Category: social commentary

Mean Aunt Martha

An unfulfilled life led her to drink. Her children unfortunately suffered.
acrylic on canvas/ 30” x30”/ gold frame/ $ 399

The following excerpt is from my latest manuscript. Over the Sticker Bush Fence: overcoming barriers for homeless and runaway youth will hopefully be in print in the near future. The printing business moves slowly and methodically. I do look forward to your comments.

Social Justice

“Life has a way of repeating itself, transferring experiences through time from one generation to the next,” said Kate Lore, who at the time was Social Justice Minister at the Unitarian Universalist Church in Portland, Oregon. “As an adult, I’ve worked hard to break the conditions and mindset of poverty experienced by my ancestors, but doing so has not been easy. This is due not only to the lack of resources but to a culture of shame and secrecy. It’s as if part of my destiny is being controlled by unnamed family ghosts.

“The story of my father’s side of the family dates back to Monticello, where my Irish forebears served as indentured servants of Thomas Jefferson in return for passage to America. These farmers eventually paid off their debt and slowly migrated westward, first to Minnesota and then to California. Generation after generation lived hardscrabble lives, never owning the land they farmed, never getting a good education but always working, working, working. Many of these relatives could be characterized as bad apples. Unspoken shame still permeates the family relating to the fact that my father was the product of a forced incestuous relationship between his teenaged mother and her cousin. Also, my paternal grandfather never met his son nor me because his entire life was spent locked up in prison. Though I know he eventually died of cancer, I’ve never found anyone who would tell me what he had done to land behind bars.

“Knowledge of my mother’s family dates back to the Dust Bowl. Though I tried, I never found a relative willing to talk about the past. What I do know is that my mother’s family shared many similarities with my father’s. They were poor, hardworking tenant farmers who migrated west in order to feed their family. They, too, ended up in California, seeking a better life. But like characters out a John Steinbeck novel, Mom’s side of the family migrated to Monterey’s Cannery Row to work the anchovy canneries. I still carry memories of Cannery Row. It was the era before it became a tourist destination: the smell of fish and stale booze, the site of rusted boat hulls and passed-out-winos and the sounds of seagulls screeching over the next incoming fish haul are captured in my mind. Industrial Cannery Row faded over time and eventually the cannery jobs did, too. My grandparents never escaped the poverty and alcoholism that has plagued and continues to plague, my mother’s family.

My parent’s lives came together in the mid-fifties. They met as young adults in church, both eager to break free from their families of origin and have good lives. Married in 1957, their first child came along three years later. Tragically for my sister and me, their love did not last long. By the time of my birth, Dad was having an affair with another woman.

Born in 1960, I was unaware that my parents were not doing well as a couple. At six months of age, Mom moved her children to join Dad in Tanzania where he had accepted a teaching job. She hoped by doing so that his affair would end. My sister, who was then three and I spent the next several years speaking Swahili and living among people native to that land. I found out later that during the entire three years we lived abroad, my father had continued corresponding with the woman with whom he’d been seeing before we left. But the final shock did not set in until we arrived back home to the San Francisco airport. My mother still had luggage and children in hand when my father turned to her and said; “ This is where we part ways. I’m leaving you. You are on your own.” With that announcement he took a few of his personal belongings and left the airport to live with his lover. I would not see him for many, many years to come.

We found ourselves stranded, possessing nothing. We did not know where to go, nor did Mom have any idea of how she was going to find our next meal. In this emergency situation she wound up moving back to her childhood home with alcoholic parents, not a safe place for kids of any age, and bad for little ones who had just lost their father. It was worse for my sister than me, though, because she was always Daddy’s little girl, the one who had my father’s heart. . . or so she thought. Once abandoned, my dark-haired sister started acting out. She became the “evil one” in the family, and I, a blond, reacted by becoming super sweet. My behavior was an effective survival technique. By being a loving, cuddly kid I could get what I needed. I may have been plain but I was smart. Looking back I wondered if my lifelong “good girl” behavior was largely a reaction to the way my sister acted. I’m not sure. But I have come to believe that my compulsion to be good and the compassion I have for others comes from someplace deep within.

Without a college degree, the only work my mother could find was minimum wage employment. When she worked we were left to the care of our grandparents. Two lively little girls living with inebriated adults was a dangerous situation. That became especially apparent when one one day my grandfather had had enough of the noise my sister was making. He drunkenly grabbed a fork and lunged to stab her in the hand. Thankfully she moved in time or she would have been maimed. Mom realized at that moment that she had to move on but again was lost about what to do and where to go.

She sought advice from a previous mentor, a woman who had been her second-grade teacher in elementary school. Connie Sellars had taken a liking to her as a youngster who came to school from an alcoholic family. Connie got her involved in church and encouraged her to sing in the children’s choir. She and my mother remained friends, writing to each other throughout her trials. Being a Good Samaritan, Connie offered us a place to live in a nearby house that she had recently inherited, asking only $75 a month in rent, an amount that was never raised over the years. If it were not for the kindness of this one individual, I’m not sure what we would have done. Housing is a prerequisite to so many things: security, status, and stability.

Still, I felt shame living in our house. Paint was peeling off the walls and the grass was never cut because we could not afford a mower. We never owned a car which meant that for ten hours a day my sister and I were left at home to raise ourselves while mom rode buses long distances to work as a clerk typist in a distant school district.

Neighbors felt sorry for us, two little urchins abandoned by fate, and they treated us kindly even though our presence “brought the neighborhood down.” They helped fill the house with cast off furniture, responding to our needs compassionately. I attribute their help to the fact that homeless families were a rare phenomenon back then. Neighbors were less inclined to judge us and more inclined to help out. The era was before the 1980s when America suddenly began demonizing the poor. Americans still had compassion for the destitute and had not yet been exposed to Ronald Reagan’s portrayal of single moms as being lazy, unproductive “Welfare Queens.”
_______
Kate survived her difficult childhood due to the camera and compassion of neighbors, church members, and educators. The adage, “it takes a village to raise a child” is a wise one that benefited her. Now, as an adult she decided to give back to the community as a minister focused on social justice. She left the church last year for employment with Volunteers of America where she oversees a large network of shelters for abused women. Childhood experiences often affect the career choices we make. Rather than be succumb to self pity or depression she saw life’s beauty and wants to share her blessedness with those who are less fortunate.

A few questions to answer below:

Did you ever have a childhood experience that influenced your career choice?

Have you been motivated to help someone outside of you immediate family?

There are thousands of children in the United States who would benefit by having a mentor. Ever think of getting involved with one or more of them? If so, please, share you experiences.

Art is always for sale. Please contact me at marilynne@eichingerfineart.com.

Articulated Whales By Ray Losey

Importance of Community

Over the Sticker Bush Fence is a book about homeless and runaway youth. It discusses the difficulties that arise due to childhood neglect and abuse. During the past three years I interviewed many people who were motivated to work with this population because of experiences they had in their own childhood. I introduce you to Kanoe Egleston, a woman employed by Native American Youth and Family Services (NAYA} who learned to value the importance of community. Following is an excerpt from my soon to be published book.

“Born on the outskirts of Oahu, Hawaii, Kanoe grew up surrounded by the love and attention that all children deserve. “My father was employed by the Bishop Estate, a non-profit land trust donated by Bernice Pauahi Bishop, the great-granddaughter of King Kamehameha the great, who united the Hawaiian Islands during the 18th century. Mom worked her way up as a customer service representative at the local telephone company,” Kanoe mused. “Dad enjoyed his job with a culturally responsible agency for it gave him an opportunity to bring his values into their service delivery system.”

His ethical attitude played an important role in developing the young woman who sat across from me in NAYA’s offices. Dark hair and flashing brown eyes sparkled when discussing the work she was doing. She leaned forward as she spoke, peering directly at me to capture my complete attention. The island Kanoe grew up on was replete with relatives who entertained and shared their heritage with the youngsters born into their extended family. Her multiracial background—she says she is part Scottish, Puerto Rican, Chinese, German, Portuguese, Japanese, Hawaiian—helped her grasp the nuances of being a member of a population that deviated from the majority.

“My grandmother taught me a lot,” Kanoe said. “Grandma met her husband during the second world war when he was stationed in Japan. They married and had two children who they brought to the island to raise. At the time Pearl Harbor was still on the minds of most people ‘ya know, and a Japanese wife was not welcome. Grandma Americanized her name, stopped speaking her native language and buried her background. As a result, her children grew up ignorant of part of their heritage.

It wasn’t until we grandchildren came along that she decided we were missing a great deal by not knowing where we came from. Grandma set her mind to teaching us to speak Japanese, learn some of the traditions and do crafts such as flower arranging. In college, I continued to study Japanese.”

At the age of eighteen Kanoe decided to expand her horizons by attending college in the States. “Leaving home and going to the mainland was traumatic. Until that time I lived a pretty charmed life attending private Montessori and Waldorf schools. Mornings were filled with academic subjects and afternoons were for the arts, music, and crafts. There were no grades but the staff gave total attention to developing each child’s strengths. There were only 17 kids in my graduating class.”

Kanoe mentioned with nostalgia, “It wasn’t until I went to the University of Oregon that I realized how different my upbringing was. My Hawaiian skin was darker than that of most students and it isolated me. Even the way I spoke English was different. Common words I used in conversation were not understood by my classmates and vice versa. If it wasn’t for the university’s peer mentorship and diversity program I don’t think I would have lasted.”

“What made you decide to work with disadvantaged youth?” I asked wondering how anyone with such lovely bronzed skin would have difficulty being accepted. She looked every bit like a poster beauty welcoming visitors to the island with a hula.
“Being thrust as I had been, into a racial and cultural divide, made me interested in working with homeless teens. I decided to get my undergraduate degree in psychology and sociology. Part of the program included working with disadvantaged youth. It made me realize what happens when children do not grow up in a loving circle. I realized that my community was how I stayed alive and had hope. These kids felt hopeless. ”

Kanoe’s story reinforces the importance family and friends play in molding a young person’s life. In community, a child learns to trust others, develops socialization skills, and imbibes and ethical consciousness. Those bereft of a caring community may feel an emptiness and longing that leads them to join a gang for support. Others escape to the streets where they there is a transient community of youth to call “friends.” It is a mistake to think that these adolescents don’t have values, for they do and quickly adapt to a complex system of street rules. Extremely loyal to their new companions, many will even go to jail rather than “rat” or leave them stranded. Though street values may appear to be directed against the broader society, they are a strong base for change. Mores that include sharing, loyalty, and a willingness to give emotional and physical support are building blocks needed to create a just society.

TV Diva
A television sex-pot selling to a crazed audience.
Acrylic on Canvas/ 40” by 30” /$ 499

In Honor of Hugh Hefner

Surprisingly, Hugh Hefner helped me get my start as director of a science center. Since he died recently I thought I would share the story of how the Playboy Bunnies assisted Impression 5, the Lansing, Michigan museum I founded, over a hurdle and propelled me into my career that eventually brought me to Portland to run the Oregon Museum of Science and Industry (OMSI). At times I am shocked by what I did, but during the early 70’s I was a naive yet ambitious, young housewife interested in providing the best for my young ones.

The year was 1972 and I had just moved with my family from Boston to reside in Lansing, Michigan. There were few museums in the community and with four children running around the house when it rained, there were times I thought I would go crazy. One such day, over a cup of coffee, a friend and I brainstormed about starting a hands-on museum. Friends from the engineering and physics departments at Michigan State University (MSU) enthusiastically helped assemble table-top displays to promote the idea but fundraising was less successful, for wherever we turned we received a “not now” answer. It was frustrating to hear the mayor’s assistant tell us to get in line behind a long list of projects. The director of the YMCA reconfirmed the hopelessness of our cause by saying that we would never get the project off the ground because there were only two things that mattered, one was sports and the other was sex. Since the science center did not promote either, we did not have a chance of succeeding.

What happened next, is from Lives of Museum Junkies: The Story of America’s Hands-on Museums.

“One day, with not much to do, I relaxed in my office reading a magazine article about how the Playboy Bunnies visited communities to engage in sporting events against local celebrities in order to raise money for charity. My brain started churning and I remembered what the director of the YMCA had said: ‘Sports and sex would be the secret of success.’

The Detroit Playboy Club was close enough to Lansing so I immediately called their manager. Much to my amazement, without hesitation or questions, the Bunnies agreed to visit and play basketball against our community businessmen. Days were becoming exciting once more. I telephoned every well-known chief executive I could think of and asked for his involvement. Not one man declined. The game was on with a who’s who of local participants that included the mayor, president of MSU, superintendent of schools, CEOs of various manufacturing companies, real estate developers, the head of Oldsmobile, and state politicians. When the Lansing State Journal learned of the event we had all the makings of the game to became a feature.

One problem, a big one, reared its ugly head and I was reminded of lesson #1: “Nothing ever occurs as you might imagine.” The early 70s heralded in the start of the women’s lib movement with books by Gloria Steinem and Betty Friedan circulating and being read by a wide audience. The equal rights amendment was headed to the states for ratification and organizations like Planned Parenthood and NOW were growing in prominence.

In East Lansing a group of high school students and university women threatened to picket the Bunny Game. What had started out as a fun crazy event was turning into a political nightmare and we didn’t know what to do. Now we had the makings not of a feature but of a gossip column. In fact, the gossip columnist did pick up the controversy with gusto and had a great time splashing the story daily. A number of the men who held public office called to inform me that they were reluctantly compelled to back out of their commitment.

My stomach churned with worry and I started looking for ways to work with the women libbers, finally coming up with the idea of asking Michigan State University’s woman’s basketball team if they would be willing to hold a practice game against our local celebrities. I hoped that by involving the female team the newspaper would soften the Playboy image and make the game acceptable. Their coach agreed to the practice, and the celebrity men arrived for a grueling session. The women were fantastic athletes in perfect condition. The men, many of whom were potbellied, had to be replaced every three minutes to ensure there were no injuries. Our celebrity team enjoyed their practice game, but it was not enough to silence the critics. Ticket sales were sparse and we were prepared to fail when a miracle occurred.

Thankfully for us (though tragically for a great many) we were rescued by Mother Nature. The night before the game clouds exploded and it started to rain and rain and rain. The Lansing area was deluged with a fifty-year flood and all citizens not concerned with water-filled basements were called on to bag the river banks. Jenison Field House at MSU was swamped with two and a half feet of water flooding the basketball court. The Playboy Bunny Game had to be canceled.

My sigh of relief is still carried on the winds today. But the upside to the controversy is that the science museum became a known entity and was on its way to becoming more than just an office in a public school. The entire Lansing community knew what was being planned and though many did not like the Bunny Game they certainly did support our idea for Impression 5.”

Lessons Learned? Bad publicity is sometimes better than no publicity and growth comes from taking risks.

I am now more sympathetic to feminine issues and would not embark on such a sex-based enterprise today. When I see how women are treated on internet pornography sites, in prostitution rings, and with domestic abuse, I am more willing to picket than promote Hefner style enterprises.

“Lives of Museum Junkies” by Marilynne Eichinger shares the good, bad, and ugly of starting the nations hands-on science centers. It is available in though Amazon, Barnes and Nobel, Powells Books, Broadway Books, MAC Emporium, and Kindle.

Dream Summer

Art took over my spirit this week. As usual, my paintings are an expression feelings. In this case, I was happy that summer finally arrived and plan to make the most of my time outdoors but wondered if I will feel the same when the weather is over 100 degrees. 

Hot? Cold?
Winter seemed like it would last forever. Rain, snow, and cold did not bother me at first and I even enjoyed the snow that allowed me to sled down the hill near our house. But, as March turned into April and early blooms did not appear when they usually do, I too had to fight depression. Once the cold left Portland, though, I wondered how long it would take to hear complaints about the heat.

I did not have to wait long, for parts of the country have been buried under sweltering temperatures and Portland is next, for Sunday it is expected to have a 101 degree temperature. My son and his wife took their children to Washington, DC when school ended and are surviving several weeks of a humid heat wave of similar proportions.

Our next door neighbors went to Portugal a week ago, thankfully averting the fire that killed so many people. They wrote that they spend more time than usual in their air conditioned car viewing sites rather than walking in the heat. I was saddened to hear of those in Phoenix where temperatures have reached 122 degrees. I can’t imagine what it is like to go out when the weather is that extreme and now worry that I will face a similar situation when traveling to Ecuador’s Amazon Rainforest in August.

These thoughts make me curious about what it takes to adapt to changes in weather. Historically, people did not have furnaces, yet they managed to survive ice ages and treks through the Sahara Desert. The heat bothers me most for I don’t like touching another person with a sweaty body. If I lived near the equator I probably would never have had five children. I have been assured, however, that I was capable of adapting to extremes in temperature.

As early as 1847, Biologist Carl Bergman noticed that those living in hot climates have less body mass while in colder regions tend to be bulkier. Their greater density provides for more cells to produce heat. Examining the length of appendages in further studies it was noted that there is an advantage in the tropics to be slender with long limbs which assist in evaporating body heat. Those who live in humid conditions have a more difficult time perspiring and are more subject to overheating. This is why those in the tropical Africa with maximum body surface, wide noses which do not warm the air as thin ones do, dark skin to shield solar radiation, and little body fat have advantages. In dry hot climates, though,it is still advantageous to be thin, it is not to be tall for water loss is a problem is are not benefited by long limbs. In areas like at the Middle East, moderate skin pigmentation provides protection from the sun but also permits sweating.

The opposite is true in cold climates where short massive bodies, short arms and legs, flat faces, fat pads over the sinuses, heavier than average layer of body fat are favored. These adaptations allow for increased metabolic rates, minimum heat loss which in the extremities helps grade against frostbite. Narrow nasal passages protect lungs and the base of the brain. Of course, residents are helped by a diet rich in fatty foods, warm clothing and remaining active when outdoors. Moderately cold environments are slightly different for tall, stockily built individuals are favored, though a narrow nose is still favored.

Acclimatization is a physiological response to the environment that can take place within certain parameters. In cold climates, hypothermia, a drop in core body temperature, is a great danger. Normal temperature is 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit but when the body’ s heat falls to 94 degrees the natural temperature regulating system usually fails. In hot climates, it takes only a few days of having a body temperature over 105 degrees to trigger deterioration of internal organs. Though certain bodies favor living in one climate or another, adaptation can take place for those with the willpower (see last week’s blog) to mentally reset their internal thermostat.

Those moving to cold climates are advised to slowly introduce themselves to cooler situations. For example, polar explorer, “Birdie” Bowers went to the South Pole in 1911 with Robert Scott. He was described as a man able to sleep soundly in freezing conditions that were impossible for his companions. He method for adaptation started as soon as he arrived in the Antarctic by starting a routine of throwing icy buckets of water and slush over his naked body every morning. During his first icy excursion in July, he successfully collected three Emperor Penguin Eggs before returning to home base. Unfortunately, acclimatization did not allow him to survive a November expedition to the South Pole, for all members of the team died during a March blizzard when a dog relief team failed to show up.

Early missionaries found that the natives of Tierra del fugal at the tip of South American were unclothed even during frigid cold winters. The women swam in 48 degree waters when hunting for shell fish, and families often slept in the open, unsheltered and unclothed. To provide a barrier against the elements they smeared themselves with seal oil. Moving about without shoes they occasionally wrapped their naked bodies in an animal skin on bitterly cold days.

Many studies show that repeated exposure to cold usually results in increased tolerance, a situation which I can anecdotally confirm. When first moving to Lansing, Michigan, I found the cold to be intolerable. Boston winters were never as severe and I thought I would never leave the warmth of my fireplace. After several years, however, I adjusted and loved leaving home to cross country ski after the children were in bed even though the temperature was well below freezing. My husband and I went north for a vacation during the coldest week of the year in order to ski on frozen rivers and drink hot chocolate in nearby inns.

I did jump into a snow melt river in Colorado once and was surprised at how my body adapted. I did not take more than five minutes before I had to get out, but when dry, my body felt hot. I tingled all over and was invigorated as we hiked on.

It is important to be careful when ice swimming, for there are instances of people jumping into cold water to have a heart attack and die. Before entering an ice pond, consider getting used to cold water by lowering body temperature with cold showers and starting with short icy immersions. If you plan to do it often a diet of fatty foods is advisable.

Doug Strain, a man I greatly admired, was a conscientious objector during WWII. He was recruited to participate in a military experiment to study how much food is needed if you you have a lowered body temperature. Each day, subjects were put in a meat freezer without jackets. In the evening, they were allowed out and when sent to bed they were not allowed to use blankets. The subjects needed a tremendous amount of food to maintain body weight. Doug mentioned, that though they ate as much as they wanted, everyone lost pounds. H concluded with a smile, “that an entrepreneur could make a lot of money by starting a freezarium for weight loss.”

Now that summer is here my desire is to be able to adjust to warmth as quickly as possible. The Korey Stringer Institute at the University of Connecticut reports that it takes 7-14 days for the body to adapt to heat. Once it does there will be positive bodily adjustments such as a reduced heart rate, changed skin temperature responses, and a different perception of exertion. The institute stresses the importance of acclimatizing to hot weather slowly, resting between exertions, increasing salt intake, and taking breaks to avoid overheating. They recommend that meal should be small before exercise and that water intake be increased. Athletes especially need to pay attention to these warnings, and those who do, are likely to find themselves with improved blood pressure and a greater ability to handle heat stress during exercise.

References.
Cool Antartica, Cold Acclimation and Acclimatization in Humans- Science of the Cold.
http://www.coolantarctica.com/Antarctica%20fact%20file/science/cold_acclimation_human.php

Adapting to Climate Extremes, http://anthro.palomar.edu/adap

Heat Acclimatization, Korea Stringer Institute, University of Connecticut,
http://ksi.uconn.edu/prevention/heat-acclimatization/

Climatic Adaptation, Physical Anthropology, writtten by editors of Encyclopedia Britannica, https://www.britannica.com/science/climatic-adaptation

Kelly, James, In Search of Paradise Lost in Tierra del Fuego, 2017, Earth island Journal,
http://www.earthisland.org/journal/index.php/elist/eListRead/in_search_of_paradise_lost_in_tierra_del_fuego/gclid=CjwKEAjw1a3KBRCY9cfsmdmWgQ0SJAATUZ8bjJ1p4s3GjhZWynM7Qw8RBa7E7KIK6L8tX4uo1bd1YBoCQVbw_wcB

Art is always for sale. Dream Summer is and acrylic painting on deep canvas / 24” by 20” /
$ 450.for sale / contact marilynne@eichingerfineart.com for information.