by Elise Hooper
Louise placed her champagne reluctantly on the table and licked her lips. How had her mouth gone dry so quickly? Malden’s newspaper had run the occasional stories outlining the debate on whether the U.S. should send a team to compete in the Berlin Games, but she hadn’t heeded them much. Back in December, she had been relieved to see the AOC had voted—by a very slim majority—for the U.S. to compete. She hadn’t realized that talk of a boycott still persisted. Her focus had been solely on qualifying for the Olympics, not boycotting them. She hadn’t spent the last eight years training only to decide that the crazy talk of one little man in a country on the other side of the world was going to make her stop. But here, surrounded by these handsome college men, she had a feeling she was supposed to be thinking about more than her own success.
Tidye cleared her throat and chimed in. “We don’t support the idea of boycotting. By racing over there, we won’t just be showing Hitler that his ideas are wrong, we’ll be showing our own country too.”
“Exactly,” Dave said. “You know, back at school, Jesse and I can’t even live on campus. Ohio State is only interested in having us around in ways that serve its interests.”
Jesse nodded. “Look, the NAACP was after us for a while, sending letters and writing to the papers telling us not to race, to show ’em we’re to strike a blow at bigotry, but that’s just letting a powerful opportunity go. Those Nazis aren’t the only ones with dangerous ideas about race. We’d be fools if we ignore what’s happening over here. We need to show our own country what we can do too.”
Tidye drained her glass. “All eyes are on you, Jesse. On all of you fellas, really. Staying home does nothing. After watching the last Olympics from the sidelines, I can definitely say it’s important to be on the track holding everyone’s attention. Nothing changes if you don’t put yourself out there.”
Ralph laughed and cocked his head at Tidye as he spoke to the group. “See what I mean? This girl’s a firecracker, writing for the Defender and all.”
Tidye brightened at the compliment and winked at Louise.
“It’s great. You’re both a part of this too,” Jesse said to Tidye and Louise. “We’re going to show everyone what we can do.”
Louise found herself nodding along with the rest of the group. She wanted to believe what Jesse was saying, but for one night she didn’t want to think too far ahead. What she really wanted to believe was that her friendship with Tidye could withstand envy and that a handsome college man could be interested in her, because even simple things like these could get complicated.
44.
July 13, 1936
New York City
OVER THE WEEKEND BETTY ATTENDED THE MEN’S qualifying races on Randall Island, and judging by the packed stands, it seemed everyone else in New York City was there too. But nothing could distract her from the persistent worries circling her mind. Was Jim having any luck selling her prizes from 1928? She tried to focus on the men’s results, but instead dollar amounts ran through her mind at all hours of the day and night. How much would that diamond watch sell for? How about the medals? Even if it all sold, would it be enough?
She sweltered in the stands above the men’s races along with the other track and field women, who squirmed in their seats and fanned themselves impatiently. The stress of waiting for the final verdict on their status was wearing on all of them.
On Monday morning, Betty arrived in the hotel lobby to telephone Jim so early that the valets were running soapy blades along the glass on the front doors and a chambermaid was dusting the furniture. She glanced at the clock above the check-in desk. It was even earlier in Chicago, but Betty knew Jim and Jean would be awake, feeding Laura and Frances breakfast. Betty slid into one of the telephone kiosks and took a deep inhalation as she lifted the receiver to call. Jim answered on the first ring.
“Any luck?” Betty asked.
The line was silent for a moment and her heart stopped.
“Jim? Jim? Are you there?”
“Yes, yes, I’m here.” His voice sounded distant and she pressed the earpiece against her head as if that would help the connection. “Betty, we’ve got it. I’ll be wiring the money to a Western Union office near your hotel on my way in to work. I’ll leave in about ten minutes.”
Betty’s eyes clouded with relieved tears. “Really? Did it all sell? It was enough?”
“Every single piece sold. You’re going to Berlin. Do you have a pen and paper to write down the address where you’ll need to go to receive the funds?”
Her entire body began to vibrate so violently that she could barely breathe as she grasped a pen from her purse and pulled a notepad with the hotel’s letterhead toward her. With trembling hands, she wrote down everything Jim told her. When she had all the details, she exhaled with relief. “Thank you so much. Thank you for everything you’ve done.”
His laugh sounded tinny over the line. “You did all the hard work, Betty. We’re mighty proud of you and will be following your adventures in the newspaper.”
The pale blond hairs on her arms rose with his words. She thanked him again before placing the receiver back on its hook and dancing across the hotel lobby, too euphoric to think. At the far end of the room, the elevator doors opened and Helen appeared. Tousled and puffy from sleep, she studied Betty with a pensive expression.
Betty raised her arms victoriously, and the exuberant look that spread across Helen’s face made it all real. After all of this, Betty was going to the Olympics again.
Helen exited the elevator and let out a loud whoop as she ran toward Betty to catch her in a hug that lifted her off her feet.
“I knew you could do it,” Helen cheered, spinning Betty around. The two ignored the surprised expressions of the hotel staff and laughed and laughed.
Finally, Helen lowered Betty to the ground. As she stepped away, Betty could have sworn Helen lingered and breathed in the smell of her hair, but it happened so quickly she couldn’t be sure. Before Betty could get a good look at her face, Helen spun away.
“Betty?”
Betty turned to find Louise staring back and forth between Helen and her, a look of wariness on her face.
“Louise,” she said breathlessly. Why did she feel guilty of something? She straightened the belt around her dress. “My brother-in-law was able to sell everything! I have enough money to go to Berlin.”
“That’s wonderful.” Louise gave a rare smile that was wide enough to reveal the gap between her two front teeth. “I received a telegram from home last night with good news too. I’m walking to Western Union now. Want to come?”
“Yes.” Betty slid an arm through Louise’s. “Helen, want to join us?”
Helen turned toward them, her face flushed. She blinked and shook her head, dropping her gaze to her feet. “Um, no. I’ll stay here. See you both later.” Before she had even finished talking, she was heading toward the elevator.
“See you soon.” Betty kept her voice cheery even though Louise was looking at her strangely. “We’ll be back to start packing for Berlin.”
When one of the valets opened the front door for them, Betty stepped aside and glanced back over her shoulder as Louise passed. Behind them, Helen was standing in the elevator, staring at her. Betty paused briefly at the intensity of Helen’s gaze before hurrying ahead to catch Louise.
45.
July 17, 1936
Aboard the S.S. Manhattan
AT SEA, NEW YORK CITY’S HEAT DISSIPATED, REPLACED by cool breezes and mild sunshine. Perfect training conditions. The only problem was that the track’s hard wooden planks began to hurt Helen’s legs. They offered no give, and each day that she ran on them, her legs hurt more and more. By her third morning at sea, when she awoke and stepped from her bunk, the soft skin of her inner shins felt tender. Each step across the small space of their cabin sent a stab of pain searing up her legs.
Betty yawned, rolling over in her bunk. The edge of her pillowcase had left an indented ridge along the smooth skin of her ch
eek, and the intimacy of the imperfection brought Helen up short. It was all she could do not to sink to her knees next to Betty and trace her finger along the ridge to her hairline.
“Are you heading up to the track already?” Betty asked.
“Yep. There’s always a good crew up there and I can hear the latest of what’s going on. Want to join me?” Helen pulled on her track shoes, wincing from the pain in her legs.
“Hmm, eventually,” Betty said with a languorous sigh, and Helen hid her disappointment by tying her laces. Since boarding the Manhattan, instead of running, Betty would find a chair on the Promenade Deck and hold court as if she were minor royalty, and in a way, she was, at least as far as the athletes were concerned. The rowers, the equestrians, the swimmers, they couldn’t get enough of her. Yes, the weather had been perfect so far, but even without the sun, Betty appeared to glow in the attention of her admirers. Her long, smooth legs, the graceful turn of her wrist as she held a cigarette, and the sparkle in her eyes as she joked—all of it left Helen feeling awed and even a little intimidated. How did Betty manage to hold everyone in her thrall?
Betty stretched her bare arms overhead. “If you swing by here to change before breakfast, I’ll join you.”
“You sure you don’t want to practice now?”
“No, thanks. I’ll go later.”
“See you in a bit.” Helen stood and left, gingerly easing her weight onto each foot as she climbed the stairs to where the track was located. After a few laps around the track, the pain had vanished, and she loosened, waving hello to the familiar faces who, like her, enjoyed the early morning beauty of their surroundings.
Since New York City had faded into the distance, Helen had found herself mesmerized by the wide expanse of the Atlantic. The intensity of its blue. The way light sparkled off its surface. The power of the wind. The play of clouds overhead. Unlike the never-ending stretches of fields at home, the ocean was always changing. When Helen stood on deck, she became transfixed by its power and energy. Here, she had a keen sense of being one small piece within something larger, something alive. The way the sea moved and the wind blew, she felt as though she were surrounded by an unpredictable wild creature, and it thrilled her.
Unfortunately, the thrill had worn off by the time she sat in the dining hall having breakfast with Betty. The pain had returned, sharper and more insistent than before.
“What’s wrong?” Betty asked, looking at Helen’s plate of untouched scrambled eggs and toast.
“Nothing.”
“Are you sure? Do you miss home?”
“No, not at all. It’s just that my legs hurt.”
“Shin splints. You need to rest, take it easy. That’s what I’m doing. Stop training several times a day. The track is awful hard. My joints start hurting even more when I just think about it. It would absolutely be killing my legs and back if I were to run more than a few laps on it. If you want to socialize, sit in the chairs. You don’t have to always be running.”
“I’m not like you. I always feel like a beached whale when I drape myself along those deck chairs. You know me, I need action.”
“Do I need to point out that action seems to be giving you shin splints? What you need is rest.” As she spoke, Betty’s gaze trailed one of the male swimmers as he passed their table.
Helen watched Betty’s distraction with a pang of disappointment that quickly turned to annoyance. Why did she allow herself to moon over Betty? It was clear that her friend viewed her merely as a younger sister. “Rest? Fine, but please don’t say anything to anyone. The last thing I want is for Dee to catch wind of this.”
Harriet Bland, a sprinter in the relay pool, sat down across from them with only a single hard-boiled egg and a slice of honeydew melon on her plate. “What don’t you want Dee to catch wind of?”
Helen sighed. Leave it to Harriet to appear exactly when she wasn’t wanted. “Nothing.”
“Oh,” Harriet said, disappointed. She laid her napkin across her lap. “I thought maybe you weren’t feeling well, and I’d have to find a new table. I’m doing my best to stay in peak shape.”
“Then you might want to actually eat something substantial.” Helen took a big bite of her scrambled eggs.
Harriet rolled her eyes and tapped her hard-boiled egg against her plate to crack its shell while Betty flagged a server down for more coffee. After Helen’s mug was refilled, she took a big gulp, savoring how the warmth spread through her chest. A sense of resolution spread through her as well. She’d go find her jacket and then maybe sit on the deck in a lounge chair and write a letter home. Her legs would feel better in no time.
Helen left the dining room. As she climbed the stairs, she turned at the sound of heels clacking rapidly behind her and found Dee. “Good morning, Helen. I was hoping to see you. Do you have a moment for a word in private?”
Helen willed her face to not give anything away. Could Dee tell that Helen’s legs hurt? “Um, sure. Now?”
“Yes, come with me to my cabin?”
Dread filled Helen. They said nothing as she followed Dee to her room. Was Dee about to scold her for not saying anything about her legs? Were shin splints considered a serious injury? They entered Dee’s small cabin and Helen took a seat at the edge of her bunk, swallowing and looking around for a distraction, anything to keep from meeting Dee’s gaze.
“It’s come to my attention that you may be keeping something from me. As a member of this team, your loyalty is to your country, and since I’m your coach, I expect complete honesty from you.”
Dee leaned over toward her, making it impossible for Helen to look anywhere other than at her coach’s face. “Have you received any information about a team boycott of the Games?”
Helen straightened. A team boycott? Her mind raced back to the letters she and her roommates had discovered in their hotel room in New York and then a second boycott manifesto that had been waiting for Helen and Betty in their cabin. Shortly after boarding, Helen had discovered it and read excerpts aloud to Betty:
Hundreds of Germans are political prisoners and are confined to concentration camps for two or three years because they are pacifists or against National Socialism.
“So people are being imprisoned because they believe in peace?” Betty had asked.
Helen continued to read before pausing to look up at Betty. “Apparently this man, Carl Mierendorf, was imprisoned three years ago for supporting peaceful relations with France, and no one knows what’s happened to him. It says we should refuse to set foot in the stadium until Hitler releases these prisoners, and we should organize and coordinate our efforts to send a message.”
Betty leaned in and read, “‘We appeal to all women participating in the Games. What would the Olympic Games be if the women athletes were to refuse to take part?’” She stared out their cabin’s porthole for a moment. “This group believes that we have a voice, that we have some power?”
Helen didn’t know how to respond to Betty’s distress. All the anxiety of fund-raising had diverted their attention from the boycott, but now aboard the ship, on their way to Berlin, they had time to think. And worry.
Dee said, “I heard something about letters back in the New York hotel rooms urging you all to boycott.”
“Well, we’re all here, aren’t we? It sure looks like everyone’s decided to compete.”
“But have these resistance groups been in touch with you? Does anyone seem to be wavering on their commitment to this team? Has anyone said anything about it?”
“Have you asked some of the girls? You’re pretty tight with all of your runners from St. Louis. Surely Harriet will tell you anything you want to know.”
“How about Eleanor Holm Jarrett? Is she talking about boycotting?”
Helen pictured the glamorous swimmer. Eleanor and Betty often sat on the deck chairs together, smoking and stretching their lean tanned limbs, reminiscing about Amsterdam. Eleanor was married to a nightclub owner back in Los Angeles and a ring with a diamond
the size of a golf ball glittered on the hand in which she held her Lucky Strike. “I don’t know. The only thing I’ve heard her complain about are the frumpy team bathing suits. She hasn’t said anything to me about boycotting, but we’re not particularly close.”
“Good, she’s a troublemaker. You’d be wise to keep your distance.” Dee folded her arms across her chest. “I thought maybe you could help me keep an eye on the girls.”
“Why me?”
“You’re our most talented sprinter. Whether you know it or not, this puts you in a position of leadership. The girls look to you.”
Helen doubted that. If anything, Betty was the group’s leader. Her skepticism must have shown because Dee hurried on to say, “It also means you have the most at stake. If something goes wrong and our team can’t compete, what are you going to do then?”
The hairs on the back of Helen’s neck rose. “I guess I’d be back at William Woods.”
“Stuck back in Fulton. What then?”
Helen blinked. It was true. What would she do? Helen Stephens Day would be forgotten. Once again, she’d simply be too tall, too awkward. Too different. She needed things to go well in Berlin, but she certainly had no plans to become a rat to Dee.
“So, you’ll tell me?” Dee asked.
Helen shivered and her legs throbbed. “Do you know anything about Hitler? Do you know what he’s doing over there?”
“Mr. Brundage says he’s simply rebuilding Germany, that he’s an ally of ours.”
“People are disappearing. He’s advocating violence and discrimination. He’s dangerous.”
“Don’t be naive, Helen. No place is perfect. Everyone’s getting a fair shot at these Games. We’ve been promised that. I need you to help me make sure that none of the girls get cold feet. Mr. Brundage is concerned about the boycott rumors. The last thing we want is for this team to arrive in Germany and fall apart. Do you understand?”
Helen considered. If they all went, competed, and did well, Hitler would be taken down a few pegs. Maybe people would stop believing in him. She nodded slowly and rose to leave.
