Patty, thanks for the memories

Actress Patty Duke died March 29 at age 69, and her passing offered me a reminder about the way TV influences our culture and contributes to our memories.

Duke appeared in many TV shows and movies during a professional acting career that began in 1954 and spanned more than 60 years. Duke is probably best known as the star of "The Patty Duke Show", a popular TV show originally produced from 1963 to 1966, and for her Oscar-winning performance as Helen Keller in 1962’s “The Miracle Worker”.

I still think her performance as the booze and pill abusing Neely O’Hara in 1967’s “Valley of the Dolls” is a gem and makes an otherwise weak movie worth watching more than once.

I remain a big fan of “The Patty Duke Show”, which still airs in reruns on a few cable-TV channels. The show featured Duke in a dual-role, portraying a pair of cousins from diverse backgrounds and attending high school in comfortable Brooklyn Heights in the 1960s. It was a situation comedy produced during a time when TV programming was called “wholesome.” Most considered it reliable entertainment, a program that depicted an America that is long gone, if it ever really exited.

I have two distinct memories involving Patty Duke’s work. Both are from my days growing up in the 1960s, and they involve my sisters, Mary Jo and Katie. I think they offer some insight about my enduring appreciation for Duke’s work.

The memory involving Mary Jo (Jo to her siblings and close friends) is one of my oldest involving a TV show. I remember watching Jo standing a few feet from the family TV set, completely engaged in an episode of the “The Patty Duke Show”. I was only slightly familiar with the show, but even at that young age, I could how absorbed my sister was with it, how thoroughly it commanded her attention. I can recall telling myself the show must be pretty special if it could be so special to my sister. 

My second memory involves my sister Katie and the movie “Billie”, a low-budget, 1965 production aimed at a teen audience and designed to capitalize on the popularity of Duke’s TV show. Duke played the title character, a high school student who tries out for the boys’ track team and excels because she paces her running to a musical tune she hears in her head. (Don’t spend too much time trying to make sense of the plot, the screenwriters certainly didn’t, and it’s just not that important.)

Most viewers consider “Billie” a largely forgettable production, but it remains memorable to me, because Katie enjoyed it as a child and always invited me to watch it with her whenever it aired on TV. Years later, Katie became a competitive sprinter on her high school track team, and I frequently attended her track meets. The movie “Billie” always came to mind whenever I saw Katie run in an event, and I always wondered what tune was playing in her head as she sprinted along the track.

These memories are uncomplicated, I admit, but I cherish them because they involve my sisters and the simple entertainment Patty Duke provided us on TV so many years ago.

I reflected on those memories when I learned of Duke’s passing yesterday, and then I offered a silent prayer, thanking Duke for sharing her talent with me and my sisters, and for creating some special memories for me.

I thought you’d like to know that.

Learning to see ourselves as others do

Every now and then we are reminded the world doesn’t always see us as we see ourselves. 

It is a hard lesson for me to grasp. My most recent encounter with it came the other day, when I was assisting at an indoor track meet at the high school where I work. I was standing near a barrier used to keep visitors off the track during races and yelled a word of encouragement to one of the runners as she ran passed me. 

A man standing nearby asked, “Is that your granddaughter?” 

“What?” I said after a long silence, stunned that anyone would think I was old enough to be a grandfather. After all, grandfathers are old people.

Noticing my shock, the man modified his question. “I mean, you know, is that your daughter?”

No, I said, just a student I work with here.

I walked away thinking the man was a fool, but also started a quick inventory of the possible clues that led him to ask his question.

I am 54, partly bald, with plenty of gray in the hair that remains on my head. And yes, my midsection is ample and my footwear is selected for comfort, rather than fashion, but all of these elements do not a grandfather make, I reasoned.

The guy’s question remained with me throughout the day. When at home later, I examined my image in the mirror and identified other factors contributing to a grandfatherly image — the thick lenses in my eyeglasses, the double chin, the sweatshirt and khaki pants (sensible for early March weather, but far from fashionable).  All the features combined helped me to see how the man at the track meet reached his conclusion.

So I started crafting a sturdy rationalization.

Once upon a time a little extra weight indicated wealth and comfortable living, I told myself. Why, there are far worse things than being a grandfather, I acknowledged. After all, I am the father of a 20-year-old daughter, and I do hope to be a grandfather one day, many years from now. 

Rationalizations typically work for me, but this time they came up short.

It was then I remembered the people around me, friends and strangers alike, don’t always see me as I see myself. I think that’s a lesson some of us learn more than once before it really takes root in our minds. Some learn it from a stranger at the grocery store. Others learn it while talking with friends at a party. I learned it (again) at a track meet, and I think now I finally see the value in the lesson.

I just wasn’t ready for a stranger to see me so clearly.

— Send email to kbotterman@gmail.com