by Elise Hooper
During the first few steps of her 50-yard-dash final, she nearly tripped but still managed to win, though it was closer than it should have been.
Her 100-yard and 200-yard races went better and she won both, but she couldn’t shake the sense of feeling jittery and off-pace.
Normally she would have been delighted with her victories, but with the relay approaching, all she felt was dread. When she was racing by herself, she knew she could win, but why was she so bad at the relay? Maybe it was the pesky baton’s fault; it felt odd to carry anything extra when she ran. She liked the freedom of feeling light and unencumbered, but she had told the girls she would do it so she had no other choice.
By the side of the track, Helen spotted Betty stretching and her stomach twisted with anxiety. She had admired Betty for so long and had been so excited to meet her. What if she disappointed her?
Betty was even prettier in real life than she looked in the newspapers, but it certainly wasn’t a classic type of beauty that made her attractive. Her chin was pointy and her smile was even a bit crooked, yet her blue eyes sparkled and her smile had an unexpected power, a way of making you feel like you were the best of friends after only seconds of meeting. Betty had a field of gravity wholly unto herself, and Helen was being pulled into her orbit. And it wasn’t a bad feeling. Truth be told, Helen felt a little shaky upon meeting Betty; yes, part of that came from being intimidated, but mostly it was the type of shaky that came over her when she was thrilled.
For the final event of the evening, the judges brought the six relay teams together and reminded everyone of the rules. The other women appeared to know what they were doing and a familiar feeling crept over Helen. She tried to concentrate on what the man was saying, but she felt like she wasn’t fitting in and was out of her element. Why was she doing this?
When the official dismissed the women, Betty gathered Helen and the two others. “Ladies, this is our race. If you have to sacrifice a little speed during transitions to get the baton, do it. How about we change up our race order? I’ll switch with Caroline, so I’ll do the hand-off to you, Helen. Sound good?”
Helen’s mouth felt dry. “But I didn’t practice with you. I was having enough trouble getting it right with Caroline; do you think it’s a good idea to change things even more?”
Betty’s cheerful expression hardened into something more serious. “Helen, I have complete faith in you. Listen for my command and then run like the wind when I hand the baton to you. You can do this.”
Suddenly Helen’s legs felt waterlogged.
“Good luck, girls!” Betty called to Caroline and Tidye as she took Helen’s arm and marched her down the track toward their starting areas.
“Doesn’t the captain usually run the first leg? Why aren’t you starting us off?” Helen asked.
“Since my crash, I can’t do the starter’s crouch comfortably anymore. It hurts my back and legs, so I’m avoiding it. That’s why I’m not running any individual races tonight. This is it for me. I’m trying out how it feels to race again tonight.”
Helen glanced to the men lining the edge of the track, writing in notebooks. Seeing the AAU officials made something click into place in Helen’s head. These women needed her. This race was important for their chances to be invited to the Olympic trials, and it was especially critical to Betty. Helen felt her shoulder being squeezed and looked down to see Betty studying her.
“Let’s show everyone what you can do tonight. All I’ve been hearing is that my chances of running again are over, but we’re going to win this, don’t you think?”
“Yes, we are,” Helen said, jogging away to take her place around the curve. Her legs still trembled, but she felt resolved now. She would not disappoint Betty.
Minutes later, the starting gun fired. Tidye’s legs wheeled around the first curve in a blur and Helen couldn’t even make out the baton transition to Caroline because they did it so seamlessly. Helen’s muscles tightened with the recollection of how she had failed the transition practice outside, but at the same time, Betty had the baton and was barreling toward her with a look of startling determination. Helen needed to loosen and face down the track, away from the women coming in, but she took one final glance over her shoulder. If Betty could run like that after all she had been through, Helen couldn’t fail her. She turned and stared at the finish ribbon. The noise of the crowd felt like it was bouncing off every surface of the building. What if she couldn’t hear Betty’s command? She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and then Betty’s voice pierced through everything.
“UP!”
Helen smiled, took a step forward, and pushed her hand back, but didn’t dare start running. A stampede of runners crashed upon her, and when the baton slammed into her hand Helen lurched into running, looking for the regulation relay lines. She couldn’t find them, but with the air thick with the swarm of bodies converging on her, there was no time to spare. It was a rocky beginning but she leapt into her stride and took off. Once she was moving, her unsteadiness vanished. She ran toward the finish line, and as the tape stretched across her chest, she raised her arms. They had done it! Lungs heaving, Helen slowed. When she stopped, Tidye, Caroline, and Betty were surrounding her, laughing and cheering and hugging.
“Better check to see if you left scorch marks along that final lane,” Caroline shouted.
“Good thing I didn’t knock you over when I ran into you.” Betty laughed.
“Ha, if anything, I’m worried that I might have hurt you during that crash,” Helen said, soaking in the exuberance of the victory. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. I’m better than fine! I feel wonderful!”
The minutes after the relay were a whirlwind of congratulations and backslapping. The women were ushered into the locker room, where they cleaned off and changed, all giddy with the thrill of winning. Helen buttoned herself into her dove-gray serge dress, feeling nearly limp with relief that the relay was over with no mishaps.
Betty appeared at her side, straightening her skirt. “So, do you have any plans now? What do you say we go out and celebrate?”
Helen couldn’t believe her luck. “That would be swell. My coach ended up having to go back to Missouri because his wife went into labor with their first baby so I’m on my own, staying in a boardinghouse down by the university.”
“We can go somewhere nearby.”
“Count me in.”
Moments later, Helen gathered outside on the sidewalk with Betty, Caroline, and a tall man introduced as Howard, Caroline’s husband. The rain had held off and the wind that buffeted them felt chilly yet refreshing. “I’ll bet we can find a place to eat if we head toward the city,” Betty said, pointing toward lights down the street. Tidye had needed to go home, but the rest of the group set off in that direction.
“Goodness, I think I need to take four steps to every one of yours,” said Betty, skipping to keep pace with Helen.
“Sorry.” Helen slowed, her face reddening. She took a look at Betty, marveling that the woman whose face had graced her childhood bedroom’s wall in Fulton for years was now beside her—in the flesh!
“Don’t be sorry. Your long stride is”—Betty shook her head—“amazing.”
“Thanks.” Helen was searching her mind for what she could say, something interesting and witty, when they passed a little joint with a sign lit up in the window saying BAR.
“What do you think? How about we head in here?” Betty asked.
“That’s certainly not where my coach and his wife take me after races.” Helen laughed and then pointed to a placard in the window: No unescorted ladies will be served. “But what about that?”
“You forget, we’ve got Howard with us,” Betty said.
Caroline and Howard lagged behind, walking arm in arm, so close their heads practically touched, and Helen studied them with a dart of longing. To be a competitive athlete and have found love—what a lucky life Caroline led.
“If this is what you city folk
s do, then count me in,” Helen said as they entered the low-ceilinged dim interior. Only a few men sat at stools around the bar and the handful of tables were open. Along with a haze of cigarette smoke, a scratchy recording of “Blue Moon” drifted over the place from a gramophone. Howard left the women as he went off to find the men’s restroom, and Betty plunked her pocketbook onto a table and began to pull off her coat.
“Think they serve food here? I’m famished,” Helen said.
“If they do, I’m not sure you’ll want to eat it,” Caroline answered, pulling a lipstick from her handbag and quickly tracing it over her lips.
Helen chuckled. “You’d be surprised. I’ll eat anything.”
“We’ll just have one drink and then go find food.”
A bartender arrived at their table wiping his hands on the small apron he wore around his thick waist. “Well, well, what are the three of you doing in a place like this?”
Betty said, “We just won races up the street at the armory. We’re here to celebrate.”
The man cocked an eyebrow. “What kinda races?”
“Running. You can read all about it in tomorrow’s papers,” Helen said.
“We don’t serve unescorted dames here. I could lose my license,” the bartender growled.
“Well, we’re in luck then, because here comes my husband.” Caroline pointed to Howard as he reappeared.
“You’re with these ladies?” the bartender asked Howard, making it clear by his unamused expression that he considered Caroline, Betty, and Helen to be anything but ladies.
“I am.” Howard smirked at the women, removing his fedora with a flourish.
“Fine. What’ll it be?”
“We’ll have three extra-dry martinis,” Betty said without looking at a menu. “I’ll take extra olives in mine, please.”
“You got it,” the man said, glaring at Betty before turning to Howard. “You?”
“A Manhattan, please.”
The bartender gave them all a final contemptuous look and lumbered to the bar. Caroline wrinkled her nose. “I almost wish Howard wasn’t with us, just so we could have picked more of a fight with him.”
“I’d rather not have to bail you out of jail, my dear,” Howard said.
“What’s in a martini, anyway?” Helen asked.
“Don’t worry, you’ll like it.” Betty lit a cigarette.
Helen looked around at the dark walls of the bar and the scuffed floor and shrugged. She pulled a cocktail napkin closer and began to tear little pieces off its corner. “You should have seen the list of things my coach left me to think about before my race. A lot of it is stuff he usually does for me, like asking about the schedule, how many qualify from each heat to advance, all those details. And then there are strategy suggestions like making sure I pay attention to my early throws because those count and trying to avoid the outside lanes on the track.” By now she had torn the napkin to shreds, and she knew she was talking too much, but she couldn’t stop. “He also wrote, ‘The best always get beat—prolong it as long as possible.’”
Betty swept the destroyed napkin into her palm before dumping it into her pocket. “Don’t worry. At some point, everyone loses. That’s what competition is all about.”
Helen chewed on her lower lip, grateful that she hadn’t caused them to lose the relay. Running races by herself was easier. It felt great to be surrounded by teammates, but worrying that she’d let people down caused too much stress. And honestly, she didn’t want to rely on anyone else either. It felt much safer to go it alone. “I guess so, but I really don’t want to lose to Stella Walsh. She’s the worst.”
“Clearly you’ve never met Babe Didrikson,” Caroline grumbled.
“But Stella’s such a loner,” Betty said. “She never seems to have anyone at races with her and she always vanishes afterward, never talks to anyone. She doesn’t seem to have any friends. Now that I think about it, I’ve never seen her so much as laugh.”
Caroline considered this. “You’re right. She’s certainly different.”
At her mention of different, Helen became wary. “What do you mean?”
“When I think back to Los Angeles, she had a room to herself at the Chapman Park, where all of us gals were staying, but we never saw her. Even when she won the gold in the hundred-meter, she didn’t celebrate. She just left the stadium immediately and disappeared, even wearing her track clothes out onto the street afterward. She’s aloof, a loner.”
“Do you think it’s by choice?” Helen asked.
“Well, she doesn’t make things easy for herself. I mean, her choice to race for Poland hasn’t endeared her to anyone.”
“Why did she do that?” Helen asked.
“They offered her money.” Caroline shrugged. “She needs to make a living and it’s hard to do that as an athlete, especially a woman athlete.”
“But I think it was more than that,” Betty mused. “She doesn’t seem to belong anywhere. She’s lived in Cleveland for ages but doesn’t embrace this country, and yet she doesn’t really seem to be Polish either. Helen, think about it: Didn’t it feel strange to be on your own today?”
“It wasn’t as much fun as when Coach Moore’s around, that’s for sure.”
“Exactly. Racing unattached from a team, not having a coach, all of that can feel isolating, so we avoid doing it, but that’s how Stella races all the time. It must be hard.”
The bartender returned with four glasses balanced on his tray and placed them on the table, sloshing each one slightly, but he made no move to clean up the mess. “This is it. No more drinks this evening. These three ladies shouldn’t be here, mister. I don’t care how well they did tonight in a race.”
Howard stirred his drink. “Got it. I appreciate your enlightenment.”
The bartender frowned, but shuffled away.
“I’ll bet he’s in the back room now looking up the word enlightenment in the dictionary,” Howard said. The women giggled.
“To tonight’s win,” said Betty, lifting her drink toward Caroline, Helen, and Howard.
Helen’s eyes widened as she drank from her glass, and she could see Caroline and Betty exchange amused glances. The drink spilled down her throat and burned and it may have even taken the roof of her mouth off, but she liked it. She wasn’t afraid of its heat. Before she knew it, she had downed the whole thing, and a warm sense of relaxation spread through her. She could get used to this.
After a few minutes and more contemptuous looks from the barkeep, the group finished their drinks and went outside to the sidewalk. Helen looked at Caroline’s and Betty’s faces reflecting the lights within the bar and a sense of expansive affection came over her. She had meant to have Betty sign her autograph book, but she didn’t feel like digging around in her bag to get it out. And she wasn’t worried. After tonight’s success, she suspected she’d be seeing Betty in Providence.
40.
June 1936
Malden, Massachusetts
LOUISE TOOK A JOB IN THE LAUNDRY. THE WORK LEFT her hands chafed with lye and seared with angry burns, but it was a job. A job without responsibility for anyone else but herself. Now she understood what Mama meant when she had said it was a relief to not become entangled in another family’s affairs. Deep in the dark humid recesses of the laundry rooms, Louise told herself she couldn’t hurt or disappoint anyone.
The night after that terrible day in the park, Dr. Conway had arrived at the Stokes home. His skin appeared sallow and bags hung under his eyes. He found Louise in the kitchen, sitting at the table with Mama and Julia, listless. He greeted Mama with a respectful nod and cleared his throat. “Ann Clark is fine now. Her throat opened back up so her breathing stabilized, I stitched up her chin, and she’s exhausted, but she’ll be back to herself in no time.”
Louise would have thought she didn’t have more tears to shed, but somehow, she did. Her head dropped to her arms and she sobbed.
The doctor rested his hand on Louise’s back. “That little gi
rl is lucky she was with you. It was an accident, not your fault. Your calm reaction and speed saved her life, and I’ve made that clear to the Clarks in no uncertain terms.”
“Yet you sent me away when I was helping.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“But Mrs. Clark fired me.”
Dr. Conway rubbed his hand over his face. “I know. Maybe once she’s had some time to collect herself, she’ll rethink that choice.”
But Dr. Conway’s words meant nothing to Louise. She knew it had been an accident. Rationally, she understood this, but it didn’t matter. She felt guilty. It was as if Ann’s accident slit open all of her emotional scars from Grace’s death and left the wound gaping, raw and bleeding.
Since that day in the park with Ann Clark, Louise had moved through her days as if in a trance. It had been several years since Louise had replayed the memory of finding Grace, but the routine returned to her that night and she slept poorly. Exhausted, she stopped attending track practices. Mrs. Brown, the woman who owned the laundry, went to the same church as the Stokeses, and as word got around about what had happened with the accident, she had been quick to offer Louise a job. It was fortunate that Mrs. Brown took a sympathetic view of the situation, because Louise was hardly a model worker. She was distracted and directions became jumbled in her mind. Batches of laundry got mixed together and customers complained of missing items. She spilled water on the floor, making it easy for the other laundresses to slip.
“Girl, you’re going to hurt yourself if you don’t start paying attention to what you’re doing,” Mrs. Brown had scolded after Louise dumped a load of sheets into a vat of boiling water with a large splash.
Louise didn’t even care. She deserved to be hurt. She could see concerned expressions on the other women’s faces and wished she were invisible.
After two weeks or so—Louise couldn’t be sure how much time had passed—Mrs. Clark arrived in the entrance of the laundry, fanning herself against the heat. “May I please speak to Louise Stokes?” she asked.
