“But the girls are looking at us like we’re troublemakers. Like we’re not team players.”
Tidye gave Louise a long stare. “Those girls want to be in that relay and will use any excuse to cut someone else’s chances. You see that, don’t you?”
“But Coach said we were going to race in that relay. We earned our spots on our own merits.”
“We did, but I’m not sure merit will have anything to do with his selection.”
Louise just wanted the opportunity to race. Why had this gotten so complicated?
SINCE COACH VREELAND’S announcement about relay selection, a constant current of anxiety pulsed in the air around the sprinters. They pretended not to scrutinize one another during practice, but they each searched for weakness, a sign of injury, illness, fatigue. Anything that would push the balance one way or another toward who would be running on the relay team.
For the next few days, the sprinters practiced baton hand-offs and ran 100-meter timed sprints. With the exception of if she was running against Billie von Bremen, each time Louise ran, she came in first. She’d glance at Coach Vreeland to check his reaction, but he always was looking away or talking to someone. She was putting all of herself into practices, yet he barely registered her. When Coach Vreeland experimented with placing the women in different orders and groups of four, he often appeared to forget Louise and Tidye and placed them into the rotations as afterthoughts. With each slight, Louise dug even deeper into her determination to show him her capabilities. Her times got better and better, yet they had no bearing on his treatment of her. Louise began to grow resentful, but there was nothing she could do. Whom could she complain to? Who cared?
One afternoon, Louise and Tidye lay on their beds, depleted from the morning’s practice.
“My quads feel like I’ve torn them to shreds,” Louise moaned.
“Coach is making it pretty clear we aren’t his first choices,” Tidye grumbled.
Louise had felt the same doubts, but by not saying them out loud, she had been trying to ignore them. “But we’re both running so well. If he really wants to win gold, there’s no way he can’t consider us for the relay.”
“Honestly, I’m starting to lose hope, aren’t you?” Tidye’s voice sounded so dejected that Louise rolled to her side to look at her.
“We can’t give up on this now. We’re good. Really good. I think when he sits down and takes the time to go over his notes, he’ll see that we’re good picks. I keep reminding myself that we’re getting a chance to race for our country and we have to give it everything we’ve got.” But even as she said this, she felt a downward tug in her chest.
THE NIGHT BEFORE the relay, Coach Vreeland called for a meeting of the runners in the hotel’s dining room and he added Annette Rogers, who had qualified to compete in the high jump, so nine women arrived, Louise, Tidye, and Mary among them. They settled in a corner of the large room. Small flags from nations participating in the Olympics hung from the ceiling. The tables were set for the following morning’s breakfast, and when Louise took her seat, she tried to keep from fiddling with the silverware in front of her. Next to her, Tidye sat on her hands. There was the sound of chairs being shifted, but no one spoke.
Five of the women at this meeting were going to leave unhappy, and no one wanted to be one of them.
Coach Vreeland entered the room, checked his pocket watch, and then started talking while looking at a vague spot over the heads of the athletes seated in front of him. “Ladies, I’m making some changes to the relay team. Billie, again, congratulations on winning that bronze medal in the individual hundred-meter.” He paused as the women applauded Billie von Bremen and then he continued, his voice fast and terse. “The Canadians have a strong team, so I’ve made some changes. Billie, Annette, and Eve, the three of you will be racing tomorrow. As for the fourth, Mary and Louise tied back at the finals in Chicago so I’m still considering both of you. You two should be ready to race tomorrow, but I’ll make my decision in the morning.”
Murmurs of disappointment traveled through the group as Coach Vreeland tipped his fedora to the group and left. Louise could not make sense of his selection. She glanced to Tidye to see tears streaking her friend’s face. Her last-place finish during the finals had come back to count against her. Louise whispered, “Let’s get out of here.”
“I knew something like this was going to happen.” Tidye sobbed as they left the dining room. They crossed the lobby, exited through a back door, and found a nearby spot outside in the garden. By this point, Tidye had wiped the tears off her face, and though she looked sad, her shoulders had a resolute set as she faced Louise. “You’ve still got a shot,” she said, before glancing at the windows overhead and lowering her voice to make sure they weren’t being overheard. “I understand why Billie’s in the foursome. She’s run well. But Annette? She’s a high jumper. And Eve? She just got here and didn’t even qualify. This is rotten.”
“It is rotten,” Louise agreed. “If Coach looks at our records, he’ll see that my times are consistently faster than Mary’s,” she whispered back. It was true. She almost always beat Mary when they raced. Their times were close, but Louise was faster.
“If he looks at your records, but you know he might just go with what’s easiest: the white girl. I don’t trust him at all.”
A nearby light on the side of the building flickered and made a dull buzzing sound as if something had extinguished.
And then, even in the balmy warmth of the Los Angeles evening, Louise felt cold.
26.
August 1932
Chicago
AFTER MORE THAN
