Swimming History and the new Hx at the Westmoor Pool

I have always been a swimmer. Our first home in Dayton, Ohio had close to an Olympic size pool - with a diving board, annual Memorial Day parties to paint the pool, and my mom who was the lifeguard. One of my first memories was Little Dee Dee frantically paddling her way up to the top of the pool where Margie Haas, my mother's best friend, reached down and yanked me out. Later that year I swam atop Joel Mink's back to the same deep end; he dove deep into the pool and miraculously, this time I was swimming on my own. Before I turned five, I stood at the corner of the pool wiping wet strands of hair out of my face and a neighbor kid rushed by, accidentally knocking me into the deep end of the pool. I lost my two front teeth and had 16 stitches in my lip.

In spite of the traumatic history, perhaps this ability to survive bonded me to the water. Summer days - 8 hours long I spent playing with others, but also by myself underwater deep in a 12 foot pool. More than anything I loved the sound of being underwater. A cushioned quiet with only the sensation of your own breathing, barely audible. I wonder if it is the sound of being in the womb? I never competed. I just loved to swim. It was a place where I felt graceful, 20 pounds lighter and at peace.

In my twenties I migrated to California from NYC. Walking was the New York way of life, to work, from work, late nights, the 72nd Street Boat Basin, sometimes Central Park - drugs, of course, and my good buddy Michael. New York is best explored on foot. On the West Coast that is not the case. In California one must drive and then walk. But . . . living in paradise affords a year round pleasure of swimming and that underwater escape. My little blue volkswagen purchased for $900 from UCB (United California Bank - long ago swallowed by some corporate monstrosity) transported me from apartment to pool.

I swam where-ever I could find a pool - a friend's apartment, sometimes my own apartment - the few that had a pool - the Y, public pools, the motels where the band would stay during Holiday Inn gigs, other motels with unlocked gates. In LA I used to frequent (sneak into) the Hollywood Roosevelt pool, where Desi Arnez' band played poolside gigs in the 'I Love Lucy' series. I got tan, I was exercising and life was always good after 30 minutes of laps. And I learned how to swim the butterfly stroke. To this day I swim regularly.

About ten years ago I remember showering after a swim and changing at the Santa Clarita Swimclub. There were always little ones who would come for lessons after lapswim times. Boldly, I would towel off, naked in the locker room. Little ones would look on and I always mused - "I've had children. Who cares? I don't have hang ups about my body. And that's how it will always be." I shrugged off any curious stares.

But now, I am 62. I don't have a lover. (My passion for performing I think has kept that at bay.) Now I have a new job, in a new city. I am not much interested in dieting. - I enjoy evening wine, beer or vodka, whatever, and my body, although not obese, is certainly not svelte. Although my visage is 'handsome', my grandmother's legs certainly are not. My suit holds in some notion of a full figure, but I am grateful for the beach towel's camouflage before I take a plunge. Still I swim.

And that brings me to my new public pool. High atop of the hill in Daly City is the Westmoor Pool. It was totally redone a year ago and it is quite lovely.