Uncle Freddie and her promise to keep racing flashed through Louise’s mind, and pride bloomed in her chest. “Thank you, Coach.”
“Of course. And while I’m on my route, I’ll keep an ear out for any work that may suit you. See you tomorrow.”
Louise nodded and turned away to run home. While Coach’s words sent a thrill through her, unique experiences and seeing more of the country weren’t going to pay the bills. Her family needed more money and she needed a way to find it.
14.
September 1931
Evanston, Illinois
BETTY HESITATED BEFORE PASSING THE STATUES LOOMING over the entrance to Northwestern University’s Patten Gymnasium. To her right, a sculpted woman in an empire-waist gown gazed toward Sheridan Road. It seemed promising that the athletic facility had a woman guarding over it.
“You getting to know Pat?”
A tall young man with bright blue eyes and a shock of blond hair combed back from his face stood beside Betty, pointing at the statue.
“Excuse me?” Betty asked.
“This is Pat. And that’s Jim.” He pointed to a statue of a man on the opposite side of the entrance’s steps. “Jim’s all right, but I’m with you, Pat’s much more captivating. And I’m Bill.” He put out his hand for her to take.
“I’m Betty Robinson, a new transfer.” Betty took his extended hand into her own. His palm had a sharp callus that scraped across her fingers, sending a tingle along her arm. He had big hands. Big but graceful. Long-fingered and wide-palmed, they connoted confidence, resourcefulness, and strength—they implied that he could be relied upon. Betty felt her face redden as she admired them, then pulled her hands behind her back as if that would clear her mind of thinking about Bill that way. “So why do you like Pat more?”
“She looks smart and her serious expression tells us she’s not suffering any fools. Look at the little guy crouched at her side. She’s the boss, you can tell.”
“She’s got a big job to do.” A steady stream of male students passed, coming in and out of the building. Betty bit her lip. “Looks like a lot is happening around here.”
“If I can be of service, just say the word.”
“I’m looking for Coach Hill’s office.”
“Sure, I’m heading into Patten and can take you there. He’s on the main floor.” Bill gestured for her to lead the way. “Where’d you transfer from?”
“I’ve spent the last two years at Thornton Community College, but I wanted a few more options than they offer. This could be a good fit for me.”
“Sounds like it’s Northwestern’s lucky day. I’d say you’ve come to the right place,” he said, stepping ahead to open the door for her. “What are you planning to study?”
“Physical education. I’m a runner, actually, and hoping to coach someday,” she said quickly before she could change her mind. It felt like a test, telling this man that she was a runner. Maybe he’d raise his eyebrows and make an excuse to escape, uncomfortable with the idea of a girl who liked competition.
But he didn’t. If anything, he looked delighted.
“You don’t say. I’m on a few teams around here and, well, Coach Hill’s just the fellow for you.”
“I’m actually hoping he’ll take me on and coach me.”
“No kidding, that would be terrific. Here, his office is this way.” Bill ushered her to a warren of doors with frosted windows. When he faced her, his bright blue eyes seemed to look straight through her, and suddenly she felt nervous. Would Coach Hill be as open to her plan as this young man seemed to be? Bill seemed to sense her uncertainty and he straightened his tie as if girding himself to get down to business. “Would you like me to take you in there?”
Betty shook her head. “You’re kind, but no, I can do it. Thanks, though.”
“You bet. I sure hope to see you again soon. If you ask me, you’re just what this place needs. Best of luck to you, Betty.”
She waved goodbye and watched him saunter away with a confidence that she figured came from the ease of his athletic nature, but also from the fact that he had never had to worry that a team wouldn’t accept him on account of something as arbitrary as his sex. Did he have any idea of all the perks that being a man afforded him? Of course not. She hadn’t thought about it either until she started trying to figure out this complicated world of competition.
The sweet scent of floor polish and the itchy smell of chalk dust hovered in the air around her. Surrounding her was the low tone of men’s voices and shadowy figures visible through the frosted-glass windows. She slowed to read the name placards outside of each door. She found Coach Hill’s office, took a deep breath to quell the nerves roiling her stomach, and knocked.
“Come in,” a gruff voice called.
She pushed the door open and found a man with rumpled graying hair sitting back in his chair reviewing a pile of typewritten pages set on the desk in front of him. “Yes?” he asked without looking up.
“Coach Hill, I’m Elizabeth Robinson, a new student.”
He glanced at her sharply and then pointed at the empty chair facing his desk. “I know who you are.”
“You do?”
“You think I don’t read the papers?”
“No, that’s not what I meant.” This was not how she wanted this conversation to go. She took the seat he offered, taking a moment to settle her purse on her lap and gather herself. “I just transferred here.”
“I see.” He sounded bored. “I’m sure this isn’t merely a social call. What can I do for you, Miss Robinson?”
“I’m interested in continuing my training and want to defend my title at the Los Angeles Olympic Games.”
“You’ve been running for the IWAC, isn’t that right?”
She nodded.
“Then why are you here talking with me? That club has a good
