Post #129 – Women’s Memoirs, ScrapMoir – Matilda Butler and Kendra Bonnett
Congratulations to the Grand Prize Winner of our Women’s Memoirs-Halloween Memoir Writing Contest
Congratulations Sara on your award-winning memoir vignette. We valued the way you included the senses that helped to make this piece come alive, your strong dialogue, and the way you wove the sense of time into your piece.
To Oz? Yes, to Oz!
By Sara Etgen-Baker
October in North Texas is a time when the sun’s angle changes, temperatures are cooler, and days become soggy as the much-needed rainy season begins. This October day, however, autumn burned brightly—like a flaming torch—drying the sidewalk and igniting the color in the leaves. It was a perfect leaf-kicking day, for all the leaves burned with a fiery glow—burnt oranges, crimson reds, golden ambers, eggplant purples, and chestnut browns.
Although a gentle but crisp breeze blew across my face, I couldn’t waste something as precious as autumn sunshine by staying in the house. Subdued by the grace of autumn’s face, I quietly skipped down the street gingerly dancing with autumn’s leaves as they softly swirled around my feet. At twilight, I slowly walked back home.
Winifred Christine Stainbrook Etgen, my mother
“I know, Mama.” I hesitantly responded—trying not to show my disappointment—for I knew this day was coming.
She then handed me a section of the newspaper and said, “Look what I saw in the paper today, sweetie. On Halloween, the Plaza Theater downtown is showing your favorite movie, The Wizard of Oz, and hosting a Halloween costume party for children 10-14 years old.”
She paused, waited for my attention to focus on the advertisement, and asked, “Would you like to go with some of your friends?”
“Oh, that would be fun! May I go as Dorothy Gale? Please, Mama, please!” I pleaded.
“Well, I suppose so. We’ll make your costume together. How does that sound?”
Speechless, I nodded enthusiastically then hugged her. Suddenly, trick or treating was the furthest thing from my mind!
She chuckled approvingly and asked, “To Oz?”
I exclaimed, “Yes. To Oz! To Oz!”
“Okay,” she said, “Tomorrow afternoon we’ll stop by TG&Y and buy a pattern and some blue and white gingham fabric for a jumper. I think you already have a white blouse you can wear with the jumper, but we’ll need some blue and white gingham rickrack for the sleeves. Oh, and don’t let me forget. You’ll need blue socks, not white ones. Just think. We’ll have fun together making your costume.”
“What about ruby red slippers, Mama? I don’t have any red shoes.”
“Let me think……your grandmother has some red shoes. Maybe she’ll loan ‘em to you. You can call her later—after the I Love Lucy show—she always watches Lucy.”
But—just as I Love Lucy was about to air—regular programming was suddenly interrupted. We stared at the black and white screen as the calm yet grim President Kennedy told Americans that the Russians had medium-range ballistic nuclear missiles and nuclear bombers in Cuba—many pointed at major cities in the U.S.
Shortly thereafter, the telephone rang; it was my grandmother—hysterical like so many Americans—as the reality of the Cuban Missile Crisis erupted in front of us. Later that evening, I lay awake trying to comprehend the scope of the situation. Sometime after midnight I glanced outside my bedroom window. The homes—uncharacteristically lit for that time of night—looked like fireflies twinkling across the clear, dark, moonless sky. I heard my parents’ soft whispers in the adjoining room as they discussed converting our hall closet into a bomb shelter and surviving a nuclear attack.
The next morning before mother dropped me off at school, she held my hand, looked into my eyes, and softly said, “If there’s a nuclear bomb today, find your younger brother and take care of him. Whatever you do—don’t leave the school building and don’t come home. You’ll be safer here at school. Remember, when it’s okay to return home, I’ll find you.”
When I looked at mother, I saw something I had never seen before—the juxtaposition of fear and courage on her face. As the magnitude of the situation stung me, I unsuccessfully sniffled back the tears of my own fear and cried, “Mama, I’m scared.”
“Listen, sweetie. I know this is difficult. It’s okay to be afraid….you want to be brave like Dorothy Gale, don’t you?”
“Yes, Mama, I think so.”
She smiled and said, “Of course you do—we all want to be brave. Just remember, Dorothy couldn’t be brave unless she was first afraid. Does that make sense?”
I paused and realized that my mother—even in the midst of a crisis—was teaching me an important lesson.
So, I nodded and replied, “Yes, bravery comes after fear.”
“Right, sweetie. So, promise me you’ll do as I’ve told you. Be brave. Understand?”
As I sat in school that day, I didn’t think about trick or treating, Halloween, the Emerald City, or my Dorothy costume. Instead, my mind wandered endlessly trying to make sense of my drastically different world. I now identified with the fear Dorothy must have felt when the cyclone arrived, picked her up, and deposited her in a strange and terrifying land. I thought to myself, “No wonder the Cowardly Lion was afraid!”
But, because of the Cuban Missile Crisis, my world was much scarier than the Wicked Witch’s castle; Nikita Khruschev was more evil than the Wicked Witch of the West; Cuba was more frightening than Winkie Country; and missiles and nuclear bombs were more harmful than flying monkeys. Like Dorothy, I longed to skip down the Yellow Brick Road and find the powerful Wizard of Oz hoping he’d send me back to the world I had known just yesterday.
In between school lessons, recess, and lunch, we school children spent a good part of the day reviewing Civil Defense evacuation procedures. We also watched Duck and Cover—a cartoon starring Bert the Turtle who taught us children how to “duck and cover” in case of an atomic attack. The school day ended anticlimactically—with no nuclear missiles or bombs striking any of us.
While we were at school, mother spent most of her day converting our hall closet into a bomb shelter. So, when my brother and I arrived home, she showed us our bomb shelter—our temporary home in the event of a nuclear attack. She had lined the closet with cinder blocks to block out atomic radiation; stacked five folding army cots in the corner; and added shelves on either side. Shelves on the left contained can goods, peanut butter, crackers, dry cereal, dried beef, dried milk, beef jerky, spam, hard candy, can opener, bottled water, board games, and a first aid kit. Shelves on the right contained flashlights, batteries, sheets, blankets, towels, pillows, pens, pencils, writing paper, and toilet paper.
Garland, Texas
Even though Cold War tensions remained high for the next several days, neither of us talked about nuclear bombs and bomb shelters. Instead, our joy somehow transformed our fear into courage as we waited for the crisis to unfold. Luckily, by October 28, 1962, the Cuban Missile Crisis had been averted.
Plaza Theater, Garland, Texas
Before she drove off, mother rolled down her window, giggled, and asked, “To Oz?”
“Yes, to Oz!” I exclaimed. “To Oz!”
Then mother drove away as I entered the theater, purchased my concessions, found a seat, and waited for the lights to dim. When they did, the red velvet, waterfall curtain lifted; my stomach dropped to my toes, and recent events quickly disappeared from my mind. Although I had seen The Wizard of Oz at least a dozen times prior to that night, I cried for the first time when Judy Garland sang “Somewhere over the Rainbow.”
I’m not sure why I cried. Maybe I more deeply identified with Dorothy Gale. Perhaps I cried because my dreams—like Dorothy’s—really did come true, for clouds of fear were far behind me and Cold War troubles had melted like lemon drops. Perhaps, just perhaps, I cried because of the lessons I learned while on the way to Oz.
Sara Etgen-Baker is a contented retiree who joyfully works part-time as an editor/proofreader and freelance writer. Her favorite past time, however, is spending time with her soul mate, Bill, with whom she has been married for 28 years.
