My mother would have turned 93 today. Like Betty Ford, who did live to celebrate her 93rd earlier this year, Melanie MacGregor spent her remaining years here in the beautiful Coachella Valley desert. My husband and I built a casita for her in our La Quinta backyard where my mother and I shared her graceful final six years.
She almost made it to 90 before succumbing to old age. That was three years ago and I still expect to see her when I enter the guesthouse. I often reflect on her profound influence in my life.
When Palm Springs valley icon Betty Ford died a few weeks ago and the laudatory tributes appeared, I was struck by how much the first lady’s actions also impacted my personal life. Although Melanie and Betty's paths never crossed here in the desert cities, their influence intersected in me.
Two women born the final year of the Great War. Both college educated and classy. Both expecting their children to earn degrees. Both children of the Depression and its long-reaching ramifications. Both artistic. Both peripatetic women who traveled and lived in many states.
While growing up in Santa Barbara, I had my mother on a pedestal. She was different from so many of my friends’ mothers, most of whom were homemakers. I was proud that she ran a business, cooked gourmet meals, prefigured Martha Stewart in her artistic breadth, was gracious and admired by my friends, was beautiful. It was only later as I matured that I reflected deeper on my parents’ strengths and weaknesses.
Sometimes I think of Oscar Wilde’s perspicacious observation: “Children begin by loving their parents; after a time they judge them; rarely, if ever, do they forgive them.”
I have long forgiven my mother’s "faults" and am now both appreciative and bemused by the legacy to her eldest daughter. Born smack in the middle of the post-war Baby Boom, I came of age in the turbulent ‘60s and ‘70s. I had to figure out many things by myself. In the MacGregor household, Melanie was unable to discuss menstruation with me, instead buying me a vaguely-written book on the maturation process. When she had a hysterectomy during my high-school years, the reasons for it were never discussed, even to her dying day. Sex and boys were not discussed. She lucked out in that regard since I didn’t date until college. Anything indelicate or untoward was eschewed. Although we dined together as a family throughout my childhood, incendiary subjects were routinely thwarted. "Oh, look at that tree." was one of her favorite diverting expressions and one which still makes my sister laugh.
Melanie was not a storyteller. Even during her final years with me, queries about her earlier life elicited the same comment, "Oh, I don't remember." I used to tease her that after she was gone, I wasn't going to remonstrate with myself for forgetting to ask questions only she could answer. We both laughed.
Discretion and reticence were hallmarks of Melanie's life.
I imagine things were different in the more permissive Ford household. Susan, Betty’s youngest child and only daughter, is just two years younger than me but experienced a completely different kind of mother.
Betty Ford became first lady in 1974 during my first year of college. She was diagnosed with breast cancer within a month of Gerald Ford’s inauguration. She proceeded to discuss it with the nation. And, then went on to discuss pre-marital sex, marital sex, divorce, abortion, the Equal Rights Amendment, marijuana, addictions, and women’s right to health care. And, don't forget that face lift.
Thirty-five years later, it’s easy to dismiss the import of her candor. But, I distinctly remember the myriad scandalous subjects while growing up. So-and-so married a divorced man. Quelle horreur. Someone else married a non-Catholic. God forbid. Inter-racial marriages didn’t happen in my hometown. If an out-of-wedlock pregnancy arose, I never heard about it. And, none of these issues certainly ever arose on The Donna Reed Show or That Girl.
Pretty tame subjects nowadays. Not so in my formative Wonder Bread years. But, because the distaff side of this particular White House was willing to broach such taboo subjects, the proverbial door was thrown open, forcing and legitimizing a national discussion on life’s thorny subjects. She was a bona fide feminist in the very best sense of the word.
Because of Betty Ford’s unprecedented and fearless focus on women’s issues decades ago, our world is measurably more tolerant. American girls today don’t even question the breadth of lifestyle choices.
As a long-time resident of the desert, I'm very familiar with the iconic Betty Ford Center, a fixture on the Eisenhower Medical Center campus and a noun firmly planted in our self-help lexicon. I was once chagrined to find myself politely invited to leave by two guards when I inadvertently trespassed onto the property to feed the ducks.
So, on the occasion of my mother’s birthday and the recent passing of an accomplished lady, I give a sincere thank you to Melanie and Betty, two formidable women who contributed indelibly to my life and those surrounding them.
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