Month: May 2016

Williams and Wilkins & The Best Boss I Ever Had

During the five years that I was a graduate student I was always on the search to make extra money.

One time I had heard that a department store nearby was hiring people so I went over and asked. I had an interview and got hired immediately to be a sales person in the children’s clothing section. Because I liked being a mother so much I thought it would be kind of fun. However, on the first day of training–and I was the only person there in my age group–I discovered that I could not keep up with learning all the procedures to use when people wanted to pay for something. The other people there, all in their teens and early 20’s, had no problem.

So I went home, threw myself on the bed, and cried. Then the phone rang and it was a dear friend who was calling to say hello. I couldn’t hide the fact that I was crying. She told me that she worked in a publishing concern called Williams and Wilkins, a veterinary publishing firm. The building was located just at the end of my street. And they needed somebody who could type fast and knew medical terminology.

So I dragged myself over, had an interview, and was hired. When I say I “dragged” myself there, it’s a way of saying that I was weary at that time, and worn out. But that mood didn’t last long. I was assigned to work with a group of editors–all women–and their supervising editor. His name was Carroll Cann and he was the best boss in the world. The lady editors were nice, very funny, all of them cat lovers. My title was “editorial assistant.” The work they gave me was easy for me and I soon learned that there was no stress there–none. They were always telling me how good a worker I was and this made me forget the humiliation at the department store.

But Carroll was different or maybe I should say he was even nicer than his editors. Always smiling, in a good mood, he watched over his editors in a tender, protective manner. I don’t mean that he took away their–and my– dignity and treated us like children. He was just doing his job as supervisor in the best possible way.

Anybody who knows me will understand this story. I love dictionaries. I must have a dozen dictionaries in my house, i.e., dictionaries of psychological terms, of fine art terminology, etc. I even have a dictionary I found in a tractor and farm store that we go to sometimes…called Dictionary of the Old West. I even have a small sized Dictionary of Musical Terminology on my piano!!! (All musical terms are in Italian.)

Wilkins and Williams had medical dictionaries. There was one I found in a catalog that included color pictures of various parts of mammalian systems. Oh boy, did I want it! It was expensive but as an employee I would get a discount. So I filled in the request and asked Carroll to sign it. He looked at it and very dramatically crushed this piece of paper up into a ball and threw it into the waste basket.

“It’s yours,” he said.

So that’s why I loved Carroll and he was the best boss ever. I got my beautiful illustrated medical dictionary as a gift from him.

Multi-Tasking

After I graduated with a Masters degree from West Chester University I was, of course, looking for a job. However, while I was looking I had four part time jobs; people are incredulous when I say this but those four months were some of the happiest times I had in the workplace.

We had a Penn State campus near Media, PA and a friend from my street introduced me to the supervisor of the Learning Center. Most colleges have these now. They are there to help students work on their reading and writing skills. I was astounded at the number of incoming freshmen who could not read or write above an elementary school education. Also, it scared me. But the job paid well and soon I liked it a lot. I worked hard with these young people and I kept my feelings about their poor literacy skills to myself. I didn’t want to take away their dignity. My supervisor liked me and bragged about how many students I had helped. It was wonderful.

This was one of my four jobs. Another job I had was “theme reader.” Every Tuesday I would spend the day at a middle school on Philadelphia’s “Main Line,” meeting with each sixth grade child separately to discuss their writing. Again, I was shocked by the bad spelling and grammar but I told myself that in order to be successful there I had to keep negative feelings to myself. It was a fun job, and like Penn State it paid well.

Job number three was working one-on-one with a troubled young kid who lived in a motel room with his parents and one other brother. There was little to be accomplished there; the situation was ridiculous and hopeless. But I doggedly met with him once a week in this little room with the television blasting and people coming in and out. The agency that employed me expressed surprise that I hung on as long as I did. I don’t have the answer to that except to say that I was driven to be successful at each of these four jobs.

Finally, I had a neighbor who was a social worker. She facilitated a group of grandparents who were raising their grandchildren; the parents were in prison due to drug trafficking. These grandparents were often too poor to get a baby-sitter so I was asked to come and lead a grandchildren’s group.

Somebody at the Penn State job said to me: “How many jobs do you have?!” I was proud of myself because I was earning well and feeling uplifted and energized. I have one amusing story about a young man–from Japan– I tutored at Penn State. He had been told to write an essay, only one page long, on any subject he chose. His choice of subject was “Time.” First of all, his English wasn’t very good. Secondly, I gently informed him that Steven Hawking, one of our world’s super-geniuses, had written one book and maybe two on the nature of time. I was polite but he was also. He worked hard on his essay. I wish now that I had some way of making copies of the essays these kids wrote. It would have been against the rules, definitely.

When I got my full time job at the Devereux Foundation I was close to tears when I left the theme reader job and the tutoring one. I loved everyone there.

A Slow Spring
By
Steppenwolf

Something so hard to define
Like the taste of fine wine
Sharp yet benign
Winter walks the line
And won’t resign
Itself to spring

Walking across my neighbor’s field
I saw that winter must yield
The agreement signed and sealed
At the vernal equinox;
But I like the winter to fight
To blow the wind from the north
And keep the buds on the daffodils wound tight
Until it has had its say.

Ghost Train Station
By
Steppenwolf
1
I live in a place of tiny towns
Where it takes days to deliver the mail
Everything is slow
And when people are done using something—
A fence, a car, a trailer, a train station—
They just walk away from it and let it slowly
Rot and fall apart and descend into the earth.
2
Must I confess how much I like it this way?
I’ve crawled into my own mind and scraped the walls
Trying to answer this question.
Why is something supremely satisfied in me
When the behemoth bull dozers don’t come
And scrape it all up, taking away the wild roses
That have come to tangle themselves around rotting
Fences and rusted encrusted gear shifts?

3
The abandoned train station
Where ghosts walk
I look at it and feel the press
Of mill hands loading grain into the cars
And I have this desire to
Lay down on the long-disused tracks
To dare the ghost train to emerge
Out of the gloom.

I tried in these poems to express the change I went through when we moved here. From the first I felt peaceful but not in the way most people mean. When I would see a mess–a fence, long disused, covered with thorn bushes or, more often, an abandoned car, half covered in rust, that had been pushed to the end of someone’s property–it comforted me. For a long time I tried to figure it out. Now it seems clear that, coming from a suburban place where everything was new, brightly painted, where nobody left kids’ toys out to rust and disintegrate, I equated that life with a phony, cookie-cutter existence. I think this is not a particularly mature way of thinking and sounds a lot like Holden Caulfield in Catcher In The Rye, with his preoccupation with what he sees as “phony.” But you can’t argue with peace, and for me this is peace.

As far as a “slow spring,” it’s a thank you note to the forces of nature at work here. In Philadelphia we had about a day and a half of spring–and then it was summer for five months. Here, it’s possible to go outside and breathe the air and feel the cold wind in your face and smell spring at the same time.

During the last of the 25 years we lived in the suburban town of Media, PA, witnessing the slow, deadly encroaching of industry over nature…I guess all I can write about is how I felt inside. I’m pretty sure I knew how my husband and son felt. We talked about it a lot.

All the wide green spaces, bought by development corporations…gone. I had to watch it every day. Media itself was a slow-moving, country town in 1977. It was a classic small town; at the hardware store, at the corner of State and Jackson Streets, you could get credit on a hand shake. But that’s not the part that hurt the most. Growing on the meadows that were bulldozed and covered over with concrete were–and this word haunted me–were indigenous plants and flowers. They were there because they were put there by nature. Now they were gone forever.

This is a popular subject and it’s easy to complain and rave about what can’t be helped. You have two choices–stay there and adjust as best you can or leave. We left.

The word indigenous never left my mind and the idea has become a part of me. Yes, it’s a poor economical situation here and yes, it’s not very easy to make friends. But I love it here anyway. You should taste our water. Better than any bottled water available and it comes from our own well.

Most of all, nature is very much alive here and yes–beginning in the spring I can look at all the things that are indigenous within the environment. It’s a bird-lovers paradise. We even get hummingbirds to fly up onto our porch. Owls really do say “whooo” at dusk–that never ceases to thrill me. I even love our bats. They really do hang upside down in our barn and sleep during the day and eat up all the insects at night.

What am I really trying to say? In Media I never thought about nature. I wasn’t one of the “tree-huggers” or the “spotted owl crowd.” Joni Mitchell wrote in her song about “pave paradise and put in a parking lot.” She also says that “you don’t know what you’ve lost till it’s gone.” I guess that describes me. My chest got tight and I’d get a knot in my stomach when I’d be forced to watch the horrible bulldozers and listen to the sounds they made. It was rape. Being here is rebirth. Added to this is the fact that we have lovely Amish neighbors. They are farmers and not interested in business or industry. They tend their gardens and farms; if you need an addition to your house or other carpentry done the men come and do it, precisely on time, for half of what others charge, and also in half the time.
When I have to leave here overnight I get ridiculously homesick. I just don’t like being in any other place. After my husband took me to see Taos, NM, in 2010 I lost any interest in traveling. It has become uncomfortable, expensive, can produce paranoia, and I’ve read that travelers go to Florence and Rome to breathe in great art…and the quaint old streets are adrift in McDonald’s bags, paper cups, plastic straws.

…and in Media, PA there really is a “tree museum” as Joni Mitchell said. It’s called Tyler Arboretum and they charge “…a dollar and a half just to see um.”

Well, this gives me a lot of room to wander and to daydream. I could go on forever.

I’m thinking about my husband about whom I rarely write.

Your Eyes

By

Leslie Golding Mastroianni

I went to the door to ask you something but I forget what it was

Was it something to do with dinner being ready I can’t even remember

Remember though that I looked out at you sitting on the porch

Porch built by our lovely Amish neighbors always so cheerful

Cheerful you are when you find little snakes on the warmed stone steps

Steps to take in love and looking at your blue eyes

Eyes staring off out into the universe having a lovely dream

Dream while the hamburgers were cooking and I was hungry

Hungry, yes, but looking at your eyes and the sublime look you had

Had your eyes ever been so full of light I can’t remember

Remember though that you rarely have a moment like that

That you are peaceful, at rest, gazing out on all good things

Things so many that I looked at you for a brief part of a second

And quietly closed the door.

I’m a little vain about my writing. I’m proud of the fact that I invented a new kind of structure for a poem. Begin with a word or image–begin writing a poem and the last word of the first line has to be the beginning of the following line. Then, the ending of the last line has to be the word or image that began the poem. It’s called “see-saw poetry” or “How Leslie Drives Herself Crazy.” I’m always happy when I find a way to do it correctly.

The first blog in my new series is about Peter and that makes me happy.

Last In A Series

When Michael was living in New York City he joined a group of EMTs who paired up and volunteered to walk around Central Park with their medical bags. I was told that Central Park is huge and it’s easy to get lost in the middle of it when jogging or walking. If you hurt yourself in this kind of situation it would be a difficult thing to manage.

One Saturday Michael and his partner were walking their rounds and they came upon a man trying to rape a woman. He was big, the woman was small; it was an awful scene.

Michael dropped his medical bag and rushed in. He is very slim but strong and thoroughly trained in martial arts. He subdued the man but got carried away and gave this man the beating of his life. Nobody is 100% good and Michael isn’t a saint. He has “anger problems” that sometimes overcome him. So the would-be rapist had to be hospitalized.

Despite this, he was awarded a “Medal For Merit” by New York State. It’s a red ribbon with a gold-colored medal and he’s wearing it in his picture. After this, Michael came home for a visit. He told us about what happened and he said “You raised me right.” He handed the medal to us; Peter took it and handed it to me.

The Japanese Earthquake and Tsunami of 2011

I hope everybody can read this. For some unknown reason these letters changed themselves into smaller fonts along with not being bold enough. I can’t figure it out.

Michael had been in Haiti for a month and was heading home to northeastern PA. While in Haiti he had established a school where the natives there could learn to become EMTs. There’s a photo someplace of Michael erecting the flag on the roof of what became a school building.

He had been home two days when Japan suffered an intensely powerful earthquake along with a powerful tsunami. I thought I was going to die. I knew–Peter and I both did–that Michael would go to help. I know it sounds selfish–that my first thought was not for the victims in that horrible place but for Michael. I couldn’t get it through my head! How could one person, no matter how strong and brave, face up to horror after horror?

Well, Michael went to Japan after being home two days. It happened on my birthday but that didn’t mean much. I had heard and read about what had happened; nuclear waste was scattered all over the place, dead bodies were everywhere. It was just too, too awful!! But I managed to contain myself. I already knew what kind of young man Michael was. I could throw myself across the doorway and command him to get a job as a bricklayer or an accountant or something but it would be of no good. My one consolation was that Michael had to go to Harrisburg, PA for a two-day training in how to stay safe and keep others safe as well. Not to be overly dramatic but I clung to that–he wouldn’t just be thrown into that hell hole but would wear special clothing, etc.

I have some lovely neighbors. We don’t socialize but if somebody is in trouble they are always around. I have a neighbor who sells eggs, vegetables, and rabbits. Her name is Doris. On the morning when I was told that Michael was going away again, I drove over to her house to get eggs. I took one look into those crystal-blue eyes of hers, where you know that Doris had never told a lie–and I burst into tears and began to sob. “Michael’s going away again…” Doris didn’t say anything and I was happy about that. What can you say that makes any difference? However, very early the next morning I heard a truck pull up beside the house, then drive away. I went down and saw that Doris had left a pan of cinnamon rolls, still warm from the oven. So, as I said, what can you say?

There is a part of this particular story that is heart-wrenching but it much be told. Just like us, Japan has gangs of brutal men who drink all the time and terrorize others. They have funny names and people are afraid of them. But after the earthquake and tsunami these rough gangs of men pitched in and did whatever they could to help. They helped Michael put the bodies of dead children into “body bags.” Anyone who knows about Japanese men knows that those guys do not hug each other. They are proud and rather stiff people. Then, keep in mind that they are disposing bodies of dead children. Afterwards, the leader of this tough bunch of men burst into tears and threw his arms around Michael and they cried together. Michael was writing a blog then and put all of this down. As Peter read Michael’s narrative each of us was sobbing. Why am I writing this down? Good question. There’s still hope?

Some Enchanted Evening…

Whenever Michael was getting ready to go someplace horrible I got into a bad habit–although who could blame me?–of finding a song or a quotation that fit the occasion. I was kind of annoying. When Michael was going to the South Pacific I kept singing Some Enchanted Evening…in a very “Rossano Brazzi” voice. Not always appreciated except that Michael’s never rude to me and I tried to hold back. (Regarding Michael’s trip to Antarctica: there is an old Fred Astaire movie called Flying Down To Rio. I didn’t know any song attached to that but I just kept saying those words over and over. Probably Michael was relieved to be going!!) Nope. Michael may have been slightly annoyed but the truth is that he loves and respects me.

Anyway, there are an incredible amount of small islands in the South Pacific, united into one country except that all these people speak different languages. It’s crazy. They do have a capital city but I can’t remember the name. They were due to elect a new leader and the atmosphere there was unstable and ripe for rioting and chaos. So the U.N. sent three Peacekeepers to help keep things calm.

One day Michael and the two others went out in a boat and got lost. This still scares me a little when I think of it. They came to a remote island and a tribe of brown skinned people greeted them in a curious fashion. Yes–they were the true Hollywood-style island people. They had all kinds of things in their ears and bones through their noses. They didn’t look friendly. So Michael–Master of Quick Thinking–took out his cell phone and took a picture of the chief. Then Michael showed the man his picture. He looked at himself for the very first time and roared with laughter. Oh thank God!!! Then all the other men wanted their pictures taken… They all loved Michael and his two friends and wanted them to accompany the tribe back to their home. The way Michael told this, he said that these people thought of them as gods. Oh well. Just another day in the life…

Also, with Mother’s Day coming up…Michael went to Israel on that “birthright” plan they have and he spent three weeks working with the Israeli army. He was there when Mother’s Day occurred. So he called my mother from Israel. I told Michael: You got triple Jewish coupon day! You called your grandmother from Israel on Mother’s Day.

I would like to add the following. I write about my beloved son with humor and irony but that was the way I survived it, in part. It’s soul-shaking to have a son with such overwhelmingly altruistic tendencies. I can’t help remembering an e-mail I got from a man I had never met. His name was Dr. Michael Aronson; he had worked alongside Michael in Haiti. He said that he wanted me to know that not only was my son brilliant, but that he has a heart of gold. This is when I cry.

 

 

Just When I Thought I Heard Everything…

The derivation of the word “anchor..”  is from 14 century English meaning “that which gives stability and security.” Between Michael and myself, the question of who gave those things to whom is open for discussion. Certainly there were times when Michael’s presence helped me to feel firmly fixed on this earth, and that my life had meaning.

This story is true and I’m not making it up. Avoid reading this if you scare easily!!!

It starts in Webster’s, a combination used bookstore and coffee house located in State College, PA. When we feel restless we take a ride to the Penn State campus, buy books, and treat ourselves to a nice meal at The Corner House.

One day we were there and Peter found a book called Worst Case Scenarios.It was published by the Armed Forces. It was a listing of all kinds of crazy things that could possibly happen and what a person could do to defend her/himself. I didn’t question this and Peter gave the book to Michael.

Some time later–I can’t remember how long–Hurricane Katrina took place and of course Michael went south with the Red Cross. Because of the intensity of the storm the normal processes of nature were very much upset. A lot of creatures that lived in the creeks, lakes, and canals were displaced. There were horrible stories which haunted me.

One day Michael was walking down a road with a creek running along the side. He was walking with an electrician who came to help get power back to what houses were left. Suddenly, as if in a nightmare, an alligator jumped out of the creek, ran to the electrician, and sunk his sharp teeth into his leg. Michael was wearing steel-tipped boots; he gave the alligator the sharpest kick he could on his nose. The animal let go of the man’s leg and ran away.

The man’s leg wasn’t even injured. However, the alligator had crunched hard enough so that some of its teeth were left in the electrician’s boot. This man had one of these teeth mounted on a piece of gold and gave it to Michael. It hung from a chain.

Anyone could imagine the emotions we felt. How did our son know that the only sensitive part of an alligator’s body is his nose??!!

“Easy,” said Michael. “It was in that book Dad gave me, the one about worst case scenarios.”

I don’t know what else to say about this except I’m still in a state of wonder. How was he able to think that quickly? If he waited several more seconds the man would have died or at least lost his leg.

There’s a song from the fifties or sixties by Jerry Lee Lewis called “A Whole Lotta Shakin’ Going On.” I used those words many, many times over a ten year period except I said–A Whole Lotta Head-Shakin’ Going On.” What could you do except shake your head? We were literally dumbfounded.

 

 

 

Michael Goes To Antarctica

This adventure happened when Michael was a senior at Pitt. He had already begun his career of “humanitarian aid” and had already risked his life to help others.

One day, about a week before spring break–when college students break free from the confines of academia and drink themselves half to death–I got a phone call from Michael.

“Mom, is it OK if I go to Antarctica over spring break?”

First of all, he sounded like a little boy, asking if he could go and play at a friend’s house.

After that, he explained what was going to happen. The U.N. was sending some people on a mission to Antarctica to teach first aid methods to the people living in the settlement there. Here’s what touched me the most: Michael’s supervisor at the U.N. planned the trip around spring break. He wanted Michael to lead the group. As some old lady would say: I plotzed. So proud of him.

I was happy, if that could describe it. At least he wasn’t going into a war zone or a place with cholera and poisonous stinging insects.

He had to fly to Rio de Janiero–I don’t think I spelled that right. Then he flew from there to the Cape, the tip of land that’s the bottom of the continent. And from there to Antarctica. I thought it sounded wonderful, and it’s the only trip he took that I wish I could have joined.

The photos from the trip were beautiful and other-worldly. In one of them Michael is standing outside, among huge boulders of snow and ice…and he only had a T-shirt on! Funny! Also Michael would always bring me nice presents from his trips. This time he brought me a little stuffed toy–a penguin bought at the Cape before heading out. I have it in a place where I can see it every day.