Bliss, Remembered (13 page)

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.

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—

Thank you for dotting the
i
s and crossing the
t
s, 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.

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?

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.