My wife Hilary is a beautiful swimmer, relaxed graceful.

She just sort of slimmers around on top of the water.

I didn't know this about her when I met her.

I knew she grew up on a lake in New Hampshire,

but I'd never seen her swim until this summer

when we spent a few weeks at the lake visiting her parents. She liked to swim at night,

go far out in the darkness, and then turn around and swim back to the light on her parents' house.

So this summer we were there at the lake and my wife and her mother decided it was time for her three and a half year

daughter to take swimming lessons. I said, no, she's too young. And my wife said, Mr. Switzer likes to start

them at three and a half. I said, who's Mr. Switzer? And my mother-in-law said, he gives lessons

in the pool next to his house. It's a nice pool. He taught Hillary

to swim. He taught all my kids to swim. He went to Harvard and then coached at a private school

with a good reputation. I said, oh, well, then of course. And my wife said, Monday morning,

we've already signed her up. You can come with us and see for yourself.

He's a good teacher.

So Monday morning we drove to Al and Betsy Switzer's Aquatic School in Center Sandwich.

The pool was dark blue, the color of glacial ice, 60 feet long and nearly ringed by mothers sitting in white plastic lawn chairs.

There were about 18 kids in the pool, a couple of pretty college girls teaching the intermediate and advanced swimmers, and Mr. Switzer, deep tanned, square jaw, big muscles,

in the pool at the shallow end with the beginners, three boys and three girls, hanging

onto the edge, crying and shivering, or actually it was just the three boys who were crying.

One of them tried to climb out of the pool and Mr. Switzer pulling back in saying,

you stay there, you stay right there and don't move from that spot. That, of course, made

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