LITMIR.BIZ

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mother would have husbands—four.

      By the age of twenty, Armstrong had had three different fathers: one biological, one adoptive and one step. (In her book, Linda Armstrong writes of the failures of her love life as having been the result of “stupid, self-undermining, counterintuitive and utterly stinko” choices.) After that, Lance was tossed about in the tumult of a dozen stand-in fathers of his choosing.

      As a motivational speaker, Linda has made a living off bromides of her struggles to raise the greatest cyclist the world has ever seen, telling her audience, “We had everything against us,” and “It was about survival.” She talks about how Lance once showed up at a race in the mountains of New Mexico without a long-sleeve shirt and how, while the other racers had fancy gear, he had to borrow her tiny pink windbreaker to stay warm. He broke the course record.

      She talks about going “from poverty with no money to personal success” and emphasizes that she played an integral role in her son’s accomplishments. “I really believe that your children are a product of you.”

      By her telling, she has been the single constant presence in his life. Early on, she made it clear that she, and only she, would shape her son. The first step in that process began when she removed him from the Gunderson family. Armstrong’s mother has told her side of that story for years. It’s a story that a lifetime later brings Willine Gunderson Harroff, Eddie’s mother, and his sister, Micki Rawlings, to tears.

      Linda Armstrong has said she was alone in raising Lance, that others in Lance’s life played only bit parts no matter what they contributed or how long they were involved. She called herself a single mother though she was only without a husband for a year before Lance was sixteen and a half—and even then her first husband’s family said they helped her get by, babysitting while she worked. Over time, the media played up the tragedy and triumph of it all: that one of the greatest athletes in history was a product of a teenage mother who had struggled for survival with no one to lean on but her young son.

      Linda’s mythmaking didn’t sit right with the rest of Lance’s family, according to Willine Gunderson.

      The Gundersons had their own version of Lance’s childhood to tell. For one thing, they called Lance’s father Sonny. He was a handsome, blue-eyed rebel with shiny brown hair, a mischievous grin and a willingness to help friends steal tape decks from parked cars. He once rode his motorcycle through the back door and into the kitchen of a high school girlfriend’s house, causing her parents to call the police.

      In their neighborhood of Wynnewood, a middle-class area of the city—nothing like “the projects of Dallas” proclaimed by the promotional videos for Linda’s public speaking—the Gundersons were neighbors with another family, the Mooneyhams.

      Linda Mooneyham was a high school homecoming princess and a star on the school’s drill team. Sonny asked her for a date. Soon enough, they were going steady and cruising around town in his souped-up Pontiac GTO. He had a bad-boy charm that caused him, one night in the winter of 1970, to whisper to Linda, “Make love, not war.” That evening, she got pregnant. When a sixteen-year-old Linda refused to get an abortion, her mother told her to leave the house. Far from being left on her own—with “everything against us”—she found a family that took her in. She lived in Sonny’s house. She became, in effect, an adopted daughter of Willine Gunderson, whom family members called “Mom-o.”

      Willine was a single mother with an ex-husband always late on child support payments, when he sent them at all. For forty-three years, she worked at Dallas’s First National Bank. Her sense of family was so strong, she says, that she insisted her two daughters and Sonny go to church together three times a week. She never criticized her absent ex-husband because she wanted her children to make up their own minds about him. She and Linda became as close as best friends during Linda’s pregnancy.

      On Linda’s seventeenth birthday, she and seventeen-year-old Sonny were married in a Baptist church packed with fellow high schoolers, some no doubt noticing the bride’s baby bump beneath her flowing, pleated white dress. That was February 1971. The boy arrived in September.

      He was named after Lance Rentzel, the Dallas Cowboys star wide receiver who the year before was arrested for exposing himself to a ten-year-old girl. At the window of the maternity ward, his father saw that the newborn’s head was misshapen: too long, too narrow. His mother, a petite woman, delivered him at 9 pounds, 12 ounces.

      “What’s wrong with his head?” his father asked, as tears rolled down his cheeks.

      “It’ll get better,” one of his sisters said. “It’ll be fine, I know it will.”

      Linda took a part-time job at a grocery store. Sonny worked at a bakery and delivered newspapers, but fatherhood didn’t bring with it a sudden maturity. As a minor, he had made frequent appearances in juvenile court. In 1974, when his son was two and a half, and he and Linda had already divorced, Sonny Gunderson spent his first night in jail as an adult. He had been arrested for breaking into a car.

      Their marriage lasted for just over two years. Linda would claim in her book that Sonny had been so rough with her that her neck and arms were bruised. Years later, the ex-husband admitted that he had slapped her, but only once.

      Gunderson told his family that he spent months after the divorce in a zombie-like state. He wanted to fix what he had broken, but had no idea how. He often sat across the street from his son’s day care center and watched the boy play on the playground. He couldn’t pay the child support, or wouldn’t. He ignored the demand notes as they piled up in his mailbox, accusingly.

      To his father’s family, Armstrong was Lance Edward Gunderson. They still saw him at Christmases and other family gatherings, where he played with his cousins. They still have photos of him, yellowed and fading. His grandmother has a 4×4-inch photo album made for her by Armstrong’s mother. Linda signed the album with her boy’s name, “To Mom-o Willine. Love, Lance.”

      Willine “Mom-o” Gunderson is Armstrong’s paternal grandmother. In nearly every photo of her with the infant Lance, she is kissing him, her eyes closed, the kind of moment a grandmother wants to last forever. Her son is partly to blame for how short-lived it really was.

      Whenever he saw Lance, Gunderson acted like a kid himself. While his mother and two sisters watched, he gave the boy rides on his ten-speed bike and motorcycle. Inevitably, some outings ended with acrimony. Lance once came home with a quarter-sized burn on his calf where it had rubbed against the motorcycle’s exhaust pipe. Another time, he suffered a bloody toe when his foot became tangled in the spokes of a bicycle. Linda blamed Sonny for his neglect and chastised Willine for allowing the boy to get hurt while in her care.

      Willine told the young mother, “You can’t keep him in a golden cage his whole life.”

      Linda snapped back, “I’m the one that knows what’s best for him.”

      “She was maternal,” Willine says, “but she was so young, she didn’t understand that babies love more than one person in their life. She didn’t want him to love anybody but her. But babies love anybody that will love them. That doesn’t take from the love that they have for their mother.”

      When Linda filed for divorce—on February 15, 1973—she just couldn’t stand Sonny anymore. She married Terry Armstrong, a salesman, in May 1974, a year after her divorce papers were signed. Though Sonny couldn’t know it at the time, his life with Lance would soon be over.

      The Armstrongs would eventually move away, ending any contact with the Gundersons, and Terry officially adopted Lance as his son. Linda said in her autobiography that Willine agreed it was best for Lance to never see the Gundersons again. But whenever someone suggests as much to Willine her mouth drops open. “Ooh, no, no,” she says.

      Willine last had direct contact with Linda and her family when Lance was five or six. She had gone to his maternal grandmother’s house with Christmas gifts for him. “Linda told me not to take anything more from you,” the grandmother told Willine. “What little stuff you give him is not worth the trouble Linda has with Lance after he has had some contact with you.”

      Shaking

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