Eleanor "Babs" Roosevelt

North Miami Beach, Florida 1-30-2000 Aaron H. Schectman

THINKING ALLOWED
Essays on issues, ideas and reflections on the times. Published now and
then. Opinions pro or con are welcome.
ELEANOR "BABS" ROOSEVELT

I learned a great deal about Mrs. FDR in the Jean Stapleton performance in
"Eleanor". I confess I fell asleep during one of the segments because my
heavy eyes decided to close. Sleepless nights and the excitement of "Ruach"
(spiritual) study of Torah on Saturday Morning were the cause. The
one-woman show was a memory piece from 1918 to 1922; she speaks from her
days in 1945 following the death of FDR. Jean Stapleton hit some high
points in timing and interpretation but I missed the staged excitement of
voice, movement, and the power of the person being represented. Stapelton
's "Eleanor" clashed with my memory of Eleanor Roosevelt.

My second job as a teacher was at a Junior High School in Newark. The
Principal there was a short, white socks wearing and easy mannered man,
Dr.Weinstein. He had written a biography of the Roosevelts and had become a
family friend. The friendship had grown to the point where Dr. Weinstein
could invite Eleanor Roosevelt to speak to a graduation ceremony at his
School. This was at the mid-point of the 1950's around the time my eldest
son, David, was born.

Mrs. Roosevelt was still giving speeches about world peace and the
importance of the United Nations. One of my friends on staff was supposed
to go into New York City and drive Mrs. Roosevelt to the School. The
Principal decided that he better do it himself. I had been elevated to the
status of a part-time guidance counselor (a job with prestige among the
clientele we had) and was given the responsibility to stage-manage the
performance of Mrs. Roosevelt.

I thought that this responsibility included my giving a speech of
introduction. I plunged right in by thinking of a "bus" metaphor. The
school was a bus driving a prescribed route, some students would go to the
end while others would drop off, and the driver of the bus was, you guessed
it, Dr.Weinstein, the Principal. I introduced him and he introduced the
principal speaker.

I remember nothing of what he said but she launched into comments about the
far off country of East Somethingorother and spoke to the right of the
microphone that rendered her squeaky voice inaudible to the audience. The
auditorium was filled with overdressed black people who worshipped the
Roosevelts. They were quiet, respectful and dripping with sweat in the
superhot room during the first day of summer. Open doors to the outside
helped not a bit and Mrs. R. droned on despite her being unaware of the
ambiance of the room in which she spoke.

My job was to see that things went off smoothly. I felt that it was
incumbent upon me to see that she spoke into the microphone to be heard by
the melting and studiously attentive audience. I moved the mike in front of
her face. She smiled at me and moved to the right, once again avoiding the
microphone. A tall lady, she looked over the audience and suddenly shifted
her speech into something local and soon it was over. She never did speak
directly into the sound-enriching instrument. So much of her message was
lost. Like the lines delivered by Jean Stapleton so many years later I
missed the point of what was being said. The point was, however, that she
was there.

Later, I was floored by the magnitude of my chutzpah in developing the
clever little introduction I had thought up. When I think back now I realize
she was only in her early 60's. Mrs. Roosevelt was widowed when she was 57.
In her later years as the single world figure her life was far different
from when she birthed six children and was married to a womanizer who
neglected her intellectually and emotionally. She was quite a lady.
Carol's Evaluation: 9 out of 10.