W hen twenty-year-old cosmetologist Frank Meyner moved from a tiny West Texas town to the big city of Fort Worth, he had no inkling of the places his cutting shears would take him. Now, his warmhearted, colorful retelling, Hair Spray, High Heels, and Second Hand Smoke, shares his

journey from a small-town boy to the founder of one of the city’s leading salons.

With its wealth of big hearts and great hair, Meyner’s captivating tale follows him from humble Hamlin to Fort Worth for his first job at the exclusive Neiman Marcus, where he served as assistant to the legendary stylist Phillip Trotter. There, he was initiated into the upper echelons of Fort Worth society, giving audience to their colorful lifestyle, myriad eccentricities, and graceful charm. After he leaves the salon for his own chair elsewhere, Meyner eventually grabs the brass curling iron and opens his own salon, in which he styles a high-spirited who’s who list of always-entertaining patrons for the next thirty years.

Amid these “Steel Magnolias” of Fort Worth, Meyner wields his scissors and humor with grace, wit, and humanity. His heartwarming success story turns the salon chair to reveal the generosity, selflessness, and boundless love of this delightful community of customers and colleagues. It’s a must for anyone looking for a fabulous lift that’s sure to produce a permanent smile.

Author F RANK MEYNE R is a hairdresser and the owner of Frank Meyner’s Mane Event in Fort Worth, Texas.

Hairspray, High Heels, and Second Hand Smoke Frank Meyner

High Heels, &Second Hand Smoke

Fr a n k M e y n e r1956347814789

ISBN 978-1478195634

Hairspray,

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Hai rspray, High Heel s,& Second Hand Smoke

Frank Meyner

iii

Copyright © 2012 by Frank MeynerAll rights reserved.ISBN: 1478195630

ISBN-13: 9781478195634Library of Congress Control Number: 2012912341

CreateSpace, North Charleston, SC

Dedication

To all my loving clients, who made immeasurable contributions to my life. They watched and helped me grow and, in the process, became my friends. I will be forever indebted. Had it not been for their encouragement, this book would not have been born.

Thank you, my friends.

iii

Copyright © 2012 by Frank MeynerAll rights reserved.ISBN: 1478195630

ISBN-13: 9781478195634Library of Congress Control Number: 2012912341

CreateSpace, North Charleston, SC

Dedication

To all my loving clients, who made immeasurable contributions to my life. They watched and helped me grow and, in the process, became my friends. I will be forever indebted. Had it not been for their encouragement, this book would not have been born.

Thank you, my friends.

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v

A cknowledgements

Having worked at a salon for over thirty-six years, I have seen and heard it all. I do have an excellent memory—but my life has been filled with so many clients, I sometimes found it nec-essary to merge many personalities into a single character, so this book could have a smaller cast. This book is therefore a mix of fact and fiction, which I hope will make it easier to read. The events did occur, although maybe not exactly as written. The dialogue, actions, and phrases are as I remember.

My grandparents did me a great favor by instilling their values in me. My gratitude for their support and love has no bounds.

Waymon was the greatest mentor as a hairdresser. He wanted the best for his young protégé. I learned so much from this won-derful, funny, and talented man. He guided me towards success in countless ways.

After almost thirty years of working alongside me, Margaret too has seen and been through everything. She truly is a priceless gem in my life.

vi vii

Willie and Pearl both added a service that will likely never be surpassed, due to their expertise and skill. Their talent is proof that success is a powerful asset. I miss them both since their retirement.

Marcy Baird made such a great impact on me. She was one of the first clients who must have realized my potential. She made me feel extra special, even though I was just a naïve boy from Hamlin.

Robert added a dimension to my life that demonstrates how love and support appear when we least expect them. I suppose those guardian angels are watching. I have benefitted a great deal.

My adorable dogs, who have shown so much love, have truly been my babies: Sweet Pea, Olive, Mr. D., Katie O’Connor, Sebas-tian, Belle, Tweety, Sylvester, Elphaba, and the newest member of the family, Courage.

I would like to thank Marilyn Komechak for evaluating my manuscript when I began. She said, “Frank, you have quite a flair for writing.”

LeNelle Campbell also encouraged me, saying, “Frank, when I read your writing, I can hear these people speak, especially Wendell.” I trusted her judgment, since she published a magazine for many years.

Anne Kane’s gentle persistence reminded me I had a story that would interest many people. Her positive results with CreateSpace, and her encouraging input, helped me make my decision to proceed with publishing my book.

Special thanks to Mita at CreateSpace for an incredible job editing.

Lastly, my thanks to Olive Pelich for being a friend like no other I’ve ever had!

Introduction

It was another hot Texas July. They were all the same—no rain and lots of air-conditioning. But this one was different for me, very different. It was not just any day; it was the first day of my life’s career. You see, I grew up in a small town in West Texas, and had just moved to the metropolis of Fort Worth. Since Hamlin’s population was a little over three thousand, Fort Worth could well have been New York City where I was concerned. I was formally dressed—a coat and a tie were mandatory—and driving my ‘68 Mustang.

This place was different from Hamlin: so many trees, houses, and cars. Back home, I would have recognized every one of those cars; I knew who drove which one. I stopped to admire the manicured yards. I understood the country club was nearby; I knew nothing about it. Hamlin did not have one. I felt like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz. “Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.” I had never seen so much green. The residents in Hamlin who watered their yards were few and far between. This city looked like a Technicolor motion picture.

I continued to drive, gawking at the beautiful homes I passed. They had nothing in common with the ones in Hamlin. I breathed deeper—I was almost there. Turning the corner, I caught a glimpse of the fanci-est department store I had ever heard of: Neiman-Marcus—with the

vi vii

Willie and Pearl both added a service that will likely never be surpassed, due to their expertise and skill. Their talent is proof that success is a powerful asset. I miss them both since their retirement.

Marcy Baird made such a great impact on me. She was one of the first clients who must have realized my potential. She made me feel extra special, even though I was just a naïve boy from Hamlin.

Robert added a dimension to my life that demonstrates how love and support appear when we least expect them. I suppose those guardian angels are watching. I have benefitted a great deal.

My adorable dogs, who have shown so much love, have truly been my babies: Sweet Pea, Olive, Mr. D., Katie O’Connor, Sebas-tian, Belle, Tweety, Sylvester, Elphaba, and the newest member of the family, Courage.

I would like to thank Marilyn Komechak for evaluating my manuscript when I began. She said, “Frank, you have quite a flair for writing.”

LeNelle Campbell also encouraged me, saying, “Frank, when I read your writing, I can hear these people speak, especially Wendell.” I trusted her judgment, since she published a magazine for many years.

Anne Kane’s gentle persistence reminded me I had a story that would interest many people. Her positive results with CreateSpace, and her encouraging input, helped me make my decision to proceed with publishing my book.

Special thanks to Mita at CreateSpace for an incredible job editing.

Lastly, my thanks to Olive Pelich for being a friend like no other I’ve ever had!

Introduction

It was another hot Texas July. They were all the same—no rain and lots of air-conditioning. But this one was different for me, very different. It was not just any day; it was the first day of my life’s career. You see, I grew up in a small town in West Texas, and had just moved to the metropolis of Fort Worth. Since Hamlin’s population was a little over three thousand, Fort Worth could well have been New York City where I was concerned. I was formally dressed—a coat and a tie were mandatory—and driving my ‘68 Mustang.

This place was different from Hamlin: so many trees, houses, and cars. Back home, I would have recognized every one of those cars; I knew who drove which one. I stopped to admire the manicured yards. I understood the country club was nearby; I knew nothing about it. Hamlin did not have one. I felt like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz. “Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.” I had never seen so much green. The residents in Hamlin who watered their yards were few and far between. This city looked like a Technicolor motion picture.

I continued to drive, gawking at the beautiful homes I passed. They had nothing in common with the ones in Hamlin. I breathed deeper—I was almost there. Turning the corner, I caught a glimpse of the fanci-est department store I had ever heard of: Neiman-Marcus—with the

viii

Hairspray, High Heels, & Second Hand Smoke

ix

Frank Meyner

“Yes ma’am, Mrs. Glenn,” I answered in my Texas accent.“Oh Frank, this may be Neiman’s, but we consider our staff

family. Call me Judith,” she requested.“Yes ma’am, Mrs. Glenn,” I replied.She rolled her eyes, and took a few steps past the marble front

desk. I followed her. We continued to Phillip’s chair. I should say there were four styling chairs. I had been hired as an assistant to Mr. Phillip Trotter, the leading stylist for Neiman’s. His reputation was well known across the United States—dozens of photo shoots, magazine articles, and scads of wealthy clients. Over six feet tall, Phillip towered over everyone. He had dark hair and a moustache.

“Good morning,” he said in his commanding voice. “Are you ready for your first day?”

“Yes sir,” I said timidly.“Eddy Doll,” Phillip called out, “Frank is here. Show him around

to get him familiar with everything.” Eddy Doll was a plump older black woman. “Okay,” she said in

a sweet voice. “Come on. I’ll show you where we keep the supplies and equipment.”

We walked to the back, passing an endless line of hair dryers, and walls of mirrors.

“These are our shampoo bowls,” she pointed out on the way. We continued walking, but my mind had drifted somewhere else. “Frank,” Eddy Doll said, raising her voice.“Yes ma’am.”“Pay attention. Phillip has a busy day, and I won’t have time to

go over this again.” “Sorry, Eddy Doll,” I apologized.“Don’t worry. This place only seems intimidating. Neiman’s has

some of the nicest rich folks I’ve ever met. The only difference is that life is just a little bit easier for them,” Eddy Doll informed me.

hyphen; I was not to know that it would be dropped later. Mr. Marcus was still around to keep an eye on the operations. Dallas already had its flagship store downtown, and another in the exclusive North Park shopping center, a location in Houston, and now Fort Worth had one of its very own.

I would soon learn that this place was a lot like the country club I mentioned earlier. The white stucco monolith had “NEIMAN-MARCUS” displayed in letters at least ten feet tall. When you were only five foot four, everything seemed larger than life. I forgot to men-tion that I had not made it to my twenty-first birthday yet. There were men in uniforms, starched shirts, silk neckties, and women in dresses that floated like clouds as they walked by. Nothing could establish it more emphatically in my mind that this was no longer Hamlin.

The employee entrance reminded me of home, not much glam-our there! After all, I was the hired help. Smiling, I greeted the other employees, walking past bins of clothes, boxes, hangers, and what seemed like acres of space. The journey from the stockroom to the store’s interior involved a radical transformation—marble floors, shin-ing glass counters, and an endless array of things that I had never seen at Woolworth’s. In fact Hamlin did not even have a Woolworth’s. We had Winn’s, the Texas version of the five-and-ten. Now back to work. I walked pass The Hedges, which was Neiman’s tearoom—fancy, dark, and elegant. Stationery on the left; then a left turn, a quick right, and there was the Neiman-Marcus Beauty Salon. I had arrived.

Entering, I was greeted by Mrs. Judith Glenn, the manager, a lovely slender Englishwoman, with red hair highlighted by golden streaks of blonde. I soon learned those golden streaks were a source of added income. She seemed oldish (at this point anyway); I would say she was thirty-five.

“Frank, Phillip and Eddy Doll are here,” Judith announced. “Are you ready for your first day?”

viii

Hairspray, High Heels, & Second Hand Smoke

ix

Frank Meyner

“Yes ma’am, Mrs. Glenn,” I answered in my Texas accent.“Oh Frank, this may be Neiman’s, but we consider our staff

family. Call me Judith,” she requested.“Yes ma’am, Mrs. Glenn,” I replied.She rolled her eyes, and took a few steps past the marble front

desk. I followed her. We continued to Phillip’s chair. I should say there were four styling chairs. I had been hired as an assistant to Mr. Phillip Trotter, the leading stylist for Neiman’s. His reputation was well known across the United States—dozens of photo shoots, magazine articles, and scads of wealthy clients. Over six feet tall, Phillip towered over everyone. He had dark hair and a moustache.

“Good morning,” he said in his commanding voice. “Are you ready for your first day?”

“Yes sir,” I said timidly.“Eddy Doll,” Phillip called out, “Frank is here. Show him around

to get him familiar with everything.” Eddy Doll was a plump older black woman. “Okay,” she said in

a sweet voice. “Come on. I’ll show you where we keep the supplies and equipment.”

We walked to the back, passing an endless line of hair dryers, and walls of mirrors.

“These are our shampoo bowls,” she pointed out on the way. We continued walking, but my mind had drifted somewhere else. “Frank,” Eddy Doll said, raising her voice.“Yes ma’am.”“Pay attention. Phillip has a busy day, and I won’t have time to

go over this again.” “Sorry, Eddy Doll,” I apologized.“Don’t worry. This place only seems intimidating. Neiman’s has

some of the nicest rich folks I’ve ever met. The only difference is that life is just a little bit easier for them,” Eddy Doll informed me.

hyphen; I was not to know that it would be dropped later. Mr. Marcus was still around to keep an eye on the operations. Dallas already had its flagship store downtown, and another in the exclusive North Park shopping center, a location in Houston, and now Fort Worth had one of its very own.

I would soon learn that this place was a lot like the country club I mentioned earlier. The white stucco monolith had “NEIMAN-MARCUS” displayed in letters at least ten feet tall. When you were only five foot four, everything seemed larger than life. I forgot to men-tion that I had not made it to my twenty-first birthday yet. There were men in uniforms, starched shirts, silk neckties, and women in dresses that floated like clouds as they walked by. Nothing could establish it more emphatically in my mind that this was no longer Hamlin.

The employee entrance reminded me of home, not much glam-our there! After all, I was the hired help. Smiling, I greeted the other employees, walking past bins of clothes, boxes, hangers, and what seemed like acres of space. The journey from the stockroom to the store’s interior involved a radical transformation—marble floors, shin-ing glass counters, and an endless array of things that I had never seen at Woolworth’s. In fact Hamlin did not even have a Woolworth’s. We had Winn’s, the Texas version of the five-and-ten. Now back to work. I walked pass The Hedges, which was Neiman’s tearoom—fancy, dark, and elegant. Stationery on the left; then a left turn, a quick right, and there was the Neiman-Marcus Beauty Salon. I had arrived.

Entering, I was greeted by Mrs. Judith Glenn, the manager, a lovely slender Englishwoman, with red hair highlighted by golden streaks of blonde. I soon learned those golden streaks were a source of added income. She seemed oldish (at this point anyway); I would say she was thirty-five.

“Frank, Phillip and Eddy Doll are here,” Judith announced. “Are you ready for your first day?”

x

Hairspray, High Heels, & Second Hand Smoke

1

Chapter One

Hamlin was a lot like all small West Texas towns. It did not have the distinction of being the county seat, with one of those wonderful, eclectic courthouses, which were popular during the late 1800s and 1900s. It was only a crossroads for US 83, running north and south, and State Highway 92, to the east and west. Basically, Hamlin was the shape of a plus sign, and not particularly exciting. Oh well, it was a charming town in its own way, teeming with all the local merchants you would expect in the 1960s.

Early in my life, my parents had got a divorce, and my two sisters and I had gone to live with my father’s parents. I was so young that all I really remember was the joy of going to live with Grandma and Granddaddy in their house. What a deal, living with your grandparents! Must be like Christmas every day, I thought. Boy was I wrong! While seventy-two-year-old Carl and Esther, a spry sixty-four, should be put up for sainthood for being able to raise three kids at their respective ages, they sure needed getting used to, unlike elementary school in my new environment, which was walking distance—three blocks away—from my grandparents’ house. I took to it really quickly, because I liked school. Life began with school, so to speak.

Both of us chuckled.“Phillip likes me to keep a list of his appointments. That way I can

keep track of which client is coming in next,” Eddy Doll explained.“That’s a long list,” I remarked, running my finger along the

names without recognizing any of them—except one. “Eddy Doll!” I exclaimed.

“Yes?” she asks.I pointed to the name.“Yes,” Eddy Doll acknowledged. “I already know what you’re

gonna say.”“Well?”“Yep,” Eddy Doll confirmed.“Are you serious?” My finger was still pointing to the single

name on the appointment pad. “That says, ‘Baird.’ Like the name on all those loaves of bread across Texas.”

“That’s the one, honey,” Eddy Doll said. “And you will just love her! She is the most petite little thing, with the prettiest frosted hair. And she has the best personality, compared to just about any-body that comes into this beauty shop of rich folks. Don’t worry. Pay attention, smile, and listen. You’ll do just fine. They’re only folks. Oh, a few can be kinda demanding, but overall, everything goes pretty smooth.” Eddy Doll’s voice was reassuring.

“Yes ma’am,” I agreed.“You have been here less than thirty minutes, and you’re already

starstruck. You have a lot of growing up to do.” She sounded moth-erly. “I suggest you get used to it.” Eddy Doll laughed.

“I know,” I agreed, grinning.I never imagined the journey would take me so far.

x

Hairspray, High Heels, & Second Hand Smoke

1

Chapter One

Hamlin was a lot like all small West Texas towns. It did not have the distinction of being the county seat, with one of those wonderful, eclectic courthouses, which were popular during the late 1800s and 1900s. It was only a crossroads for US 83, running north and south, and State Highway 92, to the east and west. Basically, Hamlin was the shape of a plus sign, and not particularly exciting. Oh well, it was a charming town in its own way, teeming with all the local merchants you would expect in the 1960s.

Early in my life, my parents had got a divorce, and my two sisters and I had gone to live with my father’s parents. I was so young that all I really remember was the joy of going to live with Grandma and Granddaddy in their house. What a deal, living with your grandparents! Must be like Christmas every day, I thought. Boy was I wrong! While seventy-two-year-old Carl and Esther, a spry sixty-four, should be put up for sainthood for being able to raise three kids at their respective ages, they sure needed getting used to, unlike elementary school in my new environment, which was walking distance—three blocks away—from my grandparents’ house. I took to it really quickly, because I liked school. Life began with school, so to speak.

Both of us chuckled.“Phillip likes me to keep a list of his appointments. That way I can

keep track of which client is coming in next,” Eddy Doll explained.“That’s a long list,” I remarked, running my finger along the

names without recognizing any of them—except one. “Eddy Doll!” I exclaimed.

“Yes?” she asks.I pointed to the name.“Yes,” Eddy Doll acknowledged. “I already know what you’re

gonna say.”“Well?”“Yep,” Eddy Doll confirmed.“Are you serious?” My finger was still pointing to the single

name on the appointment pad. “That says, ‘Baird.’ Like the name on all those loaves of bread across Texas.”

“That’s the one, honey,” Eddy Doll said. “And you will just love her! She is the most petite little thing, with the prettiest frosted hair. And she has the best personality, compared to just about any-body that comes into this beauty shop of rich folks. Don’t worry. Pay attention, smile, and listen. You’ll do just fine. They’re only folks. Oh, a few can be kinda demanding, but overall, everything goes pretty smooth.” Eddy Doll’s voice was reassuring.

“Yes ma’am,” I agreed.“You have been here less than thirty minutes, and you’re already

starstruck. You have a lot of growing up to do.” She sounded moth-erly. “I suggest you get used to it.” Eddy Doll laughed.

“I know,” I agreed, grinning.I never imagined the journey would take me so far.

2

Hairspray, High Heels, & Second Hand Smoke

3

Frank Meyner

you,” and “Please.” These are only a few of the many phrases that were commonly used when I was growing up. I still believe they are the basis for being a courteous, well-rounded person.

Without DirecTV, cable, or the Internet in those days, enter-tainment was limited in Hamlin. One of my grandmother’s favorite little treats was to drive me downtown to Howard’s Drug Store and get me a cold drink. I loved the root beer in the frosted mug; she always got a small Dr. Pepper for herself. I remember the root beer cost ten cents and so did the Dr. Pepper. Could they really have been that cheap?

Next door to Howard’s Drug Store stood Winn’s five-and-ten-cent store or, as my grandmother liked to call it, “the dime store.” I loved that place. The counters were low enough for me to exam-ine all the great toys and trinkets for sale without any difficulty. I wanted everything, but according to Grandma, we couldn’t afford that much. So “Look, but don’t touch,” was her advice. Yeah, like I’m not gonna touch all those fabulous toys right within reach of my fingertips! It really was a fun adventure going downtown. It seemed so big for a plump eight-year-old boy with eyes the size of nine-inch dinner plates. Thanks, Grandma. I’ll always treasure those fun-filled days.

As I reflect on those times, I think that having my two sisters and me growing up in their home made my grandparents younger than their years, because they never got a chance to sit in the rock-ing chair. They were constantly teaching us how to do things for ourselves. In fact, for some unknown reason, of all the things I was taught to handle, it was the ironing board that intrigued me most. I realize many of you won’t believe this, but I first learned how to iron pillowcases that had been starched. After I had mastered that skill, I moved on to my shirts and pants. And by the way, I still like freshly pressed clothing.

Both of my grandparents had lived through the Depression, and learned the value of everything the hard way. So it’s not surprising that I should have had those values instilled in me at a very young age. “Waste not, want not,” was one maxim that dogged my foot-steps; “a penny saved is a penny earned,” was another. And so it went. For all those strictures, my grandmother was a really delightful lady.

Grandfather was only slightly taller than she was: about five foot six, with a very stout build, large, strong hands, and half a halo of white hair around the lower rim of his head. He had come from Germany in 1913, and had met Esther, my grandmother; they were married in 1919. His greatest skill lay in working with wood. He was the best darn carpenter around. To this day, I marvel at the phone calls he used to receive from the townspeople.

“Mr. Meyner,” they would say. “Could you come do a remodeling job?”

This went on long after he was in his late eighties.Esther also made an impression on me. Only five feet tall, she

never left home without her face on. She just loved makeup! The one thing that I could never quite figure out as a child, however, was that blue hair piled up into a French twist.

She had a great sense of humor, and expected you to pay atten-tion when someone was speaking. According to her, you didn’t want to be a “dumb cluck.” That always made me laugh, because I had my own mental picture of a dumb cluck. I laughed a-plenty, in fact, because it just seemed to be a part of my personality. That infuri-ated my grandmother, who would discipline me by bringing down the yardstick on the calves of my legs. In fact, on one such occasion, that stick broke in half on impact, making both of us helpless with laughter. All Grandma really wanted was that I should be polite and well-mannered, and do what I was supposed to do. And that is exactly what happened. To this day, I still say, “Yes ma’am,” “Thank

2

Hairspray, High Heels, & Second Hand Smoke

3

Frank Meyner

you,” and “Please.” These are only a few of the many phrases that were commonly used when I was growing up. I still believe they are the basis for being a courteous, well-rounded person.

Without DirecTV, cable, or the Internet in those days, enter-tainment was limited in Hamlin. One of my grandmother’s favorite little treats was to drive me downtown to Howard’s Drug Store and get me a cold drink. I loved the root beer in the frosted mug; she always got a small Dr. Pepper for herself. I remember the root beer cost ten cents and so did the Dr. Pepper. Could they really have been that cheap?

Next door to Howard’s Drug Store stood Winn’s five-and-ten-cent store or, as my grandmother liked to call it, “the dime store.” I loved that place. The counters were low enough for me to exam-ine all the great toys and trinkets for sale without any difficulty. I wanted everything, but according to Grandma, we couldn’t afford that much. So “Look, but don’t touch,” was her advice. Yeah, like I’m not gonna touch all those fabulous toys right within reach of my fingertips! It really was a fun adventure going downtown. It seemed so big for a plump eight-year-old boy with eyes the size of nine-inch dinner plates. Thanks, Grandma. I’ll always treasure those fun-filled days.

As I reflect on those times, I think that having my two sisters and me growing up in their home made my grandparents younger than their years, because they never got a chance to sit in the rock-ing chair. They were constantly teaching us how to do things for ourselves. In fact, for some unknown reason, of all the things I was taught to handle, it was the ironing board that intrigued me most. I realize many of you won’t believe this, but I first learned how to iron pillowcases that had been starched. After I had mastered that skill, I moved on to my shirts and pants. And by the way, I still like freshly pressed clothing.

Both of my grandparents had lived through the Depression, and learned the value of everything the hard way. So it’s not surprising that I should have had those values instilled in me at a very young age. “Waste not, want not,” was one maxim that dogged my foot-steps; “a penny saved is a penny earned,” was another. And so it went. For all those strictures, my grandmother was a really delightful lady.

Grandfather was only slightly taller than she was: about five foot six, with a very stout build, large, strong hands, and half a halo of white hair around the lower rim of his head. He had come from Germany in 1913, and had met Esther, my grandmother; they were married in 1919. His greatest skill lay in working with wood. He was the best darn carpenter around. To this day, I marvel at the phone calls he used to receive from the townspeople.

“Mr. Meyner,” they would say. “Could you come do a remodeling job?”

This went on long after he was in his late eighties.Esther also made an impression on me. Only five feet tall, she

never left home without her face on. She just loved makeup! The one thing that I could never quite figure out as a child, however, was that blue hair piled up into a French twist.

She had a great sense of humor, and expected you to pay atten-tion when someone was speaking. According to her, you didn’t want to be a “dumb cluck.” That always made me laugh, because I had my own mental picture of a dumb cluck. I laughed a-plenty, in fact, because it just seemed to be a part of my personality. That infuri-ated my grandmother, who would discipline me by bringing down the yardstick on the calves of my legs. In fact, on one such occasion, that stick broke in half on impact, making both of us helpless with laughter. All Grandma really wanted was that I should be polite and well-mannered, and do what I was supposed to do. And that is exactly what happened. To this day, I still say, “Yes ma’am,” “Thank