Sometimes in the morning or evening, when Jeff and I sit across the room from each other – he in his beloved leather chair, and me on our sofa, I look up to look at him. He is reading, or watching another series on the web. He doesn’t know I’m looking. I look up and take a few moments to look at his face, to study him, to enjoy him.
Jeff’s face has been in my life for a long time, although sometimes it seems as if all the time has gone by so quickly; it has gone by so quickly. We’ve had good times, sweet times, hard times, laughing times, gentle times, shouting times, quiet times. I am grateful to the Powers for having gifted me with Jeff as my partner in this life.
I love that Jeff is a man who makes sure to make time for relationship, time to nourish and be with one another, offering gratitude, remembering together, enjoying one another.
And so, today, this is an ode to Jeff’s face. “From the beginning of my life I have been looking for your face…” – Rumi
I think his kindness shows in his face, and I’m grateful for his kindness, through all of life’s journey.
Suzie didn’t go to Charm School. I asked her. She said that she could have used Charm School, but I guess Mom only decided to send me. I can guess the reasons for this, but I don’t know for sure.
Once a week, the year I was 13, Mom enrolled me in Charm School, which was held on Saturday mornings on the top floor of the Boston Store in downtown Milwaukee. I rode the 23 bus line to Wisconsin Avenue, where I got off at the stop in front of the Boston Store and took the elevator to the top floor. There, I learned how to be charming.
I learned a lot of things that were important to know in Charm School. For example, I learned how to greet someone, to extend my hand, to look them in the eye as I greeted them. I learned how to hold my legs when I stood, so that I looked proper – lady-like. I learned how to wear white gloves. I learned how to speak properly in public, how to introduce myself, how to be presentable when in public. Maybe Mom wanted me to go so that I would be presentable in public; I’m not sure.
As it was, the charms I learned in Charm School would be called into question within a few years, with the country in turmoil over the Vietnam War, the protests that accompanied that turmoil, and the demonstrations on University campuses all over the country. I wore skirts and garter belts with proper stockings all the way through High School, but the world was about to change.
The world did change, the year I graduated from high school – 1967. We’d seen the assassination of a President and of his brother, and we’d watched, again and again, the assassination of the Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. We were witnesses to the world changing; the world we lived in changed – quickly and with no turning back – and so we changed, too.
Soon, I’d be wearing blue jeans all the time – even to school – tank tops in the summer time, and I’d give up teasing to get my hair to stay up high in the air. I’d give up rollers at night, too. While I learned about how to wear the proper amount of makeup in Charm School, I gave up makeup, too, in college.
And I read Fear of Flying, by Erica Jong, signaling to my mother – who couldn’t read past the first few pages, though she didn’t say a word to me about reading it – that I was part of a new generation.
Charm School had opened doors for me, even doors that led to places I couldn’t have imagined. And some of those doors that opened for me led me to places my mother could not have imagined, although she had dreamed a different future for me. A future different from hers.
Charm School had its limitations in my life during changing times. However, I do know how to stand correctly, how to introduce myself (who goes first, etc.), and how to show interest in what someone else is saying. Maybe that’s what’s left over in me from Charm School.
Me and Suzie, in my pre-Charm School days, circa 1954.
For a moment the city is still, the rush of cars silent, the air full of silence, holding as we hold this second, we stop this second. A towee stops, too, on the back stoop and the cat, stealthy, climbs the steps to watch, careful. Then the feathered one flies past the cat.
We are waiting for the appearance - the Blue Moon - to show itself above the houses, the lush summer trees, to hold still for a moment as we hold our breath.
When I was growing up in the 1950’s, children still went out to play with the other children in the neighborhood. From our upper flat, Mom could keep an eye out for me while I played. I expect most other Moms did the same. In the summer time, she could step into the back hall from the kitchen and take a look at me through the screen door that opened to a small porch on the second floor. Then, she could go back to her own day.
The streets and alleys were full of little people then, children riding tricycles, older children giving orders to younger ones. I can still picture the house where Michelle Froehlick lived – they had the whole house! – and I can see the back of Randy Larsen’s flat that faced the other street when we all met to play in the alley. Randy Larsen – who gave me my first kiss in the alley, and whose name is on the Vietnam Memorial in Washington, D.C.
One of my first memories is of me taking a bath, and Mom helping me to take a bath at the end of a day of playing. As she cleaned me up with a washcloth dripping with soap, Mom reached across me and without looking at me, as if her words were an aside, she said: “I saw you hit another little girl while you were playing today.”
I can touch the sense I still have of the little girl in that moment, her mind moving quickly, her clarity as she answered: “It must have been another little girl who looked just like me.”
And I saw the smile appear on Mom’s face as she turned her head away from me to hide that smile. I don’t remember another word spoken between us then.
Hoping to not get caught… photo by Mary Elyn Bahlert, 8/18/2024
“Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back, always ineffectiveness. Concerning all acts of initiative and creation, there is one elementary truth the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then providence moves too”. – William Hutchinson Murray
Every year during early August, my long-time friend Nancy and I choose a good restaurant and meet to celebrate our birthdays – both also in early August – with small gifts and with a good meal and always, dessert – shared. This year, we stayed for a long time in the booth in the dimly lit restaurant where we had finished our dinners and our dessert, talking about our long friendship and our long lives.
Nancy confided in me that through most of her life, she has gotten on most easily with men, and with me and one or two other women as exceptions, she still thinks of herself that way. On the other hand, I find that I have had long time friendships with both men and women, friendships I value to this time in my life.
The role of men in my life stands out in a particular way. Through the years, I have been helped in some way by some good man whose path crossed mine. As a college age woman, I took a semester off before graduation, not clear about my future. I was unclear in my choice of college major, and although I had help through the University, I still took a semester before I would return to graduate with my BA. I was confused, and so I continued to live at home – as I had throughout my undergraduate years – and landed a job in a public relations firm, my desk in a corner of the basement office without windows where other young women my age worked in the accounting office.
The firm had one copy machine, and one day, I found myself making copies as the President of the firm walked up, and as he waited to use the machine. We chatted for a few moments, and in that time, I told him that I’d been at university, but that I’d left before I received my degree.
A few months later, I decided to return to school for the last semester of study, in the fall of 1972. I told my supervisor about my decision, and I prepared myself to give up the job and to find some other part time work to continue to pay for school. When the news of my leaving traveled to the upper offices, where the important members of the staff sat in private rooms with windows, an offer came down the stairs and to my desk. I could continue working at the firm – part-time – as I finished school. A new position was formed for me to be able to work part time. Apparently, the President of the company had heard about my leaving and made this offer, a way to support my receiving my degree.
I graduated with my BA in January of 1973, and was offered a position as Claims Representative for the Social Security Administration, which was hiring that year to bring on enough staff to implement the Supplemental Security Income Program for low-income elderly and disabled folks (the SSI Program – a life-saver for many folks – continues today).
A few years later, I was working as a Claims Representative in the SSA office on Milwaukee’s South Side, interviewing recipients of both Social Security and SSI. When I could, I had accompanied the Claims Representative in the office to a Contact Station where members of the public could file for benefits without traveling to the District Office. And I was called on to give talks to the public from time to time.
What I also did surprises me, even now. When the end of the week rolled around and no more public interviews were expected of me, I’d make my way to the office – the door was always open – of the District Manager. I’d sit in a chair across from his desk and have a conversation, asking about what his work was like, what was difficult, what it was like to be a District Manager.
I expect relationships with my father and my older brother – both of whom liked me – gave me some confidence in myself.
In the fall of 1980, the position of Field Representative opened at the Waukesha District Office of SSA, and I applied for the job. My additional work – public contacts, public speaking – helped me land the job. As did the fact that the District Manager knew me personally. He was happy for me.
During my final year as a Claims Representative in that office, before I received the promotion to Field Rep, another good man, Larry Alt, was my supervisor. One day, Larry told me that I needed to meet his wife, Sue Alt. He thought that she and I could be friends. And after I met her, Sue became an important friend to me for many years. She’s gone now, and I still miss her.
Through the years, other men have lit the path on my way. I’m grateful.
I’m grateful for the positive, affirming friendships I’ve had with men over the years. I’m grateful for the loving father and brother who lit my path in a way they did not intend or understand. As I hear the stories of others, and as I’ve struggled with what I received – and did not receive – as a young person, I see how those relationships have shaped my life. Continue to shape who I am.
