Every week we appoint a Dead Rebel from days gone by. Sometimes our readers submit one, or two, of their own. This is Slippingirl's take on the concept of "Dead Rebels":
A Tale Of Two Rebels
What qualifies one as a dead rebel? Can you die peacefully at an old age surrounded by family, or do you have to die by your own hand? Can you be a rebel as a former member of the Junior League, or do you have to ride with the Hell's Angels for a few years first?
Mariah and Charlene couldn't have lived more different lives. They never met, but I think they would have liked each other very much. They were both rebels.
I met Mariah ten years ago when she demanded my presence. I was instructed by a very authoritative voice on the phone to visit her home immediately, with no further explanation. I went, and was greeted by a small woman in her seventies who immediately began apologizing for not explaining herself on the phone. She was the mother of a friend of mine, had just moved back to the US, and was sure that we shared some interests.
That is the way it was with Mariah, little explanation, a lot of action. Over the next few months, as we collaborated on projects and founded a guild, I was to learn about a life well lived. She was born the daughter of a U.S. senator, spent her first years as a privileged child - seen but not heard, educated in music, Latin, and needlework. When at fourteen, the depression hit her family, she was sent to a relative in Hong Kong to learn dressmaking. It seems that is was the only way her family knew to give her a trade. She survived the passage, and the great-aunt's sweatshop, to return to the U.S. and attend teacher's college, obtaining an education and a husband.
She raised four children, joined the Junior League, entertained, and wore Chanel. At some point, and I was never able to get this quite straight, she decided her husband was a stuffed shirt, joined a commune in Mexico, and changed her name from Maryann to Mariah. It seems that rebellion comes late to some. She began to divide her time between the U.S. and Mexico, working as an artist and activist. She was friendly with both Bob Dole and Gloria Steinem. She showed her works of art at county fairs, and even had pieces in the permanent collection of the Smithsonian.
She possessed a very quick wit, a raging temper and a presence that a queen would envy. She was intolerant of intolerance and expressive to a fault. She would say whatever was on her mind, and she destroyed as many people as she inspired. She referred to herself as my "other mother."
I cannot express how much Mariah influenced my life and work. Until I met her I had not seen the pure bravery and bullshit required to work as an artist and live well. She gave me a vision into a world I did not know existed and the kick in the ass it took to get me there.
I am because she was.
After her time in my town, Mariah returned to Mexico and then to the home of her daughter. She became ill and died very quickly. I got word of her memorial service on the coldest day of the year.
I met Charlie on the following Independence Day. The local motorcycle club was riding in the parade, and we would leave from my husband's shop. I was taking pictures. I had turned my camera toward a couple that I didn't know, he looked like Captain America - if he had made it to fifty, and a woman that looked perfect with him. I snapped the picture.
Later as I was shooting the group together, the woman I had taken the picture of was standing beside me with her camera. We were both having trouble with our cameras; hers a newer Cannon, and mine an old Vietnam Ricoh. We joked that neither of our pictures would come out. A few days later, I received a copy of the pictures she took that day.
I met Charlie again at different bike events. I learned that she had been raised in northern California by Mormons, ran away at sixteen and rode with the Hell's Angels through the late sixties and early seventies. She married, divorced, had children and lived hard. She had married her current husband after making some peace with her family, and they had settled here.
Charlie was beautiful, fun, and very troubled. Sometimes it seemed that her past had not effected her at all, yet sometimes she was very withdrawn. She was one of those people that you just couldn't resist. I didn't get to know her well. I'm not sure anybody did.
I just heard of her suicide, it was, again, the coldest day of the year. Her memorial service is the day after tomorrow.
I wish the pictures I took on the 4th of July had come out.
by
Slippingirl
