Today is the 100th birthday of journalist Frances Marie Lide, born in South Carolina (1909). Frances and her younger sister, Dora, were raised by their mother after their father left. Frances attended Converse College for a year before deciding she wanted to work for newspapers. She found a job with The Greenville Piedmont and stayed with them for 3 years writing stories about churches and schools.
After The Greenville Piedmont she worked as telegraph and society editor for The Greenwood Index-Journal.
Frances wanted more out of her life and career so she saved up $200, packed her belongings and took a train to Washington DC to find work there.
Despite having her luggage stolen when she arrived at Union Station, Frances inquired at several newspapers, but no one had a job. She didn’t give up, however and returned to one of the newspapers (The Washington Evening Star) where she was hired to cover Eleanor Roosevelt’s press conferences. Frances worked for The Washington Evening Star covering first ladies’ press conferences and other topics from 1935 through her retirement in 1970.
Back in the day people used to make other people music compilations — mostly based on music they, for whatever reason, wanted the other person to hear. These were put on cassette tapes, and I suppose, when CD burning software was available, burned on CDs. Now people share mp3 playlists, which is pretty much the same thing, but a lot less work.
I have an mp3 player — not an iPod — but it only holds books on tape and the sample music that came with it — I’m too lazy to sit down and delete the sample music and I don’t know if I want to put my own music on it.
Anyway, that was just to say that no one has ever actually made me a playlist. I did get a sort of mix tape once — but there was also talking on it so that doesn’t count.
So, the other day in the car on the way to our niece’s wedding in Kokomo, Indiana, I wished aloud that we had music that was relevant to our trip. Like Kokomo. Or Indiana Wants Me. Dean and I talked about how much fun we’d have if we did have some fun music like that. When it was my turn to drive, Dean brought out his laptop and his work-provided broadband wifi doohickey. He then connected to Groveshark and began playing some songs. At first he played some music he liked, but then he began playing songs I liked — old ones, still older ones and some newer ones. He played Simon and Garfunkel and Kate Bush (even the early screechy ones) and Dan Bern and Crosby, Stills Nash and Young.
I felt like each time a new song played I was getting a gift. It was a blast and proved that he’d actually been listening (to what I listened to, if not what I said). It was a bonding moment — when I thought all bonding had been done earlier in our marriage.
So, even though he’s on a business trip and not here today to take me to dinner or bring me flowers or give me a personal gift for our 24th wedding anniversary, he gave me a really special gift on Friday with the Grooveshark Playlist.
When I was in high school several of my parents friends began building houses in the small Wisconsin town of Hazelhurst, just south of Minocqua — a popular vacation destination for people from Illinois. One friend of my parents, Neal, had a brother-in-law who lived in a small cabin on a tiny lake off County Road D in Hazelhurst. This lake had plenty of open lots that were for sale in the mid-1970’s and Neal, my parents and the Pasholks all decided to buy land and build vacation homes there. Their plan was to someday retire in these homes.
The lake we bathed and swam in from Pasholk’s property
The first to build there were the Pasholks, Marcia‘s parents. They bought a motor home or two and set them up on their property, built an outhouse and began building. Jack, Marcia’s dad, was a man-of-all-trades if there ever was one. He could build you a house, lay your carpet and build your furniture without consulting a book or expert. He also knew how to organize a group of people to help build that house. Some would say he was bossy. He’d say he was efficient. Either way, he got the job done with the help of his friends. Even Jeremy helped hammer drywall.
Roy Neal, local singer, entertaining the teens and young adults
While the friends helped build Jack’s house they stayed at Neal’s brother-in-law’s house, Jack’s motor homes or in tents. It was like a barn raising that I’d read about in history books. The women made breakfast, lunch and dinner for the men. The teenagers helped out how they could some of the time but mostly enjoyed the lake or the lure of Minocqua. This was Wisconsin, where the drinking age was 18. Three years younger than the drinking age in Illinois.
Two women talking outside one of the houses being built.
The next house to be built was Neal’s I think. I don’t remember being there for the building of it, but I remember camping out on my parent’s property. We borrowed a camper from a friend and a tent from someone else. We showered at Neal’s brother-in-law’s house or bathed in the lake (using the only biodegradable shampoo available at the time — Clarol herbal essence shampoo). My cousin Bob, who was living with us a the time, came along and helped build the house. He also met a local girl and had a week-long romance. Jeremy was also along this trip.
When it came time to build my parent’s house, I’d broken up with Jeremy and met Dean. In between I dated a roofer who put the roof on my parent’s house. Dean came along to help work on my parent’s house one summer. We stayed in Neal’s house this time. Again all the friends helped with the building of my parent’s vacation home.
My friend Alan working on my parents’ roof
Before Habitat for Humanity and that house building show on ABC right before Desperate Housewives, when I told people about the house raisings in Wisconsin, they were impressed that I got to witness such strong friendships as to help each other build their homes. They thought this only happened in the past. I feel lucky that I was part of it. I only hammered a couple of nails, but was there in other ways. When I visit the homes that my friends and family built, I feel a strong connection to them. I remember the land before it was disturbed, I remember seeing the huge holes in the ground, the foundations being laid, the skeletons of the houses, the walls being erected, the roofs being constructed. I’ve slept in all of these houses, eaten meals in each of the homes, played games, drank wine, and had deep conversations in them all. Some of the people I remember from these homes are gone from my life, some are gone from this world. But the memories remain.
Clutch Cargo Lips 