I first called my grandmother for fashion advice. Funny only because we are not fashionable people. But there was a murder mystery evening for which I was trying to assemble an outfit; it was set in the 1940's.
I knew nothing of 1940's fashion, but somewhere in the process of preparing my outfit, I realized that my grandmother grew up in that era. Surely she would know. I got her phone number from mom and gave her a ring.
In the midst of learning from grandma how they curled their hair, I learned of what a lazy, Sunday afternoon in my great-grandfather's household was like. I learned about the war, and how fashion resembled the war with their padded shoulders and uniform-looking suitcoats. I learned that grandma had saved so many of her dresses for her granddaughters to try one day. She had never, ever mentioned this in all of the days of hauling my mother's old dolls with their chests of doll clothing down from the attic when we used to go to play. In fact, it seemed strange to me that she had thought to do this, and I only knew because I happened to call.
That Christmas my sister Ginette and I arranged a fashion show at grandmas house. We fit perfectly into her old dresses. That phone call started a series of phone calls that continue to this day.
The thing that surprised me most at first was that almost all of my conversations with Grandma ended up being about the war. The war had little meaning to me, but, as it turns out, was so formative to my grandmother and even after all these years, seemed to be something that still is a huge part of her.
I learned of her classmates from the tiny island of Nantucket going off to war. I learned of her father joining the navy and how smart he looked in his uniform. I learned of the ringing of the church bells when the war ended...and black outs...
I am an immigration lawyer, fascinated with all things international. If I had it my way, the whole world would be as abundant as America. My grandmother buys nothing but American goods, and she is stubborn about it. One Christmas, I had to ask, 'Why? Why is it so important that we only buy American things?" I was one of those children who drove her mother nuts by always asking why. Grandma's first response was about how it is important for the American economy. My response was something about why we wouldn't want our commerce to bless the rest of the world. Why would we be so concerned about our country to the point of not purchasing from other countries? Grandma's stern response at last gave me my sought for insight - because she watched so many of her classmates give their lives for this country.
Grandma's support for our country led to receiving gifts last Christmas that were all made exclusively in New Hampshire, and I loved it. Curiously, among the gifts given to her family, were books about an old concentration camp that was in New Hampshire during the world wars. Who knew?
In reading Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet I learned that there were other concentration camps of a different sort during the second world war, camps to which they placed Japanese Americans during the war. I learned of a harshness and paranoia that I had only ever heard vague things about.
I cried so much while I was reading the book that it wasn't necessary to wash my makeup off, as I had cried it all off while reading. The biggotry, the needless hysteria. I am a huge fan of good character development, and this book did a decent job of that...which didn't help the tears.
But also, as an immigration lawyer, clearly I have both a bias and a soft spot for immigrants, the language barriers, the economic struggles, and the social isolation that can be there. This book hit a chord on that level too.
So many of the elements in the story made me think of stories I've heard from Grandma, the ringing of the bells at the end of the war - feelings of elation that rippled throughout America during that time - that I look forward to getting her insights about the treatment of Japanese Americans during the war next time I call.
