By Becky Parker
In 1965, my husband Sam completed his MFA degree in art from the University of Wisconsin, and we were looking forward to starting the next phase of our lives. We had been married for just two years and had no children. I worked as a librarian at Madison East High School, but the time had come for him to pursue his career as a college art teacher. There was a lot of competition for such a position, so we were very excited when he got an invitation to interview for a position at Western Illinois University in Macomb.
We arrived in Macomb from Madison, Wisconsin, during a period of dramatic change. Nationally, the passing of the military draft into law in 1964 increased political polarization and anti-Vietnam War sentiment. And locally during this period, Macomb’s population increased tremendously as Western Illinois University more than doubled in size. Both developments fostered an inevitable polarization, but oddly enough, that situation also evolved into a positive experience for many of us.
Anticipating a smaller, conservative community, Sam shaved his beard, trimmed his hair, and found a respectable suit jacket to wear for the interview. I wore a conservative Bobby Brooks matching outfit and fixed my long blonde hair into a French twist for the occasion. Our concerns about Sam being viewed as one of the anti-war activists were assuaged when, early in the interview, his four years as a meteorologist in the Air Force came up, and the department chairman approved of his military experiences. My recollection is that there was as much talk about the military as there was about art. Sam was offered the job and he eagerly accepted it.
Our suspicions about moving to a small conservative community were confirmed in a rather amusing way. Since we arrived just a month before school started, we often went to the nearby public library. One day Sam checked out a photography book and found a couple of pages glued together. He steamed the pages open and found a photograph of a naked woman! So, that was kind of a suggestion that such smaller towns often had more things concealed than many people realized.
But Macomb was surely typical of many towns at the time, too. For example, women couldn’t get credit cards without their husband’s signature, and if single, they also couldn’t buy a house without a co-signer. However, we soon learned that it was better for me to try to cash a check than him, probably because his beard and long hair made him seem like he was not local. Also, as the art faculty population doubled and tripled, getting a coveted summer school appointment was impossible because it was given to the same “family man” several years in a row—simply because he had four children and “needed the extra money.” However, I found part time work teaching GED (Graduate Equivalency Degree) classes as well as teaching an introduction to research in the Library Science Department at Western.
While the anti-war sentiment increased primarily in the university community, it was relatively mild compared to larger universities. I do have a personal recollection of something that occurred the day after our first child was born, when I was still in the hospital. On May 26, 1967, the Macomb Journal had a front-page picture showing Sam participating in an anti-war demonstration along with the Catholic Priest, Father Kelly, and the university ombudsman, Don Daudelin. They were harassed and jeered. Beer was thrown at them by some students as they passed the Pace Hotel. Later, a group of protesting students did take over Simpkins Hall, too, but that was settled peacefully thanks by to the ombudsman. These activities made the local community very nervous and increased resentment of the intrusion by “outsiders” who came to the university.
As the number of African American students increased, housing restriction became an issue, and Sam helped the ombudsman investigate places that advertised apartments for rent but, when Blacks came to inquire, those apartments were suddenly“full.” Related to that was our experience with Preston Jackson, an African American, who was hired in 1972 by the Art Department as a sculptor. His wife had a good job in Peoria and they had two children, so when he could not find a small place to rent, we offered him temporary shelter in our basement, which had been set up as a rental with a small kitchen, living room, and bedroom by the previous owner. He stayed with us for seventeen years (paying $50 a month), commuting on weekends to see his family. Then, he was hired by the famous Art Institute of Chicago. And in 1998 he was named Laureate, receiving the Order of the Lincoln Medallion, which was the highest state award in the arts.
At this time, there was an understandable gap between “town” and “gown,” since there was just minimal social integration between the two components of the population, even though there was a financial benefit to Macomb as businesses and real estate grew. One example of a failed effort to integrate into the conservative local community occurred in 1970 or 1971 when I was a teaching assistant in the Communication Department. My colleague, who was also a debate coach, Clyde Faries, decided to run for the school board, both to explore broad issues and to become engaged with his young children’s education. During a panel presentation that introduced the candidates for the position, he was received with suspicion and hostility, because some people questioned his motives and values. At one point, for example, someone made a comment stating that he was friends with an atheist. The only possible understanding that Clyde could make from that related to his friend, Bill Chisolm, a well-respected professor in the English Department who was not a local church member and whose daughter didn’t take home the Gideon bible that was given to her at school. Then Clyde’s yard signs at various locations were mysteriously removed by someone. And he was defeated at the polls.
While various culture clashes were evident at the time, our lives in Macomb grew into a very positive experience. We were surrounded by a huge number of new, young, vibrant faculty members from all over the United States. They were all were eager to secure professional and financial stability, and many started families. We pooled our resources with potluck suppers, spontaneous parties, and later with shared parenting tips and babysitting. It was very common to buy our children’s clothes and household items at backyard sales. Sam and I considered auctions a form of entertainment, and we went to them nearly every weekend, finding some amazing bargains. We had arrived in Macomb with very few possessions, not even a bed, dresser, or dining room table. In 1969 we purchased our three-story house built in 1897 for $20,000, and we have filled it with treasures from the early days of auctions and backyard sales.
This was also a time when all my friends and I embraced the women’s liberation movement. We juggled home life with work outside the home, trying to build a career of our own. However, there was also a “mother earth” trend, and we embraced many of the domestic arts. We made homemade yogurt, used sour dough starters for bread and pancakes, and prepared the vast majority of three meals a day for the family. At the same time, we were intrigued with new products, such as Spaghetti- Os’s, Kraft’s macaroni and cheese, and “beanie weinees.” For years, our only eating out was once a month when we had a pizza on pay-day.
All of us young couples owned sewing machines and loved Newberries on the square, where they sold great fabrics. I even made a suit jacket for Sam, bell bottom pants for myself, and stuffed toys for our children born in 1967 and 1969. When Sam and two of his colleagues had a popular art exhibit, which traveled to Chicago and was called “Made in Macomb,” we three wives sewed wild, wide ties to sell at the show.
During the period of 1965 -1975, we settled into a good life in Macomb, thanks to a wide array of university friends sharing similar circumstances. Most were like us and came with the attitude that “We will stay three years, and then we are out of here!” Our closest friends today, fifty years later, share this history and look back at that period with fond memories. I consider this period our shared, second “growing up” experience. While we are still not considered “local’’— in the sense of being raised in Macomb—we all are well integrated into the community. We count our blessings and consider this our home.
