May of 1997 I graduated from The New York State College of Ceramics at Alfred, receiving my MFA in Glass Sculpture, my terminal degree in the arts. I spent the summer doing some driving and teaching a summer class in glassblowing. When the teaching was over I found myself standing in the middle of a one-stoplight town asking the question, what’s next? Fortunately two job offers for adjunct teaching positions came in, one in Cleveland the other in Rochester.
I packed up “Andre” my newly acquired 86 B2000 Mazda pickup and drove off to Cleveland for an interview and later journeyed to Rochester for another. I was involved with a girl at the time and she had one more year of school in Alfred, 45 minutes south of Rochester. For the sake of that relationship and having to choose one mediocre city over another I choose Rochester and then drove to Boston to spend the remainder of my summer with said girl. As the summer waned to a close I ventured back and began the process of finding a place to live. I wasn’t about to make much money and really didn’t possess much at the time so I rented a room in a boarding house and this is where my relationship with Mrs. J begins.
Mrs. J was the owner of the boarding house I was to inhabit during my tenure in Rochester and soon to become one of those friends that you never really envisioned yourself having. My room was at the front of the house, my door on one side of the entryway and just to the right of my door and opposing the front door sat a sheet metal chair of the forties lawn/garden variety. Being 88 Mrs. J walked with a cane and upon arrival would with deft precision launch her cane onto the sheet metal chair. The collision of these objects created a ruckus that could wake the dead and in the absence of cadavers, me.
Adjuncts or associate lecturers in art are a dime a dozen, think about all the fools who go get some masters degree in art and upon graduating realize that unless you have enough money to support your art the only career your really prepared for is teaching. Most graduates of Art schools aren’t even prepared for that, funny being an education based on creativity. Suffice it to say with hundreds of graduates clawing at the doors of institutions, it’s a buyers market. Paying a bit more than 600 bucks a month before taxes. Payday would consist of handing Mrs. J her cut and taking care of the obligatory bills and dividing the remainder by the number of days till my next check, usually worked out to round about a buck sixty a day $1.60. I made a lot of hummus.
Remember that girl I mentioned in the second paragraph. She dumped me around Halloween. These things happen and sadly I probably didn’t really give her all the attention she deserved, I was a little distracted. Rushing down a staircase and that low beam seems to jump off the ceiling and make direct contact with your forehead scaring the shit out of you and knocking you on your ass simultaneously, a lot like that.
That one day of teaching a week felt pretty good with all those beautiful minds looking to you for the knowledge they crave and for all purposes to them, you as their teacher are the master of that knowledge. You’d think it might help one’s outlook on life to have people respect your knowledge and opinions and maybe it was part of what got me through. In reality it felt like my life was a shit sandwich without a glass of water to wash it down.
What can you do? Keep walking and eventually the scenery will change. Sleep turns off the noise. When one can find it, but upon waking all one desires is the return of silence. Did I mention Mrs. J’s ability to raise the dead? I don’t know how long she ran this boarding house but for a place that inhabits people at the low end of the economy it was pretty comfortable and each room was equipped with a sink and a small refrigerator. Mrs. J paid the electric and utilities and therefore demanded access to each room in order to check the frost levels of the refrigerators, the more frost the harder they worked hence increasing the house marms power bill. A bed can be a sanctuary, my bed as sparse as it was, was quite comfortable and being the only piece of furniture in my room I spent quite a bit of time in it. I came to learn very quickly, that when I heard the clamor of Mrs. J’s cane landing on that garden chair, a knock on my door would be soon to follow. A wake up call in not so many ways. This is how I started to learn about Mrs. Jefferson’s life.
Most likely she was just as lonely as I. Her husband had died at least twenty years previous and her daughter was married with children living in Australia. I recall our conversations were on Tuesday mornings as that was her day to collect rent and check the refrigerators of course, though I paid by the month and I think that may be one of the reasons she liked me. She grew up in Berlin and came to America after the war. Her daughter was born on a floor of a crowded hospital during the bombing of Berlin and she had just survived skin cancer. Sadly these are the only stories I remember. She was always pleasant and would not hesitate to mention her age; I think she was pretty amazed to have made it so far. I don’t recall how I responded to her stories as I was just trying to make my next step. But as I look back I can’t help but be in awe of the paths that people have to negotiate in life without having any say as to where these paths led or the obstacles that must be overcome.
So I made it, I started to get temp labor work during my days off from school and my budget started to allow for the occasional cheeseburger. My heart started to heal, slowly as those things take time. Friends were made and good times ensued. Not to mention the pleasure of a Sunday night wander through the aisles of the super Wegman’s grocery store. Towards the end of my second semester my chair asked me what it would take to keep me in Rochester I replied abruptly “nothing could keep me here”. After some reflection on the subject I approached his boss and asked for two classes a semester and health care, I was denied.
Some fellow alumni from Alfred had arranged renovation work for me in Philly, which begins another story. I started to prepare for my move in February and in doing so would include paying Mrs. J my last month rent and giving her my notice. She invited me over to her house and agreed to take a check. “I don’t usually take checks but for you Steven I will make an exception” She told me with a fondness in her voice. We chatted and said our goodbyes and I moved on to start another chapter in my life. Its been sixteen years and I am sure Mrs. J is dead. When I look back at this time in my life even though it was hard and painful it actually brings me pleasure. I don’t know why but I presume that it put life into real perspective and gave me a solid knowledge of what is really important. I owe a great portion of this knowledge to my conversations with Mrs. J.
