Showing posts with label 1950s. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 1950s. Show all posts

Friday, May 1, 2026

Storymusing: Wait Till Next Year by Doris Kearns Goodwin


Wait Till Next Year

by Doris Kearns Goodwin

I picked up this book as a sports memoir for my thematic book club. It begins with Goodwin talking about how she used to listen to baseball games on the radio as a child and record information about the game to share with her father after dinner. It was a warm memory of bonding time between the two of them and clearly profoundly influenced her love of baseball and therefore her life.

Wikipedia says, “A sports journalist as well, Goodwin was the first woman to enter the Boston Red Sox locker room in 1979.[22] She consulted on and appeared in Ken Burns' 1994 documentary Baseball.[23]

The author is very careful to write her perceptions from the perspective of the age she was at the time. She doesn’t intrude with “looking back, I now know….” It makes the book read much more like a novel than a history book.

This is the story of an almost idyllic childhood of an upwardly mobile white community on the south shore of long island during the fifties. Goodwin puts all the neighbors and owners of stores in the framework of whether they rooted for the Dodgers, Giants, or Yankees.

However, the memoir quickly moves into broader reminiscences in the story of her father and the tragic loss of his family when he was young – one brother died at 15 months, another died of tetanus after a street car accident, his mother developed complications from the stress and died in childbirth, then his father seemed to die of a broken heart leaving he and his sister to be divided between relatives. At eighteen he got a job and apartment then brought her to live with him. A year later she died of complications after anesthesia during a dental procedure. For all that he was a very involved father, he never spoke with her about this until much later in life.

There were also the very scary episodes of Angina her own mother suffered while Goodwin was young. She had to watch without being able to do anything but comfort her. It seems to be something she learned from her mother, who was quick to comfort her in the night during thunderstorms. Sadly, her mother had an early complete hysterectomy which aged her body and made her appear old before her time. But her mother read a lot and shared that love with her daughter. Another profound influence on the author.

Goodwin also shares fond memories of her much older sisters who seemed glamorous and worldly, almost more like aunts. She gives a broad view of all the people in her family, on her block, and in her community. She places her almost idyllic childhood in the larger context of the 1950s and gives us the perspective of what was going on in society through the lens of her childhood and baseball. From civil rights struggles to the advent of the atomic bomb bringing drills at school and home, plus the struggle of trying to keep children safe from polio, it was a time of upheaval. There are family trials and tragedies as well.

When it comes to polio, there was a great deal of concern at that time because they didn’t know how it was spread. She depicts public service announcements and parents making restrictions to try to keep kids safe. One sister had it when she was three and was nursed at home by hired nurses around the clock and eventually recovered with only a leg brace for a year, while a playmate ended up paralyzed.

There were lighter developments as well, such as the arrival of television. The first family to get a television became the host of block watching sessions. Then, as bigger televisions arrived, the children and families went to different houses for regular viewing sessions.

This book is utterly fascinating, so well written, evocative of time and place, as well as the history of our nation through the lens of Goodwin’s childhood on Long Island. It is an extremely engaging and illuminating weave of elements. I don’t think I can recommend it enough. A five star read. 


 

Friday, August 28, 2015

The Dud Avocado by Elaine Dundy


The Dud Avocado
by Elaine Dundy

Guest review by Tarren Young – Thank you, Tarren!

I LOVED this book! Although it took me a month to read it, it wasn’t because it wasn’t fascinating; rather, it was the fact that I borrowed it from the library and had to stop every two to four pages to jot down ideas, quips or quotes from the book instead of being able to highlight in my own copy. This WILL be added to my personal library!

I was floored when, somewhere around page sixty-ish, I realized that this book was fiction and NOT memoir! And that is the number one reason why I loved this book: it’s fiction, but reads like memoir.

The book is told from the perspective of Sally Jay Gorce, a young (we’re not actually told her age, somewhere between eighteen and twenty-two) American who has finally made it to Paris on her Uncle Roger’s dime, in exchange for stopping her numerous runaway attempts from prestigious, and boring, boarding schools on the East Coast of America.

But the problem is, Sally Jay is, as we learn through her foibles, The Dud Avocado—and she doesn’t realize it through most of the story - that she’s green and just a kid. In fact, she gets rather temperamental at the mere mention of someone calling her “kid” which, coincidentally, happens a lot.

I really couldn’t help but laugh at Sally’s insights on her new friends who are “artists” in Paris, or as she calls them “The Hard Core,” and her pet names for all of them - such as the two that have beards and, even thought not related, look so much alike that she calls them “Beard Boring” and “Beard Bubbly.”
I truly think the reason I connected so much with Sally Jay is the fact that she is young and naïve and reminds myself of a younger me, sans the traveling and living in Paris on a two-year monthly stipend from a rich uncle.

Bunny trail: I just realized that mirrors are symbolic in the story because they appear every couple pages or chapters at the least, and I didn’t realize how much they were mentioned throughout the book until now. But it makes sense, as Sally Jay, often looks in and at mirrors, but has a hard time seeing the truth reflected back at her because she is so young and green. She is always trying to run away from something or run into something new and exotic instead of slowing down to reflect on things in her life, until it’s too late. By then she’s already wrapped up in a hot mess of trouble.

Pg. 44 “And in a way I kind of gave up on myself. I gave up wondering if anyone was ever going to understand me at all. If I was ever going to understand myself even. Why was it so difficult anyway? Was I some kind of nut or something? Don’t answer that.” ~I just can’t get over how much Sally Jay talks and thinks like me!

Part two is laid out in a journal format, still with chapters though. Of course the whole book is in first person, Sally Jay telling her own story. But I think it was nice to read the diary format and get into some really deeper things, and some things just quick and nitty gritty.

The avocado scene brings the whole story together. The whole metaphor behind the title, and ultimately true story of Sally Jay’s naivety and realizing that for how much she tried to act and tell herself that she wasn’t naïve, that she wasn’t green, that she was part of the “club,” she never really was, and the realization that she is a Dud Avocado really depresses her.

Honestly, I think this has, hands down, the best love scene I have ever had the pleasure of reading. It’s very sensual without being overly erotic. It makes you stop to admire all the background details and pine away to know the backstory and dream, longingly, that you too could also be one of those beautiful woman.

I still think Sally Jay is still a bit naïve at the end, even though she is getting married. She has spent her whole life running away from what society tells her she has to do—she doesn’t want to get married. She doesn’t want to have children and cook and do the domestic thing, so when she finally decides to say yes to marriage, she still thinks that’s the end of her life. That she will no longer have the chance to be exotic. I mean, “…it’s the end…!”  Is it not?