Rush

by Lisa Patton

  “What about the House Director position? Please don’t turn it down because of me.”

  I look at her like she’s crazy. “A Mississippi tornado couldn’t keep me away from the Alpha Delt House. Besides, I know a special young lady from Natchez who might just need my counsel.”

  For the first time since she’s been here, Miss Lilith smiles.

  ON A PERSONAL NOTE

  Some of my best days were spent at my sorority house at the University of Alabama. I formed sincere friendships that will last for the rest of my life. Although I don’t see my sorority sisters as often as I wish, when I do spend time with them it seems only weeks have passed. Not decades. We pick right up where we left off. Well, maybe not with our famed college antics, but certainly with love and camaraderie. Our bonds are special and I treasure the memories and our time together.

  When I attended college back in the late seventies, my sorority sisters and I dearly loved the ladies on our House staff. I well remember mornings before class, poking my head in the kitchen and reeling off a special order to one of the cooks. My requests were always met with a “Coming right up, baby. How you doing this morning?” A weeknight or a Sunday lunch didn’t go by without all 150 of us sitting down together—in our Sunday best, mind you—to enjoy a home-cooked meal made and served by the ladies in our kitchen. Our favorite dinner was fried chicken with mashed potatoes, gravy, and green beans. Zebra pudding was our favorite dessert: thin chocolate wafers stuffed with real, hand-whipped sweet cream. Our rooms and bathrooms were cleaned for us daily. I remember feeling jealous of my friends in another sorority who had a housekeeper they all considered a second mother who gave sage advice about whatever trouble they had gotten themselves into or any other personal crises they were facing.

  As a college student it never once crossed my mind, and I’m betting it never crossed the minds of other sorority girls, to ask if these women had healthcare or retirement benefits. After all, House business was none of our business. We were students. It was only thirty-five years later, while attending the dedication of our brand-new sorority house, that the thought actually occurred to me. (Rush is a phenomenon in the South and pledge classes have grown exponentially. In 2016, each of the eighteen Alabama sororities extended bids to approximately 155 girls. To accommodate the larger memberships, all the old University of Alabama sorority houses have been torn down and forty-thousand square foot, multimillion dollar mansions have taken their places.)

  I met my college roommate in Tuscaloosa for the ribbon-cutting ceremony for our expansive new sorority house, held during the Alabama-UT football game weekend. When we walked inside the House our jaws dropped—the marbled entryway, the grand staircase, the exquisite decor—it was extraordinary.

  Later in the day, a housekeeper pushing her dust mop down the long hallway lined with composites caught my eye. As I continued to watch her I noticed several members and alums stopping to give her heartfelt hugs. I overheard many of the girls telling her they loved her. I became so intrigued that I moseyed over and introduced myself. We spent a great deal of time talking about how much she loved working at the sorority house. One conversation dissolved into another and when she took me by the hand, leading me to the past year’s composite with tears rolling down her face, naturally I became concerned. Her beloved friend, the head cook, had recently passed away from cancer, and the active members had included her picture on the composite to honor her memory and her twenty-seven-year legacy. Wiping the tears away with the back of her hand, the housekeeper went on to explain the cook had not had proper health care. When I pushed her for more details, she reluctantly admitted that the cook had no health insurance. In fact, none of them did.

  After returning home I kept thinking about her story. It grabbed ahold of my heart and wouldn’t let go. After a few phone calls, and quite a bit of research, I learned this was not only true at my sorority house, but at the majority of sorority and fraternity houses on campus. And not just at Alabama, but all over the South and possibly the country. A very few houses in the SEC, I learned, do offer health insurance, but, like many jobs, the staff is required to pay a percentage of the premium, which often precludes them from participating. (In some cases the House Directors are provided health and dental insurance by the sororities or fraternities. The University of Alabama, in particular, has begun hiring House Directors as state employees to extend health and dental insurance benefits.)

  Many of these men and women have worked in these opulent environments for decades for minimal compensation and have to work two jobs to make a living wage. I researched how much it would cost to provide not just health insurance, but a full gamut of benefits for everyone on the staff and was surprised to learn how little it would take. Most SEC sororities have active memberships ranging between 250 and 550 girls, with fees as high as $7,600 per semester for girls living in and eating their meals at the House. If each active member paid an additional small amount, in some cases as low as fifteen dollars per month depending on the number of active members and staff members, the house staff could be given a full benefits package.

  It is my belief that the reason this is done today is due to an unintentional oversight. Often times things continue simply because of the way they have always been done in the past. Perhaps this practice will have changed by the release of this book. I am not familiar with the employment practices of every sorority on every campus, so perhaps there are chapters already on board. I hope so.

  As a lifelong Southerner and a child of the sixties and seventies in Memphis, Tennessee, I grew up in a prejudiced environment. As shameful as it is for me to admit, I spent time in my younger years with the notion that I was somehow better because of my skin color, my religion, and my socioeconomic status. When I look back on my thoughtlessness now, I am filled with sorrow and deep regret. Another hard thing to concede is that my father was a blatant racist. Ironically, like most affluent families in the South, he employed African American women to care for his children. My sisters and I fell in love with these ladies like they were our second mothers. We loved them throughout our lives and grieved deeply when they passed away. Their love and concern for us had left indelible imprints on our hearts. They taught us life skills and life lessons and, most poignantly, we never once heard them complain about their situations.

  Has an African American lady ever been housemother of a white sorority house? I was in the bathtub one morning—my favorite place to ponder—when that thought crossed my mind. I had heard of rare occasions when black housekeepers filled in for vacationing white House Directors but had no idea if a black lady had ever been given the full-time job. To satisfy my curiosity a friend introduced me to a former beloved housekeeper at an SEC sorority house who had substituted for her boss on several occasions. This lady gave me countless hours of her time to answer this question and many others. Although she was working on her bachelor’s degree at the time, she never considered applying for a full-time House Director position at any sorority house on campus. On the days she filled in, rumblings from parents let her know she’d never get the job. Even today, to my knowledge, there are no African American House Directors of National Panhellenic Sororities anywhere in the SEC. Perhaps this, too, will change in the near future.

  Why Ole Miss? Why not set my book at Alabama? The simple answer is that everyone loves Ole Miss and Oxford, Mississippi, provided a more charming and colorful backdrop for the story. But, no matter the location, it is the same story most everywhere. I spoke with housemothers at several SEC sororities and fraternities, alumnae board members, active sorority sisters, and alumnae sorority sisters. I interviewed both past and present staff members. Some people I interviewed asked to remain anonymous. Many were eager for change. I interviewed Charlotte Sands-Malus of Greek House Resource, an esteemed organization that matches House Directors with sorority houses all over the country. She remembers only placing two African American House Directors in her nineteen-year career.

  Like most good Southe
rn stories I needed a devil, in this case a she-devil, so I created Lilith. She is not based on anyone I know. She is simply a figment of my imagination. Yet, sadly, I’ve met people like her. It was never my intention to single out House Corporation Presidents, or board members, who give graciously of their time and money to their home sororities, but someone had to be the story’s villain. I’m sure you have guessed by now, but I should probably mention that Alpha Delta Beta is a fictional sorority.

  This book took me much longer than my others. Resistance threw every fiery dart in its arsenal my way, trying its best to thwart my progress. I gained weight, I got sick, I couldn’t sleep. There were family issues and significant, yet beautiful, changes to my author team—then more drastic, but more wonderful changes to my author team. My computer died, twice. I dropped my phone in the toilet, thrice. I even quit several times, threatening to buy back my contract and hang up my career as an author. But all the while I felt God pushing me toward the finish line of what whould be a genuine labor of love.

  Like all novelists, I asked myself the ever-important question: What if? What if the staff’s story had a different ending? What if things really could change? What if a black lady became the House Director of a white sorority house? (The Nashville Junior League just elected its first black president.) What if every sorority girl or fraternity guy pitched in a little more per month so health insurance, life insurance, dental insurance, and retirement benefits could be available for each staff member? Wouldn’t that be the right thing to do? Wouldn’t all of their lives be changed forever? It seemed not only possible, but entirely doable.

  There is an old saying: “The shortest distance between the human heart and truth is a story,” so I closed my eyes and imagined one where racial equality is the norm, not the exception. I dreamed of a story where the men and women who work for sorority and fraternity houses had a better ending. After my eyes were opened I knew I had no other choice.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I’ve been working on this book so long—with the help of so many wonderful people—my biggest fear is that I may leave someone off my thank-you list. If that someone happens to be you, please know it was unintentional. When I do remember, rest assured, I’ll be in a codependent coma, balled into the fetal position.

  There’s no one more deserving of my gratitude than Stuart. For two years he’d often come home to dirty dishes, three-day-old leftovers, an unmade bed, and a wife still in her pajamas. Yet he’d listen to me read passages from the book, endure my talk about the struggles, then deal with my insecurities as a writer, all the while offering encouragement and hope. Bless your big generous heart, sweet husband. I am incredibly blessed it’s mine.

  Next thanks goes to my beautiful boys, Michael and Will, for boundless encouragement. You are the reason I do this. I wanted to show you how to fight for your dreams, show you what hard work can bring, and give you an example of what happens when you never, ever give up. All I ever wanted was for you to be proud of me. More importantly, I’m beside-myself-proud of you.

  I’m fortunate enough to be part of a big family now, with eight lovely bonus children and ten, yes, ten precious grandchildren. Thank you, Shannon, Sara Beth, Sloane, Whitney, Tommy, Andy, Emily, Taylor, Rylan, Levi, Ty, Quinn, Annie, Ella, Judah, Wendy, Arie, and Boone, from the bottom of my heart, for putting up with me while I hid out and obsessed over this book.

  A SHOUT of thanks to my publishing team. Vicki Lame, you are a jewel of an editor. So are you, Laurie Chittenden. How lucky am I to have had you both? Thank you for your expertise, patience, enthusiasm, and especially your kindness. I adore you both. Thank you to the rest of my team at St. Martin’s. Sally Richardson, Jen Enderlin, Katie Bassel, Lesley Worrell, Kathryn Parise, Brant Janeway, Karen Masnica, Angus Johnston, Cathy Turiano, Melanie Sanders, Lisa Davis, and Lisa Bonvisuto. And Jeff Willmann from SMP sales.

  Scott Miller and Sarah Phair at Trident Media Group, I feel like the coolest woman in America to have landed you. Your hard work and enthusiasm has given me a huge boost. Thank you, thank you. Conrad Rippy, you are so kind. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. Susie Stangland, Kathy Bennett, Susan Zurenda, and Meg Walker, thank you for jumping on board and helping me get the word out about Rush. I adore you all.

  Shannon Sheshatt Howell Perry, what can I say? You had no idea what you were getting yourself into when you agreed to meet me for dinner all those years ago in Oxford. Even though I was a stranger, you graciously let me ask you personal questions about what it was like to be a housekeeper at a Southern sorority house. Thank you for the many hours on the phone and the multitude of texts. It was a privilege to be invited to your graduation and watch you receive your Master’s diploma. I am honored to be your friend.

  Three young sorority women helped to reacquaint me with the Rush process, gifting me with hours of their time. From interviews and introductions, to phone calls and endless texts, I couldn’t have written this book without them. Katherine Johnson, Virginia Kay, and Sydney McCarthy, you ladies are my superheroes! My heartfelt thanks to each of you. Other young friends helped me with interviews, too, and I’m equally grateful to them: Grace Bradley, Kate Farley Laws, Natalie Hardy, Hannah Mims, Mary Grace Murphey, Claudia Wilder, Amelia Brown Williamson, and Priestley Worsham.

  Mary Pettey, you helped me much more than you know and I love your kind heart. Thank you for the hours of information you shared. Your keen insight helped me to shape this book. I have three secret friends who don’t want to be acknowledged publicly, so out of respect for that request I’ll keep their names private. They know who they are, but they don’t know the deep well of respect and gratitude I have for them.

  Cindy Acree Marshall, my co-activist and sorority sister at Bama, witnessed my love-fest with the housekeeper who inspired Rush, and grieved with me over the lack of staff benefits. Without your encouragement and reassurance I may not have attempted it. Thank you, sweet sis’tah.

  I’m not sure this book would have come to fruition if not for the help of two close author buddies. Ariel Lawhon, you teach, promote, listen to, and encourage me. I’ll never be able to repay you, but I know you’re not keeping score. You’re Faithful and I adore you. Same goes to you, J.T. Ellison. You’ve stretched out on so many limbs for me, and I’ll never forget your generosity. A bear hug and thank you to you both.

  In addition to the aforementioned, I have more sweet writer friends who happily encourage me and keep me sane! Laura Benedict, Anne Bogel, Jillian Cantor, Paige Crutcher, Fannie Flagg, Susan Greg Gilmore, Patti Callahan Henry, River Jordan, Amy Kerr, Joy Jordan Lake, Kerry Madden, Bren McLean, Laura Lane McNeal, Adriana Trigiani, Marybeth Whalen, and Karen White. Thank you one and all.

  Blake Leyers, a treasured early independent editor, thank you for digging in deep and discovering a better twist to the story. To my dear friend Bill Barkley, a heartfelt thank-you for all your editing help on my author’s note. As busy as you are you still found the time.

  A heaping helping of gratitude to Victoria Pan, my brilliant intern from Belmont University. From editing (speed reading my book in four hours and still retaining it) to marketing, and every other chore in between, you’re a superstar! I’m just glad I’ll be able to say, “I knew you when!” The Chiaravalle family always deserves my thanks. Bernie for your wonderful web design, Gail for your dear friendship and for shouting the news on all my books, and now, Rachel. Only you could shoot a decent author photo of this old girl.

  Others helped me with research, too, and I deeply appreciate their generosity. Steve Berger, Beth Hamil, Vicky Hardy, Sally Legg, Patrice Pipkin Mason, Dawn Thomas of After Five Designs, Charlotte Sands-Malus of Greek House Resource, Wanda Barton Jenkins, Vicki Taylor, Karen Churchill from Hickory Flat, Mississippi, Christy Pipkin from Blue Mountain, Elise Lake, and Ann Christiansen. I’m so grateful.

  There have been a few bookstores that have made a big difference in my career. First, Novel Bookstore in Memphis—Formerly Booksellers at Laurelwood. If not f
or Joann Van Zandt, and the rest of their fantastic team, I would still be in obscurity. Sundog Books in Seaside, FL, put me on the map—Linda, Laney, and Dwan, your hand-selling has made a difference! So has yours, Karen Scwettman and Jackie Tanase at FoxTale Book Shoppe. Landmark Booksellers, Square Books, and Turnrow Books deserve big thanks, as do all my friends at Parnassus Books in Nashville. Niki (one K) Coffman, Karen Hayes, and Grace Wright, thank you for your support. And to the other booksellers, SIBA and beyond, book clubs and librarians who have spoken highly of my books, I hope you can hear me shouting THANK YOU! I simply could not do this without you. Kristy Barrett, creator of “A Novel Bee,” you are so good to us authors. Thank you for your “bee-utiful” support.

  For those who know the real Wilda, the one and only, you know Wilda Woodcock is NOT based on her. Our Wilda is strong, confident, decisive, classically beautiful, and the funniest person who ever lived. She’s eat-your-heart-out-Tiny-Fey funny! I begged her for years to let me use her name in one of my books; thank you, “Lizzard,” for finally letting me. I totally stole “Wildebeest” from her famed vernacular. Wilda Weaver Hudson is not only my lifelong friend since the age of five, but also my college roommate and sorority sister. I’ve laughed harder with her than I’ve ever laughed in my entire life. And I’m grateful to her sweet husband, Tim. He’s convinced her of how beautiful her name is. I hope I have, too.

  My sister, Leslie Patton Davis, and three dear girlfriends, Becky Barkley, Anne Marie Norton, and Kathy Peabody, gave me constant encouragement and wouldn’t let me quit. Be it a phone call, a text, a prayer, or a pearl of wisdom, they always showed up when I needed them most. And I have three other friends who, even though I don’t deserve it, go overboard acting as my PR agents, selflessly megaphoning the news about my books to everyone they know. My oldest and dearest friend, Lisa Blakley, and my sweet friends Cathy Farrell and Vicki Olson—my deepest gratitude to you all.