Oh, those mid-1960s. What glory days they were for Metropolitan New York area track, from the kids, to the schoolguys, to the collegians, to the vets. It was a happening place of all happening places.

Most of all in the scholastic world, and most specially so in the art (before the whole sport went metric) of running the quarter-mile.

There was Larry James at White Plains High School up in Westchester. Over the Hudson and down the ‘pike there was Ron Freeman at Thomas Jefferson High School n Elizabeth, N.J. And over in the Cambria Heights section of Southeast Queens there was Vincent Matthews at Andrew Jackson High School.

What great races they ran, at the old, splintery, flat-floored Armory. At Randall’s Island. And on cinderpaths — as the vernacular of the day called them — everywhere.

Has any Metro area ever produced three like these at the same time?  Definitely, definitely doubtful.

They’d go on to collegiate stardom at Villanova (James), Arizona State (Freeman) and tiny Johnson C. Smith in North Carolina (Matthews). And as Olympians they’d together bring back four golds, a silver and a bronze to the Big City and the nearby 'burbs.

"It's been a while since all that; time has a way of flying right by," Matthews, never a man to dwell in the past, surely knows. Yet it's compelling history that needs to be remembered.

Larry James, "the Mighty Burner," is so sadly, now gone. Ron Freeman is now based in Baltimore and has earned accolade after accolade for his work throughout Africa, helping to build a degree of tranquility through the vehicles of sports competition, athletic training and educational focus. Vince Matthews still resides in Queens; he's operated an antiques and collectibles store on Gramatan Avenue in Mount Vernon, N.Y. for decades; Shirley and Vince have been happily married for more than 37 years.

After Californian Lee Evans, James and Freeman ran 1-2-3 in a world record-breaking 400-meter final at the 1968 Mexico City Olympics, Matthews joined them as leadoff man on the 4x400 relay in another world record-breaking performance. Matthews came back to the Games in 1972 and succeeded Evans as Olympic 400 king.

And so, all these years later, it was Matthews’s turn to step back into his sport's brightest spotlight all over again last Saturday night. In the packed grand ballroom of St. Louis' Hyatt Regency Hotel, as the centerpiece of the Jesse Owens Awards Dinner that capped the annual meeting of USA Track & Field, he was officially inducted into the National Track and Field Hall of Fame, based at The Armory.

Applause rang out for Matthews, as well as new inductees Gail Devers, Maurice Greene, Craig Virgin, Coach Bob Timmons and the late Clarence DeMar.

Very few people from New York had ever heard of Johnson C. Smith University before Matthews helped put it on the athletic map. After Jackson, where he’d starred for the great teams coached by Milt Blatt, "I was vacillating between NCC (North Carolina Central) and Smith," Matthews recalled. "Johnson C. Smith was smaller and I eventually decided it would be the better school for me."

He signed on as a history major — but with no clear career goals in mind — "I just wanted to enroll in college and see where that would take me." A pair of Penn Relays' 4x200 victories surely raised JCS's profile.

Fast forward with Matthews to 1968. "I was just starting my junior year. A lot of things were happening."

With the Mexico City Games booked to start in mid-October, track's American decision-makers decreed a second set of Trials be held at Echo Summit, Calif., outside Lake Tahoe, in September, following the earlier Trials in Los Angeles. It seemed Matthews was a sure-shot in late August when he ran to an unofficial 44.4 clocking at Echo Summit — a world best-ever but not record-eligible as it was hand-timed and he ran with “brush spikes” (later ruled illegal).

Two weeks later, though, in the Final Trials, it was Evans, James, Freeman 1-2-3 with Matthews, now a member of the NY Pioneer Club, a close fourth.

The Mexico City 4x400 final saw Matthews give the U.S. the lead, running 45 flat. Freeman break it open on second leg with a 43.2, fastest lap ever recorded, and James' 43.8 and Evans' 44.1 widen the gap even more.

Team USA's 2:56.16 broke the listed world record by over three seconds and this would endure as a solo WR until the 1988 Butch Reynolds-anchored USA team equaled it, and the 1992 Steve Lewis-anchored foursome finally cut it to 2:55.74.

Matthews' look-back at that Mexico City relay: “I was in lane eight, that was pretty difficult because I couldn't see anyone else. I just went out hard and ran it the fastest I could." And the USA was headed for the gold; Kenya settled for the silver in 2:59.6. The gap was so large that many called it "two separate races."

But Mexico City's events reverberated far beyond Estadio Olimpico. At the height of civil rights and political unrest at home, Tommie Smith and John Carlos caused a sensation after running 1-3 in the 200-meter final. They stepped to the podium barefoot, wearing civil rights badges. As the "Star Spangled Banner" was played, they bowed their heads, and raised single black-gloved hands in a black power salute.

In reaction, the International Olympic Committee demanded their expulsion from the Olympic Village and the balance of the Games; reluctantly, the USOC complied.

The 4x400 relay team's behavior on the medal stand displeased the IOC higher-ups, too.

"Tommie Smith and John Carlos, they definitely made the most impact," said Matthews. "So we had a lot of eyes on us, too, after our the relay. The four of us came up wearing our berets and we gave a little black power salute. Then we took our berets off to show our respect while the flag was raised, and for the National Anthem.

"I was just a 20-year-old guy, from Queens, N.Y. We were torn in all directions. It went back and forth. Some people wanted to do one thing, some people wanted to do another thing, some people didn't want to do anything. We were all young people caught in the middle.

"I just wanted to be a 400-meter runner. I wasn't trained to be a politician," he recalled. "And big things were happening all over the world, too."

Matthews returned to Johnson C. Smith, finished college, and by 1970 virtually quit track.

"I had to work. I had to have a job. There was no possible way of making money from track, The top guys of today, they can't understand what we went through.

"I'd just go out for a jog once in a while. It was definitely nothing like serious Olympic training.

"I still had that Olympic itch but I wasn't going to meets to run against the rest of the world. The more the Olympics came around, though, the more I wanted to run again."

Coach Charles Turner of the Brooklyn Over The Hill Athletic Association played a major role in re-stoking his Olympic fires, but the process was never easy. Matthews still worked full-time and BOHAA night-time practice sessions often required scaling the fence of a locked-up high school track.

"Climbing in was never hard," Matthews said, smiling. "But climbing back out after a hard workout, that was the really difficult part. You were pretty tired by then."

Well, the comeback continued and he ran himself back into world-class shape.

In 1972, Matthews ran third in the Final Trials, held in Eugene, Ore., back of Wayne Collett and John Smith. By the day of the Munich final, though, he'd more than regained all his lost ground. He beat both his teammates in the Munich Olympic final with a decisive 44.66 win over Collett (44.80) and Kenya's Julius Sang (44.92), but John Smith was forced out with a leg injury.

This time Matthews, age 24, ran out of lane two. This time he ran with 'controlled speed.'

"I used to break the 400 down into two 200-meter segments. This time I broke it into four 100-meter segments and that made all the difference."

This time his pacing was perfectly golden. But one more gold medal, one more episode on the dais.

"When Wayne (Collett) and I got to the victory stand, we talked a little bit, I just invited Wayne to come on up on top with me," said Matthews. "Nothing was premeditated, nothing at all. Wayne was just a friend. I was happy for him that he'd won a medal, too."

Others saw a lot more in it than that. The pair didn't stand at rigid attention for the anthem. They did some fidgeting. Stepping down, Matthews took off his gold medal and gave it a twirl.

"People were whistling and booing," Matthews remembers. "They brought on a whole big storm. They made way too much of it. They equated what we did with Tommie Smith and  Carlos in 1968, It wasn't that at all, but the world saw it differently."

In reaction, Matthews and Collett were banned from running the 4x400 relay; with Smith injured and out, the U.S. was down to just three men from its original six-runner roster, and thus forced to sit it out.

"That was a terrible time," said Matthews. "Even without Wayne, John and myself, we still had a backup of other great quarter-milers. But we couldn't use them. That's what the rule was. Running with any one of those guys and we'd still have won easily. I know that for sure. Maybe not 2:56 like four years before but still pretty fast."

With USA out, the Olympic golds went to a Kenya quartet in 2:59.83.

Now, Matthews really did retire from track.

The years flew by but an hour before the Hall of Fame ceremony in St. Louis proved a perfect time for reflection.

"Time has proved that we were right about what was going on, some of the political things, the racial things, the things about athletes being compensated for what they do," he said.

"Looking back, when you're caught in the eye of a storm, you just do what you have to. It was still a little rough, especially when you're pretty young.

"All the rules were eventually changed. We were at the forefront of it all.

"As the years go by, though, things just get more faded, and that's good. You don’t want to live all those things over again. I don't. Oh, I know some people who want to live that time over each and every day. But you've got to move on. I just hope I’m never put between a rock and a hard place like that, ever again."

Matthews, now 63, doesn't run at all these days, but does plenty of energetic walking.

"You run hard for 6, 8, 10 years and your knees, your whole body, they take a pounding," he said. "Training is often worse than main event, After a while, I couldn't take it any more. I take a couple of steps now and realize I'm getting older. I have no complaints, either. Life has been very good to me."