Fast Girls

the same mental and physical strains that men can withstand.
Upon reviewing Betty’s academic record, I daresay she appears to have stellar grades and commendations from all of her teachers, which leads me to believe that her future lies in the direction of more wholesome and virtuous pursuits. Thornton Township High School offers many wonderful opportunities to develop the intellect and extracurricular interests of its female students. As John Locke once said, “Education begins the gentleman, but reading, good company and reflection must finish him.” Here at Thornton Township High School we are certainly not narrow-minded enough to believe this sentiment extends only to gentlemen, but also gentlewomen. Betty is off to a fine start in life. She is a conscientious student and keeps good company, but she must have time for reflection to ready herself for her future role as wife, mother, and citizen. It is important not to overburden this developing young feminine mind with the distractions of sport and competition.
Sincerely,
Principal Umbaugh
From the Legal Offices of Lee, Maginnis & Finnell
MEMORANDUM
March 5, 1928
Dear Mr. Harold Robinson,
After your meeting with Principal Umbaugh yesterday in which you insisted upon indulging your daughter’s interest in training with the boys’ track team, Thornton Public School District disavows any responsibility for Elizabeth “Betty” Robinson’s participation in activities not befitting a female student. Enclosed is a waiver for you to sign that declares Elizabeth is competing independently and entirely at her own risk.
Sincerely,
Mr. V. L. Maginnis, Esq.

THE CHICAGO EVENING STANDARD
June 3, 1928
Sporting Corner News
Soldier Field—In only her second sanctioned race, Elizabeth “Betty” Robinson of Riverdale finished first place, beating national champion Helen Filkey at the Central American Athletic Union meet by running the 100-meter sprint in 12 seconds flat, an unofficial new world record. Due to high winds above acceptable levels, the new time will not stand, but it was enough to earn the emerging track star an all-expenses-paid invitation to compete in the Olympic trials in Newark, New Jersey, next month. For the first time in history, women will be competing in several track and field events at the Ninth Olympiad in Amsterdam, and we wish young Betty all the luck in the world as she competes to win a spot to represent the U.S. of A.!


The Western Union Telegraph Company
Received at Newark, NJ 1928 Jul 6 1:26 PM
CONGRATULATIONS ON QUALIFYING FOR OLYMPIC TEAM. YOUR FRIENDS AT THORNTON HIGH ALWAYS BELIEVED IN YOU. GOOD LUCK IN AMSTERDAM! PRINCIPAL UMBAUGH.


3.
July 1928
Fulton, Missouri
HELEN PLINKED OUT A FEW NOTES ON THE FAMILY’S UPRIGHT Wurlitzer. The woolly needlepointed piano seat scratched at the backs of her thighs. Her mind was supposed to be on Chopin, but instead she glanced out the window longingly before placing her fingers on the yellowed keys of the piano and wiggling herself into sitting straight. The sooner she was done practicing, the sooner she could get outside to play. She hit a C note and listened to it reverberate off the walls of the faded parlor. If only she could play a melody that swelled dramatically, fanned the still air, moved things around a bit—wouldn’t that be grand?
She tried a chord. Nothing changed. If anything, the twang of the slightly out-of-tune piano just made everything feel flatter, hotter, more oppressive.
Every minute Ma made her sit in front of the piano reaffirmed the futility of harboring dreams of her musical talents. Even at ten years old, Helen understood the likelihood that she would ever become a virtuoso musician felt as far-fetched to her as owning an elephant as a pet. It simply wasn’t going to happen.
Helen stopped playing and tilted her head, straining to listen for sounds of Ma working in the kitchen. Nothing. The only sound came from the parlor’s window, where Doogie’s nails were clicking against the wooden planks of the porch. Helen crept to the screen door without making a sound and peeked outside. Sure enough, the dog lay in her usual spot next to the wooden rocker, paws jerking as she ran in her sleep. Helen opened the door and tiptoed across the porch. Doogie’s bloodshot eyes flickered open, and without raising her head, she watched Helen from under half-opened lids.
Helen’s gaze swept the area, looking for action, a game, something of interest. A lone shingle lay near the stairs. She reached for it and, without thinking—it was too hot for thinking—stuck it into her mouth, clenching it between her teeth. Though she kept her tongue away from the splintery surface, the taste of dust and the powdery grit of dried-out wood filled the insides of her mouth. She shook her head back and forth and barked, trying to get a reaction from Doogie.
Nothing.
The creature only furrowed her furry brow in puzzlement. It wasn’t until Helen bent over and clapped her hands and stamped her feet that Doogie’s tail started to wag. The dog rose and stretched from her haunches, extending her back legs one at a time. As she watched Helen’s antics, the rhythm of her wagging tail increased.
Helen turned and ran down the stairs, hoping Doogie would chase her. With each step, the creases behind her knees felt slippery with sweat, but she wanted to run, feel the air move around her, no matter how hot it was. She wanted escape, action, and freedom from tedium.
She aimed for the front gate. When she was running as fast as she could, she turned and found Doogie loping along beside her. At that moment, Helen’s foot caught on something. Maybe it was one of Bobbie Lee’s toy trucks, or a gardening trowel of Ma’s, or maybe just one of her big feet got in the way—she never figured it out.
But she flew.
She sailed over the flat ground and marveled at the surrounding stillness. The dusty brown yard. The fields stretching beyond the fence. The silent barn. And then she landed with a whoomph!
Pain screamed through her chin, lips, and neck. Everything burned. With the wind knocked out of her, she simply