Thinking about the passage of time and fame

Sad to hear that Gail Sheehy has died. I remember reading Passages in the 1980s and thinking it was life changing. Maybe it was. Change like it might have wrought never comes with sudden swiftness. The earth does not move beneath you. But instead change comes slowly, over time, as you absorb new ideas. I was a fan.

Some years later I became a bit less of a fan. She must have been working on Sex and the Seasoned Woman (2007), and she had a focus group on the TCU campus, all single women in their forties and fifties who were actively interested in finding new partners. I didn’t qualify—I was older and not looking for a partner, but I managed to worm my way into the group with a plea that I was most interested in Sheehy’s work. As the discussion progressed, it was obvious I was not emotionally where these women were.

For one thing, over the years since my divorce I had only known one man who I would have let into my close family circle, someone the kids really liked. The relationship didn’t work out for other reasons, and I grieved. But I was always aware that my kids came first, my love was for them, and my duty was to focus on them. I’d seen enough of women who put romance above parenthood.

Sheehy didn’t get or didn’t buy my explanation. I earned a paragraph in the book—I have it still on my shelf. She said something to the effect that I ran the cash register on Saturday nights at a Stockyards steak house to get out of the house, completely overlooking the fact that I had an active and lovely career as director of TCU Press. Yes, I did run the cash register at the Star Café for several years because the owners were good friends, and I enjoyed watching the people and getting to know a few of them. Sheehy made me sound like a dried-up, withered woman desperate for any amusement.

Sometimes when you are a guest on a blog (that would be me promoting my mysteries) one of the stock questions is “What famous people have you met?” I joked to a friend yesterday that I had forgotten about Sheehy and I would have to add her to the rather short list. Then I got to thinking about who is on the list. Not many national figures—I did once shake hands with George W. and Laura Bush, but I was among a throng of authors breakfasting at the Governor’s Mansion when he ran Texas. And I did meet NY columnist Liz Smith, but it was at the funeral of someone dear to both of us. She’d never remember. Some of my famous “sightings” are of another era—who remembers Larry L. King, not the talk show host but the playwright and author best known (unfortunately) for “Best Little Whorehouse in Texas”? He was a much better writer than that. And I really knew Dan Jenkins, though we weren’t always on friendly terms. And I once met Congresswoman Kay Granger, but I don’t like her politics and don’t consider that a coup at all.

The reputations of many of those I consider famous is limited to the circles they moved in and the time. I am proud to have called Elmer Kenton a good friend, and Montana writer Dorothy Johnson. But they are not only of another era, their fame fades beyond the world of western American writing. Guess I’ll have to keep working on that list and see what I can dredge up from the back of my mind.

When I was very young, we ran into Roy Rogers in Chicago’s Union Station. I was too shy to speak, but my dad asked for his autograph for me. I guess that’s too distant to count.

Meanwhile, back to Sheehy. I found a quote this morning in “Shelf Awareness,” the online daily column for booksellers. In a 2016 commencement speech at her alma mater, the University of Vermont, Sheehy said, "Whenever you hear about a great cultural phenomenon--a revolution, an assassination, a notorious trial, an attack on the country--drop everything. Get on a bus or train or plane and go there, stand at the edge of the abyss, and look down into it. You will see a culture turned inside out and revealed in a raw state."

I think that truly applies to our country right now. We are at the edge of that abyss.