Baba, But Never a Black Sheep

I wrote a blog earlier this month and almost had it ready to publish when life took an unexpected turn. My grandmother, who had been battling dementia for the last three years, passed away last week. it didn't feel right to move on without acknowledging the impact she had on me, and the life she led. So, here are the stories of the woman who shaped my interest in the 1960's, and helped inspire this very brand...

I feel I should preface this story with a quick explanation of the title. My grandmother, for as long as I can remember, has been called “Baba.” I was the oldest grandchild and before I was old enough to explain why or speak in full sentences that was what I decided to call her. Why it stuck is beyond me, but 25 years and nine more grandchildren later we all still remember her as “Baba.” 

Her story starts in 1948 on Easter Sunday, in the middle of Missouri. Born Carol McWilliams to her parents Ray and Norma. She had one older sister, and a brother ten years her junior. She used to tell me how every Christmas she would ask her parents for a pet monkey, until finally, she got a little brother instead.

"Baba" at her home in the mid-1960's

Carol did well in school, but in early years struggled with a speech impediment and teachers would sometimes rely on her older sister to "translate." She quickly grew out of this and became very social. She made many friends and was given the nickname "Mac." She may not have known it then, but the nickname, as well as many of those friendships would last a lifetime. In highschool Carol joined the volleyball team and with her they never lost a game. Impressive when you consider she barely reached 5'.

One of her favorite stories to tell of her highschool days was one Christmas when she'd saved up her babysitting money to buy her then boyfriend a blue mohair sweater. He had already given her his class ring, and they were considered "quite serious" by their friends. When she gave him his Christmas gift she was disappointed to receive a comparatively cheap gift in return.

Shortly after this she received a call from another friend of hers telling her that her boyfriend was at the movies with another girl. Carol didn't waste any time but rushed to her best friend, Carol Jean's house and announced "Come on, we're going to a show!"

Before any protest could be made by their parents they were off to the movies. Carol remembered stepping in line for soda at the theater, but not allowing her friend to take the time to get popcorn. Carol Jean was still unsuspicious, as they often would share a soda and Carol hadn't explained why they were really there. Once inside Carol Jean recalled how Carol wouldn't share the soda, but started slowing dipping her boyfriend's ring in the sticky drink. Then Carol Jean started putting two and two together. A few rows ahead of them sat Carol's boyfriend, wearing a blue mohair sweater.

"Come on, it's time to go." Carol said, but she didn't walk towards the door. instead she walked right up to her boyfriend and said; "Here's your ring back" before dropping it on the floor of the darkened theater. As he bent down to search for the ring in the dark Carol poured the rest of the soda over his head! Not wasting any time she grabbed Carol Jean's arm and ran out of the theater!

After graduating highschool in 1966 Carol moved to Washington DC with a close friend, Charlene, after they both accepted secretarial jobs in the FBI building. They moved into a small furnished apartment and relied on dates and care packages from their parents as their source of meals before they received their first paychecks.

In an attempt to get free meals they also befriended the young men across the hall and offered to cook for everyone if they would buy the groceries. This arrangement didn't last, as it didn't take the guys long to realize neither of the girls knew how to cook.

Carol visiting the FBI building where she used to work over 20 years later

Employees at the FBI were required to adhere to a strict curfew, and risked their jobs if they we're caught out after 11pm. Carol recalled having background checks and even being shadowed a few times.

Aside from the controlling work conditions the girls enjoyed their time in Washington, going to iconic clubs such as the Washington location of the Whiskey-a Go-Go, (Carol kept the matchbook she got there among her souvenirs until she gave it to me last year.) and looking up celebrities in the FBI files for updated gossip.

In 1967 Baba moved back home with her family and worked a variety of office jobs over the following years. Her high school friends still got together regularly and would meet up to play volleyball whenever they could.  

Along with volleyball another hobby that stuck was dancing. Carol and Carol Jean would often drop in local hot spots to grab a drink and dance. It was at one of these hot spots in early 1970 that Carol met the man who she would spend the rest of her life with. 

My grandfather Harold was quite the beauty standard back in the day. When I was a teenager and working at a local grocers the older women in town would tell me how attractive they thought he was and all about the big crushes they had on him in high school. (And evidently still had.)

I wish i had a better photo of the dress, because it was truly fabulous!

Carol remembered first laying eyes on him and not thinking he would be interested in her. ( I’d like to mention here that she was drop dead gorgeous as well and the idea that any guy wouldn’t have been interested is just absurd.)  He asked her to dance and she was instantly smitten. After three dates he proposed, six months later they were married. Harold in a black tux and Carol in a pink mini dress. (I’m convinced she was the IT girl!)

They had four children together, my mother being one of them. Though the road could get rocky at times Carol stated she was most proud of being Harold’s wife. 

Carol and Harold in the early 70's

Though I’ve chosen to focus this story on her life in the 60’s, she certainly didn’t slow down after that, throughout my mother’s life and my own she continued to meet new friends, stay in touch with old ones, and absolutely destroy anyone who challenged her to a volleyball game. She was vibrant, mischievous, full of love, and maintained a bigger social circle than I could fathom.  And that’s exactly how I think she would want to be remembered. 

"Baba" and me in 2004

The story ends in just just about the same way it begins, on Easter Sunday. That’s when the funeral was held, in a tiny little church she had attended for the last 50 years. The church was full with just as many friends as family and the pastor was asked to give a memorial service that incorporated the message of the resurrection in honor of Easter. The message was kept short at her request and after the burial everyone stayed for lunch that was mostly comprised of doughnuts and popcorn. She would’ve loved it.