Don Bragg and Theresa, the girl he would marry, were a couple of small-town high-school kids back in Penns Grove, N.J. in the 1940s. On Saturday nights, they would sit together in the dark at the Broad Theater or the Graves Theater, and they never missed a show when a Tarzan movie was on the bill.

Johnny Weismuller, the great Olympic swimming star, might have played Tarzan in the movies, but in the backroads of his mind, Don Bragg was Tarzan right down to the chest-thumping, deep-throated yell that always preceded good’s triumph over evil in every Weismuller film.

And why not? In those days as teenager, Bragg would go alone to a wooded area near his home, climb the trees and let out a full-throated roar as he swung to the next branch. When the challenge wasn’t enough, he would get old bamboo poles that once helped roll up carpets, take them to that area that he had nicknamed “Tarzanville” and give a go at what he thought was pole vaulting.

Olympic pole vault champion Don Bragg once dreamed of following Johnny Weismuller as Tarzan.

Bragg never got to play Tarzan in a movie. But the continual shaping of his powerful upper body during all those charades ultimately created the anatomy of one of the greatest pole vaulters who ever lived. At 6-foot-33 and 200 pounds, Bragg was one of the biggest vaulters in history. He had to stay on a 1,200-calorie diet to stay at that weight — any more and the aluminum alloy poles would crumple under the strain.

Bragg, once the king of pole vaulting’s golden area, passed away in February but his legacy is as colorful as it is dramatic. They will honor it Saturday afternoon, when they meet for a celebration of Don Bragg’s life at the Davidow Atrium on the campus of Salem Community College.

“Don was 15 years old when he met Bob Richards, who was then the poster boy for all pole vaulters," Terry Bragg recalled the other day. “Don told him that he planned to be exactly like him.”

Instead, he became, well, Don Bragg, the best of his time. Richards and Bragg would become close friends. Two weeks before Don passed away, Richards called him on the phone. Richards was 93; Don was 83.

The 10-year gap in age dictated they would never quite compete on an equal footing. Terry recalled that Richards joked, “I did let you beat me once,” then Don laughed and he said, “You know I tried to call you the next day to apologize.”

But I’m glad he was able to tell Don that, as he still lectures around the world, he tells people that Don is the greatest he ever saw. It’s hard to argue against the premise. In time, what had begun in that little New Jersey town, as the making of a champion, found a showcase to the south in Philadelphia, where a legendary track coach named Jumbo Elliot recruited Bragg for Villanova. After that, he competed for the Shannon Catholic Track and Field Club.

Before he finished, he blazed a trail that wound its way through stadiums and arenas in Boston, Chicago and Los Angeles -- with dozens of side trips along the way.

“At one point, he set records in just about every stadium and indoor meet in which he competed,” Terry said. “Some of them lasted decades.”

Bragg’s father was a craftsman who designed a canvas carrying case for his poles. As he commuted between meets, the bag became a familiar sight. Across the side was emblazoned the legend:

Don “Tarzan” Bragg: Break 15 feet, 9 1/4 inches or bust.

He set the world outdoor record at the 1960 Olympic Trials (15 feet, 9¼ inches) and the indoor mark a year earlier (15 feet, 9¼ inches). His appearances, here and abroad, brought the sport to a new level of excitement— and not always around the pole vault.

As a case in point: He was headed for a meet in Boston. He caught a train in Philly and changed to another in New York. While transporting his pole from one train to another, it accidentally struck an overhead wire, unleashing 30,000 volts of electricity. The carrying bag instantly burned. The pole melted. Miraculously, Bragg was unhurt.

Meanwhile, news that he had been electrocuted spread to the Boston Garden. When he walked into the arena, the place was stunned. Almost casually, he ignored the drama, turned to a competitor and said:

“I need to borrow a pole.”

He did — and he won.

It was neither age nor competition that ended his run. It was the newly unveiled fiberglass pole. It changed the game for a man of his size.

“It’s a different event now,” he said. “The pole does all the work.”

The Tarzan within him lived on all through his career. When he won the Olympic gold, he bent his head on the victory stand so they could hang the medal on him. When lifted it, he beat his chest and gave the crowd his best Tarzan roar.

That was 1960. Fifty years later, when they acerbated the 50th anniversary of that event, he returned to Rome and before 8,000 fans he said: “The last time I was here, I left you with just one word. Now I do it again.”

And the Tarzan yell came through loud and clear.

While he never followed Johnny Weissmuller as Tarzan, they did become good friends. The big attraction at the 1972 Olympics was the great swimmer Mark Spitz. Every time he put a toe in the water, he seemed to set a new record. Now he was about to go after another one.

The collective silence was deafening.

And then from his seat, Don Bragg spotted Johnny Weissmuller entering the arena. He leaped to his feet and unleashed a Tarzan yell.

Weissmuller looked up, saw him and answered in kind.

In that instant, for the two of them, everything old was forever new again.

Jerry Izenberg is Columnist Emeritus for The Star-Ledger. He can be reached at jizenberg@starledger.com.