 |
| Photo by Cathy Gazda |
Rather than muse about the clichés of new years
and fresh starts, I decided to begin 2013 on Jellyfish Day with a book review
and interview. Willma Willis Gore is a special lady, both for her incisive
writing and determination, but also for her age – she celebrated her ninetieth
(90!) birthday in 2012! How many nonagenarians do you know who are active
writers, or active writers who are nonagenarians?
Gore is the author of 2000+
articles published in 80+ periodicals, 19 children’s books, two novels,
including the recent Braving House Calls
(CreateSpace 2012), two how-to books (Linden Books, 2002 & 2007), and a
newspaper column. She continues to give solace and support to Sedona,
Arizona area writers in her monthly writing workshops
I’ve long wanted to read more of Willma’s work,
ever since first meeting her and listening to her inspiring talk on what to
write “While You’re Waiting to Market Your Great American Novel” in the summer
of 2006 for the Professional Writers of Prescott. Willma kindly aided my
aspiration to read her work when she mailed me a copy of her latest novel and
her memoir. I began reading the memoir first because I was certain she’d had a
brilliant and interesting life, and I wasn’t disappointed.
In fact, Iron
Grip, though self-published with just a few little typos and
irregularities, is a riveting story (I mention the self-pubbing and little
errors only because there’s so little to criticize about this book!) I often
read in bed and fall asleep over books or e-books, but this story kept me
turning pages into the wee hours.
Gore, disguised in her first-person prose as “Ellen
Early,” is confronted with her husband Alex’s catastrophic accident when most
newlyweds are still reveling in post-honeymoon romance and just settling into
their marriages. Instead, the Earlys are thrust into negotiating an emotional
minefield of disappointment and loss as they confront the double amputation of
Alex’s hands after an artillery explosion while assigned at Camp Sibert in Gadsden,
Alabama, the first
large-scale chemical agent training area in the United States during World War II.
Gore writes with both uncommon clarity and
grace, and with descriptive flair about the ordeal, never wavering in her
determination to tell an honest story:
Captain Greeley’s normal debonair attitude was
reduced to halting steps as he came along our driveway.
I left the couch where I’d been watching
through the window, opened the front door, and pushed the screen wide. The
hinges squealed, a raucous invasion in this silent stretch of time. Greeley
kept turning his cap in his hands, looking down. I wished he would look up,
feeling that something in his face would give me a clue to his mission. He
glanced at me as if to calculate the distance between us and looked down again
at his cap. The alcohol on his breath wafted into my presence, confirming what
Alex had told me, “Greeley can’t stay away from the bottle.”
“Something’s happened to Alex?” I heard my
wooden voice as though it came from far away.
His lips parted but no sound came. Finally he
said, “He . . . he had a little accident on the training grounds when the
convoy got back from Louisiana. His. . . his . . . his hands.” He glanced up,
and quickly down again. “They got burned pretty bad. He’s at the base hospital.
Maybe you’d like to stay at camp tonight?”
 |
| Wedding Day, March 1942 |
Within an hour, Gore is
wrangling with putting their married life on a new course. She endures a hasty
relocation to Atlanta for her husband’s long hospitalization, her mind racing
with thoughts of all the new tasks she would have to perform, wondering if she
was capable of fulfilling the many medical and non-medical responsibilities
suddenly foisted upon her. She proves more than capable, a steady pair of hands
for a seemingly rock-strong man who engages the world with as much savoir faire
and inventiveness as she. As Gore says in her own words, “. . .both recognized
that the future would present many challenges; we were bonded in the desire and
the confidence that somehow, together, we would meet anything life would throw
at us.”
So Alex and Ellen Early,
like so many others of the “Greatest Generation,” forged on with their lives,
seizing the opportunities that accompany the harsh realities of wounded
veterans’ lives during and after World War II. Alex learned to negotiate the
world without hands, struggling with and then mastering his prosthetic hooks
during his long recovery and rehabilitation. Meanwhile, in a rare move for many
women at the time, especially for a helpmate burdened with extra domestic
duties, Ellie reaches again for her dream to be a working writer and resumes
her studies (along with Alex) at UCLA.
While Iron Grip could have descended into
maudlin sentimentality or an emotionally clichéd story of loss and triumph,
Gore reveals instead the psychological layers of real people and the
complexities of real lives. The memoir reads like a good novel, taking us from
the couple’s hardworking triumph over a tragic mishap, to the blossoming of
their family life with the happy arrival of three boys spaced two years apart,
a process not without an underlying sense of building tension.
The Earlys’ lives begin
to crumble once again as Alex’s behavior gradually becomes more brittle and
controlling. He begins to clash with coworkers and quit jobs, expressing doubts
about himself and his accomplishments. As capable as ever, Ellen shoulders
increasing responsibilities with her writing career and raising their sons, not
quite understanding her husband’s descent into the grip of manic-depression
(now known as bipolar disorder). To add insult to injury, Ellen must confront
her husband’s infidelity with his therapist, a personal friend, after nearly
two decades of marital devotion.
Iron Grip
easily becomes not only a metaphor for Alex’s new hands and the tenacious
manner he dealt with his losses and his life, but also for Ellie’s – Gore’s –
experiences as she becomes iron strong in the face of both success and
adversity.
KR: Willma, I really
loved this book. Although I have little experience with physical disabilities,
several of my family members are plagued (or blessed at times) with learning
and emotional handicaps, and so I especially related to the difficulties “Alex”
had with bipolar disorder. We get but a taste in your memoir of what was
probably an extensive and baffling process, since bipolar disorder wasn’t fully
recognized for what it is until long after the 1940s. My father was thought to
have had schizophrenia, but was not properly diagnosed with bipolar until the
mid-1970s. Both civilians and veterans also face significant physical, emotional,
and relational disruptions in their lives due to physical and mental trauma that results either from combat or
from stateside accidents like your husband’s. Is there anything else you’d like
to mention about this issue?
WWG: Even though I visited Alex daily from
8 a.m. until 4 p.m. during his convalescence at Lawson General Hospital in
Atlanta, the hospital staff also worked with him daily and would not release
him until he demonstrated skill in driving (and parking!) our car (manual
transmission in those days), and in dressing himself, including tying his
shoelaces. He invented a device to use in buttoning dress shirts (a requirement
in those days for employees in the field he worked in), as well as a device to
help grip the steering wheel of the car.
His mother was severely
afflicted with schizophrenia and had some brain surgery. I believe that his
disinterest in her (he never wanted her to visit or be around us) was his
knowledge that mental illness is often hereditary. He spent several months in
the hospital in 1962 and survived under heavy medication after returning to
work.
My sons were all born
following my and Alex’s graduation from UCLA—he with honors in Business
Administration. We traveled a lot, he doing the photography for the
articles I published —mostly in Westways, the California Auto Club
Magazine that I believe still publishes. Alex developed a special device for
firing the camera through a tube/bulb held in his mouth. He gained salaried
employment in the aircraft industry from which he eventually retired.
(Incidentally, he is now 91 and lives with his second wife in Los Osos, CA. Our
two older sons now live in No. California and keep close touch with him.)
I was fortunate when Alex was hospitalized for the bipolar disorder to get a job as the
publications manager for the local (Fullerton, CA) Chamber of Commerce. I also
worked as assistant editor, doing the research for a Buena Park Publisher
(Civic Publishers) of small paperback books (9x6) that were designed to be
distributed by local Chambers to acquaint newcomers to their cities. I did the
interviewing and most of the writing of seven: Fullerton, South Pasadena,
Alhambra, West Covina, San Gabriel, Canoga Park and Pasadena. I introduced the
need in each for a city map. These were the centerfolds. While working at
Civic, I met the editor of the national circulation newsletter for Nutrilite
Products, News & Views. This food supplement plant was in Buena
Park. She needed an assistant editor. I worked there until I met Charles Gore,
my second husband, and became mother to five stepchildren, 10 to 18 in age. We
moved to the San Joaquin Valley mini-ranch (background for my two novels). It
was here that I interviewed farm women and farmers for the most lucrative stage
of my writing career; I did profiles for California Farmer , Farm & Ranch
Living, Farm Woman, Country, Landhandler, etc.
Following Charles death
in 1991, I moved to Crestline, CA. There I saw the need in The San
Bernardino County Sun for profiles of families. I wrote about fifty of
these in the three years I lived there. Then I moved to Los Osos, Ca to a
retirement village, joined NightWriters, the local writers club and initiated
two writer workshops there, High Hopes and Novel Idea, and both are still in
operation. I moved to Sedona in 2004. I have lived in six different California
counties, ten different cities, organized or participated in writer workshops
in all. In 1989, as a member of California Press Women (many awards) I was the
California delegate to National Press Women’s annual conference—this one in
Coeur d'Alene, Idaho.
KR: Whew! You certainly
had your plate full with all the normal stress of working mothers, and you also
had many issues above and beyond the usual. You were also a female pioneer
in that many women of your day didn’t engage in any occupation other than
homemaker, or stayed within the acceptable parameters of typical female
occupations like secretary, teacher, waitress, sales clerk, or nurse. Did you
encounter any particular obstacles while working toward your degree or forging
a career as a writer? I have a feeling that you did but that these didn’t faze
you much!
 |
| High School Years |
WWG: I was extremely
fortunate as a child to be encouraged to write. In those days, most women made
a “career” of being wives, teachers or nurses. From age 12 when I was the first
to grab mother’s Good Housekeeping magazine from the mailbox, I was
determined to be a writer. I sold my first piece at age nineteen, a brief
profile of an American Indian customer who came each afternoon to the drug
store where I worked as a soda jerk. He did not speak English, but slapped a
dime on the counter and said “manilla,” as he pointed to the counter poster on
which three cones (chocolate, strawberry, vanilla) were pictured.
In elementary school, we were encouraged to write poetry. I turned in a lot of
poems for English class. The principal of our small school invited the dozen
8th grade graduates to her home for a special brunch as a graduation
celebration. At each place was half a walnut shell with a mast toothpick, made
to simulate a sailing ship. The banner on each mast bore the name of the
graduate. Folded inside the nutshell was a fortune. Mine said, “You will be a
writer.” I never wavered from that goal and that purpose. My college degree was
a general major – allowed at that time. You could specialize in three fields.
Mine were English, geology and geography. All three were especially helpful in
the many travel articles I’ve published.
A particularly
interesting adventure I had that spurred some writing was the 250-mile (round
trip) a college friend and I made on our bicycles from Lone Pine (my home town
where I grew up on a small dairy) to Mono Lake and return (Sears/Roebuck
fat-tire bicycles). This was sponsored by the newly-formed Inyo/Mono Society—designed
to publicize the scenic route area at the eastern foot of the High Sierra for
its fishing and recreational attractions. Ellen and I had gratis lodging and
food all along the way. This resulted in my second article for Westways
magazine. (The first was the brief profile of the Indian I mentioned above).
Highway 395, our route, was then two lanes, one north, one south. We fashioned
labels for the backs of our shirts by fastening bias tape around cardboard
letters: UCLA. We would ride for miles without encountering a car. Highway 395
is now four lanes most of the way, as I recall.
KR: The times and
environments have certainly changed! It sounds as if you didn’t let anything
stop you for a second, Willma . . .Two of my favorite aphorisms about writing
are to “apply butt to chair and write” and also, “just keep going.” You’ve had
a long and brilliant career of doing both! Tell us more about your love for
writing. What keeps you going?
WWG: What keeps me
going as a writer? Each morning I “wake up my fingers and my brain” with a
short message to a long-term friend, a retired English teacher, who lives in
Bakersfield, CA. That was sent at 7:30 this morning, fresh coffee at my elbow.
This morning, when I finish this letter to you, I will go back to the current
novel I’m working on, “When Coyote Smiles.” It is a romantic suspense novel. I
read Chapter 14 to my writer group that met yesterday morning. I will
incorporate their suggestions—only a few—when I open that chapter on my
computer. (Indian legend has it that if coyote seems to be smiling, it’s
because he has mischief in mind.)
I’m frequently asked
“do you outline? Do you write notes longhand? How do you get your ideas?" I
think of a character or characters—sometimes based on people I have known or
“parts” of real people. They tell me their stories and I record them on the
computer which I have been using since 1985. Before that I used a typewriter.
In high school I quit the typing class before I had completed it because they
needed somebody to edit the school’s newsletter. As a result, I never mastered
the numbers. I still have to hunt and peck in writing figures.
KR: What are your
current projects?
WWG: I still lead four
workshops, six members each, and each meets twice a month in my home. Currently
I have a go-ahead for an article the “Pleasures and Perils of Writer Workshops”
ok’d by the editor of Working Writer.
KR: Is there anything
else you’d like to share about yourself or the book?
WWG: Any copy of
Iron Grip sold directly by me for $15 (postage paid) gleans a $5 donation
to the Veteran’s organization of the purchaser’s choice or is sent to the
Northern Arizona VA Health Care System in Prescott, Arizona. E-mail me at willmagore at gmail.com for a direct order.
KR: Willma, you are an IMMENSE inspiration.
THANK YOU so very much for taking the time out from your writing to visit
Jellyfish Day!
***
.jpg)
