aunt meercy

Sitting on a shelf next to my desk is a picture of a woman with curly bangs surrounding her entire forehead. She is wearing a plaid skirt; the hem neatly pressed mid way between her calves and her knees. The photo is in black and white but the deep darkness of her lips tells me those are dressed with a bright ruby red. With his arm around one of her shoulders, the other hand holding hers is a man dressed in an army uniform. His hat is fitted perfectly so no hairline can be seen and it is tipped precisely in the middle to provide stability for his entire uniform. He is looking at the woman in his arms with a smile that if it were about to croon a tune would certainly contain words of “I love you.” She has maneuvered her body to both provide him the only vision for her eyes, but coyly sneaks a slight glance at the camera. She seems more than amazed with this man and truly content. The picture is circa 1943, the man’s name is Bobby Greene, and the woman is my Aunt Meercy.

As stories grow in age from inception to repetition, to third and forth iterations, what I knew about these two people was something very simple. He was the love of my Aunts’ life; she was madly, passionately, positively in love with him. What I don’t know about this story and no matter how much prodding I plead, I have never heard why the two never became one. All I know is a few weeks after this moment in history was captured in black and white, Bobby Greene went to war, and my Aunt never heard from him again.

In the 50’s there was television program called “Your Hit Parade,” it was a countdown, prior to music videos, or MTV of the most popular music most middle class Americans favored. (It was the fifties so much of the music excluded that honky top filth known as rock and roll). It was then the music Moms and Dads hummed on the way to work which now is still played in the elevators of Holiday Inns located on a highway replaced by Interstates. There was a singer, the star of the show who always got to sing and sway to the number one selection, her name was Dorothy Collins, I referred to her as Dorsy Collins, and my Aunt Meercy reminded me of this woman. My Aunt was always singing the newest tune, and many times humming music of the 40’s the time of her young adulthood. My Aunt always had some song she wanted to share.

When I grew older and able to go to the movies, Dorothy Collins was replaced by Doris Day as the lady my Aunt most reminded me of. My Aunt was fashionable, carefree, a working woman (and for the 50’s that was an unusual phenomena), and she seemed to always be going on adventures that seemed similar to the roles Doris Day played on the screen. My Aunt was the Cultural arm of the family. She took my sisters and I to museums (where she taught us that polite people always stick to the right and never push ahead of anyone in front of them), to the premier of movies in downtown Pittsburgh (explaining to us when you go to a cultural event, you should applaud after each performance, but never be the last one clapping), and to dance concerts. My Aunt taught my sisters and I how to do the cha cha cha explaining how the man leads and the woman follows.

Being in the company of my Aunt was invigorating and exciting. I was sure she knew Doris Day and was sure secretly she might have something to do with Hollywood.

And as my Aunt Meercy continued to expose my sisters and I to the arts, she also encouraged our imaginations. She would lecture us on manners and social appropriateness, but she would never place limits on what you think, how you think, and the expression of self. I learned from her three main things. Being creative is wonderful and limitless, not everyone has the recipe for being right, and never pass up an opportunity when it is in your hands. (The latter I fear came from her never finding the man of her dreams, Bobby Greene, in her life again).

In the world of the 2010’s it seems differences matter, creativity the sign of the devil, and opportunity not being equal for all as stated by many politicians. Expression of self must follow rituals established by someone else, people who say they speak for God, or those speaking on behalf of the Founding Fathers of this Nation according to the politicians and their puppet masters the billionaires and self proclaimed religious leaders. They define the sin, then hate both the sinner and the sin.

My Aunt God willing, will be 94 in November. She married another love of her life in her late 50’s and never had children. My mother raised her kids, my three sisters and I to love my Aunt as if she were almost like a mother. We have and she has provided one another with the same emotion and care.

I became the collector of most of Aunts photographs when she decided one day, that photos were just useless stories of a past we once lived and will never live again. Many photos were ready to be thrown into the garbage, when I pounced upon the pile of trash and saved them and then framed the picture of Bobby Greene and my Aunt. My Aunt’s ability to instill in me the love for the arts, the understanding of difference, a love for my creativity are greater than any piece of paper colored in sepia, but I find it so comforting to gaze upon the faces of the many who have helped me find my way today.

I wonder if the politicians ever take the time to remember who they were and how that young lady in their life sitting next to her soldier would view their behavior today? And then I wonder what kind of photographs will be collect for their children to view?