Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Room 7 Blossom
She was aimlessly wondering around her bedroom. Not looking for anything, just moving around. The caregiver opening the bedroom door, made eye contact with her and smiling, said 'hello'.
'Oh, hello,' Blossom said. 'I thought I was alone. Is there anyone else here. I mean, here, anywhere?'
'Why, yes, everyone is listening to music. Would you like to listen to some music? Everyone is in the main hall. Would you like to be with them?'
'Why yes I would,' Blossom said. There were tears in her eyes and she looked frightened. 'I thought that I might be the only one....here.'
'Lets go to the bathroom,' the caregiver took Blossom to the bathroom, slipped her depends and polyester slacks down, Blossom sat down on the toilet. She was 'dirty' and her blouse was wet and needed changing. The kind person that cared for her changed these wet and dirty clothes and put her in a warm clean outfit. When she was ready to go, they walked, arm in arm down several halls to the place where most of the other residences were congregated. The feeling of aloneness was gone and being with others gave a sense of humanity.
'Would you like to sit here Blossom?' 'Would you like punch and a cookie?'
©2009 Wendy Martin
'Oh, hello,' Blossom said. 'I thought I was alone. Is there anyone else here. I mean, here, anywhere?'
'Why, yes, everyone is listening to music. Would you like to listen to some music? Everyone is in the main hall. Would you like to be with them?'
'Why yes I would,' Blossom said. There were tears in her eyes and she looked frightened. 'I thought that I might be the only one....here.'
'Lets go to the bathroom,' the caregiver took Blossom to the bathroom, slipped her depends and polyester slacks down, Blossom sat down on the toilet. She was 'dirty' and her blouse was wet and needed changing. The kind person that cared for her changed these wet and dirty clothes and put her in a warm clean outfit. When she was ready to go, they walked, arm in arm down several halls to the place where most of the other residences were congregated. The feeling of aloneness was gone and being with others gave a sense of humanity.
'Would you like to sit here Blossom?' 'Would you like punch and a cookie?'
©2009 Wendy Martin
Room 6 Willow
Willow sat in the chair that was next to the T.V.
He was emaciated. He looked like an old balloon that had been blown up and after a time had deflated. He just sat there quietly. 'I don't know where I am,' he said.
He said this to a caregiver as she walked into the room.
I know where you are, she said matter of factly. I know who you are and where you are. You are safe. I am taking care of you. And I love you.
He looked tired, defeated and resigned.
'I don't know where I am.'
©2009 Wendy Martin
He was emaciated. He looked like an old balloon that had been blown up and after a time had deflated. He just sat there quietly. 'I don't know where I am,' he said.
He said this to a caregiver as she walked into the room.
I know where you are, she said matter of factly. I know who you are and where you are. You are safe. I am taking care of you. And I love you.
He looked tired, defeated and resigned.
'I don't know where I am.'
©2009 Wendy Martin
Room 5 Spruce
Spruce lay on the bed in his cotton briefs, wrapped up in the top sheet. Listening to the radio. Listening to a talk show on the radio.
It was evening, the sun had set. It was a balmy September night and the window was half opened. He was trying to watch for changes in himself. The Dr. said that there would be changes in his condition.
These people here were very far gone. Very sick. He didn't see that he was like any one of them. At the dinner table there really wasn't anyone he could carry on a conversation with. He was polite. Some evenings he just couldn't go to dinner. He just couldn't. He would stay in his room and have dinner brought to him. Some nights he would refuse his medicine.
He woke up. It was mid-afternoon and the sun was hot. He was laying in the parking lot of the facility, naked. Several people were standing over him, one was slipping his cotton briefs over his feet and ankles and then cotton slacks. 'Come on, Spruce, you are going to be fine, let me help you up.'
©2009 Wendy Martin
It was evening, the sun had set. It was a balmy September night and the window was half opened. He was trying to watch for changes in himself. The Dr. said that there would be changes in his condition.
These people here were very far gone. Very sick. He didn't see that he was like any one of them. At the dinner table there really wasn't anyone he could carry on a conversation with. He was polite. Some evenings he just couldn't go to dinner. He just couldn't. He would stay in his room and have dinner brought to him. Some nights he would refuse his medicine.
He woke up. It was mid-afternoon and the sun was hot. He was laying in the parking lot of the facility, naked. Several people were standing over him, one was slipping his cotton briefs over his feet and ankles and then cotton slacks. 'Come on, Spruce, you are going to be fine, let me help you up.'
©2009 Wendy Martin
Monday, June 29, 2009
Room 4 Lily
Lily lay on her bed.
88 years old and doing well on her Aricept. She'd been out with her family to a meal the day before and was enjoying the memory.
Her day was routine. She would wake about 6a and wait for a caregiver to help her sit up, then stand up to her walker. She could walk to the toilet with the help of the walker but needed help sitting and changing her depends, which she wore as a precaution. She was continent. She had to be dressed. Dressed in the same colour pants and top. The same colour and design. The same type sweater, never a different one. She would instruct her caregiver to put her bedsocks back into the drawer 'because they get lost in the wash.' 'Also put my nighty back too.'
Then it was time to go to the diner and as soon as she pushed her walker out into the hall she knew her way and said good-bye to her caregiver. She would move like a little box turtle to her place at breakfast. She would find her place, need help sitting down and need help being pushed in at the table. All this would exhaust her and she would rest til lunch in which the same routine would tax her. some afternoons she would attend the entertanment in the main hall but more times than not she would rest in her room and have thooughts that the Aricept no doubt made possible. Every object must be exactly placed for Lily to be comfortable. Her pillows must be placed just so-her sheet pulled up to her chin, just so far and the blanket with the sfghan next-just so. Arranged, just so or she could'nt rest. 'No, thats not right,' she would say-'there, there, I think that is right, there-'
She had a dream one night that she and her husband were curled up in each other's arms. She felt wonderful, remembering.
©2009 Wendy Martin
88 years old and doing well on her Aricept. She'd been out with her family to a meal the day before and was enjoying the memory.
Her day was routine. She would wake about 6a and wait for a caregiver to help her sit up, then stand up to her walker. She could walk to the toilet with the help of the walker but needed help sitting and changing her depends, which she wore as a precaution. She was continent. She had to be dressed. Dressed in the same colour pants and top. The same colour and design. The same type sweater, never a different one. She would instruct her caregiver to put her bedsocks back into the drawer 'because they get lost in the wash.' 'Also put my nighty back too.'
Then it was time to go to the diner and as soon as she pushed her walker out into the hall she knew her way and said good-bye to her caregiver. She would move like a little box turtle to her place at breakfast. She would find her place, need help sitting down and need help being pushed in at the table. All this would exhaust her and she would rest til lunch in which the same routine would tax her. some afternoons she would attend the entertanment in the main hall but more times than not she would rest in her room and have thooughts that the Aricept no doubt made possible. Every object must be exactly placed for Lily to be comfortable. Her pillows must be placed just so-her sheet pulled up to her chin, just so far and the blanket with the sfghan next-just so. Arranged, just so or she could'nt rest. 'No, thats not right,' she would say-'there, there, I think that is right, there-'
She had a dream one night that she and her husband were curled up in each other's arms. She felt wonderful, remembering.
©2009 Wendy Martin
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Room 3 Madrone
Madrone didn't know where he was. He was praying.
He was a small man who was neatly dressed and clean. He wore a cap with 'U.S. Navy' embroidered across the bill.
He wondered from room to room and down the hallways. He wasn't sure where his room was and when someone showed him, he wouldn't go in his room, except in the middle of the night. And then he would not sleep in his bed, he would sleep in his soft recliner and he would not remove his clothes but would sleep with his clothes on and his shoes. After several weeks he began to recognize his new friends and the caregivers that had been taking care of him. He started to crack jokes and smile and demand more milk-always more milk.
©2009 Wendy Martin
He was a small man who was neatly dressed and clean. He wore a cap with 'U.S. Navy' embroidered across the bill.
He wondered from room to room and down the hallways. He wasn't sure where his room was and when someone showed him, he wouldn't go in his room, except in the middle of the night. And then he would not sleep in his bed, he would sleep in his soft recliner and he would not remove his clothes but would sleep with his clothes on and his shoes. After several weeks he began to recognize his new friends and the caregivers that had been taking care of him. He started to crack jokes and smile and demand more milk-always more milk.
©2009 Wendy Martin
Room 2 Iris
Iris lay in her bed feeling ill. Her eyes had a glazed and strange look, as if she wasn't in the natural world. She couldn't focus, her head hurt. She couldn't stand up or speak but she knew or thought she knew that it was not her illness but the medication that her brother put on her. Medication that was in round patches that she found on her arms or on her back. She thought that her brother was trying to murder her. He is killing me, he is killing me, she thought to herself, then she lost consciousness.
She awoke in her bed. She couldn't remember how she got there. The sun was bright and it was a beautiful morning. Warm.
She got up, put on her clothes, went to use the bathroom and went down the hall to breakfast. She was too early, one of the first ones up. She went out to the garden and sat in a chair by a huge pink rose bush, to wait for the caregivers to bring out the other patients, of which she knew that she was one.
©2009 Wendy Martin
She awoke in her bed. She couldn't remember how she got there. The sun was bright and it was a beautiful morning. Warm.
She got up, put on her clothes, went to use the bathroom and went down the hall to breakfast. She was too early, one of the first ones up. She went out to the garden and sat in a chair by a huge pink rose bush, to wait for the caregivers to bring out the other patients, of which she knew that she was one.
©2009 Wendy Martin
Room 1 Orchid
Orchid sat on the edge of the bed...staring. Her feet were resting on the side of her bed. She shared the room. Sometimes she shared the room with someone that she knew and other times with a stranger. This afternoon she knew the woman that lay asleep on the double bed across from hers.
Orchid was a small, size 8. She wore the same button up cotton blouses with a brown jacket to cover and polyester slacks. She stood 5'3" and was quick of movement, busy. A pleasant woman, well bred and polite with a kind smile and soft brown eyes that met a person but then drifted away.
She lowered her feet to the floor. She wore bare feet in her black leather slip on shoes. She lifted herself off the bed, onto the floor and walked across the bedroom floor, passed Viola's bed and went on into the bathroom. About two inches of water covered the bedroom floor and the same amount flooded the bathroom. She walked back to her bed, sat down again and lifted her feet up. She slipped off her shoes and set them on her dresser drawers. They were dry and her feet and ankles were dry as well as her pant legs. She lay down on her bed with her head on the pillow and covered up with a pretty knitted afghan and closed her eyes.
When Orchid received a phone call from a friend or relative, she was eager to talk. She would arise from seeming deep sleep and converse with avid attention and response.
During the days and evenings, Orchid was active with cleaning. She would go in the lunch room, in the area where the fridge, cupboards and sink were located. And the big 33 gal. plastic trash, full from the latest meal would be taken out and transported to her closet or someone elses-along with broom and dust pan. She would constantly be moving, moving. Until bed time. Then she would sleep. Ether in her bed or sitting up in the T.V. room with her eyes closed and arms folded across her chest.
©2009 Wendy Martin
Orchid was a small, size 8. She wore the same button up cotton blouses with a brown jacket to cover and polyester slacks. She stood 5'3" and was quick of movement, busy. A pleasant woman, well bred and polite with a kind smile and soft brown eyes that met a person but then drifted away.
She lowered her feet to the floor. She wore bare feet in her black leather slip on shoes. She lifted herself off the bed, onto the floor and walked across the bedroom floor, passed Viola's bed and went on into the bathroom. About two inches of water covered the bedroom floor and the same amount flooded the bathroom. She walked back to her bed, sat down again and lifted her feet up. She slipped off her shoes and set them on her dresser drawers. They were dry and her feet and ankles were dry as well as her pant legs. She lay down on her bed with her head on the pillow and covered up with a pretty knitted afghan and closed her eyes.
When Orchid received a phone call from a friend or relative, she was eager to talk. She would arise from seeming deep sleep and converse with avid attention and response.
During the days and evenings, Orchid was active with cleaning. She would go in the lunch room, in the area where the fridge, cupboards and sink were located. And the big 33 gal. plastic trash, full from the latest meal would be taken out and transported to her closet or someone elses-along with broom and dust pan. She would constantly be moving, moving. Until bed time. Then she would sleep. Ether in her bed or sitting up in the T.V. room with her eyes closed and arms folded across her chest.
©2009 Wendy Martin
Friday, May 29, 2009
THE HOLLYWOOD CALIFORNIA SCHOOLS
I have thought for years and years about writing about Mr. McEwen and his school in Hollywood, California. I had always remembered the school as being esoteric. The historical building on Franklin and Highland Ave. that had once housed a model agency. The one I went to before he built a new, perfectly square, sparkly one on the edge of Franklin Ave. He and his philosophy were unique, his teachers colourful and the children, well, the children were professional or children of the professionals.
I entered the school at age 11 after spending a year at Hollywood Professional School. I believe Hollywood Professional school was located on Sunset Blvd. at that time in 1960. Compared to Hollywood Professional school, Mr. McEwen's school was, nose to the grindstone, grueling. In McEwen's mind, we children were there for one or two purposes. Either get through with elementary and high school and get ourselves into college, the real place of learning or come to his school when we were not on set or traveling around the world, like Glenn Dictrow, competing for America with his violin.
As far as I was concerned, four hours of straight academic study was too much. Outline the chapter, then the unit. Do the vocabulary, take all chapter, unit and final book test, also the vocabularies, then-out of seventh grade level and into the eighth grade level. A kid could be in three different grades in three different subjects during the same year. The first year I took typing and shorthand which I enjoyed from Mrs. Hatton, who drank hot water with lemon and honey every morning for breakfast. She was a tall, thin, woman with dyed blond shoulder length hair. But old, old very old. And the languages: I found the languages difficult beyond the first year, so I switched from Latin to French to Italian to German. Never taking Spanish until my senior year because standing up and actually communicating around Mrs. Cellars desk made me feel sick. I listened.
After four hours which included one half hour for lunch and two ten minute breaks on either side of the lunch, school was out and everyone went home-or where ever.
At Hollywood Professional School all the teachers were old too. And the building. And the desks. And the books. But I went in to my fourth grade year and came out ready to enter the sixth grade the following year! I sat next to the little girl that played child Ruth in the Story of Ruth. She had a flaw in the story so she wasn't sacrificed to the god but grew up to be Ruth, ancestor of the messiah!
We did dancing in Hollywood Professional School. That was where I lived. We did a performance. We were one too many children in the dance company so I was one of three that danced together during performance the other groups where of two. It was tap and that was something.
We did diction at about ten or eleven in the mornings: She sells sea shells
by the sea shore
Peter Piper picks a peck of
pickled peppers-how many
pickled peppers did peter
piper pick?
It was lots of fun!
Then Mr. McEwen's school.
At twelve I was in children's theator taught by a Cosmo at a community center located behind Hollywood High School where my dad had served til' retirement age when I turned eight. Stage name? Wendy Martin. I would stand behind scenes watching the children and their mothers fool with stage make-up, wondering what I was doing there. My mom put me on some diet pills that her nurse gave her. The nurse that she worked with. (Mom was an x-ray tech in downtown L.A.)
Eventually I became anorexic and addicted to diet pills. Mom took me to my grandfather's and he got me to eat again.
He lived in Palm Springs, California at the time in a mobile home. As I walked down the hall from the livingroom to the kitchen his wife Laura said, 'Harry, you know that she has always been crazy!' I wonder to this day-was she talking about mom or me?
© 2009 Wendy G. Martin
photo in a yearbook
and/or someone who
remembers them
BETTY GRABLE
Actor
GLORIA DeHAVEN
Actor
JOAN DAVIS
Actor
DONALD O'CONNOR 1943
Singer, Dancer, Actor
JULIE LONDON 1944
Singer, Actor
LARRY KERT 1948
Singer, Actor
WALLY GEORGE 1948
Radio Personality
DONNA ATWOOD
Amateur Champion;
Star, Ice Capades
JIMMY BOYD
Actor, Singer
DEBRA PAGET (Debralee Griffin)
Actor
PIPER LAURIE (Rosetta Jacobs)
Actor
KAREN SHARPE
Actor
BOBBY DRISCOLL 1955
Actor
TONY BUTALA 1955
Singer (The Lettermen)
LISA GAYE
Actor
JILL ST. JOHN 1954
Actor
MOLLY BEE 1957
Singer
THE ADDRISI BROTHERS
DON ADDRISI 1958
DICK ADDRISI 1959
Singers, Composers
TOMMY COLE 1959
Actor, Singer, Make-up Designer
THE COLLINS KIDS
LORRY COLLINS 1959
LARRY COLLINS 1960
Singers
SHERRY JACKSON 1959
Actor
THE STEINER BROTHERS
ROY STEINER 1959
RONALD STEINER 1960
ROBERT STEINER 1961
Singers, Dancers, Acrobats
MARLENE WILLIS 1959
Model
TOMMY KIRK 1960
Actor
RYAN O'NEAL 1960
Actor
MARTA KRISTEN 1960
Actor
DICK FOSTER 1961
Actor, Singer, Dancer, Producer
TUESDAY WELD 1961
Actor
BARRY GORDON
Actor
KEVIN O'NEAL 1963
Actor
BRENDA LEE 1963
Singer
CARL WILSON 1964
Singer
PEGGY LIPTON
Actor
PEGGY FLEMMING 1966
World and Olympic champion
Sports Commentator
CLINT MILLER 1967
Singer
MELODY PATTERSON 1967
Actor
MELANIE GRIFFITH 1974
Actor
ALUMNI: Join the alumni association here and keep abreast of all upcoming activities.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
HISTORY
The Hollywood Conservatory of Music and Arts opened its doors at 5400 Hollywood Boulevard at Serrano Avenue with a recital on November 17, 1925. The newspapers were impressed with the professional credentials of the faculty performing, including violinist Mme. Lizette Kalova, actor Arthur Kachel, pianists Phillip Tronitz, Alexander Kosloff and Frances Mae Martin.
The new school building was described by the Los Angeles Times as: "equipped with a good-sized recital hall, lecture halls, and ten studio rooms tastefully finished in grayish blue and ivory. [Now we know why we had such a great auditorium with a properly high stage for our Aud Calls!] Of interest also, in connection with the opening of the studios, was the display of work by Harold Swartz, sculptor, this exhibit being arranged by Lee O'Neill who is a teacher of painting at the school. Gladys T. Littell is the director of the conservatory."
The school was thriving by 1930. Mrs. Littell had assembled a stellar roster of instructors, most of whom gave frequent recitals. The rehearsal halls were just that and the auditorium was fine for concerts by students, but the more advanced and their instructors performed at larger venues. The Conservatory presented a recital of "advanced students from the various departments" on August 9, 1930 including Cyrus N. Robinson III, who performed "I Love Thee" by Edvard Grieg and "By the Bend of the River" by Edwards. Tudor Williams, Mr. Robinson's instructor, hailed from Wales and was a soloist at the Pasadena Presbyterian church, the B'nai B'rith Temple, performed at the Hollywood Bowl as a soloist with both the Bowl orchestra and the Los Angeles Philharmonic. He also sang in films for MGM, Paramount, First National and Paramount.
As you can see above, the original school sign was lit with neon. The holes for the tubes remained until the end, despite the sign being repainted to read "Hollywood Professional School."
Mrs. Littell served as secretary of the California Music Teachers' association, Los Angeles branch. On September 5, 1930, she presented a concert of Russian music at the Conservatory's auditorium. "Mme. Elizabeth Ivanova, formerly of the Imperial Opera in St. Petersburg, was joined by Feodore Gontzoff, baritone of the Russian Opera in Moscow, and Alexander Kosloff, Russian pianist and Alexander Borisoff, cellist." The emsemble performed works by Russian composers in the Russian language.
An undated brochure lists the Conservatory at 5444 Hollywood Boulevard (Near Western Avenue) and a page is devoted to "Gladys T. Littell, Founder and Director--The ideal of the founder has been to provide not only opportunity for thorough training and development of every branch of music and art, but whose instruction and influence would be such as to inspire the student with the highest motives, developing a love and appreciation for all that is beautiful. The remarkable success of the school is due largely to its recognition of music as an important factor in the development of American ideals.
The school offered the following courses of study: "A musical education consists of more than mere proficiency in performing. A thorough knowledge of the theoretic and historic branches of music study is essential. Courses have been planned for the artist, teacher or amateur student. A definite course of study, carefully selected from the entire realm of music and literature insures a standard of excellence in every department. These courses are designed to develop interpretation and artistry rather than mere technique."
No previous study was required for the applied courses. Prerequisite courses were required for classes in Harmony, Composition, Counterpoint, Ear Training, or Music Appreciation. Recitals were a continuing part of the courses. The school year was divided into four terms of ten weeks each. A Publicity Department was available to issue releases to newspapers and magazines and set up recital programs for "clubs, lyceums and chautauquas." Tuition varied on the choice of course of study and the faculty involved.
Faculty included Norwegian concert pianist Phillip Tronitz, head of the Piano Department. Russian concert violinist Lizeta Kalova was head of the Violin Department. Hugo Kirchhofer came from Hollywood High, where he was head of the music department for a decade, and he was head of the Vocal Department. Arthur B. Kachel was head of the Dramatic Department. Russian symphony conductor Modest Altschuler was head of the Ensemble Department, which put together students of all musical instruments. German music and art historian Bruno David Ussher provided Musically Illustrated Lectures. Francis Kendig, Music Critic of the Los Angeles Times taught Music Appreciation, Harmony, Pipe Organ and Piano. Hazel C. Penny taught Expression and Public Speaking.
The brochure makes it sound as if the school also taught college preparatory courses and encouraged its students to go on to higher education, but the teachers or classes offered are not listed in the brochure. The style and manner of dress in the photos (see Gladys Littell photo above) seem to indicate this brochure dated from the 1920s. Also, the use of the 5444 address would seem to predate the founding of the Conservatory in the building later used for the school. It is also probable that the academic section of the school headed by Viola Lawlor was the source of the academic side of things. Also, the 5444 Hollywood Blvd. address is the one Mrs. Littell used for her early instruction in music, and it predates the construction of what would become the main school building. A mortuary was located at 5440, but moved in 1930.
I entered the school at age 11 after spending a year at Hollywood Professional School. I believe Hollywood Professional school was located on Sunset Blvd. at that time in 1960. Compared to Hollywood Professional school, Mr. McEwen's school was, nose to the grindstone, grueling. In McEwen's mind, we children were there for one or two purposes. Either get through with elementary and high school and get ourselves into college, the real place of learning or come to his school when we were not on set or traveling around the world, like Glenn Dictrow, competing for America with his violin.
As far as I was concerned, four hours of straight academic study was too much. Outline the chapter, then the unit. Do the vocabulary, take all chapter, unit and final book test, also the vocabularies, then-out of seventh grade level and into the eighth grade level. A kid could be in three different grades in three different subjects during the same year. The first year I took typing and shorthand which I enjoyed from Mrs. Hatton, who drank hot water with lemon and honey every morning for breakfast. She was a tall, thin, woman with dyed blond shoulder length hair. But old, old very old. And the languages: I found the languages difficult beyond the first year, so I switched from Latin to French to Italian to German. Never taking Spanish until my senior year because standing up and actually communicating around Mrs. Cellars desk made me feel sick. I listened.
After four hours which included one half hour for lunch and two ten minute breaks on either side of the lunch, school was out and everyone went home-or where ever.
At Hollywood Professional School all the teachers were old too. And the building. And the desks. And the books. But I went in to my fourth grade year and came out ready to enter the sixth grade the following year! I sat next to the little girl that played child Ruth in the Story of Ruth. She had a flaw in the story so she wasn't sacrificed to the god but grew up to be Ruth, ancestor of the messiah!
We did dancing in Hollywood Professional School. That was where I lived. We did a performance. We were one too many children in the dance company so I was one of three that danced together during performance the other groups where of two. It was tap and that was something.
We did diction at about ten or eleven in the mornings: She sells sea shells
by the sea shore
Peter Piper picks a peck of
pickled peppers-how many
pickled peppers did peter
piper pick?
It was lots of fun!
Then Mr. McEwen's school.
At twelve I was in children's theator taught by a Cosmo at a community center located behind Hollywood High School where my dad had served til' retirement age when I turned eight. Stage name? Wendy Martin. I would stand behind scenes watching the children and their mothers fool with stage make-up, wondering what I was doing there. My mom put me on some diet pills that her nurse gave her. The nurse that she worked with. (Mom was an x-ray tech in downtown L.A.)
Eventually I became anorexic and addicted to diet pills. Mom took me to my grandfather's and he got me to eat again.
He lived in Palm Springs, California at the time in a mobile home. As I walked down the hall from the livingroom to the kitchen his wife Laura said, 'Harry, you know that she has always been crazy!' I wonder to this day-was she talking about mom or me?
© 2009 Wendy G. Martin
photo in a yearbook
and/or someone who
remembers them
BETTY GRABLE
Actor
GLORIA DeHAVEN
Actor
JOAN DAVIS
Actor
DONALD O'CONNOR 1943
Singer, Dancer, Actor
JULIE LONDON 1944
Singer, Actor
LARRY KERT 1948
Singer, Actor
WALLY GEORGE 1948
Radio Personality
DONNA ATWOOD
Amateur Champion;
Star, Ice Capades
JIMMY BOYD
Actor, Singer
DEBRA PAGET (Debralee Griffin)
Actor
PIPER LAURIE (Rosetta Jacobs)
Actor
KAREN SHARPE
Actor
BOBBY DRISCOLL 1955
Actor
TONY BUTALA 1955
Singer (The Lettermen)
LISA GAYE
Actor
JILL ST. JOHN 1954
Actor
MOLLY BEE 1957
Singer
THE ADDRISI BROTHERS
DON ADDRISI 1958
DICK ADDRISI 1959
Singers, Composers
TOMMY COLE 1959
Actor, Singer, Make-up Designer
THE COLLINS KIDS
LORRY COLLINS 1959
LARRY COLLINS 1960
Singers
SHERRY JACKSON 1959
Actor
THE STEINER BROTHERS
ROY STEINER 1959
RONALD STEINER 1960
ROBERT STEINER 1961
Singers, Dancers, Acrobats
MARLENE WILLIS 1959
Model
TOMMY KIRK 1960
Actor
RYAN O'NEAL 1960
Actor
MARTA KRISTEN 1960
Actor
DICK FOSTER 1961
Actor, Singer, Dancer, Producer
TUESDAY WELD 1961
Actor
BARRY GORDON
Actor
KEVIN O'NEAL 1963
Actor
BRENDA LEE 1963
Singer
CARL WILSON 1964
Singer
PEGGY LIPTON
Actor
PEGGY FLEMMING 1966
World and Olympic champion
Sports Commentator
CLINT MILLER 1967
Singer
MELODY PATTERSON 1967
Actor
MELANIE GRIFFITH 1974
Actor
ALUMNI: Join the alumni association here and keep abreast of all upcoming activities.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
HISTORY
The Hollywood Conservatory of Music and Arts opened its doors at 5400 Hollywood Boulevard at Serrano Avenue with a recital on November 17, 1925. The newspapers were impressed with the professional credentials of the faculty performing, including violinist Mme. Lizette Kalova, actor Arthur Kachel, pianists Phillip Tronitz, Alexander Kosloff and Frances Mae Martin.
The new school building was described by the Los Angeles Times as: "equipped with a good-sized recital hall, lecture halls, and ten studio rooms tastefully finished in grayish blue and ivory. [Now we know why we had such a great auditorium with a properly high stage for our Aud Calls!] Of interest also, in connection with the opening of the studios, was the display of work by Harold Swartz, sculptor, this exhibit being arranged by Lee O'Neill who is a teacher of painting at the school. Gladys T. Littell is the director of the conservatory."
The school was thriving by 1930. Mrs. Littell had assembled a stellar roster of instructors, most of whom gave frequent recitals. The rehearsal halls were just that and the auditorium was fine for concerts by students, but the more advanced and their instructors performed at larger venues. The Conservatory presented a recital of "advanced students from the various departments" on August 9, 1930 including Cyrus N. Robinson III, who performed "I Love Thee" by Edvard Grieg and "By the Bend of the River" by Edwards. Tudor Williams, Mr. Robinson's instructor, hailed from Wales and was a soloist at the Pasadena Presbyterian church, the B'nai B'rith Temple, performed at the Hollywood Bowl as a soloist with both the Bowl orchestra and the Los Angeles Philharmonic. He also sang in films for MGM, Paramount, First National and Paramount.
As you can see above, the original school sign was lit with neon. The holes for the tubes remained until the end, despite the sign being repainted to read "Hollywood Professional School."
Mrs. Littell served as secretary of the California Music Teachers' association, Los Angeles branch. On September 5, 1930, she presented a concert of Russian music at the Conservatory's auditorium. "Mme. Elizabeth Ivanova, formerly of the Imperial Opera in St. Petersburg, was joined by Feodore Gontzoff, baritone of the Russian Opera in Moscow, and Alexander Kosloff, Russian pianist and Alexander Borisoff, cellist." The emsemble performed works by Russian composers in the Russian language.
An undated brochure lists the Conservatory at 5444 Hollywood Boulevard (Near Western Avenue) and a page is devoted to "Gladys T. Littell, Founder and Director--The ideal of the founder has been to provide not only opportunity for thorough training and development of every branch of music and art, but whose instruction and influence would be such as to inspire the student with the highest motives, developing a love and appreciation for all that is beautiful. The remarkable success of the school is due largely to its recognition of music as an important factor in the development of American ideals.
The school offered the following courses of study: "A musical education consists of more than mere proficiency in performing. A thorough knowledge of the theoretic and historic branches of music study is essential. Courses have been planned for the artist, teacher or amateur student. A definite course of study, carefully selected from the entire realm of music and literature insures a standard of excellence in every department. These courses are designed to develop interpretation and artistry rather than mere technique."
No previous study was required for the applied courses. Prerequisite courses were required for classes in Harmony, Composition, Counterpoint, Ear Training, or Music Appreciation. Recitals were a continuing part of the courses. The school year was divided into four terms of ten weeks each. A Publicity Department was available to issue releases to newspapers and magazines and set up recital programs for "clubs, lyceums and chautauquas." Tuition varied on the choice of course of study and the faculty involved.
Faculty included Norwegian concert pianist Phillip Tronitz, head of the Piano Department. Russian concert violinist Lizeta Kalova was head of the Violin Department. Hugo Kirchhofer came from Hollywood High, where he was head of the music department for a decade, and he was head of the Vocal Department. Arthur B. Kachel was head of the Dramatic Department. Russian symphony conductor Modest Altschuler was head of the Ensemble Department, which put together students of all musical instruments. German music and art historian Bruno David Ussher provided Musically Illustrated Lectures. Francis Kendig, Music Critic of the Los Angeles Times taught Music Appreciation, Harmony, Pipe Organ and Piano. Hazel C. Penny taught Expression and Public Speaking.
The brochure makes it sound as if the school also taught college preparatory courses and encouraged its students to go on to higher education, but the teachers or classes offered are not listed in the brochure. The style and manner of dress in the photos (see Gladys Littell photo above) seem to indicate this brochure dated from the 1920s. Also, the use of the 5444 address would seem to predate the founding of the Conservatory in the building later used for the school. It is also probable that the academic section of the school headed by Viola Lawlor was the source of the academic side of things. Also, the 5444 Hollywood Blvd. address is the one Mrs. Littell used for her early instruction in music, and it predates the construction of what would become the main school building. A mortuary was located at 5440, but moved in 1930.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Gift
Thankyou for each move you make
As you mop, cook, wash and bake
And if we did not have you
What on earth would we do
You keep the halls all nice and neat
You give us yummy things to eat
Thankyou for each move you make
As you mop, cook, wash, and bake.
As you mop, cook, wash and bake
And if we did not have you
What on earth would we do
You keep the halls all nice and neat
You give us yummy things to eat
Thankyou for each move you make
As you mop, cook, wash, and bake.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Christy Schaller's poetry
To view Christy Schaller's poetry go to christyschallerspoetry.blogspot.com
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Laura Larsen
PEACOCKS
While waiting for the peacocks to cross the road
She noticed that
she had danced away her stomach ache
and the memory of early morning dreams,
no, really
they had been
nightmares.
The flowing tails washed the asphalt with gold-dust
And made her see that
earlier worries of money, work and love
had dissipated and were replaced by
new dance steps
fiesta plans and
colors to paint the summer room
The iridescent birds were in no hurry.
They stopped midway
turned tiny heads towards her Toyota
and watched, as she leaned back and smiled
wondering if
waiting for people to cross
would be so illuminating.
While waiting for the peacocks to cross the road
She noticed that
she had danced away her stomach ache
and the memory of early morning dreams,
no, really
they had been
nightmares.
The flowing tails washed the asphalt with gold-dust
And made her see that
earlier worries of money, work and love
had dissipated and were replaced by
new dance steps
fiesta plans and
colors to paint the summer room
The iridescent birds were in no hurry.
They stopped midway
turned tiny heads towards her Toyota
and watched, as she leaned back and smiled
wondering if
waiting for people to cross
would be so illuminating.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
INSIDE CITY LIVES
snow swept the city with white coolness
warm and soft by night
it played fairy-like with us
and danced in our heads
that evening the streets were slush
and the buildings grew up on either side
someone had planted stark trees in the sidewalk
everything itself alone
silent omniscience
i wonder how birds survive
the winter there
without boots and umbrellas
(i must think
get everything straight
and in proper order)
on one side of town
the only signs of human life
were a boy and girl
crossing the street
and their dog who looked cold
sitting on the frozen cement
didn't seem to notice
their smiles and laughter
while on the other side of town
life was never quiet
i have watched the people
walk the night
in the early hours
when most were asleep
they came in bright colours
or baggy clothes to feed on the darkness
(i must think
get everything straight
in proper order)
blood gushes from a soldier
and drips from his wound
if it's peace and freedom
it's getting soaked up in the soil
i wonder what a dying man thinks about
rain maybe-
i think if i were a dying man
i would think about rain
but then, i'm not a dying man
and all i have to think about
is getting everything straight
and in proper order
Washington D.C. 1967
© Wendy Gwen Martin 2009
warm and soft by night
it played fairy-like with us
and danced in our heads
that evening the streets were slush
and the buildings grew up on either side
someone had planted stark trees in the sidewalk
everything itself alone
silent omniscience
i wonder how birds survive
the winter there
without boots and umbrellas
(i must think
get everything straight
and in proper order)
on one side of town
the only signs of human life
were a boy and girl
crossing the street
and their dog who looked cold
sitting on the frozen cement
didn't seem to notice
their smiles and laughter
while on the other side of town
life was never quiet
i have watched the people
walk the night
in the early hours
when most were asleep
they came in bright colours
or baggy clothes to feed on the darkness
(i must think
get everything straight
in proper order)
blood gushes from a soldier
and drips from his wound
if it's peace and freedom
it's getting soaked up in the soil
i wonder what a dying man thinks about
rain maybe-
i think if i were a dying man
i would think about rain
but then, i'm not a dying man
and all i have to think about
is getting everything straight
and in proper order
Washington D.C. 1967
© Wendy Gwen Martin 2009
LIFE'S PRISM
As sequences of life
Pour through this prism glass
The world pounds in the heads of me
Shattered pulsating veins
Remain my brain
Upon the beach
Like the sands are strewn
About the desert
Silence and chaos flutter around
Misty eyes
in the moonlight
Tracing-
Forests with footprints
Watch bordoms destroy
Once crystal, coloured
Lacings
of enchanted dreams
In prisms
And twilights wash out
Toward sea
Malibu, California 1966
© Wendy Gwen Martin 2009
Pour through this prism glass
The world pounds in the heads of me
Shattered pulsating veins
Remain my brain
Upon the beach
Like the sands are strewn
About the desert
Silence and chaos flutter around
Misty eyes
in the moonlight
Tracing-
Forests with footprints
Watch bordoms destroy
Once crystal, coloured
Lacings
of enchanted dreams
In prisms
And twilights wash out
Toward sea
Malibu, California 1966
© Wendy Gwen Martin 2009
SUN EARTH
I meet the naked sun ready for blessing
the high green mountains rise also to the sky
While some hide their tops in sinuous clouds
others brush against the sun
As rivers rush toward oceans leaving mother earth
so do birds move to greet her
In wingless skies I too have known the touch of her hand
emerald seas we have trod together
My night walk first blinded by glaring darkness
felt pebbles pierce my feet and coolness penetrating
Light forms peril my mind words slice my throat
my soul is nourished by the blood and pain of my suffering
I am to find peace in the meadows by the forests
embedded in the mother earth
But I am a babe in the swirl of life
i seek the father sun to covet me
In the darkness he reveals shadows of the morning
and in these shadows I see constant life
Malibu, California 1967
© Wendy Gwen Martin 2009
the high green mountains rise also to the sky
While some hide their tops in sinuous clouds
others brush against the sun
As rivers rush toward oceans leaving mother earth
so do birds move to greet her
In wingless skies I too have known the touch of her hand
emerald seas we have trod together
My night walk first blinded by glaring darkness
felt pebbles pierce my feet and coolness penetrating
Light forms peril my mind words slice my throat
my soul is nourished by the blood and pain of my suffering
I am to find peace in the meadows by the forests
embedded in the mother earth
But I am a babe in the swirl of life
i seek the father sun to covet me
In the darkness he reveals shadows of the morning
and in these shadows I see constant life
Malibu, California 1967
© Wendy Gwen Martin 2009
THE CHILD
The child playing in the sand
Though meek in sight
Holds in his hand
His plight of crime
His love his hate
Thoughts which pry
Or find escape
Watch him grow.
His thoughts emerge
But actions show
How caged a bird
Has been.
Malibu, California 1963
© Wendy Gwen Martin 2009
© Wendy Gwen Martin 2009
Though meek in sight
Holds in his hand
His plight of crime
His love his hate
Thoughts which pry
Or find escape
Watch him grow.
His thoughts emerge
But actions show
How caged a bird
Has been.
Malibu, California 1963
© Wendy Gwen Martin 2009
© Wendy Gwen Martin 2009
THE WIND AND THE SAIL
You raise your eyes toward heaven
And the skies are alight with the soul of the sun.
My world has the warmth of your heart penetrated in it
As you breathe-
the breath of the desert scents fill my lungs.
You are the golden air that reflects a satin mist
upon these lips
You are the orange-red butterfly sucking the dew
from early morning
You are the laughter of children
and the laughter of old
You are the light-
the silver shadows
That greet me at twilight
You are love
I am the green eyes constantly watching you...
My wild mast slashes the breeze
as I beacon your attention
And I waver-
when I have small need for you
I am courage and lust
I am dreams and hope
I am the vision of the future
But without you the future would be lost
We are his lover and his love
He will llisten to my misery during a storm
Then run to you and hide his shameless tears
in your arms
Seeking the calm...silence
You are the wind
and I the sail.
written 1965 in Malibu, California
© Wendy Gwen Martin 2009
And the skies are alight with the soul of the sun.
My world has the warmth of your heart penetrated in it
As you breathe-
the breath of the desert scents fill my lungs.
You are the golden air that reflects a satin mist
upon these lips
You are the orange-red butterfly sucking the dew
from early morning
You are the laughter of children
and the laughter of old
You are the light-
the silver shadows
That greet me at twilight
You are love
I am the green eyes constantly watching you...
My wild mast slashes the breeze
as I beacon your attention
And I waver-
when I have small need for you
I am courage and lust
I am dreams and hope
I am the vision of the future
But without you the future would be lost
We are his lover and his love
He will llisten to my misery during a storm
Then run to you and hide his shameless tears
in your arms
Seeking the calm...silence
You are the wind
and I the sail.
written 1965 in Malibu, California
© Wendy Gwen Martin 2009
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Shock
Mom's death certificate states that Dr. Soddy first saw mom on October 28. Last seeing her on December 3, 2007. I had thought October 18. The few days that were left to the month of October must have seemed an eternity to me.
We had waited a long time to see him for the first time. For years she had had Dr. Hudgens. A nice man who liked her. Every visit I would take her in and say hi to him. He was very friendly.
I was bewildered when she would become very upset when I suggested we call him and even cry. This seemed wrong to me. She needed a Dr. that she could 'bother.' We decided that a geriatric specialist would be best. She called her pharmacist and asked him to recommend one-he said that there were no geriatric specialists any more. I was sitting next to her when she had this conversation. I didn't accept this and got on the internet and found their association and requested a list of all of the geriatric specialists in Oregon and California. I received this list about two days after my request. On line I was able to find Dr. Soddy, who was even affiliated with Carmel Hills-the rehab facility where mom was being treated. Dr. Soddy was on a vacation and it was a long wait to see him. There was also another general practitoner with a geriatric 'tag' on the Monterey Peninsula. As it turned out, Dr. Soddy was a geriatric specialist with an Alzheimer's 'tag.' But this we didn't realize until moms first visit.
Finally he came. He was a kind soft spoken man. Gentle.
Mom had been given a memory test about a week earlier by the head of CNAs. More of a long term memory test that is required by the state of California to be given every patient in the facility during their stay. Mom did wonderfully. We were all proud of her, so she felt confident about taking the MMSE that Dr. Soddy gave her that afternoon, the one that she did so poorly on. She scored 15/30. Not good, he said for a person that had had two years of college.
He sat next to her and spoke into her left ear. She was deaf in the other and she was blind, having much less sight than she let on.
"What you have is Alzheimer's disease."
I burst into tears. I was sitting at the end of her bed. She couldn't see me or hear me. God knows what she was thinking or feeling. She had had two friends die from Alzheimer's, a married couple, first the husband than the wife. Mom actually expressed the idea that a person with Alzheimers was crazy. I knew nothing about the disease except that it was horrible and terminal.
After he left she said, "Well, I'll have to change my plans."
All the month of October I had been looking for section 8 rentals. Which I was to find out later had been closed for years in California. I was exhausted. I was homesick. Around this time the Foundation called me and told me I had overstayed in mom's apartment and had been there too many weeks and had to leave. She really couldn't accept this. She ripped her nightie off, grabbed at me, told me that I had to stay. She tried to make deals saying that I could stay with her at her friends house that I wouldn't have to care for her, just stay with her. She was very much afraid to have me leave her. She was afraid of something that she knew. " I am being dumped," she said. I told her that she wasn't being fair. I thought that she would be living in a private room there and I thought that that was so terrible I couldn't verbalize that to mom. I thought that she would just have to accept. There was a woman that had lived for sixteen years in the room adjoining hers and another woman that was 104 whose daughter spent every afternoon with, and we would visit with each other on some of the breaks I would take while spending time with mom.
The day that I left she was calm and undercontrol. I believe this was the last day of October.
Every few days I would talk to her on the phone. The hopelessness was beyond depression. In a week or two she caught pneumonia. She didn't sound like she was having a hard time breathing. I wrote her Dr. "Why is she still in the hospital?" He called me. "She has a urinary tract infection."
Later I would learn while working with Alzheimer's and dementia that when a person is on a liquid diet, has pneumonia and has a urinary tract infection, that person is actively dying. On the morning of December 6 my sister called me and told me that mom had 2 hours to live. A little before 9a. I can't remember saying anything to her. I checked my email and my brother wrote, "Mom is resting with morphin drip, will die sometime today." How can a person 'feel' frozen? I was stone.
(in response to my email to Anne Albano, after moms death)
Wendy…I would suggest that you talk to your mom’s power of attorney who may know better the sequence of events. I do believe your mom had pneumonia which sometimes happens when one becomes bedridden. And as you recall, your mom had a pelvic fracture which started the sequence of events…which often happens with frail elders.
Her name is Theresa Erickson at 915-3981.
Anne
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
From: Wendy Martin [mailto:windimartn@yahoo.com]
Sent: Tuesday, February 19, 2008 5:52 AM
To: Anne Albano
Subject: RE: Christy Schaller
Dear Anne,
It is not clear in my mind the sequence of events in my mother's life after I left Carmel .
She became ill with the flu at the care facility and then got pneumonia and was taken to the hospital, where she stayed for quite a while. Then about 24 hours before her death she was taken out of the hospital and where I don't know. Could you help me? Then she was returned to the hospital where she was given morphine. My brother thought for breathing difficulties and my sister thought for choking or the inability to swallow.
I talked to Dr. Saddy after her death. He did not remember her, how much morphine she was given, or for what condition the morphine was given. The death certificate was not with her medical records that he had, which lead him to believe that not he, but another physician cared for her at the time of her death.
If you could send me her social security number, I could access her death certificate through the state of California . I would be quite grateful.
Thank you,
Wendy
Anne Albano wrote:
THE CF has an arrangement for "assisted living" for past tenants IF they qualit...if there is funding...if the administration thinks that a less restritive environment would be beneficial and improve the quality of life...and if the family can participate in funds. Your mom was in skilled nursing facility at Carmel Hills which her state benefits of medicare and medical covered. If she had been able to gain more independence...Robb and I discussed the possibility of moving her to a less restrictive environment...assisted living. This was by no means, a done deal...we would have had to have her evaluated by a physician...then I would have had to find an appropriate facility which would take less money...etc. We would not have offered any support to her at Carmel Hills since her medical was kicking in.
And yes...we would have been short of money still for "assisted living" but Robb generously offered to assist financially if we got to that place. We obviously never did.
If you have further questions...I am happy to answer them....
Anne
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
From: Wendy Martin [mailto:windimartn@yahoo.com]
Sent: Sun 2/17/2008 1:59 PM
To: Anne Albano
Subject: Christy Schaller
Dear Anne,
Robb wrote an email to me, after mom's death, that there was an arrangement set up with the Foundation involving $2000. a month toward assisted living with Robb paying $600. after mom's government checks would be applied. Is this true?
Mom had me request a private room for her at the center while I was there. She couldn't have know about the other arrangement. She never mentioned it to me over the phone and she was writing Candy checks which would not have been covered if her money was being taken for this arrangement. Please enlighten me.
Mom was so embarrassed about her condition. Lack of hearing, lack of seeing and being crippled so.
Wendy Martin
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Why would Theresa Erickson act as Power of Attorney? Was she paid for this service,by whom? Wasn't Robb able to function, he lived only 3 hours away?
GRIEF
Grief came as hate.
It came with an ugly face, so you couldn't see it.
Grief came with a mask,
Horrible and frightening and wanting to consume.
Grief came as an enemy,
Wanting to devour itself and you and me.
Grief left the tears behind,
And the sadness buried a if non-existent.
Grief came differently this time
Unrecognizable, without sense or reason.
Grief came. Grief came.
Finally it was gone and I couldn't remember.
©2009 Wendy Gwen Martin
Again making legal copies. Counting the pages. The cover page. Her fax number, my fax number. Her telephone number, my telephone number. Her disregard of my specifics. (Please send me legal proof that you shared power of attorney with my bother Rob) My requests. I wait for the conformation sheet. Pay the girl. Damn her, damn life, damn all things that matter and must be tracked down, exposed and resolved.
I email my brother-'get me mom's medical records.'
"No." He answers. He sends me the death certificate. That settles nothing. When someone is diagnosed with Alzheimer's, medication can be withheld if the patient has pneumonia, only power of attorney can do this. I want to know if Teresa Erickson did this to my mother.
How did it come to this? This lack of communication. This lack of concern of a life-old, helpless, crippled, blind but still feeling, still caring, still loving life. Wanting to be loved in spite of her condition, in spite of her frailties.
The Indian woman walked up the stairs with me. How do they care for their old in India, I asked her. Not like here, she said. They are cared for at home, around grandchildren and family. They are so alone here, she said. It's terrible. A place like this is terrible.
©2009Wendy Martin
We had waited a long time to see him for the first time. For years she had had Dr. Hudgens. A nice man who liked her. Every visit I would take her in and say hi to him. He was very friendly.
I was bewildered when she would become very upset when I suggested we call him and even cry. This seemed wrong to me. She needed a Dr. that she could 'bother.' We decided that a geriatric specialist would be best. She called her pharmacist and asked him to recommend one-he said that there were no geriatric specialists any more. I was sitting next to her when she had this conversation. I didn't accept this and got on the internet and found their association and requested a list of all of the geriatric specialists in Oregon and California. I received this list about two days after my request. On line I was able to find Dr. Soddy, who was even affiliated with Carmel Hills-the rehab facility where mom was being treated. Dr. Soddy was on a vacation and it was a long wait to see him. There was also another general practitoner with a geriatric 'tag' on the Monterey Peninsula. As it turned out, Dr. Soddy was a geriatric specialist with an Alzheimer's 'tag.' But this we didn't realize until moms first visit.
Finally he came. He was a kind soft spoken man. Gentle.
Mom had been given a memory test about a week earlier by the head of CNAs. More of a long term memory test that is required by the state of California to be given every patient in the facility during their stay. Mom did wonderfully. We were all proud of her, so she felt confident about taking the MMSE that Dr. Soddy gave her that afternoon, the one that she did so poorly on. She scored 15/30. Not good, he said for a person that had had two years of college.
He sat next to her and spoke into her left ear. She was deaf in the other and she was blind, having much less sight than she let on.
"What you have is Alzheimer's disease."
I burst into tears. I was sitting at the end of her bed. She couldn't see me or hear me. God knows what she was thinking or feeling. She had had two friends die from Alzheimer's, a married couple, first the husband than the wife. Mom actually expressed the idea that a person with Alzheimers was crazy. I knew nothing about the disease except that it was horrible and terminal.
After he left she said, "Well, I'll have to change my plans."
All the month of October I had been looking for section 8 rentals. Which I was to find out later had been closed for years in California. I was exhausted. I was homesick. Around this time the Foundation called me and told me I had overstayed in mom's apartment and had been there too many weeks and had to leave. She really couldn't accept this. She ripped her nightie off, grabbed at me, told me that I had to stay. She tried to make deals saying that I could stay with her at her friends house that I wouldn't have to care for her, just stay with her. She was very much afraid to have me leave her. She was afraid of something that she knew. " I am being dumped," she said. I told her that she wasn't being fair. I thought that she would be living in a private room there and I thought that that was so terrible I couldn't verbalize that to mom. I thought that she would just have to accept. There was a woman that had lived for sixteen years in the room adjoining hers and another woman that was 104 whose daughter spent every afternoon with, and we would visit with each other on some of the breaks I would take while spending time with mom.
The day that I left she was calm and undercontrol. I believe this was the last day of October.
Every few days I would talk to her on the phone. The hopelessness was beyond depression. In a week or two she caught pneumonia. She didn't sound like she was having a hard time breathing. I wrote her Dr. "Why is she still in the hospital?" He called me. "She has a urinary tract infection."
Later I would learn while working with Alzheimer's and dementia that when a person is on a liquid diet, has pneumonia and has a urinary tract infection, that person is actively dying. On the morning of December 6 my sister called me and told me that mom had 2 hours to live. A little before 9a. I can't remember saying anything to her. I checked my email and my brother wrote, "Mom is resting with morphin drip, will die sometime today." How can a person 'feel' frozen? I was stone.
(in response to my email to Anne Albano, after moms death)
Wendy…I would suggest that you talk to your mom’s power of attorney who may know better the sequence of events. I do believe your mom had pneumonia which sometimes happens when one becomes bedridden. And as you recall, your mom had a pelvic fracture which started the sequence of events…which often happens with frail elders.
Her name is Theresa Erickson at 915-3981.
Anne
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
From: Wendy Martin [mailto:windimartn@yahoo.com]
Sent: Tuesday, February 19, 2008 5:52 AM
To: Anne Albano
Subject: RE: Christy Schaller
Dear Anne,
It is not clear in my mind the sequence of events in my mother's life after I left Carmel .
She became ill with the flu at the care facility and then got pneumonia and was taken to the hospital, where she stayed for quite a while. Then about 24 hours before her death she was taken out of the hospital and where I don't know. Could you help me? Then she was returned to the hospital where she was given morphine. My brother thought for breathing difficulties and my sister thought for choking or the inability to swallow.
I talked to Dr. Saddy after her death. He did not remember her, how much morphine she was given, or for what condition the morphine was given. The death certificate was not with her medical records that he had, which lead him to believe that not he, but another physician cared for her at the time of her death.
If you could send me her social security number, I could access her death certificate through the state of California . I would be quite grateful.
Thank you,
Wendy
Anne Albano
THE CF has an arrangement for "assisted living" for past tenants IF they qualit...if there is funding...if the administration thinks that a less restritive environment would be beneficial and improve the quality of life...and if the family can participate in funds. Your mom was in skilled nursing facility at Carmel Hills which her state benefits of medicare and medical covered. If she had been able to gain more independence...Robb and I discussed the possibility of moving her to a less restrictive environment...assisted living. This was by no means, a done deal...we would have had to have her evaluated by a physician...then I would have had to find an appropriate facility which would take less money...etc. We would not have offered any support to her at Carmel Hills since her medical was kicking in.
And yes...we would have been short of money still for "assisted living" but Robb generously offered to assist financially if we got to that place. We obviously never did.
If you have further questions...I am happy to answer them....
Anne
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
From: Wendy Martin [mailto:windimartn@yahoo.com]
Sent: Sun 2/17/2008 1:59 PM
To: Anne Albano
Subject: Christy Schaller
Dear Anne,
Robb wrote an email to me, after mom's death, that there was an arrangement set up with the Foundation involving $2000. a month toward assisted living with Robb paying $600. after mom's government checks would be applied. Is this true?
Mom had me request a private room for her at the center while I was there. She couldn't have know about the other arrangement. She never mentioned it to me over the phone and she was writing Candy checks which would not have been covered if her money was being taken for this arrangement. Please enlighten me.
Mom was so embarrassed about her condition. Lack of hearing, lack of seeing and being crippled so.
Wendy Martin
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Why would Theresa Erickson act as Power of Attorney? Was she paid for this service,by whom? Wasn't Robb able to function, he lived only 3 hours away?
GRIEF
Grief came as hate.
It came with an ugly face, so you couldn't see it.
Grief came with a mask,
Horrible and frightening and wanting to consume.
Grief came as an enemy,
Wanting to devour itself and you and me.
Grief left the tears behind,
And the sadness buried a if non-existent.
Grief came differently this time
Unrecognizable, without sense or reason.
Grief came. Grief came.
Finally it was gone and I couldn't remember.
©2009 Wendy Gwen Martin
Again making legal copies. Counting the pages. The cover page. Her fax number, my fax number. Her telephone number, my telephone number. Her disregard of my specifics. (Please send me legal proof that you shared power of attorney with my bother Rob) My requests. I wait for the conformation sheet. Pay the girl. Damn her, damn life, damn all things that matter and must be tracked down, exposed and resolved.
I email my brother-'get me mom's medical records.'
"No." He answers. He sends me the death certificate. That settles nothing. When someone is diagnosed with Alzheimer's, medication can be withheld if the patient has pneumonia, only power of attorney can do this. I want to know if Teresa Erickson did this to my mother.
How did it come to this? This lack of communication. This lack of concern of a life-old, helpless, crippled, blind but still feeling, still caring, still loving life. Wanting to be loved in spite of her condition, in spite of her frailties.
The Indian woman walked up the stairs with me. How do they care for their old in India, I asked her. Not like here, she said. They are cared for at home, around grandchildren and family. They are so alone here, she said. It's terrible. A place like this is terrible.
©2009Wendy Martin
Monday, March 16, 2009
The Spaniard
The old woman stood by the door of the classroom. The room was filled with college freshmen, she and one other would have to sit in the doorway. She studied each young face. They were easy to see from the place where she was standing. The sunlight filled the air and poured through the window upon the faces of the eager students of which she was one. The students had come to learn Spanish. Some studied to earn their degrees, while others came because they traveled to Mexico or because they were in the medical profession. The old woman had come to learn her own language. She had been born in a small village in southern Mexico but had come to America when she was six years old with her mother and father. They had traveled up the Pacific coastline, working the fruit and had settled in Oregon. This had been many years before. Now she was old and she wanted to learn her language, perhaps she would decide to stay there, to die there, of this possibility she was thinking.
That September morning was fair. She fixed her attention on the professor who was sitting on the edge of his desk. He was a small man and very handsome. He spoke with a thick accent. "I am from Spain, he told the class, southern Spain," he added proudly. "Seville."
The old woman wondered what Seville was like and why he had traveled so far from home. Of course, everyone wanted to come to America, didn't they? Even her own parents had wanted to come to America and they had come, just as this little Spaniard had come.
One afternoon during a class discussion she had asked him just that, why? He spoke only in Spanish during these discussions. "I came for money and to study the theater. In Spain one is only able to study the theater for six months and then no more. Also the libraries in America are extensive, unlike those in Spain." Well, she thought, her parents had not come for this reason.
She had often wondered how old the Spaniard was. Some days he looked quite young, somewhere in his twenties, but other days...older,in his forties. On these days his otherwise handsome face could almost appear ugly. His beautiful expressive eyes would take on an almond shape and wrinkles circled them and spread across his forehead. There were some days, she felt, that the Spaniard was not happy. On these days he could be extremely harsh with his students. She watched him carefully, until she began to wonder at herself and at the way that she would watch him. "Surely this old heart of mine feels alive again," she thought. But she put this out of her mind most of the time because she was practically a dead old woman and he was a young, handsome man.
It was true, the Spaniard was a handsome man. His dark hair curled about the nap of his neck and his voice was rich and deep. His eyes were expressive of all that he felt and this was enough to make any woman fall in love with him, which many woman were, this the old woman could see. But these were not the only things that attracted the old woman to him, for there were many handsome men walking around on the face of the earth but her heart had been dead for a long time. Until now. No, it was not only his physical beauty that attracted her, what she saw over a period of time was his great intelligence and his great sensitivity. These were his valuable things and even his cruelty, yes, his quick anger, could not spoil what he had been gifted with and these were the qualities that she watched day by day and grew to love.
As the school year progressed all of his students grew to love him more, although he became more frequently unhappy and there were bad days with him as well as good.
Early in the fall it became known that the little Spaniard would return to Spain. This seemed far off but made sense to the old woman who was herself planning a return to her own people. "He will be happier," she thought, "although I will miss him."
Once during the year the Spanish class met in the park for games and a picnic. There the young people played soccer. At this the little Spaniard was very good. He took off his shoes and ran in his naked feet. He ran very fast. The old woman had heard of this game but had never seen it played. She sat under a big tree with some other woman. They spoke part English and part Spanish with each other. When one man came running in from the field to rest, sweat poured from his body and he gasped for air. "You look just like an animal." The old woman had spoken to him in Spanish. The man had not understood. Then she watched the little Spaniard run and felt sad to think that some day she would see him no more. She wondered more at herself for feeling this. Why would nature play a trick on her now, when she was a shiveled up old woman and even a blind man would not want her now? Some days she felt very angry over this and could only hope that the love in her heart would not show on her face, the love she had, unwillingly, for the Spaniard.
Finally the end of spring came and the beginning of summer. All the young students were tired from school and this was especially true of the old woman. She understood enough of her language now to go back to her people unashamed that she had lived so many years in America.There was only one sadness in her life and it cut through her with a pain that she would never have imagined possible, this pain was the handsome little Spaniard."Surely I will not say goodbye to him or I may cry" she thought. "And then everyone will wonder at an old woman wanting a young man." Never had life seemed so cruel. She worked quietly in her garden as she thought. She plucked the last dead buds off her rose bush and tossed them to the ground. This rosebush was her favorite the flowers were a deep pink and they had a strong aroma. She snipped off five stems that had multiple blossoms and filled a blue china vase with them. "They never last, " she spoke aloud to a white cat that played with the petals as they fell from the branch. "The petals drop off and make a terrible mess, but the fresh ones are always beautiful." She carried the vase into the house, set it on the table and locked the door.
written in Ashland, Oregon 1987
© 2009 Wendy Martin
That September morning was fair. She fixed her attention on the professor who was sitting on the edge of his desk. He was a small man and very handsome. He spoke with a thick accent. "I am from Spain, he told the class, southern Spain," he added proudly. "Seville."
The old woman wondered what Seville was like and why he had traveled so far from home. Of course, everyone wanted to come to America, didn't they? Even her own parents had wanted to come to America and they had come, just as this little Spaniard had come.
One afternoon during a class discussion she had asked him just that, why? He spoke only in Spanish during these discussions. "I came for money and to study the theater. In Spain one is only able to study the theater for six months and then no more. Also the libraries in America are extensive, unlike those in Spain." Well, she thought, her parents had not come for this reason.
She had often wondered how old the Spaniard was. Some days he looked quite young, somewhere in his twenties, but other days...older,in his forties. On these days his otherwise handsome face could almost appear ugly. His beautiful expressive eyes would take on an almond shape and wrinkles circled them and spread across his forehead. There were some days, she felt, that the Spaniard was not happy. On these days he could be extremely harsh with his students. She watched him carefully, until she began to wonder at herself and at the way that she would watch him. "Surely this old heart of mine feels alive again," she thought. But she put this out of her mind most of the time because she was practically a dead old woman and he was a young, handsome man.
It was true, the Spaniard was a handsome man. His dark hair curled about the nap of his neck and his voice was rich and deep. His eyes were expressive of all that he felt and this was enough to make any woman fall in love with him, which many woman were, this the old woman could see. But these were not the only things that attracted the old woman to him, for there were many handsome men walking around on the face of the earth but her heart had been dead for a long time. Until now. No, it was not only his physical beauty that attracted her, what she saw over a period of time was his great intelligence and his great sensitivity. These were his valuable things and even his cruelty, yes, his quick anger, could not spoil what he had been gifted with and these were the qualities that she watched day by day and grew to love.
As the school year progressed all of his students grew to love him more, although he became more frequently unhappy and there were bad days with him as well as good.
Early in the fall it became known that the little Spaniard would return to Spain. This seemed far off but made sense to the old woman who was herself planning a return to her own people. "He will be happier," she thought, "although I will miss him."
Once during the year the Spanish class met in the park for games and a picnic. There the young people played soccer. At this the little Spaniard was very good. He took off his shoes and ran in his naked feet. He ran very fast. The old woman had heard of this game but had never seen it played. She sat under a big tree with some other woman. They spoke part English and part Spanish with each other. When one man came running in from the field to rest, sweat poured from his body and he gasped for air. "You look just like an animal." The old woman had spoken to him in Spanish. The man had not understood. Then she watched the little Spaniard run and felt sad to think that some day she would see him no more. She wondered more at herself for feeling this. Why would nature play a trick on her now, when she was a shiveled up old woman and even a blind man would not want her now? Some days she felt very angry over this and could only hope that the love in her heart would not show on her face, the love she had, unwillingly, for the Spaniard.
Finally the end of spring came and the beginning of summer. All the young students were tired from school and this was especially true of the old woman. She understood enough of her language now to go back to her people unashamed that she had lived so many years in America.There was only one sadness in her life and it cut through her with a pain that she would never have imagined possible, this pain was the handsome little Spaniard."Surely I will not say goodbye to him or I may cry" she thought. "And then everyone will wonder at an old woman wanting a young man." Never had life seemed so cruel. She worked quietly in her garden as she thought. She plucked the last dead buds off her rose bush and tossed them to the ground. This rosebush was her favorite the flowers were a deep pink and they had a strong aroma. She snipped off five stems that had multiple blossoms and filled a blue china vase with them. "They never last, " she spoke aloud to a white cat that played with the petals as they fell from the branch. "The petals drop off and make a terrible mess, but the fresh ones are always beautiful." She carried the vase into the house, set it on the table and locked the door.
written in Ashland, Oregon 1987
© 2009 Wendy Martin
Thursday, March 12, 2009
BALLAD OF THE LOST THREE YEAR OLD
through billions of eras
the umbilical soul
warms my thoughts
my mommy
some warmy
jelly
inside
huddle me close
inside
her heart
beat also
warm
warm
warm
that i should stay forever
crushed to
this mommy
ohhhhh but i tried. . .
warmth
warmth
can't press
you close enough
gigantic
glowing globes
glare under me
stare up at me
and
scare me to a scream
the the big door opens
with the me emerging
humming my half song
the mommy a hot
fleshy
soft
earthy
body
heard our
whole song
in her heart
beat
also
kind eyed the mommy
with gentle soft face
pure soul the mommy
with vibrant voice
wake the knotted
fumbled
childs head
or sing a sweet hymn
instead
but rock
rock
rock
rock the me
to a nursery
rhyme
in the time
of
the mommy heart
beat
also
rain grows the afternoon
and as the flowers swell
the lungs
the heart swells soon
to fold and groom
and
coat the soul
of childhood noon
speaks
the silent
heart
beat
also
wake the knotted
fumbled
childs head
or sing a sweet hymn
instead
but rock
rock
rock
rock the me
in the time
of
the mommy heart
beat also
the umbilical soul
warms my thoughts
my mommy
some warmy
jelly
inside
huddle me close
inside
her heart
beat also
warm
warm
warm
that i should stay forever
crushed to
this mommy
ohhhhh but i tried. . .
warmth
warmth
can't press
you close enough
gigantic
glowing globes
glare under me
stare up at me
and
scare me to a scream
the the big door opens
with the me emerging
humming my half song
the mommy a hot
fleshy
soft
earthy
body
heard our
whole song
in her heart
beat
also
kind eyed the mommy
with gentle soft face
pure soul the mommy
with vibrant voice
wake the knotted
fumbled
childs head
or sing a sweet hymn
instead
but rock
rock
rock
rock the me
to a nursery
rhyme
in the time
of
the mommy heart
beat
also
rain grows the afternoon
and as the flowers swell
the lungs
the heart swells soon
to fold and groom
and
coat the soul
of childhood noon
speaks
the silent
heart
beat
also
wake the knotted
fumbled
childs head
or sing a sweet hymn
instead
but rock
rock
rock
rock the me
in the time
of
the mommy heart
beat also
Saturday, March 7, 2009
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