Mom & Dad in 1977
My parents barely knew one another when they married. They were coming out of WWII, both living with older sisters who were friends with each other, both aged 32. My father had dated a lot of women, but promised his now-deceased father that he would marry a Jewish woman.
My mother, who had low self-esteem, thought she would never marry, so was rather surprised when this handsome man paid attention to her. They met in February and married on June 16, 1946 in a small ceremony in my mother’s native Toledo, Ohio, attended only by their immediate family (with so many brothers and sisters, the gathering was not tiny). The lived in an apartment, then a small house in Detroit. My dad, with a partner, had a used car lot, which became a DeSoto dealership, and eventually, a Chrysler dealership.
My brother, Rick, came along in February, 1948 and I, in December, 1952 (they had given up trying; I was their surprise). Dad worked hard in retail – 6 days and 2 nights a week. Mom had lots of help around that small house – a full-time maid who cleaned and cooked. She did volunteer work for Jewish ladies’ organizations but was always home when we came home for lunch or after school. Things seemed to run smoothly during our days in Detroit. I was told by a cousin that she seemed full of life and fun in those days.
It all fell apart when we sold that small house, built a new one in Huntington Woods (just 2 1/2 miles outside the Detroit city limits) and Rick and I went to school in Royal Oak, in 1963. We had difficulty making new friends, the move was very difficult on our mother, who had a “nervous breakdown” and took to her bed for 6 weeks. Her sister, Stella, from Cleveland, came in to care for us. She and I fought over what I could wear (I was trying to wear what the other girls wore, but she thought I should dress in practical winter clothing and accused me of being spoiled). The tension around the house was palpable.
Slowly, Mother came back to living, but was never the same. She saw a psychiatrist she hated, and went only because the family forced her to. She resumed some of her household chores. Her family (to whom she would listen; my father didn’t know what to do) also didn’t know how to help. Her uncle, an internist, told her she HAD to see this psychiatrist, so she did, but an unwilling patient will not make progress.
We no longer had as much help. She now had to cook, even though we still had help with the cleaning and laundry. Rick went off to Brandeis in 1965 and I was alone with this erratic, needy woman.
In 1967, Dad suffered a severe business loss. His partner had wanted out of the partnership two years earlier; my dad agreed to buy him out over a long period. In 1967, the UAW went out on strike, Dad had no inventory to sell and wound up selling his dealership back to Chrysler at a loss, though he continued to pay off his partner until I was part-way through Brandeis (I believe he was finished with that obligation in 1972). He went to work for a cousin who owned a Buick dealership. I can’t imagine what that did to his pride or his psyche. We never talked about it, though I’m sure he was grateful for the job and income.
The cleaning lady now came one day a week and all other perks that came with owning one’s own business were gone. I think my mother found it humiliating and, rather than being supportive, would mock her husband. She had inherited some money from her father’s estate and now had to use that to pay the (small) mortgage on our home, unlike her sisters (one married to a lawyer, one to a doctor) who used their shares any way they chose. She had vicious fights with Dad in front of me. I couldn’t wait to leave for a university as far away as I could get.
Dad had been stationed in California during WWII, loved being there and always wanted to return, but Mother would have none of it. She didn’t want to be far from her family. Dad was aware of a retirement development (55 and older) being built in Laguna Hills called Leisure World. It was built in stages, had several golf courses and many other amenities, making it attractive for active older folks and my father was eager to buy a unit for their retirement, but one had to be there in person when units went on the market. Mom was having none of it. Dad had a niece stand in and got the right to buy one when it came up for sale. At this point, the Huntington Woods house was paid off. He took out a mortgage on that home to buy the Laguna Hills condo; a two-bedroom, two bath unit with a garage. He told Mother to hire a decorator and let her do whatever she wanted with it. It was his dream, but he wanted her to participate. She had a cousin who lived nearby and he had cousins and retired Temple friends in the complex. He thought it would be an ideal place to retire.
Mother gave him an amazing amount of crap at every step of the way, yet he persisted. It was finally built and decorated and they went out and spent a few weeks – and she enjoyed it! The weather was sublime, they had an excellent social life. There was a shuttle bus that ran to the grocery store, or into town for functions. But of course, Dan rented a car that trip, so he drove her around to see her cousin or friends. He was very social and entertained at the home. He’d barbecue and invite all sorts of people over. After all the grief she’d given him, she enjoyed being there. They went there several times over the next few years.
He approached retirement. He doubted he could spend 100% of his time with her. She was making more scenes in public; he couldn’t tolerate those, or all her belittling, in private and public. He made a deal with her. He told her to go to California for a month without him, while he continued to work. He thought, if only he could have a little peace, he could stand the rest. But she was fearful. She didn’t think she could survive without him. Her behavior became more erratic. In the winter of 1978, he finally had her committed to a mental hospital for a two week evaluation. She was furious. People SMOKED in there, and besides – she wasn’t CRAZY! He asked for help from her family. They said they didn’t know why he hadn’t done that long ago. He was sort of stunned. The state of mental health in the late 1970s wasn’t what it is today (nor were there anti-depressants like today) and there was still a huge stigma attached. Her siblings agreed that she needed help, but no one reached out to her, nor helped my father deal with the situation. She came home, having not been helped and even angrier.
He filed for divorce late in 1980. She didn’t believe it. He was told by his lawyer that he didn’t need to move out, so just stayed in the other bedroom, as he had for years. She found this confusing.
She contested the divorce. For a year. She decided she wanted that condo in California. The one she had given him so much crap about buying. He brought in an old family friend who wanted to buy the Huntington Woods house for her daughter and made a good offer. Mother screamed the woman out of the house. The friend never returned.
A real estate broker befriended my mother. All I heard about was “Carol”; “Carol told me this”, “Carol told me that”. My mother never understood that she was being used by this woman. My father moved in with his widowed sister-in-law. My mother continued to fight the divorce. They both rang up serious legal fees.
Some years earlier, my father had set up a small irrevocable trust for my brother and me (neither of us knew about it). My mother now decided that she wanted the money in that trust too – money set aside for HER CHILDREN! This also infuriated my father. I have the divorce decree. My father annotated it for my brother and me; she wound up with considerably more money than he did, but he would never relinquish the California condo. Also, she had no claim to that small trust. He told her if she wanted it, she could pay his lawyer to break the trust. She persisted, my dad had to break the trust and pay her that money. To his dying day, he never paid the lawyer for that work. It was the first claim again his estate, which my brother paid.
After a year, and countless legal fees, my mother finally agreed to give up the claim on the California condo and the divorce decree was granted, ending a 35 year marriage. My dad moved to his beloved condo in California. He lived there a bit less than 9 years, dying at the age of 76 on January 3, 1990.
Meanwhile, the market in Detroit had turned and Mom’s “friend” Carol sold the Huntington Woods house for far less than the offer my mother had chased away a year earlier. My mother never heard from Carol again. Mom moved to a large apartment in a complex near her sister Ann, where she lived until the age of 82, when I moved her to a life care community 20 minutes from me in suburban Boston. She died 3 days before her 97th birthday in 2010, leaving a sizable estate that was split between my brother and me.
Rick’s wedding, 2/12/83
My parents saw each other once more: at Rick’s wedding. We spoke with each of them before the event, asking them to behave, which they did. We breathed a sigh of relief. Her one request for that day was that she and our father have one dance together, which they did. They always danced so well together.
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.
Thanx Betsy for sharing the story of your parents’ marriage and ultimate divorce.
How you cared for your difficult and unhappy mother at the end of her life was admirable, and it seems to have helped you find closure on your stormy relationship with her,
I know that I did the best I could for her, Dana.
This was a grim but riveting story. I am so sorry for the pain that they each must have felt for so long, in realizing they had utterly failed as loving marital partners, as well as the pain they generated for you and your brother and others around you.
I really identified with that that idea your father had of just wishing for a few weeks or a month (or in my case, in my first marriage, for one full day) of peace. He could tolerate a lot of grief and unfair incoming fire if he just had the restorative period of peace. Yes, I felt that way too.
You write about each of them with respect and tenderness and that’s admirable. Also you seem to have done the emotional work to recognize (and not run away from) all that they went through and all the misery, but without taking all that misery and emotional trauma as part of your own baggage.
Thank you for these insightful (and personal) comments. I see you found the story relatable. Yes, my father longed for some peace at home (he loved to come home to our dog, who gave him unconditional love). But finally, there was none. Thank you for noting that I wrote about each fairly and that I seem to have done the emotional work to not carry the baggage with me. Let’s say that I keep working.
OMG Betsy, your father was such a great man. What he endured during their marriage was inconceivable. Yet he continued to try his best to appease her.
He gave it his all and then some. I’m so happy he was able to enjoy his condo before he passed. Your mom suffered like mine did, in a time when no one could really help her. Your brother and you must have been equally scarred from the marriage., but you have survived stronger for it. I think your ability to overcome the struggles helped you to develop an intense inner core that comes across in your writing. I loved the ending, your brother’s wedding. In the picture I see your parents as separate individual humans who loved, lost, but somehow survived this strange earthly experience. Do you remember the song they danced to?
My father’s mother was bipolar, long before there was any understanding of the disorder, Patty. She was institutionalized when he was 12. We often thought that he was drawn to our mother because of his relationship with his own mother. But it was futile. My brother and I did bear scars from it all, but have worked on that our whole lives. He married a wonderful woman and raised two great kids (and just became a grandfather in March). I do not remember what song my parents danced to at the wedding, but they loved to Cha Cha together (they took Latin dance classes in the 50s or 60s and were great dancers).
This is such a sad story, Betsy. Of course, psychiatric help back when your mother needed it was rather primitive. I had an uncle from that same era who was in and out of mental hospitals. This had a bad impact on my cousins. Sadly, he and they were bi-polar. They suffered twice, once from their upbringing and again from their inherited disease.
Yes – sad, Laurie. I’m certain there would have been a different outcome if my mother’s issues could have been properly addressed, but it was a different era. Sorry to hear about your uncle and cousins as well. Psychiatric help has come a long way in the intervening decades.
My gawd, Betsy. What an epic and moving story! You captured the convoluted ironies very well, and without spinning the tale with emotion, managed the communicate the pain and conflict of this relationship. Your characterizations were also admirable, your kind, pragmatic, hard-working and the pain and confusion your mother both created and lived in! A story worth expanding, I suggest. Oh…
and the ignominy of having to “step down” from a Chrysler dealership to a Buick salesman! Ouch!
To focus on the divorce narrative, I left out a chunk of my father’s work history. He worked for his cousin for two years, then a competing Buick dealership another two years (and he had a VP or “Fleet Manager” title at the other dealerships).
Just as I left for Brandeis in 1970 he got out of the automotive industry altogether. He became the first-ever Director of the Endowment Fund for the Jewish Welfare Federation in Detroit. The idea of planned giving was in its infancy at the time, but he enjoyed using his business background to help the Jewish community in perpetuity. However, it infuriated my mother that he had to “suck up” to all the rich Jews in Detroit and that was the source of many of those public outbursts when he’d run into people he knew at stores or restaurants. It truly was intolerable for my father for her to behave in such a manner. She was a self-hating Jew, who used to remark that she had “the map of Jerusalem on her face” (she didn’t like her likes). Tough stuff.
Betsy:
Your retrospect read as a theatre script. I could hear the voices, see the bodies, imagine the backdrops, wait for changes of scene, and try to predict how the play will end.
Your story, however, did not read as a traditional piece of Jewish theatre with its full throat of satire, sway of burlesque, and a nostalgic view of tradition. Your dialogues were not in anyway related to the shouting of Death of Salesman, or a Streetcar Named Desire. They reflected the trials and tribulations Jewish immigrants who vainly sought the good life of the Americans that surrounded them. I loved your reference to the Buick. On the stage wall I pictured a Buick with a handsome Caucasian male and a beautiful blond drive past your father on his way from the auto sales lot.
With much empathy I can draw lines from your story to prepare my own.
I loved you reference to the buick.
Richard, my parents were the youngest of children of immigrants. My father came from a family of 8 children; my mother from a family of 4. My father’s uncle came to Detroit from St. Louis, MO in 1903 to join GM when it was 2 years old in its accounting department. He rose to become its Treasurer and changed the family name from Prensky to Prentis in 1925, as the auto industry was notoriously antisemitic (Ford was the worst, but the others weren’t far behind). Most in my father’s family worked for GM. My dad worked for Chevrolet in Flint, MI beginning in 1937 before joining the Army Airs Corps in Jan, 1941, before Pearl Harbor. When he returned in 1945, he wanted to strike out on his own, hence used cars, DeSotos and eventually Chryslers, until it came to a halt and he went to his cousin’s Buick Dealership. Another cousin owned a Cadillac Dealership. His oldest brother was comptroller of GM. I used to joke that I had automotive oil running through my veins.
But as I mentioned in my response to Charlie’s comment, in 1970, he left that world behind and became the first Director of the Endowment Fund for the Detroit Jewish Welfare Federation (he would say he could “do go while making good”; he had a good heart). He truly enjoyed that work and felt it was important. However, my mother HATED what he did, thinking all he did was “suck up” to the rich Jews of Detroit, which she found humiliating (she absolutely did not understand what he did). This played into her feelings of low self-esteem and lack of self-worth. It was a toxic brew.
The part about your Mom belittling your Dad really hit home. My Mom used to do that to my father, and she had a Don Rickles-worthy arsenal of verbal barbs at her disposal. In a weird repeat of history, my first wife used to do the same to me, especially among groups of her or of my friends. It’s a terrible thing to bear or to witness.
It IS terrible to see one parent belittle the other, Dave. Very hard for the other parent and for the children. Also difficult when those patterns repeat in the next generation. My heart goes out to you.
I am always amazed at the detailed family history that you have! Your parents’ marriage was a trial for the whole family, and as many other stories have noted, there was some relief when it ended. But the divorce sounds excruciating. Your mother may have had mental health issues, but they didn’t keep her from relentless legal pursuit. It is why Sally never went into family law–too bitter and nasty! And so, even more remarkable that you and your brother have been able to heal and get perspective over time on how we flawed beings try to cope with our world.
We did gain perspective, Khati. My brother married on his 35th birthday. We both bore “mother scars” in our own way, and continue to work through through those and try not pass them along
I can’t imagine the tension you must have felt while all this was going on with your parents, Betsy. I remember being stuck in the middle of similar stress for a few years in my home growing up. I learned, as you undoubtedly did, that it doesn’t always help when other family members try to get involved in your parents’ relationship and problems; troubles and the tension that produce often escalates.. So glad you were able to take ownership of your own life and that you moved yourself forward so well. There were so many of us for whom college campus life offered peace and a respite from home-based tensions.
Jim, I before college, I found refuge at my arts camp where I made life-long friendships and remain with those formative relationships to this day.