Lincoln Jr High Swim Team

In those days, junior high in Rockford was grades 7-9. When I was still in 6th grade at Highland Elementary, I envied Ron when he joined the swim team at Lincoln Jr High and came home to dinner with bloodshot eyes and smelling of chlorine. Oddly enough, I never really inquired much about what he did there. I think in the back of my mind, knowing Ron, that it must have been some sort of water ballet or choreographed swimming. So next fall, I too signed up for the swim team. My friends were curious why I would go out for swimming when I was not a very good swimmer. Certainly a very reasonable question,...... but I was 12 or 13 and quite stupid.

I was a bit anxious going to the first practice with my pink nose clip and blue nylon suit. Our school had a small 20 yard pool with only 4 lanes. There must have been 50 people out for the team and Coach Stringer (EARL STRINGER: emblazoned in my memory) didn’t believe in cutting anybody…it was a little like natural selection…..the weak and infirm just drowned (or wished they did). After a brief introduction, he said “Everybody in the pool for a warm up circle swim.” I don’t think I swam more than 50 yards without stopping in my life, but suddenly I was in the cold water, dog-paddling, while the entire team of excellent swimmers swam over me, pushing me under. I grasped for the gutter, coughing water, when I could hear Coach Stringer yelling, “Keep swimming! No stopping!” To keep us all motivated, he had this 10 foot long metal pole with a rubber ball at the end that he would use to whack you if he thought you were loafing. What did I get myself into? Who was this sadist? And what’s he doing torturing children? For 10 minutes which seemed like an eternity, I tried to keep my head above water and at least look like I was moving. The next 2 hours are a blur in my memory – fear, anxiety, panic, exhaustion – I know how soldiers must feel landing on an enemy beachhead. All this time, I could also see Ron out of the corner of my eye, swimming with the elite and moving gracefully through the water. The stark contrast was humiliating.

I probably should have quit and taken up knitting or canasta, but in the Jensen household there was no such thing as quitting. So every day, as I sat in class and 3:30 approached, I would be overcome by this enormous sense of dread….a feeling of utter hopelessness and panic. And for three months, it never got any better….but I did become a better swimmer. That summer, every time we went to Lake Geneva, I practiced. The next year, I actually swam backstroke in a JV meet and finished 3rd out of 4 in my race (not last), and had a kickass flip turn! By 9th grade, although I wasn’t an elite swimmer, I also wasn’t a total embarrassment. To this day, I credit Coach Stringer with instilling in me a sense of hatred…scratch that…”anything’s possible.”