VOLUME II, Part Seven, Chapter 14:: Post Fireman's Fund, Odd Jobs, and Performances

I leave Fireman’s Fund and begin a year of self-promotion, performances, and odd jobs.

It felt weird waking up and not feeling I had to go to work.  It was a freedom I hadn’t experienced in decades.  Using my dinosaur IBM Selectric, I got busy right away writing proposals and resumés about my movement theatre work.  Thanks to Annette Lust and our lecture demonstrations, I had made connections with schools and other educational institutions in the Bay Area. 

Me as Wilma and Wilma's neighbor Martha in opening scene of Wilson's Rimers of Eldritch

    I had a promotional brochure with pictures printed which I included with my proposal.  Once I combined,  signed, and sealed them in an envelope, I rode my bike to the Post Office and sent them off.  I got a couple replies within as many weeks:  One was from a grammar school in Novato, another: Roseville High in Roseville, CA, a few miles outside of Sacramento.  I could take Golden Gate Transit to Novato, no problem.  Roseville?  My parents lived in Orangevale near Sacramento. I could stay with them the night before the Roseville gig.

My promotional brochure Photos by J.Hendrickson and  D. McGarragh

After leaving my job at the Fund, I started going with a recently divorced G-, I’d known G- for years through mutual friends.  He’d worked as a gardener for the City and had cashed in his retirement.  He and his then wife relocated to some federal land north of Willits to start a pot farm- a dangerous enterprise in the early ‘80s.  He volunteered to drive me to Roseville where we'd stay at my folks'.

At Roseville High, a faculty member showed me and G- who acted as my techie- to the library where I’d perform.  The librarian, Julie Estridge, introduced me to a reporter, Val Bowman, from The Press-Tribune, who would do a review of my lecture-demo, and the photographer, Jim Denman, a bonus which I wasn’t expecting.  Chairs for the students were arranged in rows.  After I unpacked and laid out my costumes and masks, I realized I’d forgotten my Mad Sal (or Laughing Sal) fat-lady costume.  Still, I had the mask and sound track, which would get me by.  

 Mad Sal was an installation in San Francisco’s Playland at the Beach attraction at Ocean Beach.  She was a dummy at the Fun House, set high up in a window overlooking the entire arcade.  Mad Sal (who resembled a stereotype of a freckle-faced Irish washerwoman, or a fat, slovenly Eliza Doolittle) was stationary, but programmed to undulate from her wide hips to her battered hat, her arms flailing wildly, to a loud, raucous  laughing sound-track, which I replicated.  All alone in my flat one day, I had set up my tape recorder, started a blank tape, and just started laughing.  I laughed louder and louder, escalating to hysteria for about three minutes.  A photographer friend, Dennis O’Rorke (who has shot- and also collects-  iconic photos of San Francisco) had taken countless photos of Playland at the Beach.  I used his picture of Mad Sal as a reference to create a plaster-cast mask, painted her image on it and glued on a messy wig. Using foam, I made myself a fat-dress from an outfit I’d picked up at Goodwill, over which I wore a baggy, tweed blazer and stuck a battered hat on my head.  I pulled candy-striped knee stockings on my feet which I shoved into pair of navy-blue and red wingtip shoes (Goodwill!) The first time I performed this piece – always as the finale of my shows- I could hear the audience snickering at first, then the laughing caught on and grew robust, loud and unrestrained.

The students filed in and took their seats.   (My step-father had driven my mother to the school,   I spotted her in the back row.) Julie introduced me and gave a short overview- which I’d written for her- of what to expect.  G- started my cue and I stepped into my first piece.  The following short works went well.   But I never got to perform Mad Sal.  At the end of a piece, the principal walked in front of me and announced that the performance was over and ordered the students back to class.   True to most school administrations, someone had forgotten to tell Julie that my time had been cut to only one period rather than the allotted two- lunch and 5^th period.  As everyone was leaving, I thanked the students, faculty, and my mother for coming.  Julie gave me my check, and apologized for the abrupt ending. 

 "A Man by the Name of Ziegler" from a short story by Hermann Hesse
narrated by Gerald Nelson.  Photo by Jim Denman

 "We loved your demonstration and performances," she said, "The students seemed really engaged.  I had no idea how mime evolved through the centuries to Marcel Marceau and beyond," she added enthusiastically, "We’d love to have you back to see the rest of your show.”  Back in San Francisco a few days later, I opened my mailbox to find in it a copy of The Press-Tribune,  Ms. Bowman had written, "Gaetana the Mime captivated an audience . .  .without saying a word." Photographer Denman's pictures generously illustrated her article.

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That year- 1983- I also took a couple of acting ròles: “The Rimers of Eldritch” and “Where has Tommy Flowers Gone,” by Lanford Wilson, while continuing mime and movement work with Leonard Pitt and Ron Leeson, both Decroux-trained mimes.  I was hired by community organizers to do walk-arounds at city functions, and got a gig for the Oakland Museum’s Floral Show, where I moved among the visitors through the floral displays, wearing green leotards and tights (like a flower stem), a straw hat and makeup like daisy petals around my eyes.  I had gotten a ride over there with a man I’d just met who appeared interested in my work.  As I got out of his car with my change of clothes and make-up case, he said, "Sorry I can't stay.  Good luck!  I'll call you," reached over and slammed the door.  I never heard from him again.  Thankfully, an enthusiastic friend showed up and gave me a ride home.

   

"Rimers of Eldritch". Me, 3rd from left; Anne Galjour to my left

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My cousin, Dan Caldwell*, was teaching Theatre Arts at Tamalpais High in Mill Valley, CA.  I had lost contact with him over the years. In truth, he intimidated me as he once was the artistic director of The Marin Shakespeare Festival for a few years.    I wanted to do an educational lecture performance at his school, but hesitated.  Then, I thought, "All he could do was say, 'No'".  So I drafted a letter which I  lamely began: "Hi Dan, do you remember me?" . . .  I stuffed it in an envelope along with a proposal and a brochure and sent it off.  After several days of anxiety, I got a phone call from him.  I was so flustered, I almost couldn't speak.  But after a while, because of his tone and familiarity, I relaxed. Turned out, he apologized for not getting back to me sooner, he explained.  "I'm the program director for Tam's  Ensemble Theatre. I had to run your proposal by the board of directors for their approval," he said, "And?" I asked.

The Program

"We've got a show!"  I was ecstatic.  It was happening. We talked about a date in May and other matters regarding tech, publicity, etc.  My middle son, Terrence, drove me to Marin with my props, set, costumes, and Ron Leeson who assisted with tech, in his pickup.  The show went well, attended by drama students and the public.  I had displayed on a table my mime book collection, which included the complete script of  Marcel Carné's "Les Enfante du Paradis," and Jean-Louis Barrault's autobiography, which I'd bought at a used book store with my last six dollars,  After the show, an older woman picked up my Carné book.  She seemed rapturously obessesed by it.  I watched her put back on the table.   A friend from Fireman's Fund, Garilee Leary, who had videod some of my pieces, had planned a reception for me at a friend's Mill Valley home.  There, the older woman  told me, in a heavy German accent, that she loved my lecture on mime history and performance illustrating it.  "I want that book," she then teased, "You don't know how close I came to walking off with it.   Where on earth did you get it?"    "Oh,"I said, "it was another great find in the film section of a used book store."  She flipped through it again, then reluctantly set it down with the rest of my books, shaking her head.  "Aren't those  the greatest places? I can easily spend hours there."

 Terrence had to leave immediately after the show so a generous, supportive friend arranged to give Ron and me a ride back to the city though she lived in Marin.  Dan said we could leave the props and set at the theatre as long as we picked them up on Sunday, the day after the show.  We weren't too happy when, that day, we ran into Bay to Breakers traffic on the way to the Golden Gate Bridge, which we'd forgotten about,

Next: Chapter 15: I was spending money too fast.  I'd have to start job hunting soon.  Something I wasn't looking forward to. I take temp receptionist jobs, proving my ineptness when it came to pushing the right buttons when transferring calls.

*Dan, who merited a new theatre arts building on the Tam High campus which bears his name-the Daniel Caldwell Performing Arts Center- died of Alzheimer's in March 2015.  He had been the head of that department where he taught for 35 years.  In May of that year, a huge reception was held for him in the eponymous new building, attended by his family, current, and former students, faculty, and all who had had the pleasure if working with him over the decades.

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CHAPTER 13, Part Six: The office is moving to Lucas Green. Watch out! Tricky wording on severance documents for employees unwilling to relocate.

It’s happening.  It’s official.   The Laurel Hill Fireman’s Fund office is moving to Lucas Green.  Tricky wording on severance documents.   Fred takes a tally of those of us resigning and those who will commute to Marin or relocate.   Those of us unwilling to commute or relocate attend a job retraining seminar to help  determine what position we are best suited for if we prefer not to continue with systems analysis or commercial insurance.

Wes and I are leaving.  Jerry is staying and will commute rather than relocate.  He and his partner (now husband) just bought a house in Noe Valley.  Wes had accepted a position at Marsh & McLennan Insurance Brokers where he will head up an in-house Fireman’s Fund  Property and Casualty Insurance  Company  (where I eventually end up in a couple of years).

It was June, 1982.   Fred and Don set up severance interviews.  Wes clued me in on a tricky question having to do with my exit date. 

 “Be careful," he warned, "Don't tell them when you want to leave.  Once they know you aren’t staying, let them set the date. “ 

“Why?”  I asked, anxious to split as soon as possible; in fact after my next paycheck.

“You won’t get your severance package," he said, "because you, in effect, quit.  So it’s up to them.  Again, be careful.”

I had saved some money through the company for several years; that, along with the severance package, I’d walk away with about ten grand- enough, I hoped to last a year and allow me to focus on my performance art.

While on my day job, I had been working with Annette Lust who was an expert on the art of mime (Annette died in 2014 of a massive stroke.  She was 89).  She had studied with the master, Etienne Decroux, in Paris.  Also, with a Ph D in Foreign Languages from the Sorbonne, she was a  French language professor at Dominican University in San Rafael, California.  She had encouraged me to volunteer to teach a night class in Beginning Mime at Dominican University, for continuing education.  I got the gig and taught one night a week, taking Golden Gate Transit  to Marin right after work, grabbing a bite in Cow Hollow first.   Annette had lectured at Bay Area schools and colleges on the art and history of mime , from early 19^th Century French to Marcel Marceau to the more modern techniques with masks and abstract physical movement.   She wanted me to join her as an unpaid assistant to illustrate her lectures with the physicality of the art,  an experience I could include on my resume when I auditioned for paying gigs.  

                During my years on Laurel Hill, from about 1980 to 1982, MTV launched the first 24Hr music video cable station in 1981.  There was much talk about it around the proverbial water-cooler when fans  rushed home after work to watch.  While MTV launched its thing, the US launched the space shuttle Columbia.  Its first return to space since 1975.  And Sandra Day O’Conner became the first woman on the U. S. Supreme Court.  Hallelujah!  Bad things happened that year as well: the collapse of a hotel walkway in Kansas City, Mo where 114 people died and 200 were injured.  Called “the deadliest structural collapse to occur in the US until 9/11".  And between 1981-82  people became aware of scores of missing children which began with the killing of 7 year old Adam Walsh and the disappearance of 12-year-old Johnny Gosch. 

  Fred called me into his office.  Don Pearce was there.

 "What are your plans?  Are you coming with us?" he asked, leaning back in his chair, arms straight, hands splayed on his desk.  His tie to one side revealed a couple of buttons undone on his shirt.  The gap opened slightly on smooth caramel skin. Don sat with his legs crossed, socks collapsed on grimy ankles;  a smug smirk on his face.

"Have you decided when you're quitting?" he interjected.  Quick on my feet, I said,

"Oh, I'm not quitting.  I am willing to work as long as I can until the move. "  Don moved his chair back, and tucked his chin in his neck.  Fred turned to look at him, eyebrows raised.

"Okay," he drawled, "We'll let you know."

A schedule of tasks to be completed prior to the move was passed around.   Logistics of handling off completed and unfinished program tests,  dates to shuttle to Lucas Green to test them.  Wes and I were ignored except to give Don names of those to whom we'd give work-in-progress; though we told him that we could take care of it, go over the work with them ourselves.  Jerry and some others had already left. Wes, too.  The office was almost deserted.  Our voices almost echoed in the emptiness.   

A team consisting of a perky, red-haired woman about  40sish and a taciturn all-business, balding man wearing thick-framed glasses, showed up and set up their screen, slides and boxes of forms in the conference room for the job retraining seminar, which lasted a whole day.  We answered questions about our goals, discussed our responses, watched slides of interviews with people who'd had successful career changes,  then checked boxes on a form the results of which would point to our new careers.  I recall one of the questions had to do with whom you would hang out at parties.  Choices were business types, artists, laborers, entertainers, educators, literary-types, sports-figures, politicians, etc.  Other questions hinted at whether or not one was suited for politics, social services, fundraising, etc.  I found it exhausting.  What my results boiled down to was that I should seek work as a photojournalist!  

Once again, in late June, Fred called me into his office.  Though Don spent most of his day in Lucas Green, there he was, smug and smirking, sitting next to Fred.  I sat down,  Fred spread a stack of forms in front of me. 

"We've set your termination date as the first Friday after the 4th of July.  Please review these forms from the Personnel Department and sign where there's an "X" and and initial where noted, then take them up there.  You'll have to see them about your severance package," he added.   

"Don't forget to apply for Unemployment Insurance," Don snarked, leaning to one side.

All the paperwork was done.  I'd receive a check which I would immediately deposit in a money market account.  I would need unemployment checks for a while as I doubted I would find work as a photojournalist.  I could write but had no photography skills, and no equipment except for a cheap, 35mm camera.  I hoped I could earn a bare bones living with my performances.

 

Next up: CHAPTER 13, Part Seven:  I am on my own.  A year of promoting my performances to organizations and education faciities, a vacation to Mexico; and assisting Annette-she, in effect, acting as my boss- in her lectures on mime.  Dr. Annette Lust (pictured left) from an item in The Dominican University Notebook, 1982.

 

Chapter 13, Part Five: A co-worker's tragedy; another's birthday celebration; a run-in with the "back office;" culture clash, and more . . .

A tragedy befell a beautiful, popular Project Manager who visited our department often to discuss her projects with Fred.  She was friendly and engaging and treated everyone equally.  Quick to laugh, she'd often stop to chat.  We all loved her.  The event shocked everyone.

In my new position, I would still be working with Don Pearce.  It had opened up because the woman, Jeanne Chapman, Don's assistant, had accepted a job as a permanent member in the test unit in Lucas Green.  I talked it over with Fred, explaining my conflict.  I came to realize that Don's thinking is linear whereas mine in circular. Still the results were the same.  I had not yet decided to take it; so I told Fred I'd let him know in the morning.  One thing about being able to get your work done is depending on the cooperation of those who do the copying, typing and filing.  I had a run-in with the woman who's in charge of reproduction: i.e. copying.  She complained to me that if I wanted my project done quickly (Pearce's orders) it would tie up the copiers.  I explained that she'd have to take it up with my boss.  She said that's what she'd do.  I forewarned Fred.  He laughed, waved it off.  "Don't worry, I'll take care of it."  Whatever transpired, it worked. The result, the repro supervisor and I ended up working well together making both our jobs easier.

Tying up the copy machine

Birthday parties, anniversaries, retirements, whatever- leavened the ongoing, everyday, hassels.  I'd stopped by a department to pick up some finished work.  They were celebrating someone's birthday and invited me to stay for cake and coffee.  I had fun talking and laughing with the mostly Filipina and Latina women who do the grunt work for us.  When I got back to my unit, Don asked me where I'd been, and scolded me when I told him.  I didn't react to his ravings.  I went to my desk and caught up on phone calls. Why get all turned around over something so trivial, I thought, as long as we get our projects to the program managers in time.

Employee birthday party held in the cafeteria

            Once, I had gone with a woman on another team  I’ll call Sheila  to pick up some work from Reproduction.  She had very short reddish hair, and usually wore elbow-patched, tweed, hip-length blazers with pencil skirts and clunky heels.   Repro was about to break out a cake for a co-worker’s impending wedding and invited us to join them.  I said, “Sure!”  Sheila gave me strange look. “I’m leaving.”  “Okay,” I said.  “Bring me back a piece,” she walked away.   Later, when I gave it to her, I said, “You should’ve stayed.  It was fun!  They're so sweet.”  As she dug into her slice, her mouth full of cake and cream frosting, she told me she doesn’t like to waste her time being friendly to those “people”.  The longer I worked in the corporate world, I began to realize a definite under the radar “class” system in force.  Anyone with any sort of title disdains communicating with the people who make up what the corporate world demeaningly (in my opinion) labels, “Back Room.”  Then they would  wonder why “those people” always came through for me whenever I needed a rush job on anything. 

Jeanne Chapman, who wore oversized glasses, cotton print dresses and pastel hoodies, was in her 50s, her greying hair tightly curled.  She was a woman whose face constantly bore a wimpy smile but you never knew why.  Before leaving for Lucas Green, Jeanne told me horror stories dealing with Pearce.  I said I thought I could handle him.  Because of a hiring freeze, they looked to hire internally, so Fred and Don interviewed  me to replace her.  She’d left a lot of her work unfinished due to her spending so much time going back and forth.  As it was, I ended up finishing what she'd left, and was already taking orders directly from Don.  I hadn’t decided yet to take the position.  So if I did, I had to adjust my psyche to adapt to working with him full time; my strategy as more demanding and assertive, hoping he'd be humbled.   The next day I told Fred that I would accept the job.  If things didn’t work out between Don and me, there was nowhere else for me to go unless I made it my goal to become a full-fledged Systems Analyst, which I figured I could do in a couple of years.

One morning I showed up wearing a black, fitted, cotton knit blazer over a red silk blouse, a black A- frame skirt, and low-heeled black open-toed shoes.  Don Pearce said, "I see you're already dressing for success.  You look very professional today. You should wear those outfits more often."  Since I bicycled to work just about every day, I wore natural fiber clothes (there were no showers, except most likely for executives) and flats or low-heeled shoes. I didn't want the extra hassle of bringing a change.  Both Don and Fred often remarked on what I wore to work.  I had no umbrella and when it rained, I wore a long coat, and a heavy-rainproof fedora.  Fred saw it on the coat rack, looked pointedly at me,  and said aloud, "Who wears a hat like that?"   I said nothing, but shook my head in incomprehension.  Another time, it was really cold and I wore a sheep's wool-lined leather coat imported from Afghanistan that Beau Hickory had bought for me, coats which became hugely trendy a few years later.  This time, Don stood, arms akimbo, in front of the rack, and asked no one in particular, "Whose animal is this?"  Then fingered the wool.

About this time a tragedy struck a systems manager I'll call Theresa who was based in Lucas Green.  She came by every so often to discuss programs.  She was tall, gorgeous with movie-star looks, always beautifully dressed, and had long, wavy, light-auburn hair.    She had recently married a San Francisco cop- a single dad who had two kids.  She had shown me pictures of them in their new house in Marin, and of their vacation.  She told us that for their honeymoon they’d gone to a motel on Big Sur that specialized in honeymooners.  It boasted different themed cottages, with beds of all sizes and shapes, including heart-shaped, and water-beds.   He was as handsome as she beautiful; he had coal black hair, a mustache, and great cheekbones.  She was a delight, laughing easily and making us all feel happy in her infectious glow.  Still, there were times when she came in feeling down.  She confessed to me that her husband suffered from severe depression which led to drink and abuse.  We thought it odd when we hadn’t seen nor heard from her for a few weeks.  It wasn't like her to leave projects hanging.  A rumor spread that Theresa's husband had committed suicide.   I neither heard nor learned anything more about her from then on.  The tragedy became the focus of  conversations and gossip on Laurel Hill and Lucas Green for some time and the office took on a dark ambience of mourning.

My costume and mask for "A Man by the Name of Ziegler."

After a while, Jerry and I resumed our spontaneous reactions to co-worker's sentence fragments, usually finishing them with lines from movies and cracking each other up, not giving a fat rat's ass if anyone thought we were funny.  We got weird looks from Don and Fred, of course.   Once, when the coffee break bell rang, he and I simultaneously rose from behind our desks, singing, "There are bells all around, but we couldn't hear them ringing. . . .  . . . "  Our mind and heart in sync, we came together,  arms outstretched, in the open space between groups of desks, and launched into a waltz, stopped, parted, and went back to work as though that never happened, leaving co-workers, except Candyce, shaking their heads, rolling their eyes.  I happened to be producing a lot of mime performances then.  Jerry narrated the Hermann Hesse short story, "A Man by the Name of Ziegler," to which I had choreographed movements.  It showed along with several other pieces in a dance studio on Van Ness and Geary.  Jerry told me he had once been an actor and a model in Europe until a car accident left a scar across his forehead.  After that, sadly, he said he gave up; he could no longer get work.  Yet I thought of character actor George Macready whose own scar seemed to get him great parts in movies.  I think it bothered Jerry, who was leading-man handsome,  for it kept him from being cast in those roles.

Once I accepted my new position, I passed the oversight of our test unit on to Candyce, with Don and Fred's approval.  She was a hardworking, beautiful, young black woman who reminds me now of  Octavia Spencer from the film "The Help."  She and another woman of Indian heritage, whose name I've forgotten, often clashed over tasks given them by Don Pearce.  I was to monitor their progress.  A lot of it had to do with reading specs and entering "1"s and "O"s into long sheets of graph paper.  So dedicated, Candyce would often take her work home if she didn't finish it.  Their clashes had more to do with cultural differences than race.  I would call them into a conference room and talk with them about their issues, avoiding talking about heritage but stressing that the only way they were going to get along was simply by respecting each other.  They walked away agreeing and things would settle down for a while until the next flare up.  Candyce got pregnant and was offered a leave of absence, but left the company a few months after her baby, a girl, was born; a perfect replica of Candyce. 

Turns out, I didn’t have to work for DP or Fred much longer.  Our unit was permanently relocating to Lucas Green. I did not want to commute so decided to leave the company.

Next up: Chapter13, Part Six.  Wording on the resignation papers would have denied me my severance package unless  . . .   My results of a questionnaire we who were leaving took as part of retraining sessions for future positions.  The conditions of my departure and my year away from the corporate world.