1920s - family view

From what my folks didn’t tell me, I imagine the 1920s was a preview of the sex, drug, and rock and roll of the ‘60s and ‘70s. I knew about my mother’s first party during the year-end holidays when 1923 turned into 1924. She and my dad met at that party. She also met her husband Willie, his brother Freddie, and Freddie’s wife Louise. Mother and Louise would soon become sisters-in-law and BFFs. My sister was one year old at the time. Our dad was married to Ida who was expecting my second sister. Thirty years later, Louise would become my godmother. And collectively, they would be overprotective and strict. I would be on a short leash and chaperoned until I was eighteen. At which time the leash would loosen, but never release.

Mother often talked about the good ol’ days. No longer cohabitating with Ida and Willie, she and Dad met at a sailor bar at the foot of Canal Street. New Orleans had the country’s second busiest port and despite prohibition, many nationalities opened bars along the wide thoroughfare. Dad’s family rarely crossed the river, but he rode the ferry to meet her at the Greek bar and she rode streetcars from uptown New Orleans.

He was born and raised in Algiers, rumored to be a hot spot for voodoo. Her family was leery of him. Her brothers thought his only redeeming quality was that he was a musician. His family saw no redeeming qualities in Mother. Her skin was too light and she lived on the east bank.

As they got to know each other better, he accompanied her to movies at an arcade near the river. When he wasn’t playing music, they enjoyed vaudeville shows at the Palace Theater on Iberville Street. Soon, she braved crossing the mighty Mississippi and walking through the streets of Algiers to watch him play. She was proud that everyone always knew when she appeared. When he saw her, he always missed a beat and was teased. He and his cousin played together, so their secret dating got out among his clan. Two of his seven sisters, Neola and Thelma, became good friends with Mother.

Dad saw his daughters often because they lived close by. Mother lived at home and her mother raised my brother, so she saw him daily.

One of Mother’s older sisters married into a musical upriver family from Lutcher. She introduced them to Dad, and the cousins began following them into seedier uptown areas around First Street and along the disreputable South Rampart Street. Mother gave no details about those years, but into the ‘50s and ‘60s, neither wanted my brothers to hang out along the strip because of its lingering seamy reputation. As much as she loved moving pictures, she avoided taking us to the Ritz on Rampart when we moved into a nearby neighborhood.

Pullman Porters

My 40-year-old American Uber driver could not comprehend Pullman and never had any dealings with trains. Silly of me to make assumptions -

From Wikipedia

Pullman porters were men hired to work for the railroads as porters on sleeping cars.[1] Starting shortly after the American Civil War, George Pullman sought out former slaves to work on his sleeper cars. Their job was to carry passengers’ baggage, shine shoes, set up and maintain the sleeping berths, and serve passengers. #PullmanPorters served American railroads from the late 1860s until the Pullman Company ceased its United States operations on December 31, 1968, though some sleeping-car porters continued working on cars operated by the railroads themselves and, beginning in 1971, Amtrak.

A TRUE BROTHERHOOD

On my first cross country trip by train, my dad, who worked for Southern Pacific in their Algiers railyard, met with several porters. He wanted to assure my safety. When he and Mother accompanied me to Union Station, he found my guardians and introduced us. As I was taking my final step onto the train, he was double checking with the porter who would hand me over to his friend when we reached El Paso. True to his word, I met a new porter in West Texas who made sure that I arrived safely in Los Angeles.

I’d told all my LSUNO friends that I was leaving, but only #NormanElfer came to see me off. Thank you Norm, I never forgot.

1982

Thank you #CaseyOsburn perfect background music for remembering. Just listened to #Top100of1982ReUpload on #youtube.

1982 was a blur as I lived it, but listening to #CaseyKasem and 100 most popular songs of the year has brought it all back

Always a Casey Kasem fan, I missed this one at the end of 1982. New baby 18 months after the first one. Hubby left #DCPD Georgia shortly after Wayne Williams was arrested -- and joined the navy. End of the year found me packing for our cross country move when my friend #GrindlynWilliams asked me to make her wedding gown quickly. The wedding was to be two weeks after the proposal. The family spent the first week discovering wedding prep took a lot longer. Unable to get a wedding dress during the first week, she asked me to make it with 7 days to go. We spent one of those days looking for a pattern. After choosing the hardest designer piece in the #Vogue pattern book, she pretty much moved in to babysit while I cut, basted, sewed, fitted, basted some more, then hand sewed the soutache braid onto the masterpiece (her family still has the dress). Of course, she wanted me in the wedding. I dressed quickly, gave the kids to my mother-in-law and with needle and thread in hand made some last minute fixes in the back of the church.

1982 had been one of those years. In January, the ob-gyn said I was expecting. I said impossible and I was probably right and should have believed myself – maybe. Our son wasn’t born ‘til the last 3 days of October – over ten months later. What a bundle of joy and happiness – glad the doctor was an idiot, though he performed a miracle when it was absolutely necessary. My precious package was gray and not breathing when he was born. Long minutes later after being whisked away and worked on, we heard his high pitched scream. I’m sure all the dogs for miles around came running – yes that high.

I was enjoying marriage wrapped in a cocoon of life in our #StoneMountain apartment. Work was wonderful. I loved spending my days in Visual Merchandising at #Richs in downtown #Atlanta. #SharkeysMachine was being filmed and I spent some lunch hours looking over the rail into the original subterrain Atlanta watching the boredom of seeing it all come together. My spouse, on the other hand, was not happy. He’d enjoyed being a decoy in the #AtlantaMissingAndMurdered Children’s case. He was not having fun in uniform and his mother constantly pressured him to follow in his six brothers’ footsteps and join the army.

I had a doctor’s appointment and went home midday. I parked the car, gathered my things, said hello to a stranger leaving the building and went in. While turning the key in the lock, the sights I’d just passed flitted through my mind. I turned. Looking down the corridor, I saw that almost every door had been broken and an axe was still hooked in one. I relocked the door, left the parking lot, and drove to the rental office where I called the cops. My husband joined the bevy of officers threading their way through the complex, especially my building. Fine time for the rest of the world to know that not only was I not perceptive, I couldn’t describe people, including my mate. They discerned that I’d probably said hello to one of the culprits who probably got in a car with others as I went in the building. Then drove away when I went to the rental office.

Because of this, it was the general consensus that I should probably not stay alone in the apartment while my partner went to Navy basic training in Florida. So, his little family stayed with his mother in the country. I should mention that she didn’t like me, didn’t want her son to marry me, and didn’t speak to me. What an arrangement! He told me his version of what she was like and gave me 10 commandments to live by. Again, I shouldn’t have listened. I don’t think any of her sons knew her and definitely didn’t understand her. He told me she especially wouldn’t appreciate my sense of humor. But, of course, that proved to be the ice breaker.

After basic, he went to AQAN Millington, Tennessee.  All thought, it was too close to birthing to be moving around so much. So, I remained in Georgia, where I made Grindlyn’s wedding gown and watched #JukeboxVideo late night while breast feeding.

Back to Casey Kasem – currently listening to #MichaelMcDonald, seeing the song performed on LSUNO’s campus. Performing artist must have used UNO’s campus as a practice when they toured in #NewOrleans, because the #DoobieBrothers weren’t the only group I saw there. I saw# CCR.

I’d not heard of #AirSupply before I got married, but I did like them - just discovered they’re #Australian. #AlanParsonsProject either. Didn’t know #StevieNicks wrote one of my favorite songs for #JessiColter and #WaylonJennings. Actually never heard of Colter before. #Leatherandlace #duet with #DonHenley. #ChariotsOfFire by #Vangelis took 22 weeks to make it to number one. No wonder it seems to have been played all year. It was one of my boss’ assistant favorite movies. #YoungTurks #33, I would use this song as a learning tool when my kids got to be teens. They didn’t get it. Maybe kids are not meant to get their parents. Can’t believe #WillieNelson was 49, his biggest country song of the year #32. #JoeCocker’s first number one hit was with #JenniferWarnes.

The theme from #HillStrteetBlues was also in this countdown. I’d never had time to watch TV until I got married. He thought that watching TV and reading album jackets was all the entertainment anybody needed. I never read jackets. But I digress.

He left for work, his first night in uniform. I turned on the TV and watched Hill Street Blues. All the rookies got killed. I turned off the TV. Never attempted to watch that again. Another reason not to watch television. I did watch movies that year. Poltergeist, Rocky III, and Rambo (my favorite).

RESET

Reset

I started using my computer this a.m. without my glasses. Big mistake. Didn’t realize how messed up my eyes were until I stepped onto the front porch and the tree leaves were blurred. Sat, reached for my #rosary, closed my eyes and said the #GloriousMysteries.

First time I ever heard the word meditation and paid attention, I was a student at #LSUNO. My #FineArts classmate #MariaBrunies, now friend #MariaBeard led a group of us to a meadow next to #LakePontchartrain. She’d been learning #TM; we practiced with her. After several times, I walked to the lake alone and tried, AND SUCCEEDED. FOR THE LAST TIME. Tripping, seeing myself sitting in the grass as my body rose closer and closer to the clouds freaked me out. Never did that again.

However, years later, thinking I needed a reset, I found a booklet entitled #ZenForChristians. Just the breathing while mentally repeating the chant was relaxing.

Many years later, husband and two children, I went on a #HolyWeek retreat in #SantaRosa California. I know, most people go there for the horses. Every day, I tried to climb a small hill, about the height of two or three #NewOrleans #levees. On #EasterSunday, I was determined to make it to the top. Joy at my accomplishment, I assumed the position. Silent chants, easy breaths, united me with TIMELESSNESS, WEIGHTLESSNESS, BEING AND NOT BEING, #SATORI, THE ALL.

What seems a lifetime later, I find it hard to concentrate, breathe slowly, and fill my mind for more than a half minute before I latch onto one or two pressing thoughts. But, I have rosaries throughout the house, a screened in front porch, fresh air, chirping birds by day, cicadas and tree frogs by night. One day, I remembered that I was taught to meditate on the mysteries. If you have nothing to think about, trying meditating on those. The old fifteen – Joyful, Sorrowful, and Glorious – will take you on many journeys. Or just reset. I’d known how to meditate a long time before I was introduced to TM.

Easter

This past week would have passed in a blur 70 years ago. There were no days off from school, because classes attended Mass every morning during Lent and students and their parents were expected to be present for the Stations of the Cross on Good Friday. Students were also expected to spend time in church for Forty Hours Devotion, a time when the Eucharist had been removed from the premises.

This left only Saturday for most to shop for their #Easter finery. Stores were not open at night. There were a few malls,  but they kept regular weekend hours and nothing opened on Sundays, not even grocery stores. Canal Street in #NewOrleans was almost as crowded as Carnival. There was no shoving or hysterics. Privileged children ran about the aisles and hid under clothing racks. People waited impatiently in long lines, but were cordial to each other and broached subjects of interests as they waited their turn in the waiting rooms. Women swapped recipes. Everyone wanted to know what other families served on Easter. At home, mothers prepared the dye and boiled eggs. With delight, children creatively colored the eggs while mother prepped for tomorrow’s meal. Late at night, all the beauty salons and barber shops closed. Women wrapped their hairdos and those of their daughters or lounged uncomfortably on sofas and day beds to prevent muss.

In the morning, everyone rose early to go to several dozen denominational Christian churches. They were all dressed to the nines. Shoes were shined and boys were warned not to scuff them whether they were new or old. Girls in flounced dresses, some with balloon slips beneath.  Parents in suits with pastel shirts to match spouse dresses. Everywhere, there were beautifully sculpted hats or pillboxes with netting. Afterward, children rushed to change their clothes and sneaked jelly beans while Mother prepared last minute food items and Father read the newspaper. A few children dared to open wrapped chocolates from their #Easterbaskets. They didn’t have to feign hunger. No one was allowed to eat anything before going to communion. Little children were too young and old people were exempt from this practice. Either company came to the house or the family went to other family residences. It was a festive day.

In a couple of weeks, my mother gave us all #CitrateofMagnesia, so we could maintain our good health.

L.A. ‘71

Politically incorrect to the max - - -not in # The Book

#PineapplePrincess song by #AnnetteFunicello 1960 – one year after our 50th state. I suppose this song is politically incorrect on several levels, but it was in a YouTube music mix and immediately reminded me of #NancyNakoa, a Hawaiian girl I hung out with in the summer of ’71 in L.A. My Spanish was still good after studying four years of it prior to college and my two semesters at LSUNO with #BeatrizCuellar and Senora Patron. The Chicanos hit on Nancy every few blocks and I answered in Spanish, because she didn’t speak that language. They just stared at me. Eventually, she got comfortable enough to laugh with me about it.

FUN(NY) PROJECT

not in # The Book

20th century Louisiana, the #BayouState. #New Orleans in movies and on TV. Leave #CityPark or #AudubonPark, enter a #FrenchQuarter front door and exit through the back onto a bayou. Pirogue waiting at the veranda. And Voodoo, of course.

Fun project for the two of us - I worked with a photographer for a short while. As we tramped around NOLA on a lazy Saturday morning, he lay down on the street to get the perfect shot. I did a bit of writing before I realized, he was still laying there. I told him several times that he needed to get up. We had places to go and things to do. He ignored me as friends are wont to do. As I walked over to him, he suddenly jumped up yelling at me to make it stop. “Make it stop!” he repeated, hopping from leg to leg ang batting his clothes. I was flabbergasted and wondered why he was shouting at me.

When I got close, I saw thousands of agitated ants scattering away from my dancing friend. He’d obviously not felt them as they crawled on his shoes, pants, and jacket, but once they got under the pants legs, he was alerted. I burst into laughter as I realized he’d fallen for the myth that everyone in New Orleans practiced Voodoo.

MALL ‘85

Steve Perry             Oh Sherrie              not in # The Book

Mall security guard Steve was doing his rounds. It was a slow day in the small mall, so I stood outside where he could see me. Most people rarely walked our way unless they were actually headed to Radio Shack, but word had gotten around that we had a desktop computer in the store. We were beginning to attract curiosity seekers and our on call computer expert Mike was contacted more frequently.

“Have you seen that girl in here before?” Steve asked.

“She’s here almost every day.”

“Do you know what she’s here for?”

“Sure, I asked her one day. She was so exasperated, I felt sorry for her.”

“Well, you’re the only one that knows.”

“Nobody asked me. I would have told them. But, you know, I’m the outsider.”

“Once they get used to you, you’ll be the hit of the mall.”

“If we were staying, I would have gotten to know everybody by now. As it is, I gave David my notice today.”

“I thought you were here for another year.”

“We are. I got a job at the factory. It’s practically across the street from our apartment.”

“That’s good,” Steve said patting my shoulder. He grinned, “I saw you pedaling your ass on the highway the other evening. Riding your bike home at ten o’clock at night is not safe.”

“That’s what David said. He wouldn’t let me ride the night we closed together. He grabbed my bike up and put it in the trunk of his car when he found out. He said if he’d known, he wouldn’t have hired me. Fact is, when I got hired, my husband was on a different shift. I had the car.”

A customer walked in the store. “Gotta go,” I said softly.

“See you.” Steve turned and asked, “Why does she come here every day?”

I giggled, “She’s looking for you.”

“Me? I passed her, she didn’t say anything.”

“Someone told her Steve Perry comes here every day. She’s his number one fan.”

“Journey?”

I shook my head.

Steve Perry, mall security, rolled his eyes heavenward and walked away.