Frozen in Time. Nikki Nichols
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did not particularly enjoy competing. She thought that maybe someday she could get a job with one of the big touring companies. She stayed close to the rink through college, even coaching part time.
Steffi’s skating, meanwhile, was improving beyond anyone’s wildest expectations. She passed her gold freestyle test—the “final exam” that allows a skater to compete at the senior level nationally. She was one of the hardest workers anyone at the Broadmoor had ever seen. At 4:30 a.m., she rose from sleep, went to the rink, and practiced for three hours until it was time for school. She immediately returned to the rink after school and spent another two to three hours practicing. From there, she went home, ate dinner, practiced piano, and did her homework. If she was lucky, she might have enough energy left to attend a school dance or see a movie. But that kind of luck was rare. With the 1961 U.S. Nationals looming in the distance, Steffi could not afford to relax and give up any training time. With her mother always at her side, it would have been difficult to slow the pace.
Stephanie and mother Myra Westerfeld.
For several years now, Steffi had been living without a father figure in the house. More and more, she looked at coach Edi Scholdan as the predominant male influence in her life. He believed in her. She respected him. She relied on this relationship even more when life took a sour turn.
About a year before the 1961 Nationals, Otto stopped sending those vital checks. Myra inquired, but Otto could never give a straight answer. If Myra suspected he was having an affair, she certainly did not humiliate herself by mentioning it publicly. With no money coming in at the most critical time in Steffi’s burgeoning career, the Broadmoor Figure Skating Club pitched in to pay for Steffi’s ice time and lessons. Edi would sometimes instruct her for free. To pay for Steffi’s training and other family expenses, Sherri, now a college graduate, took a job at a local jewelry store. Sherri had aspired to be a choreographer with the Ice Capades, but she put her own dreams on hold to help her sister.
Myra, accustomed to being affluent and comfortable, suddenly found herself taking handouts—from her own daughter and from anyone else who sympathized with their sudden plight. This humbled her, and made her even more dependent on her daughters for both emotional and financial stability. Somehow, Steffi had to block out the lingering questions about her parents and the embarrassment over finances to train for her big moment, just months away. Even small distractions can translate into dangerous mistakes on the ice, so her unraveling family fortune had terrible potential to interfere with her training.
Finally, Otto Westerfeld announced he was divorcing Myra and marrying another woman—a much younger woman, barely older than twenty-four-year-old Sherri. Though the Westerfelds had physically lived apart for several years now, the stigma of divorce was hard to swallow for them. In that era, divorce rates were low, largely because of gender roles that required women to simply accept whatever their husbands decided. Myra’s largest sphere of influence centered on her daughters and their skating. With her marriage ending, her last chance to succeed at anything depended on Steffi. The pressure must have been suffocating, but Steffi remained composed and mature throughout the ordeal, although she did occasionally show the depth of her feelings, usually by confiding in her older sister.
Steffi (left) and Sharon Westerfeld in 1960.
It is not clear when Otto began romancing the younger woman. Regardless, it seemed that there had always been three members of the Westerfeld marriage. Skating was the mistress, its seductive lure of future glory pulling the Westerfeld family apart at its once-solid foundation.
Otto’s role in Sherri and Steffi’s lives declined sharply after the divorce proceedings began. Sherri felt especially betrayed, and a rift developed. It was during these trying times that Sherri’s life took an interesting turn. She married her boss at the jewelry store, an Italian immigrant named Roberto Agnolini. As far as family and friends knew, there had been no courtship, no developing romance. Differing accounts exist as to the nature of this marriage, which seems to have been done to secure Agnolini’s ability to stay and work in the United States. Sherri never moved in with her husband, and there is some question about whether Myra or Steffi even knew about the marriage. Sherri may have kept it a secret, particularly from Myra.
Steffi, meanwhile, through her loyalty to her father and desperate need of his approval, found herself caught between two battling parents. Making the situation even worse, Myra began to blurt out hateful things about Otto at the rink. This new and very public disdain for Otto, combined with Myra’s constant vigil over and commentary about her skating, annoyed Steffi, who by nature was both a private person and one who set very high standards for herself. Arguments between the teenager and her mother grew more frequent. Sherri, always ready with a cheerful phrase to encourage her sister, was the mediator in these arguments. Sherri was the calming influence in Steffi’s life, and the two sisters, though eight years apart in age, grew closer through the turmoil.
Steffi found solace on the ice, where younger pupils often followed her around asking, “How do you do such lovely tricks?” Edi had to remind the youngsters that Steffi needed time for her own practice.
One bright spot during these painful times was the presence of a new family pet. The Westerfeld women named the black French poodle “Seric,” which was short for “Sir Eric of Broadmoor.” Myra and Sherri kept the dog with them at the rink sometimes, and he became the Broadmoor’s unofficial mascot.
The Westerfelds had one last shot to make it to the World Championships and the Olympics. Steffi’s success would validate the enormous sacrifices that had been made and show that they had been, in the end, worth making. Yes, the 1961 Nationals were three full years away from the next Olympics, but following any Olympic year, there is always great anticipation about who will fill the shoes of former champions. The top performers, including Steffi and Laurence, were eager to stand out in a mostly unknown competitive field and to fill the places left open by those who had moved on from the sport.
Steffi and Laurence both did the same jumps and spins, but they had vastly different styles. Steffi’s skating was perhaps more pure than Laurence’s emotionally nuanced routines. Steffi had a gentle style that had a universal appeal. On the ice, she was like a Monet painting—soft lines, gentle shades, an airiness. Laurence, on the other hand, was like a Picasso—bold, unpredictable patterns, strong colors, very abstract. The skating purists of the world likely would have found Steffi more pleasing to watch, but Laurence skated with such remarkable panache she captivated an audience.
The stage was set for a dramatic showdown between dozens of competitors, but the stakes seemed highest for two families, the Owens and Westerfelds, whose members, in many ways, were mirror images of each other. Devoted, driven, and dynamic single mothers far ahead of their time, set out on a daunting, lifelong quest to achieve the best result for their overachieving daughters in the face of family tragedy. The elder daughters, often the mediators in their frenetic worlds, set the pace in skating, but never reached the skill level of the younger siblings, on whose shoulders the most thrilling golden hopes rested. On January 25, 1961, the lives of these women would be forever changed as they pursued what only one could have—the gold medal, and the royal title of America’s new ice queen.
Chapter Four
Athletes from around the globe descended on the small, snowy mountain enclave of Lake Placid, New York, population four thousand. The year was 1932, and the occasion was the very first Olympic Games to take place on United States soil.
Maribel Vinson, America’s reigning ice queen, had been training for this moment since she was a little girl. She possessed a mastery of school figures, sure and steady jumps, elegant spins, and speed. Maribel also had a nemesis—Sonja Henie. “She already has one Olympic gold medal,” Maribel must have thought impatiently. “Why is she going for a second?”
Lake Placid Olympic organizers were eager to