Finding Tim
A Fourth Alternate Reality

 by: Charlie

© 2005-2008

 

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Episode 13
Circus

The first thing that I did after I got Tim’s letter was to think about some kind of a workout plan to develop the arm strength I needed to hold a bow steady.  It was clear that pumping dumbbells in my apartment would have to be the core of my work, but I thought that swimming would also be helpful.  I hadn’t swum seriously since camp, but I thought it was time to join the Y.  I did, and laps in their pool following daily archery practice, with the weights at home later, started to fill my day like Tim filled his.

 

Wait!  I had to think a little about that.  I worked eight hours, spent about 3 on the archery range, worked with weights about a half hour and in the pool about an hour.  A total of 12 ½ hours.  Tim spent 2 hours in the morning at either diving or gymnastics, 6½  hours in school, 3 hours in diving or gymnastics after school, and 3 hours doing homework.  That totaled 14 ½ hours, not to mention that he had to spend almost a hour round trip to St. Paul for gymnastics.  On top of that he ate and slept.  My load all of a sudden seemed trivial.  Thinking of Tim got me through my day, and soon I was in a daily rhythm that didn’t seem quite so backbreaking.

 

It did, however, impress the rest of the archery club.  They realized that I was really serious and began to give me great support, and a lot of technical help.  They also were open to laying out the necessary ranges for the F.I.T.A. course and getting the correct targets.  Now I really could compare scores to expected Olympic standards, but this was a rather disappointing comparison.  I was indeed shooting between 850 and 900, but that is what I had estimated about a month before.  My earlier comparisons had been in error.  Could I ever shoot a 1200?  Much less a 1275, which is what a gold medal would require?  And the Olympics would require two F.I.T.A. rounds, each at that level!  I plugged on.  Pumping, swimming, and shooting.   I got to the archery range once each weekend, but the rest of the weekends had to be devoted to my book.  The research was coming along well, in fact was mostly done.  But there was writing to do, and I wasn’t the most experienced writer in Iowa.

 

In the midst of all of this Tim’s May letter arrived.  He had written part of it each day in London, and mailed it May first on his return to Minneapolis.  They had had a wonderful trip.  They saw everything, enjoyed everything, did everything.  They were typical tourists, except that with Tim leading they had crammed six weeks worth of touring into two.  They were up at six every morning, the first into the dining room at their bed and breakfast.  Then off to this or that, a fast lunch wherever they were, more of that and this.  Always a pause for a nice dinner somewhere–that was the one slow down imposed by Betsy.  Then to a concert, theatre, ballet, whatever, in the evening.  And then they would walk back to the bed and breakfast, often strolling–well, Tim didn’t stroll, but sometimes they made him.

 

A note inserted in the envelope from Norman said, “Never go touring with my son.  The word relax hasn’t occurred to him.  On the go non-stop.  I think that even he was ready to get home to his slower pace!  But we all knew what we were in for when we went.  Betsy, Carl, and I had talked it over and decided that we wouldn’t try to slow Tim, but that if it got too ridiculous we would just bail out and let him go it alone at his own pace.  But we kept up.  I’m not sure how, but we did.  An amazing trip.  And Tim read everything there was to read about everything he saw, so he’s almost an expert on London now.  I hope you are ready for life in the fast lane, Charlie.  Love, Norman.”

 

What else to expect from Tim?  What else, indeed?  But I hadn’t realized that his drive would carry over to touring and sightseeing.  Carl was right, I was about to get on a roller coaster that didn’t slow down after the first big hill.  It was good to be on my “relaxed” archery practice schedule.

 

My letter back to Tim, number 32, told mainly about my adventures in archery.  I’ll have to admit to a certain lack of optimism.  After all, one can’t just will himself to be an Olympic athlete, you had to have a certain amount of innate talent and skill, and I was beginning to wonder whether I actually had them.  Without them, all the practice in the world wouldn’t help.

 

I got a letter from Carl shortly after that.  He wrote that he knew that Tim had sent the letter he had written in London immediately upon getting home, but that I might like to know a little of what was going on since, before Tim’s June letter.  Besides, Tim wouldn’t ever capture the flavor of the month. 

 

Tim had returned to a press that wanted to know where he had been and why he wasn’t at the Olympic trials.  They pointed out, endlessly, that the U.S. would be represented by divers that had consistently done poorer than Tim in competition.  Tim was stuck with repeating that he hoped to represent the U.S. in Mexico City, but Tokyo simply wasn’t in his schedule.  Then he got to the County Meet that would lead up to the big regional meet in Chicago.  He had pulled out all of the stops in his selection of dives, scored fabulous scores on each, and set point totals that were off the map.  Carl wasn’t sure why he had done this just when he was being pushed about the Olympics, but he guessed that Tim was simply making a statement that he was his own man.

 

Gymnastics was going just as well.  His little St. Paul club had dominated the last three meets in the Twin Cities, and they were off to a regional meet in Kansas City.  Not only was Tim the leader of the club, but he was pulling everybody along with him.  Carl said that Coach John sounded just like me, “I just get out of the way and let him go.”  Carl continued, “He hangs on those rings in a “T” position so long it makes my arms hurt.  But the most impressive thing about Tim is that he sticks every landing.  I’ve never seen him miss!”

 

He was having the same effect on his diving team; they were performing vastly beyond their expected level, under the influence, and support, and coaching, and love, of Tim.  Coach Norman was almost floating on air at their meets: he had calculated that at least one meet they would have won without Tim on the team!

 

Carl was right, the arrival of Tim’s June letter covered the same material in a few sentences.  He did admit that he was off to Chicago for diving regionals and to Kansas City with his gymnastics team.  But he failed to point out just how far above the crowd he had risen.  I think that he had a sort of mental dualism about his successes.  On the one hand he carefully planned them out, executing strategies laid out months or years in advance, with a clear understanding of his goals, and just how exceptional they were.  He understood the impact he had at his level of success.  On the other hand, he really did consider himself to just be a normal kid going to school: What’s all the fuss about?  I would witness this same dualism throughout our lives together.

 

Then he said, almost in passing, “I don’t want any of that crap about you not having the talent to make it with your bow.  You can be as good as you set your mind to be.  Anything else is Bullshit.  And don’t you forget it.” 

 

  Then he shared his plans for the summer.  “Charlie, this will be my last summer without you.  I have the diving Nationals, but nothing else.  I have been trying to think what I would like to do alone, as this may be my last chance to really fly solo.  I thought along the lines of this new Outward Bound program that takes people out into the wilderness to teach self-reliance.  But their programs are short, and the solo aspect of it is not as great as the group building part.  I thought about doing my own solo in the Minnesota wilderness, but I am not sure what that accomplishes.  I thought of hiking the Appalachian Trail, but I don’t have the time.  And I couldn’t practice for Nationals.  So...  Hold onto your hat; Mom and Dad lost theirs.

 

“I am going to run away and join the circus.  Really.  Well, I’m not going to run away, and I will only be there for the summer.  But I am going to join Sutvan’s Circus, which moves around the upper Midwest from June through early September, hitting tourist sites.  They will take me on my terms, arriving a little late because of school, leaving during Nationals, and quitting at Labor Day.  They run a little after Labor Day.  Yeah, I know it’s crazy.   Yeah, Mom and Dad think so, too.  Tina thinks it’s a great idea, and would like to join me, but has other obligations.   Sutvan’s has designed a diving platform that they can put up and take down easily, and a small diving pool is easy.  I’ll also perform on the trampoline and some gymnastics equipment.  I’ll clear about $1,000 for the summer, which’s pretty good money for a high school student.  And, yes, I have checked, performing for the circus will not compromise amateur status–it’s considered entertainment not competitive sport.  The thing I like most about Sutvan’s is that it’s tiny.  They perform in a fairly small one-ring tent.  There’s plenty of interaction with the audience, and they’re close up.  I think I will have a ball.

 

“Oh, yes.  I have to have a stage name, and I told them I would just be Tim.  So I will be billed as ‘Tim the Boy Wonder’.  How do you like that?  Original, isn’t it?”

 

My only thought, beyond astonishment, was “He’ll steal the show.”  I couldn’t imagine what they would do in the time periods when he wasn’t available.  It turned out that they simply shut down the four days he was at Nationals, and closed the season on Labor Day.  They also had their best season ever–but I am ahead of myself again.

 

There wasn’t much else in the letter, and after that blockbuster I am not sure what else there might have been.  It set me to thinking about Tim, and how this fit into what I knew and loved about him.  What was he thinking?  I would have liked to have crawled into his head and tried to figure it out.  It was hard from a distance.  I knew immediately that I needed to call Betsy or Norman and see what their take was.  But before I talked to them, I thought I should come to terms with it myself.

 

I should have known that I was over-reacting.  Tim made rational decisions, and I was responding as if this was an irrational one.  Was it?  My first thought was that it was totally irrational.   Second thoughts, however, shed more light.  Tim liked to perform; witness his fun on the balance beam–for which there was no competitive purpose for a boy.  He enjoyed the trampoline at camp, certainly not just to practice his diving form; he liked the attention it brought to him.  Who wouldn’t respond positively to that?  He was superb at both diving and gymnastics, but they were both very rigid in the form and content of the performance.  At a circus there would be no such rigidity.  He could do what he liked, as long as the audience agreed.  He was so much fun to watch–and everybody that I had ever known who had watched him do anything agreed–that it was hard to see how he wouldn’t be a success in the circus.  I knew a little about the small circuses that moved through the northern tourist country each summer.  It seemed that they were pretty wholesome people; they worked hard–no prima donnas there, every hand was needed to put up the tent, get it ready, take it down, pack up everything and move to the next town.  It would be hard work, long hours, with only a rewarding hour or so from each performance.  Just what Tim thrived on.  He would be independent as he had never been before.  His parents were wonderful; they weren’t controlling.  But they were there.  With the circus he would be his own man, well, boy. 

 

Those were my thoughts as I called Tim’s home, hoping that someone other than Tim would answer.  From what I knew of his schedule, he wouldn’t be back from gymnastics when I called.  I was right.  Carl answered.  As soon as he heard my voice he said, “Circus?  Right?”

 

Of course he was.  “Are your parents there?”

“Sure.  Here’s Dad.”

 

Norman came on the line, “Hello, Charlie.  Carl was pretty certain that Tim’s letter would inspire a call.”

 

“Tell him that there’ll be more than one mindreader in the house next year.  Now, just how crazy is that boy of ours?”

 

“Crazy?  I don’t think so.  His own man?  Absolutely.  He got this idea all by himself.  He saw the Sutvan Circus a few years ago, and liked the people.  They let him bounce on their trampoline between their afternoon and evening performances and were impressed.  They would have let him perform that evening, but their insurance wouldn’t allow it.  Tim called them right after he got back from London, reminded them who he was–they  remembered–and asked whether there might be a place for him this summer.  They said that a one-act person didn’t fit their needs, everybody does more than one thing.  Tim mentioned diving and gymnastics.  That’s when they connected the voice on the phone with the Tim of the sports pages.  He had an instant job offer.”

 

“Why does...”

 

“Good question, Charlie.  Tim has given us three answers: First, he has always dreamed of performing in the circus, though he assures us that one summer will be more than enough.  Second, he thinks he needs to be independent for a while.  He sees that as particularly important if he’s going to leave his parents and immediately move in with a lover, especially one that’s six years older than he is.  Finally, it’s a good mix of his being able to keep in practice, stay in shape, earn some money, and enjoy himself.  He talked to them about their work schedules.  They were afraid that their answers would discourage him, but he reacted like they were demanding a cakewalk.”

 

“Are you happy with this?”

 

“We have some reservations.  We’re trying to check up on Sutvan’s, and what we have found so far’s OK.  They just barely make it financially, but they have a good safety record, towns invite them back, and the Better Business Bureau has nothing bad on them.  We’re still checking, with Tim’s encouragement to check all we can.  But, bottom line, as you know, Tim makes his own decisions.  We know we could veto this, but we don’t work that way.  If  we had reasonable safety concerns or something like that, we’d say ‘No,’ and he’d accept it.  But there’s nothing like that.  And the more we think about it, the less nutty it sounds.  Of course, he doesn’t help any when his answer to ‘What’re you going to do this summer?’ is ‘Run away and join the circus.’  But that’s Tim.”

 

“Norman, I think that I had better get used to this kind of thing.  Carl warned me that life with Tim was going to be a roller coaster that only went downhill.  I don’t want to get off.  Tell Tim, ‘Hello, I love you, and enjoy the circus.’”

 

“I will, Charlie.  He’ll be glad you called, and glad for your support.  Though he told us last night that he was one hundred per cent certain that you would support him.  He knows you well.”

 

“Perhaps too well.  I’m a sucker for that kid.”

 

“So are we all, Charlie.  Bye.”

 

“Bye, Norman.”

 

I had settled into a routine, albeit one that I would never have dreamed of BT (before Tim).  My archery scores were actually improving, and I had one round of 954 to my credit.  I skipped swimming and pumping that evening and treated myself to a good dinner and a phone call to Franklin to brag.  I would have loved to call Tim, but....  Franklin assured me that he would let Tim know; I knew he would, that was one reason I called him.

 

Not long afterwards I got a call from Hal.  He was so excited about the archery.  “Charlie, I had no idea you were doing that.  When Tim got the call from Franklin he called the rest of the Gang.  We’re all so excited.  Just  think, Tim, Charlie and Hal all walking together in Mexico City.  The only problem is, when you hit life’s pinnacle at age 21, where do you go from there?  I figure that if I stay close to you and Tim, I just might find out.”

 

“Hal, you’ll do just fine on your own.  But don’t count too heavily on Mexico City.  It would be truly remarkable if all three of us made it; it isn’t likely.”

 

“Just exactly what have you found about the Gang that might be considered likely?”

 

“You have a point.”

 

“See you in Mexico, if not before.”

 

“Before, for certain.  How’s Sue?”

 

“Great, Charlie.  And things are progressing.  As long as I’m slow and gentle and kind, she’s very eager.  We’re going to make it.  Her counselor has told her that she gets more therapy from me than her, and counseling’s now on an ‘as needed’ basis and not needed yet.”

 

“How’s the running?”

 

“Fine.  I’m not pushing to lower my times right now, just developing consistency and endurance.  I run the marathon, stop for a few minutes, and then run as fast a mile as I can–pretty slow, of course.  But it’s a test of the fact that the marathon isn’t killing me.  I don’t want to be one of those runners that either can’t finish, or finishes and collapses.  I want to be able to stand up and talk after I finish.”

 

“God love you, Hal.  There isn’t another one like you.  Look, thanks for  calling.  Will I see you this summer?  What’s on for the summer?”

 

“Ronnie and I will be the only members of the Gang back at camp this summer.  We’ve been talking to Stanley; he’s eager to have us.  He’s trading us room and board for two weeks for our helping around the place.  I think he imagines me leading some running.  Most of all, I think that he thinks I’m going to be in the Olympics some day and he wants some publicity.  For me it’s a good trade.”

 

“What about Ronnie?”

 

“I’m not sure whether he figures he has to take Ronnie to get me.  I hope that isn’t the case, for Ronnie’s sake.  But that has occurred to Ronnie–stupid he’s not–and he says, ‘So, I get the two weeks at camp.  Who gives a flying fuck what Stanley’s motivation is.’  Direct quote.”

 

“I’m going to call Stanley and see what’s up.”

 

“Do that Charlie, and if you can make Ronnie feel better about the two weeks, wonderful.  Otherwise, forget you made the call.”

 

“Deal.  See you Hal.”

 

I did call Stanley.  “Charlie, I was utterly delighted to hear from Hal and Ronnie.  They’re both welcome here anytime.  So is all the Gang.  So are you.  We always have an extra bunk somewhere, and the mess hall doesn’t notice an extra meal or so served.  Yeah, Hal’s partly right.  I’d love to have the White Elk name attached to the Olympics.  I think Tim’s going to do that for us.  By the way, why in Hell isn’t he going this year?”

 

“Stanley, don’t ask.  And especially don’t ask Tim.  He’s so tired of that question you could get your tongue bitten off–right through the phone line.  His standard answer is, ‘I’m hoping to qualify for the 1968 Olympics.’  He has given no further answer than that, and he won’t.  Not to anyone.”

 

“But you.  You two guys have something special.  I got my suspicions,  but they can wait.”

 

“Stanley, please don’t go there.”

 

“Don’t worry, Charlie, I won’t.  Back to Hal and Ronnie and the rest of you guys.  You’re always welcome here.  If for no other reason than it reminds me of Camp White Elk at its very best.  You guys were amazing.  I know you can’t go back again, but having Hal and Ronnie here is as close as we’re going to get this summer.  As for Ronnie, I think that he’ll be a real asset.  We always have some kid who doesn’t fit in–not a trouble maker, there isn’t much you can do with those in three or four weeks.  But we get nerds, geeks, kids that can’t catch a basketball tossed from the next bed.  They don’t relate to our staff.  But they relate to Ronnie.  I’ve seen it in previous summers with Ronnie.  I don’t have anyone in mind, but just wait, Ronnie’s going to turn some poor kid’s Hellish summer into a delight.  It’s worth ten times what it’ll cost me to have Ronnie here.  I ought to pay him, and Hal.  But, you gotta draw the line.  They just asked if they could come, they were delighted with free room and board.  Don’t you go and tell them to demand a salary next year!”

 

“Your secret’s safe, Stanley.  But now I know how to blackmail you.  Take care of Ronnie and Hal, they’re wonderful boys.”

 

I called Ronnie immediately and repeated  almost everything that Stanley had said.  Ronnie never felt better about himself.

 

My June letter to Tim was fairly brief.  I knew that Hal and others had been keeping him posted on the affairs of the Gang.  I gave him a blow by blow on my archery and my workout schedule.  I moaned that I would like to do all sort of interesting things to him, in interesting ways, and interesting times, in interesting places.  I hoped that he had similar ideas.  That and lots of love, ended the June letter, number 33 of 40.

 

Tim’s July letter arrived. 

 

Charlie, I am in the circus!  What fun.  It’s a joy everyday.  Hard work, which is good for me.  Time to practice.  Crowds which are enthusiastic.   The crowds aren’t huge, but they say they are making enough money to pay us!  Charlie, I can’t help but say this, they love my shows!  And I am eating it up.  Sutvan’s is pushing me as the lead performer, and making sure that newspaper articles feature me. [He enclosed a bunch of clippings.  His description of his success was quite modest compared to the clippings.]  My choice to run away this summer was absolutely the right one.  I wish you were here.

 

Well, maybe not.  You need to practice your archery!  You have a lot of ground to cover by 1968!   Your equipment is critical.  You have to get yourself the best bow made.  I’ve checked and they cost about $800.  What wouldn’t the Indians think of that figure?  Enclosed is a money order for $800.  Buy a bow, name it Timmy, increase your practice to four hours a day, and don’t look back.  And no crap about the $800.  What’s yours is mine and what’s mine is yours, and anything else is Bullshit.  Happy Birthday.  Merry Christmas. Season’s Greetings.  Whatever.  Oh, yeah.  Just so you don’t think I stole the money, it’s a loan from Dad to be repaid from my circus earnings.

 

Charlie, I mean it.  If I get a letter from you telling me you can’t accept that bow I will break all of your rules, drive to Des Moines, and stuff the money into some bodily orifice–I have several in mind.  And I am not kidding.  Not in the least.  Ask Dad if you think I am.

 

Love, Tim.

 

How does one respond to that?  I had to send the money back, but I couldn’t; it would kill Tim.  How could I accept it?  I started to call Norman, but then a little voice whispered in my ear, “Buy the damn shoes.”

 

Of course.  I needed to take my own advice.  Sometimes common sense bypasses all of us.  I started my research for a Cadillac bow.  Advice was easy to find, good advice much harder.  I learned that there was a store in Omaha that had a national reputation for archery supplies.  I made the trip, fell in love with Timmy, brought him back, and within three weeks had hit my first 1000–1013 to be exact.  Never underestimate the importance of the right equipment!

 

At the time of my July letter–number 34 of 40–to Tim I had Timmy, but had only hit 987, still a personal best and a portent of things to come.  I knew Tim would be delighted.  I had friends on the range take pictures of me and Timmy, and I enclosed them with my letter.  Of course, I had no idea how soon my letter would get to Tim, as he was in perpetual motion with Sutvan’s.  As I understood it, they were heading to the Black Hills to be there around the Fourth of July.  Then Minnesota, Wisconsin, Illinois, and Iowa for Labor Day.  Nothing on earth was going to keep me from seeing one of Tim’s shows.  I knew he would think that and be on the lookout for me as they came south out of Wisconsin.  So I made plans to catch them in Brainerd, Minnesota, in late July, and scheduled a vacation around those dates.

 

Brainerd.  150 miles north of Minneapolis, right in the middle of vacation country.  Not much of a town, but big enough to attract the circus for two nights instead of the usual one.  I spent the night in St. Paul with Hal and drove up the second show day for Sutvan’s.  Hal wanted to come with me, but I wouldn’t let him.  I told him that he must see Tim in the circus, but to do it without me so that he could visit with Tim and not have to hide.  There was no way he could come up with me, meet Tim, and not give away the fact that I was there.

 

I drove out to the edge of town to look at the tent.  If you have seen Ringling Brothers you wouldn’t think this was much of a tent.  But if you think camping tents, or party tents, this thing was huge.  It held a circus ring, and about 8 rows of bleacher seats around the ring.  There wasn’t a bad seat in the house, and the front row was almost in the ring!  I wondered where I was going to sit and not be seen by Tim.  I knew that if I hung around it wouldn’t be long before Tim would run into me, so I went back to town, found a motel,  and relaxed.  Later in the afternoon I drove around the town, viewing the huge Paul Bunyon figure at the edge of town.  He was talking to a couple of kids, who were really startled to have a huge sitting figure–about the size of a small barn–talk to them by name (supplied by their mothers). 

 

I figured that I could eat something at the circus, so I drove over.  The performers were getting dressed, so I could walk around easily.  I bought a ticket, and found a seat in the back row, blocked somewhat by a pole.  I had a cap to pull down (I never wore caps, so Tim had never seen me in one) and clothes he wouldn’t recognize.  The trampoline was set up at the edge of the ring, and soon Tim was bouncing and talking to a group of kids gathered beside it.  One of the great things about little circuses is that the audience, especially the kids, can meet and talk to the performers.  If ever there was a performer that loved to talk with his audience, it was Tim.  He genuinely enjoyed people.  He would bounce and talk at the same time; then he would pay closer attention to the trampoline and do some spectacular flips or something; then back to simple bouncing and talking.  He must have had 30 to 40 people around him.

 

Shortly a whistle blew and everyone took their seats; Tim disappeared.  The show started with the parade–like every circus everywhere, it was led by an elephant.  Tim’s main acts–diving, gymnastics, and trampoline–don’t lend themselves to parades very well, but he tumbled and somersaulted, walked on his hands, and then walked over and shook hands with kids in the audience, bouncing back to catch up.  I was surprised to find that they had a lion and a tiger and a pretty good animal trainer who worked with them.  Later the elephant performed.  Then came Tim on the trampoline.  I had never seen him really perform at his limits–he was pretty casual at camp, which was the only place I had seem him on a trampoline.  God, he was really good.  Then another performer got on with him to give him height, as he had had me do at camp.  Much to everyone’s surprise, especially mine, he finally got high enough to grab a trapeze carefully placed above the trampoline.  Once he had it securely, and the ground crew raised a safety net, the trapeze was released and he was swinging high over the ring.  I had no idea he was going to swing from a trapeze.  He clearly wasn’t an expert, but he put on a pretty good show, then dropped down and bounced in the net. 

 

After the clowns, he was back–diving.  He had a microphone, and he talked about what he was doing.  It was a much better show than a diving competition, which lacked such explanation.  His jokes were pretty funny as well.  The show ended with a cannonball that splashed into the second row.  He told me later that on a cold night they had to skip that part.

 

Then came bicyclists.  And Tim was one of them!  Please, does he do everything?  Well, yes, in a small circus you do do everything.  There were ten bicycles and ten cyclists.  They were divided into two groups of four and two singles between them as they went around in a circle.  The two singles weren’t doing stunts–just staying in line.  Tim was one of the singles.  At the end, however, he had to get into the act.  They went madly around the circle, and one by one a bicycle was sent rolling out of the ring to be caught at the edge by a clown.  The rider having climbed on another’s back.  Eventually they were down to three bikes: one with eight riders and Tim and the other single rider following.  On the next to last turn around the ring the rear rider climbed on Tim’s back and let go of his cycle.  Half way around the ring he climbed over the front wheel and the bike ahead now had nine.  Last time around Tim climbed on the handlebars, onto the bike ahead and his bike left the ring.  As he climbed to the top of the heap of  ten on one bike, it circled the ring and left.  I have no idea how they stopped and got down–that was done backstage!  Quite a show.

 

Frankly, Tim’s gymnastics weren’t as good a show as the bicycles, but they played well.  At the end of the performance Tim–and the others, they were all good–got rousing applause.  His grin told all; he was loving every minute of it.  I suspected that he would also enjoy the hard work of taking down the tent, which had to be done that night so that they could move first thing in the morning.  Set up would start in the next town by 9:30 or 10:00 a.m. at the latest! 

 

I slipped out and headed for my motel.  With Tim’s image in my mind, I enjoyed the only kind of sexual release available, and slowly went to sleep, reliving his performances.  Funny; in my mind’s reliving of the show, he never had clothes on.

 

I knew Tim would expect me to try to sneak into one of his performances, and I suspected that he would really be on the lookout for me as Sutvan’s moved south.  I decided that I would tell him I had been there, if only so that he didn’t spend too much time looking for me in a back row.  So the next morning, before I left the motel, I wrote to him and told him how wonderful his performance had been.  I filled him in on my archery practice and scores, updated him on my book, which was now almost finished, and set the letter aside to send when I got his August letter.

 

It came very early in August, mailed from an unknown town in central Wisconsin:

 

Brainerd.  I saw you in the back row–you can see everything from the trapeze.  You look terrible in a cap.  I was tempted beyond belief to run over right after the final act, but I decided that you really wouldn’t have been happy if I had.  Charlie, I think you are being silly, but I agreed to play by your rules.  So I did.  But you looked good.  It was good to see you.  I guess now is a good time to confess that I was at your graduation, with all the family and Hal, Ronnie and Franklin. 

 

Gee, Charlie, only five months to go!  I am going to be busy this year.  It won’t keep my mind off of you, but it will keep me from feeling sorry for myself.  I hope you are good and lonely.  See you in January.

 

Love, Tim.

 

I was stuck, my letter saying that I had seen him in Brainerd was a little foolish, but I sent it anyway, with an explanation that it had, for the most part, been written in the Brainerd motel.  I told him that I had secretly hoped that he had been in the audience at graduation, and heard my public, but anonymous, thank you to him.  And that finished letter 35, of 40.

 

Hal came down to Des Moines to visit for a couple of days.  I had warned him that I had to work, and that he would be on his own during the day.  He just laughed and said that unless I wanted to run with him, we wouldn’t be together during the day anyway.  He ran a double marathon the first day: Three hours, rest an hour, four hours for the second run.  Just listening to him tired me out.   We ate dinner at a nice restaurant, and then he insisted that we swim together at the Y.  I was out of the pool ahead of Hal, sat and watched his strong strokes.  The Y athletic director walked up, and I mentioned that Hal had run two marathons earlier in the day.  At first, he simply didn’t believe me; but then he recognized Hal from a running magazine picture he had seen.  He was eager to be introduced when Hal at last came out of the water.  They talked running a while, and soon the three of us were closing the pool together and going for coffee; well, I drank Coke.  I marveled at how comfortable Hal was talking to this stranger.  Hal’s father had always said that the biggest change in Hal was the loss of his shyness.  There didn’t seem to be a bit left.

 

The next day I was going to skip my archery after work, but Hal wouldn’t let me.  He came to the range with me and cheered me on.  He did let me quit after two and a half hours.  We swam again, and relaxed over a pleasant dinner which I cooked.

 

The first night had been a repeat of the night at Franklin’s.  But the second night Hal had looked at me as he undressed and said, “Can I forget the shorts tonight?” 

 

“Of course, but you know there isn’t going to be any sex.”

 

“I know the rules.  Tim gets you first.  You do know that the rest of us are all standing in line, don’t you?”

 

“No, I really don’t know that.  I know Franklin’s eager, but he’s the only other gay in the Gang.”

 

“Oh, Hell, Charlie.  We’re all a little gay.  That’s what has made it so much fun over the years.  It took us all–except Tim and Franklin, of course–a while to figure it out.  We probably never would have if it hadn’t been for you and Tim and Franklin.  But we’ve all been talking on the phone, and I just realized that I was the only one stupid enough to leave my shorts on when I slept with you.  Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

“Hal, I never push sex with you boys in any way.  If you don’t want to wear shorts tonight, that’s OK with me.  But it has to come from you, not me.”

 

“To bed, Charlie.  And lose those shorts.”

 

I did.  The night matched our previous nights.  Lots of hugging, a little talking, nothing else.  But there is no question in my mind that two naked bodies together communicate much better than with clothes.  The hugs are simply worth more when you are nude.  If you let yourself go.  And the Gang had all mastered that.

 

We were up early the next morning, and Hal told me about his experiences at Camp White Elk with Ronnie two weeks before.

 

Ronnie and Hal got up early in the morning and ran together.  Sometimes some of the campers would get up and run with them.  Ronnie would stay with Hal for about two miles, sometimes three.  Hal had to run very slowly (for Hal) to let Ronnie keep up, but he was quite willing.  They enjoyed each other’s company.  Ronnie would fade between two and three miles and would walk back.  The campers along usually came back with Ronnie.  If they didn’t come back with Ronnie they were stuck with Hal–they weren’t allowed to be running the woods trails alone–and that meant eight to ten miles at a pretty good clip.  Actually, Hal usually got back to camp not long after Ronnie, as he immediately speeded up when he left Ronnie, and Ronnie liked to amble back, lost in his own thoughts. 

 

All this was before breakfast.  Mornings, Hal ran.  If there was a group of kids interested he’d take them out at their pace.  If not, he would simply run on his own.  The trails were his.  He had been running them for four years and knew every twist and turn.  He loved them all.  He did say that he missed running into Jim and Andy, and it was then that he told me of their adventures of the previous year.  I confessed that Tim had already told me the story, having been told by Jim and Andy.

 

“No secrets with this Gang, are there?”  asked Hal.

 

“Isn’t it better that everything’s out in the open and not hidden?”

 

“Yes, it is.  I guess that confirms that I’m gay, Charlie.”

 

“Perhaps.  Does it bother you?”

 

“I love Sue.”

 

“Sounds to me like you’re a lot straight and a little gay.  Does that bother you?”

 

“Charlie, it doesn’t bother me that you and Tim’re gay.  Or Franklin.  Or Jim and Andy–are they really gay?  So I guess it doesn’t bother me to be a little gay.  In fact, I guess I kind of like the idea.  I think that one of the reasons that the Gang likes to be gay is that they hope it can lead to sex with you.”

 

“You have to stand in line behind Tim.  And he may decide that there isn’t going to be a line.”

 

“I know, and I would never do anything behind his back.  Were we going too far sleeping nude last night?”

 

“No, Tim and I have done that.  And I’ve done it with a number of the Gang.  I like it.  So do they.  It is pushing the line, but not to the breaking point.  And Tim is told all.  He pushes his own line, you know.”

 

“You mean Tina?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“What about Jim and Andy?”

 

“I don’t know.  I guess they’re bisexual.  Who knows how they’ll turn out.”

 

“What about Ronnie?”

 

“Have you asked him?”

 

“No.  Maybe I should have this summer.  But when I have Sue, I’m uncomfortable raising the sex issue with someone that doesn’t have someone.”

 

“I understand.  I think Ronnie would appreciate that.”

 

Hal went on to tell about how Ronnie read under a tree every morning.  Sometimes kids would come up to talk, and he always gave them all the time they wanted.  But he never moved from his tree.  When they left, he simply picked up his book again.

 

Hal and Ronnie swam together in the afternoon, except about two afternoons a week during which Hal would run a marathon.  Woods trails aren’t quite as fast as city paths and streets, and he only broke three hours once.  The kids at camp would start him off, watch as he came back through the center area of camp at about mile 18, and then be at the finish line with stop watches.  The thing that impressed everyone the most is that following such a run he would head to the lake–running–dive in in his running shorts and swim for a half hour.

 

Hal chuckled telling this.  “Charlie, I’ll have to confess, it was pure show off.  But I couldn’t resist.  I deliberately didn’t push my time to ensure that I would be able to swim.”

 

I laughed at that confession.  This was an even newer Hal, and I loved him, both for his ego and his honesty.

 

Evenings they both joined in whatever was going on in camp.  Hal said that Stanley seemed very pleased to have them both there, and thanked them several times for coming.  “Charlie, I think he really means it that any of the Gang are welcome anytime at Camp White Elk.  Ronnie and I mean to get there every summer for the rest of our lives–as long as we’re welcome.”

                                                                                         

“I know you’ll be welcome as long as Stanley’s running the place.  And I believe that you’ll become such a welcome fixture that Stanley’s successor will continue the invitation.”

 

September arrived, and the new school year started.  Two of the Gang were in college: Ronnie at the University in Madison and Franklin at Kansas State.  Carl and Carol were both at the U in St. Paul, living–separately–in the dorms.  They had decided that marriage right out of high school wasn’t that good an idea, but they were thinking seriously of getting married next summer.  I was secretly glad, because a wedding would have been a problem for Tim and me before we were a couple.  I think I would have had to break my own rules–there is room for common sense in this world, but I was glad that I didn’t have to.

 

The others were all seniors in high school, making college plans.  Jim and Andy had made up their minds already–the were both going to the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor–they were both going to be education majors and become phys ed teachers.  (Note to high school seniors of today:  In the 1960's state universities were not highly competitive for in-state students.  It wasn’t unreasonable for Jim and Andy, both good students but not top of the class, to be confident that they would get into the University of Michigan.)  I was pleased that they seemed happy  going in that direction, and I thought that they would be superb phys ed teachers.  I had no idea what Tom’s college plans were, or if he had even dealt with that issue as yet.  Nor did I know what field interested him.  I knew that he had taken a general college prep course in high school, but I wasn’t aware of any special interests.  Hal would have majored in running if he could.  He had decided that if his long distance running was going to reach world class levels–and he had serious intentions of entering the Olympics–he needed to get to a school that offered two things: a high quality track program and a warmer climate where he could run year round.  The University of Oklahoma was looming large on his radar screen.

 

My book was published, and successful–for a local history book.  I was heading into my last months at the Red Cross, and not much new and exciting was on the fall horizon.  I continued to work hard on my archery, and had even achieved a score over 1050–1062 to be exact.  I was consistently above 1000.  I was getting a lot of support from the others in the club, and was almost the best shot there.  The only two guys who could beat me were a couple of old-timers.  They were very good, but they were beginning to slip as they lost strength.  It wouldn’t be long before I passed them–and they were encouraging me every step of the way.  I had confessed my ambition of going to the Olympics, and the idea that a member of the Olympic team might come out of their club really tickled them.  I promised to keep up my membership, even after I had moved north, and that gesture was incredibly well received.  They really made me feel like I was in a very supportive community every time I showed up for practice, and that was every day.

 

Tim was National Champion in platform diving and second place off the springboard.  He was disappointed about the springboard second, but he said simply, “The other guy was a little better.  I need more practice.”  This was the second year running as platform champion.  He could have gone on to world competition, but decided against it.  World level competition would mean incredible conflicts with school and almost no possibility of keeping up with his gymnastics.  At least when asked about international competition he had a better answer than he had had regarding Tokyo.  He made the Twin Cities the center of his world and his competition.  But he changed his competition pattern.  In some of his meets he would complete in only one competition: springboard or platform.  He and Coach Nelson had simply decided that it would be nice if he didn’t take every first place medal all year–he didn’t need them, and others deserved a chance.  I could have kissed him, but kissing his letter was the best I could do. 

 

He was doing very well in gymnastics, but with six different competition events, he didn’t dominate the sport like he did the diving.  The St. Paul Gymnastics Club was becoming the dominant force in Twin Cities gymnastics, and the coach at the U was paying a lot of attention to Tim.  Tim said that he took Coach Nelson with him to visit the U Coach.  He took Coach Nelson, because of their very close, long standing relationship, even though Coach Nelson was the diving coach and they were talking about gymnastics.  They had a very nice conversation, but the bottom line was, first, that Tim was not interested in any athletic scholarship.  He considered them to be nothing less than professional contracts in which the athlete was grossly underpaid– further, the value of the scholarship was devalued by the pressure the student athletes felt to concentrate on athletics and not on studies.  Second, he told the coach that  the U was one of the schools that he was considering, but that there were many criteria involved, and that the gymnastics program–while being very good–wasn’t one of his main criteria.  He would make a school decision for very personal reasons, generally unrelated to athletics. 

 

Tim was quite surprised by the response to this.  The coach simply said that this was completely consistent with what Coaches John and Frank had already told him.  He admitted that he had had long talks with them about the possibility of several of their gymnasts coming to the U, not the least of which was Tim.  He concluded with, “Tim, you have a standing offer to come to the U and join the team.  We’ll make it possible for you to dive and be a gymnast.  An athletic scholarship would be easy to arrange, but I respect your decision not to accept one–I admire you for it.  But do understand that many of the young men who accept them would have no way to get to college without them.  Don’t condemn them.  I’ll understand if you choose another school–many kids don’t really want to go to school in their hometown, and you’ll be able to choose any school, anywhere.  If I can be of any help, in any way, please feel free to come and talk to me.”

 

Tim and Coach Nelson visited the diving coach at the U and had a much less satisfactory interview.  Tim got the full court press to come to the U, accept a swimming scholarship, and join the team.  The coach had seemed unable to listen to Tim’s concerns, and Tim decided that he really didn’t need any more of that.  On the way home he commented to Coach Nelson, “You know, I was almost tempted by the gymnastics program.  It’s too bad that I couldn’t consider the gymnastics program with a very good coach, because of the unacceptable diving arrangement. 

 

Coach Nelson told me later that he had shared the two conversations with the Director of Athletics at the U whom he met at a professional meeting.  The diving coach was replaced about a year later, but not before Tim made  his college choices.  I have often wondered how life might have been different for us if someone like Coach Nelson had been running the U diving program.

 

And that just about sums up everything that we told each other in our September letter exchange, letter 36, out of 40.  We were getting close, and we both knew it.

To be continued...

 

Posted: 05/09/08