Queen of the Roller Derby

The bout was at the Light Guard Armory on Eight Mile Road. We drew a bigger crowd than in Toledo; there were more than eight hundred tickets sold. And at least one given away. Peggy Weiss sat in the front row, and waved wildly when she saw me come out.

Our opponents were the Grand Rapids Grinder Gals, sponsored by some metal working company. A-1 Comets was sounding more and more like a pretty good name.

And boy howdy, were we a better team. The Grinder Gals were just plain lousy. Our home crowd was pretty excited early in the bout, but once we'd gone fifty points ahead, they started losing interest. Late in the bout, though, I managed to get them riled up pretty good.

I had managed to sneak past all but one of the Grinders. That last girl looked over her shoulder, saw me closing in on the inside, and moved over to the edge of the track, trying to block me. As we were going into the last turn, instead of trying to come around her on her right, I went left, my wheels at the very edge of the track. I got within inches of slamming into her back, and then I jumped.

I flew across the inside of the track's curve, and came down on one foot. I wobbled a little on the landing, but got my other skate down and kept on going.

The crowd loved it. They were on their feet, clapping and cheering. Peggy was jumping up and down and screaming. I raised my arms in the air. They cheered louder, and for the first time, I heard them chanting.

"Go, Kitty, go!"

We were all in a celebratory mood in the locker room, but for me, it didn't last long. When I stepped into the corridor, my father was waiting for me. Our eyes met and the corners of his mouth twitched, but didn't quite make a smile.

"Hi Dad," I said, tentatively walking toward him.

He was holding his hat in his hands and kept turning it around and around as he talked to me. "Hi Kitty," he said, "I thought I'd come and see you play."

I gave him a quick hug and he patted me on the back exactly twice. I stepped away and asked, "So what did you think?"

"It was pretty exciting. Wow, you sure can skate."

"Well, you taught me."

"Yeah, I guess I did." This time, he managed a real smile.

The rest of my teammates walked by us. Myra was one of the last to come out. We had planned that I would go back to her apartment with her.

"Kitty, we're about ready to go," she said.

I nodded and said to my dad, "I got to get on the bus to take us back to A-1. We left our cars there."

"I thought you and I could maybe get a coffee and a piece of pie or something. I could take you back later."

I didn't see any way to say no. I looked at Myra, hoping she'd tell him it was against team rules or something, but she forced a smile on her face and said, "All right, Kitty. See you at practice."

We found Dad's car in the parking lot and headed down Eight Mile. I was nervous, wondering what we would talk about, but mostly he had questions about the derby.

"What was that thing you did?" he asked, "When are you took off your helmet and gave it to that other girl?"

"It's called passing the star. The jammer's helmet has a star on it. One of the other girls is the pivot. The jammer can give the star to the pivot, which makes them the jammer, so that they can score points."

"Why would you do that?"

"It's a strategy you can use. Personally, I don't like to do it."

"Why not?"

"You played baseball in high school didn't you?"

"Yes. I played second base."

"How would you like it if you were the best player on the team and they pinch-hit for you?"

"I wouldn't like it."

"There you go."

We stopped at The Clock restaurant. It was almost empty. We sat in a booth by the window. My dad ordered cherry pie. I got coconut cream with chocolate sprinkles on top.

It was as awkward as I had expected. Neither of us seemed to think of anything to say. There was one of those table top jukeboxes. I flipped through the selections. It was mostly rock 'n' roll, some country songs. I liked the rhythm and blues stuff. I was hoping there might be some LaVern Baker or Ruth Brown.

"We miss you," my dad finally said.

"You said we."

"Your mom misses you too, whether or not she'll admit it. I wish you could come home."

"Does she want me to come home?"

He looked out the window for a little while, then said, "Not yet."

The waitress brought our pie and my dad asked me more questions about the team; about where we had played, where we were going next, things like that.

On the way to A-1 he asked, "Do you actually work at the factory?"

"No," I said, "I just get paid to be on the team."

He laughed. "That's what I figured. Your mother thinks you're a typist or something."

That made me laugh. "She knows I can't type."

"Well, let her think what makes her feel better." After a long pause, he said, "She loves you Kitty. She just doesn't understand."

"Do you?"

"No. But I'm not afraid to trust you."

We got to A-1 and he pulled in back next to my car. I scooted across the seat and hugged him. He kissed me on the cheek and said "I love you, Kitty."

I said. "I love you too, Dad."

I think he was crying. I got out and walked over to my car. As he was turning around, he rolled down the window and said, "I am proud of you, sweetheart," and drove off.

****

Coach Joe was so impressed with my jump move that he had all three jammers practice it. I was able to nail it pretty much every time. I was keeping track, and I made the jump forty eight times in fifty attempts. Hell, even Ted Williams never batted.960. Angie was able to do it about half the time, which wasn't bad, but Celia just couldn't jump that far.

We had a rematch against Toledo, this time at the armory, and they had improved quite a bit. They beat us by four points and Coach Joe acted like his dog had died. I thought a lot about how upset everyone seemed about losing. It was just one bout, and besides, the main point of it all was the thrill of the game, right?

Coach Joe sure didn't see it that way. He worked us extra hard in the next couple of practices. Some of the girls started grumbling to the point that Myra took me aside and asked me to speak to them about it.

"Why me?" I asked.

She looked at me with an amused expression on her face, and said, "Because you're their leader, Kitty."

That threw me for a loop. Why should anyone think of me as their leader? Just because I could skate better than them? But, while we were suiting up Wednesday morning, I stopped for a minute and listened. Connie was complaining about how tired she was every night, and some of the other girls were agreeing with her. Cora even said she was thinking of looking for a real job and quitting the team.

So I spoke up. "Coach is frustrated because we lost to Toledo. That's the only reason practice started getting harder," I said.

"Yeah, but it's too much," Meg moaned, "Is he going to work us like a rented mule every time we lose?"

"Probably," I said, "So let's not lose."

On Friday morning we left for our first real road trip, to Fort Wayne, Indianapolis and Akron. Despite the complaining about practice, everybody was in a pretty festive mood, at least at the start. But even with the long, uncomfortable bus ride, there was more good natured joking than bellyaching.

I wished that Myra and I could have shared rooms at the motels we stayed in, but she didn't think it was a good idea and I had to admit she was right. After the Indianapolis game though, all the girls that were legal age went to a bar across the street to celebrate, which gave the two of us a chance to spend a few hours alone in her room.

We won all three games and Coach Joe's dark mood lightened up as much as it ever did. Practice became fun again. It even got to the point where some days he was hardly around and we would just skate and socialize and have a good time.

We won the next two games at home and then went on the road again; a shorter trip this time, to Grand Rapids and Flint. The Grinder Gals still stunk and we got an easy win, but early in the bout with Flint, Angie took a tumble and knocked herself out cold when her head hit the floor. With her sidelined, they were able to get past us for our second loss.

That night, on the dark, quiet bus back to Detroit, I sat and stared out the window. I felt restless, unsettled. I could smell Coach Joe's cigar, so I knew he was awake. I walked to the front of the bus and flopped into the seat next to him.

"Something on your mind, Boyd?" he grumbled.

I thought about it for a minute. "Yeah." I kept my voice low. "We should have been able to win that bout."

"Not without Lombardi, we weren't."

"We need a better back up jammer than Celia. Maybe try someone else?"

"Then we'd have to use Celia as a blocker. She's a featherweight. They'd knock her right off the track."

"No, she could stay on the bench."

"Myra wants everyone to get skating time."

We were silent for a minute, then I said, "I kind of thought I was just doing this for fun, win or lose."

He made a snorting sound. "You know who doesn't mind losing, Boyd?"

"Who?"

"Losers. But you're not a loser. You've got everything it takes to be a winner. Start thinking like one."

As I stood up, I said, "You know, your cigars really stink."

"It keeps away pests." He flicked some ash in my direction. "Most of the time."

As the season went on, Myra and I spent more and more time together. We would go places, but it didn't seem like dating, just like things friends would do together. We went shopping downtown at Hudsons department store, and then saw Peyton Place at the Grand Circus theater. We had a picnic on Belle Isle and strolled through the arboretum and the aquarium. It was dark in there, the only light the glow from the tanks of big, slow moving salmon and pikes. When no one was around, we exchanged quick kisses and giggled as if we had really gotten away with something.

One Sunday afternoon we went to the art museum. She told me about all the different artists; Whistler and Cezanne, Rembrandt and Matisse. It was more than my head could hold, but I could listen to her for hours.

In the museum's bright sunlit Diego Rivera courtyard, I slowly turned in a circle, looking up at the giant murals of men and machines. When I came around and faced Myra, I impulsively took her head in my hands and kissed her lips. She blushed, her eyes darting around the room. There were other people present, but they were all looking at the murals, not at us.

"Kitty, be careful," she whispered.

I just stood there and looked at her. I felt an odd pressure in my chest, like I couldn't breathe, and I knew what I had to do to relieve it.

I said, "I love you."

She squeezed her lips tight and her eyes started to well up. She said "I love you too," and I put out my hand and she held it and we didn't care who saw us. Hand in hand, we walked out of the court, through the museum's lobby, and down the broad steps onto Woodward Avenue. We went back to her apartment and fell into her bed and spent the rest of the day expressing our love.

Weeks before the season ended, we knew we had locked up first place in the Eastern division, but we had to wait to see who we would play in the league championship.

Suddenly, the stakes got higher. After practice one day, Myra called the whole team to gather around her. "I've got some important news," she told us, "This morning I received an announcement from the league office."

She took a dramatic pause. "The team that wins the championship will travel to New York City to play an exhibition game against the Gotham Gals at Madison Square Garden."

There was about two seconds of total silence in the room, then Angie said, "Holy fuck," and it was pandemonium. Everyone was yelling, cheering, slapping each other on the back. New York City. Madison Square Garden. Betsy Bomber and the Gotham Gals. The whole idea was crazy.

Myra held her hands up and shouted for everyone to stop and listen. "I wasn't done," she said, we all gave her our attention.

"It will be on national television."

I thought I'd go deaf from all the screaming. It was so loud it echoed around the room.

Before our next bout at the Armory against Louisville, Coach Joe really laid into us.

"You ain't playing New York today, "he said, "You ain't even playing whatever Western team is going to come in first. You're playing this bunch. Don't get sloppy now."

We didn't. We had four bouts to go, and we won three of them. The only loss was a tight match in Toledo.

The league championship game was held in the Michigan State Fairgrounds Colosseum. I don't know how many seats there were, but the place was packed. There had been a rodeo there the day before. The stink of horseshit lingered in the air, but I was more concerned about coming off the track and hitting the dirt too fast.

Our opponents were the Indianapolis Fillies. They had the outline of a galloping horse on their jerseys. We made a lot of jokes about that.

"A comet is faster than a race horse, right, Kitty?" Budz asked me as we rolled into the arena.

"A comet is faster than anything," I told her.

But they were a tough team, and were not going to be pushovers. We had played them twice and won both times, but they were close bouts. My rival jammer was called Swifty Smith. The Swifty part was true. She was fast. She also had sharp elbows and liked to use them. Several times, as I tried to pass her, I had caught one right in the boob.

She wasn't as swift upstairs as she was on her skates, though, and I knew that I could fake her out. Early in the bout I beat her twice with my jump move. After that, she would drift inside on every turn and leave the outside wide open for me. But again, they kept it close. Going into the last couple of jams, we were neck and neck.

Angie was having her best bout ever. I'll be honest and say she skated better than I did that night. I took to the track as the final minutes counted down with a one point lead.

Swifty tied it and I came right back and scored two. Time was running out and the crowd was on its feet, yelling their heads off.

I had the lead over Swifty as we closed in behind the pack. Indy blockers formed a wall in front of me, but I didn't need to get through it, I only needed to stay in front of Swifty.

I held her off along the straightaway, but on the curve she caught up and put that elbow in my chest, right below my throat. I almost tipped over backwards, and by the time I got my balance, she had shot in front of me. Now only one point down, her blockers opened like the Red Sea, and she flew past them.

She only had to catch one of our blockers, and the game would be tied and go to an extra jam. Cora, Meg and Ellie picked up speed to stay in front of her, but obviously Budz was her target. She was the slowest player on the track.

Her blockers had closed again in front of me. I couldn't overtake her, it was all up to Budz. Her legs were pumping hard, her arms were going like pistons.

"Go, you big bitch, go," I shouted.

I don't know where Budz got that last burst of speed, but she found it somewhere and when the final whistle blew, she was in front of Swifty by less than a foot. It was enough to make the A-1 Comets champions.

We skated off the track and came together in the middle of the oval in a tremendous group hug. Everyone was chanting "Budz! Budz!" and for once, I was glad that they weren't chanting my name. I was happy for my friend.

Myra was somewhere in the middle of the group, but Coach Joe stood off to the side by himself. When I looked over, I saw him smiling. It was the only time I ever saw that.

He gestured for me to approach him. I went over and he said, "Lead your team on a victory lap, Captain."

I grinned and nodded, then turned and tapped Angie on the back. "Come on, let's go," I said and pulled her towards the track. She took Cora's hand, and Cora took Donna's, and one by one we formed a chain and circled the track. The crowd was clapping in rhythm and chanting "A-1! A-1!" Some of the girls were crying, some were giddy with laughter.

Myra waved us back in. A couple of codgers were standing there with a spotlight on them. One was holding a microphone. He started to speak and the crowd got quiet. We skated up and stood in a line behind the two of them. Myra and Coach Joe stepped forward. One of the codgers put his hand on Myra's back and I realized he was her father.

"On behalf of the Midwest Roller Derby Association," the other codger intoned into the microphone, "I would like to congratulate the A-1 Manufacturing Comets on becoming our first champions, and to present to them this trophy."

He held up a brass cup. It was about a foot high. It looked like a bowling trophy.

There was a big cheer. I thought he was going to give Myra the trophy, but he handed it to her father, who cradled it in his arms like a newborn baby. He waved and smiled at the crowd. I guess he was proud of the important part he had played in our victory.

From where I stood, I could see the disappointment on Myra's face. I hated that old bastard as I watched him walk out, holding that lousy trophy over his head.

I coasted over to Myra I put my arms around her. Budz followed me and hugged her from behind.

"That's your fuckin' trophy, Myra," she said.

I stepped back and, one by one, each member of the team hugged her.

As we skated off toward the tunnel under the bleachers, there were quite a few fans still clapping for us. I looked up and saw my dad was one of them. I smiled and waved and he blew me a kiss. Then I saw that my mother was standing behind him. She didn't look happy to be there, but when our eyes met, she smiled, just a little bit.

CHAPTER FIVE

Never in my life did I ever think I would go to New York City. To me, it was a place in movies, no more real than Oz or Wonderland. But there we were at Michigan Central Station, waiting for the train. We were all pumped up with nervous energy.

"It feels like we're getting in over our heads," Lulu said.

Angie shrugged. "But nobody expects us to win, so what do we have to lose?"

"I can't believe we're going to be on TV," Budz said, "My mom invited the whole neighborhood to come over and watch."

I didn't know if we had any chance against the Gotham Gals. What I did know was that Betsy Brautigan was nicknamed "Queen of the Roller Derby," and I was going to take a shot at stealing her crown.

I was pretty thrilled about my first train ride. It wasn't as glamorous as in the movies, but I wasn't disappointed. I sat in the window seat next to Myra, spending most of the time watching the scenery go by, while she fussed over paperwork; schedules, reservations, and the like. Every once in a while, I "accidentally" bumped my knee against hers. She would glance at me sideways and shake her head, but smile. Budz and Lulu sat in the seats facing us, but they paid no attention. Lulu was reading an Ellery Queen mystery, and Budz slept through most of the trip.

I think Coach Joe spent the whole trip drinking in the club car.

Most of the girls thought the food on the train was too expensive. Luckily, Mama Budzynski sent her daughter off with a paper bag full of babka. When we got to Pittsburgh, there was a hotdog stand on the station platform. We all piled out and got our lunch there.

I napped in the afternoon, until Myra elbowed me awake. "We're almost into the city," she said.

I looked out the window, but all I saw were factories and rows of little houses. It didn't look much different from Detroit. I told Myra that. She shrugged and said, "Yeah, it's New Jersey."

I was looking forward to seeing all the skyscrapers, but the train went into a tunnel and when it emerged into the light, we were pulling into Grand Central Station.

Stepping off the train was like entering a new world. I'd lived my whole life in a city of two million people but it was nothing like this. There were people everywhere, moving in every direction. We weaved through the throng, following Myra out to the street like a gaggle of ducklings waddling after their mama. I was surprised that at least one of us didn't get lost on the way.