From the Improvement Era, May 1955 –

Mother of the Year

By Elsie Chamberlain Carroll

Nancy left her typewriter and went impatiently to answer the doorbell. She’d never get that article finished in time. She hoped it was a salesman whom she could dispose of quickly. She sighed as she passed the door of Jim’s disorderly room. Why was it so much harder to train Jim than it had been the other children? — That slipshod Barker family — what he could see in the girl?— The bell rang again.

“Good morning, Mrs. Morris,” greeted the smartly tailored young woman on the porch. “Can you spare a few moments?”

“I’m very busy. What — ”

“I’m Bonnie Ungar from the Evening Express. You know, of course, that you are a nominee for the Clarksdale mother of the year.”

“Yes. I heard — or read something about it. There were several nominees.”

“Yes. But you are tied in the committee with another, that is for — the deciding vote. Mr. Harvey, editor of the Express, persuaded the committee to let him run interviews with you two nominees; then maybe have a public poll or something like that for the final decision. It seems the qualifications of you and the other nominee are so fine — and yet so different that he thinks it would arouse interest in what are the best qualifications for good motherhood. He appointed me to write the interviews which will be published in the woman’s department of the Express.”

Nancy hesitated. She was naturally pleased that she had been nominated by the Progressive League she had organized a number of years ago. But having a public poll — it was a strange procedure.

“If — if you are too busy right now, I could come back a little later,” the girl offered. “I could go and see Mrs. Barker first.”

“No, no. Come in. I’m always busy.” Mrs. Barker — surely it couldn’t be —

“Sit here, by this table. Who did you say the other nominee is?”

“A Mrs. Barker — Susan I think her name is.”

“The one who lives on Canal Street?”

“Why, yes, I believe so. Yes, here it is — 49 West Canal Street. Her husband is Sam Barker. He has a food store over on the west side. She must be a wonderful woman, too, though not so prominent as you. I really hadn’t heard of her before. I suppose you know her.”

“I know of her,” Nancy said dryly.

She thought of her picture of the Barker home she had built from things Jim had said since he became interested in Jeanie — a family picnic in the living room one day when it rained — little boys roasting wieners over logs in the fireplace — neighborhood talent shows and lawn carnivals with the mother leaving her washing half-done to be a judge. And he thought it was wonderful.

“Well, now what is it you want to know?” She wondered who could have nominated the woman. She couldn’t possibly belong to any clubs — with that household. Was it nine or eleven, Jim had said?

“Why just everything. Everyone knows how much you’ve done for Clarksdale, working on drives, lecturing, organizing clubs. You organized the Progressive League — tell me about that.”‘

“That was fifteen years ago. There was nothing in Clarksdale then, it seemed to me, of a cultural nature. There were only five original members. Women were not interested in anything outside their homes. Now there are fifty members and a long waiting list. The league has done wonders in improving the members through wide reading and has stimulated interest in civic projects which have raised the cultural standards of the town.”

“What are some of the projects you have helped to promote?”

“I promoted the first drive for a public library, was a charter member of the City Health Board. Oh, I suppose I’ve had my hand in most every worth-while movement in Clarksdale during the last quarter of a century.”

“I’m sure you have. And all your lecturing and writing besides.”

“Yes, I do some of both. I helped get our Community Lyceum Course operating and have been on the Lecturing Service Bureau since.

“And you write for different magazines.”

“I do the news notes for the A.A.U.W. Bulletin and some articles each year for the Social Science Gazette, and occasionally something else. I’m busy now on an article I must get off.”

“Tell me about your hobbies.”

Nancy stiffened a little.

“I’ve never had time for hobbies. They’re for people who fail to find real objectives in life.”

The girl was taken aback.

“Tell me about your family. I understand your four sons and one daughter have done pretty wonderful things, too. And of course it’s the children who largely determine the greatness of the mother.”

“My oldest son, Dr. Henry T. Morris, is with the International Archaeological Institute.”

“I’ve heard of him. He writes for National Geographic.”

“Yes. He conducts archaeological surveys, too, in different countries. He is going to Greece soon to oversee excavations there.

Or had he already gone? Nancy recalled his last letter with uneasiness. Could his marriage be in danger? He mentioned Harriet’s objection to his traveling abroad until Tommy had recovered from rheumatic fever. Why hadn’t he written more? Had she made the children too independent of her?

“You must be very proud of him. Your next son? He’s the architect who helped plan the remodeling of the White House, isn’t he?”

“Yes, Richard is doing very well.”

“The Express ran an article on him in our column, ‘Local Boys Make Good.'”

Nancy wondered if she sent the clipping to Richard — or was it still in her desk? She’d been so busy about that time with committee work.

“And your third son? Where is he?”

“He’s with the government also — an attache in Italy.”

“Are these three sons married?”

“Yes. Walter hasn’t been home since the war. He married a French girl while he was doing personnel work after the war. Then he was given his present position.”

“And you haven’t seen him in all these years?”

“No. Children have their own lives to live.” Nancy recalled Walter’s plan to bring his bride home and her own discouragement of it because of the expense and shortness of his vacation. Had her hope to go abroad herself before he returned, prompted her advice?

“And you have but one daughter? What is she doing to add to your honor as a mother?”

“I’m afraid nothing.” Nancy hoped the girl couldn’t sense her disappointment. “Kathie married just before she finished college. I’d planned for her to study medicine. Her father had hoped one of the children would follow his profession — and she seemed to have a bent in that direction. Her husband is an agricultural professor.”

Her disappointment that Kathie had refused a career still hurt. Of course she’d wanted her to marry, but she was so young and had had her babies so fast. Nancy had tried hard to be father and mother both after Henry’s death. She had so wanted them all to achieve. But Kathie had failed her.

“How many grandchildren do you have?” the girl asked.

Nancy felt almost embarrassed. Her children were prolific.

“Henry has five, Richard five, and Walter — three.” His last letter had said there would be another in the spring, and the baby wasn’t yet a year old! “And Kathie — She used to say she wanted ten and — she has seven already. One pair of twins. I’m afraid she’s like some of the women here who seem to think the size of their families is the goal of motherhood. I believe in improving the race — not just making it larger.” The girl kept busily taking notes.

“Oh, we haven’t talked about Jim. Though he’s still young, I imagine you can tell pretty well what he will be.”

Nancy sighed. “I wish I could tell about Jim. He’s the brightest of the children as far as his IQ goes. But he hasn’t found himself yet.”

“Doesn’t he go with Jeanie Barker? How exciting! Their mothers — both candidates for Mother of the Year. That would make a story in itself.”

“I don’t see why,” Nancy said coldly. “Now if you have the information you want, Miss Ungar, I really must get back to my work.”

“Could you give me just one more thing? I do want to do justice to you wonderful women. Please list the things you have developed in your children which you consider the greatest contributing factors in their success.”

As Nancy sat formulating the rules, schedules, and habits she had emphasized with the children in their early lives, she noted the girl’s eyes roving admiringly over the attractive living room. Nancy was proud of the harmony, the dignified austerity, and elegance she had achieved.

“I don’t know whether these are the most important, but being left to take the place of their father as well as being mother, I tried to impress them with things I felt were the bases of success: becoming independent — able to solve their own problems without leaning on others: forming habits of industry and dependability; and to be constantly on the alert for opportunities for advancement toward the goals of their ambitions. I had them follow a few rules and schedules in the home to inculcate punctuality, neatness, sharing of responsibility. These seemed to work pretty well with the older boys. But — of course Jim is still young.”

“I think you’ve been wonderfully successful, and thank you so much. If you think of anything else, call me. Mr. Harvey wants the interviews in tomorrow’s paper.”

Nancy went back to her work, still thinking of Susan Barker. What had she done for Clarksdale — except increase the population? Her housekeeping must be haphazard — judging from the effect on Jim. How serious was he with Jeanie? She was pretty, Nancy recalled, the one time he’d brought her home — but not well-groomed. He’d brought her only once, but went to her home more and more frequently.

Back at her work she forgot everything until four o’clock, when she stopped to freshen herself and pre- pare dinner. When it was six o’clock and Jim hadn’t come, she was irritated. If he’d been delayed at the lab he should have phoned. This was happening too often. He’d probably gone home with Jeanie and was eating some of Mrs. Barker’s “good stew” he’d told her about, sitting with a bunch of disheveled kids.

She ate her dinner in grim discontent and was back at her work when Jim came, hours later. When he came to her door, she said coldly, “I suppose you’ve had something to eat.”

“Yes,” he answered and went to his room. The next day there was a restraint between them.

When the Express came that evening, Nancy turned at once to Woman’s Section and hastily read the editorial paragraph preceding Miss Ungar’s interviews. She re-read the last sentence: “But after all, this recognition is not for the Mother of the Year, but for the outstanding mother, and it is in her relationship with her children that a mother’s greatness is found.” An uneasy feeling stole over Nancy, but she soon forgot it as she read of the achievements of herself and her children. The girl had done a good job. Nancy glowed with satisfaction.

She turned to the other interview with curiosity.

“The two selected by the committee from the number of worthy nominees are vastly different. My visits to both were — well, inspiring.

“Mrs. Barker was making a costume for one of her girls for the coming school jamboree. She was also tending a daughter’s twins while their mother was working on the drive for disabled Korean veterans, and she was baking beans for a church social. But she made me welcome.

“Mrs. Barker is the mother of ten. The six married ones have given her twenty-one grandchildren.”

Nancy read of the Barker progeny — one son was a Scout executive; another was with his father in the grocery business; a third, city recreational director, and another was on a mission. She read with special interest about her daughters.

“‘Ruth is the mother of the twins. I was too busy when my children were small to do anything outside the home. I don’t want my girls to be so tied. I try to give them a little freedom so they can take part in things that help others and at the same time make them better mothers. Clara, my second girl, is going to a home demonstrator’s convention in Seattle. We will have her three with us the ten days she’s gone. Her husband is fine about her going, but he’s principal of the junior high over in Three Points and of course can’t take care of the babies.'”

“When the interviewer asked if caring for grandchildren wasn’t hard now she was getting older, Susan replied: ‘Well, of course, I get tired easier, but grandchildren don’t get on my nerves, they’re something extra special.

“While she talked of her children she alternately picked up the toys the twins kept throwing out of the play pen, checked on the beans in the oven, and basted ruffles on Judy’s costume. Phil, in Korea, had been wounded twice and decorated for the heroic rescue of some of his wounded buddies.’

“She told of the disappointment to her and her husband that they couldn’t give all their children college educations. Robert had started to school on his GI allotment, but when their second baby came, they couldn’t make his $90 stretch over all their expenses; so he had stopped to help his father in the grocery business. She hoped Phil could go when he got back from Korea and Howard when he had finished his mission. Jeanie, she said, wanted to be a kindergarten teacher and Davy and Judy were too young to know what they wanted to do.”

When Miss Ungar asked for her formula for raising children she said: ‘I’m afraid I haven’t any.’ She pondered a moment as she separated the twins who were fighting over a dilapidated teddy bear. Then as she gave them each a fresh toy, she said, ‘I just sort of let them go along as they naturally want to as long as they’re not doing any harm to themselves or anybody else,’ then with a glance at the babies now happy with what she had given them, she laughed, ‘unless they all want the teddy bear at the same time; then I have to take a hand. Keeping them busy and happy are the two things I’ve always been most anxious about. I believe when folks are busy and happy, there isn’t much to worry about.’

Nancy put the paper down, thoughtfully. She had seen to it that her children were busy — but had they been happy? Had she made them too conscious of standards, goals, habits? Had she made them too independent of her?

The door opened, and Jim came in. He dropped his books on the couch with a tired sigh. Then as she looked up at him, he gathered the books up quickly. “I’m sorry, Mother.” It had been an unbreakable rule that the living room must always be in order — ready for callers or committee meetings. Suddenly Nancy knew it had never been a living room.

“That’s all right Jim. Let them be. You look tired.” But he was on his way to his room.

“How was school?” She wanted desperately to break the reserve between them.

“Not so good. I’m afraid I flunked the test in zoo. I can’t swallow the stuff, and it’s a pre-req. for that eugenics you want me to major in. Guess I’ll have to get one of the smart guys to tutor me.” He went into his room and closed the door. Nancy sat staring after him.

Smart guys — with his IQ. Had she had a right to urge him into the field of her interest? Certainly Jim was not happy.

She thought of the other children. Had they been happy? Suddenly she felt that they were all more than miles away from her. Why hadn’t Richard taken that job the home university offered him? The president had said he regretted that Richard felt he shouldn’t change the environment of his children during their formative years. Could it be he feared she would try to dominate them? And Kathie’s Fred — why were they sending him to the state university in another city— rather than to their own alma mater — to the care of his grandmother? A wave of self-accusation swept over her.

She went to her room of her paper “Essential Factors in the Improvement of the Race,” seemed to mock her.

She heard Jim’s door open.

“Jimmy, I’ll have dinner ready right away,” she called.

“I’m not hungry. I’m going out for awhile. Don’t bother about me for dinner. You’re busy with your article. I may drop in at Jeanie’s. They’ll be having a snack.” He went out the back door.

Nancy sank into a chair and buried her face in her arms. She wept as she had not wept for years. She had wanted more than anything else in the world to help the children become what their father would have helped them to be. Had she robbed them and herself of life’s greatest blessings? She envied Susan Barker. She longed for happiness, for companionship with her loved ones.

When she was exhausted from weeping, she bathed her face and tried to read. But she was too overwrought with remorse and misgivings. If only it were not too late to recover what she had missed! Finally she sat at her desk and wrote a long, intimate letter to each of her absent |children. She knew they would be surprised at the new warmth and concern, but she felt sure they would understand and would respond. She felt a new peace and was preparing for bed when she heard Jim come whistling up the walk. The sound was sweet. She knew to reach Jim would be easier than she had dared to hope.

He called, “Mother, you still up?” and burst into her room. There was a warmth in his voice she had not heard for months. He had the Evening Express in his hands. His face was beaming.

“Mother, why didn’t you tell me! This is great — Mother of the Year! You and Jeanie’s mother! Gosh, but we’re the proud kids!” He dropped the paper and put his arms around her. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a heel lately — you trying to make something of me, and me — ”

“Don’t Jimmy!” she studied his eager young face. “You’re in love with Jeanie Barker — and I’m glad. I hope she’ll be the kind of woman, the kind of mother her mother is.”

Holding her close he began to laugh.

“That’s funny! She — ever since I’ve known her — Mother, Jeanie wants to be just like you!”

A sweet peace stole over Nancy. Mother of the year! That didn’t matter. What did matter was this new something she had found.