Moving Metal

RELIANCE RUN B ill Gimbel was an avid runner and took pride in his prowess. After a meeting in Santa Clara in 1970, Gimbel, then-Division Manager Joe Crider, and a young Sales Manager named Sorensen chatted about the running craze of the era and Sorensen claimed that he could run an exceptionally fast mile. “I bet you can’t,” Gimbel shot back. Letting his pride overcome his common sense, Sorensen countered, “I’ll bet I can.” Crider was not a runner and tried to stay out of it. But Gimbel drew him in. “I’ll tell you what,” he said, “Both of you go train for the next thirty days. I’ll train, too, and then come back to race both of you.” They accepted. Crider later recalled that he and Sorenson “trained like mad” over the next four weeks. When the appointed time came, they raced Gimbel at the local high school track. Even though Gimbel was by far the oldest of the three, according to Crider, “he whooped us bad.” But Gimbel was dissatisfied with his time. It was not as good as he would have liked. He resolved to do better next time but needed some motivation. Back at Reliance headquarters in Vernon, he announced an annual company track meet, both to share the benefits of running with his colleagues and to stir up some more competition. It was called the Reliance Run. The first Reliance Run was held in July 1971 and Gimbel won the “miler” easily in six minutes and twenty-two seconds. Seemingly,

no one in the company could beat him on the track, but Crider suspected that contestants were letting the boss win. He had taken up running since Gimbel’s initial challenge and was also a fierce competitor. Crider knew that he could not beat Gimbel himself but found another way to convince the rest of the runners to truly challenge him. He planted a ringer in the second annual mile race in 1972. His “new employee” was named Michiko “Miki” Gorman and she ran for the Los Angeles Athletic Club. However, she also happened to be the women’s world-record holder in the twenty-four-hour, 100-mile indoor marathon.

When the starter pistol fired, Gimbel dashed into the lead, but soon Gorman flew by and left him in the dust. She never looked back and beat him handily, finishing in six minutes and four seconds. A deflated Gimbel crossed the finish line thirteen seconds later. “I listened as she sailed past, but couldn’t hear a thing; no hard breathing, not even a swish,” Gimbel lamented after the race. The following year, Gimbel improved his time to five minutes and forty-one seconds, but he never forgot his public defeat by Miki Gorman, nor did he forgive Crider for setting him up. It was all in good fun, though, and the two often shared a laugh about it. Sometimes, Gimbel could not wait to get to a track when challenged. Crider later remembered that during one of his daily rounds through the warehouse, he stopped and chatted about his hobby with one of the foremen. The foreman asked, “How fast can you run?” Sensing an opportunity, Gimbel replied, “Oh, I don’t know.” The foreman then said, “I could outrun you.” Gimbel retorted, “I doubt that.” So they placed a bet, went outside, established start and finish lines, and then took off—Gimbel still wearing his suit and tie. The distance was about 150 yards, and Gimbel took an early lead. Near the finish line though, Gimbel tripped on his pants cuff and “fell flat on his face.” The foreman caught up and won. Gimbel got up, dusted off his suit, paid off the bet, and walked back to his office, laughing all the way.

Joe Crider ahead of Bill Gimbel in the third annual Reliance Run.

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