Bliss, Remembered: A Novel

by Frank Deford

  “Or training on champagne and cigarettes.”

  “Exactly. There I was, going to the Olympic trials, and I’d never even had a real coach. Just Mr. Wallace Foster in Chestertown, Maryland—and he was learning how to coach me out of a damn book.”

  I held up my hands. “All right, all right. So, Mom, tell me: how in the world did you improve enough after the Indoors to finish in the top three and make it to Berlin?”

  She looked over at me strangely. “Well, it wasn’t quite that way.”

  “It wasn’t?”

  She shook her head. “Get me another cup of coffee, Teddy, and grab that tape recorder, and I’ll explain.”

  So I got her a cup, and she sipped at it and, like Scheherazade, began again.

  The Trials in ’36 were held in New York, but this time they weren’t out at Jones Beach, but at a pool in Queens, right off the East River in a neighborhood called Astoria. You know New York, Teddy?

  “Just the parts everybody knows. Not Queens.”

  So you don’t know the Triborough Bridge?

  “Not really.”

  Well, the Triborough Bridge was a big Depression project to put men to work, and the very day of the Trials—the exact day—it opened up, right near where we were swimming. The pool was new, too. It was another Depression project, so they wanted to show it off. That’s why we were there instead of Jones Beach. So every Tom, Dick and Harry with a car drove out that way to see the new bridge. Now at this same time, there was an ungodly heat wave that hit the whole country. People were dropping like flies. Remember, this is pre-air conditioning. Or AC, as everybody says now. Why in the world can’t we just say the words for things, Teddy? Does it really take that much longer to say “air conditioning” than “AC”? Well, does it?

  “I’m sorry, Mom, I thought that was a rhetorical question.”

  You mean an RQ?

  Mom had lost me. “A what?”

  An RQ—a rhetorical question. We might as well give up the good fight and just use initials for everything.

  I ratified that with an “OK.”

  Notwithstanding, Teddy, it was hot as Hades, and we didn’t have any air conditioning. Now, listen, it gets pretty darn hot on the Shore, so as Br’er Rabbit used to say, I was born and bred in that briar patch, but let me tell you, it was plenty uncomfortable for all us gals, regardless of our provenance.

  The girls who made the team were going to ship out to Germany only three days after the Trials ended. They had space reserved on the SS Manhattan, New York to Hamburg, but the American Olympic people had the shorts. Right up until the last minute, they didn’t know how to pay for all the athletes they wanted to take to Berlin. They had to appeal to the public for funds. But that was the Depression, Teddy. I don’t think anybody nowadays can imagine it, unless they’re old and decrepit like me and actually lived through it.

  Why, there was so little money for the swimming team that when the men had swum against the Japanese in some dual meet a few weeks before, they had bathing suits made with both flags on ’em—you know, the stars-and-stripes and the rising sun—and there were some left over, and that’s what some of our swimmers wore at the Olympics. I’m not kidding, Teddy, swimmers representing the United States of America actually wore bathing suits with rising suns on them in the Olympics. And what was it, five or six years later, that the little buggers bombed Pearl Harbor . . . and then shot your father at Guadalcanal right after that. But here we were wearing bathing suits with their flag on ’em because we didn’t have enough money to buy our own.

  But it was the Depression.

  I don’t think anyone was as PO’ed as Eleanor. See, here was the deal. The AOA had bought space for our athletes on the SS Manhattan, but it was all down in the bowels of the ship. Third class—the cheapest cabins possible. They used to call that steerage. Eleanor said, “The blazers’d put us all in hammocks if they could.”

  But you can probably guess the rest. The blazers themselves, and the newspaper men and all the other swells in the Olympic party were booked in the better cabins, up top. Oh, they were gonna have a nice, smooth ride across the Atlantic. But the athletes, the people competing, for goodness’ sake, they had the most uncomfortable accommodations.

  So Eleanor goes to the AOA and says, thanks, but no thanks, I’ll pay my own way over in a first-class cabin. But they wouldn’t let her. If you’re an athlete, you have to ride with all the others down in steerage. Keep that in mind, Teddy, because it becomes important to the story . . . and to me—me in particular.

  Eleanor was still fuming at the Trials. Plus, it’s at least a hundred degrees in Astoria, Queens, and every car in New York is spitting out fumes, checking out the opening of the fantastic Triborough Bridge. But I’m determined to beat some of those gals I’d never beaten before and get to Berlin. We were staying at the Paramount Hotel, which was just off Times Square, and the day before the Trials, a bunch of us went out and got passports, because the SS Manhattan was going to sail right afterwards. I was that confident, Teddy—not cocky, but I thought I had enough of a chance that it was worth going over and getting a passport, even though it cost two dollars and change and I didn’t have much more than that with me.

  The day of our race Eleanor arrives as jaunty as ever, talkin’ about how she went out night-clubbin’ the evening before. She had on her Women’s Swimming Association suit, with the big S in the middle of her chest. Everybody but me had some affiliation or other. I was still just Sydney Stringfellow, unattached, with my plain black bathing suit and black cap.

  But I did have a new bathing suit. After swimmin’ at the Lake Shore Club, I saw I had to get one. You see, at the meets that really counted, all the swimmers wore silk suits. If I was gonna compete in the top echelon, you had to have a silk suit, because that could mean maybe a whole second or two better time in a race. I mean, let me tell you, Teddy, those silk suits were so light they were a marvel of their age. It felt just like another layer of skin.

  But here was the problem. Once you got wet in those suits, which, of course, you did, inasmuch as the whole idea was to swim in them, they really were like so much skin. I mean, they left almost nothing to the imagination.

  “Get a load of this.”

  Exactly. And remember, now, this is the 1930s, when people were not regularly publicly visible in the buff in movies and whatnot. The newspaper photographers—especially the tabloid boys—were always shooting us innocent little swimmers because it was a way of sneaking pictures of girls in bathing suits into the paper without appearing lascivious, or upsetting the U.S. Post Office, which didn’t tolerate dirty pictures being sent through the mails. Us modest little swimmers, us naiads, were the nakedest women this side of the burlesque theaters—and even those ladies had to wear little things over their—

  She pointed to her chest. “Nipples,” I said.

  Thank you for dotting the is and crossing the ts, Teddy. But trust me, it was scandalous. The suits did have a little extra piece across down here—and, no, I don’t believe you have to verbalize that territory for my benefit. They were known as “modesty panels.” That’s why they were called “panel” bathing suits. If they hadn’t had that, we would’ve been banned in Boston, I can assure you. So here is your demure little mother and these other girls of much the same modest comportment performing in the closest thing to the au natural.

  It was so shocking that helpers were stationed at the end of the pool with either robes or large towels at the ready, so you could pop out of the water and cover yourself up before you treated the entire assemblage—especially the tabloid boys with their Speed Graphics—to a pretty good viewing of your private parts. Well, some of the girls were quicker at the coverin’-up business than others. Eleanor, as you might imagine, took her own sweet time puttin’ that robe on.

  Now, of course, as well you know, Teddy, with the backstroke you start in the water, so at least, being submerged, I didn’t have to concern myself about these issues of modesty beforehand.
But when I saw how we were supposed to line up for the race, I just about died. The way the luck of the draw had it, I was in the very next lane to Eleanor.

  Now, I’m no Alibi Ike, Teddy, but I think that was my downfall. I was so in awe of her. Nowadays they would say she was my “role model,” which is a term I detest only slightly less than “senior citizen.” It is so sappy: role model. It sounds like some sociologist thought it up. Let’s call a spade a spade: Eleanor was my hero. But, of course, whereas I was quaking in my boots, Eleanor was just taking care of business. Once we jumped into the pool and took our positions, I’m sure she didn’t know if it was me or the Queen of Romania next to her. But I was so self-conscious, I got a terrible start, and then, of course, I was painfully aware of the fact that Eleanor was pullin’ away from me.

  Now, understand, I knew very well that I couldn’t beat Eleanor. I was swimmin’ for second or third place, but it’s hard to stay cool in a situation like that, and it was so discouraging knowing that she was gettin’ further ahead, and so I tried to swim faster, and all that did was screw me up some more, and, frankly, I never had a chance. I wasn’t even close to qualifying, Teddy. I think I ended up fifth or sixth. A girl from California named Edith Motridge came in second after Eleanor, and Alice Bridges came in third, which was nice. I knew Alice a little bit. She was one of the girls I’d gone to get a passport with.

  Well, when I finally touched out, Eleanor had already yanked her cap off, so everybody could see her better, especially if there were any newsreel cameras around, and right away, she said, “I’m sorry, Sydney, I don’t think you made it.”

  I shook my head. This was one time I didn’t take my bathing cap off myself. I wasn’t sure I even wanted anybody to see my hair, let alone any other part of me. “No, I didn’t do well at all.”

  She patted me on the shoulder. “But don’t let it get you down, honey. Four years from now you’ll beat all these gals as bad as I beat them today, and you’ll win the gold.”

  About then, people started coming over to congratulate her. I hoisted myself out and grabbed the towel from the person there responsible for my modesty and wrapped it around me as quick as I could. I was starting to slink off and get into my clothes—I just wanted to disappear from Astoria, Queens, New York—when I heard Eleanor calling my name. I looked back, and there are all these people surrounding her, but there’s one gentleman in particular that she’s talking to. Hot as it was, he still had his tie and his suit jacket on. Eleanor beckoned me over.

  “Sydney,” she said, “I want you to meet Avery Brundage.”

  I was absolutely flabbergasted. Avery Brundage was not only the biggest American blazer of them all, but eventually, he’d become president of the whole international Olympic shebang. Also, if you don’t mind my saying so, Teddy, he was a total horse’s ass. Of course, he had a lot of company in that particular regard in the AOA.

  He kept taking his hat off to mop his bald head with a handkerchief, and when he shook my hand, he kept this sort of disdainful expression on his face before he went back to mopping. I mean, he was a real sourpuss. He might’ve been head of the AOA, but I don’t think he liked athletes. It was like being a veterinarian and not liking dogs. We were just sort of necessary evils to him.

  I said, “How do you do, Mr. Brundage?”

  He kind of grunted back.

  Eleanor picked up the ball then. “Avery,” she said, and you could just see him turn up his nose at that, because everybody under the sun deferred to him and called him “Mr. Brundage,” which Eleanor knew, which is why she called him Avery. It irked him even more that it was Eleanor, a girl, addressing him that way, because he pretty much thought that sports weren’t ladylike, that girls shouldn’t be competing. Of course, if you will excuse me, Teddy, Brundage didn’t mind girls being un-ladylike in bed. He was a rampant womanizer.

  Eleanor wasn’t fazed; I guess she was used to the old goat leering at her. “Avery,” she said, “you should know who Sydney is, because she’s my successor in the backstroke.”

  “Is that so?” he said.

  “Yeah, she didn’t do very well today, and it’s a shame she can’t go to Berlin, because she’s got more natural talent than all these other gals.” He looked at Eleanor like she was a buttonhole salesman trying to peddle him a bill of goods. “You see, Avery”—and he grimaced again—“Sydney hasn’t had any coaching at all, and here she just missed qualifying by a second or so.”

  That interested him. “No coaching, young lady?”

  “No, sir. There’s no real coaches where I live.”

  “And where’s that?”

  “Down on the Eastern Shore.” And since I wasn’t sure that registered, I quickly added: “Maryland.”

  He just nodded.

  Eleanor jumped in again: “But Sydney’s gonna move up here and join the Women’s Swimming Association, and you just watch, in three or four years time, she’ll have every one of my records.”

  “My gracious, Eleanor, I’ve never heard such an expression of humility from you before.”

  “Well, Sydney’s just a natural, and you fellas in the AOA ought to help her out. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “And what’s your name again, young lady?”

  “Sydney Stringfellow,” I said. “Unattached.”

  “I shall remember that,” he said. And he did repeat my name. “Sydney Stringfellow.” (He didn’t bother to add the “unattached,” though.)

  “And, Avery, Sydney’s the nicest girl around. She’ll make America proud.”

  “Well, it’s been my pleasure, Miss Stringfellow.”

  “Good,” Eleanor said—and then brusquely: “Now, let me ask you again about me getting a better cabin on the Manhattan—”

  Whatever grace he had mustered up on my behalf immediately disappeared. Hot as it was, you could feel the frost coming off him. “I have told you, Eleanor, that subject is a dead letter.”

  “Avery, it just isn’t fair.”

  “What isn’t fair?”

  “That all the athletes, the actual ones representing the United States, have to travel down in third class with the rats, while you officials get first class.”

  “Eleanor, I will not dignify that with an answer,” Brundage said, and without another word, he turned and walked away.

  I just said, “Thank you, Eleanor.”

  “Aw, Sydney, I only hope those creeps treat you better than they did me. Another month, I’ll be done with ’em.”

  Actually, Teddy, as it turned out, it’d be a bit sooner.

  So I went back to the Shore, and tried to salve my wounds. I didn’t want to hear anything about swimming for a while. I did read in the paper that the financial appeal that the AOA made raised enough money to get all the athletes on the Manhattan, and off it sailed for Hamburg. So, Teddy, bon voyage sans moi.

  What I didn’t know, but should’ve figured out, was that Eleanor Jarrett, nee Holm, just wasn’t gonna tolerate stayin’ down there in steerage. There was a ten o’clock curfew, but every night she’d dress to the nines and find her way up to the fancy part of the ship and drink and smoke and play cards and generally carry on with the newspaper boys, and it was way past ten o’clock before she’d turn into a pumpkin and go back down to the room she shared with Mary Lou Petty. The blazers warned her about it, but you couldn’t get that particular leopard to change her spots.

  So, about a week later, out of the clear blue sky, this arrives for me at the house.

  With that, Mom reached into that purple acetate folder and pulled out a telegram. I hadn’t seen a telegram in I don’t know how many years, but I recognized that particular pale yellow paper right away. She handed it to me. It had the message pasted on, in lines of copy, the old-fashioned way. It read:

  POSITION SUDDENLY AVAILABLE ON US TEAM STOP MUST LEAVE NY 26 JULY ON SS DEUTSCHLAND, HAMBURG-AMERICAN LINE, 4 PM DEPARTURE STOP IF CAN COME WIRE BACK STOP TICKET AT PIER, WEST 44 STREET STOP WILL ARRIVE HAMBURG 3 AUG AND BE MET STOP ADVISE IMME
DIATELY STOP AVERY BRUNDAGE

  “So that’s how you made the team.”

  Exactly. What happened is that when the ship stopped over in Cherbourg, Eleanor spent the whole afternoon playing cards with some of the newspaper boys. In fact, she pretty much cleaned them out. Then she really hung a toot on. It didn’t help, either, that there were stories that she was getting a little too cozy with Charley MacArthur. He was a famous writer who was married to Helen Hayes. You remember her, the actress?

  “Sure.”

  Well, Mr. MacArthur’s missus was not on the ship and neither was Mr. Art Jarrett. I don’t know whether there was any truth to that rumor. I thought Eleanor was happy with Jarrett at the time, even though they divorced a few years later when she started runnin’ around with Billy Rose.

  “The theatrical guy?”

  Yeah, him. He made Eleanor the star of his Aquacade at the World’s Fair in 1939. But once again, Teddy, you’re lettin’ me get ahead of myself. What mattered here is The Year of Our Lord 1936, and Avery Brundage had had enough of her shenanigans on the Good Ship Lollypop and threw her off the team. It was a huge story. As soon as I got the telegram, I called Mother, and she brought the newspaper home, and the story was headlined.

  Now what Eleanor told me later was that she simply didn’t believe Brundage was serious—especially after he got a petition signed by about two hundred of her teammates pleading with him not to expel her. She was sure he was bluffing, but when she went to appeal to him, he told her he meant business. She said, well then, she at least hoped somebody else would get her place. See, the swimming didn’t start till the second week of the Olympics. So there was plenty of time for another backstroker to get to Berlin to compete.