Pottery Barn has a new bedding collection called Magnolia. Amazing how one word can flash your memory back to another time and place, such as the word “magnolia” does for my memory. My freshman college roommate and I both ended up, unbeknownst to one another, applying to other school programs after our second year and she ended up at the University of Texas in Austin and I ended up at University Alabama at Tuscaloosa.
Now she had a slight advantage in terms of life in the south, as she spent many a summer of her youth with her maternal side of the family in North Carolina.
Me, I had spent the summer after my freshman year of college in the suburbs of Houston, TX living with my paternal uncle and his family and had held two summer jobs. One job was at the Holiday Inn NASA, across from Johnson Space Center as a waitress and the other at a privately owned BBQ restaurant.
Having a pool in the backyard was a daily refresher and source of enjoyment, as was the local young social aspect of “pool parties”. But, other than developing a bit of a southern accent over the summer, I was not afforded much of an opportunity to the other aspects of southern or southwestern life at that time.
I tell you, nothing compares to the actual experience of landing in Tuscaloosa in the midst of a steamy August day.
The campus, French House where I was to live was locked and unoccupied when I arrived after my long trip from New England to Alabama. What to do?
Now, we are talking about a time and place before cell phones, global positioning systems (GPS) and even bank automatic teller machines (ATM) kiosk were just coming into existence. So, I had to look up the address of my program counselor and locate her building in hopes that she would be in the office to assist me with my housing situation.
The French House was a dead end, as the person with the key was the resident French professor that still had not made it into town and wouldn’t arrive for another couple of days.
Now what?
My counselor noticed that I was a member of Delta Zeta Sorority and her next call was to the Delta Zeta Sorority House Mother on Magnolia Drive. Who as polite as could be told my counselor to please send me on over to the house, as they would be glad to accommodate me for a few days in the house guest bedroom. I got my bearings via a map of the area and some assistance from my counselor and off I drove to Magnolia Drive.
What a different place for a northern Yankee, as I approached Magnolia Drive I was rather caught off guard by the houses on sorority row. Tri Delta, former home of actress and model Selma Ward loomed on the corner and down about half way was the Delta Zeta house complete with long white pillars and charming white porch rockers under the cover of the piazza.
Wasting no time in being gracious, I was greeted by one of my Delta Zeta sisters as I drove up into the driveway.
She was as friendly as could be and quickly made me forget how messed up the permanent housing arraignments were.
I opened the door to the back seat of the car and reached for my suit case and was quickly told “Oh, don’t you worry about that. Willy will get your bags for you.”
Willy?
Why “yes”, Willy had appeared and to my shock took my bags and whisked them into the lower floor guest bedroom.
Once shown around the house, I learned that sisters were partnered with others for a private “day room” that usually housed a day bed, desk and personal items. But, at night, they all slept together in bunk rooms.
The dining room was pristine and the ladies that ran it had service down pat. There is where, I have memories of my first servings of grits and recall the condensation on ice water and iced tea pitchers that were generously dotting the tables.
What a little bee hive of activity and sub-culture of southern lifestyle that house was. I would literally see my fellow sisters transform over their hour of morning rituals from the girl next-door to picture perfect cover girls in colorful sun dresses.
I was invited to join them as they entertained prospective candidates through rush. On sorority row, this ritual is called “ice water teas” and consisted of sisters dolled up in their finest sun dresses and as polished if they were going off to the garden party of the season.
Girls rushing the sororities would move from house-to-house on a timed basis and the term “ice water teas” refers to the only refreshment that they were legally allowed to serve for the event.
Those rushing would be greeted by a whole household of Delta Zeta sisters singing “…Daddy thinks it is funny. How we spend his money. We are the Delta Z’s. Talk about the Delta Z’s. We are the Delta Z girls!”
Then the rushes would stream in and you would attach yourself to a prospective pledge and chat with them up for the allotted time.
It was a period of time, a snapshot of the 1980’s where my memories are a collection of Lanz of Salzburg sun dresses, gold add-a-bead necklaces, colorful and preppy wrap belts and bright embroidered muumuu dresses.
It is also a snapshot of young ladies that know who they are and have the ability to transform themselves into current day gentile southern ladies.
In retrospect, I wish that I had not been so much of a darn Yankee, independent and had stayed in the fold of the comforts of my Delta Zeta sisters and the house. I can only imagine the memories that I might have gathered up and held in a memory of glossy magnolia leaves and huge beautiful lemony scented flowers.
What a beautiful evergreen tree that has a regal presence when skirted with snow and yet does not fade or droop with the heat of the hot southern, summer sun.
My friend that headed off to UT and I have our own little phrase for that time in our lives, “Say it buddy. Say “MAG-NOL-IA”. MAGNOLIA!”
