Queen of the Roller Derby

PROLOGUE

My father bought my first pair of roller skates for my eighth birthday, right after he came home from the war.

I was born in February, so there weren't a lot of places I could skate. We were living in an apartment in the upstairs of my maternal grandparents' house near City Airport. There was four inches of sooty snow on the ground, but the driveway was clear. I sat down on the cold concrete porch steps while Daddy tugged off my shoes and laced my feet into the skates. He helped me up and held my hand as I stood, suddenly three inches taller, and took my first wobbling steps.

He guided me as far as the sidewalk, then we turned around. I fell flat on my butt.

"It's all right, Kitty," he said as he lifted me back to my feet, "Falling is part of learning."

We made the circuit from the garage to the sidewalk a half dozen times, then he asked me if I wanted to try it alone. I was terrified, but I said yes.

Going down was easy, there was a slight slope to the pavement and all I had to do was keep my balance and coast. The turn at the sidewalk was the challenge. I felt myself falling, but caught my balance, stayed up, and proudly lumbered back toward my father in the open garage door.

That was the only time I remember seeing him look really happy. My mom said it would take some time for him to get over the things he had seen in Italy and France. I didn't understand. I thought that when the war was over, everyone would be happy. But nobody was. My mother had been working at American Axle, but they told her that with the boys coming home, they wouldn't need her anymore. It felt like she was taking that out on my dad.

My grandfather was the least happy of all, but he always had been. He was forever bellyaching about tire rationing or Eleanor Roosevelt or the colored people who were moving in on Morgan Street or some such thing. He couldn't wait for my dad to get a job so we would move out and he could find real paying tenants.

I was only unhappy about the slow arrival of spring, when I could use my skates. I would put them on and clomp around the apartment. That would make my grandfather furious. Once, he called up the stairs and told me that if he heard my skates on the floors again he would throw them in the rubbish can and burn them with the trash. I was so terrified that he would do it that I slept with them in my bed that night.

By the time the sidewalks were clear of ice and snow I was eager to put on my skates and take off. On my first attempt, I made the turn out of the driveway with ease. My goal was the corner of our block. I fell three times before I reached it and once more on my way back to the house.

I sat on the steps and brushed the dirt from my scuffed knees, then got up and headed for the other corner, which was twice as far. My legs were shaking by the time I got there, but they held me up.

On the return, I got cocky and went too fast. When my right wheels hit a crack in the sidewalk, I went sprawling, face first. I bit my lip hard enough to make it bleed and hobbled home, trying not to cry.

I switched from my skates to my shoes at the bottom of the stairs, then tiptoed in, hoping to sneak past my mother. But she spotted me creeping down the front hall. When she saw the blood on my chin, she let out a gasp. I thought she would scold me, maybe even give me a smack, but she spun me around and marched me into the living room.

"I told you she'd get hurt riding those damn skates," she admonished my father.

"Did she break a bone?" he asked her.

"No."

"She'll be fine."

For once, my father's grumpy disposition played in my favor.

The next day I skated all the way around the block without a mishap. I asked my mother if I could wear my skates to school. She said absolutely not, that one of the Italian kids would steal them. So I'd walk the six blocks to school and practically run all the way home every day.

Whenever it wasn't pouring down rain, I'd skate until supper time. When the days grew longer, I'd rush through my homework after we finished eating and go back out, circling the block until the street lights came on. Even then, I didn't want to go in. My father would be sitting in his chair, drinking beer and listening to the radio. He always listened to the comedy shows like Jack Benny and Burns and Allen, but he never laughed at them. My mother would sit across the room, reading the Saturday Evening Post or The Ladies Home Journal. They hardly spoke to each other.

Most nights, I would go to my room and read Nancy Drew mysteries or Wonder Woman comic books. They did such exciting things. There was nothing exciting in my life except skating.

On Saturdays, I'd make myself a sandwich, baloney or peanut butter and jelly, which I would wrap in wax paper and carry in a small satchel I draped over my shoulder. I would explore further afield. Sometimes I'd go to the library for another Nancy Drew. Once I went all the way to Chandler Park. Usually, I'd go to Finley's Market on Gunston Avenue. I would buy a bottle of Coca-Cola and a Hershey bar with my allowance and sit outside on the curb and eat my lunch.

I thought that when summer came and school got out, I'd be able to skate all day, every day, to my heart's content. But my mother had other plans. She decided I was old enough to do more household chores, so every morning I got up and swept the floor or dusted the furniture or beat the rugs before I was free to enjoy myself.

At least she was generally in a better mood. My dad had gotten a job at Dodge Main. The money was good and we got a car, a brand new Packard.

There was this new thing called the G.I. Bill. I thought that was something we had to pay, but it turned out to be the other way around, and Mom and Dad started talking about using the G.I. Bill to get a house of our own. I thought that sounded like a pretty good idea, until they told me they were going to look for a place outside of the city. I was afraid that milking cows and feeding chickens might soon be added to my list of chores.

There were some other girls in the neighborhood who skated and I would hang around with them once in a while. But they were slow and clumsy. They might as well have just been strolling. I liked to go fast. I liked to swerve and make turns and maneuvers. I had seen ice skaters in a newsreel and I tried to do some of the things I saw them do. Learning to skate on one foot was pretty easy. Skating backwards cost me some bruises, but I kept at it until I had it down pat.

One day, late in the summer, I set the goal of skating all the way around City Airport. As I glided along Connor Avenue, I saw a plane on the runway getting ready to take off. I did a couple of slow turns on the sidewalk while it moved into position. When it began to roll down the runway, I skated alongside it. It picked up speed and I kept pace. It continued to accelerate and I pumped my legs, faster and faster, trying to keep up with it. My heart was beating so hard that if it wasn't for the noise of the plane's engines, I might have been be able to hear it. The plane rose and I felt giddy, dizzy with excitement. It soared and so did I. I was a bird. I was an angel. I was the fastest girl in the world.

CHAPTER ONE

In my senior year, I started working part time at the soda fountain in Herriman's Drug Store, and went full time after graduation. I liked it well enough. I was never good at making friends, but all the kids from Redford High knew me from seeing me behind the counter. The main thing was, it got me out of the house. And I made a great Boston Cooler, which was vanilla ice cream and Vernor's ginger ale. What it had to do with Boston, I don't know.

Peggy Weiss usually worked the same shifts that I did, and was the closest I had to a best friend. One Friday, when the after school rush had died out, she approached me as I was wiping down the counter.

"Hey, Kitty," she said, "I was talking to Shirley Duda when she was in here. You know Shirley, don't you?"

"Sure, we had some classes together."

"So, Me and Jack were going to go to the movies tonight with her and her boyfriend, Artie. But, turns out Artie's cousin is staying with him for the weekend, and you know, it would be nice if he had a date too. So, ya think..."

I dropped my dirty towel in the sink.

"Gee, thanks," I said, "But I don't think so."

She slapped her hands against her thighs. "Kitty! What are you going to do, go to the roller rink again? Why don't you want to meet a nice fella?"

My mother had been asking me that for several years. Once, we went to a matinee at the Redford Theater and saw a movie with Marlene Dietrich in it. She was wearing a man's suit. On the drive home, my mother looked over at me, in my dungarees and my checkerboard flannel shirt, and asked, "Honey, do you know what the word sapphist means?"

"Nope."

"Invert? Have you ever heard that word?"

"It means upside down, doesn't it?"

"Well, in a way." She sighed and looked at me like she had more questions, but she didn't ask them.

When we got home, I looked up "saffist" in the dictionary. I didn't find anything, but I figured I was probably spelling it wrong. When I tried again, I found the definition.

A female homosexual.

That puzzled me. I knew what a homosexual was, or at least I thought I knew. I had never imagined that a girl could be a homosexual. How would you know if you were one? And what would you do about it, anyway?

I didn't dwell on the question. But every once in a while, I would give it some thought, particularly when someone would ask me why I didn't date any boys. The thing is, I went on a few dates. I just didn't get the appeal.

When Peggy asked me about dating the cousin, I just shrugged. I didn't know how to answer her.

My Dad had moved up to a brand new Chrysler, so I got to drive the old Packard. When our shift ended, I gave Peggy a ride home. I glanced at her at a red light and wondered what it would be like to kiss her. The light changed, the car behind us honked, and we moved on.

She'd probably give me a sock on the jaw, I thought.

For supper that night, we had fried pork chops, scalloped potatoes and canned peas. My dad read the Detroit News sports section through the whole meal.

"I suppose that you are going to the skating rink," my mother said, in her usual huffy tone.

I shrugged, said, "Uh huh," and took another bite of potatoes. She looked at me disdainfully and shook her head.

"Well, maybe one of these times you'll meet a nice boy there."

People were trying to put me with a boy like it would end the Cold War.

I finished eating, then went upstairs and changed out of my Pepto Bismol pink soda jerk uniform into dungarees and a short sleeved blouse.

Mom and Dad were in the living room, watching the evening news. The reporter was talking about the presidential election.

"You should watch this," my father said, "It's history."

"Right," I said, "Someday I will tell my grandchildren about which old baldheaded man got to be president."

"Takes boys to make babies," Mom said, "Be back by eleven."

"Sure," I said as I grabbed my jacket and headed out the door, "Unless I find a boy to make a baby with."

I knew I'd pay for that one, but I couldn't resist taking the dig at her. It rankled that I was eighteen and still had a curfew. But it was their house, and I wasn't paying rent. I didn't have any more rights than a little kid.

One of the few good things about living in Redford was that we were close to the Roll-A-Rama. The neighborhood was boring; block after block of houses that all looked the same, with the same cars parked in the driveways and the same lawns in front. Every once in a while, someone would have a plaster deer or a lawn jockey in the yard to break up the monotony.

I missed skating on the city streets, where there were barber shops and hardware stores and Italian groceries with carts full of tomatoes and peppers and eggplants in front. I missed seeing the policemen on horses in the park and the firemen who shouted "Go, girl, go!" when I'd speed past their station, and Mrs. Kowalski, who would see me coming down the sidewalk and step out of her bakery to hand me a jelly paczki as I rolled by.

In exchange for all that, I got the Roll-A-Rama.

You could see its neon glow a half mile down Telegraph Road. The parking lot was lit up like a Friday night football game. They had these little tinny speakers on the outside of the building. Lately it seemed like all they played was Elvis. Personally, I wasn't a fan.

There were a lot of cars in the lot. It was going to be crowded. I like to skate fast, but I liked the challenge of weaving in and out of the crowd, too. I knew that a lot of people got cheesed when I did that, but I didn't care. I had the attitude that the floor was mine. The problem wasn't that I was swift and agile, it was that they were slow and clumsy.

I found a place to park and got my skates from the trunk. Admission was one dollar. That was supposed to be for an hour's skating, but no one paid any attention to that. They didn't check once you were in, you could skate until closing time. I paid and went inside. I had to squeeze past the line waiting for hotdogs and bottles of Faygo pop at the snack bar. It took me a few minutes to find an empty locker to put my shoes in. I didn't bother locking it, I couldn't imagine who would steal a pair of old sneakers.

I laced up my skates and went into the rink. It was big and noisy, lit with flashing colored lights. There were rows of bleachers behind battered half walls on each side. At one end there was a stage. In the old days the big swing bands would play there. Every now and then, they still shut down the skating for a show by some band of has-beens who didn't know that times had changed. On skating nights they played cheesy organ music. Frankly, I would have preferred Elvis. The best thing about it was that it was hard to hear over the sound of wheels on wood.

I watched the stream of skaters circle the rink until I saw a good opening, then rolled into it. I made a couple of leisurely circuits, looking over the crowd. I don't know how my mother thought I was going to meet boys at the rink. There were a few families with little kids and some groups of girls skating together, but mostly, there were couples on dates. Single boys didn't go roller skating.

I picked up speed and started passing other skaters, but I kept it toned down. It wouldn't be long before the parents took their little ones home. The last thing I wanted to do was make a kid afraid of skating. I could cut loose once they were gone.

Until then, I could still have fun doing some of my tricks. I one footed it, shifting from side to side on each turn. I skated backwards a little bit, but had to be careful. You never knew when some knucklehead was going to cut right into your path.

No one on that floor was a better skater than me. I'd never seen anybody who was. There was only one person who came close, and that was Angie Lombardi. I suppose she thought the same about me.

I didn't know her well. She was a couple years older than me and had gone to Catholic Central. She was a damn good skater, I'll admit. She might've been faster than me on an open floor, but she couldn't move like I could.

I was coming around after five or six laps when I saw her sitting in the bleachers, lacing up. She didn't need a locker, her greaser boyfriend, Chuckie Sullivan, never skated but always came and watched her, so she could leave everything with him. He was sitting next to her, sucking on a bottle of Faygo orange. It was against the rules to bring bottles into the rink, but he wasn't the kind of guy who cared about things like that.

Angie gestured to me, but I was already past them before I realized that she wanted to talk to me. I took my lap, then slowed and stopped in front of where they were sitting.

Chuckie scowled at me as I leaned against the rail.

"Have you seen this?" Angie asked, handing me a sheet of paper. "They have a pile of them on the snack counter."

It was hard to make out the writing under the flashing colored lights.

"Roller Derby Team Tryouts?" I read aloud.

"Yeah, right here, tomorrow afternoon."

"I don't know why you are telling her," Chuckie grumbled.

"Why shouldn't I tell her?"

"She's your competition."

Angie gave him a dismissive wave. She took the paper back and pointed at the small print. "A-1 Manufacturing is sponsoring a roller derby team. I asked Ginny. You know, Ginny, works the counter? She talked to the lady who brought them in. Imagine getting paid to skate."

"How much do you think they pay?"

"I don't know but I'm guessing it beats sweeping up my father's store and waiting for some jerk to pop the question."

Chuckie snorted and took a slug of his Faygo.

I was embarrassed to admit that I didn't really know what a roller derby was. "So, it's some kind of roller skating race?"

"Yeah," Chuckie said, "But a race where broads knock the crap out of each other."

"Well, sort of," Angie explained, "They race around an oval track, and try to block each other from getting ahead."

"There is no way you could do it, Kitty," Chuckie said, "You're too small and skinny."

"Then why are you afraid of me being competition?"

"I ain't afraid of nothing."

"Except getting a job," Angie muttered.

I handed the paper back to her. "Well, I gotta work tomorrow," I said.

"That's too bad. I'm gonna try out."

"Good luck!"

I pushed off from the boards and continued my laps. Usually, when I'm skating, the thoughts and worries disappear from my mind. I go into a sort of trance where it's just about the motion and the speed. But I could not get the roller derby thing out of my head. If I didn't want to live in my parent's house the rest of my live, putting up with their rules and their curfews, I had to get a better job or actually take everyone's advice and meet a nice boy.

After a few more laps, I passed by where Chuckie was sitting. He looked at me with a smirk and made a thumbs down gesture. That convinced me. I was going to go to those try outs and I was going to be the best skater there.

When I got home, I left my skates in the trunk of the car. I did not want to tell my parents that I was going to the tryouts. If they knew and I failed, I'd feel humiliated. If I made the team, well, that would create its own problems, but I would deal with them when I had to.

I took a change of clothes when I left for work in the morning. My mother asked me why. I told her I might go to the movies with Peggy after our shift.

Everything depended on Peggy being willing to cover for me. Mr. Herriman didn't come in on Saturdays, it would just be the two of us at the counter. The other drug store employees paid no attention to us.

When I told her about the try outs, she readily agreed to help me. It turned out she had seen some roller derby matches on television. She was excited at the idea that I might join a team.

"Thanks," I told her, "I owe you a big favor in return."

"Just get me tickets to your first game."

Business was slow all morning. It picked up a little around lunchtime, but died out again soon enough that I didn't feel too bad about leaving Peggy alone. I changed my clothes in the back room, gave her a hug and thanked her again, then set off for the Roll-A-Rama.

I expected to find the parking lot packed and a line of applicants out the door, but when I arrived there were maybe fifty cars in the lot and no one outside. I paid my admission and went into the lobby. A few kids were milling around the front of the snack bar but I didn't see anyone else. I thought maybe I had missed the whole thing, but then a woman walked in from the rink. She was wearing a snazzy blue A-line dress and staring at a clipboard. She took a few steps forward and looked up at me.