Thursday, October 8, 2009

My Other Mother


My mother was born in 1903 in Milwaukee. Her father was a German cooper and her mother was a Gypsy. A real Gypsy. Mother had had 3 sisters, all older, and was brought up Catholic. (She left the church when she was 15 because a priest wouldn't let her light a candle for her mother unless she paid for it. She challenged him about only rich people getting to heaven, turned and never went back to a Catholic church again.) They were poor, and as each sister married and moved out the house got less crowded. Her mother dropped on the street in 1910 and died on the spot. Nobody knows why she died. Nobody now knows where she is buried. A little girl was too much for her father, so she was sent to live with her oldest sister, married but childless. Her uncle abused her until she went out on her own at 14. The year was 1917. She got a job with the telephone company and moved in with another operator who became her life-long friend. She was an exotic beauty and soon was modeling for various photographers and artists. She was a flapper, a dancer and a general hell-raiser. She met her husband, my father, in 1921 and was married in 1925. The Roaring 20's. He was a hell-raiser too, so they raised hell together throughout the 20's and 30's and endured the Great Depression with a large group of close friends and a lot of bathtub gin. My father was a graduate electrical engineer and had steady work all through those tough years. She raised hell and had a ball. They tried for children, but she could not keep a pregnancy, so in 1937 they adopted my brother. That did it. Thank you Tom for me.
World War II came along and so did I. My father worked in D.C. during the war years (they had moved from Milwaukee to New York in the 30's) She stayed home coping with 2 boys, rationing and a old friend that desperately wanted her (and never getting her. He was an undertaker and she made my father promise that when she died "he" would never touch her body. I don't know if my father ever knew of the attempted betrayal by his friend).
After the war she spent the next 5 summers living in a surplus army tent at the end of a potato field hauling water a mile from the farm house at the end of the road, using a latrine and getting sprayed several time a summer with pesticide from a bi-plane crop duster. She got a tick bite and contracted what was diagnosed as tick fever, and was never the same again.
Enter my Other Mother.
She went down hill pretty fast after that. We moved into a new neighborhood in 1950 and she had an "nervous breakdown" shortly after that. She took loads of Valium when they came out, and got shock treatments several times in the early 50's. She suffered from a continuous string of physical problems, some "in her mind" to quote the family Doc., and some of an infirm body. She smoked like a chimney, lost weight, got emphysema and died in 1971 of heart failure.
I often wonder what life would have been like if my original mother had survived into my adolescence and adult life. She was such a risk-taker and hell-raiser there is no telling how the family would have been different. But she didn't. I miss them both and love them both for different reasons, and wish them well where ever they may be.

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

shoot the bear






In my distant past I was a "yute", as they say in Brooklyn. In the early 50's there was an arcade game that involved shooting at moving animals with lenses in their bodies with a rifle with a light in the barrel. So when you "shot" the light flashed and if you aimed accurately at the lens in the animal you "got" it and it did something. I remember the bear specifically but don't really know why. Anyway, when you hit the bear, it reared up, roared and turned around and went in the other direction. You scored a point. If you keep hitting the bear it kept roaring and turning and you kept scoring.
For years I have been using the analogy "like a bear in a shooting gallery" when someone turns abruptly and moves on. I have had to explain this to numerous people who probably then and now think I an nuts. Well, nuts to you of little faith. Watch the video and you will see what I mean. Where the hell the stuff on YouTube comes from I do not know (of course I know really, just look at the link, what I mean is I am amazed that anyone has all this stuff).


Now, that may not be the most exciting video you have ever watched, but by golly I grew up with games like that and they are still better than all that video crap. So there.

Mystery Woman and Fear Filled Eyes











Today I saw her again. See was dressed the same as all the other times I have seen her. Sweat pants, running shoes, some kind of pull-over top. Hair long, dirty blond and stringy. She walks along the hard shoulder of the divided highway with a slight stagger like she is a bit drunk. She veers onto the roadway an inch or two and then back on the shoulder. She turns and looks over her own shoulder, her face full of fear. Today she had a backpack, stuffed with who-knows-what. Sometimes she walks west but today she was walking east. This means that sometime during her walks she crosses 4 busy lanes of traffic. Sometimes she changes direction and starts to walk the other way, only to change again and go back the way she was going, eyes fearful both ways.
The first time I saw her I thought she was really high and in danger of getting run over. I looked for a highway patrol car (always some in this stretch) and there was one on the side of the road in the direction she was walking (lurching more like it). The trooper would have seen her coming and taken some action (I thought). The things I noticed most were the staggering walk and the fearful looking over her shoulder.
I know she has a story and big problems. I wonder if she is on the street because of the drastic cut in treatment for poor people when many facilities were closed or underfunded? I wonder if the current health care debate takes mystery women with fear in their eyes into consideration at all? Somehow I doubt it. I guess that she will end up on a slab somewhere, crushed and cold. The only meds in her system alcohol and heroine, or crack or crystal meth. Where a simple prescription of something, a bed and some counseling would probably save her, she lingers in fear. What a crappy system.

Photo credit: http://wittgensteinforum.wordpress.com/2007/10/

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

"Things I Learned on the way to Other Things"


Years ago there was a columnist that occasionally included a column called "Things I Learned on the Way to Other Things" or something close to that. I tried to find the reference to it and failed. I remember the stacks at U of M, U of F and FSU. Being in undergraduate and graduate school for a total of 13 years gave me lots of miles in stacks. Add a few public libraries and you probably get something like 15 or 16 years of perusing. Usually I had a quest of some kind, looking for something specific or some genre to consider. But in sweeping along the shelves often something caught my eye. I would pause, take out the book and glance through it. More often than not I'd sit somewhere and have a little read. I found a wonderful quartet called "The Book of the New Sun" by Gene Wolfe this way. The story of an apprentice torturer in a time when that was a legitimate occupation. And others. My point? Well, its this: when you are on the way to something, keep your eyes, ears and mind open to other things as well. You never know what you will find on the way. Oh, and yes, it takes more time too. Going to the library was always a risky business for me. Never knew when I'd get out.
Book cover from: http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/60211.The_Shadow_of_the_Torturer