The eastern pier had a one-meter and a three-meter diving board. Early on I discovered that the three-meter board was a good way to hurt myself, as over-rotating a flip would result in a painful landing on my back, while under-rotating could mean a noisy and attention-getting belly flop. While landing flat on your back or belly was rare, the possibility dissuaded me from doing aerobatics from the three-meter board. My brother was more talented and courageous and routinely did one-and-a-half flips³, and I think occasionally a two-and- a-half. Not me.

Lifeguards had three stations: the east pier, the “shallow”, and the west pier. I believe each guard had a rotation so they worked all three before doing a stint in the bathhouse office. All three stations were on towers that elevated the guard above swimmers who might walk between them and those in the water. The lifeguards all had to pass the Red Cross lifeguarding certification program, and these collective credentials gave them the ability to keep the rest of us safe. Enforcement tools were mainly their whistles and penetrating voices. “Get off the ropes!”, they would shout. “Walk, don’t run!”

Whistles were always on lanyards, and when not around their necks, the guards would twirl them. Oh, and let’s not forget the white zinc oxide ointment many wore on the bridges of their noses. If you had that, everybody knew you were a lifeguard! My sister Barbara was a lifeguard for a few summers, but I don’t remember her using the ointment.

Whistles were always on lanyards, and when not around their necks, the guards would twirl them. Oh, and let’s not forget the white zinc oxide ointment many wore on the bridges of their noses. If you had that, everybody knew you were a lifeguard! My sister Barbara was a lifeguard for a few summers, but I don’t remember her using the ointment.

Swimming lessons were taught each weekday morning. I can’t remember the names of the “classes” as one learned more and more skills, but I know that early on I was a “minnow”. Each morning there would be many groups of swimmers-to-be learning the basics, flutter-kicking with red kickboards in their outstretched arms, learning to float on their back, to eventually learn the first strokes of freestyle. I am grateful my parents saw to it that I was enrolled early, probably made certain by my two older siblings already being good swimmers. Swimming is a life-long skill that everybody should learn.

The pool would close after swimming lessons and reopen early afternoon. Public swimming would continue until late afternoon, when the shrill of whistles would cease and the waters again become calm. When I was in grade school, there was a time set aside for families before the pool would reopen to the general public in the evening. The family time would begin at 5:30. We’d all go for a “five-thirty swim” once or twice a week. Mom would often prepare a dish that could be placed in the oven to cook while we were gone, and we’d all pile in the car and go to the pool. We’d swim for about half an hour before returning home relaxed, to a hot meal!

On the north side of Scanlan Lake is Riverside Park, home to the Miles City water tower and dozens of tall, old-growth cottonwood trees. These trees are magnificent in many ways, but perhaps their least desirable trait is that for which they are named. They make “cotton”, copious amounts of it, every summer. When the cotton starts flying it goes everywhere. The Swim Pool has a couple of cottonwoods of its own, as well. When cotton lands in Scanlan Lake, wave action moves it to the shore, where it accumulates in heavy, wet, globs. The Swim Pool is not exempt. Removal is manual; it must be skimmed and collected by hand. It is harmless, but unappealing. When “cottoning”, the white, fluffy seeds can be as prolific as a snowstorm. On dry surfaces, especially lawns where the grass often holds it where it lands, it can accumulate just like snow. While it can be raked, a faster and easier removal method is to toss a lit match onto it. This results in a very short-lived, fast-propagating fire that doesn’t last long enough to hurt the grass or anything else it touches. While annoying, the dispersion of “cotton” on wetted sand is a talent honed by the trees to perfection. It is precisely this way that the cottonwood species propagates.

After the filtration system was installed in the 60s, the water was clear enough that one could see fairly well underwater. It became sport to some of us to “swim the bottom” looking for lost treasure. Most often we found coins, usually nickels or dimes, occasionally a quarter. Pennies were rare, I suppose because their color contrasted less with the bottom, but perhaps also because they wouldn’t be helpful at the pay telephone by the front door of the pool. It was common practice for many to be dropped off with instructions to, “Call when you’re ready to come home.” We also found other items: nose plugs, keys, and even an occasional season ticket that had parted company with its owner’s suit. One-time finds included sunglasses, prescription eyeglasses, and a whistle (not of lifeguard grade).

One of the earliest lessons one learns when frequenting an outdoor pool is that swimming is weather-dependent. Cold weather can result in water temperatures too cold for swimming. Heavy rains, even in the heat of summer, can produce enough cold rain to cool the water significantly the next day. I can remember a few cold Junes when the pool didn’t even open for the first week or two. The pool would always close at the first hint of lightning, which of course, was often thunder. I remember one mid-summer afternoon when skies were clouding up. My weather-nerd days were already well underway, and I knew what to look for to identify thunderstorms. This day was marked by a mid-level stratiform cloud layer, such that any cumuliform clouds (developing thunderclouds) would be somewhat hidden. Nonetheless, I was watching the clouds darken to the southwest, and saw a flicker of lightning. I told a lifeguard what I had seen, and was summarily dismissed, only a minute later to have another flash produce a crack of thunder that cleared the pool! The lifeguards were all hard on their whistles, but they could scarcely be heard over the screams and splashing of the swimmers rushing to get out of the water! Yup. We all knew the drill.

For many summers, my neighbor Gene Fougner and I would make almost daily pilgrimages by foot to and from the pool. Gene lived a block east of me, so he’d come by and we’d walk west on Bachelor to Montana, to South 8th, then to the NP tracks and on to Fort Street, where we’d turn southwest to Riverside Park and the Pool. The walk always included the flight of grasshoppers disturbed by our passing, the chant of cicadas in the afternoon heat, the omnipresent smell of creosote anywhere near the railroad tracks, and the chk-chk-chk of the impact sprinklers in Riverside Park. Google Earth tells me that this distance is about eight-tenths of a mile. It didn’t seem that far. We’d kill the afternoon at the pool, and head home before the pool closed. Sometimes we’d detour up to East Main, to the Model Bakery, to get maple bars.

If you have memories of the Miles City Swim Pool you’d like to share, send them to me at bruce@diurnalsky.com.