Oops! Ouchy! That hurt! I didn’t know when I was going to be diving off the board but I wasn’t going to be tagged a quitter for not trying.
Swimming most everyday of my childhood, from about 9 to 12 years of age, wasn’t cheap. The cost of the pool wasn’t bad, but it did eat up my allowance for the week. But what else was I to do with $2.00? There was a higher cost —chores. All chores had to be done by noon and checked for their quality of excellence. Momma had a work chart detailing what we each had to do that day to have the privilege to go swimming from 1pm until the late afternoon rain shower chased us out of the pool or 4 pm came. During storms, we hung out in the dressing room to see if the rain shower and lightning were a sprinkle or a drencher. Then the pool manager would decide if the pool would reopen or not.
As soon as we arrived, Chrissie and I would stake off our territory, by putting towels and flip flops next to the wall. Our favorite spot was right past the rope dividing the deep end from the shallow. You had to swim across and back the width of the deep end to pass the test and be allowed to swim in the deep end and dive off the board—our ultimate goal. Kate, three years younger played with friends on the other side of the rope.
The lifeguard blew his whistle, indicating that rest period was over. Every hour for ten minutes the pool enjoyed a tranquil respite of children thrashing about, lap swimmers, babies clutching on to their mothers and the constant use of the diving boards by boys doing cannonballs into its waters. Heading back to the water, Chrissie tired of trying to teach me to dive and had joined some friends in the shallow end for a beach ball volley game. Kate headed to the baby pool to see if Anna had come today. My belly had recovered durin the rest period from the belly lops so I resumed my diving practice.
It was then that a “life guard type fellow started giving me instructions.” Furst, yo gotta bend over and touch your toes. Then whiles yous bent over, walk towards the pool until yous plumb in the pool.” He was an older black man dressed in a trench coat and wearing a lifeguard hat. I wasn’t sure if I should listen to what he said, much less talk to him, but I did.
“Really?” I had never heard of such a thing but it made sense to me as he went on to explain that when you dive your arms and head go in the water before your stomach and legs. Feeling very silly, I did this Johnny maneuver several times.
“Next time you go into the water, keep your arms stretched out and go in first with your hands. Keep your arms next to your ears. Bend over and kick your legs up.”
Following Johnny‘s instructions to the letter, I plunged into the pool. I knew it was a dive but then Johnny said, “Does your belly hurt?” I vehemently shook my head no. It was then that I realized that I had not belly flopped. Johnny told me to kick my leg higher and to just keep practicing.
Johnny continued to critique my dives through the summer.
By the end of the season, I was diving off the board.Upon his passing, Johnny Banks was honored by the city. At least once during the summer time I visit my old teacher on his bench, thanking him for teaching me the value of diligence.
Mimi D
