to
The Loretta Young Show
on TV, just to watch Loretta float down that open staircase wearing a floor-length strapless gown with a full diaphanous skirt. Every Sunday night. Mrs. McLemore's pearls settled into the hollows of her collarbone while she sat for a minute, thinking about Loretta Young.
Magazines called
America
and
Commonwealth
were fanned out on the coffee table.
We all at once began to talk about how TV shows ended, how Dinah Shore blew kisses and said, "See the USA in your Chevrolet," and how Red Buttons used to soft-shoe it off the stage to his "Ho-Ho Song."
"You know what I miss?" my mother said. "I miss that Jimmy Durante showâwhen he ended with 'Good night, Mrs. Calabash.'"
"Isn't that Jewish?" Mrs. McLemore said.
"I hear you teach art up at the college," Stone said. Everyone went quiet. I had never before seen or heard anyone approximately my age change the subject as he had.
"Art history," my mother said.
"I don't know about all this modern art," Mrs. McLemore said. "I just know I like what I like."
"That's right, honey." Mr. McLemore poured everyone more drinks.
"Mom's hoping to take me to Europe soon," I said, trying to follow Stone's lead.
"Greece, actually," my mother said. "I used to love to travel. Anywhere. I miss it."
Mary Alice's mother said she didn't like Europe at all because she said it was too hilly. She shook her head and said it was a wonder how little old her got to travel as much as she did, but she said her husband did enough travel for the both of them. He often went on business trips to the coast and had even heard Patti Page and Peggy Lee sing.
"We saw your picture in the paper," Mary Alice said, smiling.
Mary Alice's mother shot her a look. "Don't be rude."
I loved Mrs. McLemore more than ever right then.
"What do you want to do when you get out of school, Mary Alice?" my mother asked. She always asked this of her students.
Mary Alice said she wanted to be a Delta Airlines stewardess and then a homemaker.
My mother nodded. Somehow, I knew what she was thinking. She hated them all and she thought she was better.
No one even bothered asking me what I wanted to be when I grew up. It didn't matter anyway. Wasn't I going to Randolph-Macon Women's College as my aunt had or Ole Miss as my father had and as all my cousins were surely to go? I didn't know what I wanted to be anyway. I just knew what I didn't want to be: a teacher like my mom. I didn't want to be anything like my mom. I wanted to be more like Mrs. McLemore.
"I know you think you were doing some kind of good out there at Tougaloo," Mrs. McLemore said in a newly serious way. "But you're just wasting your time."
"I just don't understand why they have to get all riled up," Mr. McLemore said. "They don't have such bad lives. Our Mattie's happy. Go and ask her yourself."
Mattie was their maid. Mary Alice said Mattie did everythingâcooked, cleaned, and even made out the grocery lists. "If she had front teeth, she'd be real pretty," Mary Alice said. Mary Alice wore a charm bracelet that jingled each time she passed around the deviled ham and cheese on crackers.
"Oh, don't get me wrong," Mrs. McLemore went on, looking into her glass. "The coloreds serve a purpose here. Unlike the Chinese." She put one manicured fingernail in the drink and came out with a gnat, and then rolled it between her fingers.
"And now they want to integrate into our schools," Mr. McLemore said. "They're just going to ruin things for our children."
"I don't see how that can ruin things," my mother started.
"The quality of our schools will plummet if we agree to integration. Don't you want your daughter to have all the advantages that you didn't?" Mrs. McLemore asked my mother.
My mother smiled. I braced myself and only wished Mrs. McLemore knew to do the same. "What makes you think I didn't have all the advantages?" My mother paused to breathe and look steadily into Mrs. McLemore's eyes the way she did sometimes with me to make
The Loretta Young Show
on TV, just to watch Loretta float down that open staircase wearing a floor-length strapless gown with a full diaphanous skirt. Every Sunday night. Mrs. McLemore's pearls settled into the hollows of her collarbone while she sat for a minute, thinking about Loretta Young.
Magazines called
America
and
Commonwealth
were fanned out on the coffee table.
We all at once began to talk about how TV shows ended, how Dinah Shore blew kisses and said, "See the USA in your Chevrolet," and how Red Buttons used to soft-shoe it off the stage to his "Ho-Ho Song."
"You know what I miss?" my mother said. "I miss that Jimmy Durante showâwhen he ended with 'Good night, Mrs. Calabash.'"
"Isn't that Jewish?" Mrs. McLemore said.
"I hear you teach art up at the college," Stone said. Everyone went quiet. I had never before seen or heard anyone approximately my age change the subject as he had.
"Art history," my mother said.
"I don't know about all this modern art," Mrs. McLemore said. "I just know I like what I like."
"That's right, honey." Mr. McLemore poured everyone more drinks.
"Mom's hoping to take me to Europe soon," I said, trying to follow Stone's lead.
"Greece, actually," my mother said. "I used to love to travel. Anywhere. I miss it."
Mary Alice's mother said she didn't like Europe at all because she said it was too hilly. She shook her head and said it was a wonder how little old her got to travel as much as she did, but she said her husband did enough travel for the both of them. He often went on business trips to the coast and had even heard Patti Page and Peggy Lee sing.
"We saw your picture in the paper," Mary Alice said, smiling.
Mary Alice's mother shot her a look. "Don't be rude."
I loved Mrs. McLemore more than ever right then.
"What do you want to do when you get out of school, Mary Alice?" my mother asked. She always asked this of her students.
Mary Alice said she wanted to be a Delta Airlines stewardess and then a homemaker.
My mother nodded. Somehow, I knew what she was thinking. She hated them all and she thought she was better.
No one even bothered asking me what I wanted to be when I grew up. It didn't matter anyway. Wasn't I going to Randolph-Macon Women's College as my aunt had or Ole Miss as my father had and as all my cousins were surely to go? I didn't know what I wanted to be anyway. I just knew what I didn't want to be: a teacher like my mom. I didn't want to be anything like my mom. I wanted to be more like Mrs. McLemore.
"I know you think you were doing some kind of good out there at Tougaloo," Mrs. McLemore said in a newly serious way. "But you're just wasting your time."
"I just don't understand why they have to get all riled up," Mr. McLemore said. "They don't have such bad lives. Our Mattie's happy. Go and ask her yourself."
Mattie was their maid. Mary Alice said Mattie did everythingâcooked, cleaned, and even made out the grocery lists. "If she had front teeth, she'd be real pretty," Mary Alice said. Mary Alice wore a charm bracelet that jingled each time she passed around the deviled ham and cheese on crackers.
"Oh, don't get me wrong," Mrs. McLemore went on, looking into her glass. "The coloreds serve a purpose here. Unlike the Chinese." She put one manicured fingernail in the drink and came out with a gnat, and then rolled it between her fingers.
"And now they want to integrate into our schools," Mr. McLemore said. "They're just going to ruin things for our children."
"I don't see how that can ruin things," my mother started.
"The quality of our schools will plummet if we agree to integration. Don't you want your daughter to have all the advantages that you didn't?" Mrs. McLemore asked my mother.
My mother smiled. I braced myself and only wished Mrs. McLemore knew to do the same. "What makes you think I didn't have all the advantages?" My mother paused to breathe and look steadily into Mrs. McLemore's eyes the way she did sometimes with me to make
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