I am pleased to feature Marjorie Freed as our Saturdays with Seniors guest blogger today. Longtime Chicago residents might remember her as the owner of Nonpareil, one of the coolest shops on Clark Street back when Clark Street was full of very cool independently-owned stores. She and her husband Harvey collected outsider art and were among the founders of Chicago’s Intuit: The Center for Intuitive and Outsider Art. Marjorie has taken my memoir classes for over a dozen years, we’ve become friends, and I trust her to help me choose good colors to wear. She has accompanied me on shopping trips from time to time, and we’ve figured out ways to safely meet outdoors for coffee during these past months. We celebrated her 86th birthday during our Monday Village Chicago Memoir Class this past week, and I’m continuing the celebration by sharing this essay she wrote when I asked writers to choose a Beatles song title to use as their writing prompt.

I Feel Fine

by Marjorie Freed

My parents were both very traditional. I was expected to follow their behavior, no questions asked.

As I was finishing college I began to realize how boring life in the Milwaukee suburbs had been in comparison to the new world I’d discovered beyond it. Deciding to move to New York after college to begin a career was pivotal. I’d fallen into that decision accidentally by taking my dad’s advice to move there.

Marjorie and Harvey

My parents fought, but only about my father’s workaholic behavior. He truly adored his work, and told me that by taking a job in New York I’d be able to observe how important work was “for men.” Then, he explained, once I got married, I’d be sympathetic to my husband’s expected desire to work hard, too.

New York was lively with umpteen venues for engagement almost constantly: Judy Garland was in town, Moliere plays in French were just about understandable, and many men sought my company. I discovered it was exotic to be from Milwaukee.

One romance inadvertently led me to Chicago, a good deal less frenzied than New York. My job was interesting but eventually the marriage idea took over. I married Harvey, whom I’d met at University of Michigan in our freshman English class.

Later the army draft led us to two life-changing years in Panama. Hispanic culture was interpreted for us in detail by a terrific bi-lingual couple we met there. The whole experience sharply severed our relationship with “home,” and, most importantly, insisted that we think for ourselves in a less traditional way.

Motherhood was a shocking experience. I was the main guide for this small somewhat shy little boy. We went to the Loop to look at Sullivan and ran into a schizophrenic woman on the spot. We looked at Diane Arbus at the Museum of Contemporary Art (MCA). We also immersed ourselves in a paper exhibit at the MCA, wading through paper shreds and looking around a lot. Following a rumor, we took a bus to watch the Beatles wave just their arms and hands at us through a mostly closed hotel room window across the street from a playground. We learned how to engage with a difficult friend’s also difficult son.

I loved the not-boring city. Ian began to threaten me with ideas such as, “When I grow up I’m going to move to a trailer in Northbrook.” Later when he and his younger brother Dan began to meet others their age, some of whom lived in those suburbs, they thanked me for bringing them up in the city. Both sons eventually settled in distant cities; Seattle and Brooklyn. We travelled as often as we could to visit our three perfect grandchildren.

Decades passed. Harvey became very ill with two serious diseases. He kept falling and I kept calling the fire department. He moved to a senior care facility. I sold our house, moved myself and disposed of mountains of belongings. Good friends were dying, a distressing life phenomenon we knew about but couldn’t actually imagine.

Then Harvey died, too.

So far, I’m lucky. Every day brings pleasures, simple and more complex, along with much contemplation.

I do feel fine. For now.

If you’re reading this before 4:00 pm CT today, you’re in luck. You can still register for the free online launch for Regan Burke’s published memoir, “In That Number.” I’m reposting Regan’s own announcement from her Back Story Essays blog. The book launch is free, but you have to register first, and registration information is included in her announcement below. Look for me there — I’ll be the one with the huge smile on my face, I’m so proud of Regan.

Book Launch Party by Regan Burke “In That Number” Book Launch hosted by Skyline Village Chicago via zoom, Oct 21, 2020, 4:00 pm Chicago time with NPR/WBEZ reporter Monica Eng. Register here Cousin Barb Violi, Omaha Nebraska In another world and time uncertain, we’d be having a rip-roaring party at Half Sour in Chicago’s South Loop hosted by Beth Finke and Mike Knezovich. Iliana Genkova would pass around campaign-like buttons and cookies with the name of my book tattooed on top. We’d all be happy, joyous and free for a few brief hours away from the worries of the world. Sigh. We’ll have to settle for a Zoom Book Launch. Please pull up your own refreshments and join us. Monica Eng has graciously agreed to lead the discussion for my book. You’ve heard her reporting on Curious City (most recently about rats!), Thursdays on WBEZ’s “All Things Considered”. I’ve always wanted to be a published author but I never dreamed my writing would be so well received outside of a small circle of friends and fellow writers. I’m truly humbled. Thank you for reading my book and paying such generous compliments to me in person, on email and text, Face Book and Twitter and Zoom, and even a card in the mail! A particular thank you to those who’ve encouraged me to compile years worth of 500-word essays from memoir writing classes into a book. It was a harder task and a longer trip than I imagined but well worth the effort. If you’re a writer, keep laying down those words. There’s power in the story. If you’re not a writer, thank you for supporting us; allowing us to make mistakes, grow weary, and to brag when we find that one perfect word for that one perfect sentence in that one perfect paragraph. Allow me to share my joy with you through a smattering of quotes. In order not to embarrass anyone, I’ve kept most anonymous. See you October 21! I passed two days immersed in your life story. I identified with so many places and events. I am 100% with you on the last paragraph on page 246. The beauty and skill of every page, and the achievement of presenting your life story of engaging encounters is thrilling. That’s what made me want to read it all. Helloooooo, It’s incredible. Who knew our white-haired “older” friend had such an XXX-rated past? I await the movie!! It’s a great book about a great woman! My dog wants to know why I get so absorbed in Regan Burke’s terrific book “In That Number.” But it’s easy to get caught up in this fascinating memoir of life, love, addiction and local and national politics. …a work as sui generis as Regan Burke herself. I have a feeling that we’ll look back on this event as more than a book launch – more like an opus launch, with much more to come after this one!  It’s a fantastic memoir about alcoholism and politics, family and recovery, from a woman who’s met everyone from Bill Clinton to Vladimir Putin. (And Rick Perlsteinsays it’s great.) My husband read your introduction out loud to me last night. So well written –you had to get a lot into that  short intro. “Want me to read the whole book to you?” He offered, “you know I could.” He hasn’t offered to read a book out loud to me in decades. Can’t say that I blame him: when he used to read to me, I’d fall asleep, often without him knowing. There he’d be, diligently working to read out loud, take a brief look up and…zzzzzz. He must feel confident I won’t sleep through this one. He’s right.. Pot brownies at her sister’s wedding. . I’m enjoying this book. It’s so well written. This story is appealing to many different groups.  It’s a redemption story, a woman’s empowerment story, an AA story, a friendship story, a political struggle story,  a “how I did it,” story,  a slice of baby boomer history and Rock-in-roll , and  a special Chicago/Illinois-political tales story all wrapped up in one book. This is a beautiful wonderful story about a smart strong woman who faced all kinds of adversity and succeeded and built deep friendships.  Also the context of a couple of decades (yikes, we’re talking decades) is fun.  There are so many parallels between the 60s/70s and now.  It’s a story that has all sorts of resonating themes. Am so delighted with this book – she is a brilliant writer and its a brilliant story of a life so well lived despite all the huge odds – the whole world should know. Who will like this book: 1. Anyone who likes Allan Sorkin shows, and Primary Colors. 2. Aging boomers who like the music, and a brief recount of early early political activists. 3.  AA members 4. Democrats 5. Every Democratic political junky in or formerly from Chicago/Illinois  6. Gary Hart and Bill/Hilary Clinton supporters 7.  Dead Heads and vintage rock-n-rollers 8. Every person who likes heros who survived struggles and find purpose (half of the best sellers list is this theme). 9. Anyone who’s been to Bahamas, Barcelona, Chicago, Dupont Circle, the Capital, the White House! I am on the second chapter and have many superlatives to expend— she is a wonderful writer, sharp, fun, exacting, goes to the heart of the matter. I’m so enjoying this book.  I have to use a magnifying glass to read it.  I really laughed at the lima bean story. My kids didn’t like them either. But I told them I had spent hours stuffing peas with mashed potatoes. Masterfully written, this memoir takes you on a true adventure – it starts with an eventful childhood, through the ups and downs of youth, the dealings with alcohol, drugs and religion, to making it to the highest echelons of politics. In That Number is inspirational and moving. Loved it! This is a book you must read, and you will read it in one go! What a life’s story! I smiled, gasped, whimpered, and rejoiced as I traveled with Regan though her extraordinary life. I love her writing style. She writes with intimate detail, intelligence, wit, and profound insight. Plus, it is a book for our present moment. I highly recommend “IN THAT NUMBER”. “I could not put down this memoir. It is a tale of redemption and rebirth. Regan Burke writes of all the pain of growing up the daughter of two alcoholics and well-dressed grifters ‘who didn’t pay their bills, lied, and cheated, but still had cocktails and hors d’oeuvres every night before dinner.’ Her story is that of the Baby Boomer generation: from sex, drugs, and rock and roll, to various political campaigns in Illinois, and finally to the Clinton White House and beyond. In That Number is a touching narrative of survival, loyalty, and compassion from a woman who has seen it all.” – Dominic A. Pacyga, author of Chicago: A Biography “I highly recommend this wise and wonderful memoir about politics, about families, and the politics of families. Reagan writes like an angel-and sometimes, even better, like the devil.” – Rick Perlstein, best-selling author of Nixonland and Before the Storm “Regan’s unmitigated honesty in In that Number serves as inspiration and challenges each of us, even in the face of adversity, to live, see the birds, and reach higher for ourselves and our communities every day, and in every way we can.” – Laura Schwartz, White House Director of Events for President Clinton, and author of Eat, Drink and Succeed “Tales of early life with a flim-flam father, Woodstock years of drugs and alcohol, and working in Bill Clinton’s administration…Regan Burke weaves her life story in a refreshing, artful, and oftentimes witty style that endears readers to the author and leaves us wanting more. What will she do next?” – Beth Finke, author of Writing Out Loud: What a Blind Teacher Learned from Leading a Memoir Class for Seniors I was so happy to receive your book. I read it within a week, maybe too quickly, excited to follow your narrative and really enjoying the flashes of recognition as I came across pieces I remember from classes at CLL. So much great writing in these pages. I also love the way your writing journey bookends the story and serves as inspiration for readers—the Epilogue leaves us on such an uplifting note. I’ll be thinking of you and hoping your book-debut experience is as joyful and satisfying as it can be. Congratulations again on the results of all your hard work. I think you did an amazing job! – Linda Miller, Teacher, Memoir & Creative Writing, Center for Life & Learning, The Clare and Newberry Library #book-launch, #curious-city, #memoir-writing, #monica-eng, #new-book, #wbez Regan Burke | October 15, 2020 at 3:44 pm | Tags: Book Launch, Curious City, memoir writing, Monica Eng, New book, WBEZ | Categories: Writers | URL: https://wp.me/p6MR27-GZ Comment    See all comments    Like

As is common these days, my thoughts are fragmented. And so is today’s post: I give you a sample of females that are by my lights, fantastic.

First, Chicago Mayor Lori Lightfoot was asked whether she was an originalist when it comes to interpretation of the U.S. Constitution. Originalism aims to follow how the constitution would have been understood or was intended to be understood at the time it was written.

Lightfoot was direct. To paraphrase, she said that at the time, the framers did not recognize her as a human being. So, that would be no. Case closed. You can listen to it here.

Then I came across a comment on the abortion issue from a Benedictine Sister Joan Chittister. It actually dates back to 2004 but the National Catholic Reporter wrote a story when it went viral recently. It goes as follows:

I do not believe that just because you are opposed to abortion, that that makes you pro-life. In fact, I think in many cases, your morality is deeply lacking if all you want is a child born but not a child fed, a child educated, a child housed. And why would I think that you don’t? Because you don’t want any tax money to go there. That’s not pro-life. That’s pro-birth. We need a much broader conversation on what the morality of pro-life is.

Here, here, sister.

Then, Beth got an email from the Chicago History Museum. Since the pandemic started, the Museum has emailed little nuggets of history to members and email subscribers. Here’s an excerpt:

In 1992, when Dr. Mae Jemison became the first Black woman to travel into space, she fulfilled one childhood dream while highlighting another interest—dance. Both of these lifelong passions began while growing up in Chicago.

Mae Jemison was born in Decatur, Alabama, on October 17, 1956. The youngest of three children, she was three years old when her family moved to Chicago, first living in Woodlawn and eventually settling in Morgan Park.

It’s titled A Dancer among the Stars. It’s worth the full read.

Finally, several years ago I wrote a piece for University of Chicago Magazine about the study of cephalopods—octopuses in this instance. (If you click on that link to article, be sure to watch the video at the top of the story.) It was a terrific experience as it taught me how remarkable the creatures are. So much so that my editor on that project and I, to this day, share any new discoveries we come across about octopuses. The other day she texted me: You’ve got to see this movie. It’s called “My Octopus Teacher.”Among other things, she said it was heartbreaking.

Hmm. My memory went back to my childhood, sobbing uncontrollably after reading the end of Charlotte’s Web. But, Beth heard the filmmaker interviewed on NPR and was also intrigued.

So yesterday, we watched it on Netflix.

It’s absolutely stunning. Short story: A man snorkels every day for a year, observing and befriending a female octopus. The filmmaking is superb, but while it’s definitely visual, the filmmaker narrates his experience beautifully, so Beth could enjoy it in her way.

It isn’t just about the creatures in the sea, it’s a spiritual investigation into humans’ relationship with nature.

It’s inspiring, and provides a great escape in these times.

1921 was a very good year: Wanda Geneva Johnson was born that year! If you’ve followed our blog for a while, you know Wanda Johnson by her married name, Wanda Bridgeforth. Witty and talented, Wanda had been attending the memoir writing class I led in downtown Chicago for nearly two decades before coronavirus hit.

What you might not know about Wanda is that she is an immigrant: she was born in Canada. Hamilton, Ontario to be exact. The woman Wanda has always affectionately called Mama is the woman who adopted Wanda as an infant and loved and raised her on Chicago’s South Side. To celebrate her 99th year, we’re publishing an essay featured in my book Writing Out Loud. Wanda wrote this piece to describe the resilience and determination that guided her family through the Great Depression — and has influenced Wanda’s own life ever since. Sheltering-in-place in her apartment now, Wanda fills her days with episodes of Jeopardy!, naps, meals, and visits from Wanda Jr. The rest of the time you’ll find her looking out the window, amazed at the beauty of Lake Michigan and the sky above. “And sometimes I just close my eyes and reminisce,” she says. “It makes me happy.”

Memories of the Great Depression

By Wanda Bridgeforth

Chicago was especially hard-hit by the Great Depression. Men couldn’t find jobs, especially Black men. Here was my father, with a degree in chemistry, and he could not get a job. He was humiliated. And really, that’s when he started to fall apart, and that’s when Mama started working “in family.” She told me that this was the way it had to be. We either survive doing it this way, or we don’t do it and we don’t survive. So I went to live at Uncle Larry and Aunt Gert’s house.

My neighborhood was known as the Black Metropolis. Louis Armstrong had lived there, and Ida B. Wells. Uncle Larry was actually a cousin, but we called him uncle as a term of respect because he was the head of the household.

Uncle Larry was a big Black man that had been injured in WWI, where he fell in love with a White German woman named Gert. He married her and brought her home to the Black Metropolis.

Aunt Gert was a very heavy woman but had very small feet, I think she wore a size three-and-a-half shoe. All her shoes were too big on her, so we could always hear her clomping down the hall.

I had to learn to share. Nineteen of us lived in Uncle Larry’s six-room apartment. The grownups had the bedrooms. Where we slept, in the daytime it was a dining room. We each had a roll-away bed, really a cot on rollers with a cover. At night we took the leaves out of the dining room table and took down our roll-away beds. That was our all-purpose room. We ate in that room, did homework at the table, played cards there and slept there.

Some of the people in the apartment were on relief. Everybody but Aunt Gert would go out every day to try and find work somewhere. Aunt Gert ruled the household. She did the cooking and sent us out.

Every Saturday, some people living there would get ration cards. We would take baby buggies to a warehouse and use the ration cards to get our vegetables, fruits, and dairy goods. Auntie Gert baked a pound cake every Saturday and whipped the batter with her hands. We just loved it when we heard her slapping that bowl. We knew we were in for a treat.

She formed committees, and I was on the committee to churn the ice cream. We would always fight over who would get the dasher. Aunt Gert would bake the cake, but we didn’t get it right after dinner. After dinner the boys were sent to the kitchen to clean the linoleum floor.

Once they were done cleaning the floor, she would sit in the corner and play the guitar. That’s when the rest of us would know to take our shoes off and come in our stocking feet to spread the wax and wax the floor. She’d say “Clarence, get over to that corner, it needs more wax!” We would make so much noise that others in the building knew it was time to join us. Nobody reported us for being too noisy because they were all involved. In the summertime Aunt Gert would play her guitar on the porch and we’d dance in the yard.

We were kids, and we didn’t know we were poor. And actually, we weren’t poor, we were po’.

And today, thanks to Wanda’s fabulous memory and tremendous writing, we are all richer for knowing her. Happy birthday, dear Wanda.

Did you know that today, October 15, is National White Cane Safety Day? Me, neither. Not until the supervisor at my job moderating the National Easterseals blog pointed it out to me. I was glad she did, because it got me reminiscing about a school visit I especially enjoyed at Eastview Elementary School in Algonquin, Illinois long before the pandemic hit.

With so many elementary school children learning at home these days, new Seeing Eye dog Luna and I haven’t made a school visit since March. I miss being with the kids, but time off gives me a chance to think about visits we’d done in the past.

Like that one to Eastview. I was told ahead of time that three students at Eastview were blind, so I arranged to have Braille copies of my children’s book, Safe & Sound sent there before our visit. I’d use one myself to show the kids at different grade levels what Braille looks like and how it works, and the other three copies would be given to Miguel, age 10, and Seth and Ethan, both age 8.

I didn’t expect that these three little blind kids would be able to read the Braille books on their own, I just thought that if the other kids at Eastview might be getting books, these three should get a copy they’d be able to read someday, too.

The Braille version of Safe & Sound was produced in contracted Braille, a form of Braille I’ve never been able to master. Contracted Braille has a bunch of shorthand symbols (contractions) for commonly used words and parts of words: there’s a cell for the word “and,” another for the word “the,” and so on. Most of the letters of the alphabet are also used as shorthand for common words, such as “c” for “can” and “l” for “like.” Kind of like texting, only you can’t make as many mistakes!

When I met the vision teacher at Eastview, I apologized that my book was only available in contracted Braille. “No problem,” she said. “That’s the only Braille these guys read!” Sure enough, the little buggers were Braille experts.

Really, all the Eastview kids seemed to have a strong interest in reading. The school’s principal, Jim Zursin, emphasized reading with all the students, and with the help of his staff and the PTO they were making sure reading wouldn’t end when summer began. Every child who participated in Eastview’s summer reading program and reached their goal would be marching in the Founders Day Parade that summer, each star reader wearing a sandwich board with a drawing of the cover of his or her favorite book on the front. “There’ll be hundreds of books marching down the street,” Mr. Zursin exclaimed. You didn’t have to be able to see to know there were stars in his eyes, just thinking about it. Kids who read that summer would be invited to a community pool party, too, where Mr. Zursin promised to jump off the high dive – with his clothes on!

That’s Miguel on the left and one of the twins in the center. Photo by Andi Butler, www.mrsbillustrations.com.

I’m pretty confident Seth, Ethan and Miguel marched in the parade that year. They’d be swimming at that pool party, too. They love to read, and turns out they can write in contracted Braille, too. Seth, Ethan and Miguel each wrote a poem for me, and they had to work hard to hold back their laughter as I stumbled through some of the contractions when I tried reading their work out loud. They were happpy to help me through, and in the half hour the four of us were able to spend together in their vision resource room we became fast friends. Miguel showed me how his talking watch worked, and Ethan and Seth, twin brothers, counted off their favorite rides at Disney World. We all laughed at how other kids find Space Mountain so scary. “It’s in the dark,” we said. Big deal.

The boys had lots of questions about my Seeing Eye dog, and I told them that in order to train with a Seeing Eye dog you have to learn good orientation and mobility (white cane) skills first. “Knowing where you are by what you hear, how the ground feels, which way the wind is blowing – you’ll need those skills when you get a Seeing Eye dog, too,” I told them. You can’t train with a Seeing Eye dog until you’re 16 years old, so they had a lot of time to perfect their white cane skills before then. “The Seeing Eye wants you to get good with your white cane before you train with a dog. People who know orientation and mobility and can get around with a white cane are the ones who do best with Seeing Eye dogs.”

Later on one of their teachers expressed how glad she was that I’d said that. Apparently the boys hadn’t been using their white canes as much as they should. “Now they’ll have an incentive.”

Before I left their room, each boy proudly presented me with a special collar he had made for my Seeing Eye dog. “We strung the beads ourselves,” Seth said, proud of their work. The collars were made of ribbon, and in addition to the beads, each ribbon had a big bell on it, too. “That’s so you’ll always know where your dog is,” Miguel explained.

The three of them came up after the all-school assembly at the end of the day to say goodbye. When I reached out to shake Seth’s – or was it Ethan’s? – hand, I felt a rubber handle. He was using his white cane!

An earlier version of this post appears on the Easterseals National blog