Be Curious, George

Dear Boo and Bubble,

If there is one trait I would hope you develop as you grow older, it would be curiosity – especially the intellectual kind with a special bias towards the written word. You would come by it naturally. Captain has spent the last three years researching, studying, investigating and capturing the vast literary footprint left by your great, great, great, great grandfather, Joseph Benson Cottrell. In doing so, he has learned that Cottrell himself sought out those who dared immortalize their thoughts on paper for all posterity, even when he disagreed with them. His immense curiosity led him to Concord, MA, to the home of Ralph Waldo Emerson, where the two of them talked for several hours of theology and politics. (Captain still has to get to Cambridge to the campus of Harvard where there is purported to be a letter from Cottrell to Emerson.)

Great Granddaddy Schaefer likewise enjoyed the pursuits of curiosity. His particular intrigue was female Southern authors. He struck up a long-distance correspondence relationship with Eudora Welty, whose short stories and novels about the South brought her great recognition including a Pulitzer Prize for The Optimist's Daughter. However, the author for whom Granddaddy had the most fascination we Zora Neale Hurston, an African-American woman from the all-Negro town of Eatonville, FL, who was born at the turn of the 20^th century.

He wrote about her in one of his editorials for The Greenville News.....how her father was a Baptist preacher and mayor of Eatonville....how both of her parents instilled in her an impressive object lesson in being whatever her own preference told her she wished to be.....how after her mother died, she moved to Jacksonville and lived with her brother and became a wardrobe “girl” with a Gilbert and Sullivan traveling company.....how at 26, she went to Morgan Academy in Baltimore and later pursued her higher education at Howard University and then Barnard College in New York (your mom's Alma Mater)...how she became a part of literary circles in what was known as the Harlem Renaissance which she laughingly referred to as the “Niggerati”....how she was employed by syndicated columnist Fannie Hurst as a secretary-companion and when Fannie called to make reservations at hotels, she would advise the hotel that she had traveling with her a princess from Calcutta, dark of skin, and that her guest was not to be embarrassed.....how just before reaching the hotel, Zora would wind a turban around her head, and when they entered the hotel she was greeted with bowing, scraping and genuflecting.

Apparently, Zora Neale was politically a conservative. She was active in Florida politics and supported George Smathers against the beloved Claude Pepper in the 1950 Senate race. She was on Spessard Holland's committee when he successfully ran for governor of Florida. She did not approve of the Brown vs. Board of Education decision of the U.S. Supreme Court.

In 1960, then an inmate in a welfare home in St. Lucie County, FL, she died and was buried in an unmarked grave. According to Granddaddy, “In a sense, this was fitting for no epitaph chiseled in cold marble could capture her spirit, and it is better left free to roam down the corridor of time to delight the discriminating reader.”

Of all of the books she wrote, his favorite was Their Eyes Were Watching God. He loved the opening paragraph - “Ships at a distance have every man's wish on board. For some they come in with the tide. For others they sail forever on the horizon, never out of sight, never landing until the Watcher turns his eyes away in resignation, his dreams mocked to death by time. That is the life of men.”

The other day, I picked up a flier here in Mt. Dora, FL, advertising a free program at the community center scheduled for today. The title is “Dreamers and Schemers – An Evening with Great Floridians.” The flier features the faces of three actors who will portray Mary McLeod Bethune, Harry T. Moore and........Zora Neale Hurston. I will definitely go. Nothing could keep me away. It will be out of love and remembrance for Granddaddy............and.........out of curiosity.

The Mighty Mite

Dear Boo and Bubble,

I found myself in a heated tennis match yesterday. One of the men in our daily group here in Mt. Dora challenged me to a set of singles. Even though he was younger and.......yes.....a male, I found myself unable to say “no,” which is probably what I should have done. That's not in my DNA, however. Over the next hour and a half, we battled back and forth, serving lots of deuce points and breaking each others' serves until the score reached 6-all. We started a 7-point tiebreaker only to continue the seesaw battle through 8-all. Finally, I broke his serve and won mine for a victory at 10-8. Honestly, I was lucky it stopped there.....much longer and my old knees might not have lasted.

As you know, tennis has been a big part of my life. You probably remember me telling you that, when I was just a little girl (before Uncle Gene was born), Granddaddy sat Uncle Bryant and me down to say “Children, there are three things we can not afford – allergies, braces and golf.” At which point, he gave us wooden tennis rackets encased in braces to keep them from warping....... along with the promise that, if used properly, they would provide us a lifetime of frugal enjoyment.

Many things have changed over the years – the equipment, shoes, clothes and, unfortunately, the cost. But, the game itself has remained steadfast in Granddaddy's forecast of its pleasure. In many ways, I find it metaphorical to life itself depending upon the circumstances. Sometimes there are struggles very much like the match yesterday when it took every ounce of concentration and stamina I had just to stay on the court. Sometimes you play your very best and still lose; sometimes you're bad and win. Sometimes you think it will never end; sometimes you don't want it to. Sometimes the ball tips the net and goes over; sometimes it falls back. And then, sometimes you're just in the right place at the right time and you win through no effort of your own.

When I was twelve years old, I entered the Greenville County Parks and Recreation tennis tournament being held at the courts in the old Cleveland Park right next to the roller skating rink in downtown Greenville. The tournament was bracketed by age group with mine being the “Mite” division for players 12 to 13. The winner and runner-up in each division would go on to represent Greenville in the regional Parks and Recreation tournament in Greenwood. Winners there would continue on to the state championships in Belton.

When time came for the tournament to start, I showed up and checked to see who my competitors might be. Alas, there was only one other girl signed up in my group. The organizers told us to go ahead and play a match, even though we would both automatically be going to Greenwood. We did and I won.

As luck would have it, when we arrived in Greenwood a couple of weeks later, we were once again the only players in the girls' Mite Division. We were told that there was no need for us to play a match since both of us would move on to Belton. For administrative purposes, though, they determined me the winner since I had prevailed in Greenville.

Two weeks later, we arrived in Belton to find out that there were four girls to compete for the state title which meant we were actually going to have to play tennis this time – but not against each other. The first matches were in the morning. I won mine, but my compatriot lost hers.

That afternoon, I found myself poised to vie for the title of South Carolina Parks and Recreation Mite Division State Champion, having only achieved victory in two prior matches to do so. Nonetheless, my stomach churned with the ruthless nerves that accompany such an auspicious occasion. I arrived at the appointed court and met my opponent. We took to our sides to begin the warmup.

As I stroked a forehand to her, she swatted at the ball and the racquet promptly fell from her hand to the ground.

“Hmmm.....” I thought to myself. “That's interesting.”

I hit another ball to her. The same thing happened, making it less likely that the first occurrence was a fluke. After two or three more attempts, she called me up to the net.

“I want to ask you something,” she said, “and, I need your honest opinion.”

“Sure,” I responded, not really sure at all.

“If you were me, would you play with blisters like these?”

At which point, she opened up her racket hand to reveal a series of blisters across the base of her fingers and on her palm that almost snarled at me they were so nasty. They were the result of her morning match where somehow she had prevailed against the other girl from Greenville.

I found myself at the ripe old age of 12 in a moral quandary – if I told her not to play, I'd be handing myself the title. If I told her to play, and I won, I would have taken advantage of her. (Sort of on the periphery of this quandary was the prospect of advising her to play and then losing to her and having to live with that consequence for the rest of my life – but, that was only on the periphery.)

Finally, I determined it would be more humane to suggest that she forfeit - which I did - and she did - and thus, in the course of probably a total of three hours' cumulative playing time (at the most), I became the Mite Champion in Girls' Tennis for the great state of South Carolina.

Yes, boys, sometimes in life as in tennis, victory can just fall in your lap – but, I certainly wouldn't count on it happening very often. It's much better to prepare and practice so when an opportunity comes along, you can take advantage of it.

But, Baby It's Cold Inside

Dear Boo and Bubble,

Man, it's cold!! Old Man Winter just sent a blast of frigid air so far South that we're even shivering here in Mt. Dora, Florida, where Captain and I will spend the next few months until there is somewhat of a thaw in the mountains. There is a chill in the little house that we've rented which brings back a fond memory of 3 Lakecrest many years ago. I say it's fond because Captain survived the experience ….....and didn't take his courting elsewhere.

I've told you before about Mamaw Mary's frugality (See "The One-Legged Dragon" - December 30, 2012). Both she and Granddaddy were products of the Great Depression and during that time, learned habits of thrift in all aspects of their lives. Her hawkish pursuit of bargains covered everything literally from soup to nuts. As one of her children, this could be very frustrating, especially when it came to fashion. Mamaw would drive out a tank of gas shopping for mimics of Villager sweaters or Gant shirts or Weejun loafers. In the scheme of things, though, these were small skirmishes compared to the raging war she had with Duke Power Company.

Our house was comfortably modest with four bedrooms, two baths, a living room, dining room and kitchen. There was no separate laundry room. The washer and dryer lined one of the kitchen walls along with the refrigerator. We didn't have air-conditioning. At night, in the hottest part of the summer, we opened up the windows and turned on the attic fan which circulated fresh, cooler air from outside throughout the house. There were two fireplaces, one in the living room and one in the kitchen, that shared a common chimney. In the winter, the kitchen always had a fire going because that was where we spent most of our time together as a family. The rest of the house stayed warm, though, with a traditional heating system.

Over time, as her children left 3 Lakecrest for good, Mamaw Mary executed all of her daily household activities in the kitchen, with the exception of sleeping and bathing. She cooked meals, did laundry, watched television, wrote letters, ironed and watched television all that 12 X 15-foot space. When winter came, Granddaddy built her a fire before leaving for work, making sure she had a good supply of kindling to keep it going all day.

In the mail one day in January, the utility bill came from Duke Power Company for the previous month's usage. Mamaw was appalled at how high it was and decided to take measures to reduce it significantly. That night, when Granddaddy came home, she shared her thoughts.

“Schaefer, I think it's ridiculous how much Duke Power charges us for our electricity and I'd like to do something about it.”

“What did you have in mind?” Granddaddy asked, a little hesitantly.

“Well, for starters, we can turn the thermostat down. We don't use any of the house except the kitchen during the day and at night, we're under blankets.”

“How far down?”

“Oh, I don't know. I was thinking around 50 degrees.”

Granddaddy took a little pause at this suggestion. “Don't you think that's a little extreme?”

“No, I don't. What's extreme is the bill Duke sent us for last month.”

“Okay, we'll try it and see,” Granddaddy agreed. “We can always turn the thermostat up. Anything else?”

“Yes.......I'd like you to have somebody make us some plastic to put up here in the kitchen to fit over the slatted doors going into the dining room. I think a lot of heat from the fire flows through the slats and out of here.”

“Well, that makes sense. I'm sure I can find somebody to do that.”

Granddaddy took out a tape and measured the space for the door. Within a few days, he had found someone to make the plastic sheet complete with a pattern of grommets to attach to the door frame for easy removal when the weather warmed up.

And thus, Mamaw's winter war against Duke Power began with Granddaddy as a skeptical soldier leaping out of bed every morning to build the fire in the kitchen and scurrying quickly in and out of the shower to dress before freezing.

The war was in full swing by the time I met Captain. We became engaged over Thanksgiving in 1973. I let go of my apartment and moved back to 3 Lakecrest in order to save some money before our wedding. At the beginning of 1974, Captain was in Gaffney starting his law practice.

In early February, a bitter cold snap hit Greenville with sustained temperatures hoovering around freezing. Having derived some success on her power bills, Mamaw's resolve to continue her cost-cutting measures hardened. Granddaddy and I had the luxury of leaving the house to go to work. Mamaw resolutely remained in the kitchen, happy as a clam, all day long.

Captain arrived on Friday evening to spend the weekend after making the drive from Gaffney. He came in the back door to the warmth of the kitchen with the smells of a home-cooked meal to greet him. We visited during dinner, then probably played some cards until it came time to go to bed.

“I have you set up in the guest room on the left, John,” Mamaw said. “There's an electric blanket on the bed and there are fresh towels in the bathroom at the end of the hall. I hope you'll be comfortable.”

“I know I will, Mary, thank you.”

Captain left the kitchen and made his way to the bedroom. As he changed into his pajamas, I'm sure he noticed the chill in the air, but he didn't say anything. He brushed his teeth and piled into bed under the cover of the electric blanket.

Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, Captain had to get up to go to the bathroom. He pulled the covers back and put his feet on the hardwood floor. It was so cold, they all but stuck. As he made his way into the bathroom, he swore he could see his breath!

He looked at the toilet and thought to himself - “I wonder if it will flush?”

His rousing had awakened Granddaddy who, upon getting out of bed, had the same reaction when his feet hit the floor.

“Good Lord, Mary! This house is an icebox!” he whispered loud enough to awaken her.

He went out into the hall and saw Captain retreating back into his bedroom.

“I'm so sorry, John. I'll turn the heat up right now.”

“Don't worry, Schaefer. I just hope you're not trying to run me off!”

Be The Turtle

Dear Boo and Bubble,

Well, we just rang in another New Year, an occasion that oftentimes serves as a re-set button in people's lives. It's a universal opportunity to take a deep breath full of fresh anticipation with eyes towards the future and a new beginning - all the while shedding the cumbersome problems of the past like a well-worn overcoat. People sometimes use the New Year to resolve to make necessary modifications in their lives that will result in better health or wealth or personal circumstance. I've done so at almost every passing of December into January. Let me assure you, however, that significant changes in one's life don't always sync to the flip of a calendar and you best be ready to embrace them when they occur, even if in rapid succession ------- sort of like what happened to Captain and me from 1973 – 1975.

In the early summer of 1973, when I met Captain for the first time, he was working with the federally funded Pre-Trial Intervention Program in Columbia, SC, which provided a pathway for first-time criminal offenders to have their records expunged, or purged, of the offense if they completed the prescribed regimen the program dictated. The organization relied heavily on counselors to work individual cases, but there was an administrative layer and Captain served as the Assistant Director.

Later in the year, President Richard Nixon utilized a budgeting technique called “impoundment” to withhold funding for items in the federal budget that Congress had appropriated. Historically, all American presidents since John Adams had asserted the right to impound appropriated funds, and used this as a way of making relatively small cuts in Federal spending on programs that they deemed unwise or unnecessary. However, President Nixon's use of impoundment was on such a large scale it equaled over 4% of the spending Congress had appropriated for the 1973-74 fiscal year - nearly $12 billion. He argued that it was necessary to combat unusually serious inflationary pressures of the time by trimming back the budget deficit. Members of Congress didn't buy it and his action so outraged them that they passed the Congressional Budget and Impoundment Control Act of 1974 which took the power away from the Executive Branch.

Little did President Nixon know that he had not only ticked off Congress, but he had also set into motion a series of events that changed the course of our lives completely.

The Pre-Trial Intervention Program suffered serious cutbacks from his impoundment. The director approached Captain to evaluate the budget to determine what adjustments would have to be made to balance the program needs with the newly reduced allocated funds. After hours of working with the figures, Captain determined that one of the easiest ways to insure the continued success of the program was for him to eliminate his position from the budget. The counselors were essential – an Assistant Director not so much. He also knew his ultimate goal would be to go into the practice of law, not staying with Pre-Trial Intervention. And so, he wrote himself out of the budget.

By Thanksgiving of that year, we were engaged to be married and Captain, having passed both the SC and FL bar exams, set out to find a law firm willing to hire him. Usually, most law firms finalized their new associates at the end of summer, right after the results of Bar Exams were posted. The timing for Captain's search of a job led to few decent options, but he kept looking and made the choice to join a small two-partner firm in Gaffney, SC.

When 1974 arrived, my attentions turned to our pending wedding while Captain settled into his work. We found an apartment to rent on East Montgomery Street in Gaffney for the huge sum of $150 a month and Captain moved in. I vacated the place I had been renting and returned to 3 Lakecrest with Mamaw Mary and Granddaddy Schaefer in order to save the money.

Our wedding took place on May 18. We went to Cape Cod on our honeymoon and returned to Gaffney to start our lives together. I found a job at the local C&S bank branch as a teller. Captain immersed himself in whatever legal assignments he was given by the partners at the firm, mostly checking real estate titles at the courthouse, but on occasion something a little more challenging.

In January of 1975, I became pregnant with your mom. As the year unfolded, I sensed Captain wasn't particularly enamored with his situation at the law firm. He fretted a lot, which was very uncharacteristic, and I wondered if the pressure of becoming a father might be weighing on him. Finally, it surfaced that he and the senior partner really didn't get along.

One evening in May, after we had finished our dinner, he turned to me.

“I'm thinking about opening up my own law office, but I'm just not sure if that is the right thing to do,” he said.

I admit I wasn't completely surprised by his comment and perhaps I had subconsciously composed a response, having seen his restlessness for a time. I looked him in the eyes.

“Well, all I can say is........... I'm five month's pregnant and if you wait until this baby gets here, I guarantee you won't have the nerve to go out on you own.”

The next day, Captain began to look around town for an office space. One of the other lawyers in the community, a gentleman named C.D. Padgett, owned the only multi-storied building on one of the main streets – the Hotel Carroll. In its basement level were several suitable spots. Mr. Padgett told Captain that he would give him a space rent-free for a year and would also funnel some clients to him. (Years later, Captain asked him why he did so and Mr. Padgett explained that when he had come to Gaffney, no one lifted a finger to help him. He vowed at that time if he could ever help a young lawyer get started, he would do so.)

Captain gave his notice to the old firm and took $500 out of our savings account. He bought filing cabinets, a desk, a used typewriter and some office supplies. It was a very proud day when he hired a painter to inscribe “John R. Tally, Attorney at Law” on the pane of the outside door to his office.

A few days after, I was in a gift shop for some reason and noticed a poster on the wall. It was a cartoon of a turtle with his neck extended. The caption read “Hail the turtle. He never gets anywhere unless he sticks out his neck.” I immediately claimed it from the wall and purchased it. The store clerk graciously wrapped it for me in some festive paper and ribbon.

I drove straight to the Hotel Carroll and walked into Captain's office to present it to him. He was so taken with the poster that he took his framed University of South Carolina Law School diploma off the wall from behind his desk and hung the turtle in its place. There it stayed until a fire claimed the hotel two years later.

Yes, boys changes can come to you at any time, not just at the New Year. Some are out of your control, some you initiate on your own. Just remember, don't be afraid of change. Be a turtle. Stick your neck out!