I recently saw the film, "The Help". Having read the book, I can truthfully say that although a good read as well as a fine movie, the book and film left gaps in the real stories of "The Help". I am also sure that there are a million or more sites where one could read similar stories. So in the interest of preserving, for my kids, a bit of family history, I offer this little story.
I grew up in a multi-generational household. Mother was an only child of a working mother and an alcoholic father. Her father had been a successful banker who had built a nice house in a new neighborhood for his young family. Her mother had a very nice career working for doctors, since she'd been denied a nursing education by her own father. That is another story for another time. The stock market crash happened and my grandparents, like so many others, lost their home and most of their money. Granddaddy had enough cash left to buy another house in an older, but still "good", neighborhood, so they moved. Both of my grandparents worked, so Mom was the original "latch-key" child. She told stories of learning to cook by pulling a chair up to the gas stove in order to light the pilot before cooking dinner for her parents. By today's standards, my grandparents would have been reported to the social services department! They didn't have hired "help" until much later. After Mom and Daddy married, they stayed on in the same house with my grandparents, because as Mom said, my grandmother needed them. Granddaddy was a handful during his drinking days, I was told.
That brings me to the blessed event, my birth, two years after my parents wedding. Mom had gone to a junior college and was working when I was born, so what was there to do but hire someone to "look after" the baby? With all the adults in the house at their jobs all day, the care and feeding of me was left to a series of "maids". They were never called "house-keepers" in those days. I remember a few of them; most notably the one who hid me from her "friend" . She also made long-distance phone calls to a northern city, resulting in a very large bill which she didn't pay. Needless to say, Pearl didn't make it in our house. Reflecting on it now so many years later, I can only imagine how my parents must have agonized over childcare! Perhaps, our sons and daughter can relate when searching for good daycare people or places for our grand-darlings.
Enter Annie O'Neill, our "help", and Mom's lifeline. Annie became a fixture in our home because not only was she bright but trust-worthy and kind as well. I remember watching her as she walked from the bus stop with all the other maids into our little cove. They were a happy group, laughing and talking carrying brightly colored parasols to their jobs. Annie's parasol was red and I thought it was swell. Back then I knew all of their names, for whom they worked and, most important what they cooked! Their names are lost to me now, but I can't forget their foods. Mrs. Carruthers' maid made fabulous cookies and invited the neighborhood children to tea parties with Alberta. You see, Alberta was a grown woman, who I realize now, had Down's syndrome. She would hug us and offer tea and cookies on her lawn. Some of the kids were afraid of her, but not I. The cookies were too good to pass up! Annie didn't cook much. Mom loved to do that, so Annie did other stuff. After my sister was born and my grandmother retired; life changed. Mom was at home all the time, having given up her job and Annie didn't come everyday anymore. I don't remember missing her at first because I had a baby sister, Mom and a grand-mother to dance to my tune. However, on the days that Annie did come, I knew that the two ladies of the house would be out for the day. Mom and Mama would dress-up, put on their gloves and hats and head to "town", leaving me screaming while Annie held me. Town was the mysterious place where they shopped and had lunch, only returning in time for Annie to catch her bus. Those days with Annie were spent following her around while she did all the housework. Sometimes she'd sit with me to show me a book or tell a story. My favorite story was about the "other little girl" at the other place where she worked. That story always raised the green-eyed monster in me, because the "other little girl" always did what she was told and minded her manners. She, unlike me, didn't take her shirt off when she got too hot nor did she give her mother and maid "hissy fits'. I always promised to do better, but miserably failed. Years later Mom told me that the "other little girl" never existed and that Annie made her up to keep me in line! Annie would work like a house afire to get everything done in time for us to do the ironing so that she could watch her "stories". I say "us" because Santa had brought me a small ironing board and a real miniature iron (it really heated up). Annie taught me to iron Daddy's handkerchiefs while we watched "The Edge of Night" and "The Guiding Light". Soon, I was as hooked as she was and we talked about the ups and downs of the families on that small screen in our living room. Again, I ask; What would today's parents think bout a four-year-old's passion for a fictional family? On the ironing front, which I never mastered, to this day I can't iron anything but flat napkins and tea towels! I also no longer watch "stories", also known as soap operas.
Annie had one son whom she called, Brother, I have no idea why. Her husband, although not Brother's father, was named Pops. He worked for us too, but on a limited basis because of his bad heart. After an almost fatal attack one spring, Pops, moved to California to live with his daughter. Annie was sad but confessed that they were never formally married and she couldn't take care of him the way his family could. We, the whole family, visited him in California and met his daughter and his family. Reporting after the visit to Annie about how well Pops looked and how happy he was; we never heard about him again. Annie didn't mention him and we were told never to ask about him. Brother was Annie's only child, but it was no secret that she pined for another baby. One Saturday when I was about 8 years-old, Annie called to say that she'd be coming by for a visit and that she had a surprise. The surprise was a little baby girl! The baby had been left in Annie's care while her mother moved to Mississippi. Annie hoped that the mother wouldn't come back to claim her child, but she did and Annie's heart was broken. We never asked about the baby either. Mom said that it would make Annie cry, so we never mentioned the baby again. We became her "babies. No matter how many times we sang, "Annie is the Queen of Africa", a song we made up just for her, she didn't scold us. Not until I was a college student do I remember being scolded by Annie. She would tell me repeatedly to unload the dishwasher, or stay out of the peas she'd cooked for Daddy's supper, or to hurry-up and get out of her way so that she could get to the ironing and her "stories"!
The years during the civil rights struggle are as vivid to me now as they were 50 years ago. Annie was vocal in her disapproval of all things "uppity", whatever that meant. I remember hearing her talk with my mother about the craziness in her neighborhood. She couldn't understand the rioting and burning. The year, 1968, was the worst. The sanitation workers' strike brought hate right to our front doors. Dr. King arrived in Memphis to offer his help in resolving the differences. On one of the most awful days Annie came with Mom to get us out of school. I am ashamed to admit that I was a bit embarrassed to have those two women come to my high school and put me in the car! It wasn't about race at all but the fact that I was almost 16 and ready to embrace change since, of course, I knew everything! Mom wanted Annie to stay with us, but she wouldn't hear of it. Mom drove her home that night through a neighborhood already beginning to riot. I realize now what guts it took for my very southern lady of a Mama to do such a brave thing. Many years later Mom confessed how scared she'd been. Daddy fussed, but Mom felt that she had to see Annie home safely. That night Daddy loaded a gun, which I didn't know he had. It probably wouldn't have worked since it was an old rifle of his father's, but it might have frightened someone. By then end of that horrible week, Daddy installed a new lock on the front door. I think we were the first in our cove to have a deadbolt lock. Dr. King's murder brought shame to our city. Annie didn't say much accept that maybe he should have stayed away and let Memphis work it out. While we went to school with the National Guard acting as crossing guards and lived under a curfew for what seemed years, Annie religiously came to work and did her best for us. I wonder if she mourned Dr. King's death or ever felt that she couldn't openly grieve for fear of our disdain. I'll never know.
When I got engaged Annie threw herself into the preparations for the wedding as much as Mom did. She came more often and was more vocal in her opinions than she'd been in the past. Her fear was that I wouldn't "cotton' to being a housewife because I'd shown no interest in cooking, ironing, nor any other of the "housewifey stuff". In her infinite wisdom she warned me to not let my "man" use a condom because doing so was like having sex in a raincoat, she said. I'm sure that I must have blushed and was rendered speechless by that remark. On my wedding day, Annie and Mom were with me as I put on the billowing white gown. She placed the vail on my head and she and Mom held hands and shed a few tears. Mom asked her what they'd do without me to take care of and Annie announced that she was retiring. Mom gasped and I felt the air sucked out of the room. Annie quickly assured my mother that she wouldn't be disappearing entirely but would come back when mom needed her help. True to her word when things got a little hairy on the home front, Annie would appear and set everything right again.
Mom never replaced Annie. Their was never anyone who could fill her shoes. We loved and respected her despite our racial differences. The south in the fifties and sixties was a very divided place, but at Overland Place we didn't really notice. I can say in all honesty that we had prejudices and that everything discussed at our dinner table was not without mention of those issues. However, we were taught to respect all people despite their color. That may seem to be somewhat of a mixed message but to us, my siblings and me, it was a message heard and understood.
My parents and Annie are gone now. They lived their lives in their time and passed on their wisdom and traditions to us. To this day I cringe when a hat is placed on the bed because Annie said that that was bad luck. All the superstitions and myths that Annie lived by are lost now. I admit to being a modern mom and didn't pass them on to my kids. If I could remember them all, I'd tell them. Even without the superstitions, I am the person I am because of the care I received from those who loved me. Annie does deserve some credit for that, but she wouldn't agree. Of that I am sure. She would say that she was just doing her job. I wonder what that "other little girl" would say to that?
