On the south side of Norfolk, across the river from downtown, there’s a very small and very Black community called Berkley, where the summer heat gave way to dipping in the Elizabeth River or, depending on the decade, cannonballing into the community pool. But when big business eats the shoreline and concrete covers the last pool, where does a neighborhood find joy?
On the south side of Norfolk, across the river from downtown, there’s a very small and very Black community called Berkley, where the summer heat gave way to dipping in the Elizabeth River or, depending on the decade, cannonballing into the community pool. But when big business eats the shoreline and concrete covers the last pool, where does a neighborhood find joy?
heardofem.com
elizabethrivertrail.org
nps.gov/locations/chesapeakebaywatershed/grants.htm
virginiahumanities.org
(Sounds of kids playing outside, cars passing by)
Nichole Hill: On the south side of Norfolk, across the river from downtown, there’s a very small and very Black community called Berkley. And in Berkley, there’s this thing people swear by–the “Berkley breeze.” A magical, perfectly chilled whisper of wind that brushes across your skin like it knows you personally.
For as long as anybody can remember, that Berkley breeze carried everything at once, shipyard echoes on one side, kids laughing and playing on the other. But when the heat rolls in, that breeze isn’t enough to save you; it could flirt with your neck, but it couldn’t cool your body.
So swimming was the go-to, whether you were dipping in the Elizabeth River or cannonballing into the community pool. But when big business eats the shoreline and concrete covers the last pool, where does a neighborhood find joy?
(Music that takes us to the early 1960s)
Hot Dog: Well, we used to play basketball, football, baseball. We raced, you know, we had a lot of fun. Then we played Cowboys and Indians, where we would pick up sticks and act like we had a gun, you know, be shooting at each other. And then you'll say, "Uh, you outta bullets", and they'll say, "You outta bullets."
And then y'all go to a hard wrestling.
(sounds of kids laughing during physical play)
When you hit the ground, whoever on top is the winner.
My name is Christopher, but everybody call me Hot Dog. I'm from Berkley.
Nichole Hill: Hot Dog? How’d he get a name like that?
Hot Dog: Well, it don't really matter about my name, you know, you can call me anything. Just don't call me too late to eat, you know, Hot Dog, Chris. I'm still the same person.
(gentle guitar transition to waterside sounds)
There's a place where we used to go swimming. We called Luke's. No one ever been to the bottom of Luke's, so we don't know how deep it was.
Luke's is the Elizabeth River and it is right by Norfolk Ship Co. Which is BAE Systems now.
(Soundscape of drilling, sandblasting, boat whistles)
Nichole Hill: Why were they swimming in the river?
Hot Dog: We didn't have no pool, so we swam out in Elizabeth River, we swam under the Berkley Bridge.
We had a raft. I don't know where the raft came from. We just happened to go down there one day and there go raft. The raft was probably five feet wide and about-- about 20 feet long. So we got us a branch from a tree.
(Branch snap, and paddling sound followed by splashes)
And then we get on that raft and take it under the bridge where the bridge lifts up at, and then we dive off the raft and swim.
(Sounds of a tug boat transition into a drum beat)
Hot Dog: It probably wasn't that many ships, but it still was busy.
But we went out there, we weren't gonna get any ships way, we weren't gonna swim close by no ship. 'Cause we was always told that if you'd be close by a ship that the current or whatever propellers, some would pull you into it. So we know not to go close to the ship.
(Drum beat ends)
The older guys taught us that, you know, stay away from the boats
When you get like 10 years old, the older guys would throw you in the water.
(Sounds of kids playing and laughing with nostalgic music and splashing water)
Guy named Phillip took me crabbing. He asked my parents. They knew him anyway, took me crabbing, and a couple older guys come up there and they asked me could I swim? At this time I couldn't.
And uh, but I still say yes, and, and they threw me in the water, but I managed the dog paddle and made it back and got out of there. Now, once they know you could swim, they'll never throw you in no more.
That's the purpose of them throwing you in. They weren't trying to kill you. They was trying to make a man out you so that you could swim. Anytime that a kid couldn't swim, one of them would dive in and save you, bring you back in. Saw it happen a whole lot of times.
(Music ends)
One time a good friend of mine's named Kenny, (my mama named him Kenny Catfish). Me and my father went crabbing and Kenny pleaded with him to go.
So he went, asked his mama, Ms. Lucy, and she said, Okay, he could go. See the barge was real slippery at the front part, and my father told him, Kenny, don't go that far. And he went that far, and he slipped in the water
(Splash of someone entering the water from a height)
My father passed the net to him and pulled him out.
Yeah. I told him, man, uh, man, I don't believe you, man. I thought you knew how to swim, but he didn't.
You know? And I was thankful that my Father was there to pull him out, you know. He learned how to swim after that. Next time we was down there the older guys threw him in, he managed the dog paddle to get out. So from, from that day on, he could swim.
And then once you learn how to swim, we used to swim from Norfolk to Portsmouth.
(Swimming sounds overlapped with out of breath boys, splashing)
The swim from Norfolk to Portsmouth is a few hundred yards. That's a good way. If you ain't really no good swimmer, you shouldn't try.
We young mens, and we just trying to be macho and just swim from one city to the next and we used do that regular, right, and then get on the rocks on the other side rest, and then swim back.
(Sound of a police radio)
But sometimes the police used to be there, and they said, if we come to shore, they're gonna take us to jail. So they wouldn't let us come to shore, so we had to turn around and swim back.
If the police won't over there, we get on the rocks and just joke or whatever. (laughs)
Hot Dog: We didn't care whether it was summer, winter, fall or spring, right? When we go crabbing we gonna go swimming. That was the thing. We swim first, and then you crab some, then you also swim some more.
Sounds of swimming, splashing
Hot Dog: The current was over there by Colonas Shipyard. Not the current, but the mud. It is like quicksand. You know, I never swimmed over there, you know, but I know a lifeguard, he drowned over there and he could really swim.
Then I know another kid, he was six three. And he drowned in six feet of water. And people kept saying, “How did he drown?” He was six three. But he got stuck in that mud. And when he pulled him up, he was like a statue. Both arms was hanging out. And he could swim. But you get stuck in that mud. You can't lift your feet up.
(Water sounds, then gentle guitar strumming)
So then they built the pool.
Nichole Hill: That was in 1972.
Hot Dog: But I and my friends, we used to love to swim so much under the bridge. Outta seven days a week, we'd go under the bridge and swim, probably five. We didn't really like to go to the pool. We went and kept swimming under there.
And then when they start having swimming tournaments, then we start going to the pool.
It was open to the public, anybody, you know? But when the pool opened up, my Mother didn't want me going to the pool, and I kept telling Mom I could swim, but she didn't believe that I could swim. So she used tell me, "Don't go to the pool."
Nichole Hill: If she only knew…
Hot Dog: So I go swimming, I go out the house, dress one way, but I had some trunks hid out there. And then I changed with the trunks. And then when I go back home, I changed back. You don't go back home till you hair get dry. Till you get dry. You know? (laughter)
(Sounds of a pool deck crowded with people, splashing fades into a bass strum)
There used to be too many people going to that little pool. The pool should have been bigger. The pools used to be packed.
I haven't swum in a while, but I know how. Last time I sw was at the YMCA. Yeah, but I'm good start going swimming. I can get in the water, do some walking.
Nichole Hill: And as for river swimming…
Hot Dog: You can't get over there now. Luke's is Norfolk Ship Co properties, so you can't get back there and it's dirty water. The water was dirty when we used to go swimming, but we had fun.
We ain't had nowhere else to go, you know, until they got the pool and. And then they're tow the pool down. So we need a pool back over there in the Berkley community.
They tore the pool down, and now the kids don't have nowhere to go. 'Cause the little kids can't walk all the way to Campostella from Berkeley. So we need a pool back in Berkley. Real bad.
(Street sounds crossfade into piano and guitar music)
Nichole Hill: The Berkley pool has been silent since 2018. The access to water for the residents… gone, the laughter of children at play in water, gone… fenced in, filled and forgotten beneath the weight of time.
Yet, in Berkley, the memory in folks like Hot Dog, hasn’t dried up.
Advocates keep pouring their energy into revival… dreaming of a neighborhood pool.
But as of the time of this recording, those dreams remain on hold.
Visit our website Truthbetoldcommunity.com to find out ways to get involved, and share this episode with friends.
This series was written by Jackie Glass and Hannah Sobol, edited and hosted by me, Nichole Hill, Sound Design by Trendel Lightburn, and our work has been supported by the Elizabeth River Trail Foundation through a National Park Service Chesapeake Gateways Grant as well as by a grant from Virginia Humanities. Follow our work by subscribing wherever you get your podcasts. We couldn’t do this without people brave enough to share their experiences, so thanks to the guy who is never late for dinner!