Posted inCities across the country have drained public pools, leaving private clubs and backyard basins to take their place. As wellsprings of community and resources for life-saving instruction, public pools should be a priority.
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That is the kind of joy and connection a community pool brings. The glimmer of water in its long-dry basin is a signal that summer has officially started. We have made it through another winter, and we get to share in the community again.
I grew up on the shores of Lake Michigan, where summer was not complete without water. There, it felt like every day ended with your swimsuit drying on a hook in the bathroom and a towel draped over the wooden fence, still damp from the last jump off the pier. Moving to Pittsburgh in 2018, I missed the simple, quiet rhythm of lake life. No waves crashing, no sandy feet and no sunset swims. That was, until I found the pools.
This was the first time I felt something familiar in a new city. The pools brought me back to the version of summer I knew: wet hair, sun-tired limbs and the unspoken sense of togetherness you only get from a day in the water. The pools helped Pittsburgh feel like mine.
Pools are also one of the most important amenities a city can offer: a third space. Not home, not school or work, but something in-between, third spaces allow you to just be, and are essential for mental health, social connection and a sense of belonging. In the Summer of 2022, my roommates and I decided to train for our first triathlon. We would bike from the East End to Downtown, then pedal back to Schenley Overlook to run and end the training sessions in the Schenley Pool. On one particular hot Friday in late August a lifeguard approached us. “I have seen you ladies out here this summer, it looks like practicing for something?” he chuckled. We laughed and told him about the triathlon. He offered to time our laps the next time we came. He kept his word. The next week, he blew the whistle, clicked a stopwatch and cheered us from the deck. Afterward, we sat dripping at the edge of the pool eating sour gummy worms and daydreaming about the race. Just then, a little boy cannonballed into the water right over our heads, splashing everyone within a ten foot radius. He popped up, grinning, and said, “What are you crazy people doing?” We told him we ask ourselves the same thing every lap.
Moments like that made the pool more than a place to cool off. It became a neighborhood stage, where strangers noticed each other, cheered each other on and occasionally questioned our sanity. That kind of community cannot be bought, only built. In Pittsburgh, it starts at the city pool.
And unlike so many other gathering places, public pools don’t require much spending. You just need to make a one-time payment for a city pool pass to access any public pool in Pittsburgh throughout the entire summer. (Allegheny County’s pools are a little pricier.) It’s a small investment that unlocks a whole season of connection, cool-downs and community. Summer fun for lifelong yinzers and transplants alike.
When I was a kid, my hometown Holland, Michigan offered free swim lessons every school year at the local community pool through 8th grade. At the time, I didn’t realize just how lucky I was. All I knew was that every morning for two weeks, I’d show up in a swimsuit matching my friends, with a clammy towel and goggles too small for my face. We looked like we were training for the Olympics — at least in terms of our enthusiasm.
I wasn’t an athlete. I wasn’t even particularly brave. But the water made me feel strong and capable, both mentally and physically. I didn’t know then that these lessons were more than just about swimming; they were about safety, equity and community.
Swimming isn’t just a summer pastime; it’s a life-saving skill. In the United States, drowning is the leading cause of death for children aged 1–4. For many low-income families, paid lessons are out of reach. But when a city offers free lessons through community pools, it levels the playing field. It says: Your life matters just as much as anyone else’s. Free swim lessons shouldn’t be a lucky break. They should be a guarantee.
Lifeguards teach swim lessons at Boyce Park Wave Pool. The pool hosts the all-ages lessons and swim team practice in the mornings. (Photo by Stephanie Strasburg/PublicSource)
In Pittsburgh, this need is especially urgent. We are a city defined by our rivers: the Allegheny, the Monongahela and the Ohio. They bring beauty and identity, but also risk. Learning to swim isn’t optional in a city built around water; it is essential.
But the value of community pools goes beyond safety. They’re one of the last truly democratic public spaces; where toddlers in floaties, teenagers doing cannonballs and seniors doing water aerobics all share the same chlorinated space. Hanging out at the Highland Park pool, I annually get reacquainted with Noa, Phoebe, Jack and Henry. The crew from Jackson Street offer me a standing invitation to their never-ending games of Marco Polo. These pools are where neighbors become friends, where kids learn rules and boundaries in a shared environment and where parents can exhale knowing their kids are having safe fun.
In Pittsburgh, some of our pools are even third spaces nestled within green spaces, another treasure in a city full of concrete. Highland Park Pool feels like a summer escape tucked under trees. Schenley’s pool offers the same — a pocket of calm amid city bustle. Even Bloomfield Pool, surrounded by cement and chain-link fence, has been lovingly dubbed “the beach” by locals. It’s obviously not one, but that nickname is its own kind of poetry, a testament to what people can make of a space when it is all they have.
They are among the few places in the city where Pittsburgh’s invisible lines of neighborhood, income and identity get blurred. At the pool, your ZIP code doesn’t matter. No one cares what school you go to or whether your towel is frayed. I’ve seen strangers offer goodies to strangers. I’ve seen kids share pool toys with kids they just met. You float next to people you may never cross paths with anywhere else and yet, somehow, the pool makes it normal. Expected, even.
Some of my best memories are of long afternoons at our hometown pool, watching friends perfect their dives, overhearing snippets of grown-up conversations and feeling part of something bigger than myself. I see now that what we were building was not just swimming ability — it was a community.
Now, as an adult in Pittsburgh, I find that same sense of belonging at the Highland Park Pool. It’s a space where you show up as you are, no matter your body type, your swimsuit or how you feel about either. Everyone is welcome. You come for the giggles with your friends, for the sun-warmed concrete, for the shared joy of jumping in on a hot day. It’s a place that affirms: You belong here.
In Pittsburgh and beyond, public pools are disappearing. Those that remain are often understaffed and underfunding.
It’s a trend with roots stretching back to segregation: When pools began to integrate, some cities drained them instead. Today, a deprioritization of public funds continues the decline, as private swim clubs and backyard pools quietly replace public ones.
For more details on the public pools, visit the city and county pages.
Not all that long ago, Pittsburgh operated more than 30 public pools, but now less than half remain open. With each closure, we don’t just lose cool relief on a hot day — we lose gathering spaces, lifelines and access to the art of play.
Let’s invest in our pools. Let’s teach our kids to swim. Let’s give our communities a reason to come together around something that holds us all. Everyone deserves to feel what I felt as a kid, and what I feel now: safe, included and buoyed — literally and figuratively — by their community.
Hanna Theile is a graduate student at Heinz College of Information Systems and Public Policy. She can be reached at hannatheile18gmail.com
This article first appeared on PublicSource and is republished here under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
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