Fast Girls Read online

  Betty nodded, though she was surprised. She had never encountered black women runners, not during her tenure running for the IWAC and not in Amsterdam. “And she ran with you in the Olympics in Los Angeles?”

  “Well, no. She and another colored woman, Louise Stokes, qualified for the relay and they both traveled to Los Angeles as part of the team, but they were pulled at the last minute. As the Olympics got closer and closer, things got strange. I don’t think the coaches were pleased to have them there, and not all of the other girls were very happy with their presence either. There were some black men who raced well in Los Angeles—Ralph Metcalfe, Eddie Tolan—but Tidye and Louise didn’t stand a chance. Bad enough they were women, right? Then pile on the race issue. It ended up being pretty ugly for them.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “Training with Tidye isn’t going to be a problem for you, is it?”

  “No, of course not,” Betty said quickly. And she meant it. She didn’t have any experience with black people. Her family had never hired any domestic help and she couldn’t picture a single black family living in her neighborhood. If there had been any black students at her high school or Northwestern, she couldn’t remember them. Now that she thought about it, her classmates and friends had mostly been just like her—white.

  Howard spread his hands impatiently. “Enough dillydallying, you two. How about taking a warm-up lap while we await Tidye?”

  “Good idea,” Caroline agreed. “No reason to stand around here gabbing while the baby sleeps. There’s no telling how long I’ll get.”

  So off they went, running along the outside of the park on a worn path. Betty focused on starting slowly, allowing her legs to stretch out with every passing step. The first few always felt the tightest, but after a couple of hundred yards, she had settled into a comfortable gait. When they arrived back to Howard, Tidye was waiting. Betty studied her closely. She was petite and light-skinned with alert, penetrating eyes.

  “Tidye, glad you made it,” Caroline called out, smiling.

  “You think I’d miss a reunion with you and Howard? I just took a peek at Joan, and she’s the sweetest little thing I’ve ever seen,” Tidye replied.

  “Aww, thanks. Here, let me introduce you to Betty,” Caroline said, pulling Betty close.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Betty,” Tidye said, extending her hand. Though she was smiling, her expression was cool and watchful.

  Betty’s shoulders tightened. She felt a surprising pressure to come off as immune to the potential awkwardness of the moment. It seemed like everyone was studying how she’d behave and she wanted to pass this test. She took Tidye’s hand in her own. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Glad to have another sprinter here.”

  Tidye nodded, turning to Caroline. “I’m actually thinking about giving the hurdles a try this time. My legs are nowhere near as long as yours, but I’m a good jumper, so why not?”

  Howard looked pleased and held up his watch. “Good idea, but before we get to thinking about hurdles, let’s focus on conditioning and getting the three of you back into fighting shape. Tidye, are you warmed up?”

  “Sure am. I ran here from the bus stop.”

  “Perfect. I want you all to take a lap at three-quarter effort. Sound good?”

  Betty nodded. If there was one way to work past any uncertainty, it was to start running.

  37.

  May 1935

  Fulton, Missouri

  HELEN’S LAST COUPLE OF MONTHS OF HIGH SCHOOL couldn’t have been more different from her first few years. Now no one could get enough of her. People didn’t just wave when they saw her; they cheered. She was popular, and no longer as a punch line to a joke, but as a figure of interest, even respect.

  One weekend when she was home with her family, Bobbie Lee announced himself to be the official keeper of Helen’s scrapbook. He pulled Helen down to the floor of the parlor, a black leather-bound book spread in front of him. “Look here, Hellie,” he said. “I’ve got the Fulton Crier article about you winning the meet sponsored by Wright City High. I’ve also got this column all about how you won that Leacock Trophy. There’s even a swell picture of you and Coach Moore standing with it.” Bobbie Lee continued to inventory the other races she had won, pointing out pictures and articles, race programs, and racing bibs for each one.

  After the National AAU Championships in March, Coach Moore had said they needed to enter her in as many exhibition races as possible so she could set records and establish herself as a serious competitor to attract eventual sponsorship. He had his practical reasons for wanting to race Helen as much as possible, but she had her reasons too. She wanted to show Stella Walsh that she could beat her any time, anywhere, but no matter how many challenges were issued, the woman never took the bait. “Helen Stephens is a nobody,” Stella was quoted as saying. “Why should I waste my time racing her at little podunk high schools in Missouri when I can stay here in Cleveland and train seriously?” Stella’s public dismissal of her rankled, but Helen knew the Polish Flyer was right. Helen needed to set official records and continue to beat significant competitors.

  One afternoon, when Helen went out to the track in back of the high school, a tall, rangy-looking woman waited for her next to Coach Moore, her dark eyes serious, chin sharp.

  “Helen, remember Miss Boeckmann from St. Louis? You’ve raced against her girls in several races recently,” said Coach Moore.

  “Sure I do,” Helen said. Dee Boeckmann, an Olympian from 1928, was the first woman to head the AAU’s Ozark District Committee. “Your girls are fast.”

  Miss Boeckmann fixed her gaze on Helen, looking as if she had discovered a shiny gold coin in her path that she wanted to tuck into her pocket. “But none of them are as fast as you. Listen, I’m here to talk with your coach about you coming to St. Louis to join my squad and train with me at Loretto Academy. I hear you’re serious about wanting to go to the next Olympics. There’s no better way to prepare than coming to race with the fastest girls in the region.” And as if she knew exactly what was in Helen’s heart, she added, “We’ll be able to show Stella Walsh that your performance in March was no fluke.”

  Helen considered the offer and let her gaze drop to her track shoes. Miss Boeckmann was missing one thing. Shortly after her race in St. Louis, Coach Moore had shown up one day for practice and handed her the track shoes. They were brand-new, shiny black leather. All this time Coach Moore had been paying for everything without asking for anything in return. And it wasn’t like he was swimming in cash. He probably made next to nothing as the high school track coach and assistant coach at Westminster, yet he stuck with her, so while she might not have the fancy tracksuits and facilities that the girls in St. Louis enjoyed, she had something more important: someone who had seen something in her when no one else did. All the money in the world couldn’t buy someone like that.

  “I appreciate you coming all this way, but I’m going to stay here and continue to train with Coach Moore.” She glanced at her coach and though his face remained expressionless, she was quite sure he squared his shoulders.

  “Sure, I understand why sticking with Coach Moore is appealing, but I promise you that we have everything you need in St. Louis.”

  But she didn’t have everything. Coach Moore wouldn’t be there. Also, none of Miss Boeckmann’s girls struck Helen as particularly friendly. In particular, that redheaded one, Harriet Bland, the one who always looked like she had taken a big chomp out of a lemon, rubbed Helen the wrong way. Why give herself over to a bunch of strangers when she could stay close to her family and friends?

  Sensing Helen’s reluctance, Miss Boeckmann added, “Look, we can help you out in every way you may need it. Clothes, equipment—why, we’ll even send you to a dentist if you want.”

  “Again, Coach Boeckmann, I’m grateful for your offer. Really, I am. But I’m going to stick with Coach Moore.”

  The tall woman pursed her lips. “I understand. No hard feelings. I’m looking forward to w
atching your career and am certain our paths will cross again. If you change your mind, you know where to find me. There’s no expiration date on my offer.”

  The woman said goodbye and sauntered back toward the rear entry of the high school.

  Coach Moore turned to Helen. “Sure you want to give all of that up?”

  “Yep,” she said. “My heart’s set on William Woods College so I can keep my ma happy by training nearby and going to college. What do you say? Can you make that happen?”

  He winked. “I’ll try.”

  38.

  May 1936

  Malden, Massachusetts

  “THANK YOU, THESE ARE SO PRETTY,” LOUISE SAID, ACCEPTING a handful of dandelions from her young charge, Ann Clark. The five-year-old darted away on sturdy legs still pale from long winter months spent indoors and plunked herself down in the grass next to her three-year-old sister. Both girls busied themselves with building towers of pebbles. Louise held the dandelions up to her nose to smell them and inhaled the bitter tang of grass and damp earth. Springtime. With the girls immersed in play, Louise dropped the flowers into her pocket and then rubbed her hands, now sticky from the stems, along the sides of her skirt.

  From across the park, Miss Francine, another domestic who minded a pair of children from the Clarks’ street, waved. Louise returned the greeting, sighing in contentment as she settled into her spot on the bench. She closed her eyes briefly to savor the steady cheerful babble of the little girls and stretch her arms overhead as she soaked in the long-awaited sunshine pouring over her. This was a precious moment of peace amid the anxiety that had been building as the Berlin Olympics neared. It was late May and Louise was still waiting for her invitation from the AAU to compete in the Olympic trials and starting to worry she wouldn’t be invited back. After the slight in Los Angeles, it seemed anything was possible.

  She cracked an eye open and watched Ann and Barbara stack the pebbles carefully into a tower and then shriek in delight as the tower toppled and they began the process of rebuilding it. It never failed to amaze her that she had been working for Mrs. Clark for four years now.

  When she had first arrived as a housemaid, the oldest daughter, Beatrice, was still too young to attend school, but Louise barely saw the eight-year-old anymore, so busy was the girl’s school life. And now there were two more little girls: Barbara and Constance. Though still considered a housemaid, Louise oversaw Ann and Barbara for a few hours each afternoon while Mrs. Clark rested as her youngest napped. This baby, Constance, had been colicky since her birth, and still, eight months later, she often fussed and didn’t sleep through the night. Louise always looked forward to days when the weather obliged with sunshine so she could escape Mrs. Clark’s frayed nerves and leave the house with Ann and Barbara.

  The years since Louise had traveled to Los Angeles had passed in a flash. When she had returned from California, embarrassed and crushed by her failure to compete, family and neighbors had been kind with their congratulations, seemingly unfazed by the fact that she had been dropped from the relay. It had been easy to slip back into her life, working and running, with little mention made of returning to school to complete her final year. For one thing, Mama and Papa counted on Louise’s wages, but there was also the unspoken acknowledgment that Uncle Freddie’s death had unmoored the family, made them concentrate on getting through each day one at a time and not ask too many hard requests of each other.

  Once the shock of losing Uncle Freddie loosened its hold on Louise, she had realized what she needed to do to move ahead with a sense of purpose and hope. His death had given her the focus she needed to persist with running despite the disappointment she felt after Los Angeles. She often took out the photo he had given her and studied it before each race to remind herself that some sacrifices were bigger than her own hurt feelings.

  As her parents regained their balance in the months following Uncle Freddie’s death, it was clear they weren’t going to tolerate any lapses in schooling with their younger children. Emily’s deft fingers and clever eye for design had produced good income for the family over the years since she had begun taking in piecework, but she never slacked on her schoolwork. Two years after Louise should have graduated, Emily received her high school diploma, and her sartorial capabilities led to a job offer that any girl in town would have coveted: an apprenticeship in a milliner’s studio. Emily made the most of the opportunity. As her skills increased, so did her income, not to mention her prospects. One night at a dance hall, she had caught the attention of a young man who worked as a waiter at a fancy hotel in Boston, and they had been going steady ever since. Louise couldn’t quite suppress a pang of envy over the fact that it wouldn’t be long until her sister announced an engagement, married, and moved out of their home.

  Louise knew she shouldn’t feel envious. She was twenty-two and had a decent-paying job, and these days, any job was a prize. Moreover Mrs. Clark permitted her to leave work every afternoon to continue her training with Coach Quain and the Onteora Track Club. Since Los Angeles, she had continued to place well in races, even twice becoming the national champion in the 50-meter dash. After 1932, Mary Carew retired, but Louise continued to race against Olive Hasenfus. And much to the delight of Coach Quain, Louise’s younger sister Julia also joined the Onteora Track Club to run and compete, but she never appeared fixated on racing, certainly not in the way that Louise had.

  Julia was clever and had a good head for numbers, but with graduation less than two months away, her future remained unclear. College was unlikely for a girl without means, especially a black girl, and without a college degree, a job as a teacher or nurse was equally unlikely.

  “Lou-ise,” a familiar voice sang, interrupting Louise’s thoughts.

  From the shadows of a copse of trees at the other end of the park, Julia appeared, waving as she skipped toward them. “Yoo-hoo, girls, I have some lollys for you two sweeties.”

  Ann and Barbara clapped in delight at Julia’s appearance, and she handed each girl a lollipop while making a show of admiring the piles of pebbles. “My goodness, you’ve both been busy. Look at all of this,” she said, but the girls barely even registered their earlier occupation as they popped the sweets into their mouths.

  “Thanks for providing distraction. Things were too peaceful here, and I was just waiting for an argument to break out,” Louise said.

  “Between those two angels? I don’t believe it.” Julia laughed as she patted both girls on their little blond heads before joining Louise on the bench, a smug look on her face. “So, guess what’s happened?”

  “What?”

  “You know how Mrs. Jackson told me to come by for tea when I saw her at church on Sunday? I just stopped in to see her, and she’s found a job for me this summer. I’m going to leave town.”

  “Really?” Louise hoped her expression looked enthusiastic, but a twinge of dread took form within her. Sometimes it felt as though everyone was moving on with their lives without her.

  “Apparently her cousin owns an inn in Oak Bluffs on Martha’s Vineyard and Mrs. Jackson put in a good word for me. They’ve offered me a spot as a chambermaid until Labor Day. Usually jobs start on Memorial Day, but they’re making an exception for me, and I can come after graduation.”

  “My, that’s wonderful,” said Louise, tenting her hand over her eyes, ostensibly to watch the girls, but really to hide her disappointment from Julia. Oak Bluffs. Every black girl in Massachusetts knew its significance. The small beach town had become a summer haven for well-heeled black families. Judges, physicians, entertainers, even politicians, anyone who was anyone went to Oak Bluffs. After spending a summer there, Julia would return with connections and possibilities. Who knew what doors would open for her?

  Louise swallowed, trying to push past her jealousy. Why should she envy Julia when Coach Quain had all but promised her a trip to the Olympic trials in Providence? For the last four years she had been readying herself to compete in Berlin. And not just compete, but win.
So why did Julia’s job in Oak Bluffs leave Louise with a sting of regret?

  At that moment, Ann clapped her hand to her face and howled. Within seconds, her howl intensified into a scream as she tottered to her feet and stepped toward Louise and Julia, but as she moved forward, her toe caught on something, and the girl went down flat onto her face.

  Louise leapt toward her. “Annie, you’re fine. Let’s take a look.” She peeled the child from the grass and was met with a constellation of red welts rising on Ann’s face, but more alarming was the blood pouring from the girl’s chin. Blinking against her tears and blubbering, Ann stared from giant blue eyes filled with panic. Through the gash on her chin, Louise could see the white of bone.

  Louise froze.

  Her only movement was frantic swallowing against the rising bitter taste of fear in her throat.

  It was as if she had been thrust underwater and lost all oxygen for a moment, but then, overtaken with a sense of resolve, she scrabbled for the surface. She yanked off the handkerchief she wore tied around her head and pressed it against the wound to stanch the bleeding.

  “Bees! Bees! They got me!” Ann screeched as Louise pushed on the girl’s chin. Immediately the dark blue handkerchief turned a dark plum color with Ann’s blood.

  “Julia.” Louise kept her voice even. “Please go to Dr. Conway and tell him to meet me at Mrs. Clark’s.”

  Julia, pale and stunned, nodded.

  “Run,” Louise commanded to her sister before leaning over Ann. “There, there, little one, you’re fine.”

  Ann slackened in her arms, though whimpers made her chest tremble.