Part 1: And The Band Played On … a mother’s life, a daughter’s journey
Mom in her glory days
[music will autoplay, turn down the volume if need be while your read]
A mother’s life, a daughter’s journey
This is my mother. This photo was taken sometime in the 1940’s when glamour was still queen and Hollywood still an influence. She was young, unmarried, and perhaps still working at the Brooklyn Army Base on 58th St. and First Avenue where she met my father. She worked as a secretary for Colonel McCalister and Captain Price and helped figure out the pay of the soldiers. She recalls that a Private earned $19 per month.
In the lobby was a big Coke machine that held glass bottles. One day the machine broke and the Coke poured out; “boys” came down with pails to catch the free-flowing Coke. She recalls how the dead were brought into the building to another floor. In those days “boys” were gentlemen at the USO dances. “People queued up at the subway and never pushed. They always felt safe riding the trains at all hours. It was a different world,” she added. On New Year’s Eve she went with my father to the Waldorf Astoria for drinks and perhaps on to another club and then to a movie at Times Square. Things I never have done.
One evening my mother and father were walking down the street and passed a band. They took one look at my mother and began to play, “And the Band Played On”
- (Casey Would Waltz with a Strawberry Blonde) And the Band Played On!
- Casey would waltz with a strawberry blonde
And the band played on;
He’d glide ‘cross the floor with the girl he adored
And the band played on;
But his brain was so loaded it nearly exploded
The poor girl would shake with alarm;
He’d ne’er leave the girl with the strawberry curls
And the band played on.
At lunchtime the soldiers and office workers came outside to find some sun and flirt. As the story goes, my mother was jumping rope with a bunch of young women and my father took an end of the rope to turn and managed consistently to trip her.
I often wonder: How did people manage to maintain such childhood-like innocence during such the time of such horrible events?
1944
I also find it hard to believe that so many years have gone by. And that this lovely woman, my mother, lived through years of a sickly childhood along with three siblings in a cold water flat, experienced the Great Depression, saw a world war of inconceivable proportion and devastation, survived a rough marriage to the man who turned the rope and who did his best to make a living but who never felt good enough; he fell into ominous periods of gray clouds and unpredictable outbursts. Still she managed to work one, sometimes two jobs in addition to raising two daughters. She was often the mother and father of the family, stepping in for a husband who often couldn’t cope and who dealt with his own fears and anxieties with anger and irritability.
Walking in Stuyvesant Town ca. 1950
My mother stood a tall 4’11” and three quarters and seemed to be invincible. She defended herself and her children in faces of adversity and yet maintained her ability to be a Pisces dreamer.
We lived in New York City. Always. My folks were the children of immigrants who were pure-bred Brooklynites. Her first language was Yiddish. She graduated from Samuel J. Tilden High School with a vocational degree and became a top-notch secretary for lawyers and then worked for Community Services Society in Manhattan. Here was a woman, who unlike the mothers of many of my friends, did not go to college, but who was smart and with-it and kind.
She taught me compassion for people in need by feeding several classmates lunch, even when she was busy caring for a younger child. Many children I went to school with lived in the tenements around P.S. 61 on East 12th Street; many didn’t have toilets, let alone bathrooms in their apartments. I remember when I was six my mother wheeled my outgrown clothes in the baby carriage with my sister in it, to the old tenements that housed little girls in my class who had far less than I did.
As years passed, the thrill of New York City waned and in the 1980’s as many people did, my parents packed up their belongings, sold the lovely English-style leather topped tables and other mahogany pieces, and bought a condo in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. I lost my home, my bearings, and for the most part, my parents, who became the object of an occasional visit in an alien land.
You might be thinking: why am I in such a nostalgic mood?
I fear my mother is dying.
[This series is linked: see “continued here.” Also, below the line there will be links for the previous post and the next.]
Susan what a glamorous mom. Thank you for sharing her story. I don’t think we ever truly know what our parents lived through. I lost my mom last year but I have wonderful memories of our lives and our friendship to remember. For this I am blessed. Your mom will be with you always. Hugs for you Susan.
Susan,your life is a book,your Mother is a beautiful woman,God bless her she has been put thru alot and so have you.I pray for you all.I know why your are wonderful and kind,because your Mother raised you.I know you love her so.GodBlessyou.you are abeautiful writer.
My dear Sue: You never cease to amaze me with all your talents. I’m so glad we met and now share our own little friendship. As a “child of the south” I had always thought that everyone up north had a bathroom inside their homes, as well as electricity and steam heat. Boy, have I learned a lot through your writings. I sure wish that all little girls would have been blessed with a loving and caring mother as you have, and I pray that you both receive the strength that you need to see this through. Fondly…………Ellie
Oh Sue… This is so beautiful and sad. Much love to you and your Mom.
Hi my friend Susie, I’m not good at writing but I will all you to talk about your beautiful mom. Joanne and I really love her and she is now going to a better place. Love ya. Rosie
Dear Sue,
Your mother will always be a precious part of you and who you have become. She will be with you always whether it is physically or mentally and spiritually. Thank you for sharing your story. Love, Cecelia
Sue,
Losing a parent as you already are is so difficult. You have been fortunate to have her for so many years, but that does not take away your pain. She may not be the strong beautiful woman that you remember but you still have so many memories to enjoy. Keep thinking about them and sharing them with everyone. You are honoring her this way and having her life continue on.
It is okay to feel pain and loss. She has lived a long life and you have had the pleasure and good fortune to be part of that wonderful life. Keep celebrating her.
You look like Mom. You are beautiful too. We are all women of valor. We all stand tall and fiercely defend what is ours. Remember the good times. The other times do not count. Keep writing. I’ve written four eulogies for loved ones and after each one I felt complete, calm and “on a high.”
Love you!!
I FEEL SUCH SADNESS FOR A GREAT LADY IS GOING FROM US
BUT SHE LEFT 2 NOT ONE TO CARRY ON
I FEEL A CHILL IN MY BONES
SIGH
It sounds like your mother is about my grandmother’s age. I often hear her tell stories of similar times and events – though she grew up in Detroit. What strikes me most as she comes to the end of her life (she now has the beginnings of dementia) is how far back being connected to her connects me. I don’t know if that makes any sense. But it’s like somehow, through her, even though I can’t see it clearly or in detail, hearing her stories makes me feel like I have a personal connection to that time and place, even though Detroit is utterly different now and things have changed so much in the world (changed yet always the same in some ways).
Thank you for sharing your mom’s story. Is she still in Florida? Are you able to visit?
Hi, Meg,
The story continues, she is in Florida and beginning hospice care. The dust has to settle …
Thanks so much for reading.
A moving tribute to your beautiful mother, it is times like this when you need a shoulder to lean on , I lost my mother a few years ago and I do know what you are feeling so take care my friend and remember your friends are supporting you on this site hugs and love Rosiex
Rosie! MY Multiply English Rosie?? Thank you for coming by. This has been my fodder for writing and it just keeps going. Thanks for your support. Good to see my Multiply friends.
Sue, I loved the piece you did on your mother! She sounds like a lovely person. Some of the things you told remind me of my own stories. Lol, After all, I did go to P.S. 61! I wish that I had connected with you sooner!
Thanks, Alicia, for coming by, I hope you continue the journey with me!
I have been meaning to get to your page and read this series for a week or so now. It may take me a few days but I want to read every word. I am interested not only because I care what you are going through but because I currently work in a long term care facility in Indiana. I have some strong opinons about how things go today in health care. Also, my mom died in 1990, so I know what it is like to lose a mom. I will be reading and commenting in the coming days. Your mom sounds like a great one! We are both fortunate to have had that strong basis of a home life growing up. She will always be a part of you as my mom is always present in all I do. Thinking of you at this difficult time.
Thanks, Mary, so good to see you. (Having some issues with the music auto-playing, it really adds to the post, tonight it’s not working)
As you read you’ll see the many facets that make up the whole health care experience for the elderly. I was in the dark and somewhat flabbergasted by what I observed–from afar.
I appreciate that you are on this journey with me. It’s been a roller coaster.
Auto play has been working fine the times I looked in.
oh Sue no words can do justice hugs
she was a one of a kind
And still is for as long as she can be.
Thanks Heidi
This is just beautiful. A peek into a way of life that is long gone and a character of Americans that really was the greatest generation. Sending heartfelt thoughts to you and Mom as she encounters these obstacles of old age.
Thanks for coming by and for the warmth, Catherine, I needed that.
Sue.
What a beautiful homage to such a gorgeous woman and loving mother. It is no wonder where you’ve got your style and grace. I wish your mother peace and serenity and freedom of fear and pain. Hold on to your precious memories. Sincerely,Helaine
Helaine, it’s good to see you, a nice surprise, I hope all is well and I thank you for reading.
Wonderful homage to a woman of her times who, through the various ages of her life has shown great courage, intelligence, empathy for others and a rare, quiet “just do it” dedication to assisting those less fortunate than herself. A wonderful woman and a valuable and productive life … a special lady indeed.
Thanks, Glynne, for being with me.
For an angel
You are a great story teller, Sue, and this moving Eulogy confirms it. I am always enthralled by your poems, your prose; your poetry book is a fixture on my bed table which I often leaf through to find again and again the magic and the tragedy of your life told with wonderful, piercing words.
You have made your Mother proud, I am sure, with your many talents. I hope she lives to read this incredible tribute of your love for her.
Bless you, sister.
Thanks for the beautiful photo and words to match.
This is a lovely tribute to your mother. I’m sorry she is on the wane – I’ve been following your posts about her health and have been aware of your heart-rending concern from afar.
After my mother died in 2010, I made a photo album of her life on facebook, and was struck by how FAST – snap your fingers and it goes by – is even a long life. From a baby in a gigantic bonnet to a young bride to a young mother of 3 – zip zip zip! to a middle-aged grandma, an elderly widow, a sweet and beloved woman dying of cancer – in the blink of an eye. Of course it seems so sad.
My heart goes out to you tonight.
Hi, Ann. Fast is not the word. We take so much for granted. Thanks for being here with me.