The Choices We Make As Women, pt 2

 © Marie-Lan Nguyen / Wikimedia Commons

In an earlier blog, The Choices We Make As Women, admitting my private prejudice, I wrote about my evolving thoughts on the subject of women with children, who work outside the home. Just to clarify, I've always believed that a woman who works outside the home should receive the same pay as her male counterpart. Pay should always be based on job performance and competence, not sex, religion, ethnicity, or even a person's size, as we're being told today (over-weight people earn less). A manager's prejudice or preferences shouldn't enter into the equation in a perfect world. Unfortunately, we don't live in a perfect world.

For me, the unfairness of the job market quickly manifested itself soon after I entered it. As a young woman, I worked for a wig warehouse and trained a young man who eventually took my place. When I discovered I was pregnant and informed my boss I was leaving (single, I moved briefly to Colorado, long story), he thought it was because I learned they were paying my soon-to-be-replacement more money, after-all, he was about to get married and would be supporting a family.

In retrospect, I believe they were afraid I would report them for unfair labor practices and were trying to smooth relations. I had too much on my mind at the time to concern myself with what I was hearing. I was obviously qualified to train him for the job, but I was worth less to them, because I wasn't the head of a family (little did they know). It's amazing, after 40 years, I still hear comments made along the same lines and despite gains in a number of higher paying job markets, women's earnings, according to a recent Forbes magazine article, has stalled at 80% of their male counterparts. It boggles my mind and infuriates me on behalf of my daughter, grand daughters, and other female family members. [Access Forbes article here]

My daughter, Jennifer

Though Mom belabors the point about women and work, my grandmothers are mentioned repeatedly in conversations. Mom doesn't make the connection that despite the fact they would have loved to stay home and continue their domestic lives, and despite their limited marketable skills, finding themselves widowed, each worked outside the home, albeit for a relatively short period of time.

Grandma Fried

In another blog, I mentioned my Grandma Fried's prayers and the comfort she gave me. [Somebody's Praying] My mother's mother, Grandma Fried lived with us when I was a little girl until just before she died of a heart attack. Having a Grandma in the home feels natural to me; it feels like home. It's one of the reasons taking care of an elderly couple when I arrived in Tennessee seemed like a natural fit, and opening my home to Mom was always on the agenda, should she need a place and I had the means.

Grandma Fried, according to Mom, was a staunch Methodist. She didn't dance, or drink alcohol, and attended Church three times on Sundays. She married a card playing Grand Mason much to her parents' chagrin, I surmise. Grandma Fried attended well to her household of three daughters and one son during the day and always bathed and changed from her house-dress into something more presentable when Grandpa Fried arrived home from work in the evening. She met him at the door with a kiss.

Grandpa Fried

Grandpa ate supper with his suit coat and tie on and the family sat at the dining room table. The children didn't speak unless they were acknowledged, as the adults conversed about their day (for better or worse, times have changed). Grandpa was the head of the house. Grandma ordered groceries from the local grocer and Grandpa paid the bill monthly. Grandma didn't know how to write a check, didn't know anything about insurance, or the business end of running a household. Grandpa took care of business issues and Grandma the home, until he died in 1939 at age 59, leaving Grandma and Mom feeling lost.

Grandma and Mom (14 years old) moved in with relatives and were carted off to California, for a few years, before coming back to Nebraska where my mom met my Dad [Driving Ms Nancy]. Mom felt Grandma's pain, having to rely on relatives, and determined she would never place herself in that predicament. It's part of the reason she rages so, at times, about her current status. It's really a fantasy, however. We all rely on one another, certainly some times more then others, but we are interdependent creatures, living lives of perceived independence.

Nancy and Bob, November 22, 1945

They were still living with relatives when Nancy Jane Fried, of Swedish, French, Holland Dutch descent, married Robert John Duros (both 20 years-old), son of a Greek immigrant and a Bohemian transplant. Grandma depended on relatives for a place to live, which is why she spent part of my childhood living with us. She finally found a job working at Goodwill Industries, and Mom recalls the day her mother came home thrilled someone hired her. Her only options at the time were non-skilled labor and living with relatives in order to help provide for herself and my mom. At the time, only about 11% of the workforce were women.

Grandma Duros

Grandma Duros, Albina Hudrlik Holik Duros, lived to be 97 years-of-age. Mom is fascinated with Dad's mother and comments on the fact, in many conversations, that she lived so long. Grandma Duros was a little Bohemian woman, who moved to Omaha, Nebraska from Corsicana. I don't know a lot about her life in Texas. My imagination certainly has come up with several scenarios (and one may find its way into that novel I'll write before my demise), but in the end, we don't know much about her life pre-Omaha. According to Mom, she experienced such a hard life, giving birth to all ten of her children at home. My Uncle Jim wrote that she kept her children well fed, at times using a coal burning stove, and clean, though for years they had only well water and no sewers. She never owned much in the way of material goods, but what amazes Mom is that Grandma Duros was so grateful with so little. Maybe that's one of the secrets to her longevity: thankfulness.

She traveled with three small children under 6 years-old, with her mother to Omaha after her husband died. She couldn't have known what was ahead of her, she only knew she had to find work. Her sister lived in Omaha, which probably helped them make the decision to move. Upon arrival she hired on at a boarding house, and helped support her three children using her skills as a cook. At that time, even fewer women were in the workforce, about 5%. According to family legend, that's where my Grandpa met her. At the turn of the century, in South Omaha, Union Pacific Railroad and the Stockyards hired groups of Greek immigrants just off the boats, to repair the rail lines and work in the packing plants. Grandpa worked as a mail handler for UP, after working briefly for Cudahy Packing Plant.

Grandma was born in the US, but Grandpa jumped ship before reaching New York harbor and lived here illegally until about 1940, when a number of illegal immigrants were given the opportunity to become US citizens. It must have been frightening for them, to live not knowing if they might be separated and he, deported. Family legend states my Greek Orthodox Grandpa proclaimed in his thick accent when he met her, "She can cook, I'm going to marry her." Grandma said she didn't love George when she met him, but grew to love him, because of his care for all the children and his devotion to her.

We lived in Grandma and Grandpa's house (they lived in a small building behind the house, a garage Grandpa rebuilt into an apartment) when I was between 2-4 years old. I still remember Grandma calling me to the little house to hand me homemade bread, fresh from the oven with clumps of fresh butter on top. Oh, how I loved homemade bread, something I miss on my gluten free diet. Gluten free just does not taste the same. In the early afternoons, I'd sit beside Grandma as she shelled peas, or broke green beans for the day's meal or to can for later use. It was shaded and cool on the wooden bench beside the little shingled house out back. I don't remember saying much, I was quiet, I think, but I do remember the feeling of being close to such an earthy woman and feeling important to her, a memory close to my heart. A railroad track lay beyond the garden and the sound of a train whistle today, produces a sense of longing. I do understand my mother's feelings of longing for home.  

Basically domestic women, thrust through circumstances and no choice of their own, into the strange world of working outside the home, when there were few options for women in the work field, both women did the best they could with limited skills. Their lives left an indelible mark on my own.

To be continued....