All-American joy

Immigrant Lenny Krayzelburg shines in the backstroke for the U.S. and Ukraine.

SHELTON
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By GARY SHELTON

SYDNEY, Australia -- This is the way an American looks -- triumphant.

Lenny Krayzelburg floated in the pool, his fists high above his head, his face pure with the realization of accomplishment. For a moment, at least, the pressure he has lived under for most of his life evaporated. Soon, they would hang a large gold medallion around his neck for winning the 100-meter backstroke.

And so Krayzelburg placed both hands on his head in a mixture of ecstasy and relief, and he pointed acknowledgements to his teammates, and he searched the stands for a familiar face.

This is the way an American looks -- exultant.

The small woman in the silly hat could not stand still. Yalena Krayzelburg, the self-proclaimed happiest mother in the world, kept hopping. Still, the little plastic hat stayed firm. It was red, white and blue, of course, complete with stars and stripes. Her shirt was red, white and blue. The flag in her hands, too.

"Finally, our dreams have come true," she said to the man next to her.

This is the way an American looks -- jubilant.

He is a solemn man by nature, demanding and unapologetic. Most days, you can see the Ukraine winters in the face of Oleg Krayzelburg. But this day was different. This was the grandest day of them all, the day his son found out why he had been so unrelenting all those other days. This day, his smile was there for all the world to see.

"We can go home now," he told his wife.

Oleg spoke in Russian, by the way, because sometimes that is the way an American sounds. And therein lies the lesson of the gold around the neck of Lenny Krayzelburg: Americans look all sorts of ways and sound all of sorts of ways. But the easiest thing in the world to translate is a dream.

He is American, and he is Ukrainian, and he is Jewish. The gold-manufacturing business that is Lenny Krayzelburg is multinational. Don't worry. There is plenty for everyone.

"I guess," Krayzelburg said, smiling, "that I'm a part of everything."

Who knew the Ukraine was only 100 meters from the United States? For Krayzelburg, that was the distance between his new country and his old, between the start of his career and the climax.

He was born in Odessa, in the Ukraine. It was there his skills in the pool first became evident. Still, he was a Soviet Jew, and there were difficulties. His father feared that when he became of age, he, too, could be sent to war in a place such as Afghanistan. So in 1989, Oleg Krayzelburg decided he would leave.

"It was very difficult," Yalena said, her English fractured, her accent heavy. "We had no money. We had nothing. We were in a new country, with a new language."

Oleg Krayzelburg was the same, however. His was a strong hand, the kind of hand that often pushes kids too hard, too far. It is hard to feel comfortable when Lenny talks of the pressure his father placed on him. This time, however, it seems to have worked.

When Lenny was 14, he had had enough of the hour-long trip to swimming practice. He was out of shape, and his days of excellence were behind him. His high school didn't even have a swimming team. So he wanted to quit. No, his father told him. You will continue.

"For about three years, I basically swam to keep my father happy," Krayzelburg said. "I was upset. I wasn't enjoying it. At 14, you don't know what you want to do with your life. You are going through the motions, basically."

Krayzelburg's love of the sport returned, coincidentally, when the results did. That was after he walked on at a community college. The coach knew he was seeing something special. Monday, the rest of the world found that out.

Krayzelburg does not apologize for being Ukrainian. Too many times we seem to ask immigrants to assure us how much better it is being in our country than in their old one. But Krayzelburg is proud of his duality.

"Part of this medal belongs to Russia," Krayzelburg said. "Growing up in Russia, in the Soviet system and Communism, made me the person, the athlete, I am today. You fall in love with the American lifestyle, but if you grow up in a Russian home, you don't become the everyday American kid."

On the other hand, what is an everyday American kid? Most of us come from somewhere else, after all. The beauty of the United States is this: You can look at any competitor, in any event, and that athlete could be from the United States. A transplanted Ukrainian finding success in our country? Is that rare, really?

"Everybody likes my son," Yalena said.

"I feel like I have been born again," Oleg said.

You wonder. What if Oleg had stayed in the Ukraine? What if Lenny had walked away at 14? What if his skills had atrophied in those years when his training was haphazard? Would a night such as this have been possible?

"This is better than anything I've done," Krayzelburg said. "You are measured in this sport whether you have a gold medal, and I have one. It is such a relief."

For Krayzelburg, it is a telling statement. He seemed more relieved than joyous because the Olympics are capable of doing cruel things to world record holders. Moments before Krayzelburg walked onto the pool deck, Australia's seemingly unbeatable Ian Thorpe finished second. If Thorpe could fall, why not Krayzelburg?

"I'm not going to lie and say losing didn't enter my mind," he said. "I couldn't believe how nervous I was."

This was the payoff, he said. There had been so much pressure on him. The gratitude he felt toward his father for providing direction. The knowledge of the sacrifice his parents made to come to America.

"That's how life is," Krayzelburg said. "Sometimes you get a good break, or the cards turn your way, and you have to take advantage of it. You see the results right here."

From time to time as Krayzelburg spoke, his fingertips slide across the rough surface of the medal around his neck. Every now and then, he glanced down at it, seeing the light glint off the gold. And he smiled again.

This is the way an American looks -- complete.