Too Close to the Falls (34 page)

I came in number one in my age group at the Niagara Falls Track and Field Meet. Although I met the height requirement I was the youngest participant by far. I made the sign of the cross and flew over the pole. I was second in the hop, skip, and jump, and fifth in the broad jump. Clearly the high jump was my sport and I was ready to jump, leapfrogging from the district to the regional to the state championships to the Olympics. I'd begun to compose my acceptance speech for my gold medal.

In preparing for the regional event, my father worked with me every night and built a sandpit for my many tumbles. He also brought home packing material to absorb some of my falls. I was covered with black and blue marks, but the odd thing was I never felt any pain. My mother couldn't come to the meets or the practices because she said it made her too nervous. She was leaving it to my dad and Mother Agnese.

As we prepared for the regional meet, Mother Agnese told me
I had to visualize jumping over the pole with God's help. I had to reach toward heaven and picture Jesus reaching down and taking my uplifted hands, gently pulling me over the pole. She said that there would be lots of people at the regional meet in Rochester and what I needed to do was count on my guardian angel to help me stay focused. At the exact moment before I threw my outside leg over the bar, I should simply let God lead the spring. If I had faith, He would lift me over the bar.

Mother Agnese never missed a meet and she always reminded me of God, but also she had kept a careful log of all my best jumps and what angle I was from the pole. She stood at the edge of the track and watched all the warm-ups that the high school girls did and had me do the same. We worked on warming up and trained with a fifty-yard dash, then a one hundred, and so on until we found the exact warm-up that was energizing but not tiring. I pictured God's pull and He in fact
did
lift me over the pole.

At the regional championship it was raining cats and dogs. Mother Agnese labelled this weather glitch “God's challenge.” She said it was good it was raining because a lot of people would slip or be distracted but we knew the purpose of the rain. The high jumping had become something Mother Agnese and I now did together. She referred to
our
wins and
our
practices. We were the team. As bad as I was at sitting in my chair and speaking out of turn in school, I was controlled and dedicated when it came to high jumping. I would practise until my calf muscles seized up, or until it got dark, whichever came first.

I lined up in the torrent of rain and the wind was making me shiver, but I counted on my guardian angel to block out the spring chill. I made it to the finals. There were ten of us. Some of
the contestants looked more like strong boys than muscly girls. One even had a moustache. Mother Agnese read my mind: “Catherine, correct me if I'm wrong, but have any of these Amazon athletes made the sign of the cross before their three preliminary jumps?” I shrugged. “Well then, I can tell you right now that no matter how strong they look they will not touch your speed or height.”

I felt dubious. I saw a girl in the pit bend her tree-trunk legs and lift a giant weight over her head, and another did the splits like a ballerina on the muddy grass inside the track. She had her own personal coach whose uniform matched hers, and he wore a whistle. Hoping to bring Mother Agnese back to earth, I said, “Look at that coach's whistle.”

“Plastic doo-dads are available at Woolworth's,” she said in disgust. “Whistles do not lift large women over poles, God does. Also remember that she has to carry all that weight over the pole and you are as light as a feather. God may need the help of the archangels to get
her
over the pole.” That was the first and last joke I ever heard from Mother Agnese; however, I was thrilled to have shared a laugh with her.

There were three of us left: me, one from Rochester, and the last from Syracuse. One girl was what Roy would have called a big bruiser and the other looked like she was the daughter of Frankenstein, so tall she could have been Jack and the Beanstalk's progeny, had he had any. Then there was me. They raised the pole higher than it had ever been elevated, in practice or even when we “tested the limits,” as Mother Agnese called it. I counted on God, made the sign of the cross, and said an “Our Father.” I didn't care if the judges were waiting.

A staccato blast emerged from the heavens:
“On the field we have an up-and-comer named Cathy McClure. Don't let her delicate build fool you. She's a contender, there's no doubt of that.”
I felt the eyes of the masses in the stands.
“This young girl attends all the meets with a nun and both of them pray. Seems to have worked so far.”

I ran and made it all three times. The girl from Syracuse only made it once. I won the Western New York Regional High Jump Championship and placed third in the broad jump. When they gave me my cup, they asked me to say a few words. I thanked God for lifting me over the bar, Mother Agnese for training me, my father for the equipment and uniform, and the New York fitness program for discovering me. As we walked out of the stadium, Mother Agnese said her eyes were watering because the runners had kicked up so much dust.

When we got back to school with the huge trophy, Mother Agnese volunteered one of the fathers to make a cabinet. When he balked about doing it immediately, she pointed out that he did the holy work of Saint Joseph the carpenter and would receive his heavenly reward, so he snapped to. When we had the school athletic award ceremony, Anthony McDougall screamed that I had won the broad jump because I was a broad. Mother Agnese locked him outside without his coat until his lips were blue when he pressed them against the window, pleading to return.

I never worked so hard as I did for the New York State Championships. Day and night for months. One of the by-products of this work was that I was actually better behaved in school, not because I was trying, but because I was sufficiently tired to stay in my chair. They prayed for me at the Sunday mass before I was to fly to New York.

I was to be billeted at the Harlem apartment of the New York City champion. Harriet Jackman was two years older than I, the top high jumper in my age group in all five boroughs. (I had no idea how many people lived in New York until I saw the city phone book.) The letter we received from Harriet's gym teacher/coach said that he would pick me up at La Guardia Airport. Roy had made me see
The Seven Year Itch
so many times that I was excited to see an apartment in New York, complete with doorman and awning. The coach wrote that on the day of the meet Harriet would take me on the subway and he would pick us up somewhere in Brooklyn near a bridge.

When I told Roy I was going to Harlem, he said it was no wonder the gym teacher was picking us up so far away. Realizing that I had no idea that Harlem was not Park Avenue, Roy lightened up and said that I might run into Louis Armstrong or some of the greats we listened to on his special radio down at the Apollo. He suggested if I ran into trouble I should say I was Adam Clayton Powell's niece. “Seriously though,” he concluded, “don't go around there profiling by everyone, like you own the place. You best to shadow the girl you stayin' with. Bigger cats than you been skinned in that place.”

My mother made sure I had a new dress for the awards ceremony, which Mayor Robert Wagner was going to attend. Mother took the most expensive heart-shaped box of Fanny Farmer candy from the store, and told me to give it to my hostess. She reminded me that the hostess was Harriet's mother, not Harriet. She said to be sure to wear my white gloves to the awards ceremony, and not to start eating before everyone was served at the dinner. She doubted that we would eat in restaurants, so she gave
me money to treat Harriet to lunch at a deli of Harriet's choice, and said I was to help with the dishes at Harriet's house. When I asked which day they did the dishes, my mother must have realized that I wasn't conversant with kitchen management. She explained that there would be dishes after every meal — most people did the dishes after they ate. I really couldn't fathom how people had time to get anything done when they had to shop, cook, eat, and then do the dishes at home three times a day, but I guessed I'd see it all first-hand.

My mother waved from the Niagara Falls Airport and her final words to her nine-year-old daughter heading off to Harlem alone were, “Say please and thank you and don't be bossy. This is your chance to see the world.”

I resented the giant cardboard name tag the airlines made me wear. I looked like the retarded kids who wore name tags home for lunch in case they forgot how to get back. When I got off the plane there was Mr. Colderos, with Harriet, who was black, like Roy. Mr. Colderos showed me his letter with my name on it, something my father told me to ask for before we left the airport. They gave me a fun tour of New York. We drove through all the different districts, where the traffic was so slow that I really got to see everything. There were people crammed on every sidewalk, and in the financial district, when it was quitting time, the crowds were so large that they spilled over into the roadway. The horns were beeping so loudly I thought there had been a wedding, but Harriet assured me it was just the din of the taxis at theatre time.

Both Harriet and Mr. Colderos had speech impediments. Neither of them could pronounce their R's and the way they pronounced their A's was all wrong. Even the phone operator had
the same speech impediment when I called Lewiston. Instead of saying “long distance,” she said “looong distance.” Everyone spoke in a grouchy voice. For example, when I paused for a moment to look at my parents' area code, she said, “Looong distance, who ya
trying
to caul?” My father would fire someone who spoke that impolitely.

Harriet's apartment building was right out on the street, with no lawn in front, just like the ones in
Singin' in the Rain
. I kept looking for movie stars but I didn't see any. When we walked into the lobby, which was really only a stairwell, I saw mailboxes with padlocks on them. Some of the boxes had no door at all, and one was all bent out of shape. Harriet whipped up the stairs, jumping three at a time at lightning pace until we had leapt nine flights. As we rose, it got hotter and hotter, and cooking smells assaulted me as they mixed together with the stagnant air. Harriet simply high jumped over a sweating man in a full-length overcoat crouching on the narrow cement stairs, smoking, surrounded by ground-out cigarette butts. He looked up to us with red eyes, one of which was clouded over, and mumbled something. She completely ignored him, and when I bent down to decipher his request, she turned around and said sharply, “Pay him no mind.”

As we jumped the stairs she talked about her straddle position and her workout schedule, which was about half of mine. We had lots to discuss since we had both been doing the same thing day after day. By the time we got to her floor, I was out of breath and had a pain in my side. Inside the apartment, the first thing I saw was a man about my dad's age on the couch in the small living room. He didn't look up. Harriet just walked by him, so I followed suit. She said her mother worked the elevators at Lord
and Taylor, so she had to make dinner. I was surprised that anyone would make dinner, let alone a kid. Her mother had left a note telling her what to do and Harriet slammed things around quickly — put the meat in the oven and peeled potatoes. She used an interesting phrase for the potatoes, saying, “Skin these.” I had been unaware that potatoes had any outer coverings. I thought they came from France in long strips. I lined them up on the counter after skinning them and they looked like brave naked soldiers ready to burn at the stake. She even made dinner rolls — not the Pillsbury Dough Boys from the package that you could unroll like my grandmother had, but she made them from different white powders and only added water. They were delicious. She called them “bakes.”

Her mother came in about an hour later in a starched uniform that said “Lord and Taylor” on the pocket. She looked at the man on the couch who just sat there staring and asked, “Who let him in?” Harriet said, “He was in when I got home from picking up the billet so I didn't want to take him on.” Harriet's mother then realized I was there, and smiled. I shook hands with her and gave her the candy. A college-aged brother named Lamont came home. As soon as he opened the door, he said, “Who let him in? I'm not having no trouble from him. I'm too tired.” He also had a Lord and Taylor jumpsuit on.

The dinner was the best I'd ever eaten. We had a cut of meat that looked a bit like knuckles, where you ate chunks of meat and then took the bones out of your mouth and put them on your plate. We had a kind of orange potato and some yellow vegetable that looked like long tapered snouts. The rolls were so hot the butter melted on them. Lamont was going to go to college in the
fall on a track-and-field scholarship. He asked all about the pole vaulters in Western New York and what their technique was. Then he said to Harriet, “You better do good tomorrow, girl, if you want a one-way ticket outta here.” That was really the first time I realized Harriet and I were competitors. The thought crept in that maybe she needed this win more than I did. The man on the couch never said a word, looked at us, or moved. Now he seemed to be sleeping sitting up. No one offered him a morsel of food, nor did he ask for any.

After dinner Harriet and I did the dishes. Actually she did them and I talked. The mother said she would do them, but I insisted, as my mother had suggested. She finally sank into a chair and said she'd been on her feet for nine hours and it felt good to sit. She really looked bone weary. She put her swollen feet in a footbath, saying she was puffed up like an adder, and promptly fell sleep. Lamont had another job as a night watchman so he hurried away after Harriet made him a lunch.

I told Harriet I had money for a treat, and she said we could go to the corner store, but only if it wasn't dark. Since dusk had already set in she seemed worried and said we had to hurry. I wondered what the problem was. She seemed the type to know her way home even in the dark.