On the Front Page

Grandma was down in the kitchen before I left for school the next morning. She and Mother were visiting, and Mother was able to include me, by doing some translating, with a little writing, some gestures, and our loud voices. Our family was a loud family, with two of us so hard of hearing! From Mother, Grandma had learned about the interview with Mr. Ashby yesterday. My grandmother didn’t understand why I didn’t come home right after school every day and help with the cleaning, maybe do some needlework or tatting. She said she would be willing to teach me how to tat. I told her that I thought the tatting she did was beautiful, but I really did prefer to be involved in athletics. Mother explained to her that my sports were going to help pay for my college education. Then Grandma decided that my sports were okay because no one in the family had ever graduated from college. I was her only granddaughter, and she certainly wanted that for me. Grandma was so understanding and sweet. Her artistic talent with the quilting and her kindness to everyone made her a special grandmother.

The rest of the week crept past on its hands and knees; it went so slowly. A few things that kept me going were being able to talk to Burnie about all of this and looking forward to telling Dad all the news on the telephone Sunday. And of course, my nightly visits with Mother and Grandma Von Dornum.

One night, we started talking about all the quilts Grandma had created. Mother showed me the quilts she had in a cedar chest in the attic; Grandma had made them over the years. There was a Texas Star, a Flower Garden, a Log Cabin, a Flying Geese, and the first heavy wool quilt that Grandma had made out of the men’s suiting sample fabric squares from the dry goods store. Not one square of fabric was the same as any other. The man who owned the dry goods store now is the son of the man Grandma originally worked for. Whenever suit samples were discontinued, he brought them to Grandma and she added them to the quilt. It would fit a big double bed and was really heavy and warm. She was thinking about making another one like it, as he brought her more samples.

The other quilts were so beautifully designed, they looked like works of art. Grandma was a true artist with fabric. I was so excited to have her making me that velvet quilt for graduation. She was very careful, though, not to ever let me see her working on it.

Grandma had so many stories about raising Mother and her siblings on the farm near Iowa Falls, but of course, Mother had to be the translator for all of them. Some were funny, and others were quite sad, like when Uncle Wiard died.

Those stories made the evenings of this long week go faster. Nothing had been able to make school days go faster. Burnie was somewhat helpful, shooting baskets with me, but it was getting rather cold outside for that. Saturday finally came and there was just one day left before Dad would be calling. Finally! Mother kept hoping Sunday would come sooner, too. She wanted to see that picture of her daughter on the front page of the Big Peach in the Sunday Tribune, and she wanted to be able to send a copy of it to Dad; I just wanted to talk to him! It seemed like a month, but it had only been one week since our last conversation.

Finally, it was Sunday morning. Three short rings! I ran for the phone and blurted, “Dad! I love you! I’m going to be in the paper today! Maybe on the front page of the Big Peach!”

Silence. Then, “Golly, Mable, do I even get a ‘hello’? Settle down a little bit up there. I think I need an explanation. Weren’t the results of the state swim meet in last Sunday’s paper?”

“This article isn’t about the state swim meet, Dad. It’s just about me. You won’t believe this. Well, maybe you will. Ted Ashby called me on Monday.”

Dad interrupted with, “Ted Ashby of the Tribune. The sports writer?”

“Yes, Dad. Let me finish. He called me on Monday and wanted to interview me. He saw me swim at the state meet, but I couldn’t talk with him because we had to go on that campus tour. So he promised to call me Monday at home, after school.”

“So, when did he interview you? Was it at school or at the house?”

“He called me like he said he would and then he came by the house after school on Tuesday. Mom made another apple pie, but we were talking so much that we didn’t even have time to eat it. It was almost like talking to you about sports. He knows so much! He stayed almost until dinner time. I barely had time to get my homework done, but don’t worry, I got it all done.”

“And it’s going to be on the front page of the Big Peach today? All this because of your two records?” Dad asked.

“Not really. He found out from Coach Mortenson that I’m the sports editor for the Oracle, and he thought it was strange for a girl to be able to do that, so he wanted to find out about me. Good reporters are curious, you know. I told you Miss Hawn always tells us that, right? Well, he was really curious!”

“I’m so proud of you, darling daughter. I hope you will send me a copy of the article. What else is going on? Any news about the boys’ swim team?”

“I’ll tell you about that in a minute, Dad. First, I want you to know he took my picture, too. It’s going to be with the article. He had one of those brand-new Leica cameras. It was so shiny! I can’t wait to see how the photograph of me turned out.”

“Then send me the article and the picture, dear. What did Coach Johnson say about the boys’ swim team?” Dad prodded me.

I went ahead and told Dad about how Coach Johnson had asked the principal and the other man from the state athletic group. I told him about how I met with him during lunch, and he put me off for a week; how he was going to talk to the other coaches and to the fellas on the team. Dad agreed with me that Coach was probably going to tell me ‘no’. He said that I could stay in shape playing basketball and that my records were plenty incentive for the University of Iowa to give me some help with the tuition or room and board. Even if they didn’t, Dad said he was going to make plenty of money up there on those high steel skyscraper beams, and I did not have to worry; I was going to college in the fall, no matter what. Finally, Dad asked to talk to Mother. The phone call was going to get pretty expensive if we weren’t careful.

Mother filled Dad in on how Grandma was doing and what the doctors found out about Aunt Helen’s stomach. It wasn’t too serious yet. She was just going to have to be more careful about what she eats and drink a cup of buttermilk before each meal. Dad also told Mother that he had not gone to the doctor yet, but he had an appointment for the next Friday. They said their ‘I love you’ stuff, then Mother said she would write him and that I would send the article. He gave Mother the address where he was staying, and the phone call was over.

Now, I just had to wait for the Sunday paper to come.

About thirty minutes later, I heard the paper hit the front porch. I was down the stairs in a flash, but Mother was already coming in the front door with the paper in her hand.

“What were you doing, Mother, sitting on the front porch?” I asked.

“No, silly Mable. I was just in the kitchen starting the coffee and a coffee cake. I thought you would be upstairs, but now that I think about how excited you were when you spoke to Dad, I’m surprised you weren’t sitting on the front steps.”

“Let’s see it. Where is the sports section?” I asked eagerly.

“Right here, Mable. Stay calm. Oh look, it is right here on the front page. A big picture of you, it is! Humph, looks like they changed the background. Didn’t like the way my house looked?” Mother spoke a bit indignantly.

“It’s fine, Mother. The parlor looked perfect. It just must have not looked good in the picture. Perhaps the wallpaper background was too busy. I have a pattered dress on, see? It would not have looked good at all. That’s what photo editors do; they decide what pictures look good, and then change what they need to. They didn’t do it to hurt your feelings, I promise.”

“It certainly is a beautiful picture of you, Mable. You are standing up so straight and tall.” Mother walked into the parlor and took a seat, saying, “Here, sit down next to me and we will read it together.”

The headline said, “Des Moines Has One Sportswriter Who Is a Patron of Beauty Parlors.” Then there was a subtitle of “It’s Mabel Hall of North High, and Does She Know Athletics?”

“Mother, he spelled my first name wrong!”

“It’s okay Mable. People will know it’s you.”

“I’m a bit disappointed in Mr. Ashby, Mother. That’s his byline right at the top of the article, and if information is not accurate, it’s his fault. Reporters are supposed to be accurate!”

Mother calmed me with, “Let’s just read the article, dear. Everyone makes a mistake now and then. Mr. Ashby is a very nice man and you already know he is a good reporter.”

The article read, “According to a substantiated disclosure Tuesday, Des Moines has the only sports editor who wears rouge and sings soprano – the only recorder of athletic events who embroiders pillow slips after the final edition goes to press.

As a general thing, sports writers omit spit curls from their tonsorial requisitions and extend their hand for assistance only when payday is three days distant. But this unusual individual gets a seat on a crowded street car while fatigued laborers dangle from the ceiling straps.

The first and second paragraphs have referred to Miss Mable Hall, sports editor of the North High School Oracle.

Knows Her Passes

Never having been confronted with a feminine sports writer, your interviewer assumed that her knowledge of athletics and athletes consisted of a firm belief that a forward pass was a dining table relay that works the tomatoes toward the end zone. Not so with Miss Mable Hall, sports editor of the North High Oracle.

Miss Hall rattled off definitions of football plays that sent the interviewer into a huddle with his 1932 gridiron guide. For instance, she knows that the Star of Bethlehem wasn’t a triple threat man. And she is aware, too, that all linemen don’t work for the telephone company.

Won Two Letters

Miss Hall has won two letters at North and is the only girl in school who has qualified in golf, tennis, volleyball, and other girls’ sports to this extent. Just now she is pleading with Coach Johnny Johnson to include her on the North High swimming team, composed entirely of boys.

She has a thorough understanding of football, baseball, and basketball and ‘covers’ for the school publication all of North’s athletic contests. Miss Hall has two assistants, both boys. She’s 17 and a junior.”

Under the photograph, it said, “She Knows a Forward Pass Isn’t a Dining Table Relay.” And he spelled my name right under the picture, but I’m a senior, not a junior. He got everything else right, I guess.

“Well,” said Mother. “What do you think of that, Mable?”

“Mother, I’m really proud it’s on the front page. You know what that means, right? Everyone is going to see it, because everyone at least looks at the front page of the sports section. That makes me happy.”

“If it makes you happy, it makes me happy, Mable. You know your father and I have always been proud of you. Sports editor or not, you are our darling daughter.” Mother smiled at me with that sunbeam smile of hers, and I got up, bent over her and gave her such a big hug.

“Are you going to be able to translate the article for Grandma, Mother?”

“Not word-for-word, but I can explain all about what it says and let her know how important it is. I have to shout so loud, so I will need to keep it short. She already knows what a special girl you are.”

“Thank you, Mother. I have the best parents in the world.” I really meant that. My parents really believed in me. I think it was hard for Mother sometimes that I wasn’t as girly as some of her friends’ daughters, but she always supported me. Dad was one-of-a-kind. He taught me everything he knew about sports and still treated me like a girl. Sometimes Burnie teased me about being ‘Daddy’s boy’ like I was trying to be athletic like a boy, to make up for being an only child who happened to be a girl. He assumed that parents always want boys. How would that work? No girls in the world? If all fathers got all boys for children? That would be the end of the human race. Mother and Dad were not like that. I wore dresses, I knew how to sew and how to cook. I was a girl, who was a good athlete. They let me be me, to do the activities that I enjoyed and that I was good at. They were wonderful parents and I loved them both so very much.

So, after Mother filled Grandma in and showed her the picture on the front page of the sports section, Mother carefully cut out the article and put it in an envelope for Dad. I was going to mail it on the way to school Monday. There was a big post box down at the corner.

At school on Monday, I went upstairs to talk to Coach Johnson during lunch, and he was in the room waiting for me. He had Raymond with him. Raymond was the captain of the boys’ swim team. When I saw him, I suspected what the answer would be, and I was right. Not one of the coaches in the whole city and not one of the fellas on the team thought there should be a girl on the team.

They repeated over and over, “It’s not because you are such a good swimmer, Mable; it’s because you are a girl.” I wanted to ask them if they saw the article in the paper yesterday, but I didn’t. I knew they had seen it. There was no chance they had not seen it, and they didn’t mention it either. How could they? If they said, “Nice article; way to go, Mable” they would be admitting that not letting me on the boy’s team was different than letting me be sports editor.

But, they knew it wasn’t any different, so they didn’t dare say anything. I was smiling and nodding, and I told them, “I understand.”

What I wanted to say was, “You are a bunch of ‘fraidy cats and I hope you lose all your swim meets.” I know that was mean and wrong, but they were the ones who were being mean, and they were the ones who were definitely wrong. I know if Dad was here, he would tell me, “There’s nothing you can do about it, darling daughter. This is the 1930s, and the ladies have the right to vote now. That took a lot of work and a lot of years. Everything else that may follow is going to take a lot more years, and a lot more work. I want you to just be patient and do your best.”

Dad always had such good advice. I was so glad I could hear his voice in my head and that I was able to imagine what he might tell me. Otherwise, I might have been tempted to bop ol’ Raymond in the nose. I thanked the coach for all his time that he had put in checking and deciding. I didn’t say anything to Raymond.

I went to basketball practice after school and all the girls there were happy to see me. They talked all about the article they saw in the paper and made me feel good about it all. They said it was the boys’ swim team loss and the girls’ basketball team gain. That really made me feel swell. On my way home, I stopped at Burnie’s and told him the news. Then I went up to my room and wrote a letter to Dad about it. It was done, and I was going to get on with my senior basketball season.