Woman's Place
By
Bonnie Lee
She walked into the two-room apartment, looked into his eyes and
quietly announced, "I start work tomorrow at 10:00 a.m. making salads
at the Denver Athletic Club."
Dad nodded, turned away and carefully lit his pipe.
Many years later I realized how it hurt him that his wife had to
support us. Twenty-four years of marriage and for the first time he
hadn't had a job in several months.
Twelve years old and I had never worried about being poor.
No one had a lot of money as far as I could tell. Everyone talked
about the Depression, but I didn't think it had anything to do with
us. Mother and Dad always assured my brother and me that we were just
fine, that you did the best you could with what you had. Now… my mother
had a job outside the home. I felt unsure and a little scared.
Even so I felt proud of my mother. She convinced the head chef
at the club that she could learn to make whatever kind of salad he desired.
Referred to as Chef Henry, he ruled this Kitchen Kingdom with a carving
knife in one hand, a long handled spoon in the other and a voice with a
volume control that seldom functioned on low.
Cooks, bakers, salad makers, waiters, bus boys and dishwashers kept
this kingdom astir. The activity level moved into a frantic state just
before lunch and dinner. In between everyone took a deep breath, then sprang
back into action again.
Mother kept up with the pace and enjoyed making salads, especially
the individual decorative ones. Being direct, tactful and good-natured
she got along well with everyone, even the volatile Chef Henry and the
equally volatile butcher Frank. Frank reigned in his smaller, but important,
kingdom and often challenged the authority of Chef Henry. When this happened,
the chef's carving knife and the butcher's cleaver cutting through the
steamy air, sent everyone to cover. Surprisingly no one ever seemed to
get seriously injured.
Although Henry and Frank had egos the size of Henry VIII they were not
completely insensitive. Discovering that mother, when leaving work at night,
had to walk down the dark alley and wait at the streetcar stop alone, they
agreed that she needed an escort. Each evening a waiter would be appointed
to see her safely down the alley and onto the trolley.
Mother worked a split shift, eight hours a day, six days a week. She
left me notes, but I missed her voice. A naturally cheerful person, she sang
a lot and kept everyone's spirits up. Dad kept looking for a job. He said
little, didn't tell jokes or ask his goofy riddles. I even missed the teasing
I thought I hated.
One Saturday afternoon, about eight months after Mother started working,
Dad stepped through the door. He took out his pipe, filled, tamped and lit
it. Took a puff , caught Mother's eye and smiled through the smoke.
"We're moving! I start Monday as the manager of an apartment house
about six blocks from here."
Wow! I felt like Christmas!
Copyright April 1999
OR