I was born in Dublin, Ireland in May 1947.
My grandmother, Dorothy Edith Garner Hartshorne, said that all of the best
people were born in May. Mummy on the sixteenth, Grandma on the thirtieth,
and I on the seventh. I knew it must be true, because we were just about
the best people I knew. Grandma had been an orphan in London at the turn
of the century, so she made sure that her only child, Jean, was loved.
Not spoiled -- raised right. Jean Dorothy Hartshorne passed all that love
to her three children. I was the first girl in three generations
on my father’s side, so I was quite welcome everywhere. We were not wealthy,
but I was introduced to a wealth of music, ballet, theatre, history, and
most of all books. Learning was part of living. I thought that everybody’s
Grandad thought Beethoven was God, quoted Shakespeare, sang songs about
mathematics, and wrote long narrative poems for all occasions. My grandma
belonged to a cyclist’s hostel society so there were very often interesting
strangers at breakfast. My parents separated when I was eight and Daddy
moved to America to join my rich Uncle Tom as an advertising executive
in Knoxville and Chattanooga. On Memorial Day week-end in 1960 I said good-bye
to Grandma and set forth on a new adventure to America. We took only
one suitcase and a packing crate with Grandma’s "Blue Plate", leaving behind
all traces of my childhood. My books, even Carrots which had been
my mother’s book, my dolls, my clothes, my very new royal-blue three-speed
bicycle, and all the other things I would not need anymore were given to
that poor family that lived across the street. I was taken from the comfort
and security of my grandparent’s care to travel to my father’s unknown
new world which I could not imagine. This was the first journey from the
known to the unknown.
Well it turned out that America was glorious. Food, friends, warmth, bright lights, and a fast pace made it too much fun to miss dreary old England. When we arrived in New York, my Daddy took us to Aunt Leila’s where she showed us how to celebrate Memorial Day the American way. We had a barbecue and tried to understand and identify the hundreds of people who came to see Lady Liberty’s latest acquisition. Aunt Leila took us to Brooklyn and I got blue jeans and sneakers. I guess I didn’t need those clothes I had left behind. We went to Coney Island and I proved to Daddy that I was no sissy by riding the roller coaster and dropping, what seemed like a mile, in a parachute. I even hung out the side to waive at Mummy who did not see me because she was too busy keeping up with my brothers. John was only five and Liam, although almost ten, was much harder to manage because of a birth injury. It had been my job to take care of John, while Mummy handled Liam, but now Daddy took over taking care of all of us. We drove down to Tennessee and actually saw "Old Smoky." I was enrolled in Saint Mary’s for the eighth grade. I was not very impressed with the Sisters of Charity. I had already been going to high school. Diagramming sentences and "The Ransom of the Red Chief" were a long way from "Jane Eyre" and studying physics, but it was thought that I needed a little socialization. I graduated from Knoxville Catholic High School in 1965 and I’m not sure whether that socialization ever took place.
Mother and Daddy did not really ever get their marriage working again, Liam was sent back to Ireland, John became the perfect child and I discovered boys. We bought a house in Knoxville and Mother made sure there was a place for Grandma’s blue plate. The day before my Grandma died, my Mother said she saw her mother outside our kitchen window. Grandad sent us a follow up letter to his telegram. He said that Grandma had been unconscious for several days, but before his darling died in his arms, she woke to tell him that she had seen Jean and the children and we were all right. I wish I had seen her, because I had something to tell her. I do not remember saying good-bye to her. I expect that I did, but I do not remember. Grandad and my Auntie Rose, who was my Grandma’s childhood friend and my step-grandmother, came to see us in 1964 and were amazed at how pleased the blue plate was to be in America.
In my senior year, in 1964, I met Maheshkumar Mohanlal Mehta. My father did not forbid our relationship but it was not what he had envisioned for his MaryCoo. Since he drank most of the time I paid no attention to his wishes. Mother put up with him for a while, but when John was almost out of high school she set out on her own journey. I was not there to be supportive, I had said good-bye and moved to New York to work in Banker’s Trust at 14 Wall Street. I shared a room with Aunt Leila and shared recreation with cousins Kevin and Johnny. It was almost like a family. I was lonely for Mac, which is what I called my Indian fiancé, and I could not think of any good reason to stay in New York. I also could not think of any good reasons not to marry him, so one rainy Friday evening I said good-bye to New York. On this flight to a new life I took the dress and veil I had made from silk purchased at Macy’s, the dowry my New York friends had provided, and the Peter Max painting I purchased in Greenwich Village. I thought I was prepared for this trip.
"Natives of India and Ireland Wed Here" read the headline, October 26, 1967, on the front page of the McMinnville weekly newspaper under the picture of Mac and me on the court house steps. I guess it was big news for a small town. My Mother and her friend Ruth were the only guests at our wedding. My Mother did not bring my brother because she was afraid of Daddy’s wrath. When I went to the newspaper office to pick up the negative of my only wedding picture, I was hired as a proof-reader for the newspaper. While Mac commuted to college at Cookeville and to work at Oster Manufacturing, I prepared a nest for our first child. We moved to Knoxville after Mac graduated and rented a lovely little house near Mother. I saw her everyday and we prepared the nursery together. This first baby experience was heavenly for both of us. It gave mother a place to be happy and I was also happy. Jai was the most perfect child ever born and even if it was September, he was definitely one of the best people. Mother and I knitted him a blue Easter outfit the next year and took his picture with the Polaroid camera. We agreed that it was the most perfect picture of the most perfect child. We compared it to him and agreed that we were right. Years later, when I looked at that picture I was amazed how those Polaroid pictures deteriorate over the years. Jai changed too. Except his change was for the good. He is still one of the best people.
Mac transferred to Lexington, Kentucky in 1971 and this time the good-bye was too real. I was pregnant and Mother was alone. I knew that I would miss her. That first Thanksgiving in Kentucky I decided to be frugal and stay in Kentucky. Anyway Thanksgiving was an American holiday, which I did not think was very significant. At dinner time I became so depressed that Mac frantically tried to find some semblance of a turkey dinner. I have never missed Thanksgiving with Mother since then. Jennifer was born three days before Christmas and Mother came up so we could prepare another nursery. This time that "best people" thing didn’t come up. Mother just tried to get me settled in and deal with what was turning into a bad relationship for Mac and me. Jean did what Dorothy had done before her, she left her daughter in the hands of a man who was not one of the best people. I made my work as Technical Director and Costumer at Lexington Children’s Theatre the center of my life. When I was not there, I was asleep. I could not the face reality of my failed marriage. I had not planned what I wanted from marriage but I had never considered failure. The plays at Children’s Theatre were fairy tales and I made them come to life. I visited our former artistic director in Birmingham many years later. He was showing me his costume shop. I remarked how incredible his space alien costumes were. I had not remembered making them. These things which I created had held up over time. I was improving, or perhaps mellowing. When my third child, Krishna, was born in 1976 I had been planning to leave Mac but now I need to wait until Krishna was old enough for day care. Everything he owned was portable, ready to move in a moments notice. The week the water was cut off and the repo man found my car I asked my now six-foot brother, John, to bring a moving van to get us. I did not say good-bye to Mac. Another journey began. I had always said I was tough because the best people can handle anything. Now I had to prove it. I went to Mac’s car wash, got an old red station wagon, bundled the kids in layers of blankets and drove to Knoxville. It was bitterly cold but I had to drive with the window open to keep the car from fogging up. I dropped the kids at Mother’s and went straight back to Lexington, perhaps to say good-bye, but I only got the things I didn’t trust in the van with John.
It was now time to face reality. Mother was a newlywed and we needed a place of our own. When I went to the Employment Security Office Mr. King , the office manager noticed my application and aptitude scores. He asked me if I wanted to go to college to be a doctor or a lawyer. I explained that I needed to go to Kroger’s and feed my children. He helped me enroll at State Technical Institute at Knoxville, where I majored in Construction Engineering Technology. I loved learning and I was good at making things so it was a good match. I moved into the projects at Western Heights, got welfare and food stamps, received WIC vouchers and Title XX daycare for Krishna, and free lunch for the Jai and Jenny. When I took Jai to see the projects, I asked him what he thought about the bad neighborhood. He said that we were good people before so we would continue to be good people, even in the projects. He really is one of the best people. They managed to go to school in Mother’s neighborhood and this was a great relief to me. Because of the public assistance I attended college full-time. I was president of student government, founding editor of the school newspaper and received the hard-head award for overcoming the most obstacles to graduate with honors. If Mr. King had not recognized that I was one of the best people I could not have accomplished as much in a short time.
After graduation in March 1981, I was hired by TVA to be an inspector at Phipp’s Bend Nuclear Plant near Kingsport. We were only there three months when the project was abandoned. Again, this had not been part of my plan but we approached this move positively. We moved to Meiggs County and rented a large house where everybody had their own room. My friend Janet, from college, rented a room which was a great help, financially. For the first time I felt like a part of a community. Most of my new neighbors worked for TVA and the rural setting was open and friendly. I discussed my new situation with my stepsister, Louise. I was telling her how I had to make the children do their homework, make them clean up their rooms, make sure they ate properly, and make sure they did everything right. She told me that she did not think it was possible to make one person do one thing let alone make three children become perfect people. I realized that she was right and decided to practice what I preached about children being people. I knew that children, because they are people with a free will, should not be physically punished to make them conform to rules and regulations. I carried this further and realized that given a free choice, children just like other people will do the right thing. My children are the best people I know so I now operate on the assumption that they will make good decisions without fear of punishment. We operate as a unit, when we decide to take on a project each carries the burden and each realizes the pleasure of a task well done. When one member fails it is their personal failure and they feel that disappointment. The entire family has not failed. My children are very independent and unique. They take responsibility for their failures and successes. This accountability leads to pride, confidence, tolerance, and willingness to explore. We do not measure success by other people’s standards, we value learning for it’s own sake, and enjoy challenging ourselves. We are a little arrogant but that seems a natural progression from being the best people. I was becoming financially secure, independent, and more confident. When this job slowed down we transferred to Muhlenburgh County in Kentucky. This move did not require a good-bye because I didn’t leave anything behind. My possessions were no longer my identity.
Muhlenburg County is not a very sociable place and my children and I were not considered as homefolk. We stayed to ourselves and lead a rather bucolic life. I transferred to Shawnee Steam Plant in Paducah where we purchased another home and settled in. Paducah is a small town with big town features. There is an excellent library system, art and theatre, as well as a diverse population. My children and I felt quite welcome once again. I was now working regular daytime hours and was able to participate in activities with my children. Jai and Jennifer left school and Krishna no longer needed companionship. I became involved in a quilt group and discovered some more of my talents. I still enjoy quilting and heirloom sewing. I attended a revolutionary war re-enactment in Metropolis Illinois. I was fascinated by a charming German lady demonstrating bobbin made lace. Each thread is wound on a separate bobbin and hundreds of these bobbins are required to complete even the simplest of designs. I stayed and watched her for several hours with a commitment to learn this complicated craft. The next year I showed her the small portion of lace that I had taught myself to make from a book. She was amazed, and had never seen anyone learn solely from a book. I knew that the best people can do such things. I make miniature heirloom dresses for porcelain dolls mostly for the pleasure of performing a difficult task well. Krishna matured and explored his talents as a poet and philosopher. We both established strong friendships and when that job ended it was a little difficult to say good-bye. Not impossible, but done with a realization that when we returned it would not be to the same place we had left. You can never go home again.
Our last move has been to Chattanooga. We are close enough to Knoxville to visit, but not close enough to become involved in the day-to-day lives of my mother and brother. Krishna is attending college at St John’s, an excellent school to develop creative thinking, and this year he goes to the Santa Fe campus. In August he drove himself to school and I will probably not see him again until next May. It was hard to let go of him the first year but he has proven himself capable of self-management and I am very proud of him. He and I can take credit for another successful project. When I realized that I would probably remain in Chattanooga I decided to buy a house. Mary Rose, as I named her, was built in the 1890’s and is on the register of historic homes. There is a perfect place waiting for the blue plate in the front bedroom over the fireplace. I have made an effort to do heirloom planting. Researching old books and magazines has made me feel close to the people who lived here before I did. I have a sense of neighborhood and a feeling of belonging. Now, after sixteen years I met a rather wonderful person. Hank is patient, kind, intelligent and has personal integrity. We love each other for our uniqueness. Now I know a person who supports me and I am proud and pleased to be with him. I shared my feelings with him about good-bye and I end all of our conversations with good-bye. He seems to show up anyway. Life has come full circle.
The
first fifty years were a long journey and have brought me back to a comfortable
place. I have started the Quest Program at Covenant College. A quest is
a voyage and I am the captain of this journey - the waters look calmer
ahead. I wonder if Grandma can see me now and she knows I’m all right.
Dear lady, you brought me here and I can say good-bye.
My Grandfather used to quote Robert Browning...