Thursday, April 17, 2014

The Loretto Guild and Dad's Advice


Back in May 2011 when I began this on-line memoir, I posted willy-nilly whatever came to mind when I sat down at the computer. However, you, the readers, seem to like the varied series I did later. And the truth is that I enjoy writing an interlocking series.
         So last Thursday I began a new one: my entrance into the world beyond the convent and my beginning, unwittingly, an editing career. This week I’m refashioning a June 7, 2011, posting I did about where I lived and my dad’s advice for working in the big city of Dayton, Ohio.


         The office of Pflaum Publishers there occupied a brick building in a rundown section of town—lots of bars; vacate buildings; men down on their luck. Several blocks away, at 217 North Ludlow Street, stood the Loretto Guild, a residence run by the Dominican Sisters for single workingwomen. The building occupied an entire block in downtown Dayton. 
         Each tenant at the Guild rented a narrow room with a twin bed, a dresser with three drawers, a straight-backed chair, a nightstand with a lamp, a sink, and a closet. We used communal toilet and shower stalls and had both cafeteria and curfew. For about five months, I found myself right at home there—the convent with amenities.


           During my two interview days in Dayton in late December 1966, the managing editor had taken me on a tour of the city. He’d pointed out the Loretto and its nearness to the publishing company. If hired, I’d exit the brick building, turn left, walk to the corner, turn right, cross the street, walk down five blocks, wait for the light, cross the street, turn left, pass a cafĂ©, and open the door to the publishing house. An easy daily route.
            Before I departed for Ohio to start my new job, Dad gave me some considered advice. “Dolores,” he said, “tell me approximately where the place you live will be in relation to where you’ll work.” My dad respected blueprints and maps, so I drew him one with both the living quarters and the workplace clearly labeled.


            “How are you getting to work?” Dad asked.          
            “I’ll walk.”
            “Tell me your route.”
            I walked it off on the map.
            “No. That’s not good. I want you to go a different way each day.”
            “What do you mean, Dad?”
             “One day, turn right instead of left. It’ll be longer but safer,” Dad said, using his index finger to show me the proposed route on the map. “The next day, turn right but walk beyond the corner, up a block or two. Then turn right and walk to the office. You'll be coming from a different direction.” His finger follows that route. “Some days I want you to walk down six or seven blocks and then come back up to the office. Change your route each day.”
            “Why would I do that?”
            “Honey, all sorts of men are lurking out there. They’ll know your route if you take the same one each day."
            “Yes . . .?”
            “They prey on women,” he said.
            “Dad, who’d want to prey on me?”
            “Believe me, Dolores, they’ll prey on anyone.”
            Despite my listlessness and lack of humor at the time, I almost said, "Thanks, Dad, for that vote of confidence!"                                  And also, despite his concern and care for me, I didn’t take his advice. No circuitous routes. Dad was right though. I did meet men. But no one “hit on” me. That’s the phrase I learned from a women I worked with: men “hit on” her.
            The truth is I’m not sure I’d recognize a “hit” if it happened. Some things just don’t occur to me. It’s often only later—hours, days, weeks, years—that the match sparks and I say, “Oh, that’s what that was all about.”  So if someone “hit” on me those long ago years, it went way over my head. 

All photographs from Wikipedia except for the Loretto Guild, which is from the Dayton Library Postcard Collection.

36 comments:

  1. lol well at least it was you and not them, or maybe both haha I've heard the take a different route a time or two, good if people are out to get you

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    1. Dear Pat, I didn't think anyone was out to get me, but clearly Dad knew the world better than I did. Or at least the world as it has become. Peace.

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  2. How lucky that you were safe. I suspect that at that time, changing your route each day would have been more than you could manage. Probably much more. There is a lot of safety in routine.

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    1. Dear Sue, yes, there is a lot of safety in routine and when I left the Loretto each morning I was on auto-pilot and simply walked like a zombie the same way every day to work. Peace.

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  3. It's nice that your dad was concerned about you. Varying one's routine can be a good idea, but it wasn't what you needed at the time. I'm sure you needed familiarity.

    Love,
    Janie

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    1. Dear Janie, I need familiarity, you're right. Only later did I realize that Dad's proposal of a different walk each morning was a good one. Peace.

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  4. The Carillon Park in Dayton! I hope you were able to visit.
    I walked a lot to and from my first couple of jobs, and my first semester of college. I had one close call, but didn't even recognize it as that until much later. In any event, I didn't mention it to my parents.

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    1. Dear Joanne, I never visited Carillon Park in Dayton. I lived there for 2 1/2 years and then went away to grad school for two years and came back to Dayton for one more year. That was in 1971 and '72 and I haven't been back over 40 years.

      I'm so glad that nothing happened to you in your early days, and I can see not mentioning anything to your parents. We are fortunate that they cared so deeply about us. Peace.

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  5. Any woman who is naive, absolutely needs to be aware of her surroundings. God had His hands over me, in my looking back. I am sure He had His hands over you as well.

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    1. Dear Susan, I surely was naive then and remain somewhat so today. Long-time friends have told me that I have many guardian angels watching over me. At the latest count, it was 14! Peace.

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  6. That is sweet of your Daddy --trying to protect his daughter from those bad men!!!! Unfortunately, those bad people are out there ---most anywhere. SO--there's never a really safe area I don't think...

    However, I grew up in a small town back in the '50's which was very safe. We didn't have to lock our homes or our cars or much of anything. As a little girl, I could walk all over town and feel extremely safe.. Times aren't like that now--even in a small town...Kinda sad!

    Hugs,
    Betsy

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    1. Dear Betsy, I was probably much safer then than young women and children are today. But it simply never occurred to me that I could be in danger. The world today can be such a scary place and that is indeed sad. Peace.

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  7. I trusted and went where I wanted. It was not till years later that I realized that some of my choices could have led to a dangerous situation. You dad was wise, but what adult child listens to their parents.

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    1. Dear Arleen, I was like you--very trusting. And I think you're right, most adult children want to practice their independence once they move away from their parents. Peace.

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  8. Funny.

    You know... I had no idea that Tony was flirting with me the first year we were friends. I just thought he was a nice guy with a cornball sense of humor. :)

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    1. Dear Juli, ah, so I wasn't that only one who couldn't read the "hitting on"!!!! Peace.

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  9. Glad to hear you were never "hit" upon. It does take some ingenuity on the part of a young man if the woman he is pursuing isn't playing along. Your dad's advice was sound, if not really necessary. He was worried about you.

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    1. Dear DJan, yes, Dad worried about me all through my growing up. He and I became such good friend after my mom died in 1968. That was one of the gifts that came from the sorrow of her death. Dad and I mourned her together. Peace.

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  10. I don't remember either one of my parents ever telling me about all the silly and potentially dangerous men out there. All I remember is "We trust you." Which put a huge brake on what I may have otherwise done. Looking back, I think that it was the best thing they could have said to me. And, I think I may have found the subject for the letter T of the A to Z. I have not been able to come up with anything. Thank you, Dee. And, of course, to comment on your dad's advice. It was good advice, since you had spent those years in the convent. He was concerned about your well-being.

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    1. Dear Inger, I'm wondering what the "T" is going to be! Dad's advice was good, but even when I was so mentally unbalanced, I remained stubborn. Peace.

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  11. I remember this post and smiled at your dad's earnest advice that time too, Dee. He still wanted to protect his daughter, even if she was a grown woman.

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    1. Dear Perpetua, I'm surprised you remember this. It was posted nearly three years ago! I hope to one day post stories about how Dad and I became good friends, once I was able to put his drinking in perspective. Peace.

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    2. I may not remember names well nowadays, Dee, but this ex-librarian has a very good memory for this she has read.:-)

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    3. Dear Perpetua, like you, I have trouble with names. When I taught, I could remember the names of 50 students in each of 5 classrooms--250 names--from having the students introduce themselves the first day. The second day I remembered them all! And today . . . my memory is still good. Like you, it seems to recall just certain things! Peace.

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  12. Your dad really did give you good advice. Glad nothing bad happened by not taking it.
    I'll bet you were "hit" on but just didn't know the signals.

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    1. Dear Arkansas Patti, well a friend, many years later did say that I seemed to be a truly asexual person. And that's probably right. And so I probably didn't recognize any signals! Peace.

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  13. Oh, Dee, I do remember this post and your Dad's cautionary advice. I'm amazed that you can remember the route you took - though, I can clearly remember the blocks and turns I took to my elementary school. I guess some of these things become etched in our memories, don't they?
    One thing I do remember being told when I went away to college was to always walk with a friend at night. One time a guy trying to "hit" on me brought the advice to the forefront.
    "convent with amenities" brought a smile. Just the sort of room you probably needed as you transitioned from a cloistered life to a secular one.

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    1. Dear Penny, I'm relieved that the advice you received helped you out. I've always thought that Dad's advice would have helped me see and appreciate more of Dayton if only I'd taken it. But I walked the same old steps each day. The transition, as I look back on it, was helped greatly by living at the Loretto. Peace.

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  14. Ah - the innocence! Great story.

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    1. Dear LadyFi, yes, innocence and naivete. Peace.

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  15. Oh, that is so funny! I was naive for such a long time. Well, some would say I always was--LOL! And now after being alone by choice for 20 years I don't know as I would recognize a hit at all anymore--ROFL!
    I'm glad you just walked to work the same way every day. One must have a little faith and less fear in life. :)

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    1. Dear Rita, I truly couldn't recognize a "hit" if the person used a sledgehammer! Almost 50 years have passed since Dad gave me that advice and I'm now a little more wary in parking lots and at night. Peace.

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  16. Good, I’ve caught up again. I am also glad that you have started on your story again.

    Thank you for your lovely comment.
    My life has been so very different from yours and probably still is. But I am quite sure we’d get on. Two strong women, able to stand on their own feet, with a lot of life experience. I feel we would certainly respect each other.

    I wish you good health and return your wishes for peace.

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    1. Dear Friko, I'm always so glad to see a comment from you here on this blog. I value your thoughts, your "take" on things, and even though are lives were and, as you say, "probably" are still different, we would have numerous and sundry thoughts to share about living and the folly and foibles of ourselves and of the human race in general! Peace again.

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  17. Blogging is a fascinating experience for those who stick with it. Somehow through the years, I seem to have found my voice. It's interesting....like your post.
    R

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    1. Dear Rick, yes, I find blogging endlessly fascinating. I learn so much from blogs like yours and others who make me think and appreciate my life. Thank you for finding this posting interesting! Peace.

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