Healing Waters

On Thursday morning at Philadelphia's George Washington High School, swim coach Tricia O'Connor made a small presentation - shamrock plants for the boys who had won the city competition in the 200-yard medley relay.

Then, the coach gave a special award to Ron Jay Santiago, 18, an alternate on the relay team who would be filling in at Friday's state championship. She hung a medal around his neck.

"You inspired us all season," she told him. "You're the fifth man - but you're really first in our hearts."

And he was. He had taught them all a lesson far beyond the swimming pool, how to overcome a different kind of loss.

Ron Jay beamed. Andy Yun, 18, his close friend, the captain and best swimmer on this team, who taught Ron Jay how to do a flip turn, put his arm around Ron Jay. Enrique Vargas, 16, another teammate, leaned over and pounded fists.

When he joined the swim team in November, Ron Jay could only swim with his face out of water. And he'd never tried a racing dive. When the team practices - just two days a week, at the Klein Branch of the Jewish Community Center - the pool is too shallow to dive.

So before the first meet, Dec. 7, at Lincoln High, Andy taught Ron Jay a racing dive.

In the race, when Ron Jay dived, his goggles came off, but he swam his hardest, four laps, 100 yards, freestyle, his eyes stinging from the chlorine. And he won.

He called his father, first thing.

His father told him how proud he was, and promised to come to the next swim meet.

The next day, Dec. 8, Ron Jay's father, Ronald Santiago, 35, was murdered.

Ronald Santiago was a hardworking, good man, police and family say, who bought and renovated apartment buildings in Kensington. He worked closely with his father and his son. His dream was to earn a million dollars.

But as he was leaving an apartment building for lunch, Santiago and another worker were jumped at gunpoint and forced back inside. The robbers demanded money and bludgeoned Santiago to death with a pistol. Police on Friday said they still have no arrests.

"My father was my hero," Ron Jay said. "I used to go to him with all my problems. And he had all the answers."

After a period of grief, Ron Jay came back to the swim team, and he dedicated the season to his father.

There are only 15 swimmers on this team, the second smallest in the city. Coach O'Connor is in her first year. Several members, like Ron Jay, never swam before.

"They showed me a lot of love," Ron Jay said. "Instead of me going negative, Coach O'Connor was showing me how to do positive things, how to be dedicated to the things I love. She kept me focused. She kept me doing the right thing."

Ron Jay was the one who suggested they wear ties on the days of swim meets. He was the one who came up with the team slogan, shake-n-bake. He led cheers before meets. He turned his fury, his pain, into a fire for the team. He worked hard at practices, and improved.

"It's been a really positive thing for him," said his mother, Lisette Martinez. "He's been focused and motivated, kept his spirits up. He's been doing it for his dad, to make his dad proud of him."

The coach said she's never seen a better example of the power and purpose of team sports.

"Sometimes sports can save kids," O'Connor said. "I think we don't realize what a team can do to help a young man like Ron Jay to get through something like this. If you do dedicate yourself, it really helps the heartache of the loss."

The drive Thursday to Bucknell University in Lewisburg for the state meet was long. These are city boys.

"Never seen so many trees," Ron Jay said.

"I get dizzy after a while," said his teammate Enrique.

They pulled up to the beautiful campus and athletic facilities, swarming with the state's top high school swimmers, a sea of boys with shaved heads.

The George Washington relay team members could tell right away they were out of their league. They looked at the official program and saw every other team in their race was at least 22 seconds faster - all better than 1:40, and the George Washington top time was 2:01.

The boys had a fun night, checking out the campus, watching movies in their hotel room.

Friday morning, before heading to the pool for the race, the coach gathered them in her hotel room.

"We're up here with the elite of the state and the country," she said. "They get up at 5 a.m. and swim every day, and again in the afternoons. We swim twice a week. We don't have blocks. We aren't allowed to dive. When you think of what you're up against, you should be proud. We're not going to bring a trophy home. But we're going to shake-n-bake! All I'm asking you for is your personal best."

After the national anthem, Ron Jay said a prayer to his father, as he does before every race. He folded his hands and closed his eyes. His freestyle leg of the relay would be two laps, and he'd swim the anchor leg. "Bless me on the way back," he prayed.

The Bucknell pool erupted in team cheers. Not to be outdone, the four George Washington boys gathered in a corner, and Ron Jay led them in the cheer, "One, two, three - G-Dub!"

Ron Jay patted the other boys on the backs as they awaited the start. He screamed "Shake-n-bake!" at the top of his lungs. As the others swam, he stood with his fists clenched. Each of the three - Enrique, Marc Santiago, 14, (no relation) and Andy - gave all they had.

Still, by the time Ron Jay dived in, all the other relay teams had finished.

He swam alone, but he wasn't really alone.

His team was with him, and so was his father.

"Every time I'm in the water," he had said before the race, "I feel him right above me, guiding me."

Ron Jay took no breath the first lap, and breathed only once on the second, his stroke smooth, strong.

As the four boys walked back toward their coach, there were a few sheepish smiles of recognition of just how fast their competition was. But there was also great pride in their faces. They pounded fists again. Coach hugged each of them.

They had won no medals, but each of them had gained something more important. Coming here had made them closer, stronger, and given them a taste of just how far hard work could take them.

And Ron Jay in his prayers could tell his father he had done his best.