24 May 2009
 
The Streak

(First In)

I should not have taken the threat seriously- I mean, Hanna Banana is only 13 and it was just bold talk on her part. Still, I was a little edgy, looking down from the forth floor to the beckoning blue waters of Big Pink’s pool.
 
Still, when you have a decent streak going, it is important to pay attention to details.
 
This is not a Joe DiMaggio fifty-six–game hitting streak, the greatest factual achievement in the history of baseball. No particular skill is involved besides watching the clock carefully, walking downstairs four flights and falling into the water.
 
Still, when you consider that the Big Pink aquatic facility has been in existence for 45 years, that makes opening day mine a full 17%  of recorded history.
 
Joltin’ Joe’s streak was over in less than a full pool season, and my record requires sustained, continuous respiration over nearly a decade.
 
I savor that first shock of immersion. Sometimes it has been cold enough to nearly launch me back out, the skies gray and chill penetrating. Sometimes Leo the engineer or Peter the Pool Czar have fooled around with the heater down in the mysterious bowels of the building. No one really understands how anything works anymore, after nearly a half century.
 
In that way, Big Pink is a lot like the first aircraft carrier I called home. It was so old that when new equipment was brought aboard, it was simpler to run new lines and plumbing on top of the old stuff, and being home-ported in Japan, most of the routine work was done by Japanese. No one knew what worked and what didn't.
 
Big Pink shares the mystery of old equipment. The heater is a case in point. One year it was the temperature of chicken soup, and stayed that way for a week or more, gently simmering the bathers.
 
Some of the old folks liked it that way, and it was a huge battle to get the thing turned off so the rest of us did not feel like sautéed carrots.
 
Naturally, I was filled with anticipation. I watched the clock carefully, and saw activity at the gate around a quarter to ten. Four men in swim trunks and t-shirts were gathered around the lifeguard table. I did not panic, but the second that lock was off the gate, anything could happen. I was fully prepared for The Banana to streak out of the building, blow past the guards and launch herself into the water.
 
There was no time to lose.
 
I gathered up towel and stuck my feet into flip-flops and hurtled out of the unit, and down the stairs.
The Czech Council General was giving a tutorial to three young men. I don’t know if Vlad is really a diplomat, but he does run all the middle-European recruiting for Peter, which makes his pool management company as much a small United Nations as a small business.
 
Two of the young men were Czechs, as you might expect, but Mikhail is a Pole. Vlad looked at me and winked. “We think he is OK for you this year. We shall see.”
 
I shook Mikhail’s hand, and welcomed him to America. I asked Vlad if we could just get The Streak out of the way, and he recognized this manifestation of the season from years past. He waved me past, and I dumped my towel on a table, kicked off the flip-flops and hurled myself into the deep end.
 
The water was just about perfect- a touch of crispness, but not too cold. I paddled over to the little corner of sunlight that the mass of the building was starting to yield.
 
I stayed in for a full hour, treading water patiently, as the patch of sun expanded across the deep end, making the water glitter. The weather guys had predicted partly cloudy skies, and they were wrong. It was magnificent.
 
The usual suspects began to appear. Uncle Bill was one of the first regulars to show up, with 18 holes of golf under his belt. He normally spends the day poolside, working on his tan once the cardiovascular part of his weekend is done.
 
There are the usual demographic changes in Big Pink that are suddenly revealed on Memorial Day, when the public space of the pool is opened. More bikinis this year, which is good, and some young men I did not recognize. Most of the little kids were familiar, though bigger, and one new Big Pink Baby put in an appearance in one of those Land Rover Strollers.
 
Montana showed up to claim her place in the shade. She is feeling better, and that is good news.
 
Ms Hamilton is gone. She would already be working on the rich mahogany character of her tan, and it was sobering to know that her lean body and tiny swimsuit would be gracing a pool in the Big Apple this year.
 
A sad thing, but we will have to soldier on. She sponsored Sarah 1 as a semi-permanent guest. I don’t know how we will deal with that. It takes a few days for her to charm the new lifeguards, who by virtue of their Eastern Block upbringing can tend toward the officious, and care about tings like pool-passes and credentials.
 
I was gratified to see Mrs. Hitler appear late in the day. She has been ill, but has finished the course of treatment and is on the mend. She has lost a lot of weight, but her spirit is unvanquished. I gestured at some of the new people, commenting that the influx of bikinis was a good thing.
 
“Well,” she said. “One of them paraded right through the lobby in just her suit. It isn’t in the rules, but I wrote a note to the Mayor insisting that there be new instruction on having to wear cover-ups in the building.”
 
I smiled. Some things do not change. I personally am in favor of skin, though I realize Big Pink has to keep its standards up.
 
I’m sure we will be able to work something out. The Summer now stretches before us, glittering blue under fair skies. All I have to do now is worry about being the last one out of the water. But that is months away.
 
Copyright 2009 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com