Joe Citizen

By Tom Friend, ESPN

Try walking one day in the janitor's soiled shoes. Unlock the high school at dawn, like he does. Sweep the hallways on his 60-year-old arthritic knees. Take your coffee break in an office that reeks of Clorox. Clean up after the teenagers who pour ketchup on their mashed potatoes and start a cafeteria food fight. Scour the campus for litter. Spray-paint over graffiti. Sanitize the toilets. Wipe vomit off the bathroom tiles. Do it without wearing gloves or a mask.

Now walk a whole 30 years in the janitor's soiled shoes, and ask yourself what you'd do if your ship came in, if you were suddenly filthy rich. How long before you'd quit the job? Two seconds? One second? Or would you stick around … and clean something else up?

The birth of a dream

On a clear Pacific Northwest day -- three times a month, if he's lucky -- Tyrone Curry swears he can see 3,700 miles to Nova Scotia. He has said this so many times, for so many years, that his wife no longer hears him or pays attention. But that's what happens when everyone around you has always had the view from the bottom: They miss the big picture.

He might have spent his whole life in the low-rent district, but he's always been a dreamer of the highest degree. His mother, Ostennia, was a welfare agent who ended up on welfare, and Tyrone -- the seventh of nine children, including a twin brother -- lived in so many apartments and duplexes that Tyrone "felt like a gypsy." All he ever wanted was his own house, bought and paid for, and, at an early age, he became determined to help his mom land one. In 1962, at age 11 he earned 25 cents an hour stacking pop bottles in a grocery store. At 15, he earned a dollar an hour for cutting down sticker bushes. At 18, he earned $2.50 an hour cleaning offices. But still no house.

He gave everything he earned to Ostennia, never batting an eye. She was mopping floors and doing laundry to make ends meet, and Tyrone's money helped her buy food and pay the electric bill. If he was ever going to have his own house, he realized he'd need a new approach, so he applied for financial aid to go to Seattle Community College and was given a partial track scholarship. He fantasized about becoming a lawyer or a draftsman, but he decided the more realistic approach was to be a P.E. major.

In a perfect world, he'd end up coaching track and field because the sport had always been his sanctuary. In high school, he'd been a quarter-miler, a hurdler, a triple jumper and a long jumper. He had helped Seattle's Garfield High School win consecutive metro championships. But in district meets, he'd always lag behind a sprinter from Franklin High, Terry Metcalf. This Metcalf soon would be on his way to college and eventually the NFL, a future star for the St. Louis Cardinals in the 1970s. And for years, Curry would go on daily eight-mile runs all over Seattle, imagining himself beating Metcalf in a race -- and reaching the Olympics.

While he was in college, he'd continue these hour-long runs, just for the peace of mind. He'd run in the rain and mud; it never mattered. He says he actually preferred the rain because his local track would be perfectly empty and he loved running on an open track.

Better for dreaming.