When very young and foolish (as opposed to older and foolish), I was living in Baltimore, Maryland with my mother. We had ridden the train from Pueblo to Baltimore to be near my father while he did some Army training at Camp Holabird on the outskirts of Baltimore. My 5th birthday was celebrated there and it was hard not to enjoy my status as an only child.
A large fountain in the courtyard of the small, white, 2-story apartment house was a gathering place where the tenants exchanged information and pleasantries. The children congregated there to play games. One game we played was “Who can walk backwards the farthest?” and I lost that one because I ended up in the fountain full of foul green-black water and rotting leaves. I inhaled a bit of the water, of course, as I was surprised to find myself in such a predicament. Living on the dry plains of Pueblo did not prepare me for a watery world and I had no idea of how one handled water. Mother added a nice touch of fear when she told me to “Spit! Spit!”, as if that would eliminate any water I’d swallowed or inhaled. A hurried trip up the outside staircase and into our apartment bathtub to wash off the yucky debris added another layer of emotion because Mother wasn’t exactly gentle.
I did not learn to swim until I was 12 years old. Mother insisted I take lessons at the YWCA downtown. It meant a bus ride across town to the “Y” once a week and changing into a rental swimsuit there. The suit was scratchy and didn’t fit well at all, but it was all that was available to me. The water was cold and smelled of chlorine. My eyes were red by the end of the class and my skin made a prune look smooth. I managed to figure out how to stop sinking gracefully to the bottom like a stone and to float, to let the water support me. The day that happened was truly a red letter day! But, I didn’t get rid of my fear of water. When water rose to my chest, my heart started beating faster and the breaths went in and out faster, too. There was just a little edge of panic that accompanied the triumph of floating and flailing arms and legs to propel one forward. You want me to dive? Do What!?! Go way under water?!? Panic button is at the ready!!
I determined to combat this fear, to conquer it, and lay it to rest, I became a big fan of the Olympic swimmer and movie star, Esther Williams. She did water ballet, high dives, and strong strokes that cleaved the water and carried her quickly forward. She wore beautiful swimsuits and caps. She had brilliantly white teeth and a marvelous body that my skinny, undeveloped self dreamed of having, too.
That was the beginning of my imaginary exploits as Patricia, the Wonderful Mermaid Girl of Pueblo who was an expert swimmer and diver. Every arm movement, every evenly spaced kick were the epitome of grace and power. Diving off the highest diving board only emphasized the precisely choreographed movements that became a ballet. Patricia had a wardrobe of swimwear that Esther Williams was envious of and every now and then would come by to borrow something. She was especially fond of the pioneer girl look and the dance hall girl swimsuit and wanted to star in a Western movie so she could wear them. Patricia graciously loaned the swimsuits to Esther whenever asked.
Patricia, at the very young and tender age, formed a water ballet group of only the best and most beautiful swimmers in the area. Practices were held at the “Y” and the group became proficient and synchronized so well that they were asked to perform at various events. Soon, The group was asked to sign a movie contract and it was rumored Esther Williams would play a minor role. What a great opportunity for fame and fortune! But, Patricia missed her carefree days of childhood and decided to leave the group for the security of home and the love of her family. She gave her best wishes for the Pueblo Water Dancers to succeed in films and at the venues the agent lined up for them. The best venue was at the Colorado State Fair and Patricia would meet the group and practice with them, appearing as a guest artist for their appearances at the Fair. It truly was a fairy tale come true on those magical nights and hot afternoons. The Pueblo Water Dancers always gave their very best performances in their home town.
In the meantime, young Patsy Talbott met her girlfriends and school friends at the Y in the summertime. Little did she know she was practicing and increasing skills each time she entered the water to race someone to the other side, or slip off the side of the pool to dive down a few feet to retrieve a pool toy. One day, she accidentally turned a somersault underwater and surprised herself tremendously. Each hard-won triumph put to flight a bit more of that fear that was thrust into her psyche when she was 5 years old.
There never has been a whole-hearted embracing of the swimming environment, on my part, but there has been an ease acquired over the years. Swimming is not a favorite pastime. Never will be. And there may come a day when the mourning for Patricia, the Wonderful Mermaid Girl, and her water ballet group, the Pueblo Water Dancers may cease. Though, a recent viewing of an old Esther Williams movie on TV brought back all the old dreams, schemes, and themes. At the movie’s end, I heard a big sigh. I thought at first, it was part of the movie, but then I discovered it was just me…releasing another old dream.
Patricia Talbott-Crump
August 9, 2011 at 2:34 am |
Good job, Pat. I remember swimming at the YWCA too, It was quite an adventure then.
Fran Ammons Peterson
August 11, 2011 at 5:51 pm |
Nice story telling. Unlike you, I can’t identify the source of my youthful fear of water other than my Mother’s frequent admonitions to stay away from the Bessemer Ditch and stories of drowning kids in the Arkansas. She finally took swimming lessons herself when I was in junior high and she subsequently swam like a rock flailing around. Dad, on the other hand often took us down to the river West of City Park and had us wading and floating along in its late summer doldrums. I do remember my younger brother hitting a deeper washout near a submerged tree left over from higher tides. He went under and came up calling for “Mom” as I pulled him over to hold on to the tree. It took three years of lessons to get me afloat at the Y (where groups of twenty or so naked boys lined up to learn).
After that I often swam (also naked) with various buddies in the Arkansas (without telling Mom). Once during high school Buddy Ditmer and I swam across a remote stretch and spent an hour trying to trap some ducks on a pond on the north side. When we came back the river had risen about six feet and had logs and trees floating along with other trash. We drew straws to see who would go first at a point a half mile up river from our endangered clothes. Buddy jumped in and it was over his head and upstretched hands at a point formerly above the waterline. He came up laughing in his dare devil way and so I followed him. The vigorous swim certainly raised my adrenaline level but it turned out to be pretty uneventful in the end. We laughed for days about what it would have been like to make some coverups out of tree branches and leaves so we could walk across the Fourth Street Bridge. I guess we had decided it would be better to drown that do that.
September 5, 2011 at 8:22 pm |
Like Dowell, I had a childhood fear of water. Unlike Dowell, mine never left me. My parents kept sending me to the Y for swim lessons and could not understand how I never learned how. It was because I didn’t want to have to jump in the deep end. I’m fine in the ocean as long as my feet can touch bottom. While trout fishing, I have waded many rivers, sometimes in strong current. I have been in small boats in Mexico and Hawaii when the waves were very rough and it didn’t bother me a bit. But I know that if I should happen to fall overboard, I would flail down into the briny deep.