Patricia's Memories of Her Mother, Mary Lucile Bethune Hucks

May 9, 1982 Several weeks ago, while lying in the hospital, I was impressed to make a few notes about my mother. With Mother’s Day near, my mind again returned to some of my feelings and thoughts of the past.

Some of the things I remember about Mary Bethune Hucks, my mother:

Early spring was flower planting time in the Carolinas, and months before mother would carefully arrange her closets so she could fit the many pots of bulbs, iris, daffodil, tulip, lily and hyacinth. Over the years she continued this practice and by early spring we had bunches of flowers around our home. Perhaps that’s where I first came to love living plants and flowers.

My Grandmother Bethune, referred to as Emma, Mama or Granny, must have been a very fancy lady indeed. She passed along to her six daughters a desire to fuss up, be fancy, and keep clean, and to surround themselves with beautiful flowers. As a child I remember taking part each year in an event that started many years before my birth called “spring cleaning.” This ritual began each year around April or May .

It has never been my thing to clean, clean, clean, but not because I didn’t know how it was done. First mother would have us take the curtains down. This was just the beginning. Curtains were then washed by hand, starched, and stretched on a six-foot square frame, which was covered all the way around with small nails for stretching the fabric. This gadget, holding five or six curtains, was then placed outside in the sun to dry. Mother seemed to truly enjoy this part. I don’t remember any threatening words to us children....we just did it like it might be fun. With this under way, mother would really go into high gear. Because the furnaces of the day burned coal or oil the walls inside the house were covered with a fine layer of soot. Although daddy was a builder and painter, it cost too much to paint each room so we scrubbed the walls. Now, Spic ‘n Span and such items were not on the scene so we used a substance of the consistency of playdough. Rolling this into a ball, then gripping it into our fists, up the wall we went and down all the way around the room. This bit of insanity took about two weeks and some threats were made before it was finished. However, mother went around singing and happy. You see, she never wanted to be anything except a housewife. In between moving the family to Salt Lake City and finding a job, she continued the ritual of cleaning. New shelf paper in the cupboards and chests of drawers, winter clothing hung out to air, then packed away in large trunks, summer clothing unpacked and hung out to air, rugs taken out to be washed or sunned, sofa cushions also had to have an airing and in some cases the whole sofa and a chair or two got a new look with a slipcovering. You know, new fabric slipped over the old. Lest anyone think I have lost interest in this adventure, let me add that this turned out to be fun compared to the business with the floors. First the hardwood floors were stripped of old wax. I would have stopped there, and new wax was applied. Then we polished and polished and polished. Mother loved her shiny floors. We loved sliding the dog up and down the slick shiny hallway. The dog loved getting away from all this shiny nonsense. Daddy loved it when it was all over. This mostly took place in Fayetteville. But we had hardwood floors in Salt Lake City also. Now the windows inside and out. With the last coat of furniture polish and silver polish, we wrapped this scene and looked forward to summer. I remember, when we were young mother made sure we had a week or two at Granny’s or one of our aunt’s homes and we always had several weeks at the beach. I recall that my childhood was a sweet blend of aunts, uncles, cousins, family, swimming, lost loves, growing pains and wonderful times, knowing, of course, that mother was the center of my world. She taught me to set a proper table, to enjoy fine china and crystal and an eye for good furniture. She also taught me to endure to the end, about the Gospel of Jesus Christ and that a testimony was my own responsibility. In the middle of this learning experience we had dozens of picnics and slumber parties with more friends than the house could really hold and if that weren’t enough, she put up with my wonderful dramatics, both on the stage and off and that in itself took a bit of supermothering.

As a young lady, mother liked lace collars and frilly thins Growing up, I preferred straighter lines with less frills, so she went along with that, never overshadowing my creativity. I think how I must have made her crazy, changing clothes four and five times a day and my zany carryings on, because at heart, she was somewhat shy and insecure and though she loved the spotlight, she wanted it for the right reasons, not because of some dumb thing I had done.

During the Second World War mother rented our somewhat formal dining room to a young couple in need of lodging. In North Carolina the Army was everywhere, even in our house. So the dining room table became part of the living room and French doors were placed between the two rooms. Then under the chandelier was a bed, instead of the table. My room was also rented out and I moved in with Howdy and Danny. Nine of us shared the bathroom. It never occurred to me that this was unusual. That could be because I took all the time I needed while I was in there. I’ll never know how mother made it work but she did.

By August we were looking forward to one last fling to the beach or to Hartsville. Several summers mother had bathing suits made for she and I. We picked out the fabric and style and wore twin suits. I am sure we thought ourselves to be very fetching to the eye. Such class could not go unnoticed.

Saturdays always meant a movie. Somehow she had money for me to go and be with friends so that I never felt that we were truly scrimping. Once in awhile I had to take Howdy with me, he was so cute and shy. My girlfriends filled him with junk food, they adored the way he would hide and say, “Thank you, ma’am.” And some years later, we took Danny along when we went to play. Danny was real blond and round and cute. I can’t believe how quiet and shy they both were. My, how times change. And always when we arrived home mother would have hot homemade bread, homemade jam and other goodies for us. Coming home was always fun.

Other things you might not know. She cried with us when our cats and dogs died. She also cleaned up after them and fed them. I was always dragging home stray things and people, and she was real good about the inconvenience it caused. We had lots of inconveniences in those days, a summer never went by that I didn’t get poison oak or poison ivy or poison sumac or some other kind of skin poison. Mother was wonderful about spending hours rubbing alcohol all over me. When I tell you she spent hours it’s true. I had so much of that stuff that for years I have been immune to any poisons, oak or ivy or whatever.

Because of the work hours she was forced into taking mother could not go to many functions for school but she saw that I had part in plays and in other activities. Over the years she must have ridden about a million miles on a bus to and from work, to and from the market, to and from the doctor, to and from shopping and to and from wherever she went. I only remember seeing her drive a car once or twice many years ago, and after we moved to Salt Lake we didn’t have a car until Howd was old enough to drive. I marvel at her energy. After a full day’s work she still had the washing and ironing to do. And to you who have forgotten or never knew, washing meant three tubs of water for rinsing and a hand-wringer washing machine and lots of endurance.

Well she taught me good things and she taught me charm, because she has both. At times now she has quite a sense of humor, still a bit feisty and only slightly removed from the “heroine” of Gone With the Wind. Granny would be proud, very proud of her six “Southern belles.” Each a mother and homemaker, each respecting her Lord and God. Each with a knowledge of her own worth. Each having walked in her mother’s footsteps. Each with a love for her mother. And I, like them, share these feelings. A legacy given to me by my mother and hopefully honored and passed on to my children.

So I think of my mother these few days before Mother’s Day and my thoughts are of love for her. Of honor for the fight she has fought and won. Of the many successes she has had, oh, not the kind that make front-page history…just the kind that will make Heavenly Mother pleased with her, the kind that will make Heavenly Father grant her the highest glory. We know we are all given the promise of becoming gods and goddesses and surely she is a true heir to this promise.

So this, then, is my gift to a great lady.

When we come to an understanding of who we are, then can we love ourselves and truly love the Lord. And then we can love others. Not just love them, but love them unconditionally, the way the Father loves us. The way we are, just the way we are, just children trying to do better, trying to stay with the plan, trying to be fair, trying to be kind, and trying to be more Christ-like.

Thank you, mother……. have a lovely day........forever.