On the plaque: A walk-on turned two-time captain, he coxed Penn boats to three consecutive IRA National Regatta victories and two Eastern Sprints titles. As an undergrad he was a member of the U.S. National Rowing team, and after Penn he won gold with the U.S. Men's Eights at the 1979 Pan Am Games and was a member of the 1980 Olympic Team that boycotted the Moscow Games. A member of the U.S. Rowing Hall of Fame, he remains active in the sport at many levels including serving on the Board of Directors for the National Rowing Foundation.
Almost everyone has a story to tell, with some being better than most. Then there are those fortunate few who can really share A STORY.
Count John Chatzky among them.
In his case, it merely changed everything. That was nearly four and a half decades ago. Yet even today, the circumstances remain just as compelling.
Because sometimes, you really don't know how the rest of the journey is going to unfold.
So here goes, pretty much in his words. Time has only enhanced the details. Good for him. And us.
It started on his first day at the University of Pennsylvania, fall of 1974. He was basically minding his own business, trying to get a feel for the place.
He had no idea what was about to happen.
"I was born and raised in Scarsdale (N.Y.), and when I walked onto campus I didn't even know rowing existed," remembered Chatzky, who would soon find out in a momentous way. "It's all true. I was walking around the Quad, they're playing Frisbee, the music's blasting. And there's recruiting booths up for the Daily Pennsylvanian and the Penn Glee Club. You know, all that other stuff.
"Some big guy came up to me, looked me dead in the eye and said, 'How much do you weigh?' I'm like, 'What are you talking about?' He said, 'We have a great sport here. Rowing. And we need coxswains. The only requirement is that you be light. There's no skill. No talent. Nothing. How much do you weigh?' That was his pitch.
"I tried to shake his hand and was just inclined to walk away. But he picked me up, threw me over his shoulder with my face close to the ground. And he carried me over to the head rowing coach (Ted Nash). He flipped me over and said, 'This kid wants to come out for the team.' So Ted says, 'What's your name?' I said, 'John.' And I don't know what's going on.
"I still have no idea who the other kid was. Probably a senior who was just looking for small freshmen. Ted nearly broke my hand when he shook it. He said, 'Welcome aboard.' But I had no desire to join an athletic sport my first day at Penn."
Probably not the way most future Olympians begin their careers. And of course it only gets better.
"I just wanted to concentrate on school," Chatzky, who's better known as Chatz, continued. "I didn't know how hard the work was going to be. So I told Ted, 'Don't call me. I'll call you.' Before I left he asked me for my dorm address. I gave it to him.
"The first semester, I did really well with my grades but I was homesick. One day I went to open up my tiny little mailbox, and there's this envelope that's all folded up because that's the only way it could fit in. It was this giant manila envelope. And on the corner it said, 'Pennsylvania Department of Athletics.' Inside, (Nash) had got my transcripts and circled the grades. And he sent me a handwritten note that read: 'Looks like your studies are in order.' Because that's the excuse I had given to him. He wanted me to come see him."
Later that spring, Clatzky finally did.
"I just had to work up the courage to go to his office in Weightman Hall," he said. "I walk in, and the wall is filled with pictures of people with USA crests on. And I said to him, 'Who's in those pictures?' And they were Penn undergrads or graduates who had made it to a U.S. Olympic team.
"I said, 'I want to be on that wall.' And I'd never been in a boat. He looked right at me and says, 'If you want to be on that wall you will be.' And I'm laughing. Because I knew nothing. 'How can you sit here in our first meeting and tell me that?' He said, 'Anyone who looks at the pictures on that wall and has the reaction you had has what it takes to be an Olympian.' "
Some five years later, he was, even if he never went to compete because of our country's boycott of the 1980 Summer Games in Moscow. It still rates as an singularly unique journey. Not that it stopped there. Chatzky's connection to the sport has spanned a lifetime. And what he did at Penn (and probably beyond) has earned him a spot in the Penn Athletics Hall of Fame Class XI.
Who could have ever foreseen all this?
"I think there's only a few (coxswains) in there, and the program's been around for over 100 years," said Chatzky, a father of three (he also has two stepdaughters) who's a lawyer living in West Chester County, about 45 minutes north of Manhattan. "In rowing, you have a lifelong connection with anyone you raced with, or even against. You have yourselves. That's the kind of sport it is. You're not going to get a color photo in Sports Illustrated. Nobody knows who you are. The ratio of practice time to racing time is nuts. You train all year for about ten six-minute races. That's it. And it means everything."
He was in the American boat that competed in the lightweight men's eight world championship in 1977 in Amsterdam. The following two years, he was part of a gold-medal effort at the Pan Am Games. And in 1980 he made the U.S. team that would win the Grand Challenge Cup at the Henley Royal Regatta in England. But he never got a chance to go to the Olympics, because of the U.S. protest of the Soviet Union's war with Afghanistan.
With a majority of that lineup intact, they won or medaled almost every year from 1980-2016 at the Head of the Charles Regatta in Massachusetts, including the categories of Masters (40-plus), Senior Masters (50-plus) and Veteran Seniors (60-plus).
Still, not going to the Olympics is something that took him a long time to get past.
"I was 22, I really didn't understand at first what was happening," he said. "We always thought it would just work itself out. Then they took away our passports, told us not to even think about trying to go. It was devastating. But like I say now, if the worst thing that happened to me was not going to the Olympics, then isn't this a blessed life I've had?
"We were one of the two fastest boats in the world. It was us and the East Germans out there. Nobody was close. We could have been on the podium. In 1984 and '88 I couldn't watch it on TV. It was too hard. In 2004, we won the gold after about a 40-year absence, and I could actually be happy for those guys. It takes some time."
Nash doesn't do interviews any more. But he did respond to an email and had this to pass on about his one-time carry-on.
"John was an exceptional leader," he wrote. "He has been a true benefactor to both Penn and US Rowing. He is generous with his time, money, experience, encouragement and expertise in both rowing and business. And he gives it all with a huge smile and positive attitude.
"I am very proud of him and his many accomplishments over the years. He is well deserving of this honor."
A large part of what drives Chatzky is giving back. Or paying forward, if you will. He works directly with many young Olympic hopefuls, including every one of those trying to make it to Tokyo next year.
"I tell them, 'If you have the opportunity in your life to pursue that dream, you go for it.' After one of the teams won a gold, they sent me a picture of them on the podium. It said thank you. That's all it said."
Toward that end, he's also invested in a start-up company designed to help people in the rowing community with their business ventures. And he recycles any after-tax profits back into the effort. Because he can, and he wants to.
"I'm OK," he said. "I'm in a position where I can do things. I'm very active. And I'm crazy, over the edge. I'm the most supportive cheerleader that there is. I'll write letters of recommendation, take them out for meals, get them summer jobs, whatever. I just have to be careful I don't violate any stupid rules. There are no subsidies. Kids who could walk into J.P. Morgan and make six figures put their careers on hold. I'm just trying to help in any way I can.
"When someone comes up to you five or ten years later and thanks you for what you did, your heart rate goes up to 180. I respond to every email, text or phone call. It's a fraternity. We reach out to each other all the time."
And now, he's being recognized for that commitment. And accomplishments.
"My wife says that as big a head as I have, it'll just be even bigger," Chatzky laughed.
So here's to the guy who's responsible for steering the boat and keeping everyone working as one.
"The inexperienced ones are definitely looked down upon," he explained. "Some don't even consider you to be an athlete. When you get to the elite level, you're treasured and trusted and well respected. And races that are 2,000 meters are being decided by tenths or hundredths of a second. You can make the difference. A lot of people think the only thing you can do is make a mistake.
"At first I hit bridges and docks when we landed, I went out of my lane. And Ted was not an easy guy. He knew how good I wanted to be. So he was more critical of me. And I was more like, 'Screw you, I'm going to get good.' That first semester, I thought I was going to quit. It was like, 'Oh crap, not him again.' Guys would punch me to get my act together. One time one of them said, 'Chatz, I'm so proud of you. But remember, you used to suck.' As only a Penn brother can …
"The minimum weight for a coxswain is 110 pounds. Which meant don't be more than 111. Otherwise you're doing your crew a disservice. I was 5-5, 120. Guys would be eating all day long, 10,000 calories. They used to fight over who would sit next to me. 'You don't want that, right?' They'd surround me, always looking for extra food."
Maybe even the rather large specimen who lifted him up to begin his recruitment process.
"He probably doesn't even remember," Chatzky said. "He probably picked up six guys that day."
Perhaps. But none of them ended up with such a momentous tale. Not even close. Which makes it well worth passing on.
