Praise wasn’t the only thing heaped upon our golden girl. She received a diamond-studded wristwatch from the City of Harvey, a golden track shoe charm from the IWAC, a silver tea set from the Edgewater Beach Club, a gold bracelet from the Central Amateur Athletic Union, and a princess-set diamond ring from admirers in Riverdale. We don’t know how she will pull off breaking more world records weighed down with all of this loot, but if there’s anyone who can do it, Betty’s our girl.
Perhaps the biggest prize came from her parents: a shiny brand-new cherry-red roadster has been parked outside the Robinson family home in Riverdale awaiting its new driver. Be sure to wave if you see her spinning around downtown enjoying her new set of wheels.
The Chicago Ladies Social Club welcomes Miss Robinson to be its guest of honor at its Annual Fundraising Luncheon on September 15. Please contact Mrs. Dudley Armison, Club Secretary, for tickets.
7.
September 1928
Malden, Massachusetts
LOUISE LOPED ALONG MALDEN’S SIDEWALKS, HER MUSCLES loose, her stride confident, her breathing rhythmic, as she and her teammates ran to the park where they would be competing in an unofficial time trial against a few local running clubs. For weeks she had been looking forward to today, this first opportunity to try racing and see what she could do. Coach Quain had shown them a newspaper article about Olive Hasenfus, a girl from the neighboring town of Needham who had gone to the Olympics earlier in the summer as a reserve member of the women’s 4-x-100-meter relay team. Olive hadn’t ended up racing, but Louise was eager to see how she stacked up against this girl.
Leaning against his automobile, Coach Quain waited for his girls at one of the entrances into the park. When Louise and her teammates reached him, they stopped and spread out to stretch on the grass. Dahlias as large as dinner plates bloomed by a park bench, and Louise held on to the trunk of an oak tree as she balanced to stretch her quadriceps. Well-maintained houses, bigger than what she’d find in her neighborhood, tidy landscaping, and tall, established elms fringed the park. Within minutes a group of the Medford girls appeared. Louise searched the other team for any black girls, but they were all white, setting off a familiar tinge of disappointment deep within her.
The girls called out greetings and approached the Malden runners to mingle, stretch, and chat. A small stringy girl with a broad face, nondescript lank blond hair, and freckles took a spot on the grass next to Louise and bent into a lunge. She couldn’t have weighed over a hundred pounds. Her shorts inched up slightly on the backs of her thighs, revealing a lattice of faded white scars. Louise lowered her gaze to the grass. This was the type of thing you minded your own business about.
A few minutes later, a station wagon chugged to the curb. Runners from Needham poured from it and found places to stretch in the grass around the other girls. Louise recognized Olive from the newspapers and watched as she flopped onto the grass and lifted her leg into the air to lengthen her hamstring. Apparently the Olympic experience hadn’t imbued Olive with a special glow or left any outward marks upon her. She looked like a regular fifteen-year-old, much to Louise’s disappointment.
When the Medford team’s coach arrived and parked behind Coach Quain, the men got to work explaining the order of racing. Within minutes the girls were running sprints up and down the grassy section of the park. Each time, Louise, Olive, and the stringy girl from Medford tried to edge ahead of each other for the lead, but they remained within a couple of inches of one another as if connected by a short string, none of them able to get a consistent, decisive lead. Between each interval, the three girls eyed one another while catching their breath. Louise tried to remain calm, but she couldn’t believe she was maintaining the same pace as Olive.
In each race, a dark-haired girl trailed them in fourth place. She was never a contender for one of the top three spots, but she kept trying to catch them. Between races, she sauntered among the group, tossing her inky black curls, her pale blue eyes taking in the crowd as she spoke in a loud voice clearly vying for attention. Louise knew the type: pretty girls who had everything yet still believed they were coming up short somehow and put on a big show to cover up their own shortcomings.
After several minutes the coaches separated Louise, Olive, and the blonde from Medford from the rest of their teammates. As if as an afterthought, the coach from Medford waved the fourth girl, the one with dark ringlets, to join them.
“You four have been the fastest. Let’s try a longer course around nearby Craddock Park,” said Coach Quain. “I’ve chalked the route with arrows so you’ll know exactly where to go. It’s an out-and-back course so watch for the tree with a white ribbon around it as your turnaround point. Touch it and come back.” He turned to the two girls from Medford. “Now, I know Louise and Olive, but what are your names?”
“Mary,” the freckled blonde answered.
“Rosie,” said the one with dark, shiny curls and full lips.
“Right,” Coach Quain said. “Now let’s do one more.”
Louise, Mary, and Olive appeared serious as they took their places on the chalked starting line, now blurry from all the other starts, while Rosie pranced around them impatiently.
And then they were off.
Once again, Louise, Mary, and Olive vied for the lead, racing side by side. Several yards behind them, Rosie’s heels pounded the packed dirt path.
Craddock Park came into view. The tree with the white ribbon neared and Louise reached it first, gave its bark a good smack, and turned. Olive trailed by only a second, but suddenly, from several paces behind, Rosie pivoted and turned without touching the tree. Now in the lead because of her early turn, Rosie darted ahead toward the finish.
What was Rosie doing? Louise faltered and the delay cost her. Olive took advantage of Louise’s confusion and moved in front as Mary pulled alongside Louise and the two girls exchanged wide-eyed glances.
Louise and Mary managed to catch Olive and they all dashed toward the final stretch into the park with Rosie still leading by several long strides. How dare Rosie take a shortcut! Indignation fueled a final burst of effort from Louise. Though it felt like her heart might explode from the effort, she bore down, trying to turn her stride over faster and faster to catch the girl. But it wasn’t enough. A roar of cheering erupted from their teammates as the racers barreled across the finish line. The Medford girls surrounded Rosie, heaping praise upon her, but Mary, her teammate, stood alone.
Their coach beamed in surprise. “Rosie Lawton, that was your best time yet. Guess you were saving a little something for the end, eh?”
She flushed. “I think I’m better with longer distances.”
Louise opened her mouth to say something about Rosie not touching the tree but then closed it, overcome by caution. She was the only black girl out there. How would it look if she accused Rosie of cheating? If there was one thing she had learned over the years of being one of the few black girls in Malden, it was to stay quiet. She glanced at Mary standing alone, hovering on the fringe of the group, her eyes downcast, arms wrapped around her narrow frame. Silent.
Why wasn’t she saying something about her teammate’s shortcut?
A few steps away from her, Rosie laughed at something before her gaze searched the group and found Louise. The two stared at each other, Rosie’s pale blue eyes flashing with smug satisfaction. Louise’s hands balled into fists. Her muscles still twitched from running. With the energy from the race still pumping through her, she wanted nothing more than to march over and smack the self-satisfied grin off the girl’s face, but she knew this was a terrible idea.