While they spent the next few hours motoring east toward St. Louis and talking about school, Helen tried to keep her mind off the upcoming races. She had no idea what to expect. When they pulled up to the St. Louis Arena, she couldn’t ignore the thoughts any longer, and her nerves started up. It felt as though a bunch of grasshoppers were let loose in her belly.
“How many people are here?” gasped John, his face pushed up against the glass.
“More than you’re capable of counting,” Helen said.
All three of them in the back seat cackled with laughter as Coach Moore guided the automobile into a parking spot. They exited the car to join the throngs of people swarming the entrance to the stadium. Inside, rows of bleachers appeared to go all the way up to the high ceiling. Voices boomed over the loudspeakers, a frenetic energy pulsed through the crowd, and a sense of vertigo overcame Helen.
“How about I take the boys off to find some refreshments?” Mrs. Moore suggested.
“Good idea. Helen and I will head over to the athletes’ area and get organized,” Coach Moore said.
“Helen, do you want anything?” Mrs. Moore asked.
Helen shook her head. The grasshoppers were back in her stomach. She had never seen so many people in one place before. The idea of eating anything made her feel ill.
John said, “If you’re feeling too chicken, I can always stick on a wig and race for you.”
“I’m fine,” Helen said, feeling far from fine.
Mrs. Moore wrapped an arm around her shoulders and held her close for a moment. “You know what I used to tell my music students before shows? Breathe in and out slowly. Try to count to five on both your inhalations and exhalations to steady your nerves. Focus on the counting to distract yourself. And here’s the other thing: Being a little nervous is good. It keeps you sharp. You’ll be great, got it?”
Helen bit her lip.
“Good luck,” D.W. called as he started snaking his way through the crowd behind John and Mrs. Moore.
Helen swallowed and stuck close to Coach Moore as he found the check-in booth for the competitors and talked with an official. A small dark-haired woman sauntered past. Her brown eyes, ringed with dark circles, bored into Helen.
Coach Moore hastened over to Helen, holding a numbered bib made of paper. “You’re going to need to wear this while you compete.”
Helen bobbed her chin toward the glaring woman who now bounced on the balls of her feet, stretching her thin, muscle-bound arms overhead. “Who’s that?”
Coach Moore’s gaze followed Helen’s. “Stella Walsh. She’s from Cleveland, races for Poland.”
“She won the gold medal in Los Angeles?”
“She did.”
“So, she’s the fastest woman in the world?”
“Yes,” he said, his face solemn. Her fingers trembled as she tried pinning her bib onto her flat chest. When she finally attached it, Coach Moore was studying her. “Helen, don’t let all of this stuff—the crowds, the size of this place—don’t let it distract you. You’ve been running well lately. Remember that.”
She faced the crowd and let the yelling and cheering from the bleachers wash over her. “You know what? I think I like it. This feels pretty good.”
He clapped her on the shoulder. “Well then, soak it in. This is just the beginning.”
35.
THE FULTON CRIER
March 26, 1935
“Monday Will Be Helen Stephens Day in Fulton”
St. Louis—On Friday, March 25, seventeen-year-old phenom Helen Stephens blew away the competition at the National AAU Championships in front of 4,000 spectators at the St. Louis Arena. The newcomer won the shot put and broad jump, but her biggest coup of the day came with winning the 50-yard dash in 6.6 seconds. Helen made her victory look easy, flying across the finish tape about four feet ahead of the Polish champion, Olympic gold medalist Stanislawa Walasiewicz, better known as Stella Walsh.
When asked about her reaction to beating Stella Walasiewicz, Helen gave reporters a sly grin and asked, “Stella who?” And with that mocking response, the Fulton Flash has thrown down the gauntlet to the fastest woman in the world. This rivalry will be the one to watch in upcoming months.
Superintendent of Fulton Public Schools Mr. Waddington announced that Monday will be Helen Stephens Day to honor the city’s luminary. “I’m proud to say that I encouraged Coach Moore to cultivate the talent of this young woman before anyone believed she had what it took to be a champion,” he explained to a group of reporters who gathered at the high school on Saturday morning. An assembly will be held at Fulton High School at 11 A.M. on Monday. Afternoon classes will be canceled so that all faculty, staff, and students can participate in a parade that will travel to Court and Fifth Streets before returning to Fulton High School.
Helen’s medals will be on display inside Fulton Savings Bank through the week.
According to AAU officials in St. Louis, it’s not too early to start picturing Helen representing the United States in the 1936 Olympics. All parties interested in supporting this promising young woman are invited to drop off monetary donations addressed to the Helen Stephens Booster Club, located at the Fulton Methodist Church.
Helen sat under the hair dryer, tapping her foot. It felt like hours had passed since Ma and Mrs. Moore had roused her out of bed that morning and rushed her to Mrs. Georgia Richardson’s beauty salon to prepare her for Helen Stephens Day on Monday. Mrs. Richardson herself had spent ages snipping at Helen’s hair and wrapping it around curlers, and Helen wanted to see the results.
As soon as she had stepped inside the salon, she felt as though she was entering a secret world, one that had been hidden from her for all of her life. So, this was how women managed to look beautiful. Professional help!
Helen looked up to find Mrs. Richardson and Mrs. Moore gliding toward her, both holding several shopping bags. Mrs. Richardson flipped off the power on the hair dryer and pulled the shiny silver dome away from Helen’s head. While she leaned close to inspect Helen’s hair, Mrs. Moore dropped the bags and pulled out a shoebox, opening it with a flourish.
Helen admired the pair of shiny black high-heeled shoes, but shook her head. “Those will never fit.”
“Oh yes, they will. They’re size twelves, just as your mother instructed.”
Helen’s face reddened. “But . . .”
“Don’t say another word. Did you know that a group of Fulton citizens gathered this morning to create the Helen Stephens Booster Club? They’ve raised money to prepare you for some public appearances. Why, you’re making a speech on Monday! We’ve got to get you ready for it! I’ve used a portion of the proceeds to purchase shoes and some other fundamentals for you.”
“Fundamentals?”
Mrs. Moore looked at Mrs. Richardson, and they nodded at each other before pulling Helen out of her seat to lead her behind the salon’s privacy screen. Mrs. Moore pulled another box from a shopping bag, scrabbled through layers of white tissue paper, and removed two garments of flesh-colored fabric with clips and strings—Helen had never seen anything like them. Mrs. Moore chuckled. “It’s a girdle and garter belt. Now Lord knows you don’t have an ounce of anything that needs to be sucked in, but still, it’s only proper. Your mother is making some lovely new dresses, but in the meantime, I picked this up for you too so you can walk out of here looking like a new woman.”