Pat Taub
As we move into Women’s History Month, the tendency is to celebrate famous women in the arts and politics, giving short strife to those less famous women who made an indelible impression on our lives. For Women’s History Month, I’m honoring relatives, neighbors, schoolteachers, and others who took me under their wing to model courage, compassion, and a zest for life.
To My Mother, Jane Conrad First:
I learned compassion from you as I watched you slip dollar bills to a farmer with a sick child, or when you forced me to invite the unpopular girls to my elementary school birthday parties. I’m grateful to you for introducing me to art museums and guiding me on viewing a painting.
My mother and I six months before she died, July 2000.
To Nana, Pearl Conrad:
I adored you for your fun-filled spirit. I have fond memories of Saturday lunches with you, in Pomeroy’s Department Store in downtown Harrisburg, Pa. After we finished our chicken salad sandwiches, we’d make a beeline for the jewelry department, where we’d leisurely try on necklaces, earrings, and bracelets to the annoyance of the salesgirl, whom you dismissed with a smile. When you caught my teenage self, stealing Camels from your purse, you promised not to tell the parents, while cautioning me against developing a smoking habit.
Nana at age 82 when corsages were still in fashion
To Aunt Anne:
When politics surfaced at the dinner table, as the only Democrat in our Republican family, you challenged Dad, an intimidating debater. No matter how loud he got, you went toe-to-toe with him. I’m grateful to you for modeling the importance of standing up for my beliefs.
To Cousin Esther Coryell:
As a teenager, I thought you were the epitome of sophistication, living in Greenwich Village and working as an actress. My boarding school visits to you were always eventful. I will never forget the visit, when I was 17, and you declared I was ready for a trip to the Plaza’s Oak Room for a cocktail. Since I was underage, you dressed me in a sophisticated sheath, heels, and your bright red lipstick. I received a lot of male attention. Apparently, you hadn’t anticipated that your role as Pygmalion would be so successful, escorting me out of the Plaza in short order. You left me with a taste for adventure.
Cousin Esther in a photo taken for her acting portfolio
To My Neighbor, Anne Lowengard:
While my parents’ bookshelves were largely restricted to the Encyclopedia Britannica, Reader’s Digests’ anthologies and best sellers, your living room had floor-to-ceiling bookcases stocked with classic writers like Colette and Iris Murdoch. I’m grateful to you for introducing me to writers who left a lasting impression.
Yours Truly in LA’s The Last Bookstore” My love of reading owes a lot to Anne.
To Mrs. Lindsay, My 12th Grade English Teacher:
You were the Miss Jane Brody at my boarding school, making dramatic entrances with your long flowing skirts and frizzy red hair. You took me aside, encouraging me to take risks in my writing, providing affirmations when I did. One evening, as students and teachers were lined up outside the dining room, waiting for the doors to open, you broke with protocol, and whispered in my ear that I would be receiving the English prize at graduation. Your belief in me was instrumental in boosting my self-confidence
A vintage postcard of Penn Hall Boarding School
Collectively, I am indebted to the following women: Margaret York, the kind therapist who saw me through a traumatic divorce; close friends who were there for me during good times, like when my radio show won an award and during dark times, like when my ex-husband drowned. Enormous gratitude to the women at Greenfire Retreat Center for guidance on my spiritual path, and to all the brave women I’ve met doing peace and justice work.
Now that I’m an elder, frequently supporting and advising younger women, it feels like the wisdom I impart is a synthesis of all the amazing women who showed up when I needed them. It feels like my soul is a mosaic, where you all blend together to form my guiding light.
