Thompson

Includes Gerald, Green, Johnson, Maris, McDonald, McElvey, Phillips, Platt, Posey, Smith Thompson

Nana

Pronounced (Naw-na) Waiting for me at the mailbox was the long awaited letter. Nana joined me as I walked into the house. At four months pregnant with my first child, visiting with my mother AND running errands was a tiring adventure. It seemed that Nana glided past me to the west wall. Giddy with excitement at the prospect of what the contents entailed, I sat in the wicker rocker my father had recently given me. The room was glowing with the warmth that early Fall brings. She waited for me to absorb the moment and then, just as casually as she walked in, the elegant, quintessential lady left. I was finally given permission to perform her sacred ordinances and there she was to greet me as I opened the letter from Salt Lake. This was 1988 when patrons submitted their requests for ordinances to be completed and then waited, often months, for permission to be granted. The day that I performed all of those ordinances, my unborn son kept bouncing around the womb as if he was fully aware of the importance of this day. I knew so little about my grandmother. This was unreal. To me, she was this scary, unknown figure who died when I was in Kindergarten. And yet, I was experiencing all of these euphoric emotions. Little did I understand how much she really did love my brothers and I. It would be at least 45 years before I began to sense who she was and how much the two of us had in common. She was taught survival skills – literally. It was a matter of life and death. Survival meant finding your own way in life and being able to read people. When her family moved from Oklahoma in the 1920’s to California, her two sisters, Elsie & Dottie were expected to find their own way. There was not enough room in the touring car. Elsie & Dottie were just teen-agers then. When these same two sisters wanted to go frolicking with the boys– again in the 1920’s, their mother told them, “no.” When the girls insisted, their mother took a gun to the engine of the car. Mind you, this was not a vehicle the family bought with their own money. More than likely it was stolen (source: Saddle the Wild Wind, Lawrence Gazelle). She wore pants in a day and age when it was not customary for women, but she did it in a stylish fashion.Her legal name was Pauline Olivia Thompson but she hated the name, preferring to go by “Pat.” She ruled men (or used them-depending on you look at it) (fem fatale) in much the same way they tried to use her, by getting revenge for the way they used her as a child. My mother reminiscenced that “she didn’t take their crap.” In a letter dated November 1958, she wrote from Jackson Heights, New York. She was on a trip with a male friend, Dan (Danny Cohen). “I am really living it up though while I’m here and maybe I’ll have it myself someday. Dan has been just wonderful and I think he loves me more every day. All people he wanted me to meet, or at least the ones I’ve met, have liked me very much and want to visit me in Calif. I still have more to meet. I met the most important ones last night, his accountant and his wife and they just fell in love with me right away in fact I am spending the weekend with them. They were the ones that Dan said didn’t approve of the people he knew. But I made the grade there real nice and Dan was sure surprised and happy. So if he has any sense at all I’ll make it. If he doesn’t my home and family are still the very nicest in the whole world with or without him.” Then in her letter dated September 19, 1959, she writes, “Dan is very sweet and have enjoyed each other very much. But everything will remain as it was between us. Maybe we will get along better but thats all. But I think it is better this way.” In pictures of Dean, her oldest, the love she had for him is evident in her eyes as well as by the way she has her arm on or near him. He in turned reciprocated that admiration. Because of Pat’s culinary skills, Dean expected his first wife to be able to duplicate this. He unwittingly made comparisons to his mother’s cooking to his wife. NOT the best way to establish a healthy relationship! During a conversation with my mother (March 2017), she remembers her mother counseling her that if she were to ever become pregnant before getting married, Nana would “have her back” meaning she would be there to support her. This, at a time, when mothers of the 1950’s encouraged their unwed daughters to “do the right thing” either by getting married to the child’s father or placing the baby for adoption. My grandmother was 15 when she became pregnant with Dean. She was 16 when he was born. She adored that child! While my mother was being raised, my grandmother was divorced. Being a single woman was not an excuse for giving up your child. By the same token, being single and a woman were not synonymous with victimization, either. It meant having a backbone of steel! In letters to my mother after we moved to Colorado, she talked about Dean’s children and taking them to the races. His daughter, Karen, and I were close in age. Karen would ask about me. We were friends as teen-agers after we moved back to the San Fernando Valley. Karen died in a horrific car accident in Iowa November 8, 1990. They were returning from an interview for her husband’s medical residency. They had 3 children. The two youngest were killed as well as her husband, Stephen Sittons. I would later envy the time Dean’s kids had with Nana. They were able to know her in a very real way. Whereas I learned through letters and pictures, but also by spiritual experiences as well. We moved to Colorado about 1967 because my dad had a hard time getting work in California. Too, he wanted to get away from “the rat race” of Southern California. In letters to my mother, she referred to my brother, Todd, and I as her “babies.” Astonished, it did not occur to me that she even felt this way until I read and reread her letters in my 50’s. She also did not trust my father. She felt that he did not use money wisely and warned my mother that as long as she paid my grandmother back for the loaned money, there would be more of it (letter dated March 1, 1968). She could appear cold and uncaring as a way of protecting herself. Building a wall that only the choicest few were granted access, woe unto those who violated that sacred trust! Her sister, Dottie, looked after my mom after Nana died. When Dottie was 99 years old, I was in the temple performing work for other family members. Dottie was in a coma. The thought occurred to me to go ahead and have her work done. No one would know the truth, I rationalized. Then some sense got into me and I quickly repented. When I got home, my mom called crying that Dottie had died that day. She, too, suggested I get her work done and that no one would really know. She, too, quickly came to her senses and took the suggestion back. Exactly one year to the day that she died, I was able to get all of Dottie’s work done. Embedded in my heart was the idea that Nana was one of the ones to teach Dottie about the Gospel while she was in a coma, preparing for her for acceptance. She made ceramic dishes and dolls with her sisters. (See pictures) She was a talented seamstress, working for the Warner Bros movie studio in the wardrobe department. She owned The Bargain Chest in The San Fernando Valley and Palm Knolls Shopping Center off of Palmdale Boulevard in Palmdale. This included used clothing from the studios and alterations. She was also co-owners of Maris Cleaners with her first husband, Bud Maris in Canoga Park, California. She was married to Emerson “Bud” Maris in 1939. He adopted Dean as his own. They divorced but remained friends. She was married to Michael ‘Mike’ Shamas. He was a camera man for the movie studios. Everything I ever heard about Mike was awful, never anything positive. She participated in several championship bowling teams in The San Fernando Valley during the 1950’s, She, along with my mother, gave me a rocking chair when I was about 2 ½-3 years old. My granddaughters now play on it. (See pictures). I have a set of her pearls. I have only worn them sparingly up until recently. When I began the research for this story, wearing them made me feel closer to her. She loved the color of hot pink. My granddaughter, Lizzy’s favorite color is anything pink. According to my mother, Vicki, she did not like her picture taken. This information surprised me because when she made direct eye contact with the camera, it seemed to be a skylight into her core. Born in Oklahoma, “Okies” were not accepted in California. They were considered “white trash.” My grandmother was anything but white trash. Coming to California was a nightmare. Her mother put her husband first and foremost. Again, according to mother, it was amazing the girls in the family did not get pregnant by the men in the family (March 2017). She was a single parent most of her life in a day and age when adoption was the only choice for a young, unwedded woman. The father of her first child was a date, only interested in my grandmother and her younger sister. She was a single and successful businesswoman while my mother was in her adolescent years. She was graceful and elegant. She possessed style despite her humble beginnings. She persevered to rise above her past. She was raised to believe that being small and tiny in body size was wrong. Her sisters were larger and she was always trim. She got together once a month with her sisters. Francis ‘Frankie’ and Juanita lived together in Pacoima and she was closest to them. She achieved a high school education. My mother does not remember where she went to high school but more than likely it was from Pacoima High School. When my mother was 15 years old, my grandmother allowed her to be baptized in the LDS Church believing that it would keep my mother out of trouble. My mother later said that if she only knew the truth. Said that “so many of those LDS kids got into more trouble than what was really known.” She said that my grandmother believed in the truthfulness of the LDS Church with the exception of “the celestial part.” (Conversation with Vicki Carlson February 26, 2017). Pat smoked cigarettes and drank alcohol socially. She died of breast cancer in 1969. My mother survived two bouts of it leaving her with two mastectomies. At least one female cousin, Kathleen Melichoiri McDonald, died of it in October 1980. Needless to say, the women related to that side of family are at a high risk for this type of disease. I have often wondered if they would have survived with today’s medicine being what it is is. If legacies are measured by the size and accolades of one’s obituaries then Pat Thompson would surely be a poorer woman since it contained only a few lines. Her legacy, however, extends far beyond colorful expressions of adulation. It certainly lives on through her posterity who know and respect her for what she accomplished with what little she had. She set the precedence for what women could accomplish in a day and age when so much less was expected. This year, 2017, marks 100 years since her earthly birth. We plan to celebrate by climbing up a nearby hill and blowing bubbles to her. Kelli L McDonald April 15, 2017