OREM — Eight bone-weary men stood unsteadily on a dock in a Helsinki inlet, drenched in their own sweat and heaving for air in the summer heat of 1952.

It was the moment chosen for the medal ceremony, a minute or two after the young men who made up the U.S. Naval Academy's eight-man rowing crew had become their sport's Secretariat, winning the Olympic final by the largest margin in history, the way the great racehorse set records on his way to the Triple Crown. At the same time, they were also rowing's Seabiscuit, underdogs who some had felt didn't even belong on the Navy varsity squad.

They would stay together long enough to win three national championships and 29 consecutive races, another record that still stands. No wonder a movie script is in the works.

As the end of their academic careers finally broke up the greatest three-year run in the history of eight-man rowing, Navy coach Rusty Callow said there should be a law against graduation. It is far worse, the remaining crew members were reminded last weekend in Orem, that nobody has found a way to legislate against death.

Five of the men, undefeated as teammates and arguably undefeated in life although now all are in their 70s, caught flights to Utah from New York, Virginia, Maryland, Kentucky and Washington state. They came to Utah to attend the funeral for Bob Detweiler, a former teammate, Navy pilot, nuclear physicist and chairman of the Utah County Arts Council.

They came to say goodbye to Detweiler, as they had to Willie Fields before him and to Dave Manring, who during the Olympic year was their coxswain, the man who sits without an oar at one end of the scull and barks out the tempo of his mates' strokes.

They came like they have every five years to reunions that began 25 years after the Helsinki Games — once there was finally room for such things in their lives after becoming submariners and fighter pilots and nuclear experts.

"I think it would be amazing if we didn't come," Dick Murphy said.

"For me it's the ultimate tribute to Bob that they came," said Detweiler's wife of 25 years, Donnell. "I was speechless when they walked in to the viewing together Friday night in those blue Olympic blazers. I knew they were coming, but to see them all together was overwhelming.

"It seemed the older they got, the more love they had for each other. They cherish each other."

Only Henry Proctor — who had surgery last week and couldn't travel — was absent.