Deep dive into the pool
Everyday joy, ugly history. A public pool is the most American summer pursuit.
The following is a reprint from a popular post as I complete the work on that Japan itinerary that I promised you. Stay cool, stay tuned, and I hope to deliver Japan to your inbox in a few weeks. —Jen
I challenge you to find a more American activity than swimming at the public pool.
Paid for by taxpayers like you and me, populated by all walks of life, fraught by our complicated history, upkept by a sleepy group of students who will spring into action to save your life should you get in the way of the swimmers playing aqua basketball far more strenuously than that floppy hoop is designed for—give me a public pool on a hot day and I am part of the full circle of life here.
I have spent a fair share of my time on earth at the pool. Whole summers as a kid, except on days when our softball coach said to rest for game day. As a mom, I took my kids all the time, teaching them to hold their breath by blowing in their surprised little faces. Now I just go to frolic and feel the joy of sun on my water-chilled skin. Stretching feels different in the water, too, like you’re dancing in midair. When there are 40 people nearby who are also mid-air dancing, I’m not so self-conscious about it, as I now am at live music.
Actual footage of Ashworth Pool, Des Moines, Iowa, by Z. I. Wilson Hoff
Pool as joy. Pool as equalizer.
The joys are clear. Cool, clean-ish water to dip1 a weary body on a hot day. Air conditioning leaves me chilled to the bone, but a quick swim will cool me internally and pleasantly for hours. And it has to be a pool. Having seen Jaws at the age of 5, I refuse to get into water I can’t see the bottom of; even the deep end can feel like a lot on this Gen X psyche. But give me a pool of reasonable depth, where lifeguards scan the water, whistle at the ready, and I am happy.
The equalizer part? I love the idea of that, too. How the guards at our local roam the deck constantly, taking care of us. Even when they change watch, there’s a ritual to it—the idea is to never leave the water unattended by someone who can swim like an Olympian and carries a life preserver. There is a level of care involved that you don’t find in many public places, except maybe an airplane. Additionally joyful is the fact that we’re all standing before one another, nearly naked, and still we are smiling.
I did recently learn that I’ve been naive about this equalizer idea. A friend asked if I’d be interested in joining the very white local country club called, ironically, Wakonda. Our conversation got me thinking about the whole idea of public versus private pools, and of course there is some nefarious history there.
Long ago, public pools were local treasures, and there were many more of them, with capacities in the thousands in some major cities. These pools could get fancy—some even had their own imported sand beaches. Then, as the nation moved to desegregate in the 1950s, these local luxuries were effectively shut down by offended whites, often with terrible violence. Public pools were allowed to drain and close, or fall into disrepair. What used to be this fantastic public resource, gave way to a boom in backyard pools and members-only country clubs. There’s a whole book about the provocative history of the public pool, and you can wade in deeper with this story on Marketplace. Though I am a longtime pool rat, the history is relatively new to me—naiveté being my privilege here—but now I know, though I didn’t want to join a country club anyway.
Why pay for what you already have? I also like that the public pool is no fashion show, which a members-only club is—this I know from Caddyshack. I’m wearing this crap suit from 2014 and using a towel that no longer has a hem as two gossiping moms bitch at me about having to move over a chair for my friend and me to have this country-club conversation as we apply our Banana Boat SPF 5.
As kids cannon-ball from the high dive.
Or make out over there in the deep end, which gives the illusion of privacy, but seriously, we see where your hands are.
As that one lady spent the whole afternoon doing water ballet to the exceptionally good playlist on a crackly loudspeaker.
I like the attitude. I love how the pool looks on all of us now.
I read a travel story in the NYTimes in which the author boasted loving to go to ordinary places on the road—grocery shopping, the public pool, that type of thing. First off, I swear I planned this post before their story. Second, I co-sign (or they do) that sightseeing the ordinary, including the local pool, is a solid way to travel. To explore a destination not at its most fluffed, but in all its glorious normalcy.
Which, in turn, helps me understand that place, its people, and its history. Even when I’m right here at home.
Speaking of dip, I just had dinner with a friend at a suburban restaurant that I was expecting to be not-good but was in fact a great value and also fantastic, which is one of my favorite experiences. Anyway, the air-fryer potato chips and homemade dip were the absolute best. We crunched and chattered for a good hour after dinner, and I deconstructed with my taste buds how to make that dip and have made it a few times myself—it’s so good and it’s not even horrible for you! Mix your nonfat Greek yogurt with garlic powder, chives from your garden (or just dried minced onion), and some Worcestershire sauce. Add a little salt and pepper to taste. Happy almost-weekend, oh crunchy reader!