Bliss, Remembered (33 page)
II.
So the winter passed, with me measuring time by the letters from Berlin. When Chipper passed the state exam, I took a certain amount of pride. I knew they didn’t much have female insurance agents, but I knew that if Chipper had the stuff to qualify, then I could damn well be an agent myself.
But the main thing was, I was lonely. Carter was away in college & since nobody wanted to take me out (or vice versa) because I was in love w/ Horst, basically I just worked at the office, practiced swimming at the college pool, & waited for Horst’s next letter.
Easter fell pretty early that year, & that seemed like a good time to get on w/ it, go to N.Y. & join the Women’s Swimming Assoc. So after church, I told Mom. She was not surprised in the least bit. “Trixie,” she said, “I could see you were getting jumpy, so I took it upon myself to look into some things.”
Our little agency billed a lot of insurance w/ Metropolitan Life, & via the telephone, Mom had become friendly w/ a Mr. Edgar Schooley, who was the general agent of a Metropolitan branch in Brooklyn. Mr. Schooley was not only prepared to hire me for $22.50 a week as an office girl, but inasmuch as he and Mrs. Schooley’s children were grown & had gone to greener pastures, he was delighted to take me in as a boarder. This still being very much the Depression, people were certainly not adverse to having boarders to help w/ expenses. I was going to pay $7.50 a week back out of my salary.
Mother explained that the Schooleys owned a town house in B’lyn Heights, which she had on best authority was the deluxe territory for B’lyn. This was important, for you’ve got to understand that at this time B’lyn was something of a standing joke w/ the rank & file of Americans. If anybody in a movie said he was from B’lyn or if anybody on a radio show said they hailed from B’lyn, this immediately prompted a chorus of guffaws & what have you. Mr. Schooley had assured Mom that not everybody in B’lyn said such things as “dems” & “dose,” & that, notwithstanding the yuk-yuks from would-be comedians, B’lyn was actually a fine, upstanding, family place, that was even esteemed for its numerous churches.
Not only that, but Mr. Schooley had really done his homework. The pool the WSA used to practice in was located on the west side of Manhattan in an apartment bldg called the London Terrace, but he’d assured Mom that it was easily accessible from the Metropolitan office in B’lyn on the subway so long as I was not uneasy about negotiating a change of trains.
Mom said, “Trixie, now this arrangement is not written in stone, but this gives you a good job & a lovely place to stay w/ fine, upstanding people. After you get your feet wet, so to speak, you could make new arrangements, & Mr. Schooley would understand completely.”
I agreed, so I wrote L. deB. that I would soon be on my way. I arrived in B’lyn on the lst of May, l937. Sydney Stringfellow: have bathing suit, will travel.
The Schooleys certainly were lovely people. They called each other Mr. S & Mrs. S, & as a consequence, so did everyone else. Mrs. S’s name was Vivian. A great many women then had Christian names that started w/ V. I don’t know why. Velma, Vera, Vicky, Veronica, Violet, etc., besides Vivian. They’ve all gone, haven’t they? I guess there’s just no accounting for taste. Be that as it may, the Schooley house was attractive, albeit (to call a spade a spade) somewhat threadbare in the furniture dept., but I had what had once been the maid’s room on the ground floor, which afforded me a great deal of privacy, including my own back door for entrances & exits. I don’t think I could’ve asked for anything better right off the bat in B’lyn.
Mr. S showed me where to get the GG train, which was only a couple blocks from the house, & I rode that up to the office, which was in the Greenpoint neighborhood. In the movies, everybody pronounced it “Greenpernt,” but in real life, only a corporal’s guard of the folks I met actually did. B’lyn was not nearly as exotic as the legend at the time would have it.
Our office was at 877 Manhattan Ave. The agents worked out of there, but, of course, they were usually out & about trying to sell insurance, so mostly the office was populated by girls a bit older than I who sat at rows of desks typing out policies & form letters. It was not very scintillating work, but everybody was delighted to have a job, starting at $27.50 a week. The gals were nice & when they found out I came from “the sticks,” they were fascinated, so I regaled them w/ quaint stories of the Eastern Shore, crabs, oysters, etc. You would’ve thought I came from darkest Africa the way some of those city girls carried on.
Actually, my job was simple as pie, but probably more interesting than being chained to a Smith-Corona typewriter all day. I spent a great deal of time filing & sorting thru potential “leads” for the agents, & I can say, in all modesty, that I distinguished myself early on w/ a # of the agents, because, after all, I already knew so much about the ins. business. In today’s lexicon I was “overqualified” for my job, but that was alright w/ me because I looked upon swimming as my real job. Then, too, whatever special tasks Mr. S had in mind usually added a little spice to my life. A prime example: in the course of most every day I ran errands outside the office.
Mr. S had an unfortunate, if perfectly benign habit of prefacing many of his remarks w/ this phrase: “You wanna know something?” So, on one of my lst nites in B’lyn, he said: “Sydney, you’re a swimmer—you wanna know something?” Naturally, I bit, so he told me that only a few blocks away from the Schooley residence was the finest indoor pool in all of N.Y. Of course, I was fascinated, so off we went to inspect it.
The pool was in the St. George Hotel, which was on Clark St. It was the pride of the area, if not all of B’lyn. “You wanna know something?” Mr. Schooley asked me. “There’s nothing like this pool in all of Manhattan.”
And you wanna know something? That was the God’s truth. The pool was absolutely magnificent, surrounded by tiled piers that reached up 2 stories. It was more than a football field long & filled with salt water. The instant I saw it I wanted to jump right in, & Mr. S was delighted w/ how impressed I was at this certified B’lyn landmark.
But here’s why I’m digressing: would that the Women’s Swimming Assoc. had such a pool! Instead, it was a poor cousin to the St. George’s. The pool at the London Terrace was only 25 yds. long. Good grief, the one back home at the College was longer than that! And here it was home for the premier female swimming club in all America, if not the whole world. It would be as if the N.Y. Yankees practiced on some sandlot that didn’t even have an outfield.
But, as they say (or did then), every cloud has a silver lining, & that would be L. deB. Handley. On my lst day of practice, he greeted me in such exquisite attire that I thought he must’ve just come from some special affair. He wore a bespoke gray pin-striped suit w/ a blue striped shirt (he always said “stri-PED, w/ 2 syllables, not just old “striped” as we did on the Shore) w/ a magnificent bright yellow tie, complete w/ stickpin & a fancy pocket handkerchief. He told me one time, “Sydney, a man who would be seen in public w/o a pocket square might as well be naked.” Words to live by!
You see, here was the thing: L. deB.—or Coach Handley, as we girls, of course, called him—always dressed as fashionably as when I met him on this lst occasion. Not only that, at the pool he somehow could stay comfortable in his stylish get-up for what seemed like forever. Remember now, it gets exceptionally steamy in an indoor pool room, but L. deB. seemed utterly impervious to the elements. He was practically sweat-proof.
He was also a wonderful teacher & since some of the wealthier girls had other more-or-less private coaches at pools where they came from, L. deB. concentrated working more w/ me & the other girls who didn’t have personal coaching. The WSA gals were a nice bunch, but while some of them came from the suburbs, especially up in West-chester County, the more wealthy environs, I was the only one who’d actually moved from out of town. Unfortunately, no one else on the team resided in B’lyn, so, only seeing one another at practice, we were like ships passing in the nite.
So, I was basically lonely again, but Mom always forwarded my monthly letter from Horst, & I took advantage of being in The Greatest City in The World, going hither and yon on the subway, which only cost a nickel, seeing all the sights. It cost 60¢ to call C’town and 65¢ to call Balt., so I paid Mr. S & made 3-minute calls to Mom and Carter every couple weeks or so, & of course they returned the favor. “You wanna know something?” Mr. S asked me one day. “You could call your young gentleman friend in Berlin for $24.” He had looked it up. But, of course, that was out of the question.
Horst wrote me that he would graduate from Heidelberg in July, then begin his cadet training. At least he was going to be an officer, but, still, he made it crystal clear that he had no interest whatsoever in the military. He wanted to study architecture, & he wanted to marry me. It was as simple as that. His letters were as passionate as always, & his love for me remained as strong as ever. As I was utterly faithful to Horst, I knew that he was to me, even tho he was a boy & even then I recognized that males of all ages do not always subscribe to the same rules as we do.
But I simply believed w/ all my heart that Horst remained true, even tho I kidded him, asking him if he would be a sailor w/ a girl in every port. He wrote back that ports were out of the question because his love for me was as deep as the ocean. I cried in my bed that nite, thinking for the lst time in a long time about how beautiful our child would’ve been if only we hadn’t been separated by that deep ocean & could be married.
Meanwhile, when my mother wrote me, she never failed to ask: “Have you met any nice boys up there in the Big City?” She couldn’t believe that my “thing” for “the good-looking German boy” persisted. (She always identified Horst as “good-looking,” I knew, because it implied that I was a starry-eyed ninny who’d just fallen for his looks.)
At the office, most days Mr. S would give me the premium payments that had come in. Most were checks, but there were a lot of money orders & some people actually foolishly sent cash thru the U.S. mail. The bank we used was the Bank of Manhattan, which had a branch located right next door at 875 Manhattan, so Mr. S would bundle everything up, put it in a canvas bag & dispatch me next door to deposit it. It was a pretty easy routine, which I enjoyed because it allowed me to get out of the office & away from all those clattering typewriters.
On this particular occasion at the bank, early in June, I was surprised to find a new teller, &, in a word, he was awfully cute (excuse me: 2 words). He even bore a passing resemblance to Horst. (Well, the blue eyes!) I smiled shyly at him, he smiled back, but it was all business, no banter. Nonetheless, the next day when I came to the bank, I kind of hung back, pretending to be filling out slips or some such thing, till I saw that the cute blue-eyed boy’s window was free. Then I strolled up there as if by dumb luck.
This time we chatted some. He asked, “You come here every day?”
“Most,” I said. “I’m w/ Metropolitan Life next door. I never saw you before.”
“Well, I was a runner. I just got promoted this week.”
So that explained his presence. We conversed some more in the days that followed. I have to be honest, that this was the lst boy who had turned my head even a smidgeon since I fell in love w/ Horst, but innocent chatter hardly qualified as unfaithfulness. Inevitably, altho he was very shy, he told me his name, which was James Branch (but call me “Jimmy”), & I told him mine, so then he asked what time I got off, & while I shouldn’t have responded to that, I did, & sure enough, he was nervously waiting for me at the door of #877 when I got out.
Hallelujah! I almost threw the pages up in the air. At last Mom had met Dad, and surely now that infamous Teutonic lothario, Herr Gerhardt, would recede into the mists. So, relieved and thrilled, I read on:
Jimmy asked if I wanted to get a soda, but I explained how I had to go to swimming practice. That fascinated him, so he suggested maybe the next day, & I explained I went to practice 5 days a week & sometimes more.
“Where do you go?” he asked, & I told him about the pool at the London Terrace.
“You go into the city?” That impressed him even more than the swimming itself, because you should understand that even tho B’lyn was every bit a real city, & was laid cheek by jowl with Manhattan, B’lyn people possessed something of an inferiority complex & referred to Manhattan as “the city.”
“Look, Jimmy,” I said, “you’re a really nice guy, but I have to tell you, I have a very serious beau.”
“Oh, I see.”
“We’re going to get married.”
“He’s a very lucky fellow.”
“I’m a very lucky girl.”
After that, when I brought the deposits over, most days I’d make sure to go to different tellers, because I didn’t want to lead Jimmy on. Well, then he outfoxed me. Usually I’d swing by the bank right before lunch. I’d bring a sandwich & thermos to work, so I’d go over to McCarren Park & read a book while I ate. Wise to my routine, one day Jimmy switched his lunch hour, so he was waiting for me outside my building. He had his sandwich & thermos, too. “Would you at least have lunch w/ me?” he asked. “Your beau couldn’t get mad at that.”
And so we did, & I must say we enjoyed learning about one another (although I kept Horst off limits in our tete-a-tetes). In fact, I agreed that we could eat together in McCarren Park once a week, on Thursdays, when he could change his lunch hour. So I learned that Jimmy came from upstate N.Y., from poor, unhappy circumstance, that he had left home after high school, taken odd jobs & whatnot, worked in the CCC for a year & then come to try his luck in the big city.
Shy as he was, he was not at all lacking in confidence, but because he’d had such a difficult life, Jimmy was as unsure of the world as he was sure that he could make his way in it. Everything had been such a struggle for him, & he was very much alone. That scared me a bit, for he needed someone so terribly much, & I realized that he wanted me to be that someone. But despite his bashfulness, he was bright & funny, &, it is worth noting again: he was awfully cute—or cute as a bug’s ear, as we were wont to say then. But, at the end of the day, none of that mattered. I still waited as anxiously as ever for Horst’s next letter & went to sleep every nite thinking of him alone.
III.
The national championships for ’37, which were scheduled for Jones Beach, were fast approaching. L. deB. was not only convinced that I’d win, but that I could very possibly break Eleanor’s record. He presented me w/ my black WSA silk suit w/ the big S in the middle of my chest, & let me tell you, the lst time I put that on, I was so proud I would’ve busted my buttons if I’d been wearing any. Back in my room at the Schooleys, I put it on again, even tho it was still damp, & I just stood there, admiring myself, turning this way & that in front of the mirror as if I were a lingerie model. The championships were only 2 wks away.
Then, a few days later, I came out of my bldg on the way to the bank. It was the middle of July, extremely hot, so I just had on a blouse & skirt (& the obligatory slip & stockings). I took about 2 steps toward #875, when all of a sudden this big, burly guy came out of nowhere & jumped me. At lst, I was so taken by surprise that I didn’t appreciate what was happening, but then I realized he was trying to steal the canvas bank bag from me. He’d obviously been watching my routine.
He also probably figured that I was a frail little vessel, so I’m sure he was shocked when he wasn’t able to yank the bag away from me right off the bat. I just instinctively hung on. But it all happened so fast, you see. I don’t think it even occurred to me to scream “help.” But then, there were lots of people all around me—within feet of me!—& they were just as stunned themselves. Everyone just stood there, gaping. I couldn’t blame them. You just don’t expect a thing like this to happen in front of you, much less to you.
All the while the big guy—we called such scoundrels “yeggs” in those days—tugged at the bag. I tried to hold on for dear life, but he gave one last big yank, & he was so strong that he not only pulled the bag out of my grasp, but he caused me to lose my balance. My momentum jerked me forward, & I tumbled hard, head-first, onto the sidewalk. I was able to stick out a hand to break my fall, but then it was almost like I skidded along on the pavement.
Finally, a couple of people did yell, reaching out to try to grab the mugger, but he eluded them & dashed away, heading south. I’d banged my head when I fell, but not enough to get knocked out, & as I lifted my head up to watch the robber run away, suddenly, who did I see materialize but Jimmy. He’d just come out of the bank next door, to where I was headed, & had actually seen the scuffle. When he realized that, yes, it really was me being attacked, he’d immediately run towards us.
The thief had planned to make his getaway in Jimmy’s direction. A subway station was up the other way, at the big intersection where Manhattan crossed Greenpoint, so obviously it made sense for him to run in the opposite direction, where there were fewer people & less likelihood of police. He might’ve gotten away, too, but here came Jimmy, absolutely unafraid, running right at him. So the thief ducked across Manhattan Ave., dodging the traffic. Jimmy went right after him, cutting in front of a trolley. They were maroon & cream. Isn’t that funny? I haven’t thought about that in yrs, but now, as I write this, I can see it all as plain as day, Jimmy running right in front of that maroon & cream trolley car.
By now—& you know, this has hardly taken only a few seconds—a couple of nice people came over to attend to me. I just wanted to watch the chase, tho, so I kind of raised up, trying to look across the street. It was no contest. Jimmy was like a jackrabbit. Before the thief had even reached the next corner, at Milton St., he could see that Jimmy was going to catch him, so he dropped the bag in hopes that his pursuer would be satisfied to stop & recover the loot.
But Jimmy didn’t go for that dodge. A couple steps further on, right where the guy turned down Milton, Jimmy leapt onto his back & brought him down. Then he started pummeling him. By now, of course, all sorts of people had joined the chase. One of them picked up the bank bag, while some others pulled Jimmy off the thief & held the culprit till a couple of cops ran down from Greenpoint Ave. About time!
Jimmy just turned away & ran back toward me. I saw him coming, & I was scared he was going to get killed crossing the street. It didn’t seem like he even looked side to side for the cars. He only had his eyes on me, screaming my name. “Sydney! Sydney!” I think back, & it doesn’t seem like I can remember any other sounds the whole time, just Jimmy screaming my name.
When he got to me, I was sort of up on my knees, & he kneeled down before me. That’s when all of a sudden the whole thing hit me, & I began to cry. “Oh, Sydney—you all right?” he asked. I tried to answer, but I was having a delayed reaction, & now—now that I had my wits about me—now I realized what’d happened. Now I was scared. My face was cut from where it had scraped on the sidewalk, so I knew I looked a sight, but Jimmy was just gazing upon me w/ the greatest concern.
I thought he might even start to cry for me, so I reached out to hug him, because I needed to, & also because, knowing him, I knew he didn’t dare try to hug me himself because it’d be just like him to think I’d feel that he was taking advantage of the situation. There was such a sweetness to Jimmy Branch.
It wasn’t until that second that I felt the pain in my wrist. It had been such a to-do I hadn’t even realized that when I’d put out my right hand to break my fall, it had done something to my wrist. I just stared at it. Now I hurt like hell, but now was when I stopped crying. That was because I was suddenly in disbelief. “My wrist, Jimmy, my wrist!” I didn’t know whether it was broken or strained or sprained or what, but I knew I wasn’t going to be doing any swimming for a while. Just like there wasn’t any Olympics for me in ’36, there wouldn’t be any national championships for me in ’37. I would’ve felt cursed, but the wrist hurt too much for me to feel anything but the pain.
Well, suddenly, it seemed like the whole world descended on us. There were policemen, & one man who said he knew lst aid gingerly looked at my wrist & said “oh my,” & then the guy who’d retrieved the canvas bag appeared, & then there was a police siren, & the people who weren’t being solicitous to me were congratulating Jimmy, patting him on his back, helping him dust himself off, etc. A trolley had stopped dead in the middle of the street & all the passengers were staring at me. Not only that, but the fuss had brought everybody running out of their offices & shops to see what all the commotion was. Remember, there was no air conditioning then except maybe in movie theaters (where it said: “IT’S COOOOL INSIDE” w/ icycles coming off the letters), & since it was one of the hottest days of the summer, all the windows were wide open.
In fact, suddenly, there was Mr. S himself & most of the girls from the office—all part of the crowd hovering around me. I told whoever it was who’d picked up the bag: “Give it to him”—meaning Mr. S.
Then a cop said, “What happened exactly, miss?” but even before I could answer, a woman said, “Officer, this young man is a hero.”
Jimmy kind of ducked his head, because he was quite modest by nature, but I was so proud of him, & even tho I was holding my wrist, I said, “The lady’s right, Mr. S. If it wasn’t for Jimmy that guy would’ve gotten away w/ all the day’s premiums.”
So right off the bat, w/o missing a beat, Mr. S said, “You wanna know something? You’re gonna get a reward!”
And all the people standing around began to clap & cheer in the most heartwarming fashion. Jimmy told me later that he’d never felt so good about himself in all his life—notwithstanding how worried he was about me. “But,” he told me later, “you’re tough for a girl, Sydney, so I knew you’d be all right.”
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