could use some cleaning. And I know how to work a cash register. I could work behind the counter and sell all that soap and rent towels and stuff. And why can’t girls learn how to box? Who says so? I’m a good athlete. I was on the gymnastics team at school for a while.”
He still shook his head. “Judy, I can’t let you work here. This is a place for men. Why, it’s unheard of. Probably against the law, too.”
“I don’t think so, Freddie. I think it’s just what people are used to believing about girls. We’re not all the get married, stay-at-home, raise kids types.”
“That may be true, Judy, but I can’t. Sorry.”
I was disappointed but I tried not to let it show. “Okay, Freddie. But I’ll be back. You’ll change your mind,” I said confidently.
So I left. But I returned the very next day. Freddie was coaching a couple of different guys in the ring. He saw me but didn’t smile or wave. I stayed and watched anyway. On my third visit to the gym, I stood watching a match and then spotted a mop and bucket over in a corner. I went over to it, grabbed the mop, and started on the area of the floor that wasn’t being used. Freddie saw me but said nothing. I couldn’t move to the section where all the men were working out, so I didn’t try. Instead, I found a towel and started wiping down all the counters and a glass case that contained some trophies.
One of the young boxers, a teenager maybe eighteen or nineteen years old, said to me, “Hey, baby, I’ve got something you can clean.” I ignored him and kept going. I’d seen the kid before at the gym; in fact, he was one of the trainees in the ring the first day I’dcome in. He continued to harass me. “What’s your name, sweetheart? Why are you doing that? You sure are pretty. Wanna go out with me? Let’s go back and take a shower, what do you say?”
When he reached out, daring to touch me, I swung around and let him have it. I punched him right in the nose and he fell on the floor. Freddie stopped coaching the two fighters in the ring and looked up. The teenager I’d clobbered was mad as heck, and his nose was bleeding. But he sat there, his pride wounded. Suddenly, all the other men in the gym started laughing at him. Teasing him, you know, “Gee, Mack, you let a girl bust you one?” “What happened, Mack, you meet your match?”
Freddie came down and helped the kid named Mack onto his feet. His face was swelling up and there was a lot of blood. Freddie gave him some towels and ordered him to go wash up. Mack gave me the scariest glare as he walked past me—but it’s funny, I didn’t get that tingling sensation when I sensed someone meant to do me harm. You know, my animal intuition thing. I realized Mack wasn’t dangerous. In fact, he was all bravado.
Freddie sidled up to me. “Judy, you broke his nose.”
“I did? Gee, I’m sorry, Freddie.”
“Why did you do that?”
“He was picking on me. Being fresh.”
Freddie looked over at the mop and towels I’d been using. “What are you doing, Judy?”
“I told you. You could use some help. And I want to learn to box.”
This time he chuckled. “I think you already know how.”
And that’s all it took. Freddie let me come in a couple of times a week to help clean the gymnasium. He showed me everything I was supposed to do and I did it better than he expected. Most of the cleaning was done at night, after hours. After a month of that, he let me start working the cash register and supervising thelinens. He showed me how to maintain all the equipment, especially the punching bags. Freddie taught me the difference between the various kinds, like speed bags that are small and are the kinds you usually see boxers hitting in a constant rhythm; heavy bags, the large cylindrical kind suspended from the ceiling that you practice body punches on; and the double-end bag, which is round like a basketball and attached to the floor and ceiling.
And then, sometimes after closing,
He still shook his head. “Judy, I can’t let you work here. This is a place for men. Why, it’s unheard of. Probably against the law, too.”
“I don’t think so, Freddie. I think it’s just what people are used to believing about girls. We’re not all the get married, stay-at-home, raise kids types.”
“That may be true, Judy, but I can’t. Sorry.”
I was disappointed but I tried not to let it show. “Okay, Freddie. But I’ll be back. You’ll change your mind,” I said confidently.
So I left. But I returned the very next day. Freddie was coaching a couple of different guys in the ring. He saw me but didn’t smile or wave. I stayed and watched anyway. On my third visit to the gym, I stood watching a match and then spotted a mop and bucket over in a corner. I went over to it, grabbed the mop, and started on the area of the floor that wasn’t being used. Freddie saw me but said nothing. I couldn’t move to the section where all the men were working out, so I didn’t try. Instead, I found a towel and started wiping down all the counters and a glass case that contained some trophies.
One of the young boxers, a teenager maybe eighteen or nineteen years old, said to me, “Hey, baby, I’ve got something you can clean.” I ignored him and kept going. I’d seen the kid before at the gym; in fact, he was one of the trainees in the ring the first day I’dcome in. He continued to harass me. “What’s your name, sweetheart? Why are you doing that? You sure are pretty. Wanna go out with me? Let’s go back and take a shower, what do you say?”
When he reached out, daring to touch me, I swung around and let him have it. I punched him right in the nose and he fell on the floor. Freddie stopped coaching the two fighters in the ring and looked up. The teenager I’d clobbered was mad as heck, and his nose was bleeding. But he sat there, his pride wounded. Suddenly, all the other men in the gym started laughing at him. Teasing him, you know, “Gee, Mack, you let a girl bust you one?” “What happened, Mack, you meet your match?”
Freddie came down and helped the kid named Mack onto his feet. His face was swelling up and there was a lot of blood. Freddie gave him some towels and ordered him to go wash up. Mack gave me the scariest glare as he walked past me—but it’s funny, I didn’t get that tingling sensation when I sensed someone meant to do me harm. You know, my animal intuition thing. I realized Mack wasn’t dangerous. In fact, he was all bravado.
Freddie sidled up to me. “Judy, you broke his nose.”
“I did? Gee, I’m sorry, Freddie.”
“Why did you do that?”
“He was picking on me. Being fresh.”
Freddie looked over at the mop and towels I’d been using. “What are you doing, Judy?”
“I told you. You could use some help. And I want to learn to box.”
This time he chuckled. “I think you already know how.”
And that’s all it took. Freddie let me come in a couple of times a week to help clean the gymnasium. He showed me everything I was supposed to do and I did it better than he expected. Most of the cleaning was done at night, after hours. After a month of that, he let me start working the cash register and supervising thelinens. He showed me how to maintain all the equipment, especially the punching bags. Freddie taught me the difference between the various kinds, like speed bags that are small and are the kinds you usually see boxers hitting in a constant rhythm; heavy bags, the large cylindrical kind suspended from the ceiling that you practice body punches on; and the double-end bag, which is round like a basketball and attached to the floor and ceiling.
And then, sometimes after closing,
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