It is clear to me this week that I am approximately older than dirt. That has been brought home to me not only by the fact that I’ll be 72 this coming week, but also because it’s the 50th Anniversary Homecoming for the University of Arizona Class of 1966 of which I am a member. (More on homecoming later, since Bill and I will be hosting a celebratory brunch at our home in Tucson on Sunday of that weekend.)
Earlier this week, in honor of homecoming, I was interviewed for a feature article by a sweet young thing who is currently a journalism student at the U of A. She wanted to talk to me about my college experience back in the day—read as “in the old days when dinosaurs still roamed the earth.”
There were several things that seemed to surprise her. She was utterly blown away when I told her about not being allowed in the U of A Creative Writing Class in 1965 because I was a girl. She was amazed that in Pima Hall, the co-op dorm where I spent all four years, we were not allowed to wear pants in the dining room. No male was allowed beyond the door in the vestibule without an audible “MAN IN THE HALL” warning. And there were curfews. Freshman girls had to be in by 10:30 on weeknights, no exceptions. There was an official sign-in and sign-out sheet, and woe-betide you if you didn’t do that sign-out process properly.
The interviewer, Syrena, found the whole idea of curfews troubling. “Why would the university do that?” she wanted to know. I told her it was because, at the time, the University of Arizona stood in loco parentis. I happen to be part of that aging crew that actually took Latin in high school. Syrena did not, so I had to explain to her that it meant the school was standing in the place of parents.
She wanted to know if there was anything I had found to be challenging about coming to the university, and I answered that, especially my freshman year, I was dreadfully homesick. In those years, freshmen girls were only allowed to be out of the dorm for one weekend a month. For someone who had never been away from home for any amount of time, that was tough, and who was my lifeline back then? My mother, that’s who—Evie Busk.
With me away at school, my mother was still in charge of a sizable household of six—two adults and four kids. She washed on Monday and Thursday, with no clothes dryer in sight. She always hung them on the line. She ironed on Tuesdays, no exceptions, and cleaned house on Saturdays—no exceptions to that, either. She shopped for groceries and did everything necessary to keep the home fires burning. She cooked three meals a day without the benefit of either a microwave or a dishwasher. I can tell you that her Presto Pressure Cooker got a daily workout! She had forenoon and afternoon coffee each day with her pals—Verna Dunkerson, Mrs. Whitaker, Mrs. Toon, Lilyann Weatherford, and Harriet Smith. She got kids to and from school and scouting events and made sure the two family paper-routes for the Arizona Republic were handled properly.
Let’s just say she was one busy lady. But do you know what else she did? Every Monday, this woman with her seventh grade education but college level grammar and impeccable penmanship, would sit down and write a letter to her homesick daughter—the first member of her family to go away to college. They were newsy letters, filled with the everyday stuff of what was going on at home. Did I save them? Of course not! Color me stupid on that score. She would write the letters on Monday and by Wednesday morning, there would be a letter in my mail box behind the reception desk in the vestibule of Pima Hall.
Those letters helped me keep it together during my years at college, and afterwards as well. It was in one of my mother’s letters, days after the fact, that I first learned of the death of a local town hero, Doug Davis, in 1966—a story that I’ve recounted in my book Second Watch.
My mother wasn’t the mushy sort, and she didn’t pass out compliments at the drop of a hat. In fact, I still remember my astonishment when, sometime in 1976 or so, she told me that I had “good legs.” I was dressed for success at the time, wearing heels and hose, and hearing her say that utterly floored me.
So, no, Evie wasn’t the demonstrative sort, but she was utterly steadfast. Utterly.
And why am I writing about this today? I have a problem with snail-mail. I don’t like to do it. I let it accumulate, using one excuse after another: a: I’m on tour. b: I’m writing a book. c: Please, Mr. Custer, I just don’t want to do it.
But right now there’s a stack of snail-mail that I’ve been avoiding, and today is the day I’’m going to tackle it. And next week, when those of you who have long ago given up on ever seeing your requested bookmarks, they’ll be signed by me, but they’ll be sent today because my mother, Evie, was looking over my shoulder.
Judith:
Love reading your blog posts. I went to college in Michigan two years after you graduated, and by 1968, there was a sea of change afoot on campuses across America. I went into college a short haired button up conservative. Four years later I was a long haired leftist. I’ve left those left leaning days behind, but still look back fondly on those years. I did meet the love of my life my senior year there-still married after 42 years.
I imagine had you gone to Berkeley, rather than UA, things would have been different for you.
And, btw, there were coeds in my Narrative Writing course in 1970. However, instead of following my inner yearnings to be a writer, I went to law school, became a patent attorney and raised a family of 4 children. But now that I’m retired, maybe, just maybe, there might be a book in me yet. Thanks for your books-I’ve read them all-and your unspoken inspiration.
Michael
Too bad you didn’t keep the letters. For much of his life, my dad wrote his mother about every week on a legal pad, making a carbon copy on the sheet underneath, so there are still copies somewhere. I’ve read a couple and it is a lot of fun seeing what was going on.
I can relate. In this era of texts and emails, while convenient and fast, they are here and gone. Information is passed on or solicited but disappears with the delete button. I printed out some of the emails from my deployed son and would occasionally reread them to remind myself of where he was and what he had been doing. An actual letter takes time and thought to get a cohesive and organized listing of events we want to share. I must admit doing all this on the computer is much easier to manage and the end result is readable as my handwriting can vary a lot! Making phone calls is iffy with different time zones and work hours and Friends who are computerphobic. I still write letters and notes to some family members and look forward to getting them back, something in the mail besides bills.
I just want to let you know that I am happy to hear about your life. Each generation experiences so many changes in our culture.When my family moved to Tucson from California in 1968 female teachers and students weren’t allowed to wear slacks at TUSD. I didn’t know I was participating in changing the dress code the day I wore pants to school. In California everyone wore pants at school. Your Mom reminds me of the women in my family. They did what had to be done and were so organized. I will always admire them. I would like to remind you that your generation of women have opened up many fields of study and professional opportunities for all. My daughters and niece thank you. Enjoy your 50th reunion. I am sure you and Bill will have a blast!!!
I really love EVERYTHING you write weather it’s a Blog or Book . My husband and I celebrated our 50th Class reunion this Year. We attended different schools and his was more enjoyable by far. I knew almost no one at mine but at his a lot of people knew us thru Facebook. Lol life is strange. Those were such innocent times. Our Daughter and Grandaugter will never see such times.We Speak of them and it’s like speaking another language. My biggest fear is the technology we have will disappear and so will our pasts.
Have a great week, I really look forward to your weekly Blog. … Jan
Have a HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
I attended college in the Dark Ages, too. It was Luther College in Decorah, Iowa. A private school founded to educate young men for the Lutheran ministry. And, no, Martin Luther was not on campus. Only his statue.
Korean War vets were finishing up their degrees and were a bit of excitement. Our dorm had hours such as yours in Arizona. No men in the dorm except when it was open house a couple of times a year.
My mom wrote letters, too, because I was first in the family to go to college. She even sent me packages of fudge and other goodies. It was a good experience and one my children don’t understand.
By the way, a roommate brought some leftse back from a weekend visit. I haven’t eaten any since.
I remember in loco parentis and I did take Latin. I also had curfews and sign outs and we had to wear dresses to the dining hall in the dorm. Most of us had a shift we could just pull over our heads and wear for that bit of meal time. My father was the letter writer and I did not save his letters. My youngest sibling,however, did and when she was cleaning out, she sentvthem on to me, and I have kept them. Boys were only allowed in the downstairs living rooms. Now I feel older than dirt too. No wonder millenials cannot relate to Hillary. Itvwas a totally different world and nostalgically, I think, a more innocent time.
Love your reference – Please, Mr. Custer…! Also, I knew most of the Roy Rogers theme song but had to look up a couple of the words – thank heaven for Google or I’d have been awake since I finished your book!
This so parallels my college years! We couldn’t wear pants to class unless it fell below zero degrees (that was in Ellensburg, WA). My mother penned her letters on Sunday afternoon and they always arrived on Tuesday..one to me and one to each of my two brothers who were also away at college. Like you, I failed to save them….sigh.
So kind of you to send those bookmarks out to fans! My bad habit is also letting correspondence pile up and I’m not a successful novelist! Kudos for all your work!
I first left home at 18 to visit my father in Los Angeles. I remember Mom wearing sunglasses and holding a tissue as I got on the puddle-jumper plane to fly to Houston; her baby was leaving home!
I attended college in my “home town,” Lake Charles, LA, at McNeese State University, though one year I stayed in the dorm. Upon graduation, I got a teaching job in Houston, about 150 miles away. I visited on many weekends and spoke to her frequently by phone.
After she passed, I had problems when the phone rang on the weekend – it had always been “Merth”! She’s been gone for 30 years now, but I still think of her daily She raised my brother and me mostly by herself, and I know that she made me who I am. We had so many wonderful times together, both with other family and without.
She died on the same day as Benny Goodman, and one of her bandmates (she played great jazz piano) wrote that “the big band in the sky gained two great musicians” that day. On the 30th anniversary of her death, someone purchased a Benny Goodman CD in the shop where I work in Bisbee. I took it as a message that she is always with me.
On saving letters from parents: It appears that most of us tossed away the letters we received from parents. I did save a few of letters from my mom if it concerned something really serious. She had such beautiful handwriting which never changed as she grew old. It was just like the examples in the Palmer method exercises we had in school. She signed her letters “As ever, your Mom”. In the loop of the “Y”
she always drew a Smiley face.
Your comments regarding university life reminded me of my own. When I entered, the teaching program, in the mid seventies, women were not allowed to wear pant suits. The men were not allowed to have facial hair or hair that touched the collar of their shirts!
I still remember my first day of teaching and was so surprised to see teachers dressed so casually. I had no idea that the rules set forth by the university, were not necessarily followed in the real world.
Even though I am ten years younger than you, grew up in Phoenix and graduated from ASU, I can totally relate, since Arizona was not the most progressive state in those days. I am proud to say that I am the recipient of two of your bookmarks. When I saw the call for this round, I decided that even though I was thrilled the day my bookmarks arrived, I don’t want to be greedy and I recognize and appreciate the time and energy it must require from you, thanks to Evie. Lastly, while I have read (and in some cases re-read) all your books, I find your blogs absolutely delightful and look forward to them. Thank you!
Happy Birthday tomorrow Judy. We hope you have a wonderful day.
Happy birthday, Judy!
Friend of mine just wrote and self published two books set on the shores of Lake Michigan-where he has a summer home. He was a college roommate and HS buddy. He’s doing well promoting the book in the towns along Lake Michigan. Guess it works to write and sell locally to start. He’s 65 & retired.
I was class of ’81 and we also had to yell ‘man on the floor’ when we brought a guy up to our room.
I worked at UA for about 10 years in Residence Life, overseeing the dorms or residence halls as they were formally called. Part of my duties involved collecting articles, etc. about what was happening at dorms in the 30s, 40s, 50s, and 60s. I put together several scrap books. What a fascinating time to be at UA! I’m glad you went there and had a positive experience. When I left in 2005, it had really changed, and I don’t think it was for the best…