A Fetching of Firsts, Part 5: First Dormitory Living

First Dormitory Living

On a high school field trip to the Eastern Michigan University campus, I knew right away that this was where I wanted to go to school. Known as the “first teachers’ college west of the Alleghenies,” Eastern’s programs attracted students from all over the United States. 

I filled out the application with the help of my teacher and mentor, Sophia Holley. She also proofread my application essay and pointed out my over-zealous use of Roget’s Thesaurus. I toned down that essay, making it sound like the real me, and submitted everything to the Admissions Office. It was the only college application I sent.

EMU was a mere 35 miles west of Detroit in Ypsilanti, Michigan, but it seemed like a long journey when I left home for my freshman year in January of 1961. I looked forward to experiencing the freedom and independence that living away from home would offer.

By today’s standards, there was little freedom or independence. The university rules required women’s dormitory entrance doors be locked at 10:30 pm. Each student resident had to be inside and available for nightly room check by the Resident Assistants. Men were allowed only in public areas, and if you sat on a sofa with a male friend, an RA might remind you, “Both feet on the floor.”

Our parents had to sign a “permission” card that instructed the dorm office staff on our freedoms and limitations. The form requested names of whom we could visit off-campus and asked whether we could have later hours on the weekends. Near the bottom of the card, there was a statement that read “up to the student’s judgment,” which my mother designated. Her faith in my ability to make those choices for myself filled me with pride and ensured I would be worthy of her trust. 

Though Buell Hall and all the rest of the dorms were integrated, actual living arrangements were still segregated. We submitted our photos with our dorm applications and were matched with roommates on the basis of race. There were more than 400 women assigned to Buell, a dozen of us black.

Ours was an all-freshman, ground-floor suite that housed me and three other students. Barbara and I shared one narrow bedroom that contained foot-to-foot twin beds and two closets. Shirley and Alberta co-existed in the other. A larger common study room with four built-in desks separated the two bedroom areas, and we had our own bathroom with shower.

Aside from a few petty squabbles, the four of us got along with each other. If one had to label us, we’d probably have been known as the nerd, the straight arrow, the baby, and the party girl. 

There was one incident that brought us up to be made an example before the entire residence hall. I’d brought a hot plate from home so we all could heat water for instant coffee, tea, and soups. We kept it on the bathroom counter. One evening, Alberta left it on, one or both of the other girls had noticed it, but said nothing. The hot plate remained on for several hours into the night, and by the time anyone realized it, the Formica counter top had melted. We were scared, embarrassed, and darn lucky that it wasn’t worse. So, of course, our mess-up was the subject of an unscheduled all-residents meeting, and we bore the expense of replacement counter top.

My sister Reenié came for Little Sisters Weekend in the dorm. Eleven years old, she thought that dorm life was wonderful. The organizers had set up fun activities for the sisters to do together, and we had a terrific time.

Living in Buell Hall that first semester of college taught me about sharing and getting along with people who were not family. Maybe we didn’t share the same interests or values, but we could compromise or figure out some way that each could fulfill her needs. Dorm life was a valuable part of my growing up, and I am grateful to my parents for those lessons.

Remember the first time you were on your own?

~ xoA ~

The Awake Party

Trudy

Last weekend, we celebrated our dear friend Trudy, who is courageously dealing with end-stage cancer. She wanted to have her party while she was still here to enjoy it. She wanted to see the people who mean a lot to her and, as she said, “hear the nice things they say about me.” 

Trudy’s garden and yard had to be immaculate, after all, she’s the president of the Bakersfield Green Thumb Garden Club. She worked hard to make it happen, hung in there on days when she didn’t feel up to par.  With Trudy’s eye and guidance, and partner Sylvia and sister Rebecca doing the heavy lifting and physically intensive jobs, the setting shone picture-perfect.

Sylvia, Rebecca, and Trudy

Trudy sent out the word, and we all came -- family members, lifelong pals, new friends, motorcycle buddies, and garden club friends. Some traveled from as far away as Arizona and Los Angeles, Aguanga, Littlerock, Sacramento, and Redding, California.  Folks from all over town where Trudy has become dear also showed up. The gals from the Speedway convenience store down the street and Joe from the Bulk Yard were on hand. 

An informal open house-style party, characterized by laughter and stories of Trudy and her antics brought us all together. Ever gracious, though tiring as the day progressed, Trudy took time to visit with each person. And, yes, it was emotional, but that’s to be expected. We care deeply.

Sylvia had spent many hours lovingly creating a slide show that showcased the important areas of Trudy’s life. To everyone’s delight, it ran constantly throughout both afternoons.

Sunday morning, friend Chelli, who had driven in from Arizona the afternoon before, rose with a mission in mind. Her early morning shopping trip resulted in a bountiful array of scrapbooking materials and a small photo printer.  As people arrived at the house later that day, she took pictures of them with Trudy. The guests then created a scrapbook page that displayed the photo and their message for Trudy. Participating in this way initiated a wonderful memory for each one of us while creating the epitome of a memory book for Trudy and Sylvia.

An Awake Party. Not a wake. That’s what Trudy wanted. It gave us a chance to pay our respects to her and to let her know how important she is to us, how much we love her. It’s a priceless gift each of us can hold in our hearts, a gift for which I am beyond grateful.

~ xoA

Memories of Ms. Ruthie

Ruth Lucile Cassells, July 5, 1920 - May 31, 2003

When we grew up in Detroit in the 1950s, our friends thought the Cassells kids had “the coolest” mom. My buddy Saundra and I have reminisced about the times my mother took us to the frenzied  Rock & Roll shows that were popular in those days.  Mom was right beside us as we found our thrill on Blueberry Hill with Fats Domino, did the twist with Chubby Checker,  and were all shook up with Elvis.  Saundra said, “We all wanted your mother.” 

Of course, to her own three kids, she was just “Mom”. We knew without a doubt that she would be at home when we came running in after school. She often had a plate of cookies or a cake sitting on the yellow Formica kitchen table, and the television was always tuned to the channel for Mickey Mouse Club. 

Mom was visible around our school, Marcy Elementary. She donated her time to work on PTA projects and hold an office. Several years, when the sixth-grade classes went on their annual camp outing, she was part of a crew of PTA moms who became the camp cooks.

We grew up listening to country music, cleaning our plates, having our English corrected, and saying “Yes, m’am,” "please," and "thank you." She was a patient, loving teacher, giving Tom, Reenié and me enough responsibility so we could become independent but still enjoy our childhood. And, by her example, she taught us how to grow up to be good, strong, respectful people. 

She was Mommy, Mama, Mom, and Granny before my middle adulthood, when I started calling her Ms. Ruthie while we were on a cross-country road trip. I’d flown back to Detroit to drive with her to her new home in California. Along the way we visited relatives and did some sight-seeing. And, most importantly, we became reacquainted as adults. That journey was a turning point, the transition of our relationship from mother-daughter to mother-daughter-friends.  

Once she arrived on the Bakersfield scene, Ms. Ruthie became everybody’s Mama. She was a "cool Granny," ready for whatever new adventures came along:  trying Mexican food, wine tasting, taking a train trip to visit her granddaughters, riding her three-wheeled bike around town, and  jumping on the back of my motorcycle for her 80^th birthday ride.

There is never enough time with the people whom we love. But, I am eternally grateful for every one of those days and years, time well-spent, with Ms. Ruthie, my mother, my friend.

 ~ xoA ~