Becoming A Lifeguard In 417-land

It starts

You might think being called the "Best Teenage Job" in southwest Missouri by the editors of 417 Magazine would be enough to make most readers do their best Spirit of the Dance impression, right? Not quite. When we printed our Editor's Picks-the things that we thought deserved some special recognition that didn't have a place on our readers' ballot-we thought that giving a shout-out to the minimum- wagers would be a nice touch. After tossing around a few popular teenage job opportunities, we all agreed that lifeguards had it the best. (Although I had to be persuaded. I still had fond memories of my pizza-delivery days, but that's for another time.) Working outside all summer with a chance to jump in a cool pool all day, not to mention getting a 10-minute break every hour while adults get their chance to swim? Sign me up.

A suprise

Imagine our surprise when we received not one but two letters from disgruntled supervisors of teenage lifeguards who were outraged by our slightly sarcastic claim that "blowing whistles is hard." One came from a woman working for the Springfield-Greene County Park Board, inviting someone from the office to participate in its "lifeguard boot camp" that all guards go through prior to pool season. Another, from Nixa Recreation Director Scott Parson, also invited us to experience the world through a lifeguard's eye, and did so by answering our sarcasm with a bit more sarcasm: "Go home tonight," Parson wrote. "Turn your thermostat up to about 95. Then go fill your bathtub up with water and turn a fan on low. You can either stand over your tub or have a seat on your toilet, if you can see the whole tub clearly. Then start looking from one end to the other constantly for an hour and a half and realize that if you aren't vigilant, someone could die!" Yikes.

We were so surprised by the letters (and impressed by Parson's secret talent for creative writing) that the decision was made to send me off to lifeguard boot camp to see just how tough this job really was. I was chosen as the writer, presumably because I'm the youngest one on staff and am therefore less likely to creep out the high school girls that would also be in the training session. (You'd have to ask them if I accomplished this.) Liability issues prevented the Springfield Park Board from making good on its offer, but Parson in Nixa was more than happy to help me train in the art of lifeguarding.

What have I done?

In chilly February it was hard to think ahead to the training I would receive in May, but the day after I agreed to do the story it hit me: Lifeguards have to be seen in their bathing suits. I'd be lying if I tried to pretend that didn't scare the crap out of me. As a man of average height and just slightly larger-than-ideal-girth, I knew it was time to hit the gym hard. In the year since I graduated from college I had put on a few pounds as the eight-to-five grind left me too tired for physical activity by day's end. That had to change. Soon I was attending every spinning class my gym offered, despite the fact that stationary bicycles do not take the anatomical needs of males into account. (Honestly, why must we do "jumps" on the bike? Why not just stand and ride or sit?) May 1 became my new deadline for whipping my body into shape.

By April, I had lost five pounds or so, and although I didn't have much muscle mass to show for it, I was at least in pretty good shape. I ran the first 5K of my life on April Fool's Day, finishing in 48th place out of 122 participants. I'd lost another six pounds by the first of May. Everything was going great until it came time for a vacation to see my buddies in Virginia Beach.

I spent as much time in the water as possible, hoping to prepare for the lifeguard training I'd take part in just three days after I returned. The water was cold, but I braved it anyway. I even tried my hand at surfing, or, as I like to call it, "floating helplessly on a long plastic board and worrying that the cut on my foot from stepping on a seashell would continue to bleed and attract nearby sharks." Everything was going according to plan until Captain George's Seafood Buffet.* It's the type of place that keeps emergency medical personnel in the back room for the high number of patrons who go into cardiac arrest after plate No. 27. The buffet had every kind of seafood known to man, including all-you-can-eat king crab legs. I don't even like seafood, but somehow I managed to make six trips to the buffet, consuming three days worth of calories in a single sitting. Months of hard work were eradicated in a single night.

Training time

I arrived at the Nixa Community Recreation and Aquatics Center the following Saturday, clad in a cheap pair of neon blue swim trunks I'd bought the night before because my other ones no longer fit very well. I finally met letter-author Scott Parson face to face, as well as Matt Crouse, the aquatics supervisor and recreation specialist who was in charge of the training. I was a little bit late, but everyone was still getting situated from the looks of things. After a few quick handshakes, Crouse told me that I could just float around with the other trainees and let him know if I needed anything.

Crouse gathered everyone around in a cluster next to him by the side of the pool-about 20 of us in all. If you've never been to Nixa's prized Recreation and Aquatics Center, then you have no idea just how impressive the facilities are. There are two water slides near the swimming lanes, which are adjacent to the diving board in the deep end. Fountains of water shoot up out of the concrete near the shallow end, and in the middle of the pool are several colorful buckets that dangle ten feet or so above the surface. Jets of water pour into the buckets until they fill and tip over, raining down onto the pool, where small children smile and scream.

Crouse got everyone's attention and started the afternoon with some basic instructions. "What's off-limits for the swimmers?" he asked us in a loud voice, so he could be heard over the water filters surrounding the pool.

A young smart-aleck responded by saying they weren't allowed to have any fun. "That's right, absolutely no fun," Crouse said. I chuckled and waited for him to explain the real answer, but no one else was laughing. He was serious: no dunking, no hanging on people, no double bounces on the diving board, no splashing and no chicken fights. It seemed that although the pool was a fun place, that wasn't how these lifeguards-to-be saw it. I'm beginning to see why they were upset when we described their job as being little more than a "chance to flirt with the skin-baring masses."

We spent another 20 minutes listening by the pool's edge as Crouse rattled off the long list of basic procedures to remember while on duty, things like how lifeguards should rotate between shifts and what parts of the pool were to be watched by the various guard stands. We then moved to the diving board and learned some more rules-mostly the standards you remember from childhood, such as only one child standing on the board at a time. Then we moved to the shallow end and kids' areas. Then the slides.

After an hour he dismissed everyone to lunch, everyone except for me and one other guy. Matt Crouse introduced me to another Matt; 23-year-old Matt McClelland. McClelland and I actually went to high school together, although we never knew each other. He had been in school at Drury University until last fall, when he realized that he did more partying than studying and quit. Now he passes the time with a series of part-time jobs, most recently working as a runner for a law firm in town. His future plans are up in the air right now, but lifeguarding, he decided, was a better option for making some cash over the summer than doing grunt work for a law firm. Besides, he's worked as a lifeguard in the past at other pools, so he didn't have much to learn.

Matt Crouse kept McClelland and I behind to teach us CPR, something the rest of the kids already knew. (Actually, McClelland knew it too, but he was happy for the refresher course.) I watched as Crouse demonstrated on a lifeguard flotation device how to assess the scene, call for help, check for breathing and a pulse, clear the airway, breathe into the victim's mouth and practice chest compressions meant to restart a dead heart in an emergency. He used a device that looks like a breast implant with a kazoo sticking out of it to breathe through, so that no lifeguard would actually have to kiss a drowning victim or risk getting a mouthful of vomit that often accompanies breathing when the person regains consciousness. After 15 minutes of this, McClelland and I left for lunch.

As we drove to Sonic, I asked McClelland what he thought about the job we were training for. Was it hard? Was it boring? His answers didn't do much to disprove the reasoning behind our editor's pick. He talked about how nice it was to have a job that allows you be outside all day, and about how there really isn't anything too difficult about it. Yes, he said, the job comes with a lot of responsibility, but he said it isn't really difficult, especially when everyone is so well-trained. (And they are.)

When we returned from lunch, Parson practiced with McClelland and I a bit longer, making us each practice CPR step-by-step on each other multiple times so the process would be second nature in the event of an emergency. They emphasized why it was important to press down hard on an adult during chest compressions, and that the reason you count the 30 compressions out loud is to distract you from the noise made when your compressions break the victim's ribs. We then practiced CPR for children (only use one hand for compressions and don't push in so far) and infants (just a cheekful of air and only two fingers for compressions).

For the next hour we actually got in the pool, which meant it was finally time to take off my shirt and deal with the consequences of my trip to Virginia. The skin on my back was red and peeling off in giant white flakes that were clinging to my shoulders for dear life. I'd shaved my chest too, for reasons that I cannot now remember, and the hairs were all starting to grow back all along my round belly. I was relieved that no one so much as looked at me when I jumped into the pool, but I felt self-conscious, like I was back in high school again surrounded by dozens of teenagers.

In the pool we took turns jumping from guard stands and rescuing people in different levels of distress. We'd swim out and prop our long floatation devices under their arms and drag them back to the pool's edge. If the victim was lying in the water face-down, we'd have to bear hug them from behind using something like a wrestling move to lay them on the floatation device and keep their head above water. Once you were the hero, you'd hand off the long red floatie to the person you just rescued and take their place as the victim. After an hour or so of this, there was one final pep talk and training was over.

I made arrangements to meet with Crouse and Parson again later in the week to discuss what I'd learned, and I was invited back when the pool opened to actually sit on duty while kids were in the pool. I eagerly accepted, prompting Crouse to hand me a VHS cassette. On it was a home video of an actual drowning caught on tape by spectators at a pool in the deep South. This, it seemed, was my homework.

Training from home

I popped the tape into the VCR and rewound it. It took a few seconds for the tracking to adjust once I hit play, but soon there was a picture of a teenage boy standing in a pool. The camera is zoomed in, and it's hard to make out exactly what's going on because the screen keeps bouncing around. Then as it pulls back a little bit it all comes into focus. There are three male lifeguards holding up a limp, lifeless body near the surface of the water. The boy is already still, and they seem completely unprepared for what's happening. The date stamp on the tape says it's the day before Valentine's Day. Dozens of children are standing around the sides of the pool, which has been cleared. People are talking among themselves, and little children are running up to the camera talking about the little boy who looks like he's dead. Some of them laugh, unable to fully grasp what's going on. For five minutes, the lifeguards keep the body floating in the pool until finally the paramedics arrive. Sadly, when they get there and assess the situation, it only takes them a second to see that the boy is already dead.  They slowly lift his body from the water and lay him on a stretcher, vainly pumping air into his dead body as if to try to trick the small children into believing that he might still be saved.

Matt Crouse told me when he handed me the video that it was the first day that particular pool opened that year, and the lifeguards hadn't been adequately trained. The video I saw stops when the child is lifted into an ambulance and police are questioning the lifeguards. Crouse says he has another version of the video that was edited into a public-television special that followed the lives of the lifeguards later on in life. One of them never really recovered from the events of that day six years ago, while another is still a lifeguard today, determined to prevent that sort of thing from ever happening again. The video is graphic and disturbing, but suddenly it's easy to see why the managers at The Center in Nixa don't want people to think of lifeguards as kids with no responsibilities.

My turn as a lifeguard

Early in the afternoon on the day after Memorial Day, I arrive back at the pool in Nixa, ready to give lifeguarding my shot. I wasn't fully certified as an official lifeguard because of the training costs associated with the process: $100 or so. (Nixa pays it for the kids who work there through the summer.) When I arrive, Crouse has already left for the day, as has Parson. McClelland isn't working today, so I find the person in charge, Assistant Manager Christen Wilson. I tell her that I am to be a lifeguard for the day, and she lets me know that I will only be allowed to shadow the guards already on duty. She looks surprised when I tell her that I'd like the floatie things that the rest of the lifeguards have, as well as the fanny packs they wear with rubber gloves and other life-saving essentials in them. To me, this isn't just a stunt. I want to be a lifeguard. I want to see for myself whether or not Parson was right for being angry at the words we wrote. I felt official enough, but I wasn't given a whistle, and thus never really claimed my place as an official lifeguard.

She led me to a lifeguard stand, where 24-year-old Chris Lankford was sitting. I pulled up a white plastic chair and introduced myself, sitting there trying to look as professional as possible should someone's life become endangered. For the next two hours I followed Lankford like a child following its parent. When he stood, I stood. When he changed guard positions around the pool, I did the same. The other guards looked at me funny, unsure of why a stranger was acting like a guard but didn't have a whistle or the official red shorts that the rest of them did.

I learned a lot about Chris Lankford, but not a lot about the seriousness of lifeguarding. I learned that he has spent time in both Afghanistan and Iraq in the Army, and that he's taking classes right now to become a firefighter, even though he's not sure if that's what he wants to do with his life. He's living in Nixa until he goes to Pitt State in the fall with his girlfriend, an 18-year-old who just graduated from Nixa High. This is the first time he's ever worked as a lifeguard, but so far his impressions are positive: No, it's not a hard job, and yes, he likes it because it allows him to work outside for the summer.

In the time I followed him around the pool, this is what I learned about being a lifeguard: 1) You need sunglasses, even when it's cloudy outside, because the glare gets so bad. 2) Many chubby little boys don't take their shirts off when they get into the pool. One of them also doesn't mind blowing his nose in the water or talking to himself while he does it. 3) All children run to the water slide. It's a scientific fact.
4) Many of the little boys stand on top of the fountains shooting water up near the shallow end and let the water go up their shorts. It makes me very uncomfortable. 5) The blue slide is much faster than the red slide. 6) No one really cares if your chest hair is growing back in or if your back is peeling or if you've gained five pounds.

And that's about it. There are exactly zero incidents during the time while I'm at the pool, unless you count multiple drownings of the plastic baby doll the staff keeps around. From time to time a manager sneaks the doll into the water as a test for the lifeguards. When a guard sees it and jumps in to save the baby, the rest of the guards smile and some clap, rewarding the diligent guard for winning the strange game. One guard hoisted the baby into the air with one hand like a football player doing a touchdown dance. Still, there were no real incidents, which makes me feel better about my lack of a whistle. (Although I'm still a little bummed that I didn't get one.)

I talked to several of the guards. None of them disagreed that being a lifeguard is one of the best jobs they could wish for over the summer. Sure, they work hard, and often long hours, but that's because they want to. And the perks are worth it.

It's not that I don't see where Scott Parson and Matt Crouse are coming from in their disappointment in our article, but I'm not so sure that saying lifeguarding is a tough job and not a whole lot of fun is exactly right. To me, it's like driving a car. I love to drive a car, and there are many benefits of driving around. I can listen to music, I can travel, and I can meet my friends because I can drive. Yet there is great responsibility when I sit behind the wheel. But that doesn't mean I can't sing along when Fallout Boy comes on the radio (or change the station, depending on my mood).

Perhaps in the future we at the magazine can refer to the job in different terms. I still think that lifeguarding is one of the best jobs a teenager could have. The lifeguards I talked to agree with that sentiment. I love knowing that I now possess knowledge that could potentially save a dying person's life.

Still, I knew there was one part of the lifeguard experience that I had missed out on. That week, once my obligations as a lifeguard trainee had been fulfilled, I bought a whistle at a sporting-goods store in town. It was time to try what Parson had suggested. At night, I filled my bathtub up with hot water and let the steam simulate the heat. I placed a baseball card of a St. Louis Cardinal player (not my valuable Albert Pujols card) in a Tupperware bowl and set it on the water's surface. Then I sat on the
cabinet across from the tub and listened to the team play on the radio for a few innings. And just to feel official, I blew the whistle at 10 'til the hour for adult swim so I could take my break.