Verna: The Wackiest WAC - Angela Theresa Egic (moboreader .txt) 📗

INTRODUCTION:
HELLO DOLLY!

My mother, how would one describe her? Immediately, the stanza's from the song "How Do You Solve A Problem Like Maria" from THE SOUND OF MUSIC come into my head. And, of course, HELLO DOLLY!

Her name is Verna, and her family calls her “Dolly”; a childhood nickname, which stuck. She is a contradiction, very much like Dolly Levi. She lives up to her name!
She grew up the 4th child of 14, in Ashland, Kentucky. She was born in Ohio and raised in Kentucky. She was born December 23rd, 1931 because; as her mother told her, "I had to make Christmas dinner for the family".

For this reason, Grandma, Clara, decided her 4th child would be born either before Christmas, or have to wait until after they holiday.

Her father, Norman, a Southern Baptist Preacher, Coal Miner, Farmer and White Lightening Maker/Distributor; depending on what was needed at any time to provide for his ever-growing family. Grandpa was also a very accomplished Fiddle Player (violin), never had a lesson in his life. This gift, of music, certainly rubbed off on 13 of the 14 surviving children, including Dolly.

Even as a toddler, Mom had an uncanny ear for music. She would impersonate the birds outside her window, perfectly. Grandma took advantage of this talent.

They were a large family feeling the pain of the Great Depression. She'd take the little songstress to town and have her sing for money. Mom didn’t mind, singing was and is her passion.

During their teens, my mother and her sister’s, Sissy and Lillian, had their own radio show in Ashland, Kentucky! My mother plays guitar well and never has had a formal lesson! Today, at 78-years-old, though, her arthritic fingers make it difficult. She can play a bit of piano, too; or has in the past!

The contradiction: You get Mom on the guitar and she picks and grins that Hillbilly music, like a pro and sings hits such as, Mountain Dew.

You’ll hear, “They call it that good ole’ Mountain Dew…Dew…Dew, folks who refuse it are few!” in a strong twang.

And you should hear her yodel! One time, in my teens, on a tour bus, she was teaching my whole choir from high school how to yodel!

A bus of teenagers, in Phoenix, Arizona, belting out, “I wanna learn to yodel! Yippee Eye Dol Ay!”

Then, Dolly’s other love. Opera!

She will sing you an aria from any opera you can probably name, in one of four languages, and you won’t even hear anything Southern about it!

Her favorite way to wake me up for church, in my youth, was to sing an aria in front of my door in her echoing, deep mezzo soprano belt! I grew up constantly telling her to “stop yelling” as her speaking voice is as strong and vibrant as her singing voice.

As the years go by, though. I remember and see how people love my mother. They love her stories about her antics and adventures and her eccentricities. Of course, she always told me, growing up. The difference between eccentric and crazy is money. And since we had enough to live, but were by no means, wealthy, we must be crazy. My mother is crazy. Fortunately, or unfortunately, I’ve inherited it.

CHAPTER ONE:
THE WACKIEST WAC

Mom joined the Army, at the age of 19, in 1951.

She joined for two reasons: To see all those “far away places” she sang about in the hit song FAR AWAY PLACES and to earn money to further her education, and be able to sing opera at the Met.

The Collins family had a lot of opinions about Dolly. Not only was she the first Collins child to graduate high school. She was also the only female child who didn’t have a baby or husband or fiancée. She was considered an old maid! And upon joining the armed forces, she was accused of something altogether more heinous.

“No real woman does men’s jobs.” Norman insinuated.

When she went to Boot Camp, in Camp Lee, Virginia; the family eventually accepted it, and she received many letters from Grandpa during her four years as a WAC.

She fulfilled her first tour of duty and re-enlisted. After serving, she left the Army with honor; after some near misses, due to her antics. Sergeants would describe her adventurous spirit as “insubordination”. Yet, when they would check the Army regulation book, Mom (well-versed in the Army regulation book), would make her point by showing no regulation against what she had, apparently, done.

In order to join the Army, she turned down a 4-year full music scholarship to The University of Kentucky. Why? She felt, being she was a poor Collins girl, her clothes weren’t good enough.

Most the time, the reason Dolly needed to be insubordinate was restriction. You see, if someone tells my mother no, it is an immediate reason for her to find a way to get the opposite; often without any clue as to her modus operandi.

The Army would restrict her to quarters and she’d make sure, even if she had no plans to leave; to leave the base and go out. Mom had to prove, perhaps to herself, she could do what she chose to do.

Considering she grew up in a dirt poor, strict Southern Baptist family; she needed to explore a freedom she never experienced at home!

On one particular evening, she had KP and was restricted to quarters. Once it was lights out, despite a full day in the kitchen. Dolly climbed out the window of her barracks, onto the fire escape (a couple of stories up). Near the bottom of the fire escape, she fell and broke her ankle (she would learn this later).

Ignoring her pain, she went out dancing with her boyfriend, Kenneth. After the club and before reverie, of course; she came back onto base, much like she left. Crawled back up the fire escape and went back to sleep for the short amount time left. Her superiors, nor the medics, could figure out how she broke her ankle in the middle of the night. She covered her tracks so well; no one ever knew she left the base!

Today, my mother tells me, she had “more tricks than Houdini” when it came to breaking Army rules, and not getting caught!

Nevertheless, on an occasion or two, she was indeed, when not attempting (and succeeding) in sneaking around; she was guilty as charged.

She had arrived to her post in Maryland. The barracks included a statue of a woman. The statue was a lovely white woman. Left alone, always dangerous with Dolly; she took it upon herself to beautify the statue with a full face of make-up!

The Sergeant demanded my mother clean the steps, and statue, with her toothbrush. She refused.

Dolly was taken to the Captain. As they went over the Army rules, neither the Sergeant nor the Captain, could enforce such a rule. In fact, my mother pointed out it was neither humane, nor in the book, that she would be forced to use her personal items to do cleaning.

Her response, as to why she put make-up on the statue. “She was so dull. She looked so much better with the make-up!”

Mom was correct. She did have to clean off the statue with soap, water and a regular sponge.

CHAPTER TWO:
THE OTHER BOLEYN

I must speak about my mother and her obsession/love for Anne Boleyn, Queen of England.

Since I can remember, which is a long time, my mother told me the story of Anne Boleyn. How her husband, King Henry VIII, was so cruel to such a wonderful woman.

Years later, we were visiting with her brother, Everett "Curly" Collins, a dry cleaner (by this time) in Phoenix, AZ. Somehow she and her older brother got into a conversation about King Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn.

My mother, of course, quite vehemently speaking about the disservice Henry did to a proper and lovely devout woman. Uncle Curly, a functioning alcoholic, giving all the reason Henry; a good King, had to do what he had to do.

On the car ride back home, just Mom and I, she explained how Uncle Curly was wrong.

Being the child I was, my contention is and always will be. My mother is the reincarnation of Anne Boleyn's mother and/or of Anne Boleyn herself. I tend to think she must've been the mother, though; as she argues like a mother protecting her beloved child. Uncle Curly, in this lifetime, had been married eight times, already! And he beheaded (figurately, this time) all of them with his attitudes toward women. Quite similar to those of King Henry VIII or Archie Bunker!

Text: Angela Theresa Egic, 2010
Publication Date: 02-22-2010

All Rights Reserved

Dedication:
To my wonderful, wacky mother, Verna Christine Collins Sanford, whose stories keep everyone she meets entertained for hours.