Review of Welfare Brat: A Memoir (Hardcover)

Intimate and powerful, Mary Childers' memoir of growing up in urban poverty in the 1960s Bronx leaves haunting images in its wake. Though arising from the usual sad litany of poverty - alcohol, drugs, unpredictable tempers, frightened children, abused women and dangerous streets - these images are singular, personal and painfully complex.

Like the time they had their roach-infested basement apartment painted, because a guy who owed the older sister's boyfriend a favor sent his crew over (this sister, Jackie, a high school drop-out, is already following in her mother's footsteps). Their mother, Sandy, exuberant at the prospect, drags the furniture away from the walls and urges the whole family to paint pictures of their own, whatever they want before the painters come to cover it up.

On the day itself, "no beer bottles in sight," Sandy takes them all to Coney Island, a trip which involves dragging cooler, stroller and duffle bag on two packed trains, where casual violence is always a danger. "Virtually every family on the train designates a hawk to detect the danger zones where action might flare....Everyone knows what happens if you interfere with teenage boys proving their manhood."

Though the lunch is only PB&J, "I'll be happy as long as Mom doesn't buy beer or, even worse, flirt one out of an innocent bystander." She doesn't and the day is idyllic. They take turns guarding the blanket. "I welcome my turn to guard our stuff. Reading on the beach without any of the kids bothering me is one of the most peaceful events of my life."

Sandy caps the day by taking the whole family on the roller coaster. Her glasses fly off in mid-whoop but her daughter Joan snags them in mid-air. Unfortunately a lurch slams her hand on the bar and a lens pops out. "Oh boy, wait until Mom sees this. She'll lose her temper. The day will be ruined....Mom believes Joan saved her glasses, and Joan and I dread admitting the truth. Joan squeezes back her tears as she rubs her hand with pain and worry." But the charmed day persists. Sandy's left eye is glass and it was the left lens that was lost.

Sandy is a mercurial figure who envelops her surviving seven children - six girls and one silent, outnumbered, beleaguered boy - with love, pelts them with curses, and leaves them hungry while she goes off partying. The atmosphere in their dank crowded apartment seesaws between giddiness and rage. And yet, suddenly, when one of the girls is hit by a car, Sandy promises God to quit drinking if the child survives - and does.

Not that her children trust the transformation. And the grinding cycle of poverty remains unbroken. Worn out by so many pregnancies and "bad habits" Sandy works even less, eking out their living on welfare alone and whatever her children contribute. While the fate of Mary's sisters remains precarious, her own determination is never in doubt.

"Most of the time I tell myself that my family feels like a lifeline, not a prison sentence, but I always have one eye on the door."

She is the one who insists on going to school, who braves any amount of resentment and ridicule to stay on the college-bound, escape-bound path. Taunted and persecuted by neighborhood kids as well as her mother, and even teachers sometimes for her welfare-brat clothing, Mary seldom wavers, as desperate as she is for friends and approval. An adrenaline-spiked stint with a neighborhood gang ends in shame when a boy's sneer jolts her back to herself. These kids are mean, racist bullies, she realizes. "I rolled in laughter when I should have been racked with guilt."

There are many threads that weave through Mary's story, but the cyclic, self-perpetuating nature of poverty is the strongest. There is one message children like her read loud and clear every day: "People who speak well and read widely may be admirable, but if you stand out, you'll be picked out. You're inviting trouble and loneliness when you distinguish yourself from your own by choosing to care about good grades, books, accents and magazine clothes.... Against my will, I've absorbed resentment and the nagging perception that my ambitions are disloyal, and worse, punishable."

Against the turmoil of the times: the assassinations, from JFK to MLK; the race riots and rampaging gangs; the fear of crime on the subway and on the street; the stigma and inadequacy of welfare, Mary keeps her eye on the prize - college. Escape. Her tumultuous, wrenching, sometimes funny story knocks home a serious lesson about the cycle of poverty. It takes more than brains, talent and hard work to escape the underclass. It takes steely determination, a tough shell and a willingness to go it alone.

- Portsmouth Herald



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