Sovetsky Sport. August 1, 1998. Valery Kerdemelidi represents a certain archetype within the world of gymnastics. He was not an Olympic champion - holding only a silver medal (in the team event) - nor was he a world champion. Yet, the gymnastics community holds him in higher esteem than any forgotten celebrity. As an athlete, he stood out for his optimistic routines; as a coach and international-level judge, he distinguished himself through his vast professional expertise. It's hard to believe that our beloved figure has already turned sixty.
Q: Valery Panayotovich, where do you get such an unusual patronymic and surname?
A: From my father, of course (smiles). But seriously, the fact is that my father is Greek. He is a descendant of the inhabitants of the Bosporan Kingdom - the people who once populated what is now modern-day Crimea. He was actually born there; he was a Greek national and only acquired Soviet citizenship in 1947. Starting in 1938 - the year of my birth - our family made its home in Moscow.
Q: So, you are Greek by nationality?
A: On that note, let me tell you a little story. Two Jewish musicians once ran into each other:
Well, I'm just as much a Greek as Zyama is a black man. After all, my mother was Russian - and as everyone knows, one's nationality is determined by one's mother - and even my father was a thoroughly Russified Greek. Aside from our shared faith, Orthodoxy, I have absolutely nothing in common with the Greeks.
Q: When and where did you start doing gymnastics?
A: In this regard, I was lucky. I attended School No. 324, where the physical education teacher was the gymnast Sergei Gavrilovich Parfinovich. The school boasted a large gymnasium, well-equipped with every piece of gymnastic apparatus. Our PE classes were conducted by students from the Institute of Physical Culture. I particularly remember Vladimir Smolevsky - a future professor and head of the Department of Gymnastics at the Central Institute of Physical Culture (GTsOLIFK); Alexander Sobolev - a future USSR champion; and Karl-Heinz Zschocke - a student from the GDR who would go on to become the president of the men's technical committee of the FIG. I mastered the intricacies of gymnastics at the sports school of the Krasnogvardeisky District under the guidance of Alexander Ivanovich Sobolev, who became my coach. While still a student at the Moscow Regional Pedagogical Institute - and fully aware that I would have to fulfill my military service upon graduation regardless - I began training at CSKA under Leonid Grigorievich Timoshek. In 1958, at the USSR Championships, I earned the title of Master of Sports and placed 18th; yet, deep down, I harbored a certain audacious ambition: to make the USSR national team and, through it, reach the Olympic Games in Rome. At the 1960 USSR Championships for individual events held in Leningrad that July, I won my first medal - a silver - in the floor exercise; furthermore, in the all-around competition, I tied with Albert Azaryan for third place - finishing just behind Boris Shakhlin and Yuri Titov - and thus, I did indeed make it to Rome!
Silver medals seemed to become something of a symbol of my performances on the podium. For in Rome, too - along with my teammates - I came away with nothing but silver. It was there that the Soviet gymnasts surrendered the team title to the Japanese for the very first time. Admittedly, Shakhlin claimed the title of all-around champion, while Titov took the bronze in the all-around competition - achievements that served to soften the blow of our defeat.
At the 1962 World Championships in Prague we hoped to exact our revenge.
After the compulsory exercises, we held a lead of five-hundredths of a point over the Japanese. Everything went well in the optional exercises, too; we were in the lead. However, during the floor exercises - not without the help of the judges - we lost more than two points and, as a result, once again found ourselves trailing the Japanese. The consolation came in the form of the gold medal - this time won by Titov - and Shakhlin's bronze in the all-around competition. I would go on to earn yet another silver medal at the 1966 World Championships in Dortmund, Germany. And once again, the all-around champion on that occasion was one of our own: Misha Voronin.
I recall the hostile reaction of the press of our 'defeats' (as if a silver medal were not an achievement). We were accused of every conceivable sin and branded with contemptuous epithets. The correspondents from Komsomolka - Lev Kuleshov - and Sovetsky Sport - Stanislav Tokarev - were particularly zealous in their efforts.
Q: Why didn't you participate in the VXIII Olympic Games in Tokyo?
A: My saddest memories are tied to the year 1964. I was perfectly prepared for the Games - taut as a violin string. I hoped - and not without reason - to win a medal not only in the team competition but also in the individual events, and of the highest caliber at that. However, during a training session on the rings, I tore my biceps. I had to undergo treatment, and Yura Tsapenko flew to Tokyo in my place.
Q: Which competitions do you consider your finest hour?
A: Naturally, the 1963 European Championships. First, beause I was the one who traveled to Belgrade alongside Shakhlin - after all, back then, only two gymnasts per country competed at the European Championship. Second, because I won five medals: silver in the floor exercise and on the pommel horse, and bronze in the vault, on the high bar, and - most importantly - in the all-around competition, finishing behind such gymnastic greats as the host nation's own Miroslav Cerar and Boris Shakhlin.
Q: Silver again! So, you never once managed to reach the top of the podium?
A: In official international competitions - yes. Apparently, I simply lacked the 'talent' - and besides, my opponents were truly formidable: the Japanese gymnasts Takashi Ono and Yukio Endo, the Yugoslav Cerar, the Italian Franco Menichelli; and from our own ranks - Shakhlin, Titov, Viktor Lisitsky, and later - Misha Voronin, Seryozha Diomidov... Yet back home, I did indeed bring home the gold. In 1962, I became the USSR all-around champion - defeating Shakhlin himself; in 1965, I won the title on the high bar; and in both 1963 and 1967, I claimed the USSR Cup in the all-around competition.
Q: There were rumors that you 'cheated' on Timoshek and switched to Sergei Litvinov.
A: I never 'betrayed' Timoshek, and I remain deeply grateful to him. It was he who made me a USSR all-around champion, as well as a silver medalist at the Olympic Games, World Championships, and European Championships. The fact is that during training camps, I trained under Sergei Stepanovich - at that time, it was not customary to bring peronal coaches along to the camps. Moreover, Leonid Grigorievich is a gentle, courteous man, whereas - by a certain point - I occasionally needed a firm hand. In Litvinov, I found just that, yet I still remained under Timoshek's ever-watchful eye.
Q: When did you stop competing on the big stage?
A: The last time I stepped onto the platform at the USSR Championships was in 1968 in Leningrad; I then began working as a physical training instructor at the Zhukovsky Academy. Later, I served as the head coach of the Armed Forces, rose to the rank of Colonel, and was discharged into the reserves - yet even now, I remain active in the world of gymnastics.
Q: When did your career as a judge begin?
A: In gymnastics, one becomes a judge early on - as soon as one establishes onself as a competent gymnast. Back in our day, there were plenty of competitions, so judges were, as the saying goes, in high demand.
Following an international seminar - I believe it was in 1972 - at which I was awarded the title of "International Category Judge," the Federation sent me to officiate at the World Championships in 1974. I traveled to Varna not without a sense of trepidation. It is one thing to judge at home, among one's own people, but quite another to do so amidst an atmosphere of fierce athletic - and, truth be told, political - rivalry. Once in Varna, and after the preliminary competition had concluded, it became clear to me that our guys stood no chance of beating the Japanese; furthermnore, the gymnasts from the GDR would not be nipping at their heels - as they had done back in 1970 in Ljubljana. Consequently, I was free to assign my scores calmly and without bias.
In the individual competition, a fierce rivalry unfolded between Kolya Andrianov and the Japanese gymnast Shigeru Kasamatsu. Then, quite suddenly - on the high bar, where I was officiating - Andrianov botched his dismount during the compulsory routine; he did so badly, in fact, that it technically should not have been credited at all. And that would have meant a deduction of one and a half points! Yet I did credit it, awarding him a score of 9.2. "Well," I thought to myself, "they're going to pull me from the judging panel for biased scoring." Arthur Gander himself, the then-President of the FIG, even intervened. However, I managed to escape any repercussions: fortunately for me, the Japanese judge - who awarded a 9.0 - also chose to credit the dismount. The remaining judges were then compelled to adjust their scores to align more closely with ours. Later, Kasamatsu, too, committed a major error during his optional routine on the parallel bars; yet, thanks to the way things ultimately played out, he still emerged as the overall champion, while Nikolai took second place.
In the individual competition, a fierce rivalry unfolded between Kolya Andrianov and the Japanese gymnast Shigeru Kasamatsu. Then, quite suddenly - on the high bar, where I was officiating - Andrianov botched his dismount during the compulsory routine; he did so badly, in fact, that it technically should not have been credited at all. And that would have meant a deduction of one and a half points! Yet I did credit it, awarding him a score of 9.2. "Well," I thought to myself, "they're going to pull me from the judging panel for biased scoring." Arthur Gander himself, the then-President of the FIG, even intervened. However, I managed to escape any repercussions: fortunately for me, the Japanese judge - who awarded a 9.0 - also chose to credit the dismount. The remaining judges were then compelled to adjust their scores to align more closely with ours. Later, Kasamatsu, too, committed a major error during his optional routine on the parallel bars; yet, thanks to the way things ultimately playedout, he still emerged as the overall champion, while Nikolai took second place.
Since then, I have had the privilege of serving as a judge at every subsequent Olympic Games (with the exception, of course, of the Los Angeles Games), as well as at World and European Championships and World Cups. So, I have certainly seen the world.
An incident occurred at the 1977 World Cup in Oviedo, Spain, remains etched in my memory. It was the awards ceremony. Masha Filatova stood on the top step of the podium. The flags began to rise slowly, but there was no anthem. A dead, omisous silence fell, giving way to bewilderment. Then, suddenly, the anthem of the Soviet Union rang out beneath the vaulted ceilings of the Sports Palace. It was Evsey Vevrik, the pianist for our national team, playing it on the grand piano. A storm of applause erupted - applause such as Vevrik had never received, even during his most successful solo concerts.
The Spaniards later apologized; the tape recorder playing the anthem had malfunctioned.
I also remember how, on a flight from Moscow to Madrid, I made a harmless remark to those around me: "Whenever I'm on a plane, I always start thinking in a foreign tongue." The KGB officer - a 'mandatory' fixture in the delegation - later reported this to the proper authorities, and I was summoned to the Lublyanka. They grilled me over my 'seditious' thoughts. Yet, they let me remain in the Party. For that, I am grateful.
E. AVSENEV