Fast Girls Read online

  And Helen was left with no one.

  THE CHICAGO EVENING STANDARD

  February 14, 1932

  “Betty’s Back on Top”

  Chicago—Three of North America’s most outstanding athletes lined up for a spectacular speedfest on Friday night. Hometown heroine Miss Betty Robinson, Cleveland’s Miss Stella Walsh, and Canada’s Miss Myrtle Cook faced off at an indoor meet at 24th Field Artillery Armory.

  From the outset, the race promised plenty of excitement. A small but fervent contingent of Canadian fans, bedecked in red and white and brandishing flags, went wild when Miss Cook entered the arena. Miss Walsh’s entrance received a cooler reception, but it didn’t appear to faze her and the dark-haired girl quietly took her position. Miss Robinson was the last athlete to be announced, and from the roar of the crowd, it was clear that the stands were filled with spectators supporting the city’s native daughter. The third-year coed from Northwestern University arrived at the starting line, waving and calling greetings to her many fans. If the wattage of her smile was any indicator of her speed, her competitors must have been shaking in their track shoes. Once the starting gun went off, the girls rocketed down the straightaway, but by the last fifteen yards, it was clear that Miss Robinson would take first place, with about a yard separating her from Miss Walsh as they crossed over the finish line. The winning time was 11.2 seconds.

  As the Wildcats fight song rang out across the track from the stands, Miss Robinson, sporting a Northwestern tracksuit, took a bow and accepted a diamond-studded track shoe pendant from her friends at the IWAC. When asked about her win, Betty gushed, “I couldn’t have done it without my friends at Northwestern and Coach Hill. He’s whipped me into the best shape of my life and I’m ready for the next Olympics.”

  In her typical no-frills manner, Miss Walsh says she’s focusing on the future. “I will win gold in Los Angeles and, once again, I’ll be the fastest woman in the world.”

  18.

  February 1932

  Evanston, Illinois

  “YOU LOOKED GOOD OUT THERE ON FRIDAY NIGHT, Robinson,” Bill said, passing Betty in the hall of the gymnasium.

  Even several days after her victory in the IWAC meet, Betty still brimmed with excitement, not to mention a measure of relief. Her success validated all of her hard work with Coach Hill. “Thanks for coming to cheer me on.”

  “I wouldn’t have missed it. You planning on coming to see my basketball game this Saturday night?”

  Betty tried to look serious and feigned nonchalance. “Hmm, not sure. I’m planning to wash my hair and do some laundry. I’m getting tired of being here all the time.”

  “Wear a hat and save the hair-washing extravaganza for Sunday morning, though now that I think on it, you may be busy all day at church.”

  “All day?”

  “Yep, you’re going to be busy praying for mercy because you’ll be so impressed with my playing on Saturday night that you’ll be throwing yourself at me by the end of the game. Just you wait.”

  Betty threw back her head and let out the loudest laugh of her life. When she steadied herself and looked back at Bill, he affected a wounded expression. “I’m sorry we can’t all be Olympians around here. Do you really have to go killing all of my dreams?”

  “You’re too much. You win, I’ll come to your game. I owe you.” The truth was that Betty owed Bill more than merely coming to one of his games. As her showdown with Stella Walsh had approached, Betty found herself becoming increasingly nervous, and each time he saw her, Bill took the time to give her pep talks about how well she was running. He could be counted upon for a steady stream of support. No matter how many times she avoided him or brushed him off, he kept finding her.

  “Great, I’ll see you there,” Bill said. “A bunch of us will be going to White Castle afterward. Maybe you’ll want to come and bring some of your friends?” He raised his hands in surrender. “I swear, it won’t be a date. There will be tons of people there. Don’t worry, Coach Hill will have nothing to hold against you.”

  “We’ll see. Good luck, Bill. I hope you have a great game.”

  He thanked her, and they went their own ways, but Betty found herself unable to stop smiling. Bill was such a card, but he also always appeared genuinely interested in her running, her classes, and her family. Though he attracted a swarm of admirers, both male and female, whenever they spoke, everyone else seemed to fall away. He possessed the ability to make her feel like the most fascinating woman on earth.

  BETTY INVITED CAROLINE Hale and her longtime boyfriend, Howard, to join her for the game. The two women had remained in touch since the Olympics in Amsterdam, and Howard, always a good sport, frequently accompanied them on their adventures. He owned a rattletrap of a Model T and never balked at chauffeuring them around the city.

  As they approached Patten Gymnasium, the noise of the crowd swelled. The Wildcats had been enjoying a winning season, and this was the final game of the regular season. A steady stream of fans wound along the sidewalks heading in the direction of the game.

  Once inside the gymnasium, they wedged themselves into the crowded bleachers. Betty looked around at the rows and rows of jubilant fans, waving Northwestern flags and cheering on the Wildcats. The entire seating structure seemed to be shaking with the energy of the crowd. Though it was a close game, the Wildcats were ahead and Bill caught a pass, coiled into shooting position, and sank a shot. Everyone went wild, and Betty joined in the cheering. The opposing team inbounded the ball and dashed across the court, passing it back and forth. Their star player got his hands on the ball and went for a shot, but it careened off the rim.

  “Get the rebound!” shouted Howard.

  At that moment, three players tumbled to the ground as they battled for the ball, Bill among them. Two of the players righted themselves and stood, but when they reached down to help Bill to his feet, he hunched his shoulders and remained on the ground, curling over his legs. Betty leapt to her feet to see down the court better.

  “What’s going on?” Caroline asked, but no one answered. They all craned their heads toward the far end of the court, anxious to know what had happened to Bill.

  AFTER THE FINAL buzzer, everyone streamed toward the exits, excited about the Northwestern win, but Betty found herself dragging her feet. Where was Bill? Since being carted off the court by a trainer, he hadn’t reappeared for the rest of the game. She tried not to worry. If there was one person who was invincible, it was Bill. He seemed powered by the rare engine that never seemed to need fuel. She allowed herself to be swept along with the fans, but couldn’t stop herself from searching the area by the locker room’s doors where a cluster of his teammates lingered. When she was almost at the door, Ned Mason appeared next to her. “Hey, Bill’s asking about you, and he’s about to head to the hospital. Come down to the trainer’s with me?”

  She signaled to Caroline that she’d be back soon and hurried after Ned. “What’s happened to him?”

  “I don’t think they really know yet.”

  They arrived at the trainer’s office and passed a huddle of basketball players and the team’s coach and assistants. Sitting on an exam table with a wool blanket around his shoulders and his foot elevated on some pillows, Bill beckoned. His face looked pale and waxy, but his gaze brightened at the sight of her. The antiseptic smell of Mercurochrome in the room made Betty shudder, and she glanced away from his bare foot, already swelling and darkening with shades of violet and green.

  “Looks like I may have broken it. Rotten luck, huh?” He closed his eyes for a moment as his features tightened in pain.

  “The worst,” Betty agreed. “I’m so sorry.”

  “At least we won.” He became distracted as a cadre of the trainers swarmed him, and Betty stepped back to let them examine him. After a few minutes, they peeled away, so she stepped closer again. He grimaced as he propped himself on his elbow. “Looks like I’m off to the hospital for the docs to check it out.”

  Before sh
e could say anything, two trainers bustled forward, and Bill groaned as they hoisted him onto a stretcher and headed for the door.

  “Take care of yourself,” she called to him. “Have someone get word to me on how you’re doing.”

  He twisted and his gaze locked with hers as he was carried off. Betty waved, but could only see the top of his blond head before he disappeared into the crowd outside the trainer’s room.

  A WEEK LATER, Mrs. Riel, elegant in a riding costume, led Betty into the family’s house, a large stucco Tudor on a quiet street not far from Lake Michigan. Bill had once mentioned that his father owned a clothing manufacturing company, and judging from the thick carpet runner in the hallway and oil paintings in gilt frames, business was going well. They headed to a solarium where Bill sat ensconced on a chintz sofa. A pretty dark-haired girl resembling Clara Bow sat on a matching ottoman next to Bill, a stack of papers and textbooks perched on her lap. Betty eyed her and tried to smile.

  “You have another visitor, Bill,” his mother announced.

  “Thanks, Ma. Hey, Betty, do you know Millie Billram?”

  Millie removed the stack of schoolwork from her lap and leapt to her feet, pushing out her hand. “Hi, aren’t you a Kappa Kappa Gamma?”

  “I am.” Betty shook her hand. “Of course I recognize you. Are you a second-year?”

  “Yes. I just came by to bring Bill some of the work he’s been missing from our accounting class. I guess I should be going.” She looked back and forth between Betty and Bill as if hoping for an invitation to stay longer.

  “Millie, you’re a peach for bringing me all this,” Bill said. “Thanks. I should be back at school sometime in the next couple of weeks.”

  “Swell. If you need someone to help you around campus, carry your books or anything, just let me know. I’d be happy to help.” She placed the books on a corner of the card table next to Bill and began sifting through the sections of the Chicago Tribune, also on the table, organizing pages and stacking them into a single pile.

  “You don’t need to worry about the newspaper. I’m still going through it.”

  “Millie dear, I’m heading upstairs to change, shall I walk you out?” Mrs. Riel asked, stepping forward, and Betty understood where Bill’s smooth congeniality came from.

  Millie allowed Mrs. Riel to guide her out, leaving Bill and Betty alone. His foot, covered in a thick white plaster cast, sat high on a mountain of pillows. A plate with a turkey sandwich and a glass of iced tea rested on the card table beside the newspaper and the schoolwork that Millie had delivered.

  “It looks like you’ve got plenty of company coming through.”

  “Yeah, I wish the fellas would stop by, but it’s you I’m most happy to see.”

  Betty gave him a skeptical look. “Really? Even with all of these pretty girls visiting?”

  Bill gave a mischievous smile and folded his arms behind his head as he stretched out. “I can’t fall behind on my studies, can I? I’m grateful for all of the help that’s being offered to me.”

  “I’ll bet you are.” Betty laughed and sank down on a matching chair.

  “I know you’re too busy to ferry my classwork back and forth. How’s training going?”

  “It’s fine.”

  “You miss me?”

  She affected a dramatic expression and tone of anguish. “I do. So much, in fact, that I can barely run. I’m afraid Stella Walsh is going to cream me the next time I see her.”

  “Is that so?” He propped himself up on his elbow. “You know, I’m out for spring track.”

  “The whole season?”

  “Yeah, I’m disappointed. Apparently, this foot break is a real bugger, with tendon damage, the works, but you know what I realized?”

  “What?”

  “Because of this injury, I won’t be an official member of the track team this spring.”

  “Does Coach Hill know you’re out for the season?”

  “He does. He came by the other day to check on me, and I broke the bad news to him. I also told him that I plan to ask you out.”

  At this, Betty straightened in surprise. “You did?”

  “Yep. So, what do you say? Give an injured fella some mercy and go out for dinner with me?”

  “You don’t look like you’re going anywhere any time soon.”

  “I don’t intend to wait until my cast comes off and risk you falling for some other guy. How about you come over tomorrow night and join me for dinner? Just the two of us.”

  “As you said earlier, I’m very busy. I don’t think I can fit anything else into my schedule.”

  “Too busy for a poor fella who can’t walk? Now, that’s just cruel.”

  “Well, I don’t want you to ruin my reputation as a nice person, so I suppose I’ll come after all.”

  Bill raised his brows. “I make no promises I won’t ruin your reputation.”

  Betty threw a cushion at Bill as she stood to go. “Fine, you don’t scare me. See you tomorrow night.”

  19.

  Spring 1932

  Malden, Massachusetts

  WHEN LOUISE RETURNED HOME TO TELL HER PARENTS she had taken a job with Mrs. Clark, they met the news with stoic resignation. Louise had steeled herself for an argument, but it never arrived. Instead, Mama folded herself onto a kitchen chair and rested one of her hands, cracked and worn, on the table. “Mrs. Grandaway’s children tell me I’ve done all that’s been needed. Friday will be my last day. The house is being sold this weekend. Time for me to go.”

  Louise checked Papa for his reaction. Gray lightened his hairline, gray that hadn’t been there the last time Louise had taken a good look at him. His brown eyes, usually sparkling and teasing, appeared weary. Louise bit her lip. “Maybe my job with Mrs. Clark would be better for you.”

  “No, it wouldn’t. You were hired to be an assistant to Miss Mabel. They can’t have Miss Mabel and me, that’d be too much. You go on and take that work. I’m not sure if anyone in town needs someone. If they don’t, some of the ladies in church have spoken of the laundry.”

  “Oh, Mama, you don’t want the laundry.”

  “Of course I don’t, but it’s reliable work, and in some ways, it might be easier. The idea of just doing a job and not getting mixed up in family affairs offers some advantages. I spent years with the Grandaways and it’s been exhausting.”

  Working in the laundry was steady, as Mama said, but brutal, filled with harsh cleaners and backbreaking labor. The pay wouldn’t be as good as Mrs. Grandaway’s, but now Louise understood why her parents hadn’t argued when she had announced she didn’t plan to return to school. They needed her wages. The family needed her. Knowing that brought a heavy sense of responsibility, but also pride.

  “I can give everything I earn to you,” Louise said.

  Papa shook his head. “No, if you’re earning wages, keep some of it. You’re an adult now and it’s only right.”

  “But I’ll give you most of it.”

  “Let’s give this new arrangement a few weeks and see what happens.” Papa stroked Mama’s back. “You’re going to be able to keep training?”

  “Yes, Coach Quain’s told me that I should hear from the Olympic committee this spring about being invited to the National AAU Championships in Chicago in July. The Olympic team will be decided at that meet.”

  “You’ll need to keep some of your earnings from Mrs. Clark to pay for that trip.”

  “But Coach Quain says the AAU and the club will pay for it.”

  “You should have some of your own money too. Just in case. Sometimes things change and you don’t want to get stranded somewhere far from home. And you’ll need some spending money. Start thinking about how much you’ll need and be sure to save for it.”

  “Have you discussed time off to travel to Chicago?” Mama asked.

  “No, I figured I had plenty of time to bring that up.”

  “Mrs. Clark won’t like any surprises,” Mama said. “Make sure you tell her immediately.”r />
  When Louise had accepted Mrs. Clark’s offer of working for five dollars a week, it seemed like a windfall, but now she wasn’t so sure. Her glowing sense of contribution faded. And what if Mrs. Clark didn’t accept her plan to travel to Chicago?

  The next morning she awoke in the dark and pulled on a navy-blue work dress that Mama had given her. She wrapped a scarf around her hair and set off for the Clarks’ house. The day passed briskly under Miss Mabel’s tutelage as she moved from one task to the next, learning the ins and outs of how the family operated. The older woman seemed pleased to focus on her work in the kitchen while Louise took on entertaining Mrs. Clark’s daughter Beatrice. When the little girl rested, Louise dusted, polished, and put away toys.

  One afternoon Louise was watering a large pot of maidenhead fern in the living room when Mrs. Clark passed through. “Excuse me, ma’am, I need to ask you about my summer schedule. I need to leave town in July and won’t be able to work for several weeks.”

  Mrs. Clark checked her lipstick in the mirror above the fireplace. “We’ll be going to the Isles of Shoals for August like we always do. I’d thought I might bring you to care for the children, but if you can’t come, I’m sure there will be a girl up there who can work instead, but I won’t be paying you while we’re gone. Miss Mabel works reduced hours to care for the house when we leave. She’s all I need.”