I was raised by a mother who couldn't love, or if she did it felt more like pain. She just didn't have the capacity! She was the kind of woman everyone feared, especially her children. I was one of five, the second from the youngest. For seven years I was the baby, but that didn't mean anything when it came to getting more attention or love. I feared her more than anything. When she came home, she would keep the shoes she wore that day on the steps leading up to the second floor. If for some reason we pissed her off, we had to run from her to avoid her wrath. Sometimes that meant upstairs, and she would fling a shoe at you and hit you dead on. Never missed! If you ran into the dining room and around the dining table to get away from her, she would block your path with a chair, catch you and either slap you or, if she had the time to prepare, she would have my father’s belt in hand and whip you with it when she caught you. When she washed my face at night, it felt like she was removing it. When we got hurt, we would go to my father because he would be caring and gentle when dressing a wound. My mother would hold the wounded area so tightly that her touch hurt more then the wound.
I survived! But not without lots of support. Much of it came from psychiatrists I’d started seeing when I was sixteen or seventeen years old. I had asked my sister-in-law to help me find one, because I was in a lot of pain. I was conflicted about being gay; it just wasn't acceptable then. I thought that if I got help, I might be able to change. Even psychiatrists at that time thought that they could cure homosexuality.
Support came from some other members of my family too, like that sister-in-law I mentioned earlier, and my eldest sister, Evelyn, whom I adored and admired immensely. She was gorgeous and soooo loving. She did teach me at an early age that I could be loved and that I was lovable. She would take me special places like Fisher’s Restaurant. In those days it was a big deal for an eight-year-old to go to a place that served shrimp cocktail. She would buy me great clothes. She adored me! Still does to this day, even though she is certifiable! I am still grateful to her for all that she did for me then. Now, its almost impossible to have a relationship with her, she is so far gone. She is a seventy seven-year-old Born Again Minister of the Jewish faith. That says it all.
As for my sister-in-law, she was there when my brother couldn't be. He has difficulty having relationships with everyone, especially his own children. He is now eighty. My sister-in-law turned out to be very much like my mother. So as not to have two women in my life to torture me, I don't speak to her. My brother goes with the program at her demand. They have two children that they don't speak to from time to time (for years at a time).
Most of my support came from my clients. These were and are women who "were" nurturing! Many of them loved me. Others taught me, some took care of me. Most contributed to my life in ways that were unimaginable, and I am grateful!
When I was first starting out, at 14 or 15, I would go from door to door in the Northeast section of Philadelphia where I lived. I charged 25 cents to set, cut, color or do anything to women's hair that they would let me. There was one woman, Shirley, who owned a beauty supply store on the corner of a block close to my house. I would buy my supplies from her. I suppose she wondered what such a young person was doing buying so much stuff. When I told her what I did, she asked me to do her touchups (double process blonde) and set her hair every week. She never let me cut it, though. No one did in the beginning, except my sister-in-law. She was the first person to allow me to cut her hair. I was supposed to trim her long hair but she ended up with a short "bubble." Still, she never complained. Instead she claimed to love it. I still don't know to this day if she was telling the truth. Shirley had a brother, Harry Leiber, who at that time was a renowned hair stylist in the Cheltenham area of Philadelphia; I would later work for him, twice. She taught me a great deal about everything hair.
After about a year, right before I was sixteen, another wonderful woman, Lillian, took me under her wing. Lillian had a salon in the basement of her row home on Bustleton Avenue in the Northeast. She had heard about me and asked me to work for her after school Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays. The salon was open late Thursday and Friday evenings. I got out of school by 3 pm, and could be at the beauty shop (it certainly wasn't a salon) by 3:30 or 4 on Thursdays and Fridays. I worked all day Saturday too. Lillian was a short, plump woman with very thin hair (you could clearly see her scalp). On Saturdays she would make me lunch in her kitchen upstairs, and gave me anything I wanted. She even fed me smoked sturgeon. She was so kind and caring.
There was another salon across the street, Bernie's, owned by Bernie Miller. He too had heard about me and made it impossible for me to stay at Lillian's by reporting me to the state board for not having a license. He had a teacher's license allowing him to send in hours for me so that I could get my license. I had no choice but to work for Bernie, so I did. I was sixteen. Bernie would book me every fifteen minutes so that I had to learn to be extremely fast.
I soon became the wunderkind of the neighborhood and developed a tremendous following. At first I worked the same hours that I did at Lillian's. I was making more money than my father was earning. Knowing that college was not an option (none of my siblings went to college) I decided to quit school and work full time. My mother was against this, but she agreed to it. And so I began to make real bucks. My clients adored me! They would bring me things, bake for me, make sure that I had lunch (at least the nice ones did) and invite me to their houses. Bernie and his wife would have me over all the time.
Bernie's wife was gorgeous! It was his third marriage, her second. She had a 6-year-old son by her first marriage that Bernie called "Pecker Checker!" I liked her a lot, despite the fact that she was so self-involved she couldn't stop looking in the mirror. She didn't give me much more than compliments on the way I did her hair, but she preferred that I did it over the rest of the staff. For Bernie, I was a meal ticket. Revenue! I have no idea whether he liked me or not.
One of their friends, Bea, was an attractive blonde with thin hair who became my client when she heard of my reputation. She was graceful and kind with a gentile voice. I painted oils at that time, and I had painted a 12"x 50" relief of a skyline. She bought it from me and hung it over her fireplace. She too would make me lunch, invite me to her house, and include me in family events.
I survived! But not without lots of support. Much of it came from psychiatrists I’d started seeing when I was sixteen or seventeen years old. I had asked my sister-in-law to help me find one, because I was in a lot of pain. I was conflicted about being gay; it just wasn't acceptable then. I thought that if I got help, I might be able to change. Even psychiatrists at that time thought that they could cure homosexuality.
Support came from some other members of my family too, like that sister-in-law I mentioned earlier, and my eldest sister, Evelyn, whom I adored and admired immensely. She was gorgeous and soooo loving. She did teach me at an early age that I could be loved and that I was lovable. She would take me special places like Fisher’s Restaurant. In those days it was a big deal for an eight-year-old to go to a place that served shrimp cocktail. She would buy me great clothes. She adored me! Still does to this day, even though she is certifiable! I am still grateful to her for all that she did for me then. Now, its almost impossible to have a relationship with her, she is so far gone. She is a seventy seven-year-old Born Again Minister of the Jewish faith. That says it all.
As for my sister-in-law, she was there when my brother couldn't be. He has difficulty having relationships with everyone, especially his own children. He is now eighty. My sister-in-law turned out to be very much like my mother. So as not to have two women in my life to torture me, I don't speak to her. My brother goes with the program at her demand. They have two children that they don't speak to from time to time (for years at a time).
Most of my support came from my clients. These were and are women who "were" nurturing! Many of them loved me. Others taught me, some took care of me. Most contributed to my life in ways that were unimaginable, and I am grateful!
When I was first starting out, at 14 or 15, I would go from door to door in the Northeast section of Philadelphia where I lived. I charged 25 cents to set, cut, color or do anything to women's hair that they would let me. There was one woman, Shirley, who owned a beauty supply store on the corner of a block close to my house. I would buy my supplies from her. I suppose she wondered what such a young person was doing buying so much stuff. When I told her what I did, she asked me to do her touchups (double process blonde) and set her hair every week. She never let me cut it, though. No one did in the beginning, except my sister-in-law. She was the first person to allow me to cut her hair. I was supposed to trim her long hair but she ended up with a short "bubble." Still, she never complained. Instead she claimed to love it. I still don't know to this day if she was telling the truth. Shirley had a brother, Harry Leiber, who at that time was a renowned hair stylist in the Cheltenham area of Philadelphia; I would later work for him, twice. She taught me a great deal about everything hair.
After about a year, right before I was sixteen, another wonderful woman, Lillian, took me under her wing. Lillian had a salon in the basement of her row home on Bustleton Avenue in the Northeast. She had heard about me and asked me to work for her after school Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays. The salon was open late Thursday and Friday evenings. I got out of school by 3 pm, and could be at the beauty shop (it certainly wasn't a salon) by 3:30 or 4 on Thursdays and Fridays. I worked all day Saturday too. Lillian was a short, plump woman with very thin hair (you could clearly see her scalp). On Saturdays she would make me lunch in her kitchen upstairs, and gave me anything I wanted. She even fed me smoked sturgeon. She was so kind and caring.
There was another salon across the street, Bernie's, owned by Bernie Miller. He too had heard about me and made it impossible for me to stay at Lillian's by reporting me to the state board for not having a license. He had a teacher's license allowing him to send in hours for me so that I could get my license. I had no choice but to work for Bernie, so I did. I was sixteen. Bernie would book me every fifteen minutes so that I had to learn to be extremely fast.
I soon became the wunderkind of the neighborhood and developed a tremendous following. At first I worked the same hours that I did at Lillian's. I was making more money than my father was earning. Knowing that college was not an option (none of my siblings went to college) I decided to quit school and work full time. My mother was against this, but she agreed to it. And so I began to make real bucks. My clients adored me! They would bring me things, bake for me, make sure that I had lunch (at least the nice ones did) and invite me to their houses. Bernie and his wife would have me over all the time.
Bernie's wife was gorgeous! It was his third marriage, her second. She had a 6-year-old son by her first marriage that Bernie called "Pecker Checker!" I liked her a lot, despite the fact that she was so self-involved she couldn't stop looking in the mirror. She didn't give me much more than compliments on the way I did her hair, but she preferred that I did it over the rest of the staff. For Bernie, I was a meal ticket. Revenue! I have no idea whether he liked me or not.
One of their friends, Bea, was an attractive blonde with thin hair who became my client when she heard of my reputation. She was graceful and kind with a gentile voice. I painted oils at that time, and I had painted a 12"x 50" relief of a skyline. She bought it from me and hung it over her fireplace. She too would make me lunch, invite me to her house, and include me in family events.
At nineteen I had my own apartment in the Northeast and went to work for Harry Leiber. I had worked for him when I was fifteen for two weeks as an assistant when his sister, Shirley, told him about me. At that time, I was so fascinated by what I was learning by watching every stylist in his salon that I didn't assist at all, so I was fired. He was a funny-looking man. Silver hair, very short, very skinny but with a pot belly. He always had a cigar in his mouth. His wife, Lillian, was the receptionist at the salon, and she applied hair color to some clients. She too was strange-looking: platinum blonde with black eyeliner that looked like she added more each day to what she had on the day before. She and Harry would invite me to their house every Friday night for dinner, or we would go out to a restaurant, and they would treat. I was the top producer in their salon so I felt that their generosity was insincere. Again, just another meal ticket.
It was the clients who really cared. I had one client who would bring me a new word to learn each week. She wanted to make sure that my vocabulary was up to par. Others brought me things, taught me about books, suggested reading material, discussed politics and much, much more.
I left Harry Leiber, moved to a salon on the Main Line, got married and had Seth, my son. When Seth was born, the gifts were overwhelming! Clients were delighted for me. It was as if a member of their own family had this event happen to them. They would invite me to their children's weddings, bar mitzvahs, and bat mitzvahs. Several offered me their vacation homes. One vacation home came with a boat and captain.
These women and men have taught me how to be generous, kind, caring and have made me more intelligent, thoughtful, loving and trusting. I could never repay their generosity in several lifetimes. I'm grateful!
*Ancedote*
I wrote this blog on July 4th, 2010 and sent it to my friend, Janet Teacher to be edited. I didn't realize that she had edited it and was waiting for the edited edition. I recieived this letter with the picture at the top of this blog on Wednesday, July 7th. Bea had no idea that I was writing about her. I hadn't seen her in 46 years. I'm having lunch with her ASAP!!!!!.
Dear Maurice:
I came across this picture of a collage done by you when you were 16 years old. It has been hanging over my fireplace ever since I convinced you to give it to me. It makes me think of you many times during the day when I happen to pass by our fireplace. It brings me joy every time I look at it. When I think of how long ago it was, its hard to believe. You have gone on to become famous and I am now 82 years old. But when I remember the days when you did my hair, I smile. I hope you are happy in your success and maybe someday our paths will cross. I always think fondly of you. You were special even at 16 years old.
With affection,
Bea Gordon
Sorry to hear all this about your family. If there are families out there that are not screwed up in some way, I think they are rare!
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