Byline: Marnie Mamminga
Only five could make it.
It is 1966, our senior year. And cheerleading tryouts for the West Aurora High School Blackhawks loom like a cliffhanger on a popular soap opera.
In a school of more than 1,500 students, cheerleading is the only physical activity a girl can try out for. There are no competitive sports for women.
That means no tennis, no track, no cross country, no volleyball, no softball, and certainly no basketball. The reasoning, of course, is that we might 'sweat!' We might get 'emotional!' And certainly we can't handle 'competition!'
Sure there is the Girls Athletic Association, but that mostly involves standing around after school batting a badminton back and forth in unorganized play.
Naturally, there is gym class, but even during the basketball curriculum, our play is limited to 'Girls' Rules' which means you can only take three dribbles before you must pass the ball, and you can't run past half court.
Now who dreamed that up?
Although one young teacher started up a gymnastic club where we could hone our skills on the rings or trampoline, that is about it for exercise.
All that lack of competitive sports for girls means there is no place to run. No place to jump. No place to catch a ball, learn about team togetherness, share the camaraderie of a locker room, or work with a coach.
We girls were definitely designated to the sidelines to sit and watch the boys. And with all those raging hormones, that is not a good thing.
There is only one athletic opportunity we can try out for, and it isn't even considered a sport.
It's cheerleading!
Because there are only five spots on the squad, the competition is tough, to say the least, and so we girls started practicing months in advance. Gathering in a friend's driveway, we unselfishly helped each other fine tune our cheers, co-coordinate our arm movements, and perfect our back jumps.
These back jumps involved flinging our bodies up into the air and bending them backwards to form the curve of a C, the goal being to touch your heels to your head.
The more you knocked your noggin, the better you were.
In the school fight song, 'Roll On', this jump was initiated from a squatting position on the floor. Can there be anything more athletic then that?
When the high-pressure clouds of tryout day finally rolled into the gym, the electricity in the air rivaled an Olympic stadium. Our stomachs were in knots, not to mention the muscles of our backs.
Adding to our nervousness was the fact that we had to try out in front of well over 100 of our peers including the entire student council and dozens of curious onlookers who came to enjoy the spectacle. Shakespeare could not have dreamed up a finer drama.
Just like Noah's Ark, we headed out two by two to test our survival.
When at last all the partnered rounds were completed, we competitors were sequestered in the cavernous, gray girls' locker room to await our fate. Hot and sweaty from the physical exertion and our nerves, we huddled side by side and prayed silently that one of the names called out would be ours.
After a tortuously long wait, the winners were announced one by one to a cheering crowd.
'Lucinda!' boomed through the humid, still air of the locker room jolting us out of our suspense. Hugs around and out she ran to the roars of shouts and applause waiting back in the gym.
'Martha!' We kissed her and sent her on her way.
'Patti!' We looked around to see who was left.
'Carolyn!' We held our breath.
'Marnie!' In disbelief, I ran out to join the other four, and for the first time we performed the school fight song together.
And, yes, we cried.
But not for long! Our new team had work to do.
We practiced often. We developed and created new cheers. We added the splits to our routines.
We yelled 'til we were hoarse, jumped 'til our backs ached, cheered 'til our arms could hardly move. And through all that grueling work, we did what boys never do, we smiled!
Although a few of us were blond, we were not ditzy. We were class officers, in the band, a cappella choir, student council, National Honor Society, and numerous other activities.
But best of all we were good friends, and even though we were not a clique, spending so much time together drew us closer.
When one of us was having a bad day, the other four listened. When one of us needed encouragement, we offered a pep talk, and on the rare occasion we got miffed with one another, we forgave.
But mostly we laughed. Doubled over, split-your-gut laughter.
Take the Taylorville Basketball Tournament. Because the boys' teams were using both locker rooms and no arrangements had been made for the cheerleaders, we had to use the referees' shower and side step a pink jock strap that ironically had been discarded by the shower drain.
Butt naked, we laughed 'til our sides split at the absurdity of the situation.
Then there was the American Midwest Cheerleading Competition held at the Chicago Palmer House. Waiting for our turn to compete, we did some amazing detective work and tracked down comedian Jack Benny, who was there for a performance.
Boldly we knocked on his door.
Surprisingly, he answered.
'Hi!' we chirped.
'Oh girls,' he said rolling his eyes, promptly shutting the door in our faces.
We laughed our selves silly all the way back down to the competition, one of the first of its kind, which we won by the way, beating out dozens of other area teams.
Don't think it made the papers.
And then there was our mad dash to the games. In a pre-game tradition where we dined at each other's homes enjoying a meal lovingly prepared by our mothers or else gulped down greasy burgers from Big Boy, we consistently managed to be running late. With minutes to go, we raced into the gym just as the buzzer sounded and the pep band swung into the school song.
Crazed with laughter at our yet-again-tardiness, we launched those back jumps from the floor on full stomachs and undigested suppers.
I am proud to say we never threw up.
We cheered in rain and snow, did back jumps from the sharp cinder block track of the football field, sweated in hot, heavy wool sweaters, and twirled for the last season in the dated but beautiful Blackhawk Indian dresses with fringed arms.
Cheer after cheer we fired up the crowd, and unlike today, the crowd cheered back. (We were leaders before our time in crowd management and in today's lingo, created multi-participatory and interactive events involving several hundred people.)
For one glorious year, we jumped, we ran, we worked out, and yes, we learned about sportsmanship, teamwork, the challenges of sore muscles, the gift of encouragement, and the camaraderie of late-night talks in the soft shadows of a game bus home.
When the season ended so did our brief athletic fame. We graduated, went on to college, and managed to keep in touch over the years no matter how many hundreds of miles apart or how different our lives were from each other's.
When sweet, beautiful Patti was tragically killed in a car crash at age 30, we cherished the precious gift of our friendship all the more.
Nowadays, it is rare that all four of us are together, but with Lucinda flying in from California for a family visit and the three of us near by, we will do just that. Lucinda's 81-year-old mother, still a loyal Blackhawk fan, has organized a basketball kick off party for 30 of her closest basketball buddies.
She thinks it will be hysterical if the four of us perform 'Roll On' in some authentic West Aurora cheerleading sweaters she has mysteriously 'borrowed.'
We did this once before for her, and let me tell you, there is no dignity left for four 56- year-old women doing the school fight song in sweaters two sizes too small. Back jumps are definitely out, but bust-your-gut laughter is not.
Oh, and guess what? Starting this year, the Illinois High School Association is finally recognizing cheerleading as a sport.
You go girls!
'All together now! Yeaaaaaaa Team!'
- Marnie O. Mamminga offers memoir writing programs to various clubs and organizations and also teaches memoir writing classes. For scheduling dates and other details, e-mail her at marnie@@mamminga.com or call (630) 879-7132.
