Swimming Lessons

Ba…ba…ba, ba…bubble! Chaaaatttttttteeerrrrrr! The roar of bubblers punctuated with the sound of chattering teeth are all around me. I look up from my bubbles to see the blue lips of the boy next me bobbing on his toes in wiggling shivers. It’s Beginners’ swimming lessons at the Mt. Pleasant Pool. Whoever decided that swimming lesson should be held at 9 o’clock in the morning must have wanted little kids to hate swimming.

My earliest recollections of swimming are really just of wading. There was a wading pool down in Saunders Park. It was on the flat ground between the road and the creek. It seemed large to me. It had a big fountain in the middle. Its deepest part was only a few feet. I remember wading around the outside with my mother holding my hand. There was an 8’ X 10’ shed nearby that served as a place to pay and to buy snacks. After the new pool was built on the hillside near Clay Street the wading pool was turned into a lily pond and lasted for many years. The little shed lasted even longer and served as a mower shed until it was finally torn down. All that a now remains there is a slab of cement and that, too, may now be gone.

It was at the new swimming pool that I was finally old enough to take swimming lessons. Lessons usually begin in the last two weeks in June and lasted through July. Obviously, in those first few weeks the water and the morning, for that matter, could be pretty cool. It was almost cruel to make a kid get in the water. The instructors rarely got in themselves.

The kids were usually lined up on the deck of the pool and were given instruction. I remember sitting there listening with my knees pulled up to my chin trying to stay warm under a too small towel. Then the instructor would have us get in the water and hold on to the side with both hands. There we practiced our kick and blowing bubbles. Few of us could touch the bottom in the three feet of water and held on to the side with a death grip. Then we would get out and stand on the deck. Cold and wet we would try to dry off but soon the towel was as cold and wet as we were. The instructor lined us up on the side and practiced moving our arms as you would doing the crawl stroke. So shivering cold, we were waving the cool air like a field full of windmills.

I failed beginners that first year. I just never got warm enough to be in the water that summer. To pass you needed to be able to swim across and back in the deep end of the pool without assistance. I didn’t care to try it.

The next year we had a much warmer summer. I actually passed Beginners a little over half way through the six weeks. Passing beginners meant you could go off the diving boards and swim anywhere in the pool you wanted. The floodgates were open for me! The next year I took Intermediate as soon as I could and begged to be let into the Swimmers class a year early. The instructor relented and let me take it but because of my age couldn’t give me a certificate so I took it again the next year. I had found a place where I could excel.

I joined the AAU swimming team that practiced at the pool every afternoon. We competed with other towns that had their own teams. When it came time for the annual Mt. Pleasant Pool Swimming Meet I signed up for every event I could get in.

When I told someone I had taken all of the courses I could take they said, “What about Advance Swimmer?” I asked Mrs. Carper, head of the local Red Cross Chapter and the swimming coach at Iowa Wesleyan, if I could take that class. She said they really didn’t have anyone qualified to teach it. The course focused on perfection in each stroke. She had me get in the water and show her some of my strokes. After awhile I got out and asked her if I could take it. She said, “Yes” and she would teach it. She said I needed to get a few others to take it just to make it worth it so I did.

I took the course from Mrs. Carper, who had to be at least 60 years old by that time. She did get in the water with us and demonstrated often. Of the four of us who took the course I was the only one who passed.

Later, came Junior and Senior Lifesaving, Water Safety Instructor training, National Aquatic School and Handicapped Swimmer Instructor Training, and Swimming for Iowa Wesleyan College. Those stories are yet to be told.








This ends the official Sardine Chronicles, the stories of the first 12 years of my life. There are many more stories to tell about that period but I am moving on to the next 10 years, the 60s. I may still, from time to time, add stories to this part but there are many to tell about the next 10 years as well.