History's Youngest Heroes: Terry Fox’s Marathon of Hope

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Terry Fox woke up in a holiday inn.

He was in the city of St.

John's, Newfoundland.

He did 35 push-ups and 60 sit-ups before dressing in jeans and a ski jacket.

He came down early and was delighted with the breakfast that was offered.

French toast, hash browns, waffles.

Terry needed the energy.

That morning in April 1980, he set out to run across Canada.

Coast to coast, from the shores of the Atlantic Ocean to the edge of the Pacific.

He planned to run 5,300 miles across the second largest country in the world.

He aimed high, 30 to 40 miles a day, and he had run up to that in his year or so of training.

His hope was to arrive home at the end of October.

That was almost unheard of.

In fact, it was unheard of for a person to run a marathon a day.

Terry Fox was not an elite athlete.

He considered himself to be a fairly ordinary 21-year-old.

He was a young, handsome, articulate guy with curly hair, and he had a prosthetic leg, and this part was unusual.

When he was a teenager, Terry had developed an aggressive form of bone cancer.

Aged 18, he had to have his right leg amputated six inches above the knee.

He was just months out of chemotherapy treatment when he embarked on what he would call his marathon of hope.

The dream was to raise a million dollars for cancer research.

But the marathon of hope would have an even greater legacy.

Statues would be built in Terry's honor.

His image would appear on currency.

Soon, everyone in Canada would know his name.

He was an average kid.

But maybe an average kid who faced this incredible darkness, the loss of part of his identity and the loss of a limb.

When I'm running each day,

I take one day at a time.

When I'm running, I take one mile at a time, and I take one corner at a time.

I think of home a lot.

I think of running into Vancouver and running into

where I'm going to finish on the ocean.

And all you got to do is take another step and keep on going.

I'm Nicola Cochlin.

I'm for BBC Radio 4.

This is History's Youngest Heroes: Rebellion, Risk, and the Radical Power of Youth.

Terry Fox's Marathon of Hope.

I was a reporter at the Toronto Star for decades.

This is Leslie Scrivener.

And one of my very first assignments as a young reporter was to ask to follow Terry Fox.

The story would go on to define Scrivener's career.

One day, she would write Terry Fox's biography.

But on that morning of the 2nd of April 1980, the marathon of hope was off to a modest start.

When Terry Fox began his epic run across the nation, the weather was grey and overcast.

The Canadian broadcaster CBC sent a camera crew to film him.

In a symbolic gesture, he went to the edge of St.

John's, dipped his prosthetic foot in the water of the Atlantic, and filled up a bottle with Atlantic sea water.

The plan was that he would pour it into the Pacific Ocean upon completion of his six-month run.

From the sea, he ran to St.

John's City Hall, where he met the mayor and delivered a speech.

And from there, he just carried on.

He ran in shorts and insisted on making his prosthetic visible, which

perhaps in the contemporary context doesn't seem that exceptional, but in 1980 was really unusual and kind of radical.

Jenny Ellison is a historian who specializes in Canadian sport.

At that time in Canadian culture, many kept their disabilities hidden.

If you had lost a leg, if your leg had been amputated, you'd wear long trousers.

When Terry first started training, he was careful to conceal his prosthetic leg.

But as time went on, he kind of thought:

why hide this?

Why not,

to celebrate it is too much, but why not show the reality?

And his prosthetic leg at that time was an awkward device of a leg made of fiberglass and steel, a fiberglass bucket that

the stump of his leg fit in, and this contraption with leather straps to help him swing the leg back and forth.

To To suit his new physique, Terry adopted a unique running style.

It was so awkward he had to do two steps for every one swing of the artificial leg.

They called his gait the foxtrot.

Terry hoped that by going public in this way he might inspire people to donate to cancer research.

and anyone could turn out to see him running in his idiosyncratic way along the side of a highway.

His prosthetic limb not hidden, but on show.

And many did.

Running his fox trot, Terry's pace was only a little over average walking pace, but his determination and dedication was unwavering.

And that's what astonished those who saw him run.

He and his friend Doug Alward started out together in the van and they

would essentially set up media events, public events in the cities as they went calling ahead, You know, we've got Terry Fox coming.

He's running across the country to raise money for cancer research and, you know, local clubs like the Rotary Club or the Mayor, the Legion, the Lions Clubs would rally, try to rally people in the communities to bring him along.

For the most part though, Terry was alone as he ran 26 miles a day through the beautiful yet often brutal Canadian landscape.

Running across Newfoundland was an experience because I ran through in April and it's still winter in Newfoundland in April.

I went through running through snow about five or six times.

It was very cold.

In terms of weather that was one of the problems.

I'm

Terry's not so young younger brother Darryl Fox.

Terry Fox grew up with his parents, two brothers and a sister in Port Coquitlam, British Columbia.

I classify ourselves as a typical working-class family growing up,

but

we were never given anything.

We're all very competitive.

We don't take losing very well.

In fact, we don't like losing at all.

And that came from my dad.

My dad was an incredible competitor.

And we used to have,

you know, wrestling matches in the living room.

And it got violent.

It only ended when someone was crying, and that was usually me,

being the younger one.

Terry was small for his age, but that never stopped him when it came to sport.

Trying out for the basketball team was a pivotal moment for him.

After the first practice, Coach McGill came up to Terry and said, Terry, give it up.

You have no talent for this game whatsoever.

Every morning, Terry got up early to practice basketball before school.

As soon as the school day ended, he would practice again.

He practiced and he practiced and he practiced.

Made the team.

He didn't play a minute at any regular season game that first year, but he made the team.

And I think he learned a very valuable lesson during that period.

Do not believe what other people think or say about you.

Believe in yourself.

When Terry was 17, he was driving near his home.

He rear-ended someone,

but it wasn't a major accident, but he did complain of a sore right knee

going forward.

He assumed the pain in his knee was another sporting injury and ignored it.

But what happened was that pain got so bad and so intense that, you know, one morning when Terry was trying to get out of bed, that was it.

You know, he couldn't even put weight on his legs.

Terry's father took him to hospital, where doctors performed a series of tests and x-rays.

When the results came in, they asked him to call his mother and assemble his closest family and friends.

His little brother Daryl was just 13 at the time.

I remember that evening as if it were last night,

because it was

such a shock to

all of us, you know, that there were few words spoken by the doctor.

He simply walked in and said, Terry, you have...

bone cancer, you have osteogenic sarcoma, and because it's progressed

to the extent that it has, that we really need to perform a surgery within a week.

I still get emotional because I could see the emotion in that room.

We were all crying our eyes out, saying, this is so unfair.

Why is this happening to you?

You know, dad wanted to train you.

I remember him speaking about wanting to tray places.

Initially, Terry was silent.

But then I think he looked around and recognized, okay, you know, my family's not handling this very well.

Someone needs to be strong here.

And he decided that he would put up his hand

and be who he was up until that point.

And I remember what he said was, you know, I've always had to try my best to accomplish what I have to this age, to the age of 18.

I have no idea what cancer is.

I'd never heard of the word until a few minutes ago, but I can promise you I'm going to do my best to

beat this disease.

And it was important for him to protect all us all from the discomfort he was going through within a week terry's leg was amputated six inches above the knee next

he began 18 months of intense chemotherapy

terry turned 18 during treatment but his nurses and doctors thought it was best he stay in a children's ward rather than transferring to be among adults Terry wasn't prepared for what he called the grossities of cancer, the oversized swelling of a tumor on someone's neck, the fact that he would be in a four-bed ward

and

children would be vomiting around him,

children hearing from a doctor that they would have a 15% chance of living.

It was shattering

to see young people suffering, though he didn't much complain about his own.

It was

what he heard and observed.

These cries of pain,

waking up the next day and there would be silence.

That child had died.

He didn't really speak

much about what he was going through.

He didn't want, he didn't want sympathy.

He didn't like that word at all.

And he didn't want to be seen as being different or disabled.

And he was very good at that because I never saw Terry Fox as being an amputee.

He was more able-bodied than I'll ever be.

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By May 1980, Terry had been on the road for a month.

He'd navigated icy, rocky, and windswept terrain of Newfoundland and was entering Nova Scotia.

Every day was grueling.

He and his friend Doug Allward slept in a camper van.

They woke up at 4.30.

He would usually start running at 5.

He would run probably around 12, usually 12 miles in the mornings.

Terry got out of the van to run.

And then Doug would drive the van exactly one mile in front of Terry.

Terry's 12 miles took him up to 9 o'clock.

And that's when, after the second mile, Terry would take a short break.

He'd start the break by eating as much food as he possibly could.

Then he napped for a couple of hours.

14 or 16 miles would be the afternoon part.

He'd be lucky if he was in bed at 8.30, usually 9, sometimes closer to 10 o'clock, and then he'd be up again at 4.30 to do it all over again.

As exhaustion set in, Terry and Doug began to get in each other's nerves.

And this is the first time either of Doug and Terry had lived away from home.

So it didn't take long

on the road

when it became apparent that if someone else didn't join the Marathon of Hope, there might be a murder as part of the Marathon of Hope.

Terry's parents turned up to mediate between the young men.

Mom was able to get both of them to recognize

the situation they were in, which was

exceptionally stressful.

The other very good idea was to break up the tension between these two by introducing a third person, and this was Terry's young brother, Darryl.

And I got us out of school early, so I put up my hand.

I said, yes, I'm in.

After

reviewing the resume that I had and the skill set,

skills that I could offer, which were none,

I realized

I'm just going to hang out and be Terry's brother.

Terry's parents pressed him on another matter.

He was failing to show up to his regular hospital checkups.

But Terry said he knew his body best and wouldn't pause his running schedule for anything.

Despite all these setbacks, the marathon was beginning to build momentum.

As he gets past the first few weeks of the run, the Canadian Cancer Society realizes that he's serious and that this is happening and that

he's got something special.

And so they send a staff member out to start helping him.

Terry was becoming a press sensation.

Everywhere he ran, Canadians lined the streets to cheer him on.

And some ran beside him for a while.

Almost falling my eyes out watching him.

Makes you believe in the human race again.

He's an inspiration for everybody, and I'm a proud Canadian on this particular day.

When Terry crossed over into Ontario, they had

almost a festival welcome for him.

When he ran down University Avenue in Toronto, people rushed out onto the street.

And honestly, I saw women come out of hair salons with hair curlers still on.

And there were people with IV drips and there were

people wearing their medical scrubs and there were businessmen.

But the look on people's faces,

the way that he reached people

just by passing by.

When he entered Ottawa, Terry was greeted by the Canadian Prime Minister, Pierre Trudeau.

Everybody wanted a piece of Terry for obvious reasons.

And Terry wanted to say yes to everything.

And that was a difficult period for us because

it was all about raising more money.

But Terry also wanted

to continue to run.

Donations started to roll in.

Terry had hoped to raise a million dollars.

Soon, he raised the gold to $10 million.

Ultimately, it will be raised again to 24 million dollars.

One dollar for every Canadian.

Across the nation, radio and television stations broadcast Terry's speeches.

To me, the only important part about the publicity

is cancer can be beaten and the marathon of hope.

And I'm just one member of the marathon of hope.

I'm no different from anybody else.

I'm no better, I'm no lower, I'm equal with all of you.

And if I ever change the attitude myself, then there's no use in discontinuing.

Every time he spoke, even though he shared the same story, I was moved.

I was incredibly moved.

I was moved because, again, the words were real.

They were sincere.

He spoke from the heart.

Terry's mother, Betty Fox, was interviewed that summer.

Oh, he's going to make it.

He's in Toronto, and he's going to make it all the the way to the coast even now.

Yeah.

I really feel that he's going to make it.

He's really

for him.

He's got to make it.

That's how I'm as bad as he is now.

But really and truly,

I just feel he has to make it.

If he doesn't, he won't be happy at all.

On the 4th of August 1980, Terry reached the halfway point of his run.

the city of Sudbury.

He'd covered 2,250 miles on one leg.

The Canadian Cancer Society was receiving donations faster than its workers could count.

Yet the run was taking a toll on Terry personally.

As he ran north into what we call cottage country,

where people have lots of lovely summer houses on lakes, it was noted that he was bleeding from his

stump into

this

bucket.

and there's blood on his shorts.

It's a terrible thing to see.

You know, journalists were sent up to talk to him and he said, oh, if I had to stop for every time I had a little blood on my shorts, I wouldn't have gotten anywhere.

On the side of the van, we had

a billboard that listed the number of miles that Terry had ran.

and the number of miles he still had left to go.

And he became really obsessed with

those distances.

And if I made a mistake, I would hear about it.

But it really became an issue

during this two weeks prior to Thunder Bay, where he seemed to be really focused on mileage and how far he had yet to get home.

It just didn't seem...

It seemed to be too early.

you know, when there's, he still had four provinces to cover and over 2,000 miles, and yet he's focused on every last mile.

Terry was approaching Thunder Bay on the north shore of Lake Ontario when, on the 1st of September 1980, he awoke with a pain in his chest.

Usually, he ran through any discomfort.

But this time, the pain in his chest intensified, as did that dry cough that had been troubling him for some weeks before.

But he was on the highway,

and there were people ahead waiting for him

and he couldn't not run

because they were waiting for him.

So he ran and he ran until he ran out of people.

And then he said to Doug,

something's wrong.

I've got to go now.

And they thought, oh, go rest.

And he said, no,

it's not.

my

leg.

It's not my ankle.

I've got to go to hospital.

And I pulled up after what I thought was a routine water break, and

Terry wasn't there.

This was unusual for Daryl.

At any given moment, he knew where Terry was.

All of a sudden, he had just disappeared.

They took him to the hospital in Thunder Bay, and

I think he said, it's not cancer, is it?

Devastatingly, it was.

He had two large tumors in his chest.

He looked crushed to me.

He looked

as if the world had

fallen away.

It was

crushing for me as it was for most Canadians.

This was not the way his story was to end.

And I arrived there at the hospital,

it had already been confirmed that the cancer was back.

And it just seemed like, what I remember, it just seemed like deja vu.

It was March 3rd, 1977, all over again.

Where here I was not handling this news that Terry received, and it was Terry that was talking about this: this is

happening for a reason.

This is going to give more meaning and purpose to what I've just accomplished.

There's a really heartbreaking footage of him telling Canadians that he can't finish the run.

We got to go home and try and eat some more treatment.

But.

all I can say is that if there's any way I can get out there again and finish it, I will.

It wasn't just individually heartbreaking.

It was kind of collectively heartbreaking.

People were weeping, publicly weeping.

One of our own had been struck down.

This fabulously healthy.

beautiful young man, you know,

he became a carrier of our

and our hopes, the best we could be.

The tumors in Terry's chest were inoperable.

Over the months that followed, he underwent intensive chemotherapy.

The combination of drugs left his body battered and exhausted.

Soon he was unable to run, even to walk.

From his hospital bed, Terry watched as a national telethon was set up for his cause.

John Denver sang.

So did Elton John.

Terry's going to go take care of his health.

And now it's up to the rest of us.

That's the discourse.

It's up to the rest of us.

Let's raise the funds.

And they do so really quickly.

Despite the chemotherapy and experimental treatment with interferons,

Terry did not recover.

He died on the 28th of June, 1981.

He was just 22 years old.

I still,

you know, as I'm sharing here, I still struggle with it because I thought I actually, even up until when Terry passed away, I thought he was invincible.

When Terry passed away,

it's not something I ever

thought would happen.

And he lived, you know, Terry was diagnosed on September 1st, 1980.

He didn't die until June 28th of the following year.

He lived, you know, a long time with stage four cancer in his lungs.

He had the size, in one of his lungs, he had a tumor the size of a golf ball.

In the other tumor, it was the size of a lemon.

And he had run 26 miles the day before.

I know I'm really too close to it, but I've never seen anyone who has

the drive and determination of Terry Fox.

And I'm blessed that I was able to be around him and be his brother.

I have thought for 43 years, did he know

that

he would be in the end doomed, that he would lose his life?

And is that what drove him across the country, knowing that he had to achieve this outstanding, outstanding goal

before he died?

I have no way of knowing that,

but it does haunt me.

He was prepared i think to make the ultimate sacrifice and i think maybe within which he never shared i think he recognized that that this may not end well for me

but that's fine and that that is really a definition of of hero i think

you know it is

Terry was mourned across the nation.

The House of Commons in Canada adjourned, the politicians went out, the flag was lowered, and there was a period of national mourning to an extent.

And so it became a shared experience, and shared experiences are really powerful in terms of connecting people, or at least creating an imagined connection to people in a really large, geographically large and dispersed country like Canada.

A memorial room was set up in Terry's name.

This will become an annual event across the world, continuing to raise money for Terry's cause.

People credit Terry Fox now with kind of inspiring the kind of charity-run model

and the sort of spectacle-run model where you do

some sort of physical achievement and raise funds for charities.

To date, the Terry Fox Foundation has raised $850 million for cancer research.

Where I always focus, maybe not surprising, is Terry's form of cancer, osteosarcoma.

30 to 50% chance back in, you know, the 1977 to 1980.

If he were diagnosed today, the chances of surviving, even though it was a very rare form of cancer Terry had, is close to 80 percent.

There's a good chance he never would have lost his leg to cancer, he wouldn't have had the amputation.

So that's powerful, right?

I can't, again, I can't change history and you know how

it has an effect on me emotionally, but that's confirmation that our investment is saving lives.

That keeps me going.

History's Youngest Heroes is a BBC Studios audio production for BBC Radio 4 and BBC Sounds.

It's narrated by me, Nicola Cochlin.

This series was written by Alex Bronthunselman.

The series producer is Suniti Samaya.

The assistant producer is Lorna Reader.

Melvin Rickerby is the edit producer.

Elena Puatang is the producer of episode 6 and the assistant producer of episode 1.

Episode 5 is produced by Lorna Reader.

Additional research and production from Faeda Jailer and Alexandra Mason.

The executive producer and editor is Paul Smith.

Fact checking by Caitlin Wraith.

Additional fact checking from Lena Zlock.

Anya Saunders is the development executive.

Our theme is composed by Jeremy Wormsley.

The mix engineer is Arlie Adlington.

Elena Puateng is the production manager.

Juliette Harvey is the production coordinator.

Lucy Bannister is the unit manager.

And Laura Jordan Rowell is the production executive.

Legal and Business Affairs from Ed Murdoch.

The Editorial Policy Advisor is Sarah Nelson.

The Commissioner for BBC Radio 4 and BBC Sounds is Rayan Roberts.

The Assistant Commissioner is Abigail Willer.

Archive from BBC Archive, Universal Studios Licensing and the Terry Fox Foundation.

Thanks to Bina Katani, Richard Knight, Philip Sellers, Selena Dunel, Greg Steiger, Juliet Martin, Kate Gray, and Molly Milton.

Hi everyone.

Hey, that's Marianna Spring.

I'm Sarah Smith and we are a couple of the hosts of America.

And right now, as you might imagine, it's not very quiet over in Podcast HQ.

We've been keeping ourselves very busy.

Yeah, because the two of us, along with Justin Webb and Anthony Zerker, are now getting together a few times a week as we chat through trying to untangle all the twists and turns and developments in the US presidential election.

And it would be fair to say there have been quite a lot of twists and turns already.

We've also been chatting a lot about what happens on social media, my favourite topic.

If you're interested in US politics, you want to understand what is going on, then I think you might really like our podcast.

Which is simply called AmeriCast.

You can listen to it on BBC Sounds.

Until then, we'll see you later.

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