The West Philadelphia Regional Track Meet

This is a totally true story.

It was the Philadelphia Regional Elementary School Track Championships. This was very serious business for us guys. It meant, among other things, that we would be competing against our arch rival. The Mann School. The Mann School was located up the hill in Wynnefield, which, in those days, and probably today as well, was a much more affluent neighborhood than our own in West Philadelphia, which didn't have much of anything, not even a name: perhaps, "down there".  No, our socks didn't match and we smelled kind of funny, but, goodness, we were tough. No one messed with us. OK, we had less, but we played hard. Get the picture? And here we were. Showtime was just around the corner. We'd show them alright!

We decided to train for the event. The heel of my right foot still bears the scars of the training. Gosh. don't ever practice broad jumping on a sidewalk. Never do that! Well, it would heal well enough to compete in the hundred yard dash. Each day at recess and even after school, we'd be there racing and jumping and coaching and offering advice, like a band of young Indian braves whooping and jumping before a raid. It was exciting I tell you! We had strategies. Who ever heard of a strategy for running!?

As the day approached, our enthusiasm mounted. We did not yet know who would win the big race. We had many fast runners. I was among them. The fifth grade Olympics of West Philadelphia was about to happen. Who would get the gold? As I recall, they actually gave out ribbons. We didn't get any, but that's the heart and soul of this story anyway.

As the participants lined up for the big race, you couldn't hear yourself think for all the shouting, as all the kids started cheering out of their minds with excitement. I remember the shouts and the screaming and I remember thinking which of us would win and be the hero of Heston Elementary School. And then it happened. The heats were  timed. The girls' heats began. Out of the blue, mind you, literally from out of nowhere, with the wind itself, shot Beverly. I'm not kidding you. She flew. Beverly was a tall thin black girl whose legs reached up to her neck. She was a gazelle. No one knew, certainly none of us guys, but this was to be her day. I never saw a stride like hers on anybody, not even today, not even the real Olympics. "Wham, swish, whoosh", she swallowed up the school yard, like a hungry wildcat after a rabbit. 

That girl, that long legged girl who owned one dress and wore it every day to school and to the track meet as well. knocked the heck out of all of us. God Bless Beverly!