Other than my father, B. (my step-father), and H., a Harvard professor and family friend with whom she had a long-standing on-and-off affair beginning around 1968, while still nominally happily married to my dad, my mother seems to have had problems forming and/or maintaining relationships with men who were in the ballpark in terms of being her equal intellectually, socially, or professionally.
In the late 70s, she dated a couple of really nice guys in New England. One, G., was a very sweet, smart, earnest, tall father of two pre-teens whom she'd met in a local Divorce Support Group. He was approximately her age. He was really interested in her, but apparently not good-looking enough, or maybe not "dangerous" enough for her (he was a member of a local yacht club, and man, did that *bother* her...it was important to be refined, as she often reminded me, but apparently only in ways that she specifically approved in advance!). Verdict: canned after a few months, although because of the fact that I was involved with his kids through a youth theatre group, he continued to be very supportive of me. I am grateful to "Uncle G.", as I ended up calling him after their breakup; he was one of the wonderful stand-up guys who kept me from completely losing faith in men during my teens, during which time my father distanced himself from me and made it painfully clear that I was not high on his list of priorities.
Another, L., was a public school English teacher. Also a recently divorced guy with one child, L. lived on the South Shore of Massachusetts, drove a Datsun Z (and was on the board of the Z Owners' Club of New England), and had blue collar roots. Intelligent, thoughtful, and a little sarcastic, L. and my mom got along very well. He did work on our roof, helped paint the kitchen, and was just fun to have around. L. had a wicked Massachusetts accent, which seemed to bother her on some knee-jerk level. Maybe he was just too dependable for her, in the end, but later on, she said she regretted dumping him. I regretted it, too. Verdict: canned after about two years, during which time she also was involved (without his knowledge) with much flashier men in the Bahamas. I think he knew that her snobbery was a big factor in their breakup, because I seem to recall that this one did not end smoothly whatsoever.
In the 70s, 80s, and 90s, her involvement with several black Bahamian men was a big trend. From her once- or twice-yearly visits to the Bahamas in the 70s to buying a house there in the early 90s, the trend escalated in complexity. The first and probably most important was S., a brilliant, intense, rather mercurial guy who held all kinds of jobs, from laying tile to policeman. He was within 15 years of her own age (he was younger). He was a serious alcoholic, however. He was a recurring theme from the 70s to the 90s, on and off. I spoke with him a few times on the phone, and was always pleased that he worked hard to keep her in line. He actually held her to some kind of standard in terms of how she treated him, how often she contacted him, etc., unlike the other Bahamians she saw, who seemed contect with whatever crumbs from her table might be available.
E. was a poetic, spiritual soul, she tells me. I never met him or spoke with him. He was also far younger than she. He was also a cocaine fiend who died in the street, after living in the street, only a short time after she discontinued her on-and-off (mostly off) relationship with him.
R. was a street performer and acrobat, know locally as "crab man" because of his trademark pretzel-like contortions while walking on his hands. He was a fire-breather. He was in his late 30s at the time; she was in her late 60s. I did get a chance to meet him on a visit to the Bahamas with her; fairly rapidly, I realized his edginess was really more of a mania. He talked about becoming a minister and had a real knack for sermonizing. After she had broken off her relationship with him (but not before giving him her credit card information and then being shocked, SHOCKED, that he took advantage of that largesse by running up huge bills), he broke into her house. After breaking and entering, he stole her journals (which he later returned, after marking them up with red pen corrections --- emotional "correctness", not grammatical, was his aim --- in the margins like a psycho proofreader), beat up a friend who was visiting her, and then knifed and poured motor oil on many of the artworks in the house, causing (what she reported to be) $17,000.00 worth of damage. The local police got involved, then did nothing (corruption and sexism are both rife in the Bahamas, from everything I've been able to observe).
Interestingly, although she seems to have looked upon Bahamian black men very favorably, she rarely if ever gave American blacks a second look. Perhaps they weren't exotic enough, but part of it, I've suspected, is that she enjoyed the power differential inherent in being involved with men from a developing country. Her education, sophistication, and wealth (even before she met my step-father and inherited serious money from him) far outmatched theirs; none of it would have flown for a second with an American black. Back in the States, she frequently spoke of her "connection with the Black community" rather than saying "hey, you know, my friend ______ from Eleuthera said..." or "you know, that reminds me of a story my boyfriend _______ told me". It was like she was going on anthropological research trips, except that there was more than a small amount of sex tourism mixed in.
Then, breaking the pattern, was A.. He was a Latino guy employed by the Monastery she visited on the west coast; he'd been taken in as a way to get him out of the gang life and give him another chance. When she got involved with him, he was in his early 30s and she in her late 60s, although I don't think she even levelled with him about even her approximate age. He'd done jail time, had endured heavy gang involvement, and essentially my mom endangered herself every minute that she spent with him. She left the Monastery with him and went to San Francisco, despite the fact that there had been evidence that his old gang connections (friend and foe) were looking for him. He had guns hidden with friends in various towns. After the Monastery found out that he hadn't renounced thug life quite as completely as he'd led them to believe, they fired him. She's lucky that she even survived that one; with her money and her lack of street smarts, she could have been swimming with the fishes, as they say in the biz...
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