Forbidden City on Ala Moana Boulevard was Nancy’s last chance. Cash was low and rent was two weeks overdue. Clutched in her hand was an introduction card from United Employment on Bethel Street. Since losing her job as a hotel maid she’d become a regular at UE. The introduction card read,
Introducing:
Name - Nancy Scott
Address - 115-D Ohua Ave. Honolulu, Hawaii
Telephone – 937-025 Leave Message
Who is calling at our request, relative to a position as,
Cocktail Waitress
We believe this application will meet your requirements satisfactorily. If not, please inform us.
Counselor: Amy Makishi
Nancy was desperate. Her parents mailed her a modest sum of money to get by until she found work, but it wouldn’t be enough to pay all her living expenses. Her boyfriend, a seaman in the Navy, received a nominal stipend. Their relationship was new, and she felt uncomfortable asking for money. In addition, she didn’t want to impose on her friend, Lil, by asking for another loan.
The job interview was brief. It was another failed day looking for work. Nancy took the long way home by foot. She’d come to love the familiar scent of plumeria trees that lined the streets. Two more turns and she was on Ohua Avenue. The fragrance reminded her of the first flower lei she donned two years earlier upon the arrival of her flight on United Airlines. Oahu’s popularity had exploded with Hawaii’s recent statehood and the release of Elvis’ film, Blue Hawaii the year before. Waikiki swarmed with tourists. Tropical breezes that day were refreshing, yet the air was suffocating and heavy like Nancy’s heart.
Dragging her feet up each step onto the landing she saw a blue paper wedged in her door jam. It was an envelope folded in half with a 2x3 inch white paper stapled to it. It read, “Statement of Account,” a bill dated Feb. 14, 1962. It was handwritten in blue ink and read,
Miss Scott,
We understand you received a letter from your parents. Remember you only have to February 19th to pay $128.98 otherwise, we will be forced to evict you and hold your things as security and turn this account to a collection agency. This is the final official notice.
At twenty-three, Nancy dreamt her address could remain Honolulu, Hawaii. Scarcity of work despite a booming economy jolted her from that dream. Besides the unsuccessful attempts to find work, she had also been denied unemployment benefits. The fear she wasn’t enough seemed true. She’d come to believe that no one wanted a pale white haole girl to work their tables or hostess stations. Nancy had no choice but to leave Hawaii and go home.
Five days later United flight # 732 touched down in Bakersfield, California. Nancy moved back into her old room in her parent’s house. Her island adventure had crashed. A new one had been developing. Not one she expected. It had been six weeks since her last period.
Days once spent with her boyfriend on the beach, sand between her toes, Mai Tais at local hangouts, and evenings watching roller derby with friends were now replaced with days full of depression and doubt. Becoming a mom without a husband was not in her plan. Failure already smeared her return home, believing her family and friends thought less of her. Ridicule and jeers were something she couldn’t bear. Shame cloaked her countenance despite the smiles she put on her face. Wearing redundant Hawaiian muumuus, she believed would keep her secret from all but her parents during the final trimester of her pregnancy. She felt the scars of a broken heart while holding in her arms a daughter.
With the love and support of her parents, there was a home for Nancy and her daughter, Terri, now six years old. She was grateful to them but wanted something more. In a letter she wrote to her friend Janet on April 16, 1968, she described a recent train trip through Northern California to visit family and friends.
“…We visited small towns with friendly people. Just the kind of places I’d like to raise Terri. The trouble is there aren’t too many jobs in places like that, but I applied for a few. I just hated to come back down here. Just can’t find a decent job here. I’ve had a few penny-rate jobs that I couldn’t even afford to take if Mom hadn’t taken care of Terri. It’s so discouraging and depressing. I want so much to support my daughter and raise her in a normal home…It just seems so hopeless sometimes.”
I am Nancy’s daughter, Terri. She bore the stigma of shame being a single mom, living in what was seen as an “abnormal” home with her parents to raise me in a safe space. My grandparents carried the financial weight of our care. But Mom longed for a way that she might find a place of her own, be independent and raise me. She wanted to make something of her life.
She Might…
The ellipsis trails off into a world of possibility. My mom, though plagued with belief that she was flawed and incapable, found at the end of her life that her family— the family she was proud of and took joy in, the family she made possible — was her greatest legacy.
You Might…
What are you going to do in this moment of uncertainty? I promise, in all your wildest dreams you can not imagine the great future ahead of you. But you can take the next step. As Kayla Izard wrote,
She might,
Find the courage to fight,
Take flight—reach her goals staring straight at the shade and the words with a bite.
It'll take some support to keep hope in sight,
Crack the door when she tucks in her baby at night.
Turn on the nightlight.
They'll be alright.
In a world full of "won't" and "can't", deaf to her plight,
She hears every judgment, feels every slight.
"Impossible." "Over." "Careless." "Three strikes."
"It can't work." "Too much work." "It's gonna be tight."
She's not listening.
Their future is bright. It takes all types of moms to tuck babies in tight.
She rolls up her sleeves, pulls her hair in a tie.
Some may not believe, but they don't know her life.
Success isn't easy, the cards are stacked high, and doubt says she won't make it through the first night.
But she might.