YOU GOTTA HAVE MANNERS, GOOD MANNERS

Not long ago as I lay on a cold x-ray table anxiously awaiting the procedure of an arteriogram, a friendly
doctor entered the room. He was a young black man with a very reasonant voice and friendly, intelligent eyes. Something about his presence was both familiar and comforting.

"Good morning, Mrs. Moylan. I'm Dr. Anderson. How are you today?"

I replied as cheerfully as if we were on our way to a beach picnic, "Just fine, thank you, doctor. How are you?"

Then I silently reflected that even though his manner was reassuring, my reply was ridiculous. If I were all that "fine", 1 would not be lying there far from the joys of a day at the beach.

All of a sudden, Cattie, our childhood nurse who was also of African American heritage, flashed through my memory. My response was due to Cattie's indoctrination. As I lay there vaguely aware of the preparations going on around me, I recalled a long forgotten experience when she was taking my sister and me to the park. Apparently I had not replied quickly enough or with sufficient enthusiasm to please Cattie when someone passing asked, “How are you today, Marjorie?" Whereupon once they were out of earshot, I received an unusually cross reprimand, which obviously fixed itself forever upon my subconscious.

Cattie said something like, "Now listen here, Marj'rie. I'm 'shamed of you. You s'posed to speak up when folks speak to you. Don't just drag along, mumblin’, lookin’ at the ground like you didn't want to notice ‘em. If you act like that, people gon’ think your Mamma and me ain't taught you NOTHIN' "

I thought that was it, but Cattie went on. "Next time somebody pa 5 and ask you how you are, you smile, let ‘em know you glad to see them ang speak clearly not mumbly like. Don't matter how bad you feel, or 1f you w you hadn't seen ‘em, you speak up--and brightly.”

Meeting Cattie's standards of correct social behavior in the 1930s wa never questioned. Although we were reared in a time with some remaining adherence to the adage, "Children should be seen and not heard," my sister and I had plenty of opportunity for self-expression. But conforming to certain of Cattie's dictums of "what's right" made an indelible impression.

In addition to the one about Speak to People and Brightly, I recall two other rules and examples of Cattie's instruction. There has been no startling acting out in the present of these two rules, but I'm sure they are a part of my behavior of which I am for the most part unaware.

One Rises When An Older Person Enters Room

My father had three aunts who lived close enough to our town to occasionally visit us. Two of them were always warm and generous in their greeting and made us happy to see them arrive. The third, Aunt Mag, showed a distinct preference for my sister to the point of greeting her with endearments and giving her 25¢ (a large sum in the '30s). She then would add, “And dont let your sister have one penny." This upset my mother, but the situation somehow was never dealt with.

Therefore, once when great Aunt Mag came to call, instead of rising to greet her, as did the others, I remained seated on the piano bench. I realized I could not leave the room, but decided since Aunt Mag was so unfair I would not get up and greet her. Cattie happened to walk into the living room while the other family members were hugging and welcoming Aunt Mag, and saw me seated with arms folded tightly over my chest. "Get up this minute and gO speak to your Aunt Mag,” she spoke in my ear. "You know good and well what you're supposed to do "

Yes, I knew and it was by now an automatic response. But Aunt Mag Was a Special case. Abiding in my spirit was a deep dislike for injustice, although I certainly had not yet intellectually analyzed this. Still, I recall thinking I would no longer pretend courtesy or affection for Aunt Mag, since ghe so obviously did not like me.

Mamma felt Aunt Mag acted as she did towards my sister because my sister was named for our grandmother, who was much beloved by Aunt Mag. But, on this day, no explanation mattered. I had had enough, so I did not pudge even while Cattie continued to whisper in ever more stern tones that I arise. My poor mother, the soul of goodness and always desirous of peace, gave me a pleading look and a gentle, "Marjorie, come and speak to your Aunt Mag.”

Everyone was watching. I didn't care what happened as punishment, for I knew there would be something, but it was hard to refuse my beautiful mother. So, I got up and limply extended a hand to Aunt Mag, while tonelessly saying, “Hello, Aunt Mag."

Aunt Mag, who was nearly six feet tall, drew herself up to her full height and said, “Wel-1-1-1, I do not know how you all can tolerate such a rude child. Why can't she behave like her sweet sister?"

I was immediately whisked out of the room by Cattie and further instructed on the error of my ways and the infallible rule of always rising and politely greeting one's elders.

I suspect I received no further punishment because my parents too must have objected not only to the partiality shown by Aunt Mag, but to the hurt it brought me. And, proud man that my father was, perhaps he respected my spunk. Besides, they knew Cattie had thoroughly scolded me.

It's Not Polite to Eat Every Last Bit of Food on Your Plate

For people living through the hard times of the Depression in the South, I do not know why the custom of not cleaning one's plate was considered good manners. Perhaps it was even more important to maintain dignity in a time of scarcity than in a time of plenty.

In Cattie's words, “Les you're eatin’ in the kitchen where nobody can see you, you ain't supposed to eat every scrap of food." Then she would add, “You don't want people to think you don't know where your next meal's did much care about that. Nor did it bother me to leave rice or vegetables on the plate, but when we'd have company and pecan pie or homemade peach ice cream was served, I wanted to eat every last bite.

My sister caught on to the way to accomplish cleaning the plate. She made a practice of asking to be excused from the table, especially if company were present. Amidst compliments for being such a good little girl, she carried her dessert plate to the kitchen, where she enjoyed every morsel and sometimes even second servings.

I recall that I longed to follow her, but inasmuch as I was the older sister, I felt compelled to remain seated through the interminable wait until my parents and the guests arose from the table. Like it or not, I had to obey the rules.

“You gotta have manners, good manners,” Cattie said. I hope she would be pleased that her words are with me still.