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Sacramento, CA. — I probably was a grown man before 1 knew it was called anything but the ‘‘Springfield tank” — but who would believe Beilfuss natatori-um, anyway. And who was Beilfuss? And what was a natatorium?In any case, that’s where I learned to swim, in the 1920’s, along with tens of thousands of other kids, many of whom had never seen a natural body of water — not even Lake Michigan, for many of them never did get off the Northwest side until they were adults.Lining up in the summer outside the “tank” in the 1700 block of N. Springfield ave. often meant waiting an hour for five minutes of swimming It was that crowded. But in the winter there was seldom any waiting, and a guy could swim for perhaps two hours.For members of the Junior Guards and other competitive swim groups at the tank, there was no waiting at any time. They just walked in.And we who stood in long lines saw no injustice in this. We were all from immi grant families, and in those days wewere not quick to question' authority or establishment.Once inside the tank did not mean a kid would get into the water, because lifeguards such as George Iverson — lat er to become boss of all guards along Chicago’s lakefront — and another whom we knew only as Farmer would inspect us for cleanliness. The lifeguards wouldrub a thumb on the back of our heels, and if any grime rolled off we were dispatched back to the showers. (Sometimes we would scrub the hell out of our heels and wash nowhere else and pass inspection!)Occasionally, a guard would ask a kid to run over to a little delicatessen at the southeast comer of Wabansia and Avers and buy a sandwich for him. The guards paid only 10 or 15 cents for the sand wiches. For running the errand we’d get extra swim time, and I hustled many a sandwich for Iverson and Farmer.Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays were boys’ days at tne tank. The boys swam nude. The girls (Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays) wore swim suits, and there were lurid stories going around among the ‘‘big guys that one could peek at the girls in the showers through cracks in the rear doors.For some years I had a swimming routine with several buddies — among them Artie Hammond, Paul Kuehn, Joe DeCola, the Catanzaro brothers, Vincent Felicia, “Dinty” Andersen. Most of us attended D.R. Cameron grade school, one attended Harriet Beecher Stowe and the others attended St. Philomena, and after school we would race for the tank.In the summer we never bothered with towels. But in the winter I always carried a dish towel (it took up less space), folded by my mother to fit into one pock et of my sheepskin coat. Towels wereavailable rather infrequently at the tank, and then not always in sufficient numberfor everyone.And with towels there was a rigid protocol .A kid was expected to share his towel with his buddies. He would dry himself— except for his genitals and his behind— and then pass the towel to friends. They in turn would use the towel, which became damper and damper, of course, but avoid drying their private areas. Then it would go back to the owner, who would finish drying himself.I was introduced to the tank at aboutage eight by my cousin. Bill “Whitey”Iversen (Whose dad operated Iversen’sUpholstery at 3837 North ave. for manyyears), but only after he convinced methat nobody would throw me into thewater. I had come to believe that this was some sort of initiation ritual.Kids categorized each other by their tank abilities. Did we play in The Shallow End of the pool or The Deep End?And after we mastered The Deep End we sought to advance to The Low Board, and then The High Board — which brought the question: “Jump or Dive?”And if one could dive off The High Board by springing it, he was worthy of great accolades. I don’t suppose I’ve ever been on a diving board since then without thinking about the first dive at the tank •
Newspaper Details
Chicago News Journal
Chicago, Illinois, US
Wed, Jul 16, 1975
Page 6
Full Page
Clipped by
Allen C.
IN, USA 19 Dec 2018
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