Uncertain Lives

Irene looked up from her packing and was startled by her own reflection in the full-length mirror on the other side of the bed. Hesitantly, Irene ran her hands down her figure, trying to reassure herself that after four children she was still attractive. From time to time she saw evidence that she was when she would catch a man looking at her the way men look at women. It pleased her, such evidence, even though nothing ever came of it, because it suggested that something could still happen if the circumstances were right.

In the kitchen, the only heated room in the Alert Street tenement, she could hear the sounds of the children at play. Her first child, a girl named Doris who was born in her parent's house on Hood Street, now lay at rest in St. Michael's cemetery. She was grateful for the four children she had and loved them dearly, but they were also a barrier to what she had always wanted and once thought she would have.

Her thoughts wandered back to how she had first met her husband in early 1924 at the Butterfly Ballroom on Dwight Street in downtown Springfield on an evening when the Edwin J.McEnelly Orchestra was playing. She had initially refused her future husband's invitaion to dance, in fact she did so twice. Irene thought her suitor was charming but too bold, and she was  uncertain about the fact that she smelled liquor on his breath. Irene recalled how her mother had warned her to never marry a drunkard. But he was persistent, and she could see he was a very good dancer, so finally, she accepted. They danced all the rest of the evening together, but he said very little.

Eventually, the band took a break, and they had a chance to sit and talk a little. She learned that he was a young Irishman called Jimmy from a large family named Flagg, but he was vague when she asked him about his employment. Yet he was funny and smart, and like her he definitely liked to have fun. "You know," Jimmy told her, "I really believe that life is one big party! And you know what else, it's MY party and I'm going to live it to the fullest!" She smiled at his confidence and enthusiasm, then blushed with delight when he told her, "You know Irene, it could be OUR party!" He asked her if she was coming to Lorraine Hall to dance by the lake the following weekend. She heard herself saying yes.

As the weeks passed, Irene found herself dancing with the fun-loving, if somewhat boozy Flagg boy, until the crowd at the ballroom began to think of them as a couple. Despite their growing closeness, she was surprised when he asked her to marry him. This happened in March, and with little preparation, they married in April. Irene didn't even have a wedding gown until one of her future sisters-in-law offered the one she had worn just a few months before.

At their wedding in St. Michael's Cathedral, Irene was struck with a flash of panic as she stood at the altar and faced the man she was about to marry. A sudden, powerful urge struck her to turn around and just walk out of the church. However, she told herself that she was just being silly, regained her composure, and went through with the ceremony. Later, at the reception at her parent's house on Hood Street, her new husband got embarrassingly drunk and argued with her sister and upset her parents over something stupid. However, she reassured herself by recalling that people often drink heavily at weddings and she felt confident that the drinking would moderate once her husband began to accept the responsibilities of married life.

Now, as she continued to pack, the Roaring 20's seemed to be in the long ago past, swept away by the current hardships of the Depression. The aftermath of The Crash was not much of a time for ballroom dancing. Yet, there were nights when they had been drinking, and they would try to recapture the light frivolity of those days. They took out the Victrola, pulled to one side the kitchen table and chairs, and as the children looked on, both delighted and bewildered, they would dance around the kitchen, Irene with her eyes often closed, trying to feel again the magic of that vanished era.

But now the party was definitely over. It had been weeks since Irene had heard from her husband. Maybe he was still in Springfield, or he might be in Hartford. For all practical purposes, their marriage was over, and she knew that her dreams were forever dashed as long as she remained in it. That is why she was packing. Her sister had come over as she had asked, and knew her intentions, and would watch the kids until arrangements could be made. Maybe the kids would go to live with their grandparents in Pine Point. Whatever, Irene was determined to embark on a whole new life.

Her few possessions packed, Irene snapped shut the suitcase with a sense of finality. She pulled on her heavy winter coat, picked up the suitcase with all her worldly belongings, and walked through the door leading to the kitchen. The children, Haskin, Walter, Robert and little Sally, were startled into silence by the sight of their mother carrying a suitcase and made the connection. They stood there silently  watching for a long moment, and then burst into a chorus of tears. Irene looked at her sister, closed her eyes as she fought back a tear, and then took off her hat. Something had changed. She sadly accepted that the parties of her youth were forever over and could never be recaptured. It was time to grow up and face the responsibilities of the children who depended upon her and the life she had chosen, be it for better or worse.

From his base at the Butterfly Ballroom in Springfield, Massachusetts, McEnelly and his band toured the Eastern Seaboard in the 1920s playing dances and competing in "battles of the bands" (famously “beating” the Jean Goldkette band on one occasion).