Eighteenth Street reminds me of the swimming holes at Hurricane Creek- some which can be reached by foot, others by car, and most by canoe. There's nothing like a swimming hole- nothing at all. Swimming pools lack the historical context and the immersion in local ecology- the sounds of birds chirping and water rushing over stones.
Max and Micah pet a puppy taking his first dip at Hurricane Creek Park.
Between 1932 and 1942 the rivers that split and ran through Wichita were sweet and clean and perfect for swimming. For my money, the best swimming hole of all was on the east bank of the Little River at about Eighteenth Street.
There was a small beach that eased into the water. You could wade to any depth you chose. The main channel near the west bank was the deepest spot. The riverbank behind the beach was steep and thickly covered by bushes and clumps of willows and a heavy stand of cane….
Adults came to Eighteenth Street, too. They were, for the most part, women with children too young to swim. The mothers would wade in wearing their dresses, holding their children’s hands. Grown men would roll up the legs of their overalls and stand in the cool water. Most of the swimming garb was catch-as-catch-can. In a nation and city of poor people, we generally represented the poorest of the poor. Under certain circumstances, even underwear was all right.
The water on Eighteenth Street was always warm and friendly and inviting. You had to go deep in the main channel to find a cold current. A crude diving platform was nailed twenty feet up into a huge cottonwood tree right on the edge of the river. A heavy rope swing hung down from a limb just below it.
No one was in charge at the Eighteenth Street swimming club. Actually, it wasn’t even a club. It was more like a hobo jungle. A calm, quiet, secret place where anyone could find soft breezes, cool water, silky sand, and a haven from the rough, raw edges of reality.
—from “The Last Best Swimming Hole” by Patric Rowley in The Great North American Prairie (Stories from Where We Live). Minneapolis: Milkweed Editions, 2001.
