Phase 8
The 1968/1969 school year was set to begin. When the lazy days of summer dwindled to the last lazy day of summer vacation, my mom said she’d spring for me to go to the pool. That sounded good. I liked swimming in those days but had been only a couple of times all year. A big chunk of the reason for that was a severe sunburn I got in the days leading up to and just past the 4th of July. It was one of those hard headed things. Sometimes I amaze myself with my reason, and then other times that my thick-skullishness (which is never consciously realized until after the fact) is cause for horror (and proving the ancient idea that the wise man and the fool are the same guy, or as former basketball coach Al McGuire once said, and I’m sure my quote is kinda faulty, “I’m 90% bullshit and 10% genius, but I use that 10% 75% of the time.”). The thickheaded adventure began at the pool where I swam for hours without sunscreen. The next day I went to Watts Bar Lake on a family outing. I took too much sun again. A couple of days later I fished with my dad for about 2 or better hours on the rocks at Watts Bar. Game over. I was burned out, but after a month or so out of the sun, I had completely healed, so I was pretty excited about and the chance to see the many good looking girls in their swimsuits one last time for awhile, for it was also the last day of the pool season.
Fortunately, it was not a typical pool day, in fact it was a cool, cloudy, even gloomy afternoon. I know it makes me a weirdo, but that’s the very kind of day I like. The walk to the pool was unbelievably pleasant and I moved slowly, enjoying the scenery. Instead of veering right toward The Dime Store, I took the left fork by the front side of the First Presbyterian Church, its tall trees, all summer shade, beautiful stained glass windows, and never locked front doors offering pedestrian traffic a haven from an unexpected shower (several loaner umbrellas leaned against a corner by the outer door) and a sanctuary for prayer or a quiet moment. That church created the most peaceful location in the city limits. First Presbyterian, like Madisonville itself, sits atop a slight incline, but is bordered on all sides by different streets, so it seems almost like a tranquil island.
I crossed the street facing First Presbyterian’s front door and steps to the edge of the Kefauver Mansion. It is a beautiful mini version of Gone with the Wind ambience. The mansion then was painted a very clean looking white, and several of what I call Elvis columns supported an awning over the front porch. The smallish grounds around the mansion were then, and are still, shady during most of a summer day. I thought a weeping willow grew there in the 60’s, but I’m not sure. A walnut tree grows and produces next to the sidewalks at the western corner of the property. I remember the place as being empty most of the time, but also remember a lady living there occasionally during some summers.
The side of the street I took was on the same side as the pool. I passed the TV repair place, which was crammed full of dusty picture tubes, components, a wooden cabinet or two, and several hollow plastic portable set bodies. a hardware store was the neighbor. Bicycles were stored in the basement, which was much darker and spookier (especially the staircase) than the rest of the store, and the Coke machine would spit out a green, six ounce glass bottle for five cents (cheapest in town). An elegant jewelry store rested between the TV repair and a bargain store. The light inside was the most unusual looking illumination in town, and it landed perfectly, so as to create a twinkle on the edges of every stone and sets of every ring in the place. An old craftsman repaired watches and added a ton of class by wearing glasses with an attachment clipped to the frames that wielded several magnifying lenses which allowed him to choose between or to combine and move them into place to aid his work. I also liked the bargain store. It carried a little of everything, especially clothes. I liked going up the wide, airy staircase to the tiny landings where stacked boxes of shoes piled up on shelves. Left of the street corner, about half way down the block, was Hell (the downstairs poolroom).
I crossed at one of the four traffic lights. As was usual for a weekday afternoon, town was largely deserted. A dry goods business, with the third best toy selection (in the basement) in town, took up one corner, a car dealership another, and the skinny Post Office stretched between them. I looked right. Across the street, the shady side of the courthouse, with the discrete basement entrance to The Soil Conservation Office, run for several generations by the same man (for whom my mom worked awhile), seemed frozen. I crossed the next street and descended a steep hill and began another climb until I got to the road that separated the pool from the Farm Bureau and Co-Op businesses, where I climbed another hill to the pool entrance.
The pool was beside the park, and just up the hill from the Little League baseball diamond, which was surrounded by tall trees on two sides and bordered by a front yard past the home run fence. Most of the black people in town lived near the park. Before black people were allowed to play with the others, quite a crowd would gather in that front yard to watch the white kids play. I also vaguely remember that the swimming pool had, for a summer, become a private club that not only kept out the blacks, but me as well. All that had evaporated by the time I raided the pool on the last day of the 1968 summer season.
I was slightly disappointed that attendance was scant. The great bikini parade I expected never materialized. To spoil it all, the lifeguard was a guy. Shit. Had I wasted my money? Admittedly, nothing existed for a sun worshiper, and some of the kids there occasionally looked cold. I probably caught a chill or two as well, though the temperature was in the 80’s and the water wasn’t all that bad. Still, I believe nearly everyone there expected to see someone who wasn’t there.
Before that final swim session, though, a strange bond developed amongst those present. Unlike on a sunny day, except for those having refreshments, everyone was in the pool at the same time. The atmosphere became very friendly. We all pulled together, swam, played, and socialized without crowding anything. I heard many happy sounds and jokes. When the pool day ended, I walked away with an illumination and golden inner glow.
A peaceful place.
The financial foundation of Madisonville once lived here.
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