Safe Passage to Now

As I write this, I'm in bed under a warm comforter with a hot cup of alfalfa tea, my laptop, and a fresh case of strep throat. But, a friend called me the other day from New York and told me that out of necessity, she was trying to get back into the job market. She is close to 70. She had been a receptionist for several decades, and retired for the last five years. Life changes rather quickly, and her circumstances suddenly became dire when she realized her pension plan was being dissolved – I don't know the details behind that; she didn't share. But our reality is simply this, anyone and everyone is just one paycheck away from being homeless, no matter how well we prepare or how carefully we live our lives. Remember the Great Depression.

She told me about all the websites she was posting her resume to, and how mind boggling it all was to her. My friend was greatly intimidated, confused and not very optimistic. If she could not wade through Internet job searches, how would she manage to survive in the workforce? I suggested she consider a different line of business this time, but she wanted to do receptionist work again. At her age, she is still very vibrant, articulate, intelligent and attractive. I don't think she'd have a hard time landing a job in that area, but keeping it is another story. Like me, she hates gadgets and devices and programs and protocol and overall progress.

I was familiar with some of the human resource sites she mentioned, having used them myself in the past. Wondering if and when I'll ever need to do the same, I remembered my early days breaking into the job market.

After graduating from high school, I moved back home to New York and lived with my grandparents. My immediate plan was to go down to Greenwich Village and be an artist. My grandparents' immediate plan was that I find a respectable safe job, like a nurse or a secretary. But, because I couldn't bring myself to stay in college longer than a few weeks at a time, they insisted I do something to save myself or else go back to Indiana. Nursing was not for me. The sight or thought of anyone's body fluids made me faint away. So, I decided to work in an office. I took business classes in high school, so I scoured the Sunday paper for job leads. All the good jobs were in Manhattan, and we lived in Queens. That meant I'd have to commute daily by bus and subway.

Nana, my grandmother, insisted on showing me how to 'get around town.' I didn't know that meant she would accompany me on each and every job interview. It was at CBS (television), when the interviewer gently suggested to Nana that she not come in with me on any more interviews. I got a job in their Legal Department as a clerk typist. This was my first real job, and I was ecstatic.

Stacey Maupin Torres, Bryant Park, NYC, 1971

But I'm a restless soul. I took Manhattan by storm, but was not content to sit in anyone's file room. I decided to find another job, and saw an ad in for an employment agency. Venturing into an old building on 42^nd Street, I found myself knocking on a door with the name “Marian Marlowe Employment Agency” on it. I remember entering a tiny one-room office that was furnished very sparsely. Seated behind a large metal desk was a woman, who appeared to be in her 60s. She was heavily made up, had black flamboyant hair, chunky gold jewelry and dressed in a red suit. On her desk was a rotary telephone, two Rolodex and a recipe box marked "Leads," and a large glass ashtray filled with lipstick coated cigarette butts. White smoke swirled around her head and she stared at me with a hawk-like gaze. Tapping her long manicured finger on the desk, she directed me to sit. This was Marian Marlowe.

She asked a few questions about me and asked for my resume. When I handed it to her, she read it carefully, then broke into a rapid raspy chatter that went on for 30 or 40 minutes. She had analyzed and read me in that period of time, and literally re-invented me on the spot. After pulling a card out of her recipe box, she made a call as I sat there nervously. She was yelling at the person on the other end using words like “cracker jack,” “gal,” “girl Friday,” “top notch,” and on and on. This woman trained and groomed me for the job in her office well into the night before I went on the interview the next day. I got the job and a new career as a legal secretary. She convinced me I could do it, and I did, learning as I went along for the next 40 years.

I can't even count how many jobs I've had in my life. Ms. Marlowe was responsible for most of them. I often wonder what happened to her. Later, Nana described an actress named Marion Marlowe (different spelling) who had been in show business in the 50s. I often think that may have been her.

The thing is, no website, career coach or resume builder can really prepare you for keeping a job. It may get you the job; but you have to know how to do you and make it work. And now, I'm finally able to really call myself an artist – my first desire. It took life to get me here.

Published in The Courier-Times, Oct. 2017