Amazing how smart our parents become when we grow up….
The pic is my dad, early 20’s, as a freshly minted Marine.
To this day, his influence affected me such that, I caution other women who presume they can raise a child on their own. A father’s influence on a child is monumental and everlasting.
In high school, dad worked in a men’s store. Tall and handsome, he modeled for a few department stores, which enabled him to buy a car. He played basketball, a LOT of golf, and was generally well-liked. The family vacationed fishing in Canada. Once drafted, he joined the Marines, and was assigned to work on plane maintenance, system checks, using the filters and parts made by my grandfather’s company. The local paper did a little write-up, which Grandma treasured. The Marines transformed him into a man. He returned to civilian life to enter Purdue for Electrical Engineering, and took a job with a fledgling elevator company.
In 1961, my grandfather’s company went out of business because of discontinuation of asbestos, the lawsuits and fallout. Grandpa took a job with a new furniture company….. but the family had to relocate to the American south. They scouted the location for a factory and started building, in Mississippi.
Dad married mom in 1962, and I was born 9 months and three weeks later…… and I was 2 weeks late. Her family gave them land, down the hill from their farm, and Dad built a home…. with a lot of help from extended cousins. Mom had a horrible time during her pregnancy, in and out of mental institutions, completely manic, tried to kill herself on numerous occasions. When his parents came to visit, they caught mom trying to kill the baby, me, with a plastic bag over my head. It was a horrible time for both families. The decision was made. My father’s parents would take me and and my mother, south, where it was warm and spring flowers were blooming.
Dad finished the house, sold it, and took another job with an elevator company located in Memphis. Dad and mom bought a house with backyards touching my grandparents via a gate. My mother’s fog of depression lifted and the two families thrived. I don’t remember much from my early childhood. Mom modeled and worked as a bookkeeper for a local department store, and Dad worked in Memphis. Grandpa, as a chemical engineer, was VP of Operations for the furniture company, and grandma took care of me, sewed all my clothes, and volunteered…… everywhere.
Dad’s work in the early 60’s was revolutionary, and he enjoyed being in the midst of the action. He was a young exec but loved to get his hands dirty. He was part of a crew who developed the elevator for the St.Louis Arch, which went “around”. Because of that success, he was transferred to Chicago, where all the action was. He helped develop high speed elevators. As a “sales engineer”, he sold and was responsible for the Amoco (70 stories) building, John Hancock (98), and eventually Sears Tower (110). My childhood memories of life in the Chicago ‘burbs are vivid. It was when I became my father’s daughter.
Because of mom’s “problem”, I became an only child. Dad wanted more kids, kind of disappointed I was not a boy, so he turned me into a boy….. in many ways…. rational thinking, logic and reason, fiscal responsibility, diagraming a decision process, etc.. I was chastised for an “emotional” response, whining or crying. Whatever dad did, I did. In retrospect, I wonder if he was somewhat afraid to leave me in mom’s charge for too long. The experience must have affected him. I was his constant shadow even though mom was a homemaker. When he came home, we ate and did projects. We worked on house/yard projects. The garage was an outlined pegboard workshop, of course. We also worked on plans for a new buildings in his spare bedroom office. I was always under his feet, fascinated by what he did, and hung on his every word.
In Chicago, building skyscrapers, Dad had to serve as a diplomat of sorts, between owners, management, teams of architects, and the union men who made the dream a reality. Our home was filled with MEN, a lot of beer and bourbon, hashing out details, arguing over specs, persuading design changes, motivating completion of floor after floor, as the buildings began to touch the clouds. It was an exciting time in America, Chicago in the 60’s, but as a kid, I thought it was normal. It was all I knew. It was where I began to learn to read people, and the art of nuance. My Dad….. was a pro.
On Saturdays, Dad always went into the office, and I tagged along. Looking back, I imagine his secretary was bothered on Monday morning by me rearranging things. The “shop” was most intriguing. I loved the samples cabinet and asked for many items. Half my closet at home was a “high-rise” for Barbies……. with an elevator. I was always building furniture, reconfiguring, or making something new. My best friend’s Dad owned a trucking company which was tied to the rails (The Yards). Of course, we built a Barbie Train Depot…. rails (Hot Wheels tracks)… and an airport which could change into a NASA rocket launcher. We thought we were completely normal, planning our cities.
Often, Dad went out with the guys on emergency calls and I went with, crawling around in the bowels of buildings, learning to bend a smooth curve in conduit. Sometimes, Dad had to stop at a swanky hotel or a big house on the Lakeshore for a meeting. Those times were special. Dad and I began to work as a team.
I remember one meeting, expensive home, where I completely blew it. Dad introduced himself and said hello to Mr. “Surname”. The man responded, “Please, call me Bill.” Dad shook his hand. I extended mine, and said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Bill.” I might have been 8yrs old. Whoops…
One would think, initially, Dad would have been nervous, taking a kid to see a client, right? I mean, you never know what a kid will say. Yet, the opposite happened. Dad bringing me was so odd, it disarmed the other person. Sometimes, sure, I was shuffled off to the kitchen with a butler, but most of the time, I sat quietly in the library while they discussed business. Dad made a game of it, for me.
Going in, I knew the generalities of why we were there and some details of the job. Dad kept index cards on every client and I would read them aloud on the way. Dad would tell me to focus hard, remember everything I could about the room, clients’ phone numbers and addresses, the person we were seeing, and the conversation. On the way home, dad would TEST my recall and correct me. Sometimes, I would notice things he did not see. I got better and better. In the car on the way home, I would write notes on the cards, as Dad would “think out loud”, gaming out strategy, rehashing the meeting. Many people do this naturally and find answers just by vocalizing, but I was there and could respond. We went back and forth which was fun. It taught me how he was thinking. As an added bonus, Dad would sometimes receive an invitation to return for ‘some’ event with a note to bring his “cute little girl”.
The teamwork gave me a sense of worth, value… I felt important, and we could talk about his work, which was the best gift a dad could ever give to a child. I was helping Dad and learning while earning my way. It was my job before I had a job. We went everywhere together, Polish and Russian weddings, to Synagogue for a bar mitzvah, German festivals, St.Patrick’s Day, South Chicago, a LOT of corner bars and fancy hotels with many politicians, …….. music, food, and cultural wonderland. Sometimes mom went, but mostly it was Dad and me.
We also had to work. I remember when the service men went on strike. I had a hard time reconciling why the guys I KNEW, were angry with people like my dad. The service calls still had to be done. Management had to fill in. One day, we serviced the elevators in Sears Tower. I wasn’t scared at all, but only because Dad wasn’t scared……. fear didn’t cross my mind. I stepped off the floor on top of the cab and looked up through the elevator shaft. Awesome sight. I remember that first look like it was yesterday. Of course, it would never be allowed today, but I was a big hit at 3rd grade show-and-tell.
Dad had to entertain constantly, people from out of town. He would have been in his mid-30’s about that time. He was a member of the Playboy Club, to my mother’s chagrin, and had 4 tickets to every sporting event in Chicago. Mostly, Dad gave the tickets away, but sometimes, I got to go. I recall not being able to move in my blue snowsuit at Soldier Field, but I got to watch Gale Sayers run like a gazelle. I remember being in love with Tom Boerwinkle of the Bulls, my first big crush. Our normal seats were on the lower deck, but when dad’s new boss came in, somehow, we had floor seats on the very edge. I could barely contain myself.
I was soooo excited to go and see Tom Boerwinkle. When a referee called him for traveling, change possession, right in front of me, I jumped up and said, “What are you, BLIND?” Same thing my dad would have said (if he was at home), right? The visual must have been surreal. I was wearing a mint green dress, yellow shoes. Mom tucked all my waist length auburn hair into a bun, so tight, it made my eyes hurt, and put stupid fake daisies in my hair. Yet, there I was arguing with a referee. I was in his face. I was right, too, he didn’t travel. Dad’s new boss from Atlanta…….. loved it. I thought mom was going to kill me. I sulked for the rest of the game. Can’t remember how it happened, but about a week later, I had a basketball signed by Tom Boerwinkle. My greatest childhood treasure. And Dad’s new boss, 15yrs later, gave my my first real break.
After Sears Tower, Dad was a hot item and traveled to Europe, but I had to stay home. He brought me stuff but it wasn’t the same as going with him. I was sad/mad. Dad was up for promotion. He looked at NYC, Denver, and other cities, but a strange offer came in from New Orleans. The corporate beast bought an older family elevator company with a horrible reputation. Dadd thought starting at the bottom would be easy. Taking over New Orleans meant Dad would have his own division. He jumped. Besides, “we” had the contracts for the Superdome and One Shell Square, largest building in LA and exceptionally complicated. We moved. I remember my 5th grade teacher making me do a report on New Orleans for the other students to learn…… I thought I had to learn to speak French.
In New Orleans, almost as soon as we arrived, we had trouble with our new house. Mom’s depression was rabid, six months high, six months depressed. I couldn’t bring kids home to play, lots of suicide attempts, threats, arguing, time in hospitals, escapes from hospitals, etc. She would pick me up from school and fly me to different cities to manipulate my father. It was a horrible time in our lives. Cried myself to sleep every night but focused on school. By 9th grade, when my mom sought the company of another man, Dad finally relented and began the divorce. The divorce was easy, but the custody battle went on for 5yrs, until I was in college. No kidding. Last custody hearing was 2 weeks before my 18th birthday.
Dad was the first father to win custody of a minor child in the state. It ruined him financially, but he fought on. He had no choice. He was terrified of turning me over to my mother, with good reason.
Dad also tried to balance his work schedule. As a division head, his entertainment schedule was even greater because EVERYONE in the company wanted to come to New Orleans…. to see him… and play…. and eat…. and drink. From 8th-10th grade, we were out to dinner at least 3 nights a week with clients or corporate people. I had a seperate closet for formal wear in a spare bedroom and learned to juggled my homework. Dad would not allow me to stay home alone. Now older, I had gained skills and slowly learned to read a room, negotiate, how to argue points on a contract, how to eat well, and how a young female, a daughter, would tone down a bunch of wild men who were looking to frolic in The Big Easy. I was Dad’s excuse to turn in early. After all, I had to go to school in the morning. It made him seem like the good guy and kept him out of trouble.
When Dad met the woman who became my step-mother, I went back to being a high school student. Still, I ran contracts for him, because I knew all the architects, and delivered bids, cuz I could find any location. Dad wanted to make sure I could be dropped in Moscow but read a map or navigate to find my way out, and learn to drive auto, a stick, delivery trucks, and motorcycles. In one moment of personal glory, Dad was sick and asked me to deliver a big hospital bid for LSU Medical Center. I took his company car, at 16, and off I went, only to run into our old competition in the office of the decision maker. Long story short, I shamed him, his shoddy maintenance record (which I knew well and would never be acceptable for a hospital). “We” won the contract.
After I was 18, the custody battle between my parents still roared, even though there was no longer a war. I took an opportunity with a hotel and moved into a suite, out of BOTH their houses, but it didn’t matter. The drama was overwhelming. Eventually, I left the city and moved north to live with Dad’s parents, grandma and grandpa. Dad and I were estranged for several years. Yet, what he taught me remained.
Eventually, I took a job in Memphis and was transferred to NYC with another company. I worked on the 93rd floor of WTCII. Dad was part of the group who designed the elevator core. For the original interview, I urgently jostled past people in the elevator and touched the elevator logo. It was “our’s”. I felt safe, familiar. I was home. New York would be okay. A guy in the elevator noticed what I was doing and became curious.
He was good looking, don’t get me wrong. I was 22yrs old, wearing a winter white suit (wrong for New York), and wearing Dad’s Marine pin on my lapel. In the south, we commonly wore them on left lapel for church, etc. In a way, the WTC were dad’s buildings, and I wore his pin as a security blanket for a big interview.
Finally, he spoke, “You sure as hell don’t look like any Marine I’ve ever seen.”…… and then the final straw….. “Damn!……”, he exclaimed, loudly, in an elevator. Everyone got quiet and looked around to glare. He was smacking his lips at me. Lecherous. He was crude and an ass. I narrowed my eyes, turned my head back to him and leaned in closely, almost whispering. Through my teeth, I said, “I may not be a Marine, but as long as there is breath left in my body, I AM… the daughter of a Marine.” Shot him down in a blaze of glory.
Within a few seconds, I exited the elevator and landed the job. The elevator incident was a stroke of luck, put me in a perfect frame of mind for an interview. Thank you, Daddy!!
Dad taught me to leave a mark on this earth, not just with a physical building but with people as well. Treat people well, irrespective of class. He taught me I had value and could do anything. I was completely blind to being “a woman” in business because Dad never saw it as a problem…. it was never mentioned…. it was assumed. He fought for me when everything was against him. I was his apprentice, his intern, his son in a girl body, …… Daddy’s girl, who learned to mechanic. He taught me to think and made me read business books, quizzing me afterwards. He taught me to travel and never be intimidated by power or money…… it never crossed my mind. He taught me – eating a hot dog over the hood of a pickup……. or dining with a governor had EQUAL value…… and don’t ever forget it. To search for and figure out, the special quality in every person you meet…… cuz everyone has ONE. And finally, to focus on business, compartmentalize, when your personal life is falling apart. Find the joy, satisfaction, worth, when you can, because life is not rosy all the time.
Do I miss him? Sure. He was not a perfect man, but who among us is perfect? He had horrific taste in women, but when the chips were down, he was the guy to call. With dad, we touched the clouds, changed the landscape, and did the impossible.
It’s not so hard……..
Cheers to all the dads on their special day. Is it too early for a Bourbon and water?
