Freshly Laundered & Hanging Out to Dry: Chapter8
Chapter 8
Getting Into Our Daily Life
You can actually be much closer to a person
when you can bear their manifestations,
than if you’re upset by them. _JG Bennett
I was still just getting to know the students in my group and become more familiar with the classes and exercises that were an essential part of the course.
Patrick, the burly fellow who had invited me to Beshara before the course began, is in my group. After lunch today we start talking about back pain.
I tell him how my back is still sore a month-and-a-half after dragging my dumpster-sized suitcase across Reading station.
“Years ago I’d been told that the only option left was surgery, and even so they couldn’t guarantee a cure. Instead, I followed a friend’s advice and started seeing a chiropractor. It keeps me functioning without drugs.”
“A good massage will relieve pain better than a chiropractic adjustment,” Patrick says,
I’m not sure I believe him but he offers to massage my back in his room. I’m not ready for any hanky-panky though I am attracted to him. I’m hoping he’s right because as grateful as I am for learning about chiropractic treatment I’ve never come to terms with the jarring force and bone-crunching sounds of having my spine adjusted.
Not knowing Patrick that well I break out in a sweat as we walk down the corridor. He has one of the few private rooms. Anyone could have asked for one. It just costs more. He opens the door and enters while I follow cautiously. The space is neat and clean and the intimate size of a room in an ordinary house. He invites me to lie face down on his twin bed. In addition to having a gentle touch, he seems to know what he’s doing. I can’t remember the last time I had such tender physical contact and I soak it up like a sponge. He methodically moves his hands up my back, each stroke moving out from the spine, beginning at the pelvis and working his way up to my shoulders. When he discovers sore spots, he kneads them away with just a little pressure.
This is so different from getting an adjustment—gentle and pleasurable. Best of all, I learn that it works. The discomfort that had been plaguing me for weeks is gone. After Patrick is done, he lies down next to me and we embrace. Tentative kisses lead to longer ones, yet we close our eyes and almost fall asleep. Something returns us to alertness and we go off to our afternoon class.
When Patrick and I talked more about our studies, he contrasted the instruction from Bennett with living at Beshara.
“Beshara is a peaceful atmosphere separated from the outside world and filled with love. Here, at Sherborne, we deal with that outer world and learn to keep the peace within.”
Did he really think of Sherborne as being part of the outer world?
Patrick continued, “It’s important for me to work in the manifest world and not avoid it or stand separate from it—like the Jesuits.”
Did he mean the Jesuits stood apart as priests or was he comparing the Jesuits’ call to action in the world as being like Sherborne? I never got around to formulating the question.
Sometimes Patrick and I were assigned the same house duty and so we began to know each other better. I thought he was artistic, taking well-composed photographs of the beautiful land around Sherborne House and of our activities. He encouraged me to use my camera, too, but I was too self-conscious to take more than occasional pictures within the classes or while we were working.
It is early enough in the course that we are still learning what tasks comprise each job. Today I’m on morning service. That means having set all the tables last night and cutting the loaves of bread into fourteen slices each, for toast this morning. After breakfast we clean up, return food and cookware to the kitchen downstairs via the dumbwaiter, sweep the dining hall, and wash the dishes and eating utensils in the servery next to the dining room.
At breakfast, unlike the other meals where diners are served, everyone queues up and walks through the servery, picking up a bowl of porridge and a slice of toast from the cooks.
The four people on breakfast service with me have not yet been told what all of our tasks are.
“We’re supposed to serve coffee and tea to people while they’re eating,” I explain.
Boris, a tall lanky German with a handlebar mustache, also on morning service, serves coffee for a few minutes and then sits down to eat.
“Hey, we’re not finished serving,” I tell him.
He glares at me. “I haff done my share—one-fifth—and dat is all I am goink to do.”
Could he have counted the number of people at breakfast and divided them by the number of servers?
Out of a misguided need to make up for Boris, I feel compelled to keep serving hot drinks throughout the whole meal, never taking time to eat until the room empties.
I join the other servers in the servery to wash dishes. Patrick, who is one of us, comes into the room after I do. He is scowling and refusing to talk. Now what? After dealing with Boris, I am unable to bear any more crossness directed at me. At least, with Boris I understand where he is coming from even if it is stupid. Patrick’s fuming has me flummoxed. All I can think to do is pray for enough understanding to get past this latest sensitive moment. Was this how it was going to be all year—nothing but strain and misunderstanding with people whose ideals I thought I shared?
Half an hour later, Patrick comes over to me smiling, all the tension a thing of the past. He reaches down, enveloping me in a tender one-armed embrace. I slip my arm around his waist in a timid gesture of greeting. This seeming-apology from him still gives me no clue about what his problem was but I’m satisfied knowing that through some mysterious process his anger has vanished.
Patrick and I began spending more time together, but whenever I was with him I felt as if I were being assessed and found wanting. My disinterest in the Work vocabulary tested his patience. Steady references by Mr. B to our not making enough effort and our inability to be awake, let alone transform, were dispiriting. I had spent my life making efforts for parents and teachers who were never satisfied with them. If I earned a B+, I would be asked why hadn’t I gotten an A?
Was Patrick taking my apathy for Work language personally? I guess if he valued the language and I rejected it, he might feel like it was a rejection of him. He was as reactive to my disinterest in his Work loyalty as I was of his critical way of relating to me. You’d think our shared sensitivities would have helped us gain some insight. There were times when I asked for an explanation of what he was angry about. He spoke of triads from systematics and centers of our functional being. Couldn’t he just speak in plain English?
Invariably eschew the utilization of an aggrandized word
when a diminutive one suffices. _Anonymous
Adding to the emotional confusion was that these unpleasant encounters with Patrick alternated with affectionate enjoyment we also shared. I admired his soft-spoken insights and gentle physicality when we weren’t talking about the Work.
Mr. Bennett mentioned how when a person was being unpleasant, some people say to just ignore him; don’t pay any attention. But then he mystified me by adding, “It is a great mistake not to face the unpleasantness, as it provides a very fine substance almost impossible to get in any other way.”
Hearing about this special energy encouraged me to apply the philosophical lesson to what might be my blossoming love life. Maybe Patrick and I could continue cultivating our relationship by transforming those moments of annoyance or hurt into something positive. Weren’t we being given tools? Attention. Breath. Sensation. Who knew what the possibilities were?
What did Mr. Bennett do with our energies when so many expectations and opinions were directed at him?
The sacred dances called Movements were scheduled more often than any other class—one to three times a day. They had come through spiritual traditions in the Middle East, taught by Gurdjieff to his students in the West. After his death, Movements continued to be passed down through Gurdjieff groups that were still active in Europe, North America, and South America. Some of these groups had practiced the same Movements for years. Yet, it was when you didn’t know them that they demanded the kind of attention that changed one’s inner harmony.
At Sherborne, each of our teachers knew slightly different versions and much discussion centered on trying to identify which were the ‘correct’ ones. Weren’t they mistaking form for essence? Thomas de Hartman, with Gurdjieff’s guidance back in the 1940s, had written music to accompany them. Several Sherborne students who played piano were groomed to play for our classes. The music was rhythmic and compelling, just as I found the Movements themselves to be.
Although Mick and Anna also were Movements teachers, Pierre taught us most often in the beginning, his wife usually accompanying him. They were at Sherborne with their three children, the oldest of whom was on the course.
Mick, who had lived at Mr. Bennett’s community Coombe Springs, most often directed work in the kitchen; but he also guided garden activities and taught Movements. Anna, we were told, had met Mr. Gurdjieff in Chicago when she was only a child. Her hair, pulled back in a tight bun, was dyed black and was in stark contrast to her white skin and bright red lipstick. She reminded me of an Edward Gorey illustration, a mysterious and moody Victorian character gliding about in a long dress and fringed shawl, haunting us throughout the year.
When Pierre spoke, my ears pricked up, having to listen with greater care to understand his odd French/British accent. Purported to be Mr. Bennett’s nephew, Pierre looked alert with his high forehead, black hair, and fringe-like beard with no mustache. For Movements classes he wore a regular shirt and pants with cuffs tucked into bulky red socks, his outfit completed by white ballet slippers with elastic across the arch. It was known he had been active in the French Resistance during World War II. The idea of such a dangerous and secret role increased the image of shrewdness he cultivated and which we all affirmed. Between Movements and gardening, we saw quite a lot of him.
The students danced with bare feet since socks were too slippery on the wooden floor. We dressed in ordinary lightweight clothing knowing we’d soon get warmed up despite it being cool enough to see our breaths. I often had icy bluish hands and feet while working up a good sweat.
Throughout my childhood I had taken several kinds of dance classes and found Movements to be different from all of them. The angular gestures contrasted with the graceful smooth motions of ballet and the casual ease of most folk dances. Movements felt primordial, often conveying a state of being rather than emotion.
Pierre greatly enhanced their effect by the way in which he taught them. He did not point out when mistakes were made. Instead, stopping the music, he repeated his explanation or again demonstrated what we were to do, then asked the pianist to begin again. This ‘no blame’ model placed the burden of effort on each of us to discover whether we had played a role in causing the need for repetition.
During Movements class we also did exercises that Pierre created in the moment, such as walking in place to a piano rhythm. We might be stepping according to a 1-2-3 count while counting with our voices 1-2-3-4-5. Another task was to copy changing foot rhythms while holding our arms out to the side, parallel to the ground. All of us had different reactions depending on the mood of the moment. Sometimes I felt infuriated over having to work so hard or lighthearted with exuberance toward the challenge. One day, just as I became certain that my arms were going to fall off, all of a sudden they began floating in the air beside me. I’d gone through some kind of wall I might never have experienced unless I took up running marathons. From that time on, I could expect breakthroughs to happen.
Movements were introduced to us in parts. First, there might be the pattern of the head; then the arms without the head movement; then the feet; then, perhaps, movement of the files in which we stood. The parts sometimes had different counts so after learning them separately it was more challenging to put them together. Conflicting counts made it impossible to use the brain to do the organizing. It forced the body to figure it out by doing it. For some students, working from the body came naturally. Maybe they were innate athletes. I found it both frustrating and exhilarating. It commanded a pleasant physical exertion that I hadn’t experienced since the hard play of childhood.
Teachers at Sherborne often made reference to our having three centers: intellectual, emotional, and physical or moving center, each of these having higher and lower expressions. At other times we were told that each center also had intellectual, emotional and physical aspects to it. Movements and our other activities helped us see how we might be using only one or two centers rather than a balanced measure of all three. As the year progressed it became easier to see how this was the case and why it might be useful to experiment with equalizing them. One incident early in the course, initiated me to the possibilities.
Pierre is teaching a very complex movement. He does not explain the Movement to us in the usual part-by-part manner I’ve already come to expect. This time, he just performs it with all its contradictory rhythms expecting us to pick it up by imitation. He’s stopped us half a dozen times within a few minutes. Again, I’m impressed to see that without the distraction of personal confrontation, I’m able to attend to challenging myself. Still, I just can’t do the Movement.
Pierre never says a word while I, on the other hand, am merciless to myself. Come on! Get on with it. Pay attention! You’ve only ever done what was easy for you. No wonder you never learned how to do things that were difficult. You never learned real persistence. What’s wrong with you? I sound like the meanest schoolteacher ever. I even make myself cry just as sure as if some impatient coach were yelling at me. At the same time I continue my fruitless attempts to do the Movement while my mind is blathering on about my experience when I was in elementary school, how we wasted so much time on rote tasks and competition. And how there were way too many kids in the classes—forty-eight. If we made a mistake we were never protected from being mocked by the other students. It was easy for me to get good grades but I never had to stick with something I couldn’t do well right away. Meanwhile, my persistent attempts to do the Movement continue failing. Something makes me aware of all the energy I’m expending on anger, resentments from the long distant past, and tears. An unintended moment of reason intrudes. Could I use the energy wasted on bullying myself for learning the Movement? I’m still weeping with frustration, yet manage to stop berating myself. At the same time I’m also considering and resisting a profound urge to run out of the room. I don’t know what keeps me from leaving—a glimmer that this experience could shatter old habits that prevent other possibilities—I’m learning how to learn. Maybe it’s Grace that makes me keep trying. I don’t know how long it takes, but the reward finally comes. I’m doing the complex configuration. More than the satisfaction of doing the Movement, however, is the wonderment of having stayed in the room, for what feels like the first time in my life making it past tearful exasperation. I know at that moment I’ll never speak to myself the same way again. And I know now I have a choice of how to behave when in the past there didn’t seem to be any.
At the end of class, as usual, we sit in our places—silent—absorbing the energy of our efforts. On this occasion we sit for a very long time and I have an uncanny sense that Pierre is praying for us.
April 7th, 2010 at 9:00 pm
This is an accurate and detailed account of work with Pierre. Very well done. Thank you.
April 7th, 2010 at 9:06 pm
Bless you, Barbara.
Have you changed some of the names, or is my usually reliable memory getting rusty?
April 8th, 2010 at 12:07 am
Barbara,
Another excellent chapter, especially your account of learning Movements. You mention Movements instructor Anna Durko was with us the whole 2nd year, but my recollection is she left at some point. I do remember one day in Movements class her expressing much disatisfaction with our group’s efforts. “You have no respect for your bodies,” she said accusingly.
I also remember a visit by some hard-rock group who did a ballroom performance that shook through the whole house. I happened to be with Anna and I remember her being quite upset by the sound. My recollection is that shortly after that event she left us. Seems to me there were rumors of a falling out between her and Mr. B. But I’m not sure any of us students ever learned the actual reason for her leaving. I believe she moved to the Taliesin group in Phoenix.
She was always a puzzle to me. So stern and severe. It was strange to see her smile–so rare. I remember she did at least one class for us in folk traditions.
April 8th, 2010 at 5:11 pm
For Baba Juin, for her transparency, humility, and bravery
“Birds make great sky-circles
of their freedom.”
How do they learn it?
They fall, and falling,
they’re given wings.” RUMI
April 10th, 2010 at 9:38 pm
Oh, another wonderful chapter beautifully expressing much of what I felt. I love re-experiencing moments of that past that shape my present. I am ever grateful for that time at Sherbourne and for those who shared that time with us. Thanks Barbara June.
April 12th, 2010 at 6:47 am
Another great chapeter!
Jack commented that Anna met Gurdjieff in Chicago at the World’s Fair. I seem to remember that she said she was a young child at the time, maybe 10?
Barbara- do you remember a “women’s outing” with Anna - we went to a restaurant somewhere, a nice one. AT some point i was a bit tipsy and remember holding my wine glass up (i was probably waving it) and it just seemed to explode in mid-toast- I insisted that the glass shattered on it’s own and i that i be given a another glass of wine, which i got. I wondered later what Anna had made of me that night!
April 14th, 2010 at 5:51 am
I’ll bet it did explode and she probably thought you were magic! it’s a wonderful scene and now that you’ve described it i’m imagining i was there, but i don’t actually know that.
April 27th, 2010 at 9:05 pm
David, It was Arthur Brown and his hardrock pranksters in the ballroom. One of the guys was dressed up as a traffic light. As I remember it, Anna had many fallings-out with B (and the rest of the staff) and did leave the course for a while. Robin, Lynne and I visited her after the course. She was living in a very small house in an industrial/working class section of Gary, Indiana……so incongruous! I imagined and expected her to conform to elite standards (as all self-respecting 4’s do) and be living in a very ephemeral and exclusive mansion. She always looked to me just like the wicked witch in Disney’s cartoon version of Snow White………beautiful yet sinister. In spite of everything I’m saying, I liked Anna a lot. She invited me into her room one day, which was a total surprise…….B has put her into that small room right near the servery and dining room…….the most public place he could find…..I’m sure just to cause her grief!!……….oh, excuse me, just to give her a wonderful chance to work on herself
April 28th, 2010 at 8:51 pm
Fish, Fascinating what you say about Anna. Yes, I liked her very much too, but she did have this aura of “beautiful yet sinister.” So strange, almost uncanny. I remember one day in movements class becoming intensely aware of the fact that her inner place of attention was not in her head. In the moment, I had this intense sense of “zombie-likeness,” and I remember my whole sense of the Work was called into question. I remember thinking, “Do I want to become like that?” I suppose her sense of self was much deeper inside, and I guess the shock was that I simply could not “see” where that sense of self was.
Do you know why she was in Gary, Indiana in such a noncongruous situation? I thought I had heard that she had moved to Oglivanna Wright’s Taliesin West community, but perhaps I remember wrongly. I assume she is no longer alive? Does anyone know? Is anyone aware of an obituary or tribute to her? She was certainly a singular person. I wonder if she left any papers? I expect her account of Work events would be fascinating.
In regard to Anna’s relationship with Mr. B, all I remember is that there was some disagreement on the movements. But beyond that I don’t know.
Yes, now I remember: the hard-rock group was Arthur Brown’s. I had forgotten, though I remember the noise was fierce. Anna and I happened to be below the ballroom in the–was it the great hall? Anyway, that whole space with its low ceilings reverberated with noise, and Anna was quite unhappy and said something like, “How could he?!” in reference to B’s inviting the group for a Sherborne performance. Did Brown come to Sherborne on a later course? Seems to me there was talk he might.
One other music memory I have of Anna: I happened to be sitting by her when Collin, Paul, and Paul’s sister (whose name I can’t remember) performed Joni Mitchell’s “Circle Game”–beautiful rendition. I remember Anna’s being entranced by the song and wanting to know its source.
April 29th, 2010 at 11:12 pm
Barbara June - Congratulations on your excellent writing - and memory - in putting this book together. Cudos to Vic for his excellent salute above too.
Regarding Chapter 8, it is quite poignant the way you speak of working at movements with Pierre. Of Pierre, I suppose I could write a whole book just about the times I spent with him, which of course would be the last thing he would have wanted anyone to do!
So I too will throw in some of my memories of Anna Durco. One day I had to drive her to the train station, being the duty driver for that day. In her presence I think I wanted to mind my p’s and q’s, so I was driving carefully through the beautiful English countryside, mindful of the train schedule, but also fairly still and content. Suddenly, from quite a state of silence, she asked me in her slow, measured tone, “Chuck—do you think—you could drive—a little—faster?” She didn’t want to miss her train! not that she would have. But her question gave me what seemed at the time like an unusual thing, namely permission to be myself and I gladly pressed that pedal to the metal.
One memory I have from her in movements class is of a moment when I fidgeted somehow while we were standing still receiving instructions; and I was quite aware I had, and of course I thought it was very rare for me to do such a thing - and wrong! Instantly (perhaps in response to my slight extra movement, but perhaps it had been someone else) she said “You have to be very careful how you manifest in a movements class—it’s an open book.” These last words were spoken somewhat derisively, or so it seemed, as if there is some fault in letting your teacher see you in an unguarded state.
Regarding her leaving, there was a rumor…but, does anyone know the true reason she left?
Keep those chapters coming, BJ.
Regards to all of you bloggers, it’s nice to have some contact after so many years.
April 30th, 2010 at 3:28 am
Yes I remember two performances in which Arthur Brown blasted Sherbonites with sounds never the like heard before. One was in the Grand Hall. Lots of stuff about the universe and traffic lights. Another performance was in the tennis court a corner of which was made into a stage. This was a another crazy musical but it included some of the children. I was asked to drive my dreaded red step-through scooter, much hated by Elizabeth B, onto the stage… I can’t remember anything else about it except that I was both terrified and excited. I think it was about then that there was a barbecue of a whole sheep over a pit near the folly in the woods.
May 5th, 2010 at 4:35 am
Hi Barbara. Thanks for Chapter 8 which I appreciated deeply with all the essence experiences evoked re: breakfast and movements. I think it was Mick who advised on one of my first days at Sherborne that it was wise to volunteer after every meal to clear up in the servery. Mr B almost always exited the dining hall going through the servery. After a while I could discern approval of the state in the servery by the degree of “humph” sort of snort that he emitted. One morning he said at theme that Elizabeth informed him that “just the right amount of was up liquid was used this morning”. She had that morning just passed through the servery of course noticing everything. I am surprised you didn’t put B serving porridge and looking everyone in the eyes as he handed over the bowls. Also B at breakfast was memorable. I think again it was Mick who got me into taking a seat at B’s table as the talking meal was an opportunity to get a word in or listen to him. One morning at the table B said to Mick “I had contact with your monk in morning exercise”.
Your description of Anna D’s movement classes is very good. I loved that woman and will write much more about her later but will relate an experience. She had us doing N+ 17 with exchanges so long that my arms hurt so much my body started emitting a continuous groaning. I was in the front of file 2 and David was in front file 2. When our heads turned toward each other as we turned on place he heard my groaning and muttered “can’t be that bad”. I was instantly filled with lightness and went into the exchange I was emphasizing the foot rhythm as never before when passing within inches of Anna who whispered “now you can work on your arms”. I do know why she left. It was over three things and one was her room. I was checking the bulletin board very late one night and she invited me in. She had on no makeup, hair down and in her night gown. We talked for a long time about her teaching movements to us after Sherborne. She said she would work with a dozen for a year to take us where she wanted to go with movements. So movements class issues is another reason she left. The third is personal between B and she and most of the people who knew what happened are dead so I’ll leave that.
I was also surprised you didn’t mention Vivien instead of just Pierre’s wife. She was after all one of G’s “calves”. I once asked Pierre if he would give some extra classes on just obligatories and he said Vivien was the one to try to convince if I wanted a real opportunity. Your description of Pierre’s warm up foot rhythm exercises is very good. All I remember is that we all “bounced” and Pierre never did.
Thanks Barbara. Am just reading Chapter 9 and am glad your doing themes. I don’t even have to close my eyes to be sitting there zikring listening to him breath. Know that it is same for all of us. Hyparchic Past. Speaking of which David Gibson I can see you then. Can you send a photo of now?
May 5th, 2010 at 5:29 am
Follow up note. Sorry Peter Gibson that I wrote David. Was thinking about the Elliott’s at same time. Were you really small enough to get through the grate over entrance to bar in basement and hand the bottles to Jason? I remember you were very close with George Cornelius who always spoke of you fondly regarding the tunnel and your role. Regards to your family.
May 6th, 2010 at 8:44 am
Anna, at least ostensibly, went back to Gary because that is where her family was from.
When Rise Schaffer led a group at our apartment, she asked Anna to come and teach us some basic rhythms–she knew how to reach Anna in Indiana–Rise herself was living in Chicago with her parents after the 3rd Sherborne Course. (John Dale and I had called Mr. B. to ask him about putting a work group together, and he recommended talking to Rise and to Anna. He said of Anna, “You will find her to be a most unusual woman.”)
Understatement, indeed. Invited, she arrived at our apartment like someone out of a Tolstoy novel, dramatic, compelling and, as Mr. B had said, unusual, with somewhat archaic-looking clothing and some very fine jewelry. Following Rise’s instructions, we had cleared away the furniture so that most of the living room and dining room were empty. She formed us into files–there were about 8 of us– and had us do some basic rhythms, and said a few words about the importance of being aware of our movements, inhabiting them. She said this as she tromped around the two rooms in heavy winter boots, leaving marks on the wooden floors.
“We are not conscious of our surroundings, our possessions, our bodies. How can we claim consciousness as one of our attributes?” [Paraphrase–this was 37 years ago.)
To say I found her enigmatic and intimidating is only a beginning. I was pregnant with my daughter Kendra, awkward and graceless, and my mind could not hold, nor my body learn, the simple movements she taught us.
Later, I went to the bathroom, and found one of her elaborate rings, jade with a setting made of entwined serpents, sitting on the edge of the sink. I picked it up, went to her as she was putting on her wraps to leave, and handed the ring to her. She stared at me with an unreadable expression, removed her glove, put the ring on, and walked out the door.
After the second course at Claymont, I went back to Chicago for a while, and was hired by a temporary help agency to assign temporary clerical workers, mostly for law firms. Anna Durco was one of the names on the cards I had to update. It was the same person–the address was Gary. Another assignment manager’s handwriting at the bottom of the card had the following words at the bottom of the card, in quotes: “Please do not send this lady again. She can’t type very well, and our chief partner says it is like having someone from the Addams Family doing the filing.”
To me, it was as if one of the karyatids at the Museum of Science and Industry had shown up to teach us rhythms–flawless posture, flowing garments, and a glacial quality that seemed, also, very sad. Later, when I heard Susan Thompson say how much she liked Anna, I was amazed. She seemed a phenomenon beyond ideas such as “like” or “dislike.” She only came twice to our house, and I had the impression she thought she was wasting her time with us. Perhaps she was.
Speaking of impressions: clearly, she made a powerful one on me.
May 6th, 2010 at 11:13 pm
2nd-year Claymonter and professional librarian Wendy Addison was kind enough to do a search on obituaries for Anna Durco and located the following, who would seem to be the remarkable woman we knew at Sherborne. To me as an outsider it seems incongrous that her life would end in this way but I suppose that is only the individual’s business ultimately. Does anyone know more? Is this for sure the Anna Durco we knew? the geography would seem to more or less parallel Fish’s mentioning his visiting her in Gary, Indiana.
Anna Durco East Chicago Anna Durco, age 80, of East Chicago,IN passed away Wednesday, August 18, 2004. Survived by one sister, Mary Mihalik of East Chicago; two nieces, Kathy (David) Zerr of Cumming, GA and Cindy (David) Mako of Crown Point; three great-nieces, Nicole, Natalie, and Noelle Zerr. two great-nephews, Zach and Matthew Mako; preceded in death by parents, John and Anna Durco and brother-in-law, James Mihalik. Funeral service will be held Saturday, August 21st, at 10 am at the Kuiper Funeral Home, with Rev. Theodore Mens officiating. Burial, St. Mary’s Cemetery, Hammond, IN. Friends are invited to meet with the family on Saturday from 9am until time of service at the Kuiper Funeral Home, 9039 Kleinman Road (2 blocks South of Ridge Road), Highland. Miss Durco attended the Greek Catholic Church. She was formerly employed at Union Carbide Company in Whiting. She attended the Art Institute in Chicago, Illinois, and enjoyed painting with oils and water colors. She taught in England for approximately 10 years and traveled extensively on the European continent. Published in The Times from August 19 to August 20, 2004.
May 10th, 2010 at 6:03 pm
Peter, the second show with Arthur you remember was the musical we put on during the third course for the summer fete called ‘Inside-Out’. I remember it well because I wrote one of the songs and was terribly proud to have it performed by such a star, not to mention witnessed by Steve Winwood (Traffic,Blind Faith), a Northleach resident, who was in the audience.
The rehearsals for the play were thrown into disarray when B, seeing the chaos that we were in, imported Michael Frederick to take over direction from our ‘group’ policy. We were furious - poor Michael didn’t stand a chance - and even though we eventually wrested the reins back into our own hands, the project was forever clearly tainted with mega-buckets of self-will and ego. Fun though!
May 12th, 2010 at 4:51 am
Georgia,
“A glacial quality that seemed very sad”–yes, you’ve hit her presence exactly. Your account of encountering Anna is beautifully concrete and touching. I can picture the living room and the intimidated students and Anna vividly. She was intimidating and in such an elegant way.
Curiously, just before I discovered your description, I had been watching the last ten minutes of the very last episode of the five-year HBO series, SIX FEET UNDER. This finale is remarkable, one of the great television experiences, and always setting me off into a paroxysm of crying (it puts forward death so directly and deeply). Then I found your account and wept for lots minutes more.
At the time at Sherborne, I was too young and too naive (were’nt so many of us there!) to sense Anna’s sadness but, looking back, I can see it. It’s odd how these entries on this blog have brought her presence forward so strongly. One feels a compassion and sadness for how little we’ve all become. Barbara Jean: So many thanks! And James T., too.
Also, the jewelry: interesting what you say. At Sherborne, too, she always had wonderful pieces and there was some sort of affinity between her and them. Maybe it somehow relates to her love of folk traditions and folklore–that was the one thing I remember that would set her off talking in an accessible way. I’m pretty sure she did at least one Sherborne class on the topic, but I have no real memory of what the contents were. Perhaps at one point she asked us to find traces of folk traditions in our own lives? I remember somone in our particular group disagreeing with this idea, and that person and Anna having a bit of a fuss over the matter.
I’m so glad you wrote this account. It brings Anna here. I hope her later years had some happiness to them.
May 12th, 2010 at 7:50 am
Thank you Wendy for digging up Anna’s obit. Very sad farewell. Someone will have to write her up for posterity. I trust one of you will follow up with the names in obit and find out who got her movements notes. They should be given to Susan Thompson for posterity. Will write a story for this blog to be included in our tribute to Anna at later date. It is about something Anna knew how to do that G used with his pupils in Paris in 48 _ 49.
June 9th, 2010 at 5:29 pm
Dear Barbara, what lovely vignettes of the past. I like the inner lines as well as the outer lines, ie. the inner struggles and victories and outer difficulties joys and humour. I remember participating in a womens movements class with Anna. She was really picking on me which made it all the more difficult to concentrate and I kept fucking up… in the end I fell into a black hole of rage and tears and (unlike you!) ran out of the room sobbing. Later she came to speak to me and actually apologised and said she had never had such a reaction, and said she must have hit a deep nerve! Of course I forgave her!
Re: David Seaman’s blog…. I never knew she listened to “Circle Game” and liked it! Thanks for that David - its made my day. The name’s “Jane” by the way!! Love Jane Bulmer (Heath)
July 19th, 2010 at 5:15 am
Hi Jane! Thanks so much for contributing a story of one of your experiences. I am hoping those who don’t want to write a whole book will at least contribute a paragraph or two now and then.