Al Oerter, who died yesterday at 71, won gold medals in four successive Olympics and set a record in his event, the discus, each time. For many, the enduring image of Oerter will be his Olympic record-setting throw in the 1964 Tokyo Olympics, in which he wore a neck brace and could barely walk to the ring because of torn rib cartilage and internal bleeding. Giving it his all in the fifth round, he threw the discus 200 feet, 1 1 /3 inches to triumph over his Czech rival, Ludvik Danek. Oerter never saw the throw; as judges confirmed the new record, Oerter was writhing on the ground in pain.

Oerter went on to compete and win gold in the discus in Mexico City in 1968, his fourth consecutive Olympics. The record stood until 1996, when it was equaled by the American Carl Lewis in the long jump.

Born August 18, 1936, in Astoria, Queens, Oerter grew up in New Hyde Park, where he was a standout at Sewanhaka High School. He liked to tell a story that made it seem like the discus picked him — he was training as a miler when an errant throw landed literally at his feet. When he threw it back, the coach insisted he try out for the team. He went on to set a junior record.

Recruited to attend the University of Kansas, Oerter went on to set an NCAA record that qualified him for the 1956 Melbourne Olympics as a college sophomore. To get to Australia, Oerter recalled that he had to travel 40 hours in a military transport plane.

Although he had not expected to win, he later said, “Everything built up inside me. I was really keyed up and inspired.” His winning throw traveled 184 feet 1 /2 inch for a new Olympic record. Throughout his career, Oerter was known for his love of pure competition.

Years before it was fashionable, he practiced visualization: “I mentally simulate every conceivable situation for each throw,” Oerter told Cordner Nelson in “Track’s Greatest Champions.” “For example, I imagine that I’m in eighth place, it’s my fifth throw, and it’s pouring rain. What do I do? An inexperienced thrower might panic or be thinking, ‘Gees, I hope I don’t fall down.’ [But] I know ahead of time what I will do under every circumstance.”

He was literally a giant of an athlete, standing 6 feet 4 inches and competing at times at up to 300 pounds.

Despite a near-fatal auto wreck in 1957 that gave him pain for the rest of his career, Oerter came back to win at the 1960 Rome Olympics. Two years later, in Los Angeles, he became the first person ever to throw a discus more than 200 feet. Overcoming injury and pain at the 1964 Olympics may have been his triumphant moment, but in 1968 he threw even farther, 212 feet 6 inches.

Winning a fourth straight gold represented one of the greatest Olympics triumphs in history. But it was overshadowed to some extent by the spectacle of American sprinters Tommie Smith and John Carlos giving a black power salute during the medal ceremony for the 200-meter dash.

Oerter retired after 1968 to earn a living as a computer technician — winning the Olympics was no ticket to a fortune in those days. In 1976 he came out of retirement and threw his all-time best, 227 feet. He stayed in training and in 1980 qualified as the alternate for the U.S. Olympic team, only to miss the competition when America boycotted.

In 1996, Oerter carried the torch into the stadium in Atlanta to begin the games.

After he retired, Oerter took up art. Inspired by early experiments he had performed for a U.S. Olympic Committee publicity stunt in which he sploshed paint about using his discus, he began painting in earnest. He described his work as influenced by Kandinsky and Motherwell. Last summer, he announced that he was raising funds to open a museum in Fort Myers, Fla., to feature “Art of the Olympians.” Among the contributors were Bob Beamon (long jump, graphic art), Cammy Myler (luge, photographer), and Larry Young (race walking, sculptor).

A mix-up in high blood pressure medication was blamed for intensifying the heart disease that killed him. Oerter said the first time he had a heart attack, it was at a board meeting in Fort Myers, Fla. “Those meetings could kill anybody,” he told Sports Illustrated earlier this year.