A Cappella Choir, Junior and Senior year
Moving from Detroit to neighboring Huntington Woods in October, 1963 was a traumatic event for me. Due to the quirks of the Detroit school system, I skipped the second half of 5th grade. This made me the youngest in my 6th grade class at the Washington Elementary School, a K-6 school, where everyone had been together forever. They were now the top of the heap and didn’t take kindly to this runty stranger intruding on their top dog status. I was not welcomed into the clique.
I was immature emotionally and physically, well-prepared for the school work, just not the social environment, where the cliquish girls were already developed and interested in boys (and vice versa). Their mothers had their own clique; knew and socialized with one another. Mine had a nervous breakdown shortly after we moved in. She was unable to offer me guidance or support. My mother’s own self-loathing and feelings of inadequacy were projected onto me. I had no place of refuge.
The school girls mocked my appearance and clothing in very specific ways, isolating me instead of welcoming me. I withdrew and was miserable. I know these stories about mean girls are very typical at this age, but having been the brunt of them doesn’t make it easier.
Even though we all moved on to middle school the following year, I would not soon recover. I remember at the start of 8th grade, the popular girls (Huntington Woods had no schools, we went to school in the neighboring city of Royal Oak, but the Woods girls could be judgmental and harsh; the RO girls were in their own world too; I was nowhere), one of the HW girls declared a contest to see who could go the longest without repeating the same outfit! WHAT? I didn’t participate. I didn’t have that kind of wardrobe, nor did I care.
My mother harped on my looks: on my too large second teeth and glasses. I finally couldn’t stand being teased by the girls in 6th grade for not wearing a bra. Mother relented, but said loudly to the sales clerk that she didn’t know why I needed one, as I only had “mosquito bites!”
At the height of Mother’s depression, I had to do battle with her sister, in from Cleveland to care for us, since my mother didn’t stir from her bed for weeks. I had to switch from saddle shoes and tights to loafers and knee socks to avoid the contempt of the “queen bees”. My aunt called me a spoiled brat, but for me, it was a matter of survival.
Mother was very sensitive about being well-endowed. She grew up during the Flapper Era, when that wasn’t the look; she bound her breasts. And her own parents weren’t kind to her about her looks, calling her names like, “Ugly Connie”. Yet, when I look at photos of her as a young married woman, she looked so elegant.
Mom, elegantly dressed, Jan, 1952; before pregnant with me
She would never believe me. We all bear scars.
Perhaps I was supposed to be emotionally strong enough to slough off these remarks, but I wasn’t, I was young and sensitive. It was bad enough coming from the girls at school. It was devastating to get it from my own mother. I internalized it and thought I must be unbecoming and unworthy. It played into my relationships for years and years.
It was only going to the National Music Camp, beginning in 1964, that I found like-minded people, who were interested in the arts and valued me for my artistic endeavors, not how I looked or dressed (we wore uniforms). There, throughout the years, I made the friends of my lifetime and received some of the validation I so dearly sought. I remain in touch with many friends from my camp years and three of the girls I met between 1965-1968 remain among my closest friends. With the onset of the pandemic, a group of us have been Zooming about once a month.
Back at school, I finally made some good friends in 8th grade and moving on to Dondero High School in 9th grade, things changed dramatically. I had clubs and activities to get involved with that suited me, chief among them were the choirs and plays.
Years later, someone from my 7th grade class, with whom I had become friendly, told me she thought I was a snob back then. I was flabbergasted. I told her I was extremely shy, afraid of my own shadow and deeply wounded by the actions of others. Many people who gravitate towards acting are, in fact, very shy. Acting gives us a chance to become someone else; try on different personas. I guess I was a classic Ugly Duckling, who blossomed in 9th grade.
At Dondero, one had to audition for the top choirs, so I began in Girl’s Glee, then auditioned into Girl’s Choir in 10th grade and finally made it into A Cappella Choir (the top, mixed-voice choir) my junior year, led by Rick Hartsoe. That is the Featured photo. We each had our photo taken in our choir robe and the whole choir was put together in a massive portrait on the choir room wall. Rick gave me my portrait years later, while visiting me in Boston.
Choir met during one of our study hall periods, and I was truly happy to be there. I was a high soprano with an almost four octave range. Senior year, I was also in the Madrigal group (I believe there were 16 of us; again, we had to audition and be accepted in. We met at 7am, before school – a tough time for voices, but I loved being in the group). One particularly difficult song we sang was a “Swingle Singers” version of a Bach Fugue, popular at the time, with each vocal group taking a line of music, but jazz style, in conversation with the other vocal parts. Fiendishly difficult for us, it was also so much fun and rewarding to sing.
From the very beginning of high school, I was involved in all the plays (there were two each year, one musical, one straight play). I would be in one a year, but work on make-up for both, rising to the head of the make-up department, which could be a challenging task for a large musical production. I had to recruit others to do the make-up as well, make sure all the supplies were ready, teach everyone how to use theatrical make-up and give assignments. For “Arsenic and Old Lace”, I played Elaine, the lead’s love interest, but also did the special make-up for “Jonathan”, the Boris Karloff-like character, whom I was dating at the time. That’s another story.
The “scars” on Dave’s face were my handiwork. I made Mike’s mustache too.
We didn’t have an official drama club, though there is a national organization called the National Thespian Society. I looked into the requirements and, during my junior year, my high school was granted a charter to become a member. We held a candle light ceremony to inaugurate the club and I was its first secretary. I was thrilled to have helped bring the organization to my school.
National Thespian Society
I took four years of French and joined the French Club, though I don’t remember attending any meetings, and my senior year, I joined the Girl’s Literary Club. Besides putting on the spring semi-formal, I have no idea what they did, as I had no time, between singing and plays, to attend any of their meetings either.
I was a member of Junior Phi Beta Kappa and the National Honors Society. These were granted based on merit. We bought pins from all our clubs to adorn our mortar board during commencement.
pins on mortar board at commencement, June, 1970
During my virtual 50th high school reunion last autumn, I attached all those pins to a ribbon and posted them to our class Facebook page, just as we posted our graduation photos, and even our school IDs, if we still had them.
pins from clubs
The dangling parts off to the side denote how many years I was in each club. I had a good run and through Choir and the plays, I met Patti, who also became my friend for life (and co-founder of Retrospect).
But my desire to avoid anything smacking of cliques has never left me. It influenced my college choice. Northwestern was my top choice until I learned from an older Huntington Woods friend, who was then enrolled there, that the school had a strong Greek life system. I ran in the other direction and chose Brandeis instead, which had no Greek life. I didn’t need to “pledge” and face possible rejection again. No sir!
I choose inclusion, in all forms.
Betsy PfauRetired from software sales long ago, two grown children. Theater major in college. Singer still, arts lover, involved in art museums locally (Greater Boston area). Originally from Detroit area.
You are a true Cinderella, Betsy, and thank you for sharing your difficult story so openly with all of us. Stories about “mean girls” (starting with Cinderella’s step-sisters) are now cliches, but you well-reminded us of their reality and how vicious these girls can be towards their prey. And, though I understand that your mother was herself deeply troubled, she — and her sister — essentially filled the “cruel step-mother” role in your life.
And yet, you emerged from all this with what I consider to be three great life-long victories. First, in discovering drama and music, you also found true and dear friends at last. Second, you finally realized your own abilities and grew happy and confident with them. And third, despite your earlier traumas, you emerged from your experiences not bitter and wishing to inflict similar pain on others (which would have been unfortunate, but understandable), but, as you note in your final sentence, as a true champion of inclusion, both for yourself and others.
And, oh yeah, a fourth one. Just like Cinderella, you ended up pretty damn beautiful!
Thank you for those lessons, John. I DID emerge from those difficult times as a stronger, better person; a champion of the misfit and someone who looked out for others, as I have deep compassion for those who didn’t fit in. I tried to ease the path for my own children in ways that my own mother wasn’t able.
I can announce to my all my friends on Retrospect that David and his lovely girlfriend, Anna Ridler (who is a working artist – I guess exposing my kids to all that art paid off big time), will become parents sometime in December of this year, making me a grandmother! And Anna had her own huge success at a Sothebys auction this week. She sold her piece “The Shell Record” as part of their Digitally Native online auction for more than $100,000 dollars Thursday morning! We are out of minds with joy!
Let me be the first — but I am sure not the last — Retro member to congratulate you on those two great pieces of news. Sometimes, our children really are the source of great pride and joy. Happy kvelling, Betsy!!
Thank you so much John! They are flying to Boston on Tuesday (Anna’s mother is American – she has a 92 year old grandmother in Atlanta she also wants to see), so she holds dual passports; very convenient. Despite the ongoing mess with the Steamship ransomware attack, I was able to secure a ticket off on Monday, so we can meet their flight and be with them. She’s having a tough pregnancy and is eating very little, so I need to have certain food in the house for her (and they need to have a car at their disposal). We were already coming back, as Dan sees an oral surgeon early Thursday morning, then we return to MV on Thursday night. They will join us for a week, when we come back to Boston on the 24th before we fly out to a wedding in the mid-west. YAY!
Ah Betsy there are worse places to be camped out in than London!
Very true. I love London. It just gets very expensive over at the holiday season.
Betsy, a big mazel tov from me too , I see more trips to London in your future!
Thanks, Dana. Pip, pip and such. Yes, LOTS of trips to London. The baby is due in December and Dan wants to be there for the birth (which is NOT an exact moment, so we could be camped out for a while, with very high rates during the holidays…we’ll need to get creative).
Betsy, thank you for this moving and insightful coming-of-agr story. Your seemingly total recall and your wonderful saved photos give us -as always – a fully drawn picture of Betsy then and now.
And you remind us again the importance of the arts in all our lives. How I would love to hear your soprano voice ring out in concert!
Thank you, Dana. It is not an easy story to share, but I think important, as is was formative for me. It is true; arts, in some form, save many of us who are more sensitive. But I’m afraid, as with much of our bodies, our voices age as well. And sitting out of choir during these 15 pandemic months hasn’t done me any favors either. My voice isn’t what it used to be. I’ve certainly lost my top notes and lots of breath control. It happens over the years. That’s why the great ones retire (and the tenors sing in lower registers after a while). With exercise, I will regain some, but time marches on…
Brava for you, Betsy. Thanks for sharing your difficult middle school years and the journey it took for you to find your own people. I think I have repressed a lot of what happened socially for me at that age, but I vividly remember going through the “mean girl” stuff with my daughters, assuring one of them that high school would be much better. That was true because in a large high school like the one they attended, there were many cliques and clubs and a place for everyone based on her interests. The same has been true for my granddaughters who will get to go to high school next year because remote schooling is over (thank goodness). As girls mature, I think the mean girls lose their power.
I know once one survives those tough middle school years, it is much easier to find one’s place, Laurie. That seems to be a universal truth. My experience was compounded by our move and my mother’s mental illness. But I guess it made me appreciate the growth and friendships all the more. And made me never want to tease or torment anyone else. I’m glad your granddaughters will be in better circumstances soon.
“Saved by the arts” would make a good title for this story, Betsy, and I can relate to just about all of it. I was the same height and weight in middle school as I am now, with a “completed” figure, so people thought I had a developmental disability and had been left behind. My mother had always thought I was ugly and fussed over my appearance, and it is somewhat of a mystery as to why, except that I resemble my paternal grandmother, who mom disliked. Thank goodness we are both past those times. And mazel tov on shortly becoming a grandparent.
“Saved by the arts”, indeed, Marian. Happy to meet another survivor! And thank you on the “mazel tov”. We are over the moon. The baby is due in December, so lots of time to wait yet, and hope Anna feels better.
Wonderful story, Betsy, of cliques that made you miserable, and clubs that gave you a community. Sorry for the former, and happy for the latter. And after reading your reply to John’s comment, all I can think about is your fabulous news of impending grand parenthood! Mazel tov from me too – that is so exciting!
Thank you for your support about my misery and community, Suzy. And my impending joy! Yes, much excitement ahead, even if they will be in London! I think we’ll be spending a lot of time there in the future. The kids are just about to close on a house in Brixton (South London) too, so LOTS of news coming our way. David asked me to keep it off social media, which is why you didn’t see a Facebook announcement. That is his right, of course. They are coming here on Tuesday, so I’m sure I’ll be sharing photos soon.
Thanks for the moving story about growing up and the traumas and insecurities. So glad you found support in a new school and in the arts. You were not alone, and you discovered you are a talented and giving person despite the travails. Your initiative in Retrospect has created a supportive environment for us too, so thank you for that. I also recall that there was a rising swell of mean girl-ness directed towards me by the end of sixth grade, and was one of the reasons I was happy to leave the country and avoid junior high in Michigan.
Thank you, Khati. Of course, I was living in Michigan when all this took place. I’m not naive enough to think this is just a Michigan phenomenon; I think it happens all too frequently during those middle school years, primarily among girls. I was told by sympathetic adults that I would be fine, and they were right, but it was cold comfort to me then.
I am glad that you managed to avoid the worst of it and particularly pleased that you find the Retrospect community to be a supportive one. That is good news, indeed.
You certainly covered the gamut of socialization here Betsy, from ‘ugly duckling’ to ‘snob’ and all gradations in between. You described those years with painful clarity. I had to make the change to a new school at sixth grade, to a small town with a prominent upper middle-class demographic. I wouldn’t return to those years for love or money! Well, maybe I’d return to hear Carl Perkins or Fats Domino or The Platters for the first time again!
Those were certainly painful times, Charles. And I sympathize with you for moving at that exact time in our development. Lousy for all of us. But I agree – great music! I did love the music from the era and thanks for reminding me of that!