The Interview

When the last bell rang, I left school as quickly as I could, not even going to my locker to put away the books I didn’t need for homework. Taking all the books from my afternoon classes, I high-tailed it home. About a block away, I saw there was a car parked on the street in front of our house, and a man was just stepping up to the front porch. It had to be Ted Ashby. I was excited about this all day at school, but suddenly, nerves took over. This guy was one of my heroes!

Deciding to give Mother time to get him comfortable in the parlor, I slowed down my walk. I wondered if she had made some sort of special after-school snack. Most days I ate graham cracker sandwiches with her homemade powdered sugar frosting in the middle. That possibility was quickly dismissed as I got closer to the house. I smelled pie again! My pace quickened until I had my foot on the top step of the porch. I paused, then opened the front door.

“I’m home! Is that Mr. Ashby’s car?”

“Come into the parlor, Mable. Mr. Ashby is right here. Why don’t you leave your books on the table in the hall?” Mother suggested. She probably didn’t want the parlor to look messy when we had company.

Mother introduced me to Mr. Ashby saying, “Mr. Ashby, I’d like to introduce you to my daughter, Mable. Mable, this is Mr. Ashby.” It was the exact way she had taught me to introduce two people to each other. Mother and Dad taught me manners from the time I was really small. It was very important to them. So, I knew what I was supposed to say next.

“How do you do, Mr. Ashby? It’s very nice to meet you.”

Mother was beaming.

Mr. Ashby replied, “I’m really pleased to meet you, Miss Hall, and I want to thank you for taking time to meet with me today. Shall we sit down and talk a little bit? I have a lot of questions I’d like to ask you. Where are you going to sit? I’d like to start by getting a picture of you to go with the story, if that’s okay with you, Mrs. Hall?”

Mother had already moved toward the entry hall and was probably on her way to the kitchen. She turned, walked back a few steps and said, “Certainly, Mr. Ashby. A picture would be nice. Would you like to sit in Dad’s chair, dear? Or would you like her to be standing up?”

“Standing up is better, Mrs. Hall. Let’s have you stand right by the doorway, Mable. It will be a simple background and the doorframe will let people see how tall you are. You are taller than most young ladies, Miss Hall. How tall are you?”

“I’m five feet, eight inches tall, sir,” I replied. “I’m the tallest girl in my class.”

He went to his case on the floor by the davenport and produced a camera. It was a Leica, the newest camera on the market. I saw one advertised in Life magazine last summer. Miss Hawn had said it wouldn’t be long before all newspapers and magazines would be using them because they were small, very portable, and took exceptionally clear photographs. It was beautiful.

“That’s a brand-new camera isn’t it, Mr. Ashby?” I asked. “I saw an advertisement for one like that in Life magazine last summer. Did you just get it?”

“That’s a good observation, Miss Hall. I got it two weeks ago. It takes remarkably sharp pictures. Maybe I will let you try it out. Are you a photographer, too?” he asked.

I explained, “No, not really. There is one boy at school who takes most of our sports pictures. He has to use a big, old camera that the school has had for a long time, and the photographs he takes are okay for our high school newspaper. He complains about it being too hard to take everywhere, but he gets pretty darn good pictures with it.”

He directed me to stand up straight and smile, as his camera clicked. He took about five pictures of me, so I hoped there would be at least one flattering shot he could use.

We sat back down, and as he tucked the camera back in the bag, he started asking me questions. The camera went in the bag and he reached deep into a side pocket of the bag, pulling out a note pad. I saw that he had his pencil behind his ear. It was funny and pretty cliché. I was surprised with myself that I didn’t notice that when we were introduced. A good reporter has to notice details; I felt somewhat disappointed in myself, but shrugged it off as Mr. Ashby kept talking to me.

“Like I said on the telephone yesterday, Miss Hall, when I saw you swim in Iowa City last weekend, you put on quite a display. How long have you been swimming?”

“I was probably four or five when my Dad took me to Pine Lake, up by Steamboat Rock and Eldora. Do you know where that is?” I asked.

“Sure, I do. There’s a nice park around that lake. So that’s where you learned to swim?”

“There, and in the Iowa River. The river there is pretty wide and not too deep. Then we moved to Des Moines when I was in sixth grade, and it was wonderful to have the city swimming pools to go to in the summer. That’s when I started diving, too,” I added.

“You dive?” he asked. “Why didn’t I see you diving over in Iowa City?

Golly, he wanted every detail of my swimming! “I gave up diving because it was bad for my hearing.” I pointed to the hearing aid that I wore tucked just inside my top. He apparently had not noticed the wire that ran from inside my blouse, up to the earpiece. “I haven’t been able to hear very well since I had a bad case of the mumps when I was little.”

“Never would have known that, Miss Hall. It sure doesn’t affect your swimming. Tell me about setting those two state records. What did that feel like? Is that what you were aiming for?”

That was an easy question. I had guessed his questions would be hard to answer, but then when I thought about it, he was only asking me to talk about myself. I should be able to do that!

“I have wanted to set a state record since I started high school. That has always been my goal. I give swimming lessons in the summer, but almost all the rest of the time, I am swimming and practicing.” I also offered some extra information. “I do the backstroke because I don’t have to dive into the pool. The doctor says any diving will make my hearing worse.”

“Well then, you had better listen to the doctor,” he advised. “I know when you started swimming and that you used to dive. Let’s talk about the University of Iowa for a minute. How did your tour of campus go?”

“I had a lot of fun. Their journalism program is really nifty. I’m filling out my application this week, and when they get it, they are going to let me know about what scholarship help I might get this fall.”

“Journalism department? Is that why you are Sports Editor of the Oracle?” he asked.

“Oh yes! I want to be write about sports, just like you do. I want to meet Grantland Rice. Meeting Sec Taylor would be wonderful, too,” I bubbled.

“So, you like all sports, not just swimming?”

“My dad taught me everything about all kinds of sports, Mr. Ashby. I love football, basketball, volleyball, baseball, golf, and even boxing!” I said enthusiastically.

Mr. Ashby put his pen and notepad down. We started visiting about good players, great games, incredible plays, and our favorite teams and players. I told him that my favorite sports heroes were Johnny Weissmuller and Babe Ruth. He told me a little about the most exciting sporting events he had covered. Mother brought in pie and tea, but neither one of us touched them. Ii was almost as much fun as talking with Dad about sports. We talked for about an hour, and then Mother came in and mentioned that this was a school night and that I had homework to do.

“I’m sorry to stay this long, Mrs. Hall, but your daughter knows an awful lot about sports. She is amazing. You and your husband must be very proud of her.”

Mother beamed again, “Yes, we are, Mr. Ashby. We are looking forward to seeing this article about Mable you are writing. When do you think it might be in the Tribune?”

He explained, “This is Tuesday, so by the time I get it written and turned in to the copy editors, it should be ready for the Sunday edition. I’d say this story is worth being on the front sports page of the Register’s Sunday paper. I can’t promise that, but I’m going to write it like that’s where it belongs.”

“Really?” I exclaimed. “My picture on the front page of the Big Peach?”

That’s what the newspaper called their thick Sunday sports section. It was even printed on peach-colored newsprint.

“Of course. I think I have all the information I need, Miss Hall, so I will say goodbye and wish you and your mother a good evening,” he said, rising from the davenport and picking up his camera bag.

“Wait one more minute, please,” Mother said suddenly. “I went up to Mable’s closet and got her varsity letters to show you.” She handed him my tennis and volleyball letters.

“These are impressive, Mable. Well done. Are there any sports you haven’t tried?” he asked.

I smiled a little sheepishly, “I guess I forgot to mention the boys’ swim team.”

“Boys’ swim team? You are on the boys’ swimming team?” He was astonished.

“Well, not yet, exactly. I spoke with Coach Johnson about it yesterday, and he found out that it’s not against the rules. He said he still wants to talk with some other coaches and with the boys on the team about it. He’s going to let me know next Monday,” I explained.

“May I mention this in the article? You really won’t know for sure until after it comes out, will you?” asked Mr. Ashby.

“Go ahead. I don’t think it will matter at all. I really hope he will let me swim with them. It will give me a great opportunity to keep swimming this winter and keep improving my times,” I added. “If he won’t let me try out for the team, I am just going to play basketball. Either way, I’ll be doing some sport. I’d prefer swimming, that’s all.”

“I certainly wish you luck with this, Miss Hall. I am going to be on my way now.”

Mr. Ashby turned to my mother. “It has been a pleasant and interesting visit to your lovely home, Mrs. Hall.” He concluded with, “Thank you for your hospitality.” As he reached the door, he turned and smiled at me. “Your parents are completely justified in being so proud of you. Don’t ever quit your sports or your writing. Goodbye, now.”

As the door closed behind him, Mother and I looked at each other. She said, “What a nice man.”

I replied, “He knows so much about sports. I really want to be just like him someday, Mother.”

“I think you might even be able to be better, Mable. You don’t just write about sports, you play them!”

Well, she was right about that. I just had to keep hoping for good news next Monday. I got my little bit of homework done and went to bed early. The past two days had been a really hectic beginning to the week, and I was exhausted.