Women Study Pt. 01: Bowen

Women Study

Part I

Bowen

I know it sounds odd, my being 100% male, but I am a professor in the Women's Studies Department of the local campus of our State University System. Now, my department is largely female: the "Head" is a rather distinguished woman who not only is known by many as a top flight historian in 20th and 21st Century women's history but she actually lived through and participated in a lot of crucial parts of it. Some may say that she actually shaped much of that history. Other women in our department are credentialed in Medicine, Philosophy, Psychology, Sociology, Law and Criminology, and even Urban Planning. There really isn't an area of scholastic endeavor that doesn't touch upon Women's Issues. All of these areas are led by women, as one might think it should be.

But I am the only man in our department and--no--I am NOT a token male appointee and I have tenure. You see, my field of study involves pre-twentieth century history. I know that covers a lot of ground but my focus is mainly nineteenth century history, more specifically 1800 to1900. This is an era rich in documentation as to the changing role of females in western society--more specifically United States of America culture. Oh, and I've written books, about that era and I am in demand as a lecturer, too.

But I'm not here to discuss my accomplishments or even to delve with any depth into the subjects of Women's Studies. I'm here to discuss...well...to tell the story of a particular aspect of my life and its influence on my career in the Women's Studies Department.

Though I doubt that the women in my department would second the opinion, I like to think of myself as a solid and competent scholar. Well, at the very least, I think I do a creditable job of work, especially considering my all-female milieu. It is also an environment where I need to be particularly careful not to step on any toes vis-à-vis political correctness. I use gender non-specific nouns and pronouns; I avoid "man-splaining"; I assiduously avoid looking at a woman's chest, hips, derriere, or legs; and defer to the prevailing concepts and attitudes of the Women's Movement. But, above all, I DO NOT FLIRT! I walk a razor's edge when it comes to personal relations with both my collegial professors and the students, of which most of the latter are women--young women. I would be vilified, pilloried, drawn, quartered, and eviscerated, castrated, and removed from my position were I to even transgress in the slightest way in this area. I doubt that I would be under a death sentence, though that might be preferable in the long run to the aforementioned punishments.

My wife, Norma, is in her way, very much a "modern woman", though in many ways not fitting an academics image of one. We have been married almost 30 years, during which time she has suffered the lot of being hitched to an academic--not a lot of money, frequent moves, political strife with the institutions of learning, and a spouse absorbed in his studies. We had no children, a simple accident of infertility in her case; we did not choose to adopt mainly because of our early meager financial means but, as it turned out, we had a friend would prove to be a more than adequate substitute for a child for a few years. Later in my career, there was money coming in both from the University and from royalties from my publications but this all came too late to make having a conventional family practicable. And, of course, Norma's later success in her business enterprises occupied a massive amount of her time and did put us on a very sound financial footing. But by the time we were flush financially, we were content not having children.

Now, Norma is an honest-to-goodness, up-state, country bred, farmer's daughter. My first job was a history teacher in a small town in the a small community upstate. How I wound up there is even a longer story. She was a 20 year-old high school Senior the first year I taught there and I was a 24 year-old guy looking to work my way up the ladder in academia, but I had to earn some money to enable me to do it.

The reason that Norma was a 20 year-old high school Senior was that she had to take two years off school to care for her mother who had been stricken with cancer. Her father owned acreage and farmed it for different crops. The term of art, in those days was "truck" farm, that meaning has expanded over the years. The "multi-use" farm did well but it was one hell of a lot of hard work. What medical coverage there was in the day was barely adequate. There wasn't enough spare money for nursing care for her mother and her father could hardly have been expected to handle all of it. One of her older brothers was away at college, something Norma's mother would not let her illness interrupt. Brother #2 worked the farm with his father and waited until brother #1 to graduated so he could go off to college. So, Norma stepped in and filled the bill but it took two years out of her schooling. The small town school board, being compassionately understanding, allowed Norma back into school for her senior year even though she was generally two years older than her classmates.

The fact was, however, that Norma was a 20 year-old WOMAN in a class of 17 year-old and 18 year-old girls. Two years makes a big difference at that age. Even though girls are far ahead of boys in their social development, being a 20 year-old can throw a kink into things--especially when the 24 year-old "new boy" history teacher was the object of interest to almost all of the girls, age notwithstanding.

I noticed Norma because she was...well...eminently noticeable. Norma was a robust, and busty, 5'10" (1.8). She weighed every bit of 140lbs (66kg), but trim--she's a farm girl, remember? Her breasts were a 36D cup (80D Euro). She had long blonde hair, usually in a pony tail, a beautiful face and a smile that was as bright as a mid-west sun in July. Yep..."Noticeable" is not enough of a word to describe her.

I'm 6'3" (1.9m) and about 210lbs (95kg). I'm not bad looking, if I do say so myself, and I was in pretty fair shape. What I'm trying to say is that we would make a nice looking pair--once we got together--but this "together" thing presented a problem.

There was no "together" until Norma was out of high school. Even back then, fooling around with students was "verboten" so I admired her from afar and made sure it was from AFAR. Besides, I had to watch myself to stay clear some of the other flirty female high-schoolers. It wasn't until my second year teaching at the high school when I began seeing Norma.

Now, I believe I mentioned that Norma was a firm girl, but she wasn't the giggly, empty-headed, round-heeled stereotype one often hears about in the "Farmer's Daughter" jokes. Norma was a working farm girl. She had two older brothers from whom she took no guff, so she knew about rough and tumble. And on top of taking care of her ill mother, Norma did farm chores, kept house, cooked meals, fixed machinery, repaired farm buildings, and took part in supervising farm hands. She wasn't much of a book scholar but she was smart--had a good head on her shoulders, as the locals would say--and she was not by any means a shrinking violet.

Norma was not in any class I taught at the school so I never formally met her, or even encountered her in person, until I ran into her down at the hardware store in town. I was there on a Saturday to get a link for my bicycle chain--I cycled pretty much every in town--and, there being no cycle shop in town, the hardware store was my only choice. Much to my chagrin, I discovered that there was a difference between a bicycle chain and a chainsaw chain, the latter being the only kind the hardware store carried. I was on my way out of the store in a funk looking at my damaged chain when I bumped into Norma--and I mean literally bumped into her. I wasn't looking where I was going and she was hefting a box of galvanized metal "hangers" that she had bought to further her refurbishment of one of the out buildings on the farm. (Did I mention that she could do carpentry?) I dropped my link and chain; she dropped her hangers...all over the place.

"Geez! I'm sorry! My fault!" I didn't think so but I said it anyway

I got down on my knees to help her gather up the metal pieces at the same time wondering where the hell my link went to.

"Oh, no! I wasn't looking where I was going either!" She was trying to be polite, too.

As Norma also stooped down to put the hangers near her back in the box, I couldn't help but notice that the two top buttons on her blue denim work shirt were open and that gave me a tantalizing view of her cleavage. (Remember? 36D?) Well, and she caught me looking!

"You looking for the hangers, Mister D_____?" There was no mistaking the sly look in her eyes.

If I had been drinking coffee, I would have spit it all over the place. If I had been drinking milk, I'm sure it would have gone up my nose.

"I'm terribly sorry," I tried to retrieve the situation, "I didn't mean to stare...."

"The metal pieces, Mr. D_____," she responded, "the metal pieces are called 'hangers'. We need to find the rest of them."

"Oh, I misunderstood...I mean...I didn't understand....I'm sorry," what shade of red my face turned, I'm not sure but Norma got it. I guessed she knew from "hangers".

"That's O.K., Mr. D_____," she said in a very mature, but teasing, tone, "I understand."

We got everything back in the box and I followed her over to her pick-up truck. She dumped the box in the truck bed, turned to face me, and put out her hand.

"I'm Noma G_____. I remember you from school last year," her voice was firm, "you're the new history teacher, am I right?"

"Yes, yes, that's me, " I shook her hand, "I'm surprised you'd remember. I didn't have you in my class and I'm sure I'd remember if you had been in the class."

"Well, all of the girls remember you. You were quite the topic." She dropped her hand and hooked her thumbs on her blue jean pockets. "You DID know that, didn't you?"

"I guess all of the new teachers get talked about," I played a little dumb, "schools are that way all over."

"No, people were curious about you," she continued matter of factly, "especially the girls. But we noticed you kept pretty much to yourself, except for teaching. Anyway, folks were curious."

"I'm still trying to find my way," I was beginning to feel on the spot, "it is always somewhat uncomfortable for a new teacher, too...you know?"

"Well, I was curious, too, Mr. D_____, just so you know. And now I've met you.

So....It was nice talking to you Mr. D____. I'm sure I'll be seeing you around," she turned and grabbed the truck door handle, "thanks for the help with the 'hangers', see'ya."

I gave her a half wave, "Yes...the 'hangers'...Uh....you're welcome, see'ya, I guess."

I had driven all the way back to my court apartment when I realized that I didn't have my bicycle chain or the broken link. I drove back to the hardware store, looked around, but didn't find either. Nobody there knew about them or where they might be. I checked the trash bins and the metal recycle bins. No bicycle chain no link! O.K., so now I was going to have to figure out how to replace that chain. Maybe some handyman in town might know what I can do.

Back at my apartment, I figured it was too late in the day to call around to find a bicycle chain so I tried to decide what to do with my evening. I had some papers to correct...essay questions...not my favorite...I liked to use T/F or Multiple Choice tests. But, really, essays were the best measure of how well the student understood the subject matter so, essays it was. I also had some reading to do. I tried to keep up with my field of study, too, but it was hard doing it in a small town with only a limited library. (You have to remember that in the early 90's research on the internet was, if not embryonic, tedious, and usually inadequate, at least in my field.)

So, my next choice was TV, or a movie, or "The Corral"--what country town doesn't have a bar named like that, Oklahoma or not?. I certainly didn't want to go down to the shit-kicker bar with its earsplitting country music. Of the two theaters in town, one was showing some loony adventure flick and the other a chick flick so, no movie tonight.

My phone rang. Who the hell's calling me? Did I get accepted for that graduate program?

"Hey, Cowboy," the female voice teased, "you looking for a bicycle chain?"

"Well, and a link...so what if I might happen to be?" I was probing, "how would you know? Who IS this?"

"Mr. D. ______, It's Norma G____," her voice leapt through the phone, "I thought you'd know my voice, seeing as how we just talked an hour or so ago."

I didn't want to sound totally discombobulated, "Norma...yes....well...your voice sounds a lot different on the phone....how did you get my number? And...how did you know about my bicycle chain? I mean...I understand that it's a small town and all....but....well...."

Silence for a moment and then she said, "Oh, Mr. D_____, I didn't mean to be sassy....It's just that when I got home here and looked in my box of hangers I saw a broken bicycle chain and a loose link. The only think I could think of was that it got tossed into my box by mistake when we were picking up the hangers. I wasn't sure it was yours but I guess....and....so...I thought I'd give you a call to see."

I composed myself a little more, "That's O.K., Norma, you just took me by surprise. Yes, I think that would be my bicycle chain. I've got to get it fixed or get a new one or I'm spending money to get to work instead of riding my bike. But I'm thinking it's not fixable anyway so I'm going to need to get a new one anyway so don't worry about it. But...hey! How did you get my number?"

"I've got connections, Cowboy," she said, mischievously, "I've lived here a long time, you know and I know a few people who know a few people...like at school....so, EASY!"

"O.K., I won't launch an investigation," I said with mock seriousness, "but I'm thinking I should go unlisted if it's that easy to track me."

"Unlisted...unschlimisted....I'd find it out anyway. Someone will have it...errr....maybe at school...and I'll get it...I've got connections...Remember?" I thought, both insouciant and clever, she.

"Uh, yeah, I forgot....small town, Huh? I give up!" I responded, in mock defeat.

"O.K., Mr. D_____, do you want your chain or not?"

"I guess, maybe it's fixable...so...yeah...."

"I can drive over and give it to you."

"When?"

"Tonight."

"Tonight? What time?"

"Well, I can have it there in 20 minutes. What time is it now.... 5:30? So how about 6:00"

"Yeah, O.K., 6:00. So, do you want my address?"

"No, I've got it."

"Huh?"

"I've got connections, remember? See you at 6:00." Click went the phone.

******************************

At six o'clock on the mark, there was a knock on my door. There stood Norma, all "Cowgirl-ed up". Even in this part of the State...and, maybe, especially in this part of the State...that was a fashionable "country" look. She had the Stetson, the woven leather hat band, and her blonde pony tail trailing out the back. The polished taupe cotton shirt with brown piping down the front and on the collar and cuffs. There were silver tips on the collar too, and pearl buttons down the front and on the flap pockets, and embroidery on the cuffs. The blue jeans looked brand new with sharp creases, and a silver belt buckle that looked to be size of a dessert plate. Oh, and the boots. They probably cost more than my car with the two-toned tooled leather, pointy toes, and extra high heels, and all. Whoa! Cowgirl!

"Howdy, Cowboy!"

Norma had a plastic bag in her hand and I could see my bicycle chain inside.

"Here, Loco, here's you chain."

I took the bag and looked inside. There was my chain, all in one piece, all fixed, looking good as new. I must have clearly looked surprised.

"What's the prob, Cowboy?" she said, with some glee, "all fixed, see? Did it myself, I did!"

"No! Did YOU? How in the hell?" I couldn't contain my surprise.

"Hey, don't just let me stand here," she said as she started to edge into my apartment, "I know you have manners but I also know I've taken you by surprise so....I forgive you."

"Nice place you have here," she offered, "the furnishings look to be something like contemporary IKEA? Doesn't bother me, though. It looks like you do keep it neat, though. Nice Job!"

"Uh, how did you fix my chain?" I tried to deflect her oblique criticism of my decor.

"Yeah, well...look...not only do I have connections, I have talents, too," there was more than a little pride in her voice, "I was one of the girls that got to do metal shop at school and I got pretty good grades, too. So, all I had to do was flatten the side pieces a little, find a pin that I would fit snugly, and...bingo....tap, tap, tap on the anvil and you've got yourself a dandy bicycle chain again!"

"I'm impressed," I said in an impressed tone, "that was a clever thing to do, especially considering that you didn't know what value that chain and to whom it belonged. I'm surprised you didn't just throw it away."

"Nah, I just like to fix things," she said with a sidewise glance that belied a some subterfuge, "and I just puzzled it out that it belonged to you."

"Yeah, O.K., if you say so," I threw that out, waiting for her next move.

"So, you...Saturday night....whatcha got going...you know...Saturday?" I knew she was changing the subject...and it was clear to me that she had a point in doing it.

"Oh, yeah...Saturday....well, I've got papers to correct and...well...there's a game on TV, too...some game....y'know....or a movie.....Oh...yeah...there's that cop show...the series...they always catch some guy...but he gets off sometimes...y'know...."

"So, basically you've got nothing going on," she nailed me, "nothing at all...at all...right?"

"Busted!" I admitted.

"O.K., Cowboy, this is what we're going to do," there was some drill sergeant in her voice, "get your Saturday night clothes on and we'll go down to The Corral, get some food, and do some line dancing when the band comes on...So, get to it!"

"Hey! What happened to the 'Mr. D____' thing?" I attempted to put up some resistance, "and, another thing, I don't have a 'Saturday night' get up, if what you're wearing defines 'Saturday night' clothing."

"I figured that might be the case," she opened my front door, reached outside and pulled in a large plastic bag, "here's what you need, you just have to supply the blue jeans--and I know you've got some....and who cares about the boots...you got something other than dress shoes?"

"I've got some old hiking boots," said I.

"Those will do...now get dressed!"

The big bag had a Western shirt in it, not as elaborate as the one Norma had on, and there was a bolo string tie with a modest chrome clasp, and....you got it....a Cowboy Hat, again not as decked out as Norma's but still respectable.

"Put'em on...You'll look fine, even if you don't have a proper belt buckle."

I went into my bedroom and began to change. "By the way," I called out, "what's with the 'Cowboy" and 'Loco' stuff? I rather like being called 'Mr. D____ by my students. I mean there should be a certain level of decorum, you know."

"Well, Cowboy, I'm NOT one of your students anymore or ever, for that matter," her voice increased in volume, "and, besides, I don't know your first name so, 'Cowboy' is going have to do it. By the way, what is your first name, anyway?

"Bowen....and it's not 'BO'...it's BOWEN"

"Oh? What an interesting name," in a tone of voice best described as facetious, "I'm not calling you Cow-Bowen, that's for sure. 'Cowboy' is going to have to do, COWBOY! And, by the way, you don't have to go into another room to change. I've got two brothers, you know. There isn't anything that you've got that I haven't seen before, Cowboy!"