In The Water, In The Air, In L.a.

Seabiscuit, the little horse who recovered from a breakdown to win the Santa Anita Handicap, captured my imagination then. Even his name (like Kayak's) conjured up ocean and water, and I'm giving away nothing at this point by saying that things to do with water affect me. In fact, the horse, of all land creatures, moving as it does with such grace and power on slender stalks that seem too fragile to support a woman's weight, suggests it evolved to run through water.

At Belmont Plaza that night, coach Horn's water polo team came in second to Stanford in a hotly contested game. After it, a young woman came up to me by the pool and introduced herself. I didn't recognize the name.

"It's my married name," she said. "I'm Harvey Easton's daughter," and the tow-headed 2-year-old I'd last seen topping Harvey's shoulder had played in the game.

After I'd written about Harvey and Wally, Wally told me that he'd once worked out at Easton's Gym. Through his grandson, Harvey, it seemed, had now reciprocated and found his way into Wally's element. Wally's element, of course, is water, Harvey's was air, and the play of both across their bodies and minds made them move playfully through both, leaving their imprint in both. Nothing has ever impressed me more—that a man would choose to leave his mark not as an ugly scar on the earth, but as a graceful gesture in water, or in the air.