Stitches
VIII. SOME BACKGROUND FOR THE DESIGN UNIFORMS. UNIFORMS. & MORE UNIFORMS
(Or one young person’s 20th century milestones) The very first uniform I remember is my mother’s white coat which she wore almost all day long as a sign that she was a young MD who had specialized in women & children, especially infants. Later, the white coat was covered with an oversized rubber apron as she taught her patients the exercises she felt all infants and young children should be able to perform for their health and proper physical development.
Years passed before I found out that she had written a book about her theories - a book which earned her the appointment as Medical Director of a very large girls’ high school in Hamburg. Then the white changed to brown shirts and black shorts, worn by quadruple files of “ants” marching in front of our apartment. I held on to my embroidery (my first little doily with the word “MUTTI” surrounded by spaced cross stitches). It was being crunched in my sweaty little hands, so scared and yet mesmerized was I. I didn’t like it; I feared what I was seeing, a scene which was to repeat itself for some time in my dreams.
My best friend’s big brother wore one of those uniforms the day he came to our house to speak to my mother. I told him she could not be disturbed at the moment. For a second, almost less than a second, he stood there undecided, and then... “In the name of the Fuehrer, you must let me in”. I tried to stand my ground. He slapped me one across the face, entered my mother’s consultation room without so much as a glance at the mothers with their babies waiting in the hall. A few moments later, my mother emerged - without her white coat - and asked all the ladies to please leave, she was no longer permitted to treat them. It was also the day that I found out we were Jewish.
That same year, at the railroad station there were other uniforms - black ones, brown ones, blue ones, but also “civilian” uniforms; trench coats, long raincoats, business suits, and many, many hats. One of those very long raincoats and hats was being worn by my father whom I had not seen for a year or so. We were holding hands, for he was so tall he could, by stretching a little, reach the window, and I, being held by my mother, could reach down just enough to meet his hand. We must have been a strange and silent sight; the tall, slender, man holding on to a small child’s hand. Suddenly, he raised his Fedora in an “adieu” that would last over twenty years.. -
There were no uniforms on Ibiza, nor were there any on Mallorca; at least not that I remember unless running around in a sun suit can be considered a uniform. It was a very happy year, and both mother and I blossomed under the lberian sun and my first school days; “ba, be, bi, bo, bu; ca, ce (as say’ in English), ci (as ‘see’ in English), co, cu; da, de, di, do, du”. But wait, reading these syllables - and later words - in unison was a sort of uniform since we children intoned them in the same voice and cadence. I learned to count and read in Spanish; it was a happy time and I grew very tall for my seven years.
Once in Barcelona there appeared yet another uniform in my closet - my very own first “real” uniform - royal blue shirt, dark blue skirt, and a red kerchief tied around my neck. On our sleeve was the insignia of the Soviet Pioneers (three burning logs under rising flames). We felt tall, proud but lean. The Civil War had broken out and Madrid was under siege. We were lean with hunger, but proud that at least one country had not abandoned us. In Barcelona, the red flag of the UGT (Union General de Trabajadores), or the black & red flag of the CNT (Comité Nacional de Trabajadores), or half a dozen other union flags would flutter amidst the red & yellow flags of Cataluna; proud, independent, & solitary in the warm bossom of her ancient culture, history, and language. Red was the predominant color, and even if the uniform was green overalls, there would sooner or later also appear the color red - red for blood, red for political orientation, and red for scars that would never really heal.
My mother took over the directorship of a convent school converted into a children’s home in Lérida. The first thing she did was to have all the curtains surrounding the beds taken down and cut up into identical dresses for all the girls. I have always felt that this uniform was the prettiest of them all, being medium-sized blue & white checks with puffed sleeves and skirts gathered at the waist. White socks and sandals completed the outfit for a year; then, back to Barcelona.
There always had been the olive green with black leather belts and patent leather headgear of the Guardia Civil, but mostly I remember the overalls and berets of the “brigades,” the young men who had come from all over the world to resist and defend the young republic — a country which had become a guinea pig for the Axis, and whose very heart and soul were being torn out... and then the uniform line of cannons on the other side of Mt. Tibidabo, with their nostrils flailing at the port below.
The day came when mother and I were able to cross the border into France: now we were faced with the blue and gold uniforms of the Gendarmerie. We had to be very careful, for we were foreigners, from Spain, and Jewish —- it was all a bit much for the French who put their faith in the Maginot Line and only handed out gas masks to their own people (the rest of the suffering mortals received an oversized handkerchief with which to protect their lungs...). The gas never came, at least not into Paris, and not at the time we were there. A new chapter and the learning of a new language was about to begin...
Epilogue
1939-1944 Lived in Costa Rica to again become citizens of a country (Mother had lost her German citizenship in 1934). Dropped out of high school; took a year off, and was sent to business school. I worked as a bi-lingual secretary and prepared myself for college through I.C.C. as well as attended pre-architecture and art classes at the University.
1945-1948 In Mexico City — stepfather is professor at the university and I am admitted to the Mexico City College on the basis of passing their entrance exams. since 1948 In the U.S. Admitted to Kansas City University by passing the appropriate entrance exams.
Became U.S citizen in 1953. Moved to California in 1954 and graduated from U.C. Berkeley in 1959 with a major in Decorative Arts. Earned Elementary & Secondary Credentials in 1961 and in 1963 completed the M.A. program in Educational Research. Taught 20 years in Mann County (California), mostly Junior High.
Retired and studied programming and bookkeeping. Moved to Panorama City (Lacey, Washington) in 1996 to catch up on at least 40 years of accumulated half, unfinished, and in-the-planningstage projects. Joined EGA in 1991 and am currently Treasurer of The Evergreen Chapter in Seattle.
