Many of the stories featured here deal with Willard, the larger-than-life character who was the front man for the Camp at Gohere Bay for the better part of forty years. But the question I hear from Ruth, the current resident I correspond with, is "What about Mary? Why do the men get all the recognition and the stories? Where is Mary's story?" And better questions may never have been asked. Willard was a brand, a marketing man with a plan. Put a name out there, big and bold, with a face behind it, then set a standard and live up to it. He was tough and, some would say mean, but consistent. But you all know the old saying, 'Behind every successful man is a woman with a big stick to keep him going'. Well, maybe not exactly those words.
Mary was born to a wealthy family in small-town America. Her grandfather was a quarry man who ran with the likes of "Bet-a-Million" Gates and spent his share of money. Then the Great Depression hit on the heels of Prohibition. Properties were lost, demand for building materials dried up and the family fell on hard times. Mary spent her teen years working at the local drug store where she was courted, wooed and hit on by many of the small town's men. Her stunning figure, soft features and thirst for adventure were irresistable. She flew in airplanes on barnstorming tours, rode motorcycles with wealthy businessmen and rarely backed down from a challenge. Her mother's skill as a seamstress kept Mary in fresh and stylish clothing as she met society head on.
Finally the irresistable force met the immovable object, Willard, at a church carnival. Willard was driven and Mary was the perfect foil for his brash demeanor. Together they had no idea what they could not do. Willard had difficulty finding work so he made his own. Whether cleaning beer coils or peddling Christmas trees, he found a way to keep food on the table and a roof over their heads, usually with the help of Mary's management skills.
Nowhere were her skills more evident than in Gohere Bay. For a woman to manage a camp in the 1940's when women didn't even visit such camps was quite a story. She worked hard and held the rugged men to high standards. She expected manners but was tolerant of the occasional joke. She could dress to the nines but was always ready to tag along in khakis and flannel.
Writing about Mary is a challenge because of the variety of who she was and what she did. Among her awards were a Palmer Method award for handwriting, a Field and Stream award for a northern pike she landed, a small-mouth bass mount that hung in the lodge building for years and commendations from various church groups. She played cards everywhere she went, Europe, Mexico, the Arctic, on trains and on planes. I have a photo of her standing with an eight foot marlin that she landed after a two hour fight.
She was strict and competitive. I learned most of what I know of cards from her and some of my proudest moments come from beating her at gin or rummy on lazy afternoons or late nights. She never cut the kids any slack, she said "a victory where someone lets you win is no victory". I know I earned everything I got from her, every card game I won, every time I bested her with rod and reel, the incessant clicking of her perfectly manicured nails on the card table or the side of the boat, was a challenge.
I suppose there's more to say, and you'll see it in the stories that pop up here, but until then know that the women are not forgotten, be it Nona Chabot, who tried to keep up the dream of her husband Dennis, or Christine Peterson, who survived the accident that took her husband and two children, or Ruth who manages the camp on bum knees or my darling who ambled down to the water with a teapot...
C
No comments:
Post a Comment