The added allure of this weekly ritual was the fact that Grandma Pearl in her previous life had worked for Leo Seltzer, the father of Roller Derby.
Grandma Pearl managed the concessions for the Derby, and often baby-sat Leo's young son Jerry, who naturally went on to inherit the family business.
Grandma Pearl always had something to say about every skater; many of whom she still knew. But when Joan Weston hit the track, grandma's tone changed to one of reverence and respect, "She's one tough broad! She skates like a guy, and is pretty as a movie star!"
In the early 1970's I was beginning my career as an art director, and a photojournalist. It was the era of Billie Jean King vs. Bobby Riggs tennis match, and I was working for one of the Chicago skin rags.
The magazine needed a major sports interview, and the usual "boys" were mentioned, every guy between Mohammed Ali, to Broadway Joe. I suggested an athlete who was a legendary sports figure, and who was also celebrating 20 years as a superstar.
The editorial staff laughed, when I suggested Joan Weston and the Derby. I was informed that there were no "real female athletes" and that Roller Derby wasn't really a sport. I persisted and they gave in, allowing me to do the interview, secretly hoping the photographer assigned would shoot bare-breasted roller amazons in heat. The interview did not match the photos, the serious athlete I met, an American icon, loved by millions; a tough single minded pro was barely visible in the images.
I fired the photographer, and decided to shoot the story myself. I wanted to capture the sporting event from the inside, as a skater, as The Blonde Bomber saw it for 20 years. I pleaded with Jerry Seltzer, as he repeatedly said no because of the insurance problems with me being in uniform and unprotected on the infield.
Finally I had to use my ace, I said, "Jerry, my grandmother said to say hello," he looked puzzled, and asked who my grandmother is? I replied, "She was your baby-sitter, Pearl Davis." He surrendered any and all objections, lost in adolescent memories of his youth and my Grandma Pearl. Pearl Davis-Kahn was a hard woman to forget. So began my travels with Joan, Jerry and the Derby.
Many years later my grandmother's mental health was in decline with the early signs of Alzheimer's. She started calling me Marshall; who Marshall was always remained a mystery.
My Aunt Maxine (her daughter) made the painful decision to put Grandma Pearl into a home. As we were packing her things, Pearl grabbed my arm, and whispered to me, "Marshall, look what I found, I don't want the others to get it, it's just for only you." She pulled out a box of old faded photos and documents and handed me an envelope containing aging yellowed papers, saved memos from when she was employed by the Derby.
That was the last time I saw the spark of my Grandma Pearl. She soon began to permanently fade away. I don't know if I remained Marshall, or just some guy trying to get her to eat her Jell-O in the nursing home.
I hope somewhere inside Grandma Pearl was the memory of us in front of the old black and white Zenith watching The Blonde Bomber.
This book project is dedicated to the memory of Grandma Pearl Kahn, who share her priceless memories with me.© 2002 andrew j. epstein
