McLean’s era was the final heyday of the two-sport athlete before the rise of specialization nearly drove the species to extinction. O.J. Simpson, Marcus Allen, and several other stars suited up in football, basketball, and baseball while wearing track-and-field spikes. For generations, that was the norm. Glenn Davis, Army’s 1946 Heisman winner, rolled like a Sherman tank across the gridiron before starting on the diamond and, on the same day, set the Academy record in the 220-meter dash, wearing borrowed shoes. Bucknell’s own Christy Mathewson played football, basketball, and baseball.

At Bucknell, he asked Coach Gulden if he could run the two-mile. Gulden demurred, citing McLean’s recent basketball season as not providing the proper background. He suggested that McLean try the high jump or triple jump. Then came McLean’s classic retort that has echoed throughout Bucknell Track & Field history, “Coach, I don’t play in sand.”

Gulden did not appreciate the snark, but McLean remained undaunted. He watched the runners and confidently told Gulden, “I can beat your guys.” Gulden set up a series of competitions, and McLean swept them all.

Neutral observers would have thought that Gulden and McLean were a dynamic duo – perfectly tuned together in harmony. Instead, like many great men accustomed to their cadences, the two clashed over training methods. Gulden was a strait-laced, buttoned-down sergeant, and McLean, by recollection and admittance, was a bit of a hippie, a child of the bell-bottoms 1970s. All tie-dyed colors and love beads amidst disco and oil embargoes. It was the era of the blockbuster – Jaws and Star Wars changed how movies were seen – and Gulden and McLean transformed Bucknell Track & Field.

Gulden held to the mantra of “coaches know best.” Listen to the instructions and do not deviate from the plan. McLean was a free spirit. He wore weight jackets. He read a book about walking backwards to fire up your muscles. He ran in the morning instead of the afternoon. However, they shared one key characteristic that bonded the two: a fierce hatred of losing. As the team manager reminded Gulden, “He never loses, coach.” Together, their iron sharpened each other.  

McLean admits in retrospect, with the clarity only hindsight can provide, that he wishes he had let Coach Gulden train him differently. At the time, Gulden was young, too, not yet the tenured Bucknell track & field patriarch. Together, despite the arguments and rebuffs, the duo achieved greatness. The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph.

The seeds of his victory in 1976 were planted the year before, in 1975. McLean finished third at the NCAA Championships held in scenic Provo, Utah, snugly nestled in rapt obedience to the westward range of the conquering Rocky Mountains. Bucknell did not have the capital to send McLean, but his mother provided the ticket money. Greenback for greenback, Bucknell athletics has never seen a better return on a $309 investment.

Another hurdle arrived. BYU owned a blue, tartan track. McLean’s borrowed shoes were designed for Bucknell’s cinder track, from which the now archaic track term ‘cinderman’ was developed. He and Coach Gulden were forced to break off the spikes. Photos of the race display the shoes barely clinging to McLean’s feet, as he clinched bronze.

The finish transformed McLean into an overnight sensation. Who was this mysterious runner? What is a Bucknell? Where is Bucknell? When he started traveling throughout the country, Bucknell shirts began appearing in the stands. That manifestation of support powered his 1976 campaign.

McLean had several advantages entering the 1976 NCAA Championships. Hailing from New Jersey made Philadelphia feel like a home race; he ran for the Philadelphia Pioneers the previous summer, there was a small but dedicated Bison core in the stands, and his Franklin Field experience via the IC4As installed a course familiarity. Most importantly, he held the belief of victory.

Every great athlete must possess swagger – not arrogance, for pride goeth before destruction – but a supreme belief that they cannot be vanquished. That his or her skills are insurmountable. Dizzy Dean famously uttered in his homespun wisdom, “It ain’t bragging if you can do it.” McLean knew he could do it.

Franklin Field, built in 1895, despite renovations and reimaginations, retains much of its original character. Many of America’s finest athletes graced its terrain, whether in the Army-Navy Game, the Penn Relays, NFL contests, or during the years when the Quakers drew 75,000 cheering fans to watch Maxwell winner Bob Odell, a future Bucknell Bison head football coach. The venue served as the proper stage for McLean’s victory.

Even now, McLean can recall the dimensions: “The first turn at Franklin Field is huge before it narrows, and the final backstretch of 100 yards is so long it feels like 200. If you haven’t run before at the Penn Relays, you think the finish line is about ten meters earlier, and it's nowhere near that.”

Reviewing the blurry, choppy footage of his triumph is a privilege. The seldom-speaking announcer opens the race by citing McLean, along with Mark Belger of Villanova and Orlando Green of Seton Hall, as the trio expected to dominate. The overlaying voice then lapsed into silence, allowing the runners’ strides to speak louder.

The pack remained tight for the early section of the race without any breakaways. The action stayed in that stasis for about 40 seconds before McLean — the announcer memorably noting his Bucknell Orange jersey — and Belger emerged as the frontrunners.

In the final turn, McLean revved up his engine and made his kick, calling upon his previous Franklin Field experience, and, running with the Orange & Blue spirit behind him, claimed elusive glory. He left Belger, an accomplished opponent, futilely trailing, and who was later passed by Florida’s Horace Tuitt. McLean recalled, “Once I got past Belger, I knew I had it.”

The situation of silver was not McLean’s concern; he focused on the gold at the finish line. He continued his spectacular kick into legend. As he crossed into immortality, his two pistons were released from duty and rose in celebration for the waiting cameras and the acknowledgment of the cheering crowd. His time of 1:47.4 – a sequence every Bucknell fan should engrave upon his or her memory next to 64-63 – flashed upon the scoreboard.

The Bison troop heartily celebrated the historic victory. Then, as now, an Orange & Blue contingent may not be the largest group in attendance, but the cheers of ‘ray Bucknell always vibrate across any stadium. McLean remembers most of his teammates ensconced in the stands.

McLean has always credited his teammates, coaches, managers, and the numerous other supporters as driving factors behind his victory. He admitted he may have quit the team ten times in his first two seasons before Gulden and his teammates convinced him to stay. Track & field exists in a gray area for sports. It is a team with an individualistic bent. The public doesn’t see teamwork outside of relays and distance events during competition, but collaboration is built into unseen practices. He used those lessons during his 11-year tenure as Executive Director of the Jesse Owens Foundation and Executive Director of Programs with USA Track & Field.

50 years later, McLean’s famous victory still rings with relevance. The Bison have another possible champion. Javelin thrower Evelyn Bliss enters the 2026 NCAA Championships as the number one seed. She and McLean met this season at the Penn Relays, where Bliss won the event while setting the facility and meet record. McLean is a huge fan of the Orange & Blue’s javelineer and eagerly wants Bliss to join him as Bucknell’s national champion.

College athletics changes frequently, especially in contemporary times. Every day, some new rule or situation arises. Some things, however, will never change. The athletes still have to run, jump, throw, shoot, pass, and compete. For one glorious day in June 1976, Bucknell Track & Field ran as the nation’s best. No matter how much time passes or collegiate sports transform, gold medals and national champions resonate and shine forever.