I think the house that I’m most interested in talking about is my aunt and uncle’s house. My mother died, and I got moved over to an aunt and uncle’s house -- I guess I was about five or six and lived in that house until the fourth grade. But before that, I went away for a year and I was rotated through houses when I lived in Africa, which was kind of interesting. I was in Libya. In Libya, I felt abandoned, definitely, because it happened so quickly, right after my mother died, I don’t know how much time passed, not a whole lot, but some, and I remember getting on the plane and we went. We went immediately. I had another aunt and uncle who lived in Libya, so it wasn’t like I had no relatives, but they had four children and there was no way I could stay with them… and we lived in a compound there… and there were no children in the compound, except for me and my brother. And there’s ten years’ age difference between me and my brother, so my brother had no interest in being with me or playing with me. There was a house boy who lived at the house too; when I say “house boy” I mean he was a man, that’s just what they called them. And he would cook and care for us, and make sure our basic needs were met, and clean the house, and take care of our clothes and that kind of stuff, take us if we needed to go somewhere, go to the market for us. One time he took me on a bicycle, pumped me on the back seat of the bicycle to his house, or to some country place, some little shack where we got fresh eggs… and that was fascinating because we lived in a cement house, they weren’t fancy houses because they were like military houses, but he lived in a hut. A couple of young guys lived in the compound; one guy had a red sports car, where the hell did he buy a sports car in Libya? I’d go and watch him clean up his car. I made a lot of sand and mud pies there. There was also a woman who was with me, kind of a mothering person; a cook, we’d sew, she made us matching robes, we had these really beautiful nightgowns, but it was just she and I, she might have been the only woman in the compound. That’s where I felt more lonely, I think. My dad finally realized that, and said, okay, go to The House of Stewart.
My brother and I flew back to Texas, and my brother went to live with my grandmother, and I went to live with my aunt and uncle. Their last name was Stewart, and they had a big sign in front of their house that said “The House of Stewart.” Huge, a big sign. It was up really high; it went way above our house. It was on big metal poles, it was like a motel sign or something. A black and white sign written in a kind of script, white lettering on a black background. They lived on Texas Avenue in Baytown, and on Texas Avenue and Tri-City Beach Road, it was a very busy corner. It was a brick house, a red, kind of rough brick. It was a huge, long house, 1,500 square feet, and it had a full-size beauty salon in it, all along one big, long hallway. The house was rectangular. From the highway, you saw our front door.
A third of the house was the beauty salon, and then another portion of the house was a reducing salon, it was called “Slender-bolic,” it was an adventure, like living in a department store or something. Then they had at least three, maybe four bedrooms, and a big den and a built-in bar that was made out of brick, which was strange. So there was a sliding door that went from the house to the reducing salon, and then my bedroom’s bathroom I shared with the customers at the reducing salon. I had a king-sized bed when I was a little girl. The bed was enormous. I had this big bathroom too… and I could sneak through the bathroom and be in the reducing salon. A lot of times I was in the reducing salon by myself fooling around with all the equipment and doing whatever I wanted, hiding under it and crawling all around and making tents, it was like a Jungle Jim. My aunt and uncle didn’t have any kids, so it was just me and all this stuff. Plus, I knew how to operate all the machines, and I’d hear how they’d instruct everybody, and I’d make believe that I was doing all of it. The two most interesting things were a steam box like the “I Love Lucy” steam boxes where you zip yourself in it; that was a coin-operated machine and we had plug nickels, and so you put those in and sit in there like a steam box, your head sticks out and the whole thing. Then we had this thing that looked like a shower stall, and it was a sun tanning booth. You’d stand in it, like a single person shower, you’d put your money in, and all one side were these tubes from head to toe that looked like florescent tubes and rotate around like a rotisserie. It cooked you; it was like a cooking device. The bottom piece would rotate just like your microwave. You’d just stand there. So they also had these machines that would rotate your hips, and you sit on these metal bumps and they rotate around and hit your flab to reduce it down; they called them “ponies”; it was like a saddle. You were supposed to straddle it and let it hit the inside of your thighs. Or you could but your butt on it and it would rotate around, trying to break up your fat deposits. Then there was a machine that you’d lie down on and it would do all these exercises on you, like rotate your hips; they almost looked like chiropractor’s machines. In the corner of the room, they had this whole line of make-up, Deluxe make-up line, maybe? They had five or six shelves, full of all this make-up. Clear loose powder boxes; creams, tons of it, all lined up. The labels were all black and white, kind of like Mac make-up now, if you went there, you got this special make-up. And two big mirrors. And on top of one of the counters was a box record player that played 45s and 33s. There were always young girls who worked there, teenagers or young twenties, so they’d play all the popular records. I remember sitting on that counter and putting on the records, Wolfman Jack, and Lesley Gore songs, the Beatles. We’d always play contemporary music while the women were reducing, but that was also kind of a play area for me because that was the record player in the house. So I’d sit in there and that was one of my jobs. The only thing that I thought was really strange was that built-in bar that was made out of brick. There was this rough brick that was on the outside of the house, was at the bottom of the bar. So your knees would scrape up against it. I guess it was considered very modern, but it was so strange. The whole house was my playhouse. That’s also what was fun. There were no off limits areas for me, and nobody to say, “no, you can’t do that.” As long as I was breathing. One time I hid under the bed all day because I had to go to the dentist, and I didn’t want to go. And I played Barbies under the bed, and they got really worried because I was gone for hours, and they realized they couldn’t find me. And finally I got bored and came out. I stayed long enough that I didn’t have to go to the dentist, so that was good. I learned how to occupy myself; I played Barbies ferociously.
We had a housekeeper, a black woman, and she had a son whose name was Chester, and he would come sometimes and he would play with me in the back yard, and I never really thought much about it until many years later, it was probably a little scandalous that I was playing with this black boy. But we’d play Superman and Tarzan and Jane a lot in the Chinaberry tree in the back yard. Chester and I would sometimes do these little spy things and warfare over to the neighbor’s peach trees and fruit trees and try to steal stuff from her. She had a big sliding glass window, and we knew she was just standing there watching us. We were on our bellies, G.I. Joe-ing over there. And I can imagine what she would have thought if we had gotten caught, that black kid probably would have gotten beaten to death.
You couldn’t go in the front yard because of all the traffic from the highway. The front part had a little bit of grass, then there was a culvert, and then the highway. Texas Avenue, when it goes out that far east, is almost to the beach. On the other side of the house was this huge parking lot that they had probably forty cars could park in there. It was really big, and that’s where I learned to ride my bike.
When I’d get bored riding my bike or being in the reducing salon, I’d go to the beauty salon. My aunt and uncle had a really successful beauty salon, and during that time there weren’t that many men hairdressers. And my uncle was kind of a star, kind of theatrical and the women loved him because he would faun all over them. Women would come there just to get their hair done by him -- he was handsome in a very dramatic way. He had silver hair, probably since he was twenty, and it had it swept back; he had a very beautiful angular face with a really prominent nose, and he’d wear a suit or something nice, it was kind of like the movie “Shampoo.” Women really loved the drama of having him cut their hair and fix it. But there were all these other ladies in the back who worked there, a Hispanic lady named Sunday, Dorothy Girard (she committed suicide), this was the time when hairdressers wore charm bracelets and had bouffant hair with lots of teasing; it was the ‘60s, ’63 or ‘64, and they were smoking and talking and lipstick and we had a coke machine and peanuts -- you’d put the peanuts in the coke bottle and sit under the hair dryer, and I’d read the “True Romance” and detective and screen magazines. All the illicit stuff I wasn’t supposed to read. And I’d put my head under one of those bonnet kind of hairdryers and it was fun, kind of like sitting in a space capsule. I had to hang out with my aunt and uncle on the weekends, and I spent a lot of time by myself. Or the housekeeper would be there -- I remember one time the housekeeper let me iron, and I was very excited about getting to iron. But since I was by myself a lot, whenever I’d get bored I’d wander into another part of the house and play with whatever was there. I didn’t want to be a hairdresser ever, because everything always smelled. Everything smells of permanent wave solution and hairspray. I don’t remember my bedroom smelling that way particularly, but the rest of the house did. My bedroom was on the exact opposite side of the house. That smell was everywhere, plus they all smoked like fiends. So the whole house smelled like smoke, too.
The rest of the house was one long hallway with paneling, and we had carpet, which was pretty cool. And to the right was the king sized bed my aunt and uncle had, and the back corner room was another bedroom. My uncle had a son from a previous marriage who would sometimes come and stay. He lived with his mother in another state. In there was another record player; when he came he’d bring another record player and we’d listen to the Beatles in there, too. There was a bathroom at the end of the hallway, and my big bedroom with the king size bed and that bathroom; it was really just a long hallway. There was not really a formal living room, just a terrazzo floor den and kitchen, and we had a built-in low counter that we sat at as our dining table, and that was made out of brick. And we sat in metal wrought iron garden chairs that had leaves on the back of them, so they were very uncomfortable to lean against, of course. And they had cushions on them, and they were placed around the bar. We had a nice refrigerator that had to be defrosted all the time. You know what I forgot -- my great Uncle Al lived with us. Uncle Al was slightly retarded, whatever his problem was as a kid, he was never taught to read and write, and he was a little bit different, but he was really, really nice, and he was my favorite uncle. I’d sit in his lap and read my books to him, but he smoked cigars, pew!! We had a big red vinyl chair, not a Barker lounger, but almost like that. It had the foot stool. Uncle Al would sit in that chair all the time.
We lived through a hurricane there—hurricane Carla—and we lost our entire roof. I was there when the roof came off, but I don’t remember us getting wet. I remember going out the beach roads to see friends’ houses, and all you saw were plumbing fixtures sticking up; entire houses were wiped out. There was a doctor who had decorative bones on his mailbox, and I remember we used to go over there sometimes, and after the hurricane I remember just seeing the mailbox with the bones and pipes sticking up and the foundation of the house. And that was it. Everything wiped away.
I learned interpersonal skills like crazy in that beauty salon. I’d sit behind the desk as a little kid and make appointments and give out change and answer the phone sometimes. I would just mimic what the receptionist would do… and they would let me do it. Of course, I’m the owner’s kid, I can do anything I want. I was adopted by all of them, because I wasn’t really the owner’s kid. I was their niece. They all knew why I was there, because I didn’t have parents essentially. They were all hodge-podge characters themselves; we had gay people, Hispanic people, Puerto Rican people, we had black people, we had white people with all kinds of problems. Plus, all the society women and all the people who would come through there, doctor’s wives and all that kind of stuff, with all their banter. I learned about service also, because my uncle was so good at making a fuss over people and how to serve. I know to this day, I know how to talk on the phone to people, I know how to ask specific questions to get information out of people. I know how to serve people. That’s how my aunt and uncle were, they were always service-oriented people. Get a Coke for Mrs. so-in-so, and I got to get those cokes, whatever the client needed, they were into pampering and doing nice things. And then I had access to all those naughty magazines, so I definitely knew about sex and making yourself appealing and sexy and alluring, and trying to make yourself attractive to men, and wearing make-up, and being around all these young people. My aunt took me to see the Beatles; that was a big deal. I was just a little kid. They were at the Coliseum in Houston, so she drove up to Houston and took me there, it was for the Boys’ Variety Club, and it was $5 a ticket. I remember watching Ed Sullivan on their TV and presenting the Beatles on TV. Listening to those records. I was exposed to rock music really young. Sitting with my great uncle, this elderly person who didn’t read. You know that grandparent connection that kids get with their grandparents, I had with my great uncle. So, I understand the value of having an extended family around, and how that is really great for kids to have. Then my cousin revealed he was gay, there were a lot of things going on in this house that as a young kid I was exposed to, and it definitely shaped a very liberal attitude for me. It was the beginning of a liberal time; I used to joke that they were like circus people; we’d have these people come and stay with us all the time, I didn’t think anything about it. I played with Chester the little black boy, and the housekeeper would drive me all over; I remember having “trash in the dash,” you know, a push-button car, remember, we called it “trash in the dash.” We always had a cool car. Cars with big speedometers. The housekeeper had a baby-blue Ford that had plastic on the seat covers and they were waffled, and I’d have waffle marks all over my legs every time we’d go somewhere. She’d be taking me back and forth to dancing school. I had a really full life there, but I was alone a lot there; I didn’t play with a lot of other children. There were very few times that kids would come over to my house; I’d always go over to their place because there was no one to monitor us at our house. There was no “mom” at home taking care of us, and these were the times when there were moms at home. All these women were working women, and I think that was really influential, but I never really thought much about it, until you start talking to other people and their parents, and all of a sudden you realize, wow, my world is very bizarre.
I loved that house because it was such an adventure. It was a fun, safe place. It was like having lots of adults dote on you and be around you, but not ever tell you “no,” no one every said no to me at all. I did anything at all. The only thing I remember is my uncle giving me jalapeños once and I cried for hours. He was awful. He was a joker. He was in the community theatre; they were both active in the community theatre. They were really strange people. My aunt had this thing about food, she always said, just taste it. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to eat it. Just taste it. So that was the biggest rule in the house, big deal! I’d drink coffee… I’m sure looking back, all this never being denied anything was all because they were so upset about my circumstances. It was more of an adventure to live there, so I was totally distracted from the idea that I didn’t have a mother and that I didn’t have a father. I know that sounds strange, but we would write letters to my dad, but I was very spoiled and given a lot of free reign.
The Baytown house was more like a playhouse than a home. I don’t have any sentimentality about it other than the idea that it was so; the sentimentality wasn’t like home and Thanksgiving dinner. It was a very non-traditional house, that’s why the sentimentality was different from what you would think people would call a home. I do know that that house, and living in a place like that, really did make me the kind of person that I am today… I just absorbed. It definitely makes a difference in my career and my personality and what I do. And that’s the thing I think is most significant about that house. There’s a certain mysterious nature about that house, but the house of Stewart is THE house. It’s the house that gave me a career, that’s the house that most influenced me and how to do things. Being exposed to all that music and young, hip things; I don’t think in a traditional house, a kid my age would be exposed to that much stuff. And I think that’s incredible and provided me with a very liberal attitude; that made me open to other people’s ideas and made me very adventuresome; I was not repressed in any way at all. I grew up in a circus, you know, and I’m grateful for that, even though it was probably scandalous and offensive to so many traditional people who would think, oh this poor girl. It was just not a proper way for a young girl to be raised; what an environment for a kid to grow up in. It sounds appalling, but it was also very good. I saw a lot of people surviving in very creative ways. Nobody went out and sold insurance and came home and dinner was cooked; it was much more chaotic than that; not in an evil way, but in a very crazy, goofy, loser type way.
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