MOTHER?
©2001 Joy Lucadello Luster

"You lied to me! How could you? I thought you were my real mother." Selya's hazel eyes were filled with tears that flowed like the rain that was beating against the windows of the house overlooking San Francisco Bay. She pushed her hands against the breast of the woman opposite her. Upside down, that's how her world was. All these years she'd thought she was like everyone else. Until now, she thought that she had been living in a normal household with a big brother, and a father and mother that loved her. She took piano lessons, went to the A.M.E. Zion Church every Sunday, and had even won the coveted goalie position on the women's soccer team at Lowell High School.
It was like ashes in her mouth now. She thought she might throw up. The soft caramel skin of her mother's face crumbled as she tried to embrace the girl. "Selya, you have always been told that you were a special child."
"But, I didn't know that meant I didn't come out of you, like regular kids do. How could you have had someone else do it? Didn't you think of anyone but yourself? You probably wanted to keep working at your la-di-da professor's job. Was that it?" Her voice shrilled.
"Oh, honey, it wasn't like that. Please calm down, and I'll tell you all about it. I'm so sorry that I didn't talk more about it. The time always slipped away." Paige Johnson stroked the girl's back and led her from the book-lined alcove area to a cream-colored sofa that sat along one wall of the living room. She touched the low energy lamp that sat upon the end table, flooding the darkened room with light. "I told you a part of it many years ago, but I guess you don't remember." The teenager sobbed, filled alternately with self-pity, anger, and hurt. How could they have done it? How could she have been so stupid not to instinctively know?
Paige Johnson held her daughter and talked softly, trying to explain, trying to comfort, and Selya's tears subsided some. Just then her husband Carl entered the room, and stopped, surprised at the scene. "What happened Selya, baby, why are you crying?"
"Selya found that old computer disc with her birth information on it, " Paige explained, "and it was all news to her. I thought we had talked about this all earlier, but I guess at the time, she was just too young to absorb it."
"Well," Carl's face was solemn, "we'd better resolve this right now." His brow furrowed, and his midsection felt as if he had inadvertently swallowed a chunk of ice. "This calls for a family conference. I'm glad your brother John is home to be in on this. Now just wait a minute or two, if you would, please. I'll call John." He hugged his daughter and kissed her on the forehead before leaving the room.
He'd been on his way to the laboratory, and had just stopped in to tell Paige that he would be gone for a few hours. Well, science would have to wait; his family came first, and always had. "John, where are you?" he called out, "We need you in the living room, please."
Selya nodded sullenly, and watched as her father left the room. She could hear him talking with John. Why had she found that fifteen-year-old disc from 2050, and put it into the old computer? Just because it was a rainy afternoon? Because she was somewhat bored? Or because she liked to snoop and thought that something interesting might be found? Maybe all of the above? Then, as the program opened and the letters appeared upon the screen she had seen her very own name, seen surrogate mother, seen what else? A surge of emotion had blinded her as she had taken the disc out and thrown it against the wall. Surrogate! Laboratory! What did that have to do with her? She had sat down on the floor of the library alcove in a confusion of shock and hurt.
Selya felt exhausted, as if she had been steadily jogging up and down Potrero Hill all day. What, why, who, all of these and more questions flooded her mind. Her instinct was to hide, to literally go to her room and pull the covers over herself and succumb to misery.
Just then her mother had walked into the room with an armful of books. "Selya, what's wrong?" She'd dropped the books on a chair and knelt down to embrace her daughter. It was at that point that Selya's misery had turned to anger and she had impulsively burst out accusingly to Paige. Now, as they waited quietly for Carl and John, Selya hoped they could explain what it was she read. Who was she? Did anybody care at all? She realized that she didn't feel as if she were fifteen anymore, but like some older and sadder person whom she didn't know at all.
Within minutes her father, a tall, brown-skinned man, entered the room carrying a large tray with teapot, cups, cookies and cream. He set them down on the oak coffee table and settled next to his daughter, giving her a hug as he sat down. Selya sniffed and smiled faintly. He always smelled of green, she thought. Green grass, green like springtime. When she was a little girl sometimes he'd taken her to the greenhouses that were his domain as a botanist.
Her brother, John, entered, slouching, and headed for the large comfortable chair. "So, what's the family confab about?" John was home briefly at the old Victorian house on Potrero Hill during a semester break from Howard University where he was studying medicine. He was returning to school on an early morning flight from the San Francisco airport the next morning.
"Well," Paige poured the tea as each of the men took some cookies. "Selya found an old computer disc that had the information about her birth. It seems that we haven't been very forthright in talking more about this. In fact, now seems to be the time to clear the air." She looked around the room nervously, as if she were a new graduate who feared rejection at an important job interview.
Selya avoided her mother's sad look. She studied her hands intently. She was so angry, and why was everyone else so calm? Well, not her mother, maybe. Selya sighed deeply, "Well, let's hear the little fantasy you have dreamed up."
Her mother began, stumbling, and hesitating over the words. "This is not easy for me, bear with me, please. Let's start even before your time, Selya." She paused and cleared her throat. "When your father and I were married - fairly late in life, as you know - we tried unsuccessfully for several years to have a child. Then we went to fertility clinics, even investigated cloning, and finally settled on in-vitro fertilization. The doctors took several sperm and egg samples from your father and me, and when fertilization took place, they implanted the fertilized egg in my womb. I had a quite normal pregnancy, and John was the happy result." John smirked, and Selya knew that this was old stuff for him. Hadn't some relative made a remark once about petrie dish children? Selya hadn't paid much attention.
"Unfortunately, the birth itself became complicated." A shadow of remembered pain passed through her eyes as Paige continued. "They had to do a complete hysterectomy in order to save my life."
Carl spoke, "I thought we were going to lose your mother. It was a tough time for us."
He looked fondly at Paige, and took up the story. "After Paige was healthy again, and John was doing well, we certainly wanted more than one child. What could we do? We talked about adoption, but somehow, I didn't like that. So, we went back to the fertility clinics to get some more ideas. It was the middle of the twenty-first century after all. So much progress had been made over the past few years in these areas."
"Well, it seems that the laboratories had started both egg and sperm banks. All codified, genetically screened against diseases such as sickle cell anemia and diabetes, which runs in our families, you know. They listed the donor skin and hair color, the build-ectomorph, endomorph, and the like. It was truly amazing! So your mother and I got all excited about the possibilities." A gleam of scientific fervor flashed in his brown eyes as he recalled that time.
Selya's eyes widened with disbelief, "You mean to tell me that you picked me from a chart?"
"Well, it wasn't quite like that," her father said, " we spent months getting more information, discussing and considering all of our options. We didn't go into this lightly, young woman."
John interrupted excitedly, "Well, in med. school we're learning that the entire genome project is in full gear now. What was the dream of a few scientists back at the turn of the century is now being practiced." He turned to Selya, "You know, kid, you are ahead of the crowd. The field of reprogenetics is at the cutting edge."
"But, I'm not a clone, am I?" Selya asked her parents, turning to face one and then the other.
"No, Selya. We didn't believe the technology was advanced enough for us to try. They still had a lot of problems. We didn't think we could deal with that emotionally," her father said. "Too many of the babies who were cloned were failures. We were afraid to have that happen."
Paige, tears in her eyes, continued the story. "We chose eggs from a woman with a similar educational background, with similar looks to mine, and the genetic qualities we were looking for. Then, your father donated sperm, and in-vitro fertilization occurred in the laboratory. By this time we had found a surrogate mother to carry the fertilized egg. So that was implanted in her womb, and in nine months she gave birth to you."
"Who was the donor woman who gave the egg?" Selya was determined.
"We don't know," Carl explained, "this was all done at the laboratory on the promise of anonymity."
"So, who was the woman who actually gave birth to me?"
"She was a healthy, happy woman who did this to supplement her income. She never saw you, never held you. That was how she wanted it to be. She did this for a number of families, as we understand it."
Paige watched the struggle in Selya's face, "Selya, my mother and father ­ Grandmother and Grandfather Tremayne - were absolutely against the idea. So, while they lived with us it became a forbidden subject. They thought we were taking over the Lord's work. They were very angry with us. But," she added. "That didn't interfere with their love for you or John." Paige knew that if it had been up to her parents, neither John nor Selya would have been born. Their Christian beliefs did not include so-called test-tube babies or surrogate mothers. They had been business people, not interested in scientific discoveries, hard working and religious, and born in the twentieth century before all these new discoveries had become commonplace.
As her mother talked on, Selya recalled the quiet, rather stern people who had been her grandparents. The Tremaynes had died just two years ago, within months of each other. They had lived with the Johnsons for over six years after they became infirm and unable to live alone. What was now the family room was an area that had been filled with hospital beds, a walker and a wheelchair. The downstairs bathroom still had those special hold bars and other features that Carl had installed for their safety. Since the time she had been in elementary school the Tremaynes had lived there. She recalled that Paige had spent a great many of her free hours taking them to various medical appointments, as well as many church services. Well, it turns out they weren't really her grandparents! Oh, God! Would she ever get over this?
Her attention shifted back to her mother who was still speaking, "Selya, three women wanted you to be born and helped to make it happen. Just remember, I am the lucky one who became your mother."
Selya was bewildered. "I just want to know who I am," she whispered. John and Carl rose simultaneously to wrap Selya within their embrace and Paige followed quickly.
"You're my sister," said John as he gave her a hearty squeeze.
"You're our own precious daughter whom we love," her parents said as they hugged her tightly.
Her brother broke in, sensing that they were all on overload, "Selya, enough of this heavy talk! Don't you think we've all had as much as we can take for one sitting? You and I haven't spent much time together. How about going over to Swensen's for a milkshake?" He looked at his parents for confirmation, and seeing their agreement, said, "The rain seems to have stopped for now."
She looked at him. John wasn't a part of this travesty. And he had started out in a lab dish, too. Selya nodded and took a slicker from the hall rack. "Let's go." She knew instinctively that it was going to take some time to absorb this information. It would be even longer before she could forgive her mother.

Letter from My Clone
©2001 Joy Lucadello Luster

Dear Joy I,
I hope this form of address is correct. It is how all the other clones at my seminary address their progenitors. We are generally getting along quite nicely. Now that I am twelve years old I am being tested for mental and physical abilities. Indeed, I have been tested for most of my life. These particular tests will eventually determine which aptitudes I have and which of my weaknesses I will need to work on during the coming five years. So, I have some questions for you. I will appreciate it if you answer fairly soon, since I was supposed to write this last week, but I didn't get around to it until today.
Since we share our DNA, could you tell me if you ever had a problem with your weight? My friend, Frances, tells me that what we get in our dining room is institutional food that is not very good. Somehow, I like what they serve. There are some especially good tamales wrapped in simulated cornhusks that I just adore. Also, I can't seem to stay away from cakes or chocolate when they are available. These, plus my inclination to sit around and read a lot may be a part of my weight problem. Of course, if it's just genetic, then I can relax and keep eating.
Another thing I need to know about is how I appear to others. I think I am doing things in the right manner, but I've noticed that some of the others often ignore me. A few seem loud and rather vulgar. According to the rules we are not supposed to get in fights, swear, or do mean things to each other. Many of the clones just do not pay any attention to the rules. Am I being too picky, do you think? Melvin who sits across from me in algebra puts his foot out to try to trip me sometimes, and big, slow Junior Blalock peeks over my shoulder when we have a test. I try to move so that he can't see my paper, but I'm not always successful. Do you think I should report them? Frannie says that the kids will all hate me if I do that, so I haven't. Another thing, I just hate to get up in front of the class. When the teacher asks me, I just say I don't know, because it is so embarrassing! But don't worry, I'll make you proud. I do very well on the tests, and I heard that is what counts anyway.
There's a rumor around that some of the clones will be shipped off somewhere to start working. Frannie says that they are the dumb ones. Have you heard anything about this? I hate to worry, but I can't help wondering if the Director has plans for us that we don't know about. I'd be afraid to ask him, so I'll just keep my ears open. They say that we will all progress to a place appropriate for each of us. What do you suppose that means?
Well, it's time for PE class. I suppose we'll have to run around the track a few times. That is such a bore! I'd like to play tennis or basketball but I guess I'm not ready for those yet. So I will close with kindest regards. Remember, I need the answers real soon, especially the ones about the weight and how to get more clones to like me. Thank you.

Sincerely,
Your Clone, Joy II

Moving To Washington
©2001 Gertrude Martin

The years 1959-1968, were exciting ones for our family. My husband, Louis, had grown restless with his work as editor-in-chief of the Sengstacke Newspapers, a chain of seven weekly newspapers directed to minority readers and headquartered in Chicago. Louis had worked for the Defender papers off and on since his first job in 1935 as a reporter for the Chicago Defender, the oldest, largest and best known of the Defender papers. But he did not have the freedom in Chicago that he had had in Detroit with the Michigan Chronicle. His politics were more liberal and his perspective broader than those of the publisher, John Sengstacke. So when he was offered a position as Editorial Director of the West African Press in Lagos, Nigeria, he jumped at the chance. The commitment was for one year. After considerable debate, we decided that he would go over alone in September 1959 and I would plan a trip in the summer, the Nigerian winter. Our pediatrician advised strongly against the trip for our three youngest daughters, Toni, then nine; Linda five; and Lisa, two. Looking back now, I think I would have gone over with him.

Even at home in Chicago, 1959 was a special year. My younger sister, Lillian and her husband, Harold Calhoun, decided to move to Chicago with their three young children. They moved in with us for that year and we managed well with a minimum of friction, partly because the children were close in age and they moved at the end of the school year.

When Louis returned in June 1960, he was soon recruited to work in the minority division of the Kennedy campaign under the direction of Kennedy's brother-in-law, Sargent Shiver. Harris Wofford, who later worked in the Kennedy White House and years after became a Senator from Pennsylvania, was also on the team. Later Shriver, Wofford and Louis worked together on setting up the Peace Corps with the addition of Adam Yarmolinsky; known as one of the "whiz kids" of the Defense Department.
Shriver and his family had been living in Chicago where he managed the vast Kennedy-owned Merchandise Mart and had recently served as President of the Chicago Board of Education. Louis had known him slightly in that capacity. Shriver and Louis formed a bond during those months, which was unbroken until Louis' death in January 1997, when Shriver spoke movingly at Louis' funeral in Los Angeles.
Louis' responsibility during the campaign was to rally minority voters to support Senator Kennedy. He succeeded in the political world as he had as a newspaperman. He was sensitive, bold, imaginative, and tireless, both mentally and physically. His co-workers and many of his acquaintances were often deceived by his hail-fellow-well-met manner. He read widely, wrote quickly and wanted more than anything to improve the lot of minorities in the United States. He believed in building coalitions and supported the drive against poverty and the labor movement years earlier in Detroit when to do so was not popular with the Establishment, black or white. The Michigan Chronicle was the only newspaper in Detroit which supported Walter Reuther and the drive to unionize automobile workers in an industry-wide union ­ the United Automobile Workers.

The Washington Years
©2001 Gertrude Martin

We had deliberated a great deal on the move to Washington, where Louis had been offered a position as Deputy Chairman of the Democratic National Committee. John Bailey, a well-known figure in Connecticut, was DNC Chairman and Charles (Chuck) Roche, one of the Irish Mafia close to the Kennedys, was the other Deputy.
I didn't think the Deputy Chairmanship of the DNC was a good fit for Louis' qualifications. He seemed content enough, however, and as it happened, had a White House pass and was frequently consulted on issues of race policy and civil rights legislation, especially by Robert Kennedy and others in the administration.
I knew that there was some effort being exerted at the time to have President Kennedy appoint a staff aide on civil rights. Harris Wofford, in his book, Of Kennedy and Kings, wrote, "I told Father Hesburgh, President of Notre Dame and John Hannah, Chairman of the Civil Rights Commission, that in my memorandum to the President I had recommended Louis Martin for the White House staff since the Negro community is a particularly complex, isolated and politically important one, and since a sensitive Negro is able to hear and sense the mood of his community better than a white man."
Later John Hannah called Wofford to say that when he and others spoke to President Kennedy about a White House Assistant on Civil Rights, the President responded: "I already have a special assistant who is working on civil rights ­ Harris Wofford." Later when the President summoned Wofford to his office, he offered him the position and wouldn't take "no" for an answer. Wofford wrote further: "As for the suggestion of appointing Louis Martin, he [President Kennedy] considered him a fine fellow but needed him as a key man at the Democratic National Committee; we could call on him informally as much as we wished."
At one time, Louis told me that he had not been appointed to the White House staff because of his activity in Detroit supporting the formation of the United Automobile Workers (UAW), an industrial union, had resulted in his being in the FBI files. Under the guidance of Walter Reuther, the UAW had a policy of including Black workers, rather than the exclusionary policies of craft unions. When we discussed the matter of the FBI files; Wofford's book (1980) had not been published. We both read the book but did not discuss the appointment. At that time, none of it had much immediacy.
My first task, when we were sure of moving to Washington, was to check on the schools. When we had moved to Chicago from New York City in 1951, housing was scarce. We had rented a small apartment in the Rosenwood Building in the inner city. The local school, Coleman, was so crowded that it was necessary to have triple sessions, I called the Board of Education to ask about student achievement at Coleman, and the person to whom I spoke frankly urged me to find an alternative, and we were fortunate that Trudy and Anita were admitted to the University of Chicago Laboratory School, a private school.
When we moved to Washington, I had hoped that the children would attend the school in the Southwest neighborhood where we had rented a town house. The nearby school, Amidon, was recommended to me, but when I talked to the school I learned that, beginning at fifth grade there was a drop in achievement. One of our daughters, Toni, was entering the fifth grade, so I began to take a look at private schools, as I had before in New York City and Chicago, with my eldest daughters.

I quickly learned that in the private schools, as with many parts of Washington, some changes had come to this strictly segregated city, but not enough. The Rational Cathedral schools, located on the grounds of the Washington National Cathedral had an open policy, but had no room for one of my daughters. Sidwell Friends, repudidly a Quaker School, refused the children-although I can't remember their excuse-but they had not desegregated. All I remember is that I began to cry, very unusual for me, and could not stop. The Director of Admissions or her assistant, who was interviewing me was at a loss as to what to do with this weeping woman since the school was having an Open House. Even then, I saw some humor in the situation. I think the crying was the result of my anger and frustration and the fact that I believed the Quakers were a more liberal group than some, but when I talked to a Quaker couple in Chicago upon my return and expressed my disappointment and hurt, they promised to look into the refusal. The answer they later gave me was that Sidwell Friends was not entirely a Quaker school. There was more to it than that, but I have blocked out the rest, I think. There are so many games played about race that one can't possibly keep track of all of them. Besides, Louis could nevert exert any influence for himself, although he could be very assertive for others. He would always accept the first job he was offered.
The children were all accepted at Georgetown Day School, which had opened some years before as an integrated school before the Brown v. Board of Education 1954 decision. It was a free school with considerable emphasis on art and music and not enough on sports because there was neither gym nor playing field, but it was a great experience for all of us.
My husband and I considered education an important priority for our children. In my case, I had seen my parents sacrifice much to educate their children maintaining two homes: one in Columbus, Ohio; the other in Savannah, Georgia; so that we might escape the poor schools of the South. Louis' parents had sent him to Nashville, Tennessee to attend high school at Fisk University. Many of our friends had also been sent early to various boarding schools such as Spellman College for girls in Atlanta and Talladega College in Alabama. Since Louis was always on a salary, and a not very handsome one at that, private schools received a good chunk of our income.

Washington: Joys and Sorrows
©2001 Gertrude Martin

In some respects, Washington D.C. under Kennedy proved to be as exciting as I had expected. In others, it was a disappointment. That was true for the country, as it was in a more personal way for our family.
Overall, the Kennedys (the President and his brother Robert, the Attorney General) had raised expectations on civil rights. This was especially so after Martin Luther King was jailed and the President called Mrs. King to express his concern. In that same period, Robert Kennedy had called the DeKalb County judge to ask for King's release. Early in the mornings, about 3 A.M., Louis had a call from Bobby Kennedy telling him that he (Bobby) had called the judge. Louis responded "You are now an honorary Brother." Harris Wofford wrote in Of Kennedys and Kings (p.22):
"Ever afterwards, Bobby claimed that title in dealing with Martin ('Tell him his honorary Brother needs his help.' he would say to Martin's secretary), and, in turn, Martin would always be able to get through directly to Kennedy with those magic words."
Throughout the Kennedy administration, Louis always had access to Bobby Kennedy and to some of the so-called Irish Mafia. He found Kenny O'Donnell, President Kennedy's appointments secretary especially helpful in arranging for him to see the President from time to time. So Louis' life was busy, exciting and crisis-packed.
My life was full, too, but with more mundane matters. The children liked their school very much but they were in a strange city and just beginning to make new friends. One of the disadvantages of private schools is that children's friends are far and near. In this case, most of them were far. Lisa, our youngest daughter, who was five, found several playmates her own age in the neighborhood but her two older sisters weren't as fortunate.
My husband and I joined an informal group of about eight couples, mostly government lawyers and journalists, and enjoyed it during our Washington years.
In the sixties and especially during the Kennedy years, women did not have a large role in government or in political affairs. The small number who did were respected, but those who did not work were quickly brushed off. With blacks and whites I had several disabilities: being a member of a minority and in what some considered an interracial marriage were probably the greatest but not far behind was being a non-working woman. As Louis became better known, more people learned more about me, but until blacks learned the truth-and sometimes even then-many lionized Louis and ignored me.
It was about this time that a book with the bitter title, "The Spook That Sat By the Door" was becoming well known in Washington. It referred to the role of the token black in an organization or business. It applied to me in the sense that I would have been more welcome on the political front if I had fulfilled that role more visibly. Louis was frequently invited to semiofficial social affairs to which we usually went. But I can remember at State Department functions that I was passed along the obligatory reception line, with very little eye contact.
Seating at White House dinners usually followed strict protocol so I landed a distance from Louis, who, in turn, was a distance from the true dignitaries. My fondest memory of a White House dinner was being seated next to Edward R. Murrow, the ace journalist who made his name at CBS during World War II and was a delightful dinner partner. He asked a lot of questions about me, perhaps too many, but, at least, he saw me. A less happy occasion was a dinner where I was seated next to Lee Remick, the well-known actor whose name had been linked with President Kennedy. Whether there was anything to the rumor, I don't know, but it was clear from her expression and her concentration on whoever was on her other side that she wasn't happy being seated next to me.
It was during these years that Joan Kennedy, Senator Ted Kennedy's wife, was sometimes ridiculed about her dress and her drinking. I always thought that she was having experiences similar to mine, on a quite different level, of course. The other Kennedy wives and the Kennedy sisters were all more assertive, I think, and Joan Kennedy was only attempting to be seen.
There were times when I wearied so much of this treatment that, if I were in a hotel, I would head for the lobby far from that indifferent crowd. When Louis missed me and came to urge me to return, it would be difficult to explain the deep malaise I felt. I did make new friends ­ Harriet Taylor and Raquel Frankel who died too young, Beth Reeves, Evelyn Levine Lieberman, Elise Hope and Eleanor Farrar among them.
I felt fortunate, too, that I was able to renew friendship with a number of others, all but one from Detroit originally: Marcella Peterson, Dores McCree and Yolande Davenport, and Dorothy Gist from Chicago.
These were happy years despite the difficulties, which were greater than at other times, but my family and friends and an exciting period in Washington fostered a deep contentment. My three youngest children: Toni, Linda and Lisa were nine, seven and four when we moved to Washington. They had been attending the University of Chicago Laboratory School in Chicago, a more formal school than Washington's Georgetown Day School, so each one appreciated the greater freedom at GDS in a different way.

Career Choices
©2001 Gertrude Martin

What did my early environment encourage me to be? I can't remember either of my parents talking to me about my future. I read a great deal but I don't remember any career-oriented books, which are so popular today. We lived in the South and there was a time lag there in the treatment of all women. Young women didn't have much to aspire to and except for teaching, there was a dearth of opportunities.
It was not until I was in college that I decided on a future. I attended Ohio State University, although my first choice was an Eastern college. But the effects of the Great Depression had not worn off in Savannah where my father was in business. My siblings (two sisters and a brother) were living in Columbus and my father felt that Ohio State would be best for us because tuition was very reasonable for state students. All of us graduated from Ohio State. I enrolled in pre-law, a well outlined career path.
Early in my sophomore year I was summoned to the Dean's office where that official advised me that it would be well if I changed my goal. The Dean, who knew me not at all, believed that I was not the type of personality that would thrive on the law. He discussed various public activities of lawyers ­ emphasizing court appearances, that I would (not might) find difficult. I didn't know then that many lawyers never go into court and that there were certain tasks I could perform in the field. I shrank out of the Dean's office, never giving a backward look at my chosen career. It was only later that I began to resent his conclusions about me and to regret that I had not challenged him.
Even earlier, I realized race would be a barrier in choosing a career and that proved to be so. When I took my orals for a Master of Arts degree, still at Ohio State, the three professors from the French Department who had questioned me asked me to stay a little longer after they had told me I had passed. Then they told me, apologetically, that they had tried to find a teaching position for me at Ohio State and at other universities but had been unsuccessful. They suggested that I go into business where they thought the barriers would be few. It would have been a real switch for a French major.
Life continued to teach me the same lesson. With me, a Master's degree and a Phi Beta Kappa key were not door openers. I did teach for a year and a half at two universities for blacks, Shaw University in Raleigh, N.C. for one semester filling in for a friend who was completing her Master's degree. Then I taught for a year at Wilberforce University in Xenia, Ohio. At the end of that year, Louis Martin and I were married and I joined him in Detroit, Michigan where he was publishing and editing a year-old weekly newspaper, The Michigan Chronicle. For about seven years after, I worked with my husband on the newspaper. I was bookkeeper, proofreader, editor, reporter, what-have-you. But when I looked for a job on my own, my husband's recommendation meant little. In 1944 we launched a monthly newsmagazine for minority readers modeled in a general way after Time magazine. The next year we decided that New York was the place to be for national news of literary, artistic and other happenings of importance so we moved there with our two young daughters. We all enjoyed our life in New York City, although after about 18 months Louis became editor-in-chief of the Chicago Defender newspapers; a small chain of six weekly newspapers devoted to concerns and news of blacks. So he began commuting to Chicago and we spent the next summer in Chicago. Meanwhile, newsprint was being rationed to old customers and gradually our supply from the Chicago Defender, which was supporting the new magazine, dried up. So we had to discontinue publication of a slowly growing business and move to Chicago.
The jobs I held later on my own were varied and interesting; grading papers first in French and later in Latin at the American School, a correspondence school in Chicago; working with preschool parents at five sites in Washington, D.C. (where we moved in 1960), supported by the United Planning Organization, UPO, the Poverty Program in Washington. I was promoted to Education Coordinator and my assignment was to follow a number of reading programs in 13 schools, the Model School Division in Washington's inner city. Later in Washington, I served as senior editor of the National Urban Coalition. My duties there were editing and sometimes rewriting a variety of materials: brochures, grant proposals, speeches, marketing letters. My supervisor at the coalition was Evelyn Levine, the bright, attractive Director of Communications. I was lucky because we became friends and I found working with Evelyn a special joy.
Evelyn worked later on Hillary Clinton's staff in the White House, then became Deputy Chief of Staff under President Clinton. She received much media attention as Evelyn Lieberman when she reportedly had Monica Lewinsky moved from the White House to the Pentagon.
I worked at the now defunct National Institute of Education assisting in the editing of Black Colleges and Universities. After we moved back to Chicago in early 1969, I became managing editor of School Review, a quarterly journal published by the University of Chicago Press for the graduate Department of Education at the University of Chicago. After four years I accepted a similar position with Integrated Education where I remained for a little over four years. It was then being published at Northwestern University, but unlike School Review, had no connection with the university.

Dear Abby,

No, No, No, not that one-not Abigail Van Buren, the S.F. Chronicle Advice Columnist, but our own Ms Bogomolny!
Rather than looking out my window, I'm sitting on my shallow deck-getting a broader view of the Mormon Temple, which in itself is a sight after dark when it is fully lighted and there is a full moon as well.
As I think I have mentioned, I live on Oakland Avenue above the Rose Garden. When I moved here some thirty years ago, this view was somewhat blocked by a large eucalyptus tree and its resident blue jays and squirrels. The tree was the victim of heavy rain and wind and had to be removed.
But I had the pleasure of hearing Band Concerts on Sunday and joyful music when a wedding party was being held. Do you get the idea that I like where I live and do not plan to leave until it is feet first?
©2001 Marian Normart