Crossing Sol Goldman Swimming Pool

The Red Hook Pool is otherwise known as the Sol Goldman Pool, named after one of the big-time landlords of NYC history, and a major philanthropist. The thing that touches me the most about him was a certain lack of pride.

As Iver Peterson wrote in 1988 "on Oct. 20, 1983, Lillian Goldman moved out of the Waldorf-Astoria suite she shared with her husband, Sol, and began a divorce proceeding. She asked for half of Mr. Goldman's $1 billion in assets, New York City's largest private real-estate empire.

Come back, Mr. Goldman told his wife, and I'll give you several million dollars beginning immediately, plus a third of my estate - free and clear, whether we are married or not - when I die."

This is kind of heart breaking.
But regardless of who he was, and what his life was like, could there be a better name for a pool?

Sol (sun)

Gold (gehl; yellow)

Man (solar)

Do you see what I'm saying?

There's a ramp that descends into the enormous pool, which is painted bright yellow for some reason. Kids learn to swim on the ramp because it's the only place neither too shallow or too deep. It is packed with elementary school-aged children. I wish I had snuck in a camera and photographed it but the rules at the pool are strict, and they have to be. The pool is one of those places where fun gets out of control very easily. Before you know it, boundaries are crossed that shouldn't have been. While I was there I heard one lifeguard utter the following dictate:

There will be no man to man, man to woman, or woman to woman contact in the pool.

I wondered if they left anything out. Can I give my daughter a kiss?

In the wading pool, I watched as my son bent the water coming out of one of the vaguely horse-shaped sprinklers, soaking a toddler who was standing nearby. I was about to express outrage, but then I saw the toddler was delighted. He jumped up and down, grinned, licked his lips. Skipped away, came back. I looked around for an angry mother but saw none. Lots of kids crawled along the bottom of the pool like catfish, seeking relief from the heat, and perhaps to activate some atavistic DNA.

The lifeguard, clad in orange with a matching orange whistle, Shwarzenegger-style sunglasses, kept having to get up and chase toddlers from the part of the enormous wadding pool that was roped off. According to this personable young man, they were short on lifeguards.

They seemed plentiful enough to me, and attractive. Not Baywatch hot, more Red Hook than that. Sol Goldman hot.

Sol. Were you a nice landlord?

I was able to persuade my 2 charges to go into the "deep pool" with me. Of course the only way was to carry one in each arm. I felt conspicuous but there was no choice. It was surprising that I didn't hear whistles blowing all around me.

Being a short person I had a moment of anxiety in the deepest part, but we passed by the weird 8-sided metallic crystalline looking thing that marks the middle of the pool without capsizing. It says "keep off" but I don't see how anyone could really get on it. Crossing back, we get behind some frisky teenagers and the seas get rough. The toddler in my left arm threatens to grab my glasses, the 5-year old in my right does his jungle-bird shriek in my ear. The toddler thinks that's hysterical and imitates him. I consider sending out an SOS.

To our right there's a gadget that is lowering a paralyzed man into the pool. A second man waits in his wheel chair, completely still. Several attendants operate the thing.

Strange. Beautiful. Rare. There's no diving boards but there's that. Cover the basics first.

Sol, this is a great pool.