Mother Figures

One of the best things about writing my memoir called The Moon Loves Me, Breaking the silence was sharing about three important men in my youth and discovering that they were just as much mother figures as they were mentors.

One of the worst things about writing this memoir was having to cut that chapter from the pages of the manuscript.

But then again, one of the best things about creating a blog is that I get to share that chapter with the world anyway:

As soon as I stepped the marble foyer of the downtown Texarkana National Bank, I knew that I wanted to work in this historic building. Women walked with purpose, their heels clicking on the floors.  Men in in suits and ties surrounded me.  “This is just like the romance books,” I thought, “I’m in a romance novel.”

As I entered a real live elevator and pushed a button to the 7^th floor, I grinned.  And I was glad for every practice interview as I walked into the hushed offices of Wheeler, Graham, & Wyrick.

Secretaries Day

A Brand New Adult––Kelvin Wyrick

W. Kelvin Wyrick, attorney at law, offered me a job as a legal secretary when I was 19 years old.  “I see myself in you,” he claimed, glancing over his reading glasses, his eyes mirroring the intentness of his mother’s, “wanting something different in life and reaching for it.”

I moved to Texarkana, Texas to work at a law firm under Kelvin’s outstretched wing, establishing my independence as a young adult.  Immediately, I set about creating a household that I wanted and filled my life with classical Christmas music, Mr. Gattis Pizza, and a cheap comforter purchased from Albertsons grocery store.

A home that depended on Kelvin’s penchant for the Southern Living magazine gifted to him by his mother, Mary K Wyrick.

I snuck his Southern Living magazine into my purse for a few days and read it before lovingly placing it on his desk.  If he knew of my actions, he never said.

The magazine taught me about topics never discussed in small town America.  The recipes, parties, and table decorations. “People put flowers in vases, “I pondered while gazing at my bare table.  Closing my eyes fantasize the table with vibrant flowers planted in the middle, I vowed to have a garden filled with flowers and vases to hold them.

But first, I had to purchase a vacuum cleaner and all sorts of practical items to establish a foundation for my future.

I moved to Texarkana, Texas to work at a law firm under Kelvin’s outstretched wing.

My First Adult Boss––Bob Dodson

Robert E. Dodson, known as Bob Dodson, a young attorney with flowing hair that matched his willowy arms and legs, somehow understood my struggle.  He realized I didn’t know how to turn electricity on for my first apartment. He opened a phone book with a flourish, the pages flapping like a goose about to take flight. His long fingers traced down a column of names and numbers.

“See right here, this is the number to call the electricity company. You call this number, and they will turn on the electricity in your apartment,” Bob claimed. “You know what? Forget that. I’m calling them for you.”

A few months later, Bob glanced at me from his chair. He steepled his fingers, leaned his long form over his desk, and said, “You’re smart. I’m going to show you something. Come on.”

Following Bob down a shadowy hallway, I couldn’t imagine where we were headed. But we stopped at a tobacco-colored door. It opened with a creak, and he gestured that I enter. The smell of musk and leather hit me as I cautiously stepped inside the compact room filled with rows of leatherbound books.

“Sit.”

Settling at a small round table with two chairs, I regarded Bob in question. “We need to set a precedent to this case. I need you to find arguments.”  Bob taught me how to do legal research by a small window in painstaking detail.

Getting lost in the rows of leather legal volumes, most of them burgundy, but some brown, helped me drown Rita’s sneers about Bob. “He doesn’t like you. He’s pretending. He’s not your friend. I can’t believe you fell for that.”  I buried myself inside the pages aged with time, filled with stories of other people’s struggles. Their stories helped silence the message floating around me, “He’s manipulating you. The whole town knows you’re weird, and so does he. He’s laughing behind your back.”

Others used the library as a task that one had to perform as one would wash hands or style their hair. They entered the room with intent, browsed through law, and left as quickly as they could. But I spent as much time as possible surrounded by justice and dust mites.  The dark paneling and extensive bookshelves surrounded me as if I were an egg underneath its mother’s breast.

 “He doesn’t like you. He’s pretending. He’s not your friend. I can’t believe you fell for that.” 

The wisdom inside the books healed areas I didn’t know were broken. The research cracked open a rift to find words for my future self. A sliver breaking the icy shield erected so many years ago.  A safeguard constructed to protect secrets to keep them in the dark.  So that one day I would bring those confidences to the light for myself and the world around me.

Beauty before Age––Kenneth Schnipper

“Beauty before age,” Ken Schnipper said, as he gallantly opened the door and stepped aside to the Texana Savings and Loan building where we worked, he was the president, and I was his secretary.  “Of course, Beauty was a horse.”

I tried to hide my rolling eyes at his ongoing joke by tucking my head. Ken always had a cigarette in his hand, and an ashtray nearby.  I lived week by week and could not afford to miss work. On a snow and ice-covered day that closed our southern town of Texarkana, he kept the savings and loan open for those who needed banking and those who wished to work.

“Ready to go?” he asked at my small apartment doorstep.  His form wrapped in a mahogany-colored coat, his breath releasing into a tiny cloud in the cold air reminded me of the bison at our bison range protecting its young.

“How’s Sarah doing?” I asked when I slid into his already warmed truck.

“Her dance recital is this weekend.  You need to be there,” Ken murmured.

“I will.”

We sat in comfortable silence toward the savings and loan. 

Ken buzzed the phone on my desk, “Darla, I need you in here.” 

I immediately knew from his serious tone not to delay.  Grabbing my shorthand pad in case he wanted to dictate a letter, I entered his office.

“Close the door.”

“What is it.”

“It’s not looking good for savings and loans right now.  I don’t know what’s going to happen. I know you took out a personal loan. You need to get your finances in order.”

“Already done.  My car is paid off, and so is the loan.  And I have put money into savings since I’ve been here.”

“Good girl,” Ken said with pride at my progress.

Six months later, as I sat at my IBM typewriter, translating shorthand, a team of men in black suits and ties descended upon us.  I glanced in surprise at the evasion as they strode toward Ken’s office and closed the door.

We were not released from the facility until well after midnight.  And I was interrogated for hours:

We sat in comfortable silence toward the savings and loan. 

Did your boss ever leave and not tell you where he was going? No.  Did he have clandestine calls?  No.  I’ve got every phone call he logged since the day I was hired, and here they are. Does he have hush-hush meetings?  No, his door is always open. Does he have secret friends? No.  I’ve met all of his friends.

Although Ken was visibly shaken, he maintained an air of dignity, solid base, providing the rest of us with a model of stability.

He never told me what to do when I was offered a job as an executive secretary to the newly formed Sunbelt Savings FSB (Federal Savings Bank).  I could envision a new life of glitz and glam in Dallas, Texas from the hefty salary. He implied that it was time to jump ship but trusted my judgement.

Impact of the Mother Figures

After the savings and loan closed its doors, the realization hit me.  I can do this.  I’ve got money saved.  I can really do this.  After years of working two jobs of scrimping and saving by unplugging my microwave, so I didn’t have to pay electricity on the clock, living with barely enough heat or air conditioning, making meals last, and shopping the take an extra 30% off of clothes marked down 75%.  I could do it.

• I had the means

• I possessed the knowledge

• I had the ability to start a new life

• I could go where I wanted to go

  
  
  
  

I was at a precipice.

Finally, I could move to Montana because of the life skills taught to me by these three men, Kelvin Wyrick, Bob Dodson, and Ken Schnipper.  And I could do it on my own and without help from anyone.

MORE INFO ON MOTHER FIGURES

Metaphors

Two leading metaphores in my book, The Moon Loves Me, Breakign the Silence is the American Bison. And you'll find suble references to a bison with the descriptions of Ken Schnipper. The other is a gosling following its mother with no thought. So, you'll find that Kelvin was a mother goose. Also described as a mother goose was Bob Dodson.

Alternate Beginning

Mary K Wyrick was selected Arkansas Mother of Year in 1966, and she was Kelvin's mom. She bustled about Kelvin’s office, moving artwork, and replacing his coffee set with a sleek brass coffee pot, creamer, and sugar.  Her black and brown shawl moved with her giving her the look of a goose leading the flock.  “There,” she crooned, “this is much more lovely, than that old set,” glancing at me with her dark eyes.