My Stolen Diaries – Chapter 12: JFK’s Assassination

Teri's Novelog — My Stolen Diaries, , ,

CHAPTER 12

JFK’S ASSASSINATION

November 29, 1963

Last Friday, November 22, Mother Superior came into our classroom sobbing — and whispered something in Sister Regina Mary’s ear.

When the two of them fell into each other’s arms, bawling their eyes out, I knew something terrible must have happened.

That’s when Mother Superior told us that President Kennedy was “with God,” which everybody knows means dead.

Both Sisters left the class, so we all left, too, although nobody bothered to tell us what to do. As I walked home along Boston Avenue, all the cars were pulled over on both sides of the usually busy two-lane street. People were out of their cars, looking like ghosts, crying out, “Kennedy is dead,” to no one in particular.

Two days later, we were all at church for Sunday services when we got the whispered news that Lee Harvey Oswald, the man who killed Kennedy, was shot in the stomach and killed by some guy on television for everyone to see. We hurried home from church as soon as services were over to listen to the news on the radio.

The next day was Monday, November 25, and President Kennedy’s funeral was on television, except we still didn’t have one, so we walked over to Mom’s friend Edie’s house to watch it with her family.

Our new President, Lyndon Johnson, made it a National Day of Mourning, so the whole country had the day off.

At school on Tuesday, Sister Regina Mary spent most of the class time talking to us about the funeral and Oswald’s murderer. Even the nuns had a television set, which made me want one even more than before. Plus, we were missing out on everything, including the news about Jack Ruby, the man who Sister Regina Mary said killed Oswald.

That night, Mom spoke in French to Mem and Mere Germaine about Jack Ruby. “Il est dans la mafia comme Tony’s père,” which means he’s in the mafia, like Tony’s father, which scared the heck out of me.

The next day I asked Adam about the mafia, and he told me they were a bunch of criminals who kill people — or worse. Then I asked Adam if people in the mafia assassinate people, and he said, “absolutely.”

And if what Adam says about the mafia is true, what could be worse than getting killed?

Could it be possible that my father is in the mafia, or is Mom just saying that because she hates him? Since Uncle Luke was the one with the gun, I think that maybe Mom got it wrong, and he’s the one in the mafia and not my dad.

Everyone I know is horribly upset about Kennedy, and Mem says no one will ever forget his assassination. I’m upset, but not because of Kennedy.

I’m upset because whenever I think about Kennedy, I will never forget that’s when I found out my dad is a criminal who probably assassinates people.

Or worse.

Click here for Chapter 13: Is My Dad in the Mafia?

I Hear a Symphony

Poetry

The wind rustles through the

cypress trees, while the sparrows

perch like Christmas ornaments

and harmonize in the waning light.

It’s chilly, but I sit and shiver,

grateful for the symphony,

the resin lion in plain sight.

I feel so much, yet it’s never enough.

I wonder what they’re doing

and wait.

Betty Crocker and My Grandmother Mammy

Observe & Ponder

Weird as it might sound, Betty Crocker and my grandmother Mammy (MayMe) are inextricably connected.

And I would go so far as to say that Betty Crocker taught my English-illiterate grandmother how to read.

Whenever I pull out my Betty Crocker Cookbook (like today) or bake a Betty Crocker brownie or cake mix, I’m reminded of Mammy. Maybe it’s because, in my mind’s eye, Mammy was the quintessential Betty Crocker.

Let me try to connect the Betty/Mammy dots for you.

On October 21st, 1921, a cooking icon was born, conjured up by Samuel Gale, the head of the advertising department at Washburn-Crosby, and the company that owned Gold Medal Flour.

Mr. Gale and his all-male advertising and marketing staff were responsible for handling incoming mail from women seeking cooking guidance. Mr. Gale never signed his name to any advice he dispensed, knowing full well that no woman would ever trust a man’s cooking tips. Someone needed to sign the letters, so who could it be?

Gale’s recommendation to the higher-ups (all men), based on feedback from the lower-level kitchen staff working at Washburn-Crosby (all women), was to invent a female advice expert.

The last name given to this fictitious cooking expert was in honor of a retired and revered marketing director, William Crocker.

Betty, in all likelihood, was chosen because it was a wholesome, fashionable, all-American name and was one of the most popular names given to female babies at the time.

Gale then asked the company’s female employees to submit signatures they thought befitting of Betty. A secretary by the name of Florence Lindberg won the winning signature — and Gale added it to the closing of every letter that ever went out.

In 1924, when Washburn-Crosby began airing a cooking radio show out of Minneapolis, Minnesota, they needed a voice for Betty. They ultimately chose a Washburn-Crosby staffer Marjorie Child Husted, a field representative in their home economics division, who became the writer and host of the local WCCO radio show. The show became one of the longest-running radio shows in history.

In 1936 a portrait of Betty Crocker was painted by a successful female illustrator and portrait painter Neysa McMein and was used to depict her persona for over twenty years.

In 1941, Betty Crocker’s first grocery item — noodle soup mix — landed on store shelves across America.

It wasn’t until 1945 that fake Betty was outed.

That year, Fortune magazine named Betty Crocker the second most famous woman in America, followed by Eleanor Roosevelt. The Fortune article also exposed Betty as an invention conjured up by advertising men looking to sell flour.

But by that time, her cooking advice was invaluable to millions of women across America, so nobody cared that Betty was a fraud.

In 1947, her first cake mix — the Ginger cake — debuted in almost every supermarket in the United States, followed by the bestselling Betty Crocker’s Picture Cookbook, published in 1950.

My first memory of cooking with Mammy was in the 50s, and I can vividly recall her struggling through the pages of her treasured Betty Crocker cookbook. Mammy couldn’t read or write English, so following a written recipe was difficult for her.

I would watch in fascination as she would match the words on the pages to the names of the packaged ingredients, like flour, butter, milk, and sugar, and then figure out the measurements by comparing the numbers on her measuring devices to those in her tattered cookbook.

As I got older and able to read the recipes for myself, I once corrected her use of applesauce (homemade, of course) instead of sugar, only for her to wag her finger at me and say, “trop sucré” (too sweet). That’s when I first learned the art of healthy cooking substitutions.

And because Mammy was English illiterate, if the list of ingredients were too long, she passed on the recipe. To this day, if there are more than ten ingredients in a recipe, my eyes tend to glaze over, and more often than not, I search for a simpler alternative.

In 1973, when I moved into my first apartment, Mammy bought me my very own Betty Crocker cookbook — the edition with a pie divided into six equal triangles of yummy-looking food photos in the middle of a red cover.

Mammy’s 49-year-old housewarming gift is still my go-to cookbook, albeit coverless and chock full of food stains.