Barfly

My great-grandmother spent a lot of time in bars, earning her the moniker of barfly. I don’t know when or how this began in her life, but I do know:

1)    She and her second husband had their own illegal distillery during Prohibition; 

2)    In the mid-1930s she and her brother frequented a local joint called the Flat Iron; 

3)    During World War II, she, her daughter-my grandmother and her then husband took my dad (about age 3 and 4) to a local bar every Friday night; and 

4)    When she met her daughter’s fiancé (my grandfather), she was drunk.

Although “Webster’s New World Dictionary” unpoetically defines a barfly as “a person who spends much time drinking in barrooms,” this definition is less pejorative than what thesaurus.com shared. In thesaurus.com, barfly is synonymous to “problem drinker,” “alcoholic,” “chronic alcoholic, chronic drunk, dipsomaniac, drunkard, hard drinker, heavy drinker, hooch hound, lush, pathological drinker, soak,” “drunkard,” “one who drinks too much,” “ alcoholic, bacchanal, bacchanalian, barfly, bibber, boozer, carouser, debauchee, dipsomaniac, drinker, inebriate, lush, soak, sot, souse, sponge, stiff, tippler, toper, tosspot, wine-bibber, wino.”

It is impossible for me to think of my alert, well-dressed and comported great-grandmother as a wino.

The contributors to urbandictionary.com present an entirely different perspective. Definition the first is: “a female (usually white trash) who acts slutty at a bar looking for attention.” Definition the second is even more vicious: “an annoying slutty hick/redneck bitch that lives in bars, the barfly is usually 35-40 years old and looks like a complete shitsack, usually because of her ugly spagetti [sic] hair and smeared make up.” Definition the third is “dem nasty, rowdy lookin', featherd [sic] wordwolf hair/wolf hair middle-aged females that ’fly’ from bar to bar lookin' for dick an' such from just about anyone.” There is another definition that focuses on a male of the type, but the language was coarse and nearly illiterate, so I’m not repeating. But I think you get the gist.

A barfly is a person, generally female, who drinks too much in a liquor establishment while in pursuit of sexual activity. (Of course, there is very little to no connection to men who do the same. American, if not international, misogyny is very much at play here.)

According to Wikipedia, the term barfly likely comes from a vinegar fly that is commonly attracted to alcohol and a regular visitor to bars and pubs and the like. At the same time, it could possibly allude to the observation that most flies are strongly attracted to something, hence the expression “like flies on shit.” A barfly is attracted to drinking in a bar.

I am not denying that obvious, that barflies are not the most respectable of people, however, I do think that such persons either have a story to tell or really do enjoy the bar atmosphere and company of other imbibers.

Of course, the most famous reference to the barfly is the 1987 movie directed by Barbet Schroeder and starring Faye Dunaway, Mickey Rourke and Alice Krige about, well, alcoholics—destructive alcoholics. But again I disagree that while this may be the common understanding, it is not the only one.

A further Internet search revealed that:

1) “Bar Fly” is an online bar directory for Portland, Oregon. (www.barfly.com);

2) There is a Minneapolis-based rock band called Barfly (www.barfly.net).

3) Bar Fly and/or Barfly is also a regular name of bars or music/dance clubs all around the country.

4) And Portland, Oregon has a barfly bus (www.barflybus.com) that takes its customers on a mystery barhopping tour to eight to ten different establishments.

Yes, alcohol is involved, but in these instances, there is a sense of fun and camaraderie, like in an Irish, English or Canadian pub—friends having a few social drinks and enjoying each other’s company.

But the question remains for me: was my great-grandmother an alcoholic?

Vivian wants a dog, part three

Vivian had asked for a dog for her birthday, and Leta didn’t know how to tell her daughter that this was not possible. Vivian had never asked for anything like this. In fact, her requests had always been simple—a new doll, a game, a book. This time Leta was expecting her to request knitting needles and yarn, which would include the bonus of a couple of lessons from Leta’s Aunt Lydia. A dog posed problems, not so much because it needed to be cared for and loved which Vivian would do, and not because it would cost them to feed it which they could manage, but because Leta would not have a dog in the house or even at her house. A traumatic incident with three dogs that occurred when she was a child had forever sealed her heart against the animal.

So Leta had a dilemma. She knew that her husband would not object. He was rather fond of Vivian and often indulged his stepdaughter more than Leta liked. Telling Vivian’s father of the request meant little. He had recently re-married, so Vivian was feeling even less connected to him. In fact, she didn’t even want to spend any of the Christmas holiday with them this year.

Leta looked at her daughter, who had just finished measuring the flour for the cookies they were baking together.

“We’ll see,” Leta said, neither confirming nor rejecting her daughter’s request. “Now, add the flour.”

The next afternoon Leta broached the subject with her sister-in-law and best friend Florence. They had a standing weekly lunch to catch up, gossip and support each other. Florence accepted Leta’s dislike and fear of dogs, although she, her husband and two children had one.

“And you don’t think you can keep one even outside?” Florence asked, “like we keep Daisy?” While Leta felt no antagonism or fear about Florence’s sweet and well-behaved daschund, she simply could not bear to have more than a passing connection with her. She was also very grateful that they kept their dog outside in the back yard where she rarely ventured.

“Not at all, Flo,” Leta answered. “I don’t dislike Daisy, you know, but still, I simply can’t abide one in my own home. Yet it’s Vivian. She asks for so little. How can I tell her no?”

“And you’re sure she is not doing this to distress you?” Florence asked.

“Vivian?” Leta exclaimed.

“You’re right,” her sister-in-law sighed. “Well, you just have to tell her.”

“It’ll break her heart,” Leta noted.

“She’ll recover,” Florence said. “She’s like you that way.”

But Leta didn’t say anything. She just couldn’t. Instead, on December 29, she handed Vivian her birthday package of knitting needles and yarn. “I’ve made arrangements with my Aunt Lydia to teach you, just what you wanted,” Leta told her daughter.

“Thank you, Mother,” Vivian said, not registering one iota of disappointment, but the lessons never happened. Vivian never took up knitting, although she could embroider, crochet and sew.

And, furthermore, when she was a grown woman with her own husband and house, Vivian got her first dog, keeping one after another for the rest of her life.

Vivian wants a dog, part two

Every so often one of Leta's children--or even her husband—would do or say something that, as she put it, threw her for a loop. On this cold winter afternoon, it was her daughter Vivian’s turn. While an early winter storm waged outside, the two of them were baking together in the kitchen. Everything seemed warm and cozy, a gentle pleasantness filled the room.

Leta couldn’t remember what they had been chatting about prior, but then she asked a fateful question: “What would you like for your birthday?”

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while, Mom,” Vivian answered while she was measuring the flour. “And what I really want is a dog—a puppy.”

A puppy? Leta screeched in her head. You want a dog?

They had never had a dog, because Leta had never allowed one. In fact, she was terrified of them. When she was a little girl, her mother would ship her off to her uncle’s farm for a few weeks each summer to get some exercise, sunshine and country air. Her mother believed that such things were necessary for children to grow well. Besides, city living was oppressively hot and humid during the height of the summer, and she didn’t want any cranky children about. That, and her brother and sister-in-law could use the extra labor. So off Leta and her sisters went.

In her memory, these were happy times for the most part. Sure, they worked on the farm, but they also did a lot of playing and exploring. Leta liked to watch her older male cousins with the animals and engaged in other chores. Plus, her uncle had two hired men, who worked and lived on the farm. When the days became very warm, she begged to deliver to the workers the afternoon lemonade that they made. By this time, most of them had removed their shirts, and their bodies glistened with perspiration. She liked how they paid special attention to her—their little drink girl, they called her.

After performing her hot summer chore one afternoon, she was skipping back to the farmhouse from a far field lost in her own happy girlish thoughts, her hair falling out of its ribbons, when from nowhere three of her uncle’s dogs charged at her.

She shrieked in surprise and terror, as two large Irish wolfhounds pushed her to the ground and the third tore at her dress.

The terrified eight-year-old screamed with all her might as the dogs continued to tear at her clothes and rough her up on the dirt road. In truth, Leta didn’t remember anything else. She shut her eyes, tried to protect herself with her little arms and screamed as loud as she could, as if her life depended on it.

This happened for such a long time that she didn’t think anyone would come to her rescue, but someone did. One of the farm hands had heard her screams and raced to her. He pulled the dogs off and shooed them away, calming her with sweet words and lifting her to her feet. She clung to him with such terror that he carried her home, and she would never forget how he smelled of hard work and strength.

But from that moment on, she developed a distinct dislike, if not hatred, of dogs and refused to have anything to do with them. As she was a rather calm and self-possessed adult, very few knew of this incident and the resultant feelings.

However, she had to address her daughter’s request, quickly and decisively before the wish became a yearning. Yearnings, she knew, were much harder to quell.

“A dog?” Leta repeated questioningly. “I thought you wanted to learn how to knit.”

TO BE CONTINUED.

Vivian wants a dog, part one

Vivian wanted a dog. It was the only thing she asked for—for her birthday. A quiet, studious child, she never asked for much, so when she voiced her request in that strong, smooth voice, Leta was moved.

Truthfully, Leta was not a fan of the animal—of dogs of any kind. That spring, her younger son Dale had taken up with a stray in the neighborhood, which concerned her quite a bit. Every evening when he came home, he smelled, as she put it, like a pig farmer. With diligence, she scrubbed him and his clothes to get the stench out. Although it wore on her, she accepted the situation, as long as the relationship didn’t go any further. One afternoon, however, she returned home from the market later than she had intended (she liked to be there when he children arrived home from school) to find Dale attempting to lure the animal through the front door. And he was still in his school clothes!

“Dale Louis Chetister, don’t you dare let that filthy mongrel into my house!” she shouted from three houses down the street.

Dale jumped, but more importantly, she startled the dog. Upon feeling the authority of her voice, it ran away defensively.  Now, Leta never kicked or harmed a dog, but she definitely didn’t care for them, and she most definitely did not want one in her house.

After the dog ran off, Dale simply stood with his mouth agape and a piece of raw beef in his hand. That he had dared to pull a chunk of their supper out of the icebox for such a task infuriated Leta even more. As she reached the walk to their front door, she continued her angry charge:

“Don’t just stand there with your mouth hanging open,” she ordered. “Close the door and change your clothes. I don’t want every fly in the neighborhood moving in!”

Dale obeyed immediately, and as he ran up the stairs, she could hear the sobs. She sighed with frustration. While children crying never moved her, her son’s obsession with that foul beast caused her tremendous dismay. That it had gone so far as to encourage the boy to bring it into her home as a companion vexed her. It was not the kind of relationship she encouraged, and only accepted under duress, hoping her general attitude combined with Dale’s childish fascination would wear away in short order. Still, he persisted and had obviously become more enamored of the dog than she expected. Enough to try to bring it home.

She had arrived home just in time to thwart it, and as far as she knew, end the relationship. The dog disappeared, and Dale never brought up the notion of having a dog again.

Vivian’s request was another story. As a winter storm raged outside that mid-December afternoon, and they were baking together, the girl’s nonchalant answer to the standard request of what she wanted for her birthday yielded such surprise in the mother that Leta overcracked her egg, dropping chips of the shell into the batter.

“A dog?” Leta questioned when her wits returned. “Why in the world do you want a dog? I thought you didn’t like them.”

“No, I like them, mother,” Vivian answered. She was standing beside Leta, measuring the flour. “My friend Elizabeth has three, and they all seem to like me, too. Whenever I go to their house, they run up and welcome me.”

Leta winced subtly, so her daughter wouldn’t notice. The thought of having three dogs running at her brought back a terrifying childhood memory.

TO BE CONTINUED.

Baby girl, at last

They were all at the hospital--mother Dee, sister Cheryl, mother-in-law Vivian, great-grandmother Ana, even sister Lona who had given birth just three weeks earlier, and, of course, great-grandmother Leta. They were the women of the family—both sides—and all filled with high expectations that early Saturday morning in October.

Pat went into labor as she did with her second child deep in the night, just after they had all retired. Father-to-be Don called his mother Vivian first. He usually did. Always a light sleeper, Vivian awakened on the first ring and knew intuitively that her third grandchild was on the way. She subsequently telephoned Pat’s mother Dee, receiving a grumpy greeting from Bill who answered the phone. He had just arrived home and fallen asleep, Dee explained apologetically when she and her youngest daughter Cheryl arrived at the hospital. Friday night was his poker night. Vivian nodded sympathetically, but they all knew—nearly every night was Bill’s poker night.

Of course, Pat had already gone into false labor twice, and the baby was late. She’s on her own schedule, Leta said, but no one seemed to notice. As they had with the previous baby, they referred to the unborn child as she, imbuing the word with all the intentionality seven women and one overly excited adolescent girl could manage. That girl was Vivian’s daughter Linda, Leta’s granddaughter, who at 12 was still too young to be awakened and taken to the hospital, even though she wanted to. Even though it was Saturday and she didn’t have school, which she complained to her mother later that morning. But she was easily pacified with the promise of a visit later in the day. While she still had time, Linda ran out the door to tell all of her friends she was an aunt for the third time, but the first time for a girl.

“Third time’s a charm,” Ana said once they heard the news that Pat delivered the first girl of her generation on both sides of the family. Both Pat and Don were the eldest, and Pat’s siblings had just started marrying. Don’s were still too young—he and Linda had a brother Larry, only age 14. Previously Pat had two sons, and her next younger sister Lona’s three-week-old infant was also a boy. While there were a couple of girls of that generation in Pat’s family, for Leta’s family, this was the first great-granddaughter, which made the occasion special for all of them.

The gathering of women crowded into the hospital room, more than what was officially allowed, but Pat was holding their new baby—their girl—and they all wanted to see and touch the beauty.

“Michele Marie,” Pat said joyfully, but also thoroughly worn out from her exertion. She had waited almost her entire life and through two boys to say that, having held the name and hope in her heart since she first held a neighbor lady’s new baby when she was a little girl. Like she did with her sons, she stared lovingly at the newborn, wrapped up in her arms. With a smile on her face, she fell asleep, still holding the child. The nurse came to take the child almost immediately, as was customary, but Leta stopped her.

“No, not yet,” Leta said.

“But…” the nurse protested. “She’s asleep. That’s not—“

“They’re fine,” Leta interrupted sternly. “We’ll let you know.”

This was a moment for all of them to savor.

Financial Security, Part Two

The presumption in my family is that my great-grandmother Leta always landed on her feet, at least financially. This seems to me to be more myth than history, even though there is no doubt she was a survivor. Of course, as a child, I never really thought that much about it—except when she elected to move into a senior home in 1972.

At the time she was living on the second floor of a duplex in East Toledo. She rented. Before she moved, she wanted to put her finances in order. The arrangement with the residence was that she would turn over all her money upon entering to pay for her care for as long as she lived. (This is what I remember, but may also be as much myth as fact). So before divulging, so to speak, she set aside a secret fund for her own personal expenses throughout her years there. Again, my understanding was that she expected to live fewer than the 12 more years that she did, so she got the better end of the deal. Her daughter-my grandmother was very involved in this process, and became her financial manager.

Still, I do not believe Leta was always financially secure. When she divorced from husband number four—Leech Hoose—to whom she was married only a couple of years at most—her situation was such that she relocated her children to their father’s home and moved in with her brother Aaron and sister-in-law Florence for a period of time. This occurred in the 1930s, during the Depression. Only a person financially strapped and emotionally broken would have made such choices. A few years earlier she won a custody battle, so I can’t imagine that she gave up her children in this way without believing she had no other alternative.

A few years later, her financial status improved when she married husband number five—Bob Fields. Bob was employed, and childless. Financially, they were strong enough to welcome her daughter Vivian and grandson-my father Donald into their home while Vivian’s husband Ed served in World War II.  When Bob died unexpectedly in 1946, Leta’s financial position was strong.

This again nearly flipped for her. She frequently said that her sixth husband—Claud Bassett—“spent all my money.” After four years of this obviously unhappy union, she divorced him and went to work. She managed a restaurant for a while and then became a housekeeper at a hospital.

She rented a small house near the University of Toledo, and while living there she met her eighth husband Richard. (By the way, her seventh marriage was so brief that it can’t have impacted her financially at all, but then again, only a few people knew about it, so it is hard to be definite.) Her marriage to Richard, however, was the marriage of her retirement. He owned a home; they planned on living out their days as a happily married retired couple.

When Richard died unexpectedly in 1963, she was once again uprooted. The house was sold, and she moved into the afore-mentioned duplex. She was 69 years old and financially strong enough to live out the rest of her days without anxiety, which she did.

Financial Security, Part One

The first time she married it was for love, or at least that’s what she believed. She was 19 years old and was more in love with the idea of men than she was with one particular man—Ralph. But she desired a man, he was available and eager, and she wanted to be married. When he proposed, she accepted. Neither one had much money, but both were employed. Of course, she quit her job when she became pregnant a few months later, but Ralph had a good job at the time. They were never rich, but no one else around them was either. Still, she managed to save out of her household allowance and through her own skills earn other income over the course of their nine-year marriage. When she divorced him, however, she spent all of her money on the process, and the sewing and cleaning jobs she took did not cover her and her children’s living expenses.

That did not matter, for during her separation, she bonded with Al. Actually, she did more than bond, she fell head over heels in love with him. This time around she was more mature, and she better understood compatibility and her own personal and sexual needs. They lived during the Great Depression, so financial difficulties were common and expected. Still, Al had a job, and they made extra income by making and selling gin to their friends and others who rejected Prohibition as the true American lifestyle. They could support themselves and her two children comfortably. Leta could not have been happier. She was living the kind of life that melded with her disposition and needs. And she smartly set aside a few dollars here and there, just in case. Alas, everything she had saved went to pay for Al’s funeral expenses. After only four years of wedded bliss, he was murdered.

Leta was devastated, Al’s killer having taken half of her own life. Already broken in spirit and hope, she very quickly went broke and relied on friends and family for financial and moral support. Still, she couldn’t go on this way, and she knew it. She had two children to support, and as a woman her options were few. When one of her neighbors and homemade alcohol clients asked her to marry him, she jumped at the chance. Maybe she didn’t really love him, but he was fun to be with and able to support them financially.

However, it was not a good marriage. They quickly realized that all they had in common was drinking, and while it may have made for fun times, living together on a day-to-day basis proved to be challenging. Besides, he was not as financially solvent as he led her to believe. And she ached all the time for Al. Ora could never live up to him—in any way. She also learned, much to her dismay, that the more Ora drank the lower his libido, and she needed someone with a libido to help her heal. They divorced after only a year. By then she had already been flirting with Leech—Ora’s drinking buddy.

Leech filled her mind with hope and her body with desire. But he was financially inept, and while their nights were filled with passion, their days were filled with arguing about expenses. But she felt stuck this time. There was no other man waiting around the corner. And while she tried to sock money away, their daily expenses always forced her to spend her reserves.

The puzzle

It was an inexpensive gift, Leta knew, but then again, Ralph did not have much money. No one did during the Depression. At least this time her ex-husband and the father of her children had taken some consideration into his daughter’s feelings. Usually, he gave her both birthday and Christmas gifts as one lump package. In fact, he did it pointedly, stating quite clearly that this was all Vivian could expect. She was always disappointed, but had come to expect this disregard by her father as a matter of course.

Leta, however, endeavored to separate the two. A birthday, although not a large reason for celebration in her mind, was still a birthday. Just as Christ’s birth celebration was wholly his own, so should her daughter’s, even though it took place only four days later.

Having some kind of celebration on December 29 was not always easy or convenient. Vivian’s birthday did come, after all, between Christmas and New Year’s, and many people were well nigh worn out already by Christmas. By the time the 29^th arrived, Leta herself was ready to simply recover from the hullabaloo and anticipate her New Year’s Eve celebrating. However, she had a daughter, and that daughter deserved the personal celebration of being alive on the earth.

Again, they didn’t do much for birthdays, but the day included for each of her children a favorite breakfast to start the day, and a special supper followed by cake and ice cream in the evening. She gave them two gifts—a necessity such as a new blouse and a toy or something personal. On the Saturday after, they would go to the movies as a family. On the following Sunday, the children would spend the day with their father and celebrate again. Although Ralph’s mother thought birthday celebrations were barely a half-level above complete foolishness, she would comply with her son’s request for a special dessert at least. After all, Ralph saw his children so rarely he wanted their time together to have some uniqueness to it.

Vivian had turned 12, and like her mother was quickly becoming a woman. Maybe that scared Ralph. Leta suspected that he feared his daughter would be too much like her mother, a woman with a scandalous reputation. For Christmas, he disregarded Vivian’s request for a collection of books by Charles Dickens and gave her a china doll. Vivian was devastated. “I’m 12, Mom!” she declared. “What am I going to do with a doll?” While she never said, Leta suspected that the word got back to Ralph by her little chatterbox—their son Dale, because a few days later, Vivian returned home from the day with her father proudly sporting two small boxes. The first contained three sets of doll clothes made by her grandmother, no doubt the original present and quickly tossed aside. The second box was a new cardboard jigsaw puzzle.

Vivian was thrilled with the puzzle. It was of a painting of the famous Mona Lisa painting by Leonardo da Vinci. The next morning she commandeered the dining room table and began to work on it.

Leta smiled to herself. Without realizing it, Ralph had succeeded in tapping into their daughter’s child-like qualities and her more mature ones simultaneously by giving her a toy for children and grown-ups.

The gift

"Hello, Leta. Hello, Leta."

Leta stopped what she was doing, still holding several hangers of clothes in her hands, and quickly looked around her bedroom. At first, she wasn't sure whether or not she was hearing things. The cackling high-pitched voice seemed otherworldly.

As she paused to collect herself--and her sanity, as she told her sister the next day--she heard the light and cheerful chirping from the living room and smiled.

Her little Budgie, as she called the green parakeet in the other room, was a gift from heaven. He was an unexpected gift, a housewarming present from a lady friend from church, a particularly observant woman. After the death of her husband, Leta had become sullen and was slowly withdrawing into her own grief. Yes, she had her family--her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, but losing her husband and being alone again was hitting her pretty hard.

The afternoon sun whispered through the bedroom window as she finished organizing the closet. Of course, it was smaller than the one she had been occupying in the house that she had shared with Richard for four years, but it was too large a place for one. Besides, she didn't want to live there alone after her husband died so unexpectedly and quickly. She harrumphed ruefully. One night they had been talking about plans for New Year's Eve, but before the sun rose the next morning, he was gone. So she and his children sold the house, and she moved into the second floor of this duplex.

At age 70, she would have preferred to live on the first floor. Climbing the stairs on a regular basis would be very strenuous, but that apartment was occupied by her niece and nephew-in-law. And he had more mobility problems than she ever would. Still, she liked to walk, so the stairs would keep her healthier, at least she hoped so.

A wave of loss and change had her absently sitting on the bed. Because she hated most of her clothes, she saved the closet project for last. Actually, that wasn't entirely true. In her marriage, the closets were Richard's responsibility, or domain as it were. And she was happy to let him merrily sort out their contents and organize them. She called him her "clothes horse," not only because he had far more than she, but also because he was just as interested in what she wore. He made sure they both looked good, and of course, she liked to look nice.

Then she heard the eerie voice again: "Hello, Leta. Hello, Leta." The sound sent a chill up her spine. It was again followed by the friendly chirping. This time she distinctly heard it coming from the living room, so she stood to investigate, walking deliberately from one room to the other.

Since the windows of the living room faced north and east, the room was darker than the bedroom, which created a few shadows. Leta never believed in ghosts, but the change in light and the sound of the strange voice was making her apprehensive. After she looked around, her eyes and heart fell on the little cage in the front window.

She smiled and approached the little Budgerigar. He was hopping about his home, playing with the two balls she had given him for such a purpose. These birds liked to be active and play.

“Hello, Budgie,” she said in a sweet voice. “How is Budgie? How is my little Budgie?”

The bird hopped onto its perch to get a better look at her, which made her smile even more. He looked right at her, she thought, and she was startled by the attention.

Yes, this was a terrific gift. The church-friend knew exactly what she needed. But that made sense. After all, she had lost her own husband two years earlier and was basically in the same life station. “For you, Leta,” she had said. “For the loneliness.” At first, Leta was tempted to refuse. It was an extravagant gift, and she knew nothing about caring for a little tropical bird. But the woman gently clutched her hand and looked her right in the eyes. “I know,” she concluded.

And Leta was grateful. After only a couple of days in her company, he had become a special friend.

“Hello, Budgie,” she said to him.

“Hello, Leta,” Budgie said.