A Left Handed Tribute, Of Sorts!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                  Both a tribute, and an autobiography, darlings!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                  When it came to the phrase "spinster librarian," few exemplified it better than Dorothy Swerdlove, the woman to the right, in green, pictured above, with whom I worked for eight years, from 1982, until her retirement in 1990.  Dorothy was a brilliant theater curator, and I would be the first person to say, she knew her stuff.

                                    I learned, yesterday, that she passed away in Tuscon, Arizona (where she had retired, to live among various members of her family, who were there!!!!!!!!) on December 30, 2012.  She was 83; had she lived to January 4, she would have been 84.  I was sad to hear this--another person, another part of my past, hence another part of my life going with her--and it gave me pause during lunch break.  I mourn Dorothy's professional skill, and the grief her surviving family members feel.

                                    But.

                                    I cannot put her on as high a pedestal as some of my colleagues would. And there are reasons!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                     Part of those reasons are generational.  When I first worked with Dorothy, in 1982, I was a mere 27, while she and her colleagues (Mr. Fowle, Mr. Lynch) were in their early to mid-50's, older than I was THEN, younger than I am NOW!!!!!!!!!!  As such, I always sensed there was something they resented about me, and I think I know what it was.  They resented that someone as young as I was then, should know as much as I did about theater and film.  On one level, I think they were astonished, but, instead of encouraging me, and appreciating me for said knowledge, I was treated poorly by these people concerned, and Dorothy, in particular.

                                       The first time came on April 4, 1983, an emotionally fraught time for me, as that Saturday, April 2, was only the fourth anniversary of my mother's death.  Not that I expected anyone to know this, nor did I share it with anyone, but, nevertheless, wounds were raw.

                                         That Friday, April 1, I was working on some files, when it was time to leave.  I put the files I had not finished in a pile, on my desk,  intending to finish them on Monday, not giving them a second thought.  When I returned that Monday, I saw there was a note on them from Dorothy--"Please see me.  Why did you not correct them the first time I told you about it?"  I went to her office, and was given this overly reactive, harsh lecture on negligence, daydreaming, when all I was doing was saving this to be completed.  That altered my opinion of Dorothy on the spot.  The next day, as though nothing had happened, she was perfectly cordial to me.  But I would not be fooled.  And I was not, after that.

                                             Now, my job title was at a Level One.  It was an entry position, and full time.  I had always wanted to work with the public, as some of my colleagues did, and felt, that, in time, I would be given the opportunity to.  One had to be at Level Three to work the public desk, and until said time, there was nothing I could do.  Something had to open up, before I could be considered.  Well, I worked under Dorothy's leadership, in her department, for three years.  On three separate occasions, Level Three jobs opened up.  Each time, I applied, was interviewed, questioned by colleagues on the  premises.  And each time I was shot down!  I later found out it was Dorothy who was responsible.  Shortly, after she left, and circumstances had permitted me to work downstairs, where I did work the public desks, and was treated better by the staff there than previously, one of my former colleagues, Dan Patri, and I were dining in the staff cafeteria. He asked me how I liked working with the public.  I guessed he knew something I didn't, because, after saying he was glad, and glad for me, he said, "Miss Swerdlove did not want you working on the public desks."  I never knew why, as I never bothered to ask him, nor did he say.  But I knew now it was she who intentionally sabotaged me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                               Eventually, I made my way downstairs, with a small promotion, to boot! Everyone seemed glad for me, save for Dorothy Swerdlove. For starters, she wouldn't release me till the middle of the month; I was supposed to start the new post at the beginning.  But the piece de resistance came on the last day.

                                                  For reasons I now cannot recall, I had had to take a day that week off.  I offered to make it up by coming in on Saturday, and cleaning up my desk, to ready it for whomever would be my replacement!  The night before,  I had been to the theater; again, it was 1985, (this is 28 years ago, darlings!!!!!!!!) so I cannot recall what I saw that evening. Ed Sager (a lovely man and co-worker; may he rest in peace!!!!!!!!) was working that day, and we were chatting about the play.  Dorothy had come in that day, as was her wont, to work on various projects she was involved in within the theater/academic communities.  To see her pass back and forth through the workroom on a Saturday was not unusual at all!!!!!!!!  Nor was this Saturday any different.  Until late afternoon, as, while Ed and I were chatting, she slowly came down our aisle, turned to Ed, apologizing for interrupting, saying she needed to speak with me.
She turned to me, with that smiling face, and that melting, cloying voice, and said--I swear, these were her exact words--

                        "I know today is your last day, and I don't mean this to be as nasty
                         as it sounds.  But we ARE going to get some work out of you today,
                         aren't we?"
Then she smiled, and walked away.  Ed's jaw dropped, and he practically spat out, "I don't believe it!"  To which I said, "Now, you know why I am leaving the department."

                          Dorothy's demise has dredged up all this stuff from the past. But Mr. Fowle was not exactly innocent.  Though easier to work with than Dorothy, he had his moments.

                           It wasn't long after I began there,  that I learned what everyone else who starts there learned.  Mr. Fowle came from Boston, and his family were not only, quite wealthy, but were the ones who, generations earlier, had started, and still owned (and maybe still own today) the Boston Globe newspaper!
The first time hearing this was interesting.  It got to be old and tired fast, with some of us resenting his stating this constantly. As I eventually came to feel, since he did not HAVE to work, he was keeping a job that someone probably more qualified and deserving actually needed.  Which was rectified, after he retired.

                            Mr. Fowle was extremely condescending, often referring to me as one of his "poor little clerks!"  Indeed!!!!!!!!   Darlings, do you think I was any Bob Cratchit?????????  Not me!!!!!!!!!!!!!   I recall, while planning for our annual Christmas party, he once espoused, insulting everyone seated around him, "I suppose I will have to bring the meat, because no one else can afford it."

                              To make matters worse, he was my immediate supervisor. As I said, working on a day to day basis was not so bad, but when it came time for my service review, he had the NERVE to say that I did not always "meet job requirements."  When  I finished reading it, it was given to Dorothy, who asked me if I thought it was fair. Back then, I was young, easily intimidated and would never say what I would say now, so here it is--No, I don't, you rotten bitch!  And Mr. Fowle!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                He too retired, years after Dorothy.  He was a playwright by avocation, and so a group of us (with my theatrical background, I was enlisted!!!!!!!!) were called upon to perform a series of playlets he had written.  As he gave me one script, (the title I forget) he emphasized how, his partner, Lon, on rereading it, remarked there was one character in it that only I MUST play.  I was curious to see what I was thought so right for!!!!!!!!!  I cannot recall the character's name either, but I do recall his description--"....whose sole aim in life is to do nothing but play tennis."  I was SO insulted!!!!!!!!! So, this is how I am perceived!!!!!!!!  Fuck you!  Just because I did not have your pathetic ambitions does not mean I have some of my own. And they are none of your business!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                   What is funny is, in the intervening years, Mr. Fowle still comes around occasionally, doing volunteer work.  He has aged and mellowed.  I doubt he would recall any of this, and I am not about to bring it up.  When I heard Dorothy had died, I felt a twinge of sorrow, and surprise--I thought, with his health issues, Mr. Fowle would have been the first of that group to go!!!!!!!!!!!!  He has aged considerably in the past year, and has had a stent put in his heart!!!!!!!!!!!

                                    But it is Dorothy I am remembering, and while I respected her professional contributions, and acknowledge her passing, I cannot feel as warm and fuzzy toward her as some. Same with Mr. Fowle.

                                     Remember the child Blanche, at the start of "What Ever Happened To Baby Jane?"
--"I won't forget. You BET I won't forget!"

                                      That child is me, darlings!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!