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Cha pter 3 Teaching, Marriage, and Family L ate in the summer of 1935, I received my degree from Colum‑ bia University and left New York for home without any clear objective. I did have a couple of firm resolves: I would not live in Yoakum and I didn’t want to teach school. Mainly I just wanted to rest since I had been going to school one way or another for all of my twenty years. In Yoakum, my father seemed even weaker than a year earlier. He was grayer, thinner, and more stooped. His enthusiasm at having me at home prevented my even discussing the possibility that future plans would take me away. Ten days after I returned from New York, Daddy came home at noon, waving his arms and shouting at the top of his still vibrant voice. “I have marvelous news. Superintendent Barron called me. He found out that one of the young teachers is married, and you know that’s not allowed in the Yoakum schools. He heard Marjorie was home and needs her to fill that opening.” My heart sank, but I thought, Poor Daddy, he doesn’t know that’s an impossibility. Trying not to show my glee, I said, “Daddy, I can’t do that. I’m not qualified. I’ve never had practice teaching, which is required for certification.” He was adamant. “That’s ridiculous. You have more degrees than any teacher in Yoakum.” “Maybe so,” I said, trying not to show my relief, “but I’m positive that the schools will lose their accreditation if they employ uncerti‑ fied teachers.” 52 Chapter 3 Daddy was at the telephone and back in a split second. “We’re going to Austin tomorrow to see the state superintendent.” I still wasn’t too worried. However, I underestimated my father. We traveled to Austin the next day only to learn that the superin‑ tendent was attending a conference in San Antonio. Not skipping a beat, we drove on to San Antonio from Austin to get the poor man out of his meeting. I still don’t quite know how Daddy did it. Fur‑ thermore, once we had the superintendent face to face, my father put on a performance worthy of Sarah Bernhardt. He pulled out my records and diplomas and began his recital. “My daughter has been away for years now—in Europe and New York. I’m sick and old, and I want her to stay at home for a while with me. I know I can’t keep her unless she has some occupation. I know she’s qualified.” The man looked at my father and then at me. He didn’t even glance at the records. “If I issue you a temporary teacher’s certificate, will you promise to take practice teaching next summer without fail?” I knew I had lost. But because I spent every weekend in Houston, it became obvious to my father that I would leave Yoakum at the end of the school year. In those days there were more teachers than jobs, but Uncle George knew the superintendent of the Houston schools, who found me a place at Hogg Junior High School in Houston’s Heights area. I kept my promise. I took practice teaching, and, for someone who never wanted to teach school, I found myself doing just that. In ret‑ rospect, this decision changed the direction of my life. It undermined my as yet unexpressed wish to be involved in public affairs. I had had visions of being a translator with the State Department, a course of action that would have led me far away from Texas. Why didn’t I resist? I suppose I wanted to please my father. I had a long history of doing so, and besides, he was so frail. Also, I guess I instinctively tried, then and later, to avoid the controversy and strife that had been so characteristic of my family while I was growing up. It was simply easier and less stressful to go along, subsuming my own needs and desires to the demands of my elders. Daddy wrote his sister, Esther: “Marjorie will be coming to Houston in the fall, and I expect her to live with you.” It was just as unheard of for an unmarried woman to have her own apartment if she had a relative living in the same town as it was perfectly normal for one [3.138.114.94] Project MUSE (2024...

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