Located in the heart of bustling Euclid Ave. squeezed between the fire and police departments, an oasis for the ages must be put out to sea. Thousands of gallons of water leak away like the repair money on a gem born 1965 and the city must administer a death sentence humanely. The cost is logical but the memories stir and it feels a part of the locals also perishes. But just seeing Matt Brown’s post had me discussing all the memories stored in a file I haven’t dusted off in some time with a friend; traveling back in time.
For someone who started off in the baby pool with the whale spouting, learning to fool mom to think I could swim as I touched the bottom and graduated by fire in water, in the regulation of ‘the’ Willoughby Pool. My first thought when I saw the breaking news was the passes. Gold or silver tin oval shaped and stamped official for the year; providing two punched holes for mom to sew it on to be seen by the kid checking you in. Members only.
For a young boy ‘the pool’ presented challenges, thrills, and failure in a social setting with kids and adults. I recall getting my front tooth knocked out by Jay Byrum at Adam’s birthday, nighttime bright lights with probably New Kids playing over the speakers; Jankowski’s tossing Jankowski’s and boom, elbowed to teeth by a grown man. Great party, I remember Adam was really in TMNT for a gift and my mom obliged.
The pool already possessed a high and low dive, lap lanes, and the basketball hoop but the water slide addition gave it even more clout. Racing back up the stairs for another slide before the whistles rang out for the 10-minute break; adults only had juice. And having the courage to dive off the high dive instead of going for the cannonball lifeguard splash was terrifying at first. It’s wet at height with concrete below and another peer ready for a jump as all eyes are on the diver. In my head I was saying, “just stay at an angle in hit.” You jump with faith because you’ve seen it before but the water with velocity spanks harder than expected. Your trunks can’t hang but you reaffirm them before getting to the ladder, close one.
The bus we took to school ran to the pool and back during the summer. Mom stocked the Sunny D and heads to work knowing her kids have pool plans thanks to the city. What a service! Something today that would have parents tripping I suppose. Often our baseball coaches would kindly remind us not to get crazy at ‘the pool’ we got game Tuesday night. Too many Irish in the Cleveland area.
Being raised on the North Coast before climate change had not just the youth but the adults clambering for the warmth of the sun rays dancing off crystal clear Great Lakes supplied Agua to refresh the soul of a Brown’s fan, preferably with nachos in-hand. Snow cones and frozen chocolate bars pushed in the sugar to an already amped youth. ‘The Pool’ represented a freedom of summer, no school, rules, assignments, with minimal pressure and friends. Seriously, who didn’t like the pool? It had Dale always joyous!
The sinking of our battleship is a stark reminder to rekindle the past even though you can’t touch it. Memories when emotionally tied at heights of the high dive can’t be washed away in the face of progress. It feels not like ‘the pool’ is leaving me but I’m living in it. I hadn’t thought about it over the last couple decades but now it has life. And that’s a good feeling, worth remembering, recalling, and writing about. I salute you Willoughby Pool. Splash.
