by Elise Hooper
What about Betty?
She was not one of the five women on Dee’s list.
Helen inhaled sharply. How could they not include Betty? She was the first woman to show them what could be accomplished! How many of them were standing in this room because of her? Because they had read about her in their newspapers and wanted to emulate her?
Helen searched the room, but there was no sign of Betty so she darted for the door. Outside, a few women lingered in the lobby, but still, no Betty. Seeing a line for the elevator, Helen hurried to the stairs, taking the steps two at a time, sometimes three. Initially the air was cooler in the stairwell, but soon Helen was sweating, her heart pounding as she leapt up the stairs. At the seventh floor, she hurried to their room. She burst through the door and found Annette sitting next to Betty, who lay on the bed, a look of utter dejection stamped across her face.
“Goodness, Helen, what’s wrong?” Betty asked, propping herself up on her elbow.
“I’m fine. Sorry I lost you back there,” she panted. “But what are we going to do about you?”
Annette clutched a notepad with the hotel’s letterhead at the top and held a pen over it, ready to write. “How are we going to get you to Berlin?”
“I have no idea,” Betty said.
Helen started pacing. “That’s not an answer. Think.”
Only the sound of street traffic from seven floors below filled the room. Betty leaned against the headboard and raised her hand to brush her hair away from her face. In the low light, her diamond ring, one of her beloved prizes from Amsterdam, glittered. Betty studied it for a moment, swung her feet off the bed, and rose. “Wait, I have an idea. Where’s the closest phone?”
43.
July 6, 1936
New York City
LOUISE PLACED THE PHONE BACK IN THE CRADLE AND leaned her forehead into her palm to stop the aching behind her eyes. How was she supposed to wait to find out if she had the money to go to Germany?
“I don’t know if I can make it,” she had protested to Mama, trying to keep her voice down. “I’m getting low on cash.”
“I’ll have an answer for you within the week. It’s the best we can do,” Mama said. “Sit tight, pray, and be careful with your spending.”
Louise pictured Mama putting on her Sunday best and going to see Reverend Thompson at his home. She squeezed her eyes shut. “Please, God, please help me. Please help the good people of Malden find it in their hearts to help me again.”
“Excuse me, are you all right?”
Louise opened her eyes to find Betty Robinson gazing at her from where she stood outside the telephone kiosk.
A sheepish expression crossed Betty’s face. “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to rush you. I just saw you lower your head . . .”
“No, no, it’s fine.” Louise slid out of the telephone kiosk and stood. The two women looked at each other uncertainly.
“I’m Betty.” She held out her hand.
“I know who you are. I’m Louise,” she said, taking Betty’s small hand in hers.
“Were you calling home?”
Louise nodded.
“Any luck?”
Louise shook her head. “I won’t know until next weekend. My church will try to raise the money. They paid for me to get here, so I don’t know if there will be more. It’s a lot to ask. Especially because I haven’t qualified for an individual event and am only being considered for the relay.”
“But you did well in the individual hundred-meter. Didn’t you win all your heats?”
“Not the final one. I almost fell and came in last, so I’m nervous. Back in ’thirty-two when I went to Los Angeles as a member of the relay pool, I never raced. What if that happens again? I hate to ask my neighbors to pay all of this money and not even race.”
“I know.” Betty bit her lip and whispered, “I’m being considered for only the relay too, but I can’t ask my family for anything more. They’ve been supporting me in so many ways for too long.”
“So what will you do?”
“It might be a long shot, but after Amsterdam, I was given many lovely gifts.” She raised her hand and a diamond set on a gold band sparkled on her finger. Louise inhaled sharply, admiring it. “Yep, this ring, a diamond watch, some gold charms, and a few other really beautiful expensive pieces of jewelry, and of course, my gold and silver medals. I’m going to ask my brother-in-law to sell it all for me. Maybe it will be enough to get me to Berlin.”
“Your medals? You’re going to sell them too?”
Betty grimaced. “I’ve worked too hard to give up now. I’m not sure if it will be enough, but . . .” She cleared her throat. “I’ve got to try.”
“I hope your plan works.”
“Thank you. I hope you get good news too.”
Louise said goodbye and walked across the shiny marble floor, but slowed as she neared the elevators. She couldn’t bring herself to go upstairs and see Tidye. Not yet. She envied her friend’s guaranteed spot with an intensity that frightened her. Why was this system so unfair? Why did everything always become so difficult? She had done what she was supposed to do; in Providence, she had made it to the finals of the 100-meter sprint. That was supposed to guarantee her a spot to Berlin, so why did the AOC constantly rewrite the rules?
She dropped to a chair and stared at the worn toes of her black pumps. Beside her feet lay a postcard of the Statue of Liberty that someone must have dropped. She picked it up and fanned herself with it. On top of everything else that was going wrong, why did it have to be so dreadfully hot?
“Louise?” Caroline appeared in front of her.
Surprised, Louise clutched at her chest as she took in Caroline’s tear-streaked face. “Oh no, you’re having trouble finding the money to go too?”
Caroline bit her lip and lowered the suitcase in her right hand to the ground. “I’m going home to Chicago. Dee just told me that even if I raise my own funds, the AOC isn’t inviting me to Berlin. My fourth-place finish in the hurdles wasn’t good enough. They’re betting on Tidye and Anne instead.”
Louise’s hand rose to her mouth in shock. “I’m so sorry.”
“I am too.” Caroline’s blue eyes grew shiny with tears. “But now it’s your chance. When you get to Berlin, give ’em hell, you hear?”
Louise’s throat tightened, and she felt her own tears starting down her cheeks as she rose to embrace Caroline. “This is so unfair. We will miss you terribly.”
“The good news is that I’ll get a big happy welcome from Howard and Joan. If nothing else, I’ve shown my daughter that girls can train hard too.”
When Louise and Tidye had been stuck in that awful attic room in Denver, it had been Caroline who climbed all of those flights of stairs to bring them dessert. This woman who had once leapt out of a plane to earn the money to sponsor her Olympic dreams, this woman who had set a world record alongside Babe Didrikson in Los Angeles, who should have won a gold medal in the hurdles in 1932—she was being sent home. What a fickle business this was! They worked so hard, but everything could be lost in an instant; if there was one person who understood this, it was Louise.
“Joan’s lucky to have you.” Despite the heat and humidity, she squeezed Caroline tightly, breathing in her lavender-scented powder.
WHEN LOUISE RETURNED to her room, Tidye was there, lying across one of the double beds reading a newspaper, wearing only her slip. Pearls of perspiration balanced on her upper lip. Despite the open window, the damask curtains didn’t budge and the air felt stagnant. She looked up at Louise. “How’d your call go?”
“I’ll know more by the weekend.” Louise sat on the edge of the bed and kicked off her shoes. She sighed. “I guess you saw Caroline pack her things?”
“Isn’t it awful that she can’t come? I tell you, this whole business brings so much heartbreak. Why do we do this to ourselves?”
Louise shook her head and unbuttoned her damp blouse to pull it off. “I’ve been wondering the same thing. When we d
idn’t end up racing in Los Angeles, did you ever wonder if it was all worth it?”
“Sure, I’ve thought about that a lot, but even though I felt shattered, I wasn’t ready to give up. This has become about more than running for me. I want people to see us out there, competing for our country. I don’t want to quit until I’ve been seen for what I’m worth.”
“Yeah, but you’re lucky. You’ll get to show them what you’re worth in Berlin.” The words were out of her mouth before she knew it. Calling Tidye lucky wasn’t fair. It dismissed all of her perseverance and effort.
Tidye’s lips pressed together but she said nothing. Instead, she moved to her suitcase, rifling through its contents while a long silence yawned between them. Louise felt short of breath. Why couldn’t she apologize and correct what she had just said?
Tidye straightened and held out a yellow dress. “I’ve gotten a note from Ralph Metcalfe, a friend of mine from Chicago who’ll be racing in the men’s trials this weekend. He’s invited us to meet up with some of those fellas who’ve gotten into town. Come on, put on a dress, something for a night out on the town. We need to get out of here.”
Louise sighed, torn between the temptation to confess she could barely afford to rub two pennies together and wasn’t in the mood to go out, and wanting to make amends. “You’re right, we could use a good caper. It would be a shame to let this beautiful dress that Emily made me languish in my valise.”
“Exactly,” Tidye said, nodding at the rose-colored cotton-voile dress that Louise pulled from her bag, but not meeting Louise’s gaze.
The women crowded in front of the mirror to smooth their hair and put on lipstick, though neither looked at each other. Louise half-heartedly daubed some powder across her shiny face. All that was left unsaid felt worse than anything the heat could do to her.
BY THE TIME they made it downstairs and out onto the sidewalk, the setting sun no longer beat down, but heat blasted from every surface—the metallic automobiles, the pavement of the streets, the brick buildings. The thin soles of Tidye’s pumps warmed from the hot concrete sidewalk underfoot. By the time they had walked a block, a sheen of perspiration glossed both women.
“So where are we going?” Louise asked.
“Swing Street, girl.”
Swing Street. Louise had heard of it—the blocks famous for clubs and live music. A shiver of anticipation skipped up her spine. She needed to forget about money, Dee Boeckmann, Malden, even her family. Just for a night. She needed to live in the moment because New York could be the end of the line. In a few days, she could be back at home, working for Mrs. Clark and reading about the team heading to Berlin in the newspapers.
They headed along Seventh Avenue until they reached Fifty-Second Street. Here, neon signs created halos of red, yellow, and bright green, bathing the clusters of brownstones lining the narrow street. The croon of saxophones and piano melodies seeped out from open basement doors and windows. Tidye adjusted their pace to match the saunter of others as they trawled the block, but it wasn’t the glorious sense of escape that brought Louise up short—it was the people! Clusters of black and white people mingled along sidewalks. Louise had never seen such a thing. She was used to being the only black woman in school, at track meets, or at work, so this was a whole new world.
And then there was the fact that everyone was wearing such beautiful clothing. Back in the hotel room, Louise’s new frock had made her feel attractive and daring with its low neckline and trim silhouette, but now, surrounded by the other club-goers, she realized she looked plain and conservative. Gauzy sweeping flared hems, elegant T-strap heels, gowns of metallic lamé and crepe de chine—everyone looked so confident, so sophisticated. The heat lent the city an intimacy that unsettled Louise, but it also contained a certain allure. So much slick bare skin everywhere. Some of the women’s gowns revealed long, smooth bare backs. Men with their shirtsleeves rolled up past their elbows leaned against the brick walls, chatting and smoking with one another. These folks were definitely not on their way to Sunday-morning church services!
Laughter and the clink of glasses floated past them. An easygoing sense of joy suffused the air. Louise never traveled into Boston at night, so the close press of club-goers, the music, the sense of festivity—it was all new to her. Tonight, she could be whoever she wanted.
“HERE WE ARE,” Tidye said, steering them underneath a flashing sign and into a dark doorway. “Get ready to meet some of the best athletes in the country. And they’re college men,” she added in an excited whisper.
Inside, music, heat, and cigarette smoke left Louise dizzy and overwhelmed.
“Tidye,” a deep voice called, and a tall black man with wavy dark hair and a thin mustache stood and waved.
“Hey, Ralph, hey, fellas,” Tidye cooed. Four other black men rose, all tipping their hats, and Tidye beamed. “This here’s Louise, but she’s the Malden Meteor to all of you.”
The group chuckled appreciatively and Louise shook hands, squinting to see each face in the candlelight from the votive in the center of the table. Surrounding them sat white and black men with double-breasted striped suits and broad shoulders, and women with perfectly coiffed hairdos and evening gowns trimmed with beads that caught the light enticingly. It all felt forbidden and risky, and the fact that no one else seemed to notice the novelty made Louise feel like she was in a strange world, but the racket of worries and sense of disconnect in her head dissolved as one of the men leaned forward, smiling, the bright white of his teeth leaving Louise dazzled. “I’m Mack. How about some champagne to celebrate your races last weekend?” he said.
She nodded and he raised his arm to get a nearby waitress’s attention. As Louise watched Mack, she glimpsed Tidye on the other side of him, gazing at him hungrily. The waitress strolled over to their table and stood with a hand on her hip.
“I’ll take a glass of champagne for the lady, please,” he said, grinning at Louise. In the blaze of Mack’s attention, Louise’s whole body warmed by several degrees, and when he didn’t turn to ask Tidye about a drink, she felt a small flicker of satisfaction.
“Louise, you’ve probably never had champagne before, have you?” Tidye asked loudly, a sharp edge in her voice, as the waitress sashayed back toward the bar.
Louise smiled, immune to Tidye’s barb. Mack was interested in her and the realization felt like the best prize in the world.
“New York City is as fine a place to try it as any other,” Mack said, and everyone laughed good-naturedly.
Ralph leaned back in his seat, crossing one foot over the other. “Tidye, you want some champagne too?” When she nodded, he signaled to the waitress for one more before turning back to the table. “We’ve been all over Midtown today drumming up funds with some suits from the AOC. Thanks to having Mr. Golden Boy with us, I think we got plenty.”
“I thought your team didn’t need to do any fund-raising,” Tidye said.
“They have us out there hustling for the General Fund. When you’ve got a fella like this, someone who everyone wants to meet, you make sure you use him.” Ralph slapped the shoulder of the man sitting next to him, a man whom Louise recognized from the newspapers. Jesse Owens.
Louise would have known his wide toothy grin anywhere. The men clinked their glasses of beer against his. Jesse winked at her over the rim of his beer and her face heated. In his lightweight gray suit and fedora, he looked like any other good-looking young man, but ever since his remarkable performance the prior year at the Big Ten track meet in Michigan, at which he had set several world records all within the course of one hour, he was whom everyone talked about. Even back home, Junior talked less about his beloved Red Sox and more about Jesse. The Ohio State student had the gold medal hopes of the country riding on him for Berlin.
“Not sure if some of those old-timers knew what to do when we all marched in,” Jesse said. “Probably the first time a colored man ever set foot in some of those places.”
Again, the men laughed and clinked
glasses.
“So, you all ready for Saturday?” Tidye asked, fanning herself with her hand. “Big couple of days for you boys on Randall Island.”
“You know it,” Ralph said. “We’re taking it easy, but it’s too blessed hot to stay in that hotel.”
“Sure is,” Mack said. He turned to Louise. “Is this your first Olympics?”
“Mack, I know you’ve heard of what happened in Los Angeles,” Ralph said, shaking his head. “Tidye and Louise went to California, but were pulled from the relay at the last minute.”
All the men raised their eyebrows and shook their heads.
“Now that’s just a shame,” mumbled one of them, whom Louise recognized as Dave Albritton, Jesse’s teammate from Ohio State who often appeared beside him in newspaper pictures.
The waitress reappeared to set two sweating glasses of champagne on the table, and Dave handed them to the women.
Louise cleared her throat. “I’m actually not even sure I’m going to Berlin. Our coach just announced that the AOC is only paying for five women to compete. Tidye’s one of them. She raced so well in Providence that she won herself a guaranteed trip.”
“That so?” Mack asked. “Well, Tidye, congratulations, but I sure hope things work out for you too, Louise.” She had hoped to make amends to Tidye, but from the way Mack had angled his body to turn into hers, she doubted her success.
“Here’s to all of us going to Berlin and winning,” Jesse said, lifting his beer. Everyone cheered and then quieted as they drank. The cold champagne danced along Louise’s tongue and tickled her throat as it slipped down. She had never tasted anything quite like it and she took another, longer sip, eager for more of the fizzy feeling that it brought her. She didn’t want to think about fund-raising, or home, or how Tidye seemed to be ignoring her.
After everyone lowered their glasses, Jesse’s expression turned sober. “I’m serious, we have to win. If we’re going to Germany, we need to show Hitler that all his theories on a master race are a load of bunk.” The men grunted in agreement, but Jesse looked at Louise. “What do you make of all this boycott talk?”
