1965

A lot happened in 1965.

59 years ago

The United States escalated its involvement in the Vietnam War that year. Bloody Sunday and the March on Selma happened. In New York, Malcom X was assassinated and The Worlds Fair was held. Tom & Jerry, Jefferson Airplane and A Charlie Brown Christmas made their debuts. The Gateway Arch was completed in St. Louis, the Pillsbury Doughboy was created and Lyndon B. Johnson signed the Voting Rights Act into law. 1965 was an extremely significant year. For my 4 year old self if held a different kind of significance; although there is no way that I could have know that at the time. 

In the autumn of that year my very pregnant mother and I moved back to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania from Silver Spring, Maryland without my dad. My mother’s brothers came to pack us up in a rented truck. We could only take some of our belongings. My uncle TJ drove mom’s brand new grey convertible Mustang with red leather interior back to my grandmother’s house, while my other uncle, Leon helped drive the truck with the few personal things that we could bring. My rocking horse didn’t make the cut. 

The 4 and a half hour drive seemed to take forever. We were leaving Maryland because my mother whom was tormented by what turned out to be an imperfect marriage, decided to move back in with her parents. She blamed herself for my father’s infidelities. In her mind it was because I had been born a girl. If I had been a manchild, she believed, it would have made him a more dedicated father and loyal husband. It didn’t occur to her that perhaps it was just his nature. 1965 was a completely different world from 2021. Marriage was still treated as THE fairytale. It’s a fairytale that I never believed in. I was suspicious of any story that ended with “ and they lived happily ever after. Even at 4. 

I adored my parents as most children do. My mother was the most beautiful woman that I had ever seen. She was always immaculately dressed and coiffed. Hair, nails and makeup on point with perfection. Everyday. Even when she was cleaning our 2 bedroom apartment or cooking dinner, she looked as if she could step on stage to do a fashion event. She was the epitome of glamour. That role clearly weighed heavily on her. 

My mother was the baby girl of 4 girls followed by 3 younger brothers. Mom completed her high school years with 23 extra credits because she knew my grandparents were not able to afford college for them. My mother was extremely well spoken, had a phenomenal vocabulary and spoke Latin. Pretty good for a colored gal in those days. My mother did not fail at anything that she tried, except marriage. We all have our Achilles heal. N’est pas?

When I was 18 months old, mom put me in daycare so that she could start a career. She became a bank teller in Maryland which was a big deal in1963. Especially as a woman of color. Sexism was still a thing. Segregation was an even bigger thing. 

When we moved back to Pennsylvania she wanted to continue that career. The problem was that in 1965 Pittsburgh, there was no such thing as an African American bank teller. It was entirely unheard of. My mother applied anyway and Western Pennsylvania National Bank decided to take a chance and hire her. She had the looks of a movie star, with the intelligence and the experience to back up their choice. That next year after my brother was born my mother was hired as the first black bank teller in western Pennsylvania. People would come from as far away as West Virginia and Ohio to see this phenomenon which was my mother. . She endured extreme prejudice and discrimination. People speak of breaking glass ceilings. What they don’t realize is that the ceiling wasn’t raised overnight. There are many shards of glass of all shapes and sizes that accumulated over the years. The pieces have just gotten larger. The ceilings keep getting higher but women keep busting through them. 

Mom did her job professionally and with so much class. For her appearances and dignity were important. Manners were taught rigorously. My brother and I, as well as all of my cousins were held to high standards. Eventually she won over the most hardened reticent. She worked her way to head teller and eventually assistant branch manager. That was a huge deal back then. Many many years later she decided to finally get the degree that she was not able to attain when she was a younger woman. She got an associates degree and became an executive secretary for a huge firm sometime after I graduated from college. 

Because of this amazing woman I believed anything was possible. One of her favorite expressions was “ can’t is a coward with 2 horns”. The word “no” was only a diversion to another path to achievement. Her mother, my grandmother Geneva, my namesake, was also an amazing woman. She taught herself to read. And with only an 8th grade education she was able to run a small “business” from her kitchen table. . When she was 15 she ran away from home to marry my grandfather that had moved to Pennsylvania to work in the coal mines. They raised 7 amazing children together. Grandmother was a homemaker and an entrepreneur while grandfather worked 3 jobs to support the family. Just another American story. 

Because I was witness to mom’s determination I was able to achieve great things of my own. I receive a full scholarship to a prestigious boarding school and left home at 14. I became the first female to receive a bachelor’s degree in our family. Because of these amazing women that paved our pathway my daughter was able to reach further heights of education and success. She is one of a few African American female cardiologist and even more rare physician scientist. She has so many awards I don’t know even know of them all. She is a highly respected and sought after doctor and researcher in Pittsburgh, nationally and internationally.Mom and grandmother would have been extremely proud. My daughter has more letters following her name than actual characters to spell it. 

Because of these amazing women my daughter will make a difference in the world. She fights hard for health equity for minorities and especially women. Wonder Woman had a long line of heros molding her in that saga. All “wonder women” do after all . It’s the strength of our ancestors, their dreams and fortitude that create whom we become. If for whatever reason we don’t see it or chose to ignore it, then shame on ourselves. They are everything. They are our civilization. They are creation. Beautiful women run generations deep. 

A few years ago I bought a bright candy apple red Mustang convertible with red leather interior in honor of mom. It still amazes me the responses that I get sometimes whenever I’m driving her. Sometimes it’s a thumbs up or a shout out. A silently mouthed “beautiful car” or a” you go girl” or a fist pump. There’s inevitably some old dude that will ask me if I can handle all that power? I smile and nod, laughing quietly to myself. It’s an homage to my mother. If they only knew the real power behind it all. My mother. The original Mustang Kathryn. I know she’s right there with me riding shotgun every single mile. I feel her spirit. Especially when I drop that top! No putting our flat feet on the ground. No sir! I’m betting that Mack Rice must have gotten a glimpse of Kathryn in her convertible Mustang when he wrote that song…