Particles Here and There

 I asked my friend Naomi what she was reading.  “A book about particles,” she said.  “As in physics?”  “Yes, but I’m not reading every word, I’m just trying to get the general idea.”  That reminded me of when I joined my beloved class on baseball.

I soon realized that many of my colleagues occupied a unique space in fandom.  Sometimes the conversation led to: “It was a fast ball on the outside corner that got Hank Greenberg in the 1945 World Series.” 

“Where do I fit in?, I wondered.  I decided to look for the big picture.

I found my place when we discussed the special personality a manager must have to know that his every decision would be questioned.  Or, how rare it is for a star to know when to walk away from the game. Or, how much Major League Baseball missed some of the great American talents from the Negro Leagues.

Physics says that reality requires observation.  So, I refuse to watch the White Sox.  The reality of their disastrous season is lost on me.

See?  I’ve put physics to good use.

To The Top

 If they haven’t done so already, the MAGAs are going to accuse Kamala Harris of “sleeping her way to the top.”  This refers to her long term relationship with Willie Brown, the political heavyweight in California.  Considering that he is a black man who operated more than 25 years ago in our largest state,  I’d say his heavyweight credentials are of Ali proportions.

This theme is a longstanding tradition in politics.  Women don’t make it on their own. You could say Hillary did it by her choice of husbands.  Or, how about all of the wives who have stepped into their husband’s position upon his death?   It’s the last name (not the first) that still had political pull… and value.

So, are we over it?  

Stay or Go?

 

At this point the paralysis over whether Joe should stay or go has become tragically boring. Power propels ego to the stratosphere.  Here on the ground I say:  Flip a coin.  Rock, paper, scissors.  Anything to move on to defeating Trump.

Stay or go is such a uniquely human problem.  Those who manage it well are a special kind of hero.  The beloved Willie Mays stayed so long we could only watch him and weep.  Diana Taurasi, the all-time great women's basketball star, has been given a spot on the Olympic team at age 42! Tiger Woods didn't make the cut at the British Open.  No red shirt on Sunday. He shot his highest score ever.  

The one I feel most sad about is Ruth Bader Ginsberg.  She fought so hard, yet the Reaper laughed as he snatched her away.

Family Series

 Writing about my family has been a powerful experience.  I joked to some friends:  “She who holds the pen holds history in her hand.” Well. maybe not history.  These were my memories. They stuck with me because of some truth. The human condition.

I realize that I went for the dramatic stories, many of which were sad.  Of course, they were moments in a family that was filled with fortunate, successful lives.  Elsa’s remark summed it up:  “Even coming from another culture, I’m struck by how similar your family stories are to mine.”

Some people hope to be reunited with loved ones on the other side.  I’m glad I gathered these people in my mind now… and on the page. 

 I feel reunited. 

Chandler?

 Reeling from my second divorce, I thought: "Who am I?" I realized there was no last name that I wanted as my own.   The idea of picking a name for myself emerged slowly and gained steam.  My first thought was Joan Chambers.  I was thinking of the poem “The Chambered Nautilus.” Growth and change.

“No, mother. Not Chambers. You don’t want to be associated with the porn star.”  Marguerite was right.  Marilyn Chambers was big then. “How about Chandler?”, I mused. “It has a literary ring to it and I am determined to be a writer.”  Pearl Chandler, my hairdresser, said she would be my “relative.”

And so, I emerged from the chamber as Chandler. When I announced my new name, I didn’t get much blow back. Not even from my family.  They probably chalked it up to my latest eccentricity.  I registered it as honoring my conviction to have a better life.

An Education

 Education was important to my mother.  She was smart enough to know how much she had missed  So no public schools for Jo and me when we were ready.  My first stop was at Miss Newman’s School for Girls.  It might as well have been called “for bad girls” for many of my classmates were deep into rebellion.  I learned as much as the Newman sisters had to offer, while I had fun observing and slightly participating in the wild side.

My education odyssey continued at the Grosse Pointe Country Day School and finally at Kingswood which was the girls school of the Cranbrook Academy.  I was lonely as a boarder and angry to be sent away from my friends. Now I can say those years paid off.  I was too young then to appreciate the iconic architecture or the surroundings. That came later. But the high standards and the great teachers reignited and solidified my love of learning.  

And it’s lasted all this time.

My Handsome Hero

Uncle Elwood was my mother’s young brother.  He was so handsome, like Errol Flynn. I suspect his childhood was pretty bleak with no money and no father.  He was in trouble when he joined the Army as a teenager. After Pearl Harbor, all we knew was that he was somewhere in the Pacific.  With Uncle Elwood fighting the Japs, I figured I was okay.

When my mother was working, our maid Maddie would let her son come over.  “Those Japs skin our soldiers alive!,” he said. Maddie punched his arm for saying that in front of me.  It was too late.  

When we didn’t hear anything for years, we assumed he was dead. And then he was back.  Uncle Elwood had survived a Japanese prison camp.  He never left the Army, so they gave him a promotion and sent him to some safe place far away from combat. 

Fate knew where he was.  Uncle Elwood was in a jeep accident that left him shattered again.

It was cruel of my mother to dismiss him as an alcoholic.  He married the nurse who cared for him, he continued his Army career,  and when he died he was buried with military honors.

Toledo

 The last time I was in Toledo was at Uncle Moe’s 80th birthday party.  He was the only one that made it that far and beyond.   Aunt Bertha couldn’t be at the party because she needed full time care at the old folks home where she lived.

When I went to visit Aunt Bertha I discovered that Aunt Doris was living in the same home!  I’m so glad I got to see her.  I wish I had told her how important my time as a child was with her and Uncle Frank.  They gave me a glimpse of an intact family.  Aunt Doris let me in on another way of being a mother.  She made me feel well loved. 

Joyce

 Writing about Maddie got me thinking of Joyce.  She was the woman who cared for my mother in her final years.  Were they close? Hard to know with my mother, but I think they liked watching Jeopardy and rented movies.

At some point I learned that Joyce had a son in a wheelchair at home.  Gunshot? Accident?  I feel bad now that I never asked more. 

Today, there was a young black man in a wheelchair outside the Panera where I was stopping for coffee.  “What do you need?”  “Just a little breakfast.”  I bought him a muffin and juice.  I think somehow it was about Joyce.

Sometimes another time becomes today.

Early Impressions

 Maddie

“Mom, Maddie is really nice,”  It was true.  Of all the maids who took care of us when mother was away working, she was my favorite.  She braided my hair just the way I liked it.  She put one marshmallow in my hot chocolate.

One night, when I was in bed but not yet asleep, she came in the bedroom.  “Listen Joanie, I don’t want you to be scared but I have to leave now for awhile.  I told Jo too.  You both will be fine and your mother will be back later.”

I listened to mother on the phone, it was something about her daughter trying to kill herself and the police and stuff.  Mother said mean things about Maddie and I never saw her again.

Now, I can make room for everybody in this story.  Then, I just missed Maddie and wanted her back.

FDR

I found mother in the breakfast nook.  She was crying.  I hadn’t seen that since my father’s funeral so I knew whatever it was it something really sad.  “Joanie, come sit next to me.”  She put her hand on my leg.  “The President has died.  He was a wonderful man.  He took care of us all.”

I thought that Roosevelt was the President and there would never be another one,

And, you know what?  In some ways I still think that today.

The Last Chapter

 

I was away at college when Harry had a breakdown and entered a mental hospital.  I kept my distance. Was it buried fear? Throughout my early childhood I clung to the idea that mother was invincible and that we were safe with her in charge.

Or maybe it was my age.  Or that I was wrapped up in school. No, I think I just could’t imagine her ever being vulnerable or that I had anything to offer her. We both paid the price for her being so complete.

Harry came home gutted from electro-shock therapy and unable to resume his productive life. And yes, my mother became a widow again. But this time she had money and social standing. Her marriage to Harry was an important chapter in the life she created for herself.                             

 “Harry: I’m glad for the time I had with you.  You remain a very fond memory.”

As you’ve probably figured out by now, I didn’t know my mother very well.  I don’t think anyone really did. We both put up with a lot from each other  Her certainty left me always asking questions.  Now, in old age, I’ve decided to close the books this way:  She gave us opportunity. What would our lives have been if she hadn’t stepped up and been so resourceful?

Asleep in the Stands

 

During the war, Harry was in the Air Force stationed at Wright Field in Ohio.  He was doing research on the effects of the speed of sound and space travel on the human body.  One of his team was the trainer for the Detroit Tigers.  Harry kept him in place so he never saw combat.

“After the war Harry, I’m going to treat you to a great day at the park!”  This meant little to Harry but he realized it would mean everything to me.  We sat behind the dugout.  I got to meet the players.  They gave me an autographed ball.

In the bottom of the ninth I woke him up.  “Harry, this is the best day ever!”

Much later, when I was working for the American Medical Association, I looked him up in their archives.  Harry’s stats were every bit as good as those of the players I met on that special day.

Harry

 

My mother married a very eligible bachelor.  He was a doctor with a big practice and social connections.  Up close, he was a shy, sweet man who, when he wasn’t taking care of his patients, loved to tinker with his inventions.  He required very little for himself.

Harry came from a big family in which he was the only boy.  The family scraped up the money for medical school and assumed loyalty.  When they married, he was helping support two sisters and their families.

My mother was having none of it.

They enjoyed some good years together.  But, as you can imagine, the stage was set for some rough times ahead.

Named for Her

 

My middle name is Florence.  I’m named for Aunt Flo, my father’s sister, who died before I was born.  I only have small pieces of this story but it’s an important one to tell.

"Where is Aunt Flo, Dad?  Why am I named after her?"  My parents just said she died young, so I didn't hear the truth until I was an adult.

Florence got pregnant by a married man.  Her parents were furious and kicked her out.  She ended up jumping from a high window to her death.

 When he was an old man, my Uncle Moe revealed how much it affected the brothers and sisters she left behind.  The confusion, the imposed silence, the pain. It stayed with them.

I’m glad my parents gave part of my name to her memory.  Aunt Flo deserves a place among us and I wear her name with pride. 

Pushed Out

 

 Jane and MaryAnn ganged up on me.  They followed close behind me home from school and yelled mean things.  Of course I did’nt tell anyone because that would be giving in.  But when MaryAnn grabbed my trading cards, I squealed.

My mother told MaryAnn’s mother who insisted on bringing her daughter over to apologize.  Oh, no…..  All I wanted was to be let back in.

  I still pay too much attention to where I stand.

P.S  MaryAnn was the daughter of Harry Heilmann, the announcer for the Tigers.  I didn’t blame him, and continued my love of baseball.

A Big Break

 

My mother convinced my father’s bosses to give her his job as a furniture salesman.  It was in 1941!  No question, she managed her own big break.  Thus,  she became a woman in a man’s world.  The war years were slow, but she was in place to profit from the post war boom.

She had little education but had what we now call “street smarts.”  Maybe she profited from her customers and colleagues seeing her as “the young widow” but she knew how to handle them and many became her friends.  She invested wisely in stock and knew about IBM early on.

My mother enjoyed all of the trappings of success.  She paid close attention to her hair, makeup and wardrobe.  Her purchases were always top of the line. She loved it that she could afford a new Cadillac whenever she decided it was time.

There were many dark days ahead for her in her very long life but she had her wits about her until the very end.

A Brilliant Boy

 

Before Toledo and Detroit, my father’s family lived in Chicago.  There were rich relatives who owned lots of property in Hyde Park.  My father’s cousin Maurice was one of them. Maurice was a child prodigy who graduated as a teenager from the University of Chicago.  By the time he was twenty, he was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia. His family spent a fortune trying to fix him.

One night he showed up at our door. My father said, “Wilma, take the kids into the bedroom.  I’ll take care of Maurice and make some calls.”  I was excited: “Mom, why are we in here? Who was that man?  Is he nice?  Can I say ‘hi’ to him?”  I never found out why or how he was there.

Maurice eventually ended up at Elgin Mental Hospital.  He was in his fifties when Reagan emptied them all. He lived at a halfway house on Sheridan Road just a few blocks from here until he died a few years later. Because my father was gone, my family was next in line to get a share of his inheritance.

I think of him often as I drive down Sheridan.  If you can hear me Maurice, here’s how you played a part in our lives with the money you never got to enjoy.  I helped a husband start a new business. My daughter strapped on her backpack and travelled around the world. My son was able to attend a great music school.  But, best of all Maurice, your Aunt Mary met her husband Irving in the lounge of the hospital where she and your mother visited you every Sunday for all those years.

This is adapted from my book Joan Chandler Today.

Moving Around

 

Sometimes I would stay with my family in Toledo.  I would start out at Aunt Charlotte’s where I was supposed to have fun with my cousin Claire.  It didn’t work out that way.  I wanted to go outside, poke around the neighborhood, see what the other kids were up to.  Claire wanted to stay close to her mother so she could hear the family gossip.  She didn’t want to miss a word of the phone conversations with Aunt Jeanette.

My favorites on these Toledo trips were Aunt Bertha and Uncle Moe. They were younger, and definitely more fun.  When I got tired of Aunt Charlotte’s and Claire, I would plead with them to let me stay at their house.  They always said, “Yes.”

It was the right place to be because I discovered Don who lived next door.  He was my first boyfriend!  Our paths crossed a few times over the years and always in good ways.

He Kept it to Himself

 

My brother Jo was weird. (Yes, that’s the spelling he was given.)  He would eat the cake and leave the frosting!  His Halloween candy lasted for weeks! 

We weren’t very close. Our lives touched a few times when we helped each other out but we both understood it was situational.

He was a cautious man, with a noble career (doctor), good friends and reputation.  He never went close to the flame that burned me more than once.

When we were both old, Jo invited me to spend some time with him at his winter home in Florida.  I went hoping that at last we could share some of our childhood feelings. He wasn’t talking.

My nephew encouraged me to honor his father’s choice and make peace with it.  We settled into a cordial time until he died.  

Jo's children say he was a wonderful father.  He was able to give them what he himself had missed.