Tornado Quest - Mildred Richardson

Mildred Marie Rudisell-Richardson

Feb. 3, 1923 - Oct. 27, 2002

Note: This essay is not in it's final stages and it's completion will be an on-going process.

Though I have debated on whether such a page should exist for the whole world with internet access to see, I've come to the conclusion that it should, if for no other reason than I want you to meet a woman like no other...my mother, Mildred Richardson. This entire website and specifically this page is presented in memoriam.

Born in Hominy, Oklahoma, my mother and her siblings were raised in impoverished conditions that most of you reading this can only fathom in your worst nightmares. My grandmother, Mary Elizabeth Goad-Rudisell (1893-1984), was initiated into single motherhood after she and my grandfather divorced at the beginning of the Depression. Unfortunately, he offered no financial child support whatsoever to my grandmother or her three children. A fourth child that I only know as "Uncle Edward", died at the age of two from pneumonia. In rural Oklahoma during the late 19th and early 20th century, it was not unusual for one in four children to die from disease before the age of five. My grandmother had no choice but to divorce (scandalous in a small Bible-Belt community) and find work on her own. The myriad of miserable jobs she performed to support my aunt, uncle, and mother would eventually have a dramatic effect on my mother's insistence that I pursue a career path that fulfills me, and no one else. To her, work shouldn't be just for money or social status, but emotional satisfaction, mental stimulation, and the exercise of critical thinking.

By most modern standards, my mother might have been considered a "tom-boy" considering her penchant for tree climbing, beheading chickens for dinner, and the occasional "damn the torpedoes, full steam ahead" bicycle ride down a forty-five degree incline. Living conditions were gulag at best...scant well-balanced meals, tattered hand-me-downs, an absence of indoor plumbing, freezing cold house in the winter, and sleeping in the yard under trees at night during the summer in a futile attempt to escape the wretched Oklahoma summer heat. One of her most vivid memories is falling asleep at night while listening to the distant rumbling of ceremonial tribal drums played by members of the local Osage Indian tribe. The Native Americans that lived in the area were essential to the survival of my mother's family since they so often hired my grandmother for odd jobs that few others wanted to perform.

By the time my mother had graduated from Hominy High School in the spring of 1941, she had blossomed into a beautiful women full of confidence, vigor, autonomy, and a strong sense of what she needed to do in order to blaze her own path in the world. One does tend to become thick skinned after having survived a broken family and a devastating economic depression. But then, there was a world war to deal with. My mother's younger brother, like all my other uncles, took his place in the armed forces and ,after serving in the Pacific theatre, he returned home safe and sound.

My father and mother married on February 1, 1948 in Okemah, Oklahoma. Sharing living quarters must have been old hat to my mom, but sharing them with a new man must have been high-octane culture shock. I'm sure one of the first things she did was get a hold of his wardrobe which was in dire straits and needed updating. Somewhere along the way, my mom developed a flair for style and her years of working in retail at Brown-Dunkin (now known as Dillard's) helped a great deal. She was a sales associate and had a good rapport with customers. In spite of her attractiveness and the antiquated male/female social roles, she was never a woman to back down and sexual harassment didn't exist in her world. During a lunch break at work, one of the managers walked into the canteen and asked my mother what she would do if he walked over and kissed her. Without missing a beat (or a bite) my mother replied something to the extent about throwing him out the window.

If that wasn't enough, my mother also pointed out to me in a photo of the old Brown-Dunkin (Hunt) building the location of a specific window where she managed to put her extraordinary people skills to good use and prevented a female co-worker from flinging herself some ten stories to her death. I don't know the specifics on that incident, but perhaps it was an unusually bad sales day for the poor suicidal girl. There are plenty of other gems she recollected with laughter from those years, including devising her own way of taking a man's inside leg measurement, but that another story. She enjoyed her employment there and had a very keen eye for shoplifters.

With scant information on child-rearing to go by, I'd have to say she did an excellent job of raising me, even if she was a bit over protective. She learned from her experiences and never forgot anything she gained from making a mistake or a wrong turn. There was nothing she wouldn't do for my sister and me and the sacrifices she made on our behalf are almost overwhelming to consider. In spite of not having a college education, she was amazingly well-read, especially in medicine and physiology. Her capability to size up a person by their appearance and body language was uncannily accurate. She was an exceptional judge of character. Few could get away with pulling a fast one on my mother, especially when it came to money and/or pulling rank. A few months before her death, she was working on living trusts with my father. The group of living will/trust lawyers were not a little impressed upon encountering my mother's keen intellect and massive amount of legal knowledge about the subject at hand. All of the legalities she had acquired expertise on were solely due to her own determination and research. Another significant asset she possessed was her mastery of witticism. My mother was the queen of the ultimate quip; devastatingly delivering the most powerful repartees that would send the biggest of the big shots whimpering back to his corner. When she got on a roll, I loved watching every minute of those ego-destroying spectacles.

Late in life, her favorite parting word to me was, "Cheers!" In other words; lighten up kid, enjoy life, and feast without abandon on the bountiful banquet that life's given you. Since I was a child, I'd watched the strong desire she possessed to get more out of her existence and nurture the epicurean hedonist that, I believe, exists in all of us. Better to, as one takes their last breaths say, "I did it all, thank you & goodnight" than, "woulda, shoulda, coulda."

My mother's final resting place is a quiet, elegant mausoleum in Tulsa, literally only a few feet away from her own mother. The golden brass letters on the marble wall spell out a name I thought I'd never see in such a solemn location. I visit her often and each time I do, I'm comforted by her closeness, memories of an undying love of a mother for her child, and yet saddened by such a tragic loss. My consolation is the eternal peace and serenity that can only be given by the one thing we all face, death. No more pain, discomfort, or psychological distress pertaining to the ravages of failing health. In some ways, her passing has made it easier for me to face my own sense of mortality.

After the death of a loved one, life does somehow go on. Oblivious to to the emotional carnage left behind, the world keeps kicking and screaming for attention 24/7. With the usual tawdry promotion, our society of consumption and self-absorption continues on with distractions to numb us from reality. But the reality of my mother's death was too profound for anything to overcome. In spite of my best efforts, my parents home is now empty caricature of it's former self without my mother. She was the very life-blood of that household and even now, several years after her passing, the house seems cold, empty, and vilely chaste of the humor and comfort I once felt. Without her presence, love, and grace, it's simply become a house...it's certainly no home now. On the brighter side, I've had some astounding achievements in my life since she died and I know she'd be proud of me.

And that's my mother. The person who game me life. The one and only person that I could ever talk with about anything at anytime. The one and only mind/soul/spirit who knew me better than I even knew myself. You should have known her, she may have enriched your life as she did the lives of countless others. At the risk of sounding haughty, she was a blend of British prime minister Margaret Thatcher, Marie Curie, and actress Alice Faye all wrapped into one beaming bundle. I see much of her in my sister and my own daughter. If I tell a woman I see some of my mother in her, it's a compliment of the highest level.

Be patient with life, despite its cruelty.
Often it seems careless of our pain,
But just as often brings us hope again.

Remember, I wanted happiness for you.
Under every foolish word this still was true.
Be happy, then, without, as you would with me.
In your life many sweet events remain.
Not in anguish, but in joy remember me.

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