Blame It On My Youth

Look Out World! Here She Comes

The average American woman back in 1957 kept a lovely home, cooked a nutritious meal, raised their children, and lived a quiet, simple life in the suburbs: think Donna Reed and June Cleaver. But not my mother. As a newly divorced woman, Kay decided it was time to take the proverbial “bull by the horns” and transform herself.

“If Lucy can do it, so can I!” Mom always said.

So, she first dyed her light brown hair a stunning shade of Auburn red and added just a hint of golden highlights. Then she, bought her first padded push-up bra, (not that she needed it), and stuffed her considerable boobs and buxom body into her first designer dress, featuring a plunging neckline.

Towering well over six feet tall in heels and “big” lacquered bouffant hair, the “new” Kay entered Macy’s at 34th Street in Herald Square and marched up to the Madame Tovar counter, looking for a job. Madame Tovar, who specialized in creating handmade chignons and hair pieces of every possible hair color, took one look at my mother’s incredible coiffure, and hired her on the spot. Mom learned fast how to create Madame Tovar’s chignons, but mom’s true talent lay in the application. Within a few weeks, she was the talk of Macy’s. Every customer left looking trendy and oh-so-stylish. This new, clean, lacquered style had Kay’s signature written all over it, and it became the craze of the late 1950’s, years before the fashion industry featured bouffant in the 60’s.

Mommy Kay, as I called her, was on her way up…

With all the hoopla in the store and the lines of hundreds of admirers, Mommy was a shining star at Macy’s. She began traveling across the country with Madame Tovar, demonstrating her creations in Boston, Philadelphia, Atlanta, and even Miami. But she loved NYC and wanted to be closer to me. She returned to Macy’s with a thundering applause from all her coworkers and clientele.

It did not take long to catch the eye of a young diamond buyer. Carlton Baumann’s tall, broad-shouldered frame and dark Eastern European looks escorted the new Macy’s star around town. They were seen everywhere together: at the opera, the symphony, and quiet dinners in charming bistros dotting Broadway. He introduced her to a whole new world of culture, something she had never experienced living in Middle Village, Queens.

One balmy Saturday night, Carlton whisked her off to the Copacabana. After a night of dancing and champagne, they returned to his small apartment in Murray Hill. Madly in love, my sister was conceived that night.

By today’s standards, the news of a child conceived out of wedlock is hardly shocking, but in 1957 it was scandalous. Against his manager’s advice, Carlton, the honorable Jewish man that he was, proposed to her.

Carlton borrowed his father’s car, and they drove down to Maryland and married, without having to wait the usual three days for their blood tests. Once back in New York, Carlton packed up, moved out of his apartment in Murray Hill, and the three of us relocated to a small house in Boro Park, Brooklyn. Carlton insisted on adopting me. Mom agreed and contacted Nick, my biological father. It did not take long to convince him to give me up, especially since he had never paid a cent of child support or had not seen me since the day he was arrested.

Six months later, the adoption papers had arrived at the same time of my sister, Debra’s birth.

Soon after, Madame Tovar demanded her “Star” return to Macy’s, and she did.

My baby sister and I were looked after by our sweet Jewish neighbor, Mrs. Silverman, and by my fourth birthday, I had learned how to answer the Jewish prayers of the Shabbos. My new dad was not happy about this; he had no intention of raising us Jewish. He felt we should be raised Protestant, like our mother. Thankfully, Mrs. Silverman understood and still agreed to take care of us.

At Macy’s, Madame Tovor’s sales had gone up, up, up, skyrocketing through the roof, and setting all kinds of sales records. The demand for her chignons and hair pieces were hotter than ever. All of this due to Mom’s incredible talent with a rattail comb and endless cans of Lacquer hair spray. Then, at the peak of her career, Madame Tovar was slapped with a huge lawsuit by a rival wig company. Since my mother was not licensed to do hair by the state of New York, she was no longer allowed to demonstrate her fabulous hair styles. It was a sad situation for sure, but at least the atmosphere and Macy’s customers would breathe a bit easier now.

The following day, Madame Tovar approached my mother with the distressing news of her dismissal. “But since you are my top girl, I will be more than happy to pay for you to attend beauty school, and then you can return back here to Macy’s where you are so loved and admired.”

Mommy thought a moment and said, “I think it’s time for me to move on…but thank you all the same.”

Madame Tovar’s jaw dropped, as she watched her shining “Star” pick up her Louis Vuitton bag, turn on her sparkling aqua-colored high heel, and click her way down the marble aisle, never to grace Macy’s or Madame Tovar’s counter again.