Tym Glaser

THE WORLD lost an icon yesterday and will be a poorer place for it.

Sir Edmund Hillary, the first man to conquer the unconquerable Mount Everest - along with Sherpa guide Tenzing Norgay, passed away in his hometown of Auckland at the age of 88.

When Hillary reached the summit of the world's tallest mountain on May 29, 1953, and planted the British flag, he became immortal. That was a good few moons before I was even a twinkle in my father's eyes but his deed of body and mind over matter resonated into my early schooldays.

Back in the days when we had to stand at assembly and sing to a faraway queen, when writing with the left hand was actively discouraged and milk was served at morning recess in lukewarm cartons, there was a troika of firsts every pup had to know.

historic firsts

It was: Who was the first man to break the four-minute mile; who was the first man to walk on the Moon; and who was the first man to scale Everest?

While only Roger Bannister's feat over the mile was a true sporting endeavour, Hillary and moonwalker Neil Armstrong were also heroes to a young kid in Adelaide who could barely sit straight in a school chair and only wanted to run around and play Aussie Rules and cricket until the sun went down.

Of the three, Hillary was the one I most admired because he was born closest to home, in New Zealand - a place I first thought was stuck somewhere in the middle of Australia.

What odds do you think would have been given for a Kiwi beekeeper becoming the first man to scale Everest? I sure would have loved to put a pretty penny down in those days at Ladbrokes; I think I'd have enough money now to make even Bill Gates queasy.

humble despite achievement

The beauty of Hillary, though, was not his iconic achievement but the manner in which he handled it. He went up the mountain an unknown New Zealander and came down a worldwide legend.

"We knocked the bastard off," was the closest he ever came to boasting, and that was on his return camp from the summit.

He never said he was the first man to reach the peak, it was always "Norgay and I".

He never asked for the glory or the fame but accepted it humbly and always remembered where he came from and where he had been.

Hillary raised hundreds of thousands of dollars to build schools and hospitals in Nepal and one of his final requests was not to have his ashes sprinkled at Everest but in Auckland harbour, "to be washed gently ashore, maybe on the many pleasant beaches near the place I was born. Then the full circle of my life will be complete".

Oh to live a life half as full.

I look around today and try to find my new heroes in my chosen field of sport but none is cut from the same cloth as Hillary, Bannister and Armstrong; they can't be because times are so different now.

It was a different world back in those days. If Everest was conquered in 2003 instead of 1953, the climber would be smothered with million-dollar endorsements deals and book offers before he could even thaw his fingers and toes.

Muhammad Ali and Jack Nicklaus are new true world heroes but Ali bragged and boxed and Nicklaus played golf. They weren't Boys' Own-type, once-in-a-lifetime pioneers.

They weren't like Hillary, the first man to climb to the roof of the world and look down.

I suppose he's got an even better view now.

Later …

Feedback: tym.glaser@gleanerjm.com.