Fast Girls

by Elise Hooper

  Mrs. Brown waved her hand toward the door in approval and Louise wiped her apron across her face. Walking toward Mrs. Clark to step outside and stand in the fresh air, her knees felt as though they had turned to jelly.

  Mrs. Clark wore a well-tailored walking suit and her hair, face, hands—everything about her—looked as impeccably groomed as always, but her eyes appeared dull. She pulled a soft linen handkerchief embroidered with delicate flowers from her pocketbook and handed it to Louise.

  Louise hesitated before taking it from her and dabbing it to the back of her neck.

  “Louise, I’ve come here to say that we need you back. The girls miss you terribly.”

  “The girls miss me?” Louise echoed numbly.

  Mrs. Clark bit her lip. “What I mean to say is that we all miss you. What happened with Ann was an accident. It wasn’t your fault, and I regret some of the detestable things that I said. I wish you’d come back. You’ve been a great help to me over the years, and I’m very grateful for that.”

  “Did you know I lost a little sister? She died.” As soon as the words left her mouth, Louise wanted to take them back. Why was she telling Mrs. Clark, a woman who had never shown any genuine interest in her, about the most painful moment of her life? Mrs. Clark flinched and somehow this calmed Louise. It gave her a sense of hurting the woman a little and, though she wasn’t proud of this, it bolstered her.

  “I didn’t know that. I’m sorry.”

  “She had just turned three and was playing with matches. I was supposed to be watching her, but I’d gone outside for a moment. When I came back in, I found her on the kitchen floor, burning, and tried to put out the flames, but I wasn’t fast enough.” Tears welled in Mrs. Clark’s eyes, and Louise kept talking, describing what she saw before she fell asleep each night. “She was wearing her favorite dress, a pretty light blue dress, the color of the sky, but it was on fire. When I finally got the flames out, I left my younger sisters and brother with her while I ran to get Dr. Conway. But Grace died a couple of days later.”

  “I’m so sorry. How old were you?”

  “Eight.”

  Mrs. Clark gave a small sob. “But it was an accident. You were so young.”

  “Knowing something was an accident doesn’t make it any easier.”

  “I’m sorry, Louise. I’m sorry for all of it.” Mrs. Clark put her arms around Louise and the two hung together. Louise wept for Grace, and for Ann, and for herself, and it made her feel better that Mrs. Clark was weeping too because she wanted the woman to see her, to know her, and to understand what Ann’s accident had meant to her.

  A knot inside of Louise’s chest released, and she took a deep breath, the first one in ages. “I’d like to come back,” she said hesitantly, but her agreement did not quite feel right and she thought for a moment. “I’ll work for you until the first of July, but then I need to find something new. A fresh start.”

  NORMALLY WHEN LOUISE left the laundry for the day, she dragged herself home, wrung out and wilted, but after Mrs. Clark’s visit, she finished her shift and went home with a clear heart and feeling unburdened. She had talked about the most painful moment of her life, one she blamed herself for, and wasn’t met with condemnation. Mrs. Clark, a woman who had always been unyielding in bestowing any sign of connection, had been sympathetic. Louise now could understand what had happened through the eyes of someone else. She had been young. Would she have blamed Ann if something had happened to Barbara? Of course not. She saw this now, and while the realization brought her a measure of freedom, she knew her guilt wouldn’t vanish overnight. She’d have to be patient, and being patient with herself didn’t come naturally, but ambling along the sidewalk, she felt lighter. She tilted her chin toward the sun and savored the warm breeze that blew down the street. She was eager to see the Clark girls again, but it was time to find a new job. A new opportunity. She didn’t know what it would be yet, but she needed a change. The prospect of possibility rippled through her, gave her a lift.

  When she arrived at the house, the front door flew open and Junior tore out of it and down the steps waving a letter in his hands. Mama appeared behind him and stood in the doorway, a broad smile splitting her face.

  “Look what’s arrived! Look!” Junior yelled. “You’ve qualified for the Olympic trials!”

  Louise took the letter and read through it. As she had known they should have, her racing results from the winter and spring seasons had qualified her for Providence. Now she actually believed it.

  Part 4

  July–August 1936

  THE PROVIDENCE DAILY SUN

  “Missouri Girl Smashes World Record”

  July 5, 1936

  Providence—Missouri’s Helen Stephens kept yesterday’s meager crowd of 2,000 spectators at Brown University’s stadium riveted as she won all three of her events as a one-woman track team from William Woods College. The girl known as the Fulton Flash set a blistering pace in the 100-meter dash to finish five yards ahead of the second-place racer, Chicago native Annette Rogers. Her time clipped a tenth of a second off Stella Walsh’s previous best time of 11.8 seconds and set a new record. Handling the competition with ease, the eighteen-year-old also won the discus and shot put.

  Dee Boeckmann, the first woman to coach an Olympic track and field team, narrowed the field of 115 athletes to a mere 20 Olympic team members, but the status of these ladies is not yet secure because budget shortfalls may force the American Olympic Committee to limit the number of athletes receiving sponsorship to Berlin. At this point, the 20 women will travel to New York City to await the AOC’s confirmation on who will travel to Germany to compete. The group contains many familiar faces, including Betty Robinson, the 1928 Olympic gold medalist who survived a plane crash. She came in fifth in the final heat of the individual 100-meter race and is included in the relay pool. Fellow Chicagoans Tidye Pickett and Annette Rogers competed strongly and are also on Boeckmann’s proposed roster for the relay pool.

  Also a favored relay racer, Louise Stokes, the Malden Meteor, won both of her preliminary heats in the sprint with exceptional times, but she could not overcome the costly mistake of looking over her shoulder and almost stumbling into the last spot during the finals.

  In a surprising development, several mothers performed admirably and could be on their way to the Olympics. After winning the 80-meter hurdles, tall and bespectacled Mrs. Anne Vrana O’Brien shifted her serious demeanor as she gushed, “I’ve never run so fast since my girl was born, two and a half years ago.” Plucky Mrs. Caroline Hale Woodson, a team favorite and silver medalist from the 1932 Olympics, came in fourth in the 80-meter hurdles. When asked how she maintains her training with motherhood, she said, “I run while my daughter naps in her pram parked next to the track.”

  In a touching scene of maternal joy, Mrs. O’Brien, Mrs. Woodson, and Mrs. Gertrude Wilhelmsen of Puyallup, WA, who placed second in the discus and third in the javelin, compared photographs of their daughters. “I’ve already taught my girl to swim,” Mrs. Wilhelmsen boasted. If they advance to Berlin, only time will tell if these women are capable of focusing on the competition at hand without becoming distracted or distraught by the absence of their children.

  41.

  July 6, 1936

  New York City

  A FLEET OF TAXICABS CROSSED MIDTOWN HEADING toward Times Square and screeched to a halt in front of the Lincoln Hotel. Betty stepped from one and Dee Boeckmann, Annette Rogers, and Olive Hasenfus spilled out behind her. Item by item, the cabbie disgorged suitcases, dropped them on the sidewalk, and turned toward Dee, his hand outstretched impatiently awaiting payment.

  At the same instant, a dented black Ford coughed its way into the melee of idling vehicles and Helen leaned out the window, her eyes round and glittering. “Hey, fancy meeting you here. So this is the big leagues now, huh?” Without awaiting an answer, she threw her door open, oblivious to the crush of people and luggage on the sidewalk, and looked upward, squinting. “Whoa, I’ve never b
een inside such a tall building.”

  “Even when you’ve gone to Chicago or Toronto for races?” asked Betty.

  “Nope. This is a first.”

  A handsome man rounded the front bumper, his light blue eyes glittering with mischief. “So what do you think, Helen? Can I be sure that you’re actually going to make it onto that boat next week? There are a lot of distractions around here.”

  “I’ll say, but I’ll do better on the track than in a dance hall. Don’t worry, Coach, I’ll stay on the straight and narrow. Now let me introduce you to my friend Miss Robinson.” She turned to Betty. “This is my coach, Mr. Burton Moore.”

  “The honor is all mine,” he said, tipping his hat.

  Betty shook his hand. “So this is the end of the line for you?”

  “Afraid so.”

  Betty shaded her eyes with her hand and was able to see a pretty woman sitting in the front seat of the Ford with a baby in her arms. Through the dusty windshield, she waved.

  All of a sudden, Helen appeared to bite the inside of her mouth and looked surprisingly uncertain. “Coach, thanks for everything. Be sure that no one forgets about me while I’m gone.”

  “First thing I’ll do when we get home is to go talk to the mayor and get the boosters to send you more money. You’re going to need it.”

  “Thanks.” Helen hefted a battered valise from the back seat of the car. She leaned into the window to kiss Mrs. Moore. Betty watched, pulling her pocketbook closer to her chest and envying the ease with which they discussed securing more funds. She had only three measly dollars left. How on earth would she afford traveling back to Chicago if she didn’t make it to Berlin?

  Pushing her money worries to the furthest recesses of her mind, Betty allowed herself to be swept into the hotel by her teammates and porters in burgundy uniforms. The high-ceilinged lobby gleamed with marble floors and mirrors with beveled edges lining its walls. Ficus trees poked out of large ceramic chinoiserie-patterned planters, and a crystal chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling.

  At the elevator, Betty paused and turned to see Helen stopped, gaping at the grand decor of the lobby. “Helen? You coming?”

  Helen turned in a full circle, taking it all in one more time before bounding toward where the women waited for her. Then they pressed themselves into the confines of the elevator and headed skyward with a jolt. At the seventh floor, they flooded into the hallway, stopping in front of room 704. Annette unlocked the door and Betty, Helen, and Olive followed her inside to find two double-size beds covered in claret-colored damask bedcovers, a walnut-colored wardrobe and dresser, and a small washroom with a claw-footed tub.

  “It’s tight, but we can make do,” Betty said.

  Helen crossed the room, pulled open the curtains, and arched her neck to look below. “Wonder what it would be like to stay all the way up on the twenty-seventh floor.”

  “Expensive,” Olive answered, dropping her suitcase on the floor next to one of the beds. “What’s this?” she asked, lifting a paper from off the bed’s pillow and reading it.

  “What do you have there?” asked Betty.

  Olive held up a typewritten letter and a colorful flyer. “It’s a letter from the American Jewish Labor Committee urging us to boycott the Olympics and a flyer about an event called the Counter-Olympics being held here in August.” She handed the documents to Helen, who took them and dropped to one of the beds.

  Helen spent a few minutes reading through the letter. “They certainly have a point. Have any of you read Mein Kampf?”

  “Mine what?” Annette asked.

  “It’s Adolf Hitler’s political manifesto.” At the mystified expressions on the other women’s faces, she frowned. “It’s full of hatred toward anyone who’s not what he considers to be pure-blooded German and outlines his ideas about how this Aryan so-called master race must rise up and exterminate all lesser people, especially Jews.”

  The other women gave one another uneasy sideways glances. Even in the stuffy confines of the small room, a chill passed over Betty. “Since when has running had anything to do with politics?” she asked.

  Helen gave Betty an incredulous look. “The Olympics have everything to do with politics. Haven’t you been reading the newspapers?”

  Betty shook her head slowly. Sometimes she read the sports pages, but beyond that? No. She tried to affect a playful tone in an attempt to downplay the nagging sense of having overlooked something important. “The news is always depressing, and it makes me feel dreadfully helpless so I’ve been focusing on what I’m good at: running. I’ll leave the big decisions to the people in charge.” She stole a look at Olive and Annette. They were both nodding along with her, their faces red with embarrassment.

  “And anyway, why would we boycott?” Annette asked. “We’ve worked so hard to compete. It seems like this boycott would be punishing us more than anyone.”

  “Chancellor Hitler, the man who’s leading Germany, has instituted all kinds of policies that discriminate against Jews and other groups in the country. There was a lot of debate about this boycott last December and the issue came to a vote. Avery Brundage, the head of the AOC, argued that the U.S. should participate because amateur sports should be used to bond us all together globally.”

  “That seems reasonable,” Annette said.

  “But our participation in these games gives Hitler legitimacy. At least, that’s what the president of the AAU argued. His side lost the boycott vote by only a couple of votes. It was close.”

  Annette grimaced. “It does sound like this Hitler fellow is trouble.”

  “Yes, he most certainly is,” Helen said.

  “But why should we get involved in what another country’s doing? It doesn’t feel like any of our business,” Olive said. “And we’ve got plenty of problems of our own to focus on. I practically had to call everyone in my town to raise the money for this. All my neighbors are broke.”

  Helen placed the letter and the flyer on the bed beside her and looked at her teammates. “Well, what this letter is telling us is that we’re being given a choice about competing in Berlin and with that choice comes a little bit of power. We should all be thinking about what we’re going to do with it.”

  An awkward silence descended over the group.

  There was a knock at the door and Annette opened it. Caroline stood in the doorway, a worried look on her face. “Dee has just called for a team meeting in the hotel’s dining room.”

  “Did she say what it’s about?” asked Betty.

  “Be downstairs in ten minutes. The AOC has decided not to take all of us to Berlin. She’s going to announce the new, smaller team.”

  42.

  July 6, 1936

  New York City

  HELEN LEANED AGAINST THE WALL OF THE HOTEL’S dining room, trying to be inconspicuous. She felt confident that she would be traveling to Berlin, but who else would be joining her?

  She watched the women filing in and thought of the boycott letter upstairs in their room, cringing. Why had she bothered to explain Hitler’s manifesto? Everyone had been so excited to make the team. Why did she have to be serious and bookish and make everyone nervous? Her teammates were already nervous enough about this budget shortfall business. Even Betty, who tried so hard to be kind to Helen, even she had looked mortified on Helen’s behalf.

  Dee entered the room and sat. With barely a glance at the collection of women gathered around her, she started reading from a piece of paper. “Ladies, I have news from the AOC. It’s with great regret that I’m here to inform you that the committee has insufficient funds to pay for a full team to travel to Germany. The committee reviewed the results from Providence and has decided to focus on individual events. Full travel funding will be provided for the following athletes: Helen Stephens, Tidye Pickett, Kathlyn Kelley, Annette Rogers, and Anne O’Brien, all of whom had outstanding finishes at the Olympic trials and represent our country’s best shot at medals.” She stopped reading and cautiously raise
d her gaze to sweep over the athletes to gauge their reaction.

  Astonishment rendered the group silent. Helen swallowed and kept her gaze trained on Dee. Only five of the women would be going to Berlin?

  Dee cleared her throat and continued reading her speech. “But athletes who can raise five hundred dollars of their own funds to underwrite their travel will be permitted to come and compete.”

  At this, indignation buzzed through the room.

  “Who has five hundred dollars to spare?”

  “Why did they get our hopes up?”

  Dee’s hand that held her speech dropped to her side and anguish crumpled her face. “Ladies, I’m so sorry. I didn’t expect this either. I know the disappointment many of you must feel. Back in 1924, I qualified to go to the Olympics in Paris, but the U.S. decided not to field a women’s team and I was stuck at home. Because of that, I wanted to bring as many of you as possible. But I want to make it clear that the AOC is taking its budget shortfall seriously and it extends to all of us. It’s covering my travel expenses, but I won’t be paid any coaching salary.”

  The outbursts quieted as the women considered this.

  “Do other teams have to do this fund-raising too?” Olive asked.

  “Not all of them, no. Some are able to pay for themselves because they raise enough money on their own. Since everyone’s eager to see Jesse Owens compete, the men’s team expects to cover their budget through charging admission at their trials this weekend, but as I’m sure many of you know, the women’s teams have trouble generating enough audience at our events to make much money. I understand your frustration, but we have almost a week until we leave. Make phone calls, send telegrams. Try to secure outside sponsorship. I urge you not to give up.”

  Dee hurried from the room. Helen remained against the wall, alone.