There are teachers and there are Teachers - by Nan Brooks

Blanche hated change, especially those new computers.

Prompted by National Teachers’ Week, I’ve spent a couple of weeks thinking and writing about teachers in my life. I keep hearing in my head Eleanor Roosevelt’s statement, “Everyone I ever met was my teacher.” I think of the wise women I’ve been honored to know and learn from. For instance my eighth grade grammar teacher/enforcer: “Never end a sentence with a preposition.” Memory is interesting, eh?

Mary Blanche Martin was an unassuming and too often unsung member of the staff at a law firm where I worked for about ten years in the late 80s and early 90s. Could that have been thirty years ago? It could. We knew her as Blanche, who handled the paperwork for real estate matters.

The name of the law firm had changed several times, which was common in that city. I called it the “apple cart upset” when one attorney would move to a different firm, setting off a domino effect and hence the name changes in a few firms in turn. But Blanche was a constant in this particular office. She had taken a clerical job there at age 17 and never left, working well into her seventies. In those years she had married, had children, become a widow and a grandmother, faced medical problems and surgeries, and worked steadily day in and day out. Blanche had seen a lot.

She worked quietly in her corner of the office. I don’t remember her participating in the usual office gossip or sometimes petty conversations. Which is not to say that she wasn’t listening. Now and then she would offer a comment that made us all burst into laughter. And often her comments were wise.

Blanche was an expert at change, though she insisted she hated it. Especially computers. The first system the firm had installed beyond typewriters involved word processors. They were noisy, clumsy to use, and supremely annoying, even to those of us who were comfortable with something beyond an IBM Selectric typewriter. Blanche hadn’t liked those either when they were introduced. When the new centralized computer system was on its way in 1990, she offered to quit. This would have been an earthshaking change to the firm; Blanche was the only one who could do her particular job and it involved a lot of detail and expertise. The managing partner jollied her along and encouraged her to hang on. It wasn’t easy for her, but Blanche learned the new system and stayed another 20 years. When I am faced with a change that I know I will hate, loathe, and detest, I think of Blanche and her ability to adjust. She may have complained, but she did it anyway.

There were often changes in the office systems, who was assigned what tasks, new attorneys, new law clerks, and all kinds of upsets. Other clerical staff would fuss and fume, usually because we were afraid of the new situation. Blanche would say, “Well, they will try this new way and then it will go back to the old way or change again. Just wait, you’ll see.” She was always right.

She had other, more personal wisdom to share, too. One day I stood up at my desk and discovered that my new white pants were soaked with blood.  No cramping, no bloating, no chocolate cravings –my period was upon me without warning and with embarrassing sudden evidence. Not only was I surprised, I was frightened; I knew the cancer symptoms. Blanche looked up when I said, “What the hell?”  (Profanity was the province of the attorneys in that office, men and women; we clerical staff were expected to me more quiet, even ladylike. She knew this was serious.) “Oh honey,” she said, “you’re going through the change. It happened to me like that,” and went back to her work.

Blanche was steady in ways I didn’t understand. Slowly I began to see that her job was not her life. Her children and grandchildren were what mattered to her. For me, whose motherhood and career were a big parts of my identity, this was new territory, simply because my life had been different from hers. She showed me a new set of priorities that have seen me through the years since I knew her.

When illness struck and I no longer had a performing career and could no longer even hold a job, I remembered Blanche. When she turned 65 and social security kicked in, she could work a limited number of hours per week, so that is what she did. She adapted without complaining. She just did what she had to do, simple and complicated as that. I could do that too, I figured. I could adapt, though I did my share of grieving about it.

When I moved to a new city and a new culture in my seventies, I remembered one of Blanche’s favorite words. She would say of a friend, “We neighbored for years when our kids were little and we’re still friends.” I loved that verb: to neighbor. It holds in its meaning the active practice of caring, of compassion, of sharing, of constancy. In my new city, I hope I’ve learned more about how to neighbor.

Blanche knew and taught me that all change means loss. That is why she hated the new computers, but that is also why she knew that things would all change again. She had seen so much change and experienced too much loss, but she knew how to survive and be content. Blanche knew about grief and quietly showed us all how to just keep moving forward, to focus on family and faith.

In this time of pandemic and too much loss, I remember Blanche with gratitude. And I can hear her laugh, even now.  

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