LIFE CHANGES

The old Players Theater

I had always been a girl with goals both large and small.  Now my goal was to get through the day.  I wasn't good at my job; my family was fractured and I had no idea what to do with my life.  In the early 60's girls went to college and then married a lovely boy from another college to whom she was "pinned."  Some girls had careers.  I had been trained to become an actress, but for some reason I was too terrified to try.  I had no idea how to start.  I pictured myself living in New York City in a tiny apartment with four other girls.  Working as a waitress while going to auditions.  Being rejected.  Over and over again.

To escape this grim fantasy (which was probably very realistic) I spent my spare time at the Players Theater, where I had spent a good deal of my youth.  I made some friends; I worked on costumes; I went to cast parties.  At work I went out to lunch with Lorrie who was pregnant and was trying to figure out if she should marry Boot.  Marrying a Black man in 1964 seemed fraught with danger.  Becoming an unmarried mother of a biracial child in the South seemed equally dangerous.  But I kept these thoughts to myself.

On the homefront my parents were determined to keep my grandparents in the dark about their separation as they feared they would be shocked and upset.  My personal feeling was that since dear Nana had abandoned her first husband and son when my father was 12 so she could have a better life, she had no real reason to be shocked.   But as usual I kept my thoughts to myself.

But then one day everything changed.  I needed to ask our director, Peter, a question. Someone said he was in his office so I went and knocked on the door.  No answer.  I knocked again and called out his name.  Silence.  I opened the door and saw Peter on the floor unconscious.  I ran for help and honestly what happened after that is all a blur.  I think an ambulance came and Peter was taken to the hospital.  No one talked about what had happened.  I never found out exactly what was wrong with Peter, but I knew he drank.  If explanations were made, I didn't hear them.  Quite suddenly Peter and his wife moved to New York without saying Goodbye.  A new director was needed immediately to direct Bye, Bye Birdie, a musical Peter had already cast.

A professional actor and director named Paul was hired.  He had run his own summer stock theater in Malden Bridge, New York, for many years and had given a 14-year-old girl named Barbra Streisand a chance to be an apprentice one summer.  She turned out to be a capable little actress and played five roles.  No one knew Barbra could sing.  Paul stepped right up and directed Birdie, which turned out to be a huge success.  I was his assistant for the next production and dutifully wrote down his notes for the cast at rehearsals.  Paul turned out to be a sweet man I felt comfortable with and he could easily make me laugh.  We became friends.

Six months later we were married.

COULD I HAVE BEEN THAT NAIVE?

Before I died of terminal boredom working for a boss whose only clients appeared to be some very ancient ladies whom I was told never to bill as they had all promised "to remember him in their will."  I hope they did. (He did have several male visitors from the Ringling School of Art who were hoping to borrow his car.)

I found a job at a law firm with several partners as apparently I gave the mistaken impression of knowing what I was doing.  The secretary in the cubicle next to me typed 100 words a minute and was "wild."  During slow periods Lorrie regaled me with stories that proved that she was both wild and progressive.  She was living with a Black man named Boot in 1964 and she told everyone else that Boot was an Indian which no one believed.  I admired her principles on race relations, but now I think she just liked Boot.  The second week I was there Lorrie said a large group of Florida legislators was coming to Sarasota and there would be a gala party.  Would I be willing to be a hostess?  Well, of course, I would!  My grandmother was thrilled and was sure I would meet the governor.  (I did not.)  I was to meet Lorrie at a posh resort on Lido Beach where cocktails would be served.

I saw Lorrie immediately.  She was wearing a bright red cocktail dress and talking to a much older man who turned out to be a Representative from a very rural county who was her "date."  I was introduced to a bland young man who represented Volusia County and who was apparently my date.  I was confused.

Alcohol was flowing freely and there was a great deal of jolly talk. I had a Coke with lemon. Lorrie was complimented on her "pretty legs" and I was told what a nice figure I had.  There was lots of laughter, bad jokes and extravagant compliments as we wandered around the pool consuming endless appetizers.  Somehow I had thought the evening would be far more  fascinating than                    it was turning out to be.                  

At some point the entire party drove to the Mecca for dinner.  Since everyone but me was quite drunk by this time, this was probably not a good idea.

"What's that thing on top of the tower?" asked the Representative from rural Florida.  "It looks like a
woman's tit!"

Neither Lorrie nor I could think of a suitable reply so we both studied our menus.  My date looked embarrassed.  Score one for him.  We all ate enormous amounts of delicious food and my tablemates kept on drinking.  I tuned out and concentrated on my plate, wishing I were back at Wesleyan singing the blessing at Sunday dinner. My longing was interrupted by Mr. Sophisticate's beefy hand on mine.

"So, what do you think of that, Missy?"  I stared at him stupidly until Lorrie helped me out in a voice freighted with meaning.

"He was saying that he told a man to get off the sidewalk and stand in the gutter."

"Oh, I guess I must have missed something.  Why did he have to get off the sidewalk?"

"Because he was a nigger," he said.

I looked at Lorrie who was staring into the distance, her face expressionless.  My "date" was flushing deeply.

"Well, I need to get on home," said Lorrie, standing and clutching her purse.

"But I thought you and I were--"

"No, my babysitter will be wondering where I am.  Thanks for a lovely dinner."  And she was gone.  Thank God she had brought her own car. Her babysitter was of course Boot.

"Well, shit," said the Honorable Representative.  "I thought..."

My date stood up.  "Miss Linda, you probably want to get on home too, don't you?" I nodded silently and stood.  He threw a lot of cash on the table, then took my arm.

We both got in his car, saying nothing.

"You don't do this kind of thing do you?" he said staring at the steering wheel. I shook my head.  "Did you even know what you were getting into?"

"No, I didn't realize....I was horribly naive."

He smiled at me.  "I like that in a girl."

Startled, I laughed.  And then he drove me home. 

A FALLING APART LIFE

Sarasota is beautiful, but I didn't notice.  My life had quickly fallen apart and I had no idea what to do next.  My parents split up; my best friends got married.

I didn't return to Wesleyan for my senior year.  I had no car; I had no job; I had no plans.  My father and I lived in a dump and my high school friends had scattered.  I went from being busy every moment of the day doing activities I loved to doing nothing.  With no enthusiasm whatsoever, I looked for a job and found one as a secretary to an attorney who had no clients, which was a good thing as I was a pitifully slow typist and had forgotten my shorthand.

 My boss was gone most of the time doing God knows what and I was alone in my windowless office hoping the phone would ring and it seldom did. I was seriously depressed but didn't recognize the signs.

I auditioned for a play at the Players and was given a small part.  I made some new friends.  There were several charming young men hanging around and I liked them very much, but they were not exactly boyfriend material.  My days and nights were filled with mild boredom, but I didn't really notice.  I was sleepwalking through my life and was going nowhere so very, very fast.

TO BE CONTINUED

November 22, 1963

"Where were you when Kennedy was shot?"  For my generation that was the question for which we all knew the answer.  How could we ever forget?  The horror of that weekend was burned into our brains forever.

My good friend Jane had asked me to come up to Homecoming at Wesleyan.  I missed my old life so much that I jumped at the chance.  Of course, it would be different.  Linda and Bootsie had married; Anne had graduated and Kathy and Kris had left.

But I had been part of the Wesleyan family and I wanted to be part of it again if only for a weekend.  So I got on the Trailways bus and began the long, boring trip to Macon.  I got off the bus in Albany, GA, to get a Coke.

There was a strange, almost surreal atmosphere in the bus station.  People had gathered in small groups and I caught only snatches of their conversation.

"Yeah, shot through the head.  Twice I think.  Dallas."

"A motorcade.  They were all out in the open.  Secret Service was useless."

"Jackie tried to climb out the car at one point."

Jackie?

"Excuse me, what's happened?  Who was shot?"

A man stared at me.  "Why the President.  Kennedy.  I never did like him much," he said calmly.

"Is he alive?  Did he die?"

"Oh, yeah, just a little while ago."  I burst into tears.  "That S.O.B. Johnson gets to be President now."

 I walked away, still crying.  Something had broken inside me, that illusion of safety.  If someone could kill our President, then none of us was safe.  Anything could happen.  We were 

vulnerable.

I don't remember the weekend at Wesleyan at all except that everyone was in shock.  I must have ridden another bus back to Sarasota.  Lee Harvey Oswald.  Jack Ruby.  Nothing remains clear--it was a nightmare in slow motion.

I wondered if Caroline and John- John really understood  what had happened to their father.  They were so young, so small.  Thank God they could not know what lay ahead.

VENUS IN FURS in Nana's library

After nine days I was at last released from the hospital and taken at once to Nana's house to recover.  Nana had a big house and was always there so it made sense.  Nana was my dad's mother and was a devout Seventh Day Adventist.  Since my father was a devout atheist, Nana didn't say much about her religion when he was around but she loved to talk about it with me.  The golden streets of Heaven where only white Southerners resided.  The Lord sitting on a golden throne surrounded by winged angels playing golden harps. (Lots of gold in Heaven.)  Since I was confined to bed, I could not escape.  Sometimes Eva, Nana's sister-in-law, came over.  Dear Eva had a fine sense of the dramatic as she appeared at my bedroom door, hands crossed on her breasts and intoned,

"I have been speaking to God!"

I was dying to ask if God had answered, but I dared not. Aunt Eva had certainly piqued my interest.  There followed a long, rather fevered conversation between Nana and Eva which appeared to trash Yankees, Negroes, Jews, foreigners, Italians and the Holy Catholic Church which was the Whore of Babylon.  I felt the need to take issue with this characterization of the Church, now that I was old enough to know what "whore" meant. 

"Nana, Aunt Eva, since I AM a Catholic, I can't let you call the Church a --"

"Linda, do not say that word aloud.  My dear, you are but a child and you do not understand the evils of the world--the depravity, the decadence, the disgusting...."

"EVA!" cried Nana, laughing nervously. "Linda is recovering from surgery.  Perhaps now is not the time to....to discuss depravity."

Eva rose immediately, her face flushed and her eyes very bright indeed.  "Well, on to Maas Brothers then.  I need new foundation garments.  And a hairnet."

When the sisters of charity had driven away, I carefully got out of bed, poured myself a glass of iced tea and explored Nana's bookcase.  A thick layer of dust covered all the ancient tomes and I knew then that Nana and my step-grandfather were not big readers.  All the books looked boring, but then I saw a title I had heard of...It couldn't be....

Venus in Furs by Leopold Von Sacher-Masoch.  The man for whom masochism was named!  Good grief, how could this be?  Did Nana even know this book was here?  It must belong to Roy, her sweet little old husband who was in Kiwanis.  What would he be doing with a book about whips and bondage?  Of course, he was pretty submissive....I began to read.

OMG!

"Linda, I'm home.  Did you take a little nap while I was gone?" she trilled.

I was speechless.  I just sat there with the book in my hand.  "What are you reading, dear?"  Nana took the book from my hand and looked at it closely.

"This is a dirty book!  Where did you get this filth?"

"Out of your bookcase!"

We shall draw the curtain of charity over this

poignant little scene.

INSTEAD OF SCHOOL BOOKS, KIDNEY STONES

Sarasota Memorial Hospital

Lord have mercy, why did I feel so terrible?  And what was that strange bubbling sound?  It was so hard to open my eyes....but finally I did.  I saw a tube filled with hideous green bubbly stuff coming out of my nose and snaking across the bed.  Where did it end?  I couldn't see.  I couldn't seem to move.

"Well, hey, sweet thing, you finally woke up, huh?  You been laying there gurgling and snorting for a long time with that green stuff coming out of your belly.  Damn near made me upchuck."

Some strange woman was smiling at me from the bed across the room.

"We thought you was gonna sleep for a hundred years like Sleeping Beauty"

Then I heard a strange muffled voice.  I slowly turned my eyes toward the voice and saw someone sitting up in bed with her entire head swathed in bandages except for her eyes and a little hole where her mouth was.  I had no idea what she had said.

"I'm sorry; I didn't understand what you said."  My voice was hoarse, like the voice of the devil in The Exorcist.

"She said but you ain't no beauty."  This hilarious remark was greeted by laughter from all three of my roommates.  There was a young girl in the bed next to me.  It all came back to me then.  The hospital....kidney stones....surgery.....lots of pain.  Lots of pain.

And on that cheerful note, in strode my urologist.  "How are you feeling, Linda?" he said, flipping through papers on his clipboard.  I gave him A Look.  "Well, like I told you--the first five days you feel like you're going to die.  The next five days you're afraid you won't."  Everyone laughed heartily.  I  managed a grim smile.

"Is it time for a pain shot?" I said, hopefully.

"That's my girl--you haven't lost your sense of humor!"

"Yes, I have.  Really, can I have something for pain?"

"I think you have about another half hour to wait before we can...."  I grabbed his arm hard.

"I want a shot now!  I'm in pain!  Now!"  

Flustered, the doctor mumbled something and hurriedly left the room.  My roommates were strangely silent.  I lay there trying not to cry until a nurse rushed into the room carrying a needle.  An angel of mercy.  She gave me the shot and gently adjusted the sheets.  She smiled.

"You'll begin to feel better very soon, I promise," she said in a soft voice.  "Very soon."

"I can't go back to school now.  I would have been a senior this year.   I'm a Green Knight.  I won't be there when our last year starts...."  The tears came then.

The nurse gently pushed my hair back and gave me a Kleenex.  "You'll go back some day."

"I don't think I will."  I remembered Sunday dinners with the sunlight streaming in the windows of the dining room.  All of us in our Sunday best and singing the blessing...  Praise God from whom all blessings flow...

I closed my eyes and let myself remember.

WHAT FRESH HELL IS THIS?

Already exhausted, Jim and I trudged over to the bus, climbed on and found a seat.  Jim had bags under his eyes and I hoped he would be able to sleep all the way to Florida, but it was not to be.  About twenty minutes into the trip, I noticed the bus was on fire and flames were shooting out from under the hood. Panic ensued.  People started screaming and running up and down the aisle, but Jim and I just sat there with glazed eyes, unable to take it in.

The surreal scene had the feeling of a nightmare and we couldn't wake up.  People were scrambling to get off the bus; some girls were crying.  I remember noise and smoke and confusion.  There must have been firetrucks; someone must have gotten all the luggage off the bus; I can't remember.  Jim looked terrified.  I tried to reassure him; God knows what I said.  Eventually, another bus came out from the City and we all piled in.  I prayed for peace and quiet and no more disasters.

Over the next two days Jim and I changed buses eleven times and I've never known why.  There was no schedule.  When the bus stopped, Jim and I would show our tickets to someone who would put us on a bus going south.  Twice we walked alone at night, carrying our luggage, to another bus station.  From Greyhound to Trailways and back to Greyhound. We never knew where we were or what time it was.  We slept fitfully and I remember eating a meal only once.  We kept going south.  Jim told me much later that he never went to the bathroom once; the restrooms were too horrible.  I went to the Ladies room constantly (peeing orange) but I tried not to touch anything.

 At last, we arrived in Tampa and were told there was no bus to Sarasota until the next morning.  I called our father who came and picked us up. Neither Jim nor I have ever gotten over that trip.  All his life, I had tried to protect him and never could.  Our family had fallen apart; even the small shelter our parents had provided was gone.  It was many years before I began to feel safe.  I am not sure Jim ever has.