by Elise Hooper
“I know, I know. But I need to start trying to walk again.”
Without saying a word, her father left the room only to return a moment later, a page of doctor-prescribed exercises in his hands. He handed it to Betty. “Start on these today if you want, but no more attempts at sudden miracles. The last thing we need is for you to fall and break your leg again. Or worse.” His face, usually genial, hardened.
She thought back to the stack of bills she had spied on the hospital receptionist’s desk. “I’ll be more careful.”
“Seems like we’ve had enough excitement for one day. Let’s try these later,” Bill said, studying the list over Betty’s shoulder.
Impatience made Betty’s hands knot into fists. She didn’t want to wait. She didn’t have the luxury of waiting. This was going to be hard—the throbbing in her knees and lower back would make sure of it—but she didn’t want to waste another minute.
“Let’s try today. If I’m ever to have a chance of running again, the nurses said I need to start walking as soon as possible while my muscles still contain some memory of the movement.”
Bill shrugged. “Why are you so hung up on running? What’s the point? Come on, you and I have grown up. We can’t play sports forever. Let’s be realistic and focus on walking. It’s time for us to move on.”
Betty stared at Bill. She was supposed to give up on running? She hadn’t been “playing” at running; competition had opened up a whole new world for her. Without it, she felt lost.
27.
August 1932
Los Angeles
THE NIGHT BEFORE THE RELAY WAS A QUIET EVENING at the Chapman Park Hotel. When Louise slid between the sheets and rolled onto her side to face the wall, she curled her legs toward her chest and tried to count backward. Useless. Sleep would be impossible. The sounds of the hotel felt too loud and jarring. Water whooshing through the pipes. The opening and closing of doors. The low hum of voices. It was too much. Eventually she drifted into sleep, but when she woke in the morning, she felt woolly headed and sick to her stomach.
The women dressed in their team navy skirts, blazers, and straw boaters, and filed downstairs for a subdued breakfast before climbing into the motorcars idling outside the hotel’s front doors to take them to the stadium. Once there, Louise followed her teammates into the locker room to change into their white satin tanks and shorts. There was little conversation; a nervous energy hung over the group as if a storm were settling over them. The concrete walls made the room cold and damp, almost subterranean, and goose pimples prickled over Louise’s arms and legs. When they filed out toward the track, Louise was the last woman out the door. In front of her, hands waved, flags fluttered, and faces turned toward the racers, shrieking with excitement. The din felt overwhelming and Louise grabbed on to the railing to guide her through the throngs of people. Uncle Freddie’s face appeared in the crowd and relief at his familiarity washed over her. She could do this.
She reached the edge of the track and stepped onto the cinder, squinting ahead into the sun. Where was she supposed to go? Where was Coach Vreeland?
Eve, Annette, and Billie were taking their places in the team’s lane.
And then Louise froze.
Mary was walking to the lane and taking the first spot.
A hand clapped onto her shoulder, pulling her back. She turned to see Tidye looking at her with concern. Tidye cupped her hand around her mouth and, over the clamor of the crowd, she yelled, “Coach Vreeland just told Mary she’s racing. I’m sorry.”
Louise stumbled into place on the sidelines beside Tidye.
Coach Vreeland wasn’t going to say anything to her?
The racers took their places and Louise watched numbly as the starting gun fired. As the first racer, Mary dashed toward Eve. It happened so quickly. The sprinters blurred as they ran by Louise, and she could barely register what was happening. All the cheering, the jostling, the energy of the crowd, it swept past her as if she were a rock in a stream, unmoving and unable to feel the cold of the rushing water. She couldn’t believe that Coach Vreeland had said nothing to her. What a coward! Her insides roiled. She tried to breathe through the fury engulfing her. She had arrived at the Olympic trials focused and had run with everything she had to earn one of those six coveted spots. She didn’t have a coach who intimidated everyone into giving her a spot in the finals; she came to her spot fair and square. She had followed the rules, bitten back her shame when treated poorly in Denver, ignored Babe’s boorish behavior, and focused during practices—but none of it had been enough. Coach Vreeland had betrayed her.
And then she flinched. Why had she allowed herself to dream that she was going to have a spot on the relay? After all of Coach’s questionable additions to the team, excluding her from the team photo, ignoring her during practices, she should have known. She and Tidye never had a chance.
When the announcer called out that the American women had won and set a world record, Louise stared at the track but didn’t see a thing. She didn’t see her teammates celebrating. Didn’t see officials handing them laurel wreaths and gold medals. Didn’t see them singing the national anthem. As everything inside her thrummed with anger, everything outside of her body was a blur.
She felt like a fool for believing that she’d had a chance. She had arrived in Los Angeles a hopeful and excited girl, but within the space of two or three minutes, she had become disillusioned and furious.
WHEN THE TEAM made it back to the Chapman Park Hotel later in the afternoon, Louise peeled off from the group and stalked into the garden behind the hotel. She found a bench next to a fountain and dropped onto it, her forehead falling into her palm. She didn’t cry; she felt too wrung out. Though the sweet smell of hibiscus hung over her, she wished she were back home in Massachusetts, away from all of this disappointment. Of course, once she got home, she’d have to face everyone’s pity and disappointment on her behalf, and that might even feel worse. She had been such an innocent when she’d arrived, prepared to believe that Babe was the worst of her and Tidye’s problems. At least Babe had been plainspoken about her poor treatment of them. Now Louise could finally see what had been obvious all along: she never had a chance. She had just wanted to ignore it.
“Louise?”
She raised her head. In the golden light of early evening, Uncle Freddie was walking toward her.
“Caroline thought she saw you heading back here.” Uncle Freddie sighed as he sat next to Louise and extended his arm along the back of the bench. “I’m sorry about what happened back there. Wish I could say I’m surprised.”
“That’s what makes me feel the worst. I am surprised. I believed I was going to race. Ever since we left Chicago, Tidye’s been worried that Coach Vreeland wasn’t going to race us, but I didn’t let myself believe her. I feel so stupid.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You won big races, got important awards, set records; they made you feel like you had a shot. It’s not your fault your coach didn’t have the vision to offer you more of an opportunity.”
“Us girls? We’re invisible.” The unfairness of it all felt like an ache that stuck like a rock under Louise’s ribs. “It’s worse for Tidye and me because of our color, but I think no one ever considers any of us girls to be real contenders at all.”
“You did everything right. You’ve made all of us so proud.”
“Really?”
Uncle Freddie patted her arm. “Of course. Things happen that are beyond your control. You gave it everything you had and that’s all you can do. You’ve just got to keep going. That’s what we do. So what’s next?”
Louise had been avoiding thinking about this. It hurt too much to consider. “I don’t know. Mama will probably want me to finish school.” But even as she said the words, she knew she wouldn’t return to the halls of Malden High School. To go back, not ever having gotten a chance at her shot in the Olympics? It was too maddening to consider. How was she supposed to have any hope for the future when she had exper
ienced such a betrayal?
“I understand your anger, I’ve been there too many times to count, but don’t stop because you’re angry. You’ve got to take that anger and use its energy and power to accomplish something good. Stop when you feel you’ve accomplished what you set out to do and you’re ready to try something new. I think you’ve still got more running in you, more great finishes. You’ve got to keep trying and hoping and applying pressure on people to do the right thing.”
Louise stared into the fountain, mesmerized by the falling water. “I’m too mad to think about the future so I’m going to allow myself to be good and angry tonight. No one can take that from me. For the next twelve hours, I’m going to allow myself to feel all of it—my hurt, anger, and disappointment. Then, in the morning, I’ll rise and spend the day smiling and enjoying parties and events that celebrate this team. I’ll be a good girl, a good teammate, but tonight, I get to be angry.”
Uncle Freddie nodded. “Being angry doesn’t make you bad. It shows you’ve got heart.”
Later, after she and Uncle Freddie had said their goodbyes, she passed by the elevator, choosing instead to climb the stairs to her room. Sometimes it felt best to think while she was moving. With each step upward, she turned over what Uncle Freddie had said in the garden. It was easy to believe that the stopwatch was the ultimate decider of who would win the race, but results could be skewed because of things that had nothing to do with running. Rules could be broken. Judges could be wrong. People did not always do the fair thing. Final results were only as reliable as the system that produced them. Louise understood this now.
She reached her floor and paused. Leaning against the railing to let her heart slow and breathing settle, she made a decision. Even though the system was flawed, she refused to give up on it.
CAROLINE AND HOWARD gave Louise and Tidye a ride back to Chicago from California, and from there, Louise took the train home to Massachusetts. She arrived at the platform in Malden on an afternoon thick with humidity and spotted Papa in the crowd, his gaze roving the disembarking passengers for her. In the six weeks that she had been gone, he had changed. He looked like a parched houseplant. Brittle, drooping, and leached of color. She hurried off the train and was swept into his arms.
She hoped to keep her voice upbeat. “I’ve missed you. How are you?”
“It’s good to have our champion back. Welcome home.” He ran his hand along her cheek, as if he couldn’t believe she was there. “How was California?”
Louise bit the inside of her mouth. She had known she would be asked this question, and during the long trip across the country, she’d thought of a thousand different ways to answer it. In the end she had settled on an answer that told the truth without dredging up all the pain she still carried. “I learned a lot.”
Papa’s eyes narrowed. He knew her too well to accept that answer at face value, but before he could prod for more, she asked, “Where’s Mama? Junior didn’t come?”
Papa reached for Louise’s valise. “Come now, Dr. Conway let me borrow his car as a special occasion.”
Something was wrong. Where was everyone? She wanted to ask more questions, but Papa had moved ahead, his chin down as if pushing into a headwind. She followed.
Once they were settled into the car, Papa rested his hands on the wheel, but didn’t start the motor. “Louise, I’m afraid I have some bad news. We received a telegram from California four days ago. Uncle Freddie was in an accident.”
“What? I don’t understand. I just saw him in California.”
“He was in an automobile accident. There was a storm and the roads were slick and—” He shook his head. “He didn’t survive. Your mother is devastated.”
Louise couldn’t bring herself to imagine Mama’s reaction to the loss of her brother. Why had she wasted her last few minutes with Uncle Freddie feeling sorry for herself? Why hadn’t they gone to the beach and marveled at the Pacific? Why hadn’t she seen the airplanes he was helping to build? She should have asked him more questions about his life. She could still feel the pressure of his leg against hers on the bench behind the Chapman Park Hotel, the way he had looked into her eyes and told her to keep running.
Breathless, she snapped open her purse on her lap, rummaging through it to find the photo, the picture of him in Europe. She held it up and studied the two men gazing into the camera, their expressions solemn yet expectant, youthful. Everything about their posture told her what she needed to know. Their straight backs, their air of sophistication. The handsomeness of their uniforms. They had served their country regardless of how they were treated. They had persevered, and they had done it with pride, not to mention a sense of style.
Louise hid her tears by turning to look out the window. Houses, storefronts, and elm trees blurred past. She would make Uncle Freddie’s sacrifice mean something. She would persevere in her own way. She would keep running. In four more years, there would be another Olympics.
28.
November 1932
Chicago
BETTY SLOGGED AWAY AT HER EXERCISES THROUGHOUT the fall. Her world had shrunk to the front parlor, the kitchen, the bathroom, and her bedroom. She wanted to get out, but leaving the house in her wheelchair? Demoralizing. She missed school with a sadness that would have been inconceivable to her before the plane crash. Why had she complained about homework? About her training schedule? Since returning home from the hospital, she considered a good day to be one she could make it through without crying.
One November weekend, Bill visited and she smelled the dampness of fall’s wet leaves and cool weather on his wool jacket as he bent over to kiss her. “It’s a beautiful afternoon outside and the sun feels marvelous,” he said. “Want me to take you out for a spin around the block?”
Betty had been knitting and she placed her skein of yarn and needles down on the couch next to her. “Doesn’t it embarrass you to go out with me in that dreadful thing?” She pointed to the wheelchair. The caning on the backrest appeared worn, and nicks and scuffs marred its wooden frame.
“No, not at all. When I was in church last weekend, our minister spoke about how sometimes obstacles can be blessings because they teach us humility and gratitude. Do you ever wonder if this happened to teach you something?”
Betty stared at Bill. This wasn’t the first time someone had said something similarly well intentioned to her. “I don’t think I was particularly egotistical or ungrateful before,” she said.
“Of course you weren’t. But you survived that crash for a reason. Do you ever wonder why?”
With all of her newfound idle time, she had concocted all kinds of elaborate reasons to explain the crash, but after making herself crazy with fear and guilt, she had concluded that sometimes bad things just happened with no rhyme or reason to them. To attach too much meaning to accidents felt exhausting and unnecessarily punishing. She needed to focus on improving, not overanalyzing the reasons behind the crash. It had been an accident—that was all there was to it.
He removed his coat and straightened his tie. “This might sound nuts, but I envy how much stronger you will be as a result of this.”
Betty sighed. “Are you crazy? I wouldn’t wish this upon anyone.” She looked away from the perfect whiteness of his straight teeth, his unshakable smile. He didn’t understand pain, loss, and grief. How could he? He had never lost anything. Life came easily to him. Before the crash, it had come easily to her too, but now she knew how quickly life could change. It would be easy to feel angry with Bill for his naïveté, but the truth was she was glad for his optimism. She needed it because doubt and fear plagued her all the time. She understood she would never be the same girl from before the crash, but who was she now? What would her future bring?
DR. MINKE VISITED Betty once a week to assess her progress and examine the muscles of her legs and arms and test their flexibility and range of motion. At the end of one of these appointments, he called her parents in to speak with them.
“Betty’s progr
ess has exceeded anything I anticipated. She’s said she wants to walk again, and I think that home visits with a nurse could really make a difference toward getting her to that goal quickly.” He consulted the notes he kept in his appointment book. “I’d recommend two appointments a week.”
Betty didn’t miss the grave look that passed between her parents. Though no one spoke of it, hospital bills had been flooding her parents since the plane crash. Before checking out of Oak Forest Infirmary, Betty had gotten her first glimpse of the financial toll her injuries were taking on her parents. It happened when Caroline had visited only a day or so after returning from Los Angeles.
“Looks like California agreed with you,” Betty had said, admiring her friend’s tanned glow.
“It’s hard to find fault with Los Angeles.” Caroline crossed her long legs. “But ugh, that Babe Didrikson. She was the worst. We tied in the hurdles, but the judges gave her the gold medal and me the silver and said they’d send me a gold one, but I’m not holding my breath.” Caroline pointed at a vase of carnations on the windowsill, clearly eager to change the subject. “Those are pretty. Did Bill bring them?”
Betty gazed at the flowers and rubbed at her temples. “He’s very sweet. He still wants to marry me, but—”
“Of course he still wants to marry you. He loves you.”
Betty’s stomach tightened. When Bill had met her, she had been vivacious and attractive, a promising student, an Olympic hopeful. She’d had so much potential. But now?
“Caroline, I’m so sorry to miss your wedding next month.”
“You have a good reason. Just send me an amazing present to make up for it.” She winked. “Now, what do you say I take you out for a walk? Let’s go see the nursery and admire all of those wriggling newborns.”
Caroline pushed Betty’s wheelchair through the hallways until they reached the window overlooking the nursery. Cocooned in their swaddles, little puckered pink faces contorted in squalls. From a bassinet in the corner, an arm escaped from its pink blanket, and a tiny fist rose and waved in the air in persistent protest.
