationship in the making.

      Mara, though shy and soft-spoken, still could raise her voice at times, showing the famous Owen family moxie when a particular passion arose in her. In fact, Mara made a very large impact on American skating that most skaters don’t know about today. Up until 1959, World and Olympic teams were chosen based on the performance of the previous year. The U.S. National Champion-ships were not held until after the World Championships, which many skaters of the day felt was tantamount to having the semifinals after the finals.

      Mara disagreed with this policy. She felt it only made sense to hold Nationals, then allow the new champions to be presented on the world stage. This would also ensure that skaters in the best physical shape would represent the U.S. at Worlds. At the 1958 meeting of the U.S. Skating Governing Council in Boston, Mara spoke to the delegates and urged them to vote in favor of a new schedule that would put Nationals before Worlds. Remarkably, the council agreed with the fifteen-year-old. This decision gave a much-needed boost of confidence for a teenager who was at times so unsure of herself.

      Chuck Foster marveled at her work at the Governing Council.

      “Here’s a kid getting up in front of the Governing Council, who single-handedly got the association to change the rules. It shows how a young person could sway people to change the system.”

      The Owen family was full of trailblazers, and in 1961, they were prepared to set a new standard in becoming the “first family” of American figure skating. If Mara and Laurence could win in their events, it would mark the first time a parent and child had won the same title in the history of the sport.

      Mara and Dudley were the clear front-runners for the gold medal. As she walked around the Ice Palace, Mara seemed calm and relaxed. In fact, their pairs event generated little buzz at all compared to the ladies singles competition. When she walked the Broadmoor’s hallways with her sister, it was Laurence who drew the looks and the whispers of recognition. Laurence’s victory at the 1961 Nationals, however, was not assured by any stretch of the imagination. Her closest rival had just as many reasons to believe this was her year, too.

      Chapter Two

      As Stephanie Westerfeld walked through the Broadmoor Ice Palace, she felt right at home, down to the locker that belonged to her, to the concession stand workers who knew her name and greeted her like a favorite child. This was the rink where she had spent at least a third of every day for the last several years, and where she hoped to be crowned national champion.

      “Steffi” was seventeen, seven months older than Laurence Owen, and just as talented. She represented the Broadmoor Figure Skating Club—the host club for the National Championships—and despite Laurence’s considerable reputation, Steffi was a formidable challenger who many skating insiders felt was equally able to be America’s next ice queen.

      Where Laurence’s enthusiasm and energy were raw and unfettered, Steffi was the snapshot of grace and softness in everything she did. She had tremendous polish—never was there a hair out of place, and she was always neatly and conservatively dressed. She had the air of a debutante without seeming snobbish. She was somewhat shy, but still managed to be popular in school. She was a homecoming queen, a gifted pianist, and a straight-A student. She managed to excel at everything despite family upheaval that may have toppled a weaker person.

      Stephanie Westerfeld had high championship hopes in 1961.

      She was tiny—weighing only about a hundred pounds—and had a round, cherubic face with glowing pink cheeks and a dimpled chin. Her honey-brown hair was perfectly curled just under her ears, her short bangs drawing attention to her brown, deep-set eyes. She had a high voice—like something that you’d hear from a windup doll—a voice that, from all accounts, was never used to utter an unkind word to anyone. She was the girl in high school who had it all—the looks, the grades, the grace, and the musical and athletic ability. She was quite accomplished, yet modest and never full of herself, instead possessing a kind of angelic quality.

      The only demon she displayed was the one she’d unleash on herself. Steffi was, most of all, a perfectionist. Second place was considered failure in her eyes. Any grade lower than an “A” was not acceptable. Falling in a competition was cause for personal punishment. While skating gave her great joy, it could, in its frustrating moments, be her undoing. Perfection was the only key to Steffi’s happiness. Until she could attain it, she would not relax.

      Though friends called her an introvert, Steffi was becoming accustomed to star treatment. The local papers had written many stories about her successes on the ice. After a time, the papers stopped using her last name altogether, just calling her “Steffi.” This attention may well have caused some students who attended Cheyenne Mountain High School to resent her. The school contained a wide-ranging mélange of economic and social classes—a real mix of the “haves” and “have-nots.” Many of the students there skated at the Broadmoor Ice Palace—and because skating was so expensive, this gave the impression that the skaters were of the wealthier set. Many military families populated Colorado Springs, and some of the military children often felt like economic and social outcasts. Steffi never bought into the class system. Her focus on achieving her best in skating and all endeavors made it impossible to get caught up in the usual high school drama. She didn’t have time for it.

      Steffi’s delicate persona concealed a desire that burned hot within her—a desire to pursue the Olympic dream. Steffi’s dynamic mother, Myra, helped keep those dreams alive through her devotion to the sport and its role in her daughters’ lives. Like Maribel, Myra’s very existence revolved around her two daughters and their various skating pursuits. Steffi’s older sister, Sharon, eight years Steffi’s senior, had also pursued the Olympic dream, and fell short.