When I was growing up in Mexia, Alabama, an unincorporated community in South Alabama’s Monroe County, summertime meant harvesting and canning vegetables from the garden. By late July, butter beans, corn, purple hull peas, okra, and tomatoes filled the chest freezer in the utility room—so overflowing that I often imagined Daddy would have to use industrial straps to hold the heavy, large door closed.
Summertime was just boring with a capital B. I actually looked forward to school days after the first couple of weeks of summer vacation. Mother was not sympathetic to her four daughters’ outbursts that we were bored. In fact, she said boredom was a good thing for a while. She gave us a to-do list to ease our pain: read, practice the piano, ride our bikes, play a game, or visit our aunts or grandparents who all lived within a hollering distance of our house.
That was how life was, right up until the day Mother told my sisters and me that two famous New York fashion models were going to perform a matinee runway fashion show in the living room of our house! What was Mother saying? She even told us that the girls had been on the Tonight Show with Johnny Carson. Had she been in the garden so long that she was having a sun stroke? I almost ran to my grandmother’s house to tell her to come see about Momma. What was happening? She told this earth-shattering news rather nonchalantly, and she continued to repeat the facts that two world-famous models who had appeared on television shows and in magazines were coming the next week to exhibit the latest fashion from Manhattan at our house. What was happening to Momma? My sisters and I were bombarding Momma with questions.
Mother explained that the models’ father, Mr. Ward, lived not far from us in Mexia, which was the reason for their visit.
We asked in unison, “Who is Mr. Ward?” We’d never heard of him.
“He’s a Methodist,” Mother told us. That explained it. There were only two groups of people in Mexia—the Baptists and the Methodists, and we only knew the former.
Mother didn’t have time for the rest of our questions because there was much work to accomplish. For the first time I could remember, garden chores took a back seat. Windows were cleaned, baseboards were dusted, wooden floors waxed, dishes for the party were washed, and the silver polished. Momma made divinity candy, fudge, and other goodies for the party to follow the show. We girls cut the crust away from countless slices of bread for tea sandwiches.
My sister Sherry and I transformed our bedroom into a dressing room and cleared our closets for the famous models to use—for what would surely be extravagant frocks and finery of all sorts.
On the day of the monumental event, we pushed all the furniture in the living and dining rooms against the wall to make way for the big event. Ladies from the Mexia Baptist Church entered our home and were seated in chairs so close to each other that they looked like peas in a pod. Each guest wore her latest and best: dress, shoes, hats, and gloves for the event.
When the fashion models arrived, my sisters and I walked as fast as we could to open the door (Mother reminded us to mind our p’s and q’s, so running was forbidden). The phrase “goo-goo-eyed” was certainly tailored for this occasion. I made a resolution to hold up my shoulders as I looked at the models’ perfect posture, poise, and grace. They were beautiful, unpretentious, and carried enough clothes for the program to last until suppertime. (Our suspicions that the sisters were wealthy were confirmed when Sherry told us that she spotted lace bras on the bed. Lace!)
Momma soon welcomed everyone and began the show. First, she introduced the models, Kitty and Doris, as Mr. Ward’s daughters. Then, the door to the bedroom opened, and each guest craned her neck as far as she could to catch the first glimpse of a fashion model, like people do at weddings to see the bride. Doris entered the room, and I noticed how she placed one foot in front of the other with her pointed-toe shoes and began her polished and professional walk. The short distance from our bedroom to the living and dining room area of the house seemed as long as the famed Hall of Mirrors in the Palace of Versailles (I had read about the renowned palace when I was bored).
Soft background music played as Mother emceed the fashion show. Mother shocked me again; she seemed utterly in her element. Her descriptions of the outfits included words as pretty as the clothes: “Lavender organza over lilac and amethyst striped satin, a perfect outfit for dinner at the famous 21 Club,” a restaurant in New York. How did Momma know these things? I can assure you there were no “clubs” in all of Monroe County that ladies from Mexia Baptist Church would ever visit.
Time whizzed by, and suddenly Momma was saying, “To end our delightful show, we’ve saved the best for last.” Kitty emerged from the bedroom looking prettier than Cinderella. Mother continued, “Kitty is wearing an elegant, long flowing ball gown that will surely be the rage all over the world, and here is its first showing in Mexia, Alabama. The pink top is covered with stunning beadwork that drapes to the waist. The full-length dramatic lime green skirt features voluminous pleats. This is truly elegance and grace in fabric.” The applause and appreciation in words seemed as long as the song playing on the record player, “Some Enchanted Evening,” a show tune from the 1949 Rodgers and Hammerstein musical “South Pacific.” What an enchanting day at our ranch-style 1950s home in Mexia, Alabama.
I have often wondered how this small-town fashion show of such pageantry to me would be told from the Ward sisters’ point of view? What did they think of walking down that make-shift runway in our home? Did they think we were just country bumpkins, or were they just as gracious as I remember? I never saw them again after that day. But others in our close-knit community have told of their graciousness and kind spirit to all.
In the following years, I came to learn more about our famous summer visitors. The older of the two sisters, Kitty, modeled for the Powers Modeling Agency, which led to a fashion position in Paris. She and her husband went on to build one of the world’s largest manufacturers of children’s clothing. Doris worked for Barbizon Modeling Agency, which also carried her around the world. She married a decorated war hero and diplomat in the foreign service, and they settled down on a 500-acre plantation in St. Thomas, Virgin Islands.
The Ward sisters’ visit has intrigued me through the years. But my mother’s demeanor during the event and her audacious spirit to invite these two models to our home fascinate me more. My mother’s invitation to these two famous models provides much to ponder. Mother understood the importance of community and its magnetic appeal (no matter how far away from home you roam). And our father often reminded his four daughters that their mother was the smartest woman he knew, and so we are not surprised that Mother knew things that research studies would one day confirm: the many benefits of boredom, such as creativity and improved mental health. However, I often think that the most amazing gift Momma possessed was that she knew excitement and enchantment can be part of one’s life no matter where you live.
