From the Relief Society Magazine, August 1949 –

The Jumpher Family: Randy

By Deone R. Sutherland

That my sister Randy was going to be a glamour girl, or thought she was, as Richard put it, was very trying at times. “Especially since she is so young,” said Papa.

“She has never even been to an evening dance,” said Richard, who is even younger than Randy, but older than I.

“I never thought that I would produce a butterfly,” said Papa one evening when Randy was practicing creative dancing on the living-room floor. Papa was listening to the radio. “I thought I was getting bad static,” he said to Mama, “but it was only Randy bumping the floor.”

“Hugh!” Mama said.

“Father!” said Randy. She had taken to the name Father about the same time she had taken to putting on lipstick.

“You sure do miss your lips a long ways,” Richard would tell her.

“Well, it’s hard to do it when I’m already late for school and I have to keep walking,” Randy explained.

It wasn’t until Papa’s job had let him move home again that mama found out about the lipstick. Mama always thought that that was why Miss String had acted so odd when Mama visited the school. She had said something about expecting Mama to be different – to be more – well, flashy Mama kept wondering about that until Papa said he guessed Mama was hurt that she wasn’t flashy. But anyway, Randy did look changed with all that lipstick on at school. Sometimes the teachers would make her and the other older girls wash it off, but Randy was very persevering.

“Father,” said Randy, “Father, don’t you think you should read something else in the evening besides the paper?”

“Why he does,” said Mama; “he reads –”

“I mean literature. You ought to be reading great literature.” Randy reached one arm over her head in a great swinging arc that ended in another jump and bump.

“Why don’t you read a little more in the evening?” Papa asked, folding back his paper.

“I do have an art to work at, said Randy. “You should be more artistic, Father.”

“I’ll try,” said Papa.

We all took dancing at the Weston Studios. It was recommended so that the children at our school could get acquainted and acquire social graces. Randy and Richard took ballroom dancing. Richard had to take it because the first day, everyone had chosen partners and nobody chose Randy. Randy cried all the way home. But after Papa talked to Richard, Richard told Randy he wanted to take it, and they could dance together sometimes until she got to know more people.

“You!” said Randy with great scorn, but she took him every Saturday.

Randy’s best friend at school came over to console Randy. “It’s only because you lack glamour,” she told Randy. “You don’t even henna your hair, do you, darling?”

“No, and you don’t either,” said Randy bluntly.

“Well,” said Lillian, “it’s because I already have the kind of hair that has something.”

“Don’t I?” asked Randy, standing in front of the mirror, pulling at her dark, straight hair.

I lay on my twin bed watching them. I had been reading Alice in Wonderland for the thousandth or so time. Randy had been glad when Lillian came. “You can be so stuffy,” she had said to me. “I guess it’s because you’re so young. You’ve never felt much. Lillian has suffered. I guess she’s felt plenty.”

“What’s she suffered over?” I was curious.

“She won’t tell me,” said Randy, “but she’s older because of it. You can tell.”

T was always going to ask Lillian

what it was, but I never did. Besides, Randy might have got mad. She got mad over very funny things these days.

“Well, if I’m ever going to get to dance with somebody besides Richard, I’ve got to do something,” said Randy, staring at herself. She looked at Lillian. “The boys dance with you, Lillian. Why?”

Lillian just smiled.

So Randy kept working at it. It was very hard the week she decided that nobody danced with her because of the family. She wanted us to be more “modern.”

“Lillian is shocked because you’re all so normal,” she told us. “None of you has got the slightest complex. You don’t even act slightly queer. And the family’s too big. If we could only hide Martin and Martha Jane when my friends come. Why don’t we send them home to Grandma?”

But Martha Jane began to cry, and Mama made Randy apologize, and Randy kissed Martha Jane and then Martin. Martin was in his playpen, and when Randy leaned over, he caught her hair and held onto it until Mama came and made him let go.

Randy thought her creative dancing class would also help. If it didn’t, she could still be a great dancer as a result of the lessons. Then Mama got her a permanent, but that didn’t help very much, either.

“Just be natural, dear,” said Mama.

“Lillian says to be mysterious,” said Randy. “She says she read that all men like a feeling of mystery in women. I’ve been acting mysterious all week. Have you noticed a difference?”

“Well,” said Mama, “it is getting very hard for us to follow you all of the time, but I think I felt that there was something different about you the past week. But what I used to do, dear . . . .”

“I know,” said Randy, “be natural.”

“Well, yes,” said Mama.

“Well, after all,” said Randy, “it only got you Father. I’ll hit on something.”

And then all of a sudden it happened. Randy danced with one of the best boys in her class. “Ferg Oleson,” Randy would say, “Oh-oh, Ferg Oleson.”

At dinner Randy told us all about it. “He sort of hates women, but all the girls are crazy about him. He wants to be a cowboy. Ferg Oleson!”

Richard knew more about him than Randy did. “He lives in the apartment house just down the block. They’re just here like Papa, on business, not forever. Who’d want to live in a big city forever?”

Randy didn’t like Richard to know more about Ferg than she did. But Ferg Oleson never talked much when they danced. “He just goes red, and it’s hard for him to answer anything,” said Randy. “I guess he must be very crazy about me all right.”

“He’s not crazy about her at all,” Richard told me. “I just gave Ferg my old cowhide. I couldn’t go on dancing with her forever even if Papa paid me a million dollars.”

I looked in Richard’s room. He was telling the truth all right. The cowhide was no longer hanging on his wall. “You better not let Randy know,” I told Richard. “She wouldn’t like to know about the cowhide.”

“What about the cowhide?” said Randy coming into Richard’s room. I got out the door, but Randy got Richard, so he had to tell.

Randy went into the living room and lay down on the couch. “A cowhide,” she said, “he danced with me for a smelly, old, moth-eaten cowhide.”

Mama tried to comfort her, but Randy refused to listen. She went over to the big window in the living room and sat on the window seat. She stared down into the street below. “I’ll never go out again. I’ll never go to another dance again, not even the matinee dances at school. I’ll not even go to school again. How can I face him?”

I tried to console her. “He must have liked you a little,” I said, “or he’d have made Richard give him more than a cowhide. Why, he could have held out for dozens of other things.”

But Randy only moaned and stared down into the street. “I guess I don’t even want to eat again,” she said. “I feel funny. I don’t even feel hungry.”

“Randy,” Mama said, “come help me with Martin. I want you to give him a bath.”

Randy picked up Martin. Mama began setting the table for dinner. “Randy,” Mama said, as she passed the bathroom door, “Randy, maybe you tried too hard. Maybe if you’d just be happy and be yourself – maybe if you liked the boys without trying to make them dance with you – maybe if you talked about what they wanted to talk about –”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Randy. “I’m not going to try anything anymore. I’ll join – I’ll join a monastery or go to Tibet or someplace.”

“Tibet!” said Martin very distinctly, and then he put the soap into his mouth.

And Randy didn’t go to any more ballroom dancing classes. Richard said he was glad, but he didn’t play as hard as usual on Saturday, and he came in early and asked me where Randy was.

“She’s reading,” I said. “She didn’t even practice her dancing.”

It made everything quieter, but it made us feel uncomfortable in a way. Then Randy began being more fun at home, and she and I would wheel Martha Jane and Martin to the park on a quick trip because it was cold. It began to be lots of fun to be around Randy. Our whole family would do things together, and Randy would act as if she really liked it all. She even taught me how to knit.

Randy’s permanent began to go out of her hair, and I was glad. She looked nice with her dark hair all soft again. I liked her better without lipstick, too.

Miss Perks made us practice and practice the songs for the Spring Greet Party. Our class was the only one among all the lower grades that was going to be allowed to go to the junior high for the party, and that was because we were going to sing. There was to be a program and refreshments and a matinee dance. I didn’t sing very well, but they had to let the whole class sing together because it would be psychologically bad to leave some of us out. We heard the teachers talking about it. I was glad because I wanted to go.

It was a very nice party, with the gymnasium decorated in greens and yellows, blooming spring flowers in pots, and chairs decorated like unfolding tulips and hyacinths and snowdrops. Randy told me the names of the flowers. She knew a lot.
I could see Richard and Randy all the time we were supposed to be singing, and Randy came and got me after the program.

There was a violin and piano for the music, but we could hardly see the men playing because they were hidden behind cardboard figures of caterpillars and butterflies.

“We’ll go now,” said Randy, but I wanted to hear the music for just a minute. And Randy, who gave into us more now, said we’d stay for just a little while.

The teachers urged the boys and girls to dance, and Miss String came and stood in front of Randy. “Now, with whom would you like to dance. Randy, and I’ll get him for you.” She looked tired and some of her hair had fallen out of the tight curls shooting up the sides of her head.

“Nobody,” said Randy, “that is, I’ve got the next dance with Richard.”

So she and Richard had to stand up, and I got to stay a while longer and watch. Randy and Richard looked so nice dancing together that I felt proud. Randy kept smiling at what Richard was saying, and I thought she was prettiest that way. When the dance ended, they came toward me.

“Randy, would you like to dance?” There was a big blonde boy on the other side of me, and I knew he was Ferg Oleson. Randy stood there by Richard and her face seemed paler than usual. She looked at Richard and then at me.

“I guess we were just going home, Ferg,” Randy said.

The boy stood there very quiet, and then he said, “I gave Richard back the cowhide a long time ago, Randy.” He shifted his feet and put one hand on his hip. “Miss String says we have to dance, and there’s nobody I want to dance with except maybe you.”

“Well,” said Randy, and she smiled very slowly. “Well, Ferg, I guess I’d like awfully to dance.”

And right in front of me she put her hand on his shoulder and he put his on her waist. Then he looked at his feet and they began the steps of the dance. But Randy kept smiling all the while, and it was as if we were home and she was smiling at Martin or Martha Jane or me. And I watched because she looked so different from the way she used to be. I saw Ferg look at her, too. “She’s my sister,” I told the kids from my class.

We stayed for the whole afternoon, and Ferg walked home with us. Another boy wanted to also, but Ferg made us hurry and we missed him. Randy kept smiling and when she’d look up real suddenly, I noticed how dark her eyelashes were. Like Mama’s, I thought. Why, Randy looks like Mama! My throat went tight, because there was Randy all different, all older.

“Randy,” I said, and Randy smiled at me. She’s nice, I thought. She’s nice like Mama, too. I looked at Ferg talking to Richard and staring at Randy. It was so easy now for Randy, she wouldn’t even remember how it happened. I looked at the cracks in the sidewalk I was trying to miss, and then I looked back at Randy. She was very nice to look at, and I’d never even noticed before.