Aretha, Diane, Dolly, Gloria

I wasn’t on a first name basis with them, but each of these women – Aretha, Diane, Dolly, Gloria – were important to my life. Of course I knew their names. Even if they didn’t know mine.

My heart longs some times for those long, humid days of summer. I was in my college years, studying at University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, on the East Side of Milwaukee. By some act of grace I had my parents’ car – a 1967 Chevy BelAir Coupe – for the day, as long as I showed up at the gate of A.O.Smith at 3:30 pm to pick up Dad from work. I had some money of my own – enough to pay tuition for each semester, enough to buy books, and my own room at home. Suzie had moved out early, getting married as soon as she graduated from high school. I had some money of my own, and time of my own, too.

Those were days of luxury, although I didn’t know it then. I was a few years off from graduating. I was free – in a way I would never be free again. After my summer class at the University, I’d take the long way home, driving south along the shore of Lake Michigan, WNOV playing “sweet soul music” on the radio, turned up, and me – singing along.

I loved that soul music. And I knew all the words. And a favorite of mine was Aretha Franklin. She’ll always be a favorite; sometimes when I’m working in the kitchen, I’ll prop my iPad up to the wall and play old albums. And I’ll sing along, just like I did on those languid summer days in Milwaukee. Aretha had been in my life forever – it seemed to me.

We were guests of my long time friend Joanne – I’d meet Joanne a few years later in the Social Security Office in Green Bay – when news came on tv that Aretha had died. “Oh…” I let out a small groan. I watched the news clips, Aretha’s familiar face and sweet soul music on the screen. Her death felt like a personal loss to me, a slice of my own story, my own journey, dying along with her. I had particular images of her in mind; I’d read that she arrived at each performance of her long career with her purse, which she placed on the top of the piano – to make sure she’d get paid. I won’t forget you, Aretha.

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And there was Diane. I’d admired Diane Keaton since her breakout role in “The Godfather.” In my college years, I’d made a spring break trip to New York City, and my friend Vicki and I had second row seats to see “Hair” on Broadway. As part of the cast who threw off their clothes in the final scene of the production, Diane Keaton had come into public view – completely.

I kept up with Diane’s career. The Internet made that possible. I read about her private life; after a long life with various partners, she’d adopted two children of her own and she’d apparently taken to buying up real estate. Like so many admirers, I knew about these things.

I won’t forget you, either, Diane.

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Dolly. Dolly Parton was admired – not only for her music, but for her big heart. To me, Dolly had a real, true presence. She never forgot where she had come from, from a poor family in the South, and a life she’d left behind when fame caught up with her. From time to time, I’ll watch her sing “Islands in the Stream” on youtube. Her glowing presence shows up, even years after she recorded the song. Her glowing, kind, generous, loving presence. I loved to read about Dolly’s life, how she gave books to kids who wouldn’t have a book. I watched again an interview with Barbara Walters, the differences between the two women visceral on the screen.

Dolly, Dolly, we miss you so.

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Gloria. Gloria Steinem. From the time I purchased my first copy of Ms. Magazine while living in Green Bay, I’d known about Gloria and the others – the women who spoke up, the women who wrote, the women who lived their feminism. I admired them. I wanted to be them. In my own small way, I tried to leave my own imprint at work, where I worked among men who had not had a woman share their position, their rank, at work. Gloria’s work spoke to me. Her path opened the way for me – and millions of other women – to “raise their consciousness” – to become aware of the second-rate citizenship the women of the world lived – still live.

I knew then that my name would not change – ever – if/when I married. The idea that I’d have to have a partner who accepted that without question did not rise in me, although that’s the way life worked itself out.
Gloria’s work and Gloria’s voice gave me courage to face my life alone, to begin to trust myself, to see myself and other women in a new way. What I learned from Gloria’s modeling has never left me. I expect that how I live out my life now has been shaped by Gloria and the others who had the courage to see things the way they were and to say: NO!

My own feminism is gentler now. I don’t know if Gloria’s feminism came to have a gentler edge. I expect that life’s unfolding brought something to her own journey, as it has to mine.

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As I write, faces and feelings come to my mind about all the years that have passed since these women came into my life. And just like that – it seems – they are gone.

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