by Frank Deford
On one occasion, we were sharing a pizza pie. I’d never even heard of pizza till I got to B’lyn—tho they called it “apizza” then. I told Jimmy (again): “It isn’t your fault, honey. It’s the Depression.”
“You’ll never even think about marrying a bum like me.”
“Well, I don’t know how many times I’ve told you, but I’m not marrying anybody till after the Tokyo Olympics, & I’m sure you’ll have a job then.”
“You mean you’ll marry me then?”
“I didn’t say that, Jimmy. I just said I’d be prepared to marry you then.”
That buoyed him some. “Go on, eat another slice of apizza,” I said. “Your appetite is lagging.”
So he did. But everytime I saw him, he was more down in the dumps. Then, one day—in fact, I know exactly: it was June 27th—he was waiting for me again outside the London Terrace, just leaning up against the bldg there, smoking, per usual. “Hi,” he said, but not w/ the sort of enthusiasm you’d expect from somebody greeting their serious girlfriend.
“What’s with you, Gloomy Gus?” I said.
“I got something to tell you, Sydney.”
“Okay.”
“Let’s get a beer.”
“Seems to me you’ve already had a couple beers.”
“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said. “I came over to Washington St, so I’ve been waiting.”
“What’s on Washington St?”
“The Marines, Sydney. I signed up for the Marines.”
I took a big breath. It was like I’d been hit by a 2 x 4. “You did what?”
“You heard me. I signed up for the Marines. It’s a job, Sydney. A girl isn’t going to marry a guy w/o a job.”
“Oh, Jimmy,” I said, grabbing his arm. “You didn’t do this for me?”
“No. Don’t worry about that. I did this for me. I couldn’t stand me anymore.”
“I wished you’d talked to me lst.”
“That’s why I didn’t. Because then I’d’ve let you talk me out of it. Because I love you, & I don’t want to leave you.”
“I love you, too, Jimmy.”
He turned & faced me. “You never said that before.”
He was right. I’d been scared to tell him that. But I’d been thinking: why wait till after the Tokyo Olympics to get married? Eleanor set world records when she was married. So he held me tightly then, & we kissed very passionately, standing right there on 9th Ave. I always liked kissing standing up & invariably threw myself into it, as I did now.
In fact, just as we broke apart, I saw L. deB. come outside after practice. He was in a pale blue-striped seersucker suit & had on a straw boater, so he was easy to spot. He looked over at us, but I wasn’t embarrassed about my indecorous behavior in public. I just asked Jimmy, “Well, when do you go?”
“I go to boot camp next week.”
“Next week!?”
“Yeah. I was the last one to make the July allotment. We can’t go before the holiday, so I leave the 5th. That’s next Tues.”
“God, only a week.”
“Yeah.”
“And how long?”
“Four yrs.” I swear, I almost swooned. He grabbed me. “It’s not so long, Sydney. It’s like between Olympics. Think how fast that goes. You’re halfway to Tokyo already. I’ll be out July in ’42. Or maybe if the Depression is still on & I like the Marines, I’ll make it a career. I found out: Marines guard embassies all over the world.”
That was not my idea of being a wife, going from pillar to post, the world over, but I didn’t get into that. I was too shocked. Jimmy was just so proud he had a job, tho, that nothing else mattered—not even me. And I did understand, as much as I hated it, why he signed up. But you had to’ve been around then, in the Depression, to know what it was like, without any jobs, when you had your pride & ambition, but you couldn’t do a darn thing about it.
Maybe you can appreciate, then, how I felt on July l2th. That was 2 wks later, or exactly one week after I saw Jimmy off from Penn Station to go to Parris Island, S. Carolina. I was in the office, filing, when Mr. S spotted me. Every day, when he’d go out for lunch, he’d buy a copy of the New York World-Telegram, which was his afternoon newspaper of choice. He’d glance at the headlines, read the sports, then finish it on the subway home & give it to Mrs. S to read while he had an Old Fashioned before dinner. That was his routine.
This day, as soon as he got back from lunch, he came right over. “You wanna know something, Sydney?” he said, handing me the paper, pointing to a headline down toward the bottom of the front page. It read:Cite Chinese War
JAPANESE GIVE UP ’40
TOKYO OLYMPIC GAMES
I hardly managed to read the article. I was in such a complete daze. I couldn’t even make myself go to swimming practice that afternoon or the next day either. I couldn’t concentrate at all at work, & that 2nd day, afterwards, I went to McDougal’s & sat in the corner & drank 3 drafts. Like I was a rummy, drinking by myself. But the more I thought, the more I knew I had my mind made up. So, the next day, as soon as I walked into the office, I gave Mr. S my notice & then I called Mom & told her I was coming back to the Shore.
That afternoon, I went to the pool to tell L. deB. of my decision. I remember, for the lst time, I called him L. deB. & not Coach, because this really didn’t have anything to do w/ coaching. “I’m sorry, L. deB.,” I said, “but if there’s not going to be any Olympics, I just don’t care enough.”
“Sydney, Sydney,” he said, beseeching me, “I know you’re upset, but don’t you worry. They’ll be an Olympics. Helsinki, Finland, wants to jump in.”
I shook my head. I didn’t believe that for a moment. Europe was coming apart at the seams worse even than Asia. Hitler had already taken over Austria, & any dumb-bunny could see he wasn’t going to be satisfied just w/ that. But L. deB. was such a gentleman. I let him take me by the hands & steer me over to where there were a couple of chairs. He kept holding onto one of my hands, looking right into my eyes. He had on a white linen suit, w/ a blue shirt & a yellow tie & handkerchief & a daisy in his buttonhole. I remember that distinctly. He was so stylish, I can always recall exactly what L. deB. had on at any particular time—even when I was so upset, like now.
He said, “Look, Sydney, I know it’s none of my business, but one of the other gals told me that that boy I saw you smooching w/ a couple wks ago has left you.”
“No, he didn’t leave me, L. deB. He just left town for a job.”
“I see. But he’s gone away from you, Sydney, & I can only imagine how that hurts. But don’t let that affect your swimming.”
I took my hand away from him. “I’m sorry, I know you don’t understand, but I just don’t care all that much about swimming anymore.”
He took my hand back, in both of his, holding it tighter still. He meant so well, I knew. He loved swimming so much, so he just couldn’t fathom how I felt, because it never meant all that much to me. “Listen, Sydney, you swim at the nationals, you’ll win, you’ll set a world record & all those newspaper photographers will be taking your picture, & boys opening up the paper, getting a gander of you in your WSA suit—you’ll be swatting fellows away like f lies.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Even if Jimmy is gone, I still love him.”
“Well, please, take a couple days to think about it.”
“I’ve already done that. I promise, you, that’s all I’ve done is think about this.” And now I patted him on his hand. It was suddenly me, the kid, comforting him, the grown-up. “I’m sorry. I just don’t care that much anymore. I’m going back to the Shore to sell insurance.”
L. deB. slumped back in his chair, confounded by me. I would’ve been, too, if I’d been in his place & he in mine. But he could tell there wasn’t any more to say, so he just lifted his eyes & watched me get up. Forlornly.
“Look,” I remembered to say. “I forgot to bring my WSA bathing suit. I’ll mail it back.”
L. deB. waved that off. “No, keep
it, Sydney, so if you ever change your mind, you can just come on back & slip it on & pick right up where you left off.”
I leaned down & gave him a kiss on his cheek, & then, w/o looking back, I walked away. I never practiced swimming again, never swam a race again, &, to tell you the God’s truth, I never had a moment’s regret. It’d been exciting at lst, & I know I was happy that I’d done something to make Daddy proud of me, but I honestly was never sure that I wanted to swim all that much FOR ME. You have to care so much, like Eleanor did, to be the Queen.
The funny thing is, when I walked away that day, I knew I was the Queen of the Backstroke, the best in all the world, so I really didn’t care if I had to prove that to anybody else—well, unless there’d been an Olympics. That’s what had really kept me going all along: to swim in the Olympics in Tokyo in ’40. I wanted to win a gold medal there, but I think maybe in my heart of hearts what I’d really wanted most was to win a gold medal w/ Horst watching me.
That was the vision. It was sort of a package deal in my mind. I didn’t just want people to say: there goes that Sydney Stringfellow, who just won a gold medal. I wanted people to say: there goes that Sydney Stringfellow, who just won a gold medal, & she’s w/ her fiance, Horst Gerhardt. Aren’t they a honey of a couple?! I’d always connected Horst w/ the Olympics so much that I guess I never really cared deep down about swimming after he left me. Maybe it still had more to do w/ him than it did w/ Jimmy.
Now—not that I hadn’t come to love Jimmy.
CHAPTER SIX
I.
Back on the Shore, I threw myself into studying for my insurance accreditation & passed w/ flying colors. Even before I could officially sell policies, tho, I had to take on more responsibility around the office, because my mother had gotten a beau herself. He was Elliott Parsons, who was a lawyer in Centreville, which was the next town down Rte. 2l3, over in Queen Anne’s County. Mr. Parsons was in the process of a divorce, which would’ve normally scared Mother off, as divorced men on the Shore were regarded notoriously. However, Mr. Parsons’ ex-wife-to-be had behaved so scandalously that word of her indecorous exploits had even reached C’town, so Mother was assured that Mr. Parsons was the aggrieved party, & thus could be legitimately comforted.
Mom was, however, on tenterhooks around me at lst, vis-à-vis her budding relationship, fearful that I’d think that her attentions being paid to another man would insult the memory of my sainted father. When she finally broached the subject, tho, I promised her that I understood how time marched on in these matters. Given my blessing, Mom then began, sans impunity, to throw propriety to the winds in order to spend most of her nites in Centreville.
This left me holding the fort at home, where I became a veritable Miss Lonelyhearts. Here I was, once again, pining for my lover, waiting for letters from him. (Well, at least this time they didn’t have to cross an ocean!) Jimmy was a faithful correspondent, too, if more given to cataloging the minutiae of Marine life than in elaborating, poetically, on his love for me & what a perfect human being I was, which had been more of Horst’s modus operandi. But Jimmy never failed to wrap things up by telling me that I was beautiful & wonderful & that he loved me & missed me & spent all his spare waking moments thinking of me. A girl couldn’t ask for much more than that.
Jimmy himself was an outstanding Marine. Why should I be surprised? Jimmy always succeeded at whatever opportunity he was given (not just vocationally, you understand, but also w/ my heart) whenever those rare occasions for opportunity came his way. It was just that after every success, every time he opened a door to march thru, he’d then find another door closed in his face. That was the Depression for you. But at Parris Island, he was named a squad leader & given a certification declaring him “Marine Of The Cycle.” Also, altho he did not immediately apprize me of this, he became a devotee of poker, & was soon so accomplished that his fellow Marines began to call him a “card shark.”
This mattered because when boot camp was over & he had a furlough, he had enough $ from his poker winnings to pay for bus fare. So it was, when I came home from the office one afternoon after work, to my absolute amazement (and delight), there was Jimmy on the front porch, just rocking away as if he owned the place. And, then, to his amazement (and delight), Jimmy learned that my mother was bivouacking at Chez Parsons in Centreville, so we had a love nest all to ourselves! Needless to say . . . well: needless.
I introduced Jimmy to my mother the next day, & that nite Mr. Parsons took all four of us out to Bud Hubbard’s Restaurant, where you could get the most sumptuous crab feast in C’town. Mother came into the office next morning & told me 3 things:
#l: Both Mr. Parsons & herself were tremendously impressed w/ “my young man.”
#2: I should go home post haste & take some time off, to be with Jimmy on his furlough.
#3: She was going to “look the other way,” thus to ignore the fact that I, an unmarried young lady of good breeding, would be alone under the same roof w/ a young gentleman. What w/ her cohabiting w/ Mr. Parsons, tho, I think this was a case of: what’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander (even if, in this instance, we were both geese).
For Jimmy, it was more than just being w/ me, making love to me; for him, the whole experience was idyllic. Never had he had any existence like this: actually being in a real home w/ love. I was only part of his package deal, but it didn’t bother me at all not being the whole kit & caboodle. He said, “I don’t ever want to leave, Sydney.” By the time he returned to duty I knew I’d marry Jimmy Branch, &, I was sure, live happily ever after.
On his last afternoon, we went down to the river to take a dip. After we came out of the water we lay down on our towels, & Jimmy closed his eyes & sort of l/2 dozed off. He was always built magnificently, but now, from that rugged boot camp, he was in the peak, the sun glistening off the droplets on the muscles of his body—pearls on ermine. I just gazed at him there, this Adonis of mine, & when he opened up one eye & caught me staring at him I felt a little embarrassed.
“Whatcha lookin’ at, Sydney?”
“Just you. You’re beautiful.”
“Girls are beautiful. You’re beautiful.”
“No, boys can be too. You are. And this is the way I’m always going to remember you.” And I made my hands like a Kodak & pretended to snap him, only as soon as I did that, he reached up & pulled me down & kissed me, & after that, it was Katie bar the door. Imagine if Gentry Trappe had been around or some boat (w/ children!!) had come by on the river! There we were, in another moment, naked as the day(s) we were born, rolling around on the grass in the bright sunshine. When we were thru making love, we still didn’t care, & just lay there holding each other, absolutely oblivious to the world, especially to the Depression & the Marines . . . & Germany. We were prelapsarian.
PRELAPSARIAN! What in God’s name was that? I know Mom liked to show off her vocabulary, and she never came across a word she didn’t understand that she didn’t immediately put down whatever she was reading and thumb through the dictionary. Myself, I’d usually just go on, trying to figure out the mysterious word on the fly (or to hell with it), but prelaparsian? I had to look it up. Surely it had to be high-class, elegant pornography.
So I found Mom’s dictionary, and:pre•lap•sar•i•an adj relating or belonging to the biblical time before Adam and Eve lost their innocence in the Garden of Eden.
All right, so there was my Venusian mother and my Adonian father, at the height of their beauty, unashamed, upon the grass in their own Chesapeakean Valhalla, not a fig leaf to be seen. So I was glad when I put the dictionary down and returned to reading the onion-skin pages to discover that Mom had spared me any further post-prelapsarian detail and had then taken me, her son, the unbidden voyeur, onto some less sensual reporting.
When Jimmy’s furlough was up, he was posted to Quantico, Va. w/ the lst Marine Brigade. He remained there for the next 2 yrs. W/ his poker winnings, he was often able to visit me—altho starting in the fall of ’39, the s
ize of the Corps was greatly increased, & what w/ all the new recruits, Marine life became more urgent, Jimmy’s fuller of responsibility.
The reason the Corps—& the other services—were enlarged is because that’s when Germany invaded Poland. That was when World War II really started, altho most of us Americans were loath to admit it. Myself, I wasn’t surprised. Not because I was any wiser than the average Joe, but because I’d been there, in Germany, so every time something would happen like Munich or Kristallnacht, when the Nazis ran amok & beat up all the Jews, I would look back & see, from retrospect, that this was bound to be what the Nazis would do. It had all been there to see during the Olympics, as plain as the nose on your face, if you weren’t blinded by all the hoopla, all the fun & games (or in my case, by also falling head over heels in love).
It was on those sad occasions, whenever Hitler & his crowd perpetrated something terrible again that I would think of Horst w/ SORROW. Poor Horst! I could only imagine how upset he must be, how distressed he surely was for his Germany.
Then I could not help but picture him on some ship & pray that he was safe. When the British fought that huge German battleship, the Graf Spee, I imagined Horst being aboard it. I eventually convinced myself that, yes, he must be, because when it was sunk none of the Germans lost their lives. I even imagined that somehow Horst had escaped when the ship was in port, at Montevideo, & now he was safely out of the war, being an architect in Uruguay. It was around Christmas when all this happened, & I thought to myself: what a wonderful Christmas present that would be, if Horst were alive, out of harm’s way.
Then Jimmy came home on Christmas leave, & I was able to forget Horst again.
Jimmy was such a fine Marine. He advanced 2 grades, to Lance Cpl., & it was clear he could make a successful career as a soldier. Happily, however, that possibility no longer interested him. He had found his dream, the place he wanted to be—which was w/ me, in C’town. He adored my little town. And it was mutual w/ whomsoever in town met Jimmy, for everyone found him to be a honey of a guy. In particular, Mr. Parsons took a special liking to him.
