A Singular Mother

My mother divorced my father in 1961. She had spent the 1950s being a housewife and taking care of her six children, but the marriage had always been rocky. We lived in Hickory, N.C., and it was a huge uphill climb for a young, unemployed black woman to get an attorney to take her case. At the start of the legal process, my mom sat all of us down and explained that we would live with her, but my father could see us any time he wanted. He wouldn’t take her up on that offer for 10 years.

Even though my grandparents lived nearby, Mama was determined to raise us herself. She took a job cleaning houses for rich white families in town but soon realized that didn’t pay enough to feed six kids. She moved on to cleaning dormitory rooms at the local college and worked as a maid at a nearby hotel. (Think about that the next time you’re trashing that hotel room—someone’s mother may be cleaning up after you.)

After a few months, Mama applied for a job at a furniture factory. It was dusty, grueling work in a plant that had few safety regulations. She breathed in sawdust all day long as she sewed upholstery and did finishing work. It didn’t take her long to figure out she could make more money doing what her male coworkers did. At first her boss refused to let her switch, but Mama persisted and soon she was lifting furniture frames off the conveyer belt, sanding them and hoisting them back up again. For a woman who was 5 foot 1 and weighed about 125 pounds, it was quite a feat.

She was still having trouble making ends meet, so Mama got a second job making socks in a hosiery mill. She went to her first job at 7:30 a.m. and worked until 3 p.m., then started her next job at 3:30 p.m. and worked until 11:30 p.m., five days a week. On the weekends she did prep work in a restaurant, so for most of my childhood, my mom was working 96 hours a week. We rarely saw her, but she did the best she could, checking in with each of us every morning and spending her free time with us on the weekends.

In 1969, things improved dramatically for our family. General Electric opened a plant in our town, and my Mom applied for one of the positions. A year or so later, she was hired and became a union member. Her wages for one eight-hour shift were higher than for all three of her other jobs combined. For the first time in our lives, we had medical and dental insurance.

Once again, Mama thought she could do better. She became one of the first female welders in the plant so she would be paid like a man. I remember bringing her lunch and noticing how the welding outfit swallowed her tiny frame, even with the heavy sleeves rolled up to her biceps.