Ed Wiberg (l) and Bobby Crim celebrate the 1981 running of the Crim 10 mile.
I was driving on Longway Boulevard, heading toward downtown Flint for the Crim races, when I had to stop at that light ... you know, the one by Mott College where the Crim used to start? Standing there in the traffic island was a white-haired man. He was wearing a Crim race shirt from 1978 and polyester running shorts.

I couldn't believe my eyes; the guy looked exactly like Ed Wiberg.* He was jumping, waving his arms and screaming to get my attention. I rolled down my window.

"Where is everybody?" he yelled.

"Mister, you looked lost." Deranged, I wanted to say.

"The Crim is s'posta to be today," he said.

"Well yeah, but it doesn't start here. It hasn't started here in years." I felt bad for the old guy; he was obviously suffering from Alzheimer's.

"Can you take me to the start? I gotta get to the start!" he said franticly.

"Sure. I'll take you to the start. Hop in." I was going to take him somewhere, all right ... Hurley Hospital psycho ward.

"You look like a guy I used to know. What's your name?" I asked.

"I'm Ed Wiberg, back to run my last Crim," he stated.

"You're a dead ringer for him for sure, but Eddie Wiberg ran his last Crim more than 20 years ago. If you're him, I'm dreaming or you're a ghost."

"You're neither. Just before I died, I sold my soul to the Devil with the agreement I could run the Crim one more time."

"That sounds like something Ed would do," I mumbled to myself.

As we passed Farmer's Market and crossed the Flint River, he continued, "But the Devil can't be trusted; he's the Devil, I tell ya. After I signed on the dotted line, he pointed out the clause where he got to pick which Crim I ran.

"I've been in Hell over 20 years," he began sobbing. "Now he picks this Crim and doesn't even tell me where the start is. You know what's the worst part of being in Hell? They don't let you run!

"I told the Devil that now I was in no shape to run 10 miles. He just laughed and said, 'You can die trying ... oh wait, ha ha, you're already dead! But I'll tell you what, since you've been here 20 years, if you can complete the entire Crim I will tear up our contract.' So you see I have hell to lose for trying."

As we neared Saginaw Street, I had to decide: Do I continue to the hospital, or turn and take him to the start? I pull into the Rally's parking lot at the corner.

"Well, I half believe you. I remember Ed Wiberg, and if you aren't him you're his clone."

"I'm no clown. I'm dead serious. I'm the real thing. C'mon, where do we start?"

"It starts and finishes downtown. Much of the course is the same; just follow the blue line."

"The blue line? What's that?" he asked.

"It right there," I said, pointing to the street. "They started painting it after 1989, the year the lead vehicle missed the turn onto Chicago Avenue and almost cost Kathy O'Brien a national record."

"I don't know who she is. Let's worry about me."

With the importance of this race to him, I could see why he didn't care about the elite runners. But then he asked, "Who won last year?"

"I can't remember," I said. "Some Kenyan."

"Steve Kenyon! He won it twice in my day. Don't tell me that S.O.B. is still winning it!"

"No, no, this guy's from Kenya, the country. The winners are almost always from Africa."

"How big is the race now?"

"That depends on which race you're talking about."

"I'm talking about the Crim, fool! What other race have we been talking about?"

"Well if you say THE CRIM, you mean the 10-miler. But there's an 8K, 5K, 1-mile ... there are walks and toddler races ... man, there's all kinds of races."

"They went and wrecked it. With that many races, the 10-miler must have dwindled."

"I thought the same thing when they started adding in '87, but the 10- miler is still the premier event. Last year we had out biggest field, over 6,500 finishers."

"Holy bejesus, we only were getting 2,000 before I croaked!"

"Now it's called The Crim Festival of Races and there's more than 14,000 participants. It's still the biggest racing event in Michigan. Guess what CRIM stands for?"

"It stands for my friend Bobby Crim, of course, the man who created the race. Is he still around? Will I see him?"

"Yeah. he's still around. He's your age now and running as well as you did, around 85 minutes for 10 miles."

"Oh, I did better than that! I ran 81 minutes when I was 71. But I won't keep up with him today; I'm so out of shape."

"But I was going to say CRIM also stands for Coolest Race In Michigan. But not to worry, Bobby won't be forgotten, nor will Lois Craig and the original reason for the Crim: Michigan Special Olympics. The oldtimers like myself will make sure of that.

"What's cool is the many things Crim means now besides a 10-mile race," I continued. "There's a Crim office that is open downtown year- round, not to mention the Crim training program for walkers and runners, Crim running clubs for kids and teens, and the Crim Kids Classic ...

"Why, the name Crim has become synonymous with fitness, not just in Genesee County but throughout Michigan, and it's spreading further. Now that's cool, Don'tcha think?"

"I don't know anything about cool. I never was cool. C'mon man, take me downtown. I gotta enter still; I don't wanna miss the start." He sounded cantankerous with his ME-ME-ME attitude; yep this was the real Wiberg.

"This is probably the best parking place we'll get at this time," I said. "Let's walk to the Character Inn ... that's the Hyatt Regency to you. That's where you can sign up and get your chip."

"My chip?"

"I'd explain, but you wouldn't believe me. Let's just say you won't be getting a Popsicle stick at the finish line."

We arrived downtown and Ed could not believe all the people. At first he turned only a few heads. One head at the starting line had two eyes popping out. "Hey, John Gault!" Ed yelled. "I wanna start up front."

"Listen, you old coot," said John. "Even if you are who you look like, you're not getting anywhere near the front."

"Listen here, John: This isn't your race; today it is mine!" Ed barked.

I was starting to think I'd made a big mistake bringing him downtown, but soon people who remembered Ed started gathering. Moments later we were standing with Bobby Crim, Mark Bauman, Lois Craig and more than 20 other oldtimers. He repeated his story that seemed like BS, but they bought it, the same as I did; we wanted to believe.

Race director Deb Kiertzner took Ed to the emcee's platform. They climbed to where Crim CEO Gerry Myers was speaking. Debbie took the mike from him and spoke, "CAN I HAVE EVERYONE'S ATTENTION ..."

It took a while, but before the race started everyone had heard Ed's story and knew why he had to finish. He had the support of 20,000 people. A block and a half away a voice was heard, "Hell no, he won't go!" The chant caught on; with each repetition it doubled in voices. It began reverberating off the walls of the Character Inn, Citizens Bank and University Pavilion.

It took the elite runners longer to catch on. They talked among each other, then too began chanting, "Hell no, he won't go!" in many accents.

Ed climbed down from the platform and into the crowd. As he moved to the front, runners gave him a berth and applauded rhythmically. As he toed the starting line, he looked directly at Gault's stern face. John cracked a smile, shook his head and joined the chanting, "Hell no, he won't go!"

The race started. The Kenyans left Eddie in their dust. The field began passing him by the hundreds. It was a wonder he was not pushed to the pavement with everyone slapping him on the back.

I caught Ed myself at the first mile; his pace was 10:30. I told him, "Ed, slow down. Take a walk break; it's the only way you will make it."

"Are you crazy?" he griped. "I'm a runner. Runners don't walk."

"It's OK, Ed. I haven't quite kicked that purist attitude myself, but remember what's at stake. You can do this if you use the Galloway Method."

"Galloway, Schmalloway, I ain't walking. Who is Galloway, anyway?"

"Jeff Galloway. You remember the Olympic runner? He takes walk breaks now."

"Well, I'm no better than an Olympic runner. Hmm, walking does sound tempting now."

"Hell, I'm telling you, it's the only way you'll make it ... I mean, it's the only way you won't make it back ... to Hell. You'll be in good company. Today hundreds of people will walk and run. The Galloway Method is the reason for the second running boom."

So Ed began walking. More and more people were matching his pace. By three miles he had a crowd surrounding him, all running two minutes, then walking two. Spectators on the course were uninformed as to what was going on, but knew something special was happening and cheered loudly.

By six miles Ed had an army of believers staying with him. When the horde turned onto Miller near the eight-mile mark, no runners were visible ahead. They had either slowed down to run/walk with Ed, or continued onward. At the finish line, fewer finishers were seen until only a trickle was coming in.

Scott Hubbard, manning the P.A., was the first to realize what was happening. "Folks, the rest of the field is out there helping Ed Wiberg," he declared.

That nearly caused a stampede, as hundreds of people downtown headed back towards Court Street. They found Eddie's Army near the White Horse Tavern and again started up the chant, "Hell no, he won't go!"

The multitude made the turn onto Saginaw Street. A block later, it was Ed who hit the bricks first, starting his last run interval. Everyone else marched behind him with fists in the air. "Stick it to the Devil, Ed!" I shouted.

Ed crossed the finish line, fell down, kissed the bricks and stopped breathing. John Gault, the first one to him, shouted "Ed, you can't stop there! Keep moving!"

Dr. Dan Walter, the closest medical person to him, touched Ed's face, which was cold as clay. "Eddie's dead," he said.

Nobody was saddened, for Eddie had won his race. His last victory was over. Many continued to congratulate the corpse, "You did it, Ed. You beat the Devil."

When finish-line officials tried to move his body, it predictably disappeared.

* Ed Wiberg, considered by many Crim's first legend, ran the first Crim in 1977 in white dress shoes with platform heels. He was nearly 70 at the time. When he crossed the finish line of his first road race in the 90 degrees heat, people shook their heads in disbelief. Ed continued running the Crim into the 1980s. At his funeral, a large group of friends ran behind the hearse, carrying Ed's body from the funeral home to his grave. His pallbearers were Riverbend Striders in running clothes. MR