Catching the Change Train
Lawrence F. Farrar
Amy Cresswell had delivered a dutiful performance as a Foreign Service wife for twenty-five years. For almost all of those years she had lived in the shadow of “senior wives,” her deportment measured against unwritten, but pervasive, rules. It had been a world in which deviations from accepted norms found little tolerance. It had been a world where a spouse’s social skills required comment in her husband’s annual performance evaluation.
But, now in the early 1970’s, that world had begun to change. Stimulated by a new sense of independence and self-worth, Amy had opted to change with it. She told friends she was “late catching the change train, but catch it I will.” Currently living in Tokyo with her diplomat husband, she aimed to lead a more private life. She aimed to counter the notion that, as the wife of a diplomat, she was little more than an unpaid Embassy employee.
As a manifestation of her new outlook, she resolved to seek employment outside the Embassy. Such employment was not unprecedented, but still uncommon. Her first effort, an application for a teaching assistant’s job at the Tokyo Cathedral Girls’ School, had elicited no reply. In any case, the position had seemed out of reach. Subsequently, she responded to a newspaper advertisement seeking a “high-level native speaker committed to English language learning” at the ABC English Institute. The pay was good and her application quickly accepted. She had no teaching credentials, and her husband, Paul, was a U.S. official. Paul, raised an eyebrow, but said nothing to discourage her.
She’d mulled the decision for a long time. Despite ongoing evolution of the Foreign Service, tradition and past practice maintained a change-resistant grip. Critics and nay-sayers expressed incredulity at the prospect of change. It would be more difficult than she had anticipated. Perhaps she yearned for something still out of reach.
Amy was a modest person, certainly not one inclined to draw attention to herself. Fifty-two years old, dark-eyed, her short-cut brunette hair touched with gray, she was a woman of medium height and, as she described herself, “a little broad abeam.” Her lips seemed a bit full; a feature she sought to offset by the minimal use of lipstick. She was modest in her attire (“no fashion plate I”) and serious in her demeanor. She had a nice mezzo soprano and often tuned into the Armed Forces Network, singing or humming along with pop recordings of the day.
As colleagues described her, she always came across as someone you could count on to ”pitch in.” It’s what you did; it was what was expected of you.
Amy had never before considered “outside employment.” Her role, as long defined, implicitly if not explicitly, was to serve as an adjunct to her diplomat husband and to help promote American foreign policy goals. She had organized dinners, greeted guests at Embassy receptions, guided visitors from Washington on shopping tours, taken part in charity events, visited cultural institutions, and accompanied the Ambassador’s wife on expeditions to nearby US bases and to local stores and shops. She felt comfortable with most of these activities in their own right. But she felt uncomfortable with them when characterized as “obligations” of an Embassy spouse.
~ ~ ~
At home on a Monday morning in July, Amy retrieved an impatiently ringing phone. It was the Ambassador’s wife, Patty Troutner. Amy thought the woman had already said what she had to say. But, here she came again. Afflicted with an overweening sense of superiority, as always, Patty sounded intolerably righteous. The sort of person who thought it strange people took time to learn a foreign language, who thought it strange people removed their shoes to enter a Japanese house, she considered herself the arbiter of Embassy social life. More than once, like a judgmental schoolmarm, she scolded embassy wives for what she deemed “inadequate” performances at social events.
Amy cringed at Patty’s fraudulent “Middle Atlantic” accent. Patty maintained she sounded like the movie actress Katherine Hepburn. She did not. In any event, Patty was a husky woman with a conspicuous chin, long-necked, and humorless. Makeup generously applied to conceal freckles, she judged the world through gold-framed glasses.
Patty Troutner said, “I’d hoped that, with more thought, Amy dear, you would have reconsidered your decision. Surely you don’t want to leave the Ambassador and me, as they say, in the lurch. I so hoped you could join me next week on a shopping expedition to one of those quaint Ginza shops.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Troutner. I really want to give this job a try. I appreciate your interest. Truly I do. But I’ve made up my mind. I’m confident one of the other wives would be delighted to accompany you.”
Her voice laced with disapproval, Mrs. Troutner said, “Amy, dear, why do you want to take this job, anyway? Is it the money?”
“No. It’s just something I want to explore.”
“I’m sure your husband is troubled by your decision. Certainly the Ambassador thinks so.” Amy envisaged the woman’s pursed lips.
“Paul’s opinions are his own. In any case, he supports my decision.” That said, she wondered if her husband really did support her decision. Without doubt, it would complicate his relationship with the Ambassador.
Amy went on, “I will pitch in when I can. But, I’ll be starting my new job at the ABC English Institute next week.”
“I suppose your decision is in keeping with the times. I hope your job is all you imagine it to be.” With those words, Patty Troutner hung up.
Well, that was that. Still, Amy felt a stab of uncertainty.
~ ~ ~
That evening, gin and tonic in hand, Amy told Paul about Mrs. Troutner’s call. A career diplomat, Paul Cresswell served as the Embassy’s Deputy Chief of Mission (DCM), second only in rank to the ambassador. Ambassador Troutner was a political appointee.
A capable Japanese speaker, Paul Cresswell was a well-knit, middle-aged man, a bit over six feet tall. His suit came from Brooks Brothers, and his ties were invariably foulards or reps. Despite a barely perceptible limp, the product of a wound he received as a Marine officer in Korea, he had the look of the athlete he’d once been. His thoughtful demeanor and keen eyes broadcast intelligence. He still kept his brown hair cut Marine Corps high and tight. He was known for his puns, all of them bad. Popular with his subordinates, he seemed a man on the way up.
“She made it sound like I was being disloyal,” Amy said. “ Made it sound like I might be damaging your career.”
“Look. You know I’ve long condemned this practice of treating wives like unpaid employees. Never mind what Patty says. Or what some of your old-timer friends say. You’re on the right track.”
“I thought so, too. But . . .” A tide of indecision washed over her. Perhaps Paul supported her because he’d thought she would not go through with the job application. “Paul. I don’t want to damage your career.”
“I already told you. Don’t worry, we will be fine. You’re hardly the first wife to take a job. Give it a try. I’ll have a chat with the Ambassador tomorrow. He’s already signaled he wants to discuss your outside job acceptance. I’ll remind him it’s in keeping with the guidance out of Washington.”
“I hope you are right. He seems to go along with whatever Patty has to say.”
~ ~ ~
The Ambassador’s secretary, Marsha Perkins, called Paul the next morning. No fan of her boss, she said, “He wants to see you now.”
Paul crossed the hall and entered the Ambassador’s office.
Ensconced behind an imposing desk like a minor potentate, with a wave of his hand Ambassador Troutner signaled Paul to take a seat.
Owner of a Chicago-based department store founded by his father, Ambassador Troutner had been a generous contributor during the most recent presidential campaign, an ambassadorial post his reward. Much to his wife’s unhappiness, they’d ended up in Tokyo. She’s hoped for “something in Europe.”
A corpulent man in his fifties, the Ambassador had on a pale blue, ill-fitting cord suit, a shirt with a collar too large, and a non-descript tie that failed to bring order to the resultant mélange. His white hair, what there was of it, benefitted little from the brown dye he employed; it left tell-tale streaks.
The Ambassador possessed a less-than-amiable disposition. Ill-at-ease in the presence of people brighter than himself and conscious of his twangy voice, he compensated with a brusque and assertive manner. He viewed himself as rarely wrong although he frequently was. Members of his own staff kept their opinions close hold, but many in the diplomatic community considered him blatantly inadequate.
Certainly, he lacked subtlety. “Well, Paul, what’s this I hear about your wife taking a job with some Japanese company? Did she check with you? You’re supposed to know all about the local culture. Do you think it’s a good idea?”
“It’s the trend of the times, Mr. Ambassador,” Paul said. “And, I should mention it is in keeping with the latest policy guidance from Washington.”
“Well, my wife thinks it’s a bad idea.” Troutner leaned back and lighted a cigarette. “And so do I.”
“With respect, sir, the times are changing.” Paul shifted his position to avoid the smoke that drifted his way.
“Would you be saying this if somebody else’s wife was about to do this sort of thing?”
“I’m confident I would. It’s hardly unprecedented. A number of spouses have already taken jobs at other posts.”
“Well, Paul, I think these Embassy wives have it pretty good.”
“In many respects, yes. But there is still room for improvement. Younger wives are especially eager to loosen things up a bit.”
“Frankly, I think this women’s’ lib business has gone far enough. Too far if you want my honest opinion. My wife reminds me it undercuts our authority, mine and yours..”
“It’s a question still to be resolved, Mr. Ambassador.” Paul experienced a tinge of guilt for responding with a non sequitur.
“Well, I expect you will do what you think you must. But I agree with my wife.”
Paul did not respond.
“Not to change the subject, Paul, but you know the State Department has its eye on you for an ambassadorial job.”
He had not changed the subject. The implied meaning was clear.
“Yes, I know.”
“Well, we certainly hope this business of Embassy wives working outside the mission won’t have a negative influence on their decision. Right?”
“I’d hope not.”
“Well, I’ll tell my wife what you said. Thanks for coming in. Staff meeting now. We can go over together.” He snubbed out his cigarette and added it to the debris-laden ambassadorial ash tray.
As they started for the door, the Ambassador clamped a hand on Paul’s shoulder. “Maybe one of these days, you can fill me in on what it’s really like with these geisha girls.”
Paul made no reply, and they left the office for the Embassy conference room.
~ ~ ~
On Wednesday, Amy and two other wives, “the gang of three” as they styled themselves, met in the DCM’s residence as they had for almost two years. It provided a pleasant setting: a large, white-stucco, Western-style house with Japanese accents such as selected tatami-matted rooms. Through the library window, Japanese maples and pines created dappled patches of gray-green shade in an understated garden. Pink and purple hydrangeas and honey scented sunflowers surrounded a small pond.
As a rule, planning for social events, sharing news from home, and a fair amount of gossiping dominated their conversation. But this day turned out differently. The freshly brewed coffee no more than poured than Janet Mullins said, “Amy, we understand you are taking a job.” A smallish woman, Janet had accompanied her husband in some of the most dangerous and unhealthy tropical posts the Foreign Service staffed. Her husband now headed the Embassy’s economic section, a key Japan assignment. Their twenty-one-year-old son currently served as an army lieutenant somewhere in Vietnam’s Mekong Delta.
Gazing out the window, Amy said, “How did you hear that? I just decided a day or two ago.”
“Well, perhaps it was a little bird who knows we get together every week.”
“If you mean Patty, I don’t think she qualifies as a little bird. (Amy thought of her more as a vulture but didn’t say it.) Anyway, you both knew I’d made up my mind. I’m sorry, but I expected her to be unhappy.”
“You told us you intended to find a job. But we just didn’t think you would act quite so soon. People are already talking.”
“Saying what?”
“Some people think you are making a mistake,” Janet said. “Others, mainly newer wives, back you up. I think most people are waiting to see how this will work out for you.”
“Do you think you will be able to keep up with your embassy duties?” Laurie Barnett sounded worried. Another veteran of long service, Laurie was a tall, blonde woman, always on the lookout for ways to advance her husband’s career.
“Oh, yes. My duties. I told Patty I still intend to help out whenever I can.” Her face registered resignation.
“Well, I’m staying in the ranks,” Laurie said. “I’ve waited my turn for too long. I know things are changing. But I’m going to keep right on being the good Foreign Service wife.”
“That can be defined in different ways,” Amy said.
“Well, I hope it’s possible,” Janet said. “My husband says the Ambassador is fit to be tied. He says, next thing you know, all the wives will be taking jobs. Forgetting their responsibilities here.”
“That’s the point, Janet. We have no duties. Other wives, not just me, feel that serving without compensation just isn’t right. If it ever was.”
“Apparently Patty thinks some of the younger women are looking to you for guidance.”
“Oh, come now. You know I’m no pace-setter – or whatever it is they say. This is a personal decision. ”
“What about your diplomatic passport? Is that still good?”
“I am certain it is. A reciprocal agreement with the Japanese Government.”
“Well, Amy, you’ve put us on the spot. People are already wondering if we’re looking for jobs, too.”
“That’s silly. It’s my own decision and doesn’t involve anybody else. I’ve made up my mind.”
“You are our friend,” Janet said. “But we don’t want to antagonize Patty—or the Ambassador.” She lifted her open hands in a display of surrender.
“I think you are exaggerating things. It’s no big deal.”
Amy had been so confident. She kept telling herself that, like the popular Dylan song had it, the times they were a’changing. But her friends’ comments generated pangs of uncertainty? She had anticipated a bit more understanding if not support. Had her job decision simply been an impulsive one?
~ ~ ~
That evening, when Amy picked up the ringing phone, she heard the voice of Rachel Martin, the wife of a junior officer in the political section.
“Mrs. Cresswell, this is Rachel. I hope I’m not calling at an inconvenient time.”
“No. What can I do for you?” Amy recalled Rachel as a plain-looking woman, one who rarely smiled; the living definition of a serious disposition.
“Well, we’ve heard you are taking a job. And we were wondering
if . . .”
“Who is we?”
“Well, I don’t think the others want me to use their names. I guess I’m kind of their representative.
“Yes.”
“Well, we just feel you are doing something we don’t have the courage to do ourselves. And we were wondering if you’d be willing to kind of share your experience. Maybe give us some advice.”
“I’m honored you have so much confidence in me. But please understand I’m not trying to lead some kind of movement. Each of us has our own reasons for our actions. I’m not about to tell others what to do.”
“We appreciate that. But we still want you to know we admire you for what you are doing.”
“I’m not even sure exactly what it is you think I’m doing. I’m hardly the first person to take a job outside the Embassy. I’m still a pretty traditional person. Just a little exploration. Looking for the middle ground.” She paused. “What are your concerns?”
“Well to be honest it’s a kind of hodge-podge. A less stringent dress code. People don’t want to have to wear heels and stockings to go shopping on the base. We want to take “outside jobs” like you are doing. We don’t want to act as servants at Embassy functions. We don’t want to be required to pass food and drink trays when local employees aren’t doing the job. And we don’t think it is appropriate for comments on wives’ to be included in our husbands’ evaluation reports. There’s more, but . . .”
Rachel recited a familiar catalogue. “I might agree with you on some things and not on others. In any case, be prudent. Try to see things from a different viewpoint. I’m well aware the times are changing. But I am also aware they haven’t changed yet. Thank you for calling.”
~ ~ ~
Two days later, Amy hailed a cab and headed for Toranomon and the ABC English Institute. Remnants of overnight rain glittered on the street, and the air felt uncomfortably warm and damp. The sidewalks bristled with people, some still carrying umbrellas: students in dark uniforms, housewives in yukata, office workers in summer suits, delivery men in happi coats. Trucks and taxies maneuvered for position in the crowded streets. Columns of people flowed into the subway stations; columns of people flowed out of the subway stations. Where could they all be going?
No question, Amy thought, Tokyo was a huge city, a vibrant city, an overwhelming city. Reporting to this new job, she now regretted how limited her own experience still was. Oh, she’d been to a kabuki performance, attended an obligatory tea ceremony, and ridden a tour bus to Lake Hakone. Still, uncertain as to what she might be getting into, she envied Paul his cultural expertise.
As they made their way through the traffic, the driver turned on his radio.
“U.S. station,” he said. “For lady.” He’d tuned in the military’s Far East Network.
Suddenly the interior of the vehicle was filled with the voice of Janis Joplin wailing away on Me and Bobby McGee.
“Strong singer, nee,” the driver said.
“Hai. Hai. Amy replied, pretty much exhausting her Japanese vocabulary.
Both nervous and eager, however, Amy’s mind focused elsewhere. She sought to reassure herself she’d made the right decision. The proffered pay looked good and the hours appeared to be flexible. She calculated she could still take part in selected Embassy functions, And the Ambassador’s wife would likely adjust to the current of the times.
Kensuke Tanaka, President of the ABC English Institute, greeted Amy when she arrived at the school. A slim man in his fifties, wearing rimless eye glasses, he had on a dark blue suit. He smiled a lot, and his black hair exuded the cloying smell of camellia oil pomade. Amy later described him to her husband as slick. He seemed to work at it.
As it turned out, the school occupied a suite of offices on the first floor of a somewhat the worse for wear five story building. Extending an open guiding hand, Tanaka ushered Amy into a paneled office. Amy sat primly on a straight back chair, purse in her lap, her hands folded on top. She’d opted for a summer-weight suit, dark gray. The room was warm, and Amy immediately felt ill-at-ease.
“This office,” Tanaka said, “will be yours.” It looked more like an executive office than a spot for a part-time language instructor. He reminded her of a real estate agent showing a property to a prospective customer.
Fresh flowers, iris and lavender, adorned a coffee table and a large window provided an expansive view of a nearby park. A kimono-clad young woman materialized and offered Amy her choice of tea or coffee. The server accompanied this offering with a platter of cookies and cakes. Uncertain what was expected of her, Amy put down her purse and accepted a cup of tea.
“Please enjoy,” Tanaka said, unctuousness sprung to life. “We want you to feel special welcome. Having you on staff makes this school more high class. Top quality school.”
“That’s very kind. I look forward to being here. Perhaps you can you tell me about my teaching duties? Perhaps I can see some classes. Meet teachers and students.”
“Maybe to begin, you can be a kind of advisor. Newspaper man wants interview. We think to make a short film. Maybe show on television. You can introduce people to the school.”
“I’m a bit confused. I thought you wanted me to teach an English class.” She experienced a trickle of perspiration coursing down the back of her neck.
“Best you be kind of senior advisor. Give school a good face.”
And perhaps a tidy profit, Amy thought. This was not going in a good direction.
“We are honored to have US Embassy lady.”
“As you must know, Mr. Tanaka, I don’t work for the embassy. My husband does that.” She experienced a clouding sense of apprehension.
Tanaka ignored her comment. He said again, “We are honored to have US Embassy lady.” He seemed like someone with an attention deficit disorder.
“Mr. Tanaka, I thought I was being employed to be a language teacher. I’d hoped to receive some teaching materials.”
“Yes. But first you can be our special advisor. Interest more people. Show ours is top class school.”
A quick tour of three classrooms, none with more than a half dozen students, followed. Greeted by a pair of Japanese female instructors, Amy realized they could barely manage a sentence in English, the language they professed to teach. She quickly concluded both Tanaka and his school constituted a case of near mediocrity.
Her husband had cautioned her when she first broached the idea of taking the job. He’d said they’d likely try to exploit her for her embassy connection. Amy had patted his hand and assured him she was not that naïve. Now she felt she had, indeed, been naïve. The “job” amounted to a position with a nice office and no real work. She realized they wanted her, as Paul later referred to it, as a medama shohin, true value aside, a kind of attractive showpiece. She knew it. She should have vetted the school and Tanaka’s offer more thoroughly.
That evening, Paul sought to buoy her spirits. “Don’t make a snap decision,” he told her when she described her experience. “Give it a try for a week of two. Tell him what you want to do is to teach. Let him know public relations is not something you feel is appropriate.”
“I’ll try,” she said. But her words lacked conviction. She concluded Paul regretted his endorsement and now simply wanted to be supportive. At best, she hoped to stay long enough to save face.
~ ~ ~
But it did not happen. The job was no job at all. She tried to stay on, hoping Tanaka would reshape the work requirements. He did not. Instead, he sought to win her over with a unagi (eel) lunch at nearby restaurant. She did not care for eel, in fact she did not care for it at all.
She was at a loss as to how to extract herself from the situation with dignity still intact. She would be embarrassed. Her husband would be embarrassed. The old timers would feel they had been right; some of the younger wives would feel disappointed; and the ambassador’s wife would feel vindicated. Indeed, Patty had just hosted a dinner for visitors from Seoul; Amy had not been on the invitation list.
Surely, she had not expected these responses. Amy had taken the job with a good heart. Now she missed the Embassy family embrace. Had her decision to look for employment been premature? Certainly, she had not expected the array of reactions she’d encountered. After a week at the school, having taught not a single student, she submitted her resignation.
Amy heard nothing from Patty, who surely knew of her failed job attempt. Like a marker of her fall from grace, Amy was not invited to an upcoming Embassy luncheon for the wife of Assistant Secretary Johnson, visiting from Washington.
Paul told her the omission must simply be an oversight by the protocol office. He said he would have it corrected. But Amy declined his offer. Her modest break with tradition had failed. She told Paul she felt down-hearted, downcast, down-in-the-dumps, defeated.
Now, days after her resignation, she received a call from Janet Mullins. “Just wanted to give you a heads up. I went to the luncheon for Elaine Johnson today. Thought you’d be there. Anyway, Elaine asked after you. I think Patty was caught off guard. Just said you had been otherwise engaged.”
“Paul could have spoken to the Ambassador. Got me included. But under the circumstances, I just told him not to bother. We are going to the dinner tomorrow night.”
“Elaine said she’d hoped to meet you. Heard you’d taken a job. In keeping with the new policy. Turns out she is a big advocate of spouses having a life outside the Embassy. Said her husband is a real supporter, too. Like I said, I think her comments caught Patty off guard. Mumbled something about you being a pace-setter, a real exemplar for spouses serving abroad. Anyway, thought you’d like to know.”
Describing this conversation later, Amy told Paul she felt better - but not much.
Then came near back-to-back phone calls. The first came from the principal of the highly regarded Cathedral Girls’ School. She’d called to offer Amy a position as a teaching assistant. Amy was delighted. They had been slow to respond, but now a new opportunity presented itself, one promising a positive outcome. The pay would be less, but the job was real. The school relied on no medama shohin.
Amy’s first words in response were, “When would you like me to start?”
Perhaps an even more gratifying call came an hour or so. It was Patty Troutner, her voice less imperious. “We missed you today at lunch, dear girl. I’m so sorry. There seems to have been some confusion about your invitation. Elaine Johnson asked about your job. I wasn’t quite certain how to respond. I’d heard you’d rejected that English language school. I, of course, told her we felt you are very much in touch with the changing times. One of our stars. We surely look forward to seeing you and Paul at our dinner for the Johnsons tonight.”
Sardonic disdain transformed into whole-hearted endorsement, it was a flip-flop the envy of any aspiring gymnast. Amy simply replied, “Why of course, Patty. We are very much looking forward to it. And I’ll be happy to share news of my next foray into the language teaching world.”
Amy basked in the realization she’d made the right choice. Still some distance to travel. But the times, they were a’changing.
Lawrence F. Farrar
Amy Cresswell had delivered a dutiful performance as a Foreign Service wife for twenty-five years. For almost all of those years she had lived in the shadow of “senior wives,” her deportment measured against unwritten, but pervasive, rules. It had been a world in which deviations from accepted norms found little tolerance. It had been a world where a spouse’s social skills required comment in her husband’s annual performance evaluation.
But, now in the early 1970’s, that world had begun to change. Stimulated by a new sense of independence and self-worth, Amy had opted to change with it. She told friends she was “late catching the change train, but catch it I will.” Currently living in Tokyo with her diplomat husband, she aimed to lead a more private life. She aimed to counter the notion that, as the wife of a diplomat, she was little more than an unpaid Embassy employee.
As a manifestation of her new outlook, she resolved to seek employment outside the Embassy. Such employment was not unprecedented, but still uncommon. Her first effort, an application for a teaching assistant’s job at the Tokyo Cathedral Girls’ School, had elicited no reply. In any case, the position had seemed out of reach. Subsequently, she responded to a newspaper advertisement seeking a “high-level native speaker committed to English language learning” at the ABC English Institute. The pay was good and her application quickly accepted. She had no teaching credentials, and her husband, Paul, was a U.S. official. Paul, raised an eyebrow, but said nothing to discourage her.
She’d mulled the decision for a long time. Despite ongoing evolution of the Foreign Service, tradition and past practice maintained a change-resistant grip. Critics and nay-sayers expressed incredulity at the prospect of change. It would be more difficult than she had anticipated. Perhaps she yearned for something still out of reach.
Amy was a modest person, certainly not one inclined to draw attention to herself. Fifty-two years old, dark-eyed, her short-cut brunette hair touched with gray, she was a woman of medium height and, as she described herself, “a little broad abeam.” Her lips seemed a bit full; a feature she sought to offset by the minimal use of lipstick. She was modest in her attire (“no fashion plate I”) and serious in her demeanor. She had a nice mezzo soprano and often tuned into the Armed Forces Network, singing or humming along with pop recordings of the day.
As colleagues described her, she always came across as someone you could count on to ”pitch in.” It’s what you did; it was what was expected of you.
Amy had never before considered “outside employment.” Her role, as long defined, implicitly if not explicitly, was to serve as an adjunct to her diplomat husband and to help promote American foreign policy goals. She had organized dinners, greeted guests at Embassy receptions, guided visitors from Washington on shopping tours, taken part in charity events, visited cultural institutions, and accompanied the Ambassador’s wife on expeditions to nearby US bases and to local stores and shops. She felt comfortable with most of these activities in their own right. But she felt uncomfortable with them when characterized as “obligations” of an Embassy spouse.
~ ~ ~
At home on a Monday morning in July, Amy retrieved an impatiently ringing phone. It was the Ambassador’s wife, Patty Troutner. Amy thought the woman had already said what she had to say. But, here she came again. Afflicted with an overweening sense of superiority, as always, Patty sounded intolerably righteous. The sort of person who thought it strange people took time to learn a foreign language, who thought it strange people removed their shoes to enter a Japanese house, she considered herself the arbiter of Embassy social life. More than once, like a judgmental schoolmarm, she scolded embassy wives for what she deemed “inadequate” performances at social events.
Amy cringed at Patty’s fraudulent “Middle Atlantic” accent. Patty maintained she sounded like the movie actress Katherine Hepburn. She did not. In any event, Patty was a husky woman with a conspicuous chin, long-necked, and humorless. Makeup generously applied to conceal freckles, she judged the world through gold-framed glasses.
Patty Troutner said, “I’d hoped that, with more thought, Amy dear, you would have reconsidered your decision. Surely you don’t want to leave the Ambassador and me, as they say, in the lurch. I so hoped you could join me next week on a shopping expedition to one of those quaint Ginza shops.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Troutner. I really want to give this job a try. I appreciate your interest. Truly I do. But I’ve made up my mind. I’m confident one of the other wives would be delighted to accompany you.”
Her voice laced with disapproval, Mrs. Troutner said, “Amy, dear, why do you want to take this job, anyway? Is it the money?”
“No. It’s just something I want to explore.”
“I’m sure your husband is troubled by your decision. Certainly the Ambassador thinks so.” Amy envisaged the woman’s pursed lips.
“Paul’s opinions are his own. In any case, he supports my decision.” That said, she wondered if her husband really did support her decision. Without doubt, it would complicate his relationship with the Ambassador.
Amy went on, “I will pitch in when I can. But, I’ll be starting my new job at the ABC English Institute next week.”
“I suppose your decision is in keeping with the times. I hope your job is all you imagine it to be.” With those words, Patty Troutner hung up.
Well, that was that. Still, Amy felt a stab of uncertainty.
~ ~ ~
That evening, gin and tonic in hand, Amy told Paul about Mrs. Troutner’s call. A career diplomat, Paul Cresswell served as the Embassy’s Deputy Chief of Mission (DCM), second only in rank to the ambassador. Ambassador Troutner was a political appointee.
A capable Japanese speaker, Paul Cresswell was a well-knit, middle-aged man, a bit over six feet tall. His suit came from Brooks Brothers, and his ties were invariably foulards or reps. Despite a barely perceptible limp, the product of a wound he received as a Marine officer in Korea, he had the look of the athlete he’d once been. His thoughtful demeanor and keen eyes broadcast intelligence. He still kept his brown hair cut Marine Corps high and tight. He was known for his puns, all of them bad. Popular with his subordinates, he seemed a man on the way up.
“She made it sound like I was being disloyal,” Amy said. “ Made it sound like I might be damaging your career.”
“Look. You know I’ve long condemned this practice of treating wives like unpaid employees. Never mind what Patty says. Or what some of your old-timer friends say. You’re on the right track.”
“I thought so, too. But . . .” A tide of indecision washed over her. Perhaps Paul supported her because he’d thought she would not go through with the job application. “Paul. I don’t want to damage your career.”
“I already told you. Don’t worry, we will be fine. You’re hardly the first wife to take a job. Give it a try. I’ll have a chat with the Ambassador tomorrow. He’s already signaled he wants to discuss your outside job acceptance. I’ll remind him it’s in keeping with the guidance out of Washington.”
“I hope you are right. He seems to go along with whatever Patty has to say.”
~ ~ ~
The Ambassador’s secretary, Marsha Perkins, called Paul the next morning. No fan of her boss, she said, “He wants to see you now.”
Paul crossed the hall and entered the Ambassador’s office.
Ensconced behind an imposing desk like a minor potentate, with a wave of his hand Ambassador Troutner signaled Paul to take a seat.
Owner of a Chicago-based department store founded by his father, Ambassador Troutner had been a generous contributor during the most recent presidential campaign, an ambassadorial post his reward. Much to his wife’s unhappiness, they’d ended up in Tokyo. She’s hoped for “something in Europe.”
A corpulent man in his fifties, the Ambassador had on a pale blue, ill-fitting cord suit, a shirt with a collar too large, and a non-descript tie that failed to bring order to the resultant mélange. His white hair, what there was of it, benefitted little from the brown dye he employed; it left tell-tale streaks.
The Ambassador possessed a less-than-amiable disposition. Ill-at-ease in the presence of people brighter than himself and conscious of his twangy voice, he compensated with a brusque and assertive manner. He viewed himself as rarely wrong although he frequently was. Members of his own staff kept their opinions close hold, but many in the diplomatic community considered him blatantly inadequate.
Certainly, he lacked subtlety. “Well, Paul, what’s this I hear about your wife taking a job with some Japanese company? Did she check with you? You’re supposed to know all about the local culture. Do you think it’s a good idea?”
“It’s the trend of the times, Mr. Ambassador,” Paul said. “And, I should mention it is in keeping with the latest policy guidance from Washington.”
“Well, my wife thinks it’s a bad idea.” Troutner leaned back and lighted a cigarette. “And so do I.”
“With respect, sir, the times are changing.” Paul shifted his position to avoid the smoke that drifted his way.
“Would you be saying this if somebody else’s wife was about to do this sort of thing?”
“I’m confident I would. It’s hardly unprecedented. A number of spouses have already taken jobs at other posts.”
“Well, Paul, I think these Embassy wives have it pretty good.”
“In many respects, yes. But there is still room for improvement. Younger wives are especially eager to loosen things up a bit.”
“Frankly, I think this women’s’ lib business has gone far enough. Too far if you want my honest opinion. My wife reminds me it undercuts our authority, mine and yours..”
“It’s a question still to be resolved, Mr. Ambassador.” Paul experienced a tinge of guilt for responding with a non sequitur.
“Well, I expect you will do what you think you must. But I agree with my wife.”
Paul did not respond.
“Not to change the subject, Paul, but you know the State Department has its eye on you for an ambassadorial job.”
He had not changed the subject. The implied meaning was clear.
“Yes, I know.”
“Well, we certainly hope this business of Embassy wives working outside the mission won’t have a negative influence on their decision. Right?”
“I’d hope not.”
“Well, I’ll tell my wife what you said. Thanks for coming in. Staff meeting now. We can go over together.” He snubbed out his cigarette and added it to the debris-laden ambassadorial ash tray.
As they started for the door, the Ambassador clamped a hand on Paul’s shoulder. “Maybe one of these days, you can fill me in on what it’s really like with these geisha girls.”
Paul made no reply, and they left the office for the Embassy conference room.
~ ~ ~
On Wednesday, Amy and two other wives, “the gang of three” as they styled themselves, met in the DCM’s residence as they had for almost two years. It provided a pleasant setting: a large, white-stucco, Western-style house with Japanese accents such as selected tatami-matted rooms. Through the library window, Japanese maples and pines created dappled patches of gray-green shade in an understated garden. Pink and purple hydrangeas and honey scented sunflowers surrounded a small pond.
As a rule, planning for social events, sharing news from home, and a fair amount of gossiping dominated their conversation. But this day turned out differently. The freshly brewed coffee no more than poured than Janet Mullins said, “Amy, we understand you are taking a job.” A smallish woman, Janet had accompanied her husband in some of the most dangerous and unhealthy tropical posts the Foreign Service staffed. Her husband now headed the Embassy’s economic section, a key Japan assignment. Their twenty-one-year-old son currently served as an army lieutenant somewhere in Vietnam’s Mekong Delta.
Gazing out the window, Amy said, “How did you hear that? I just decided a day or two ago.”
“Well, perhaps it was a little bird who knows we get together every week.”
“If you mean Patty, I don’t think she qualifies as a little bird. (Amy thought of her more as a vulture but didn’t say it.) Anyway, you both knew I’d made up my mind. I’m sorry, but I expected her to be unhappy.”
“You told us you intended to find a job. But we just didn’t think you would act quite so soon. People are already talking.”
“Saying what?”
“Some people think you are making a mistake,” Janet said. “Others, mainly newer wives, back you up. I think most people are waiting to see how this will work out for you.”
“Do you think you will be able to keep up with your embassy duties?” Laurie Barnett sounded worried. Another veteran of long service, Laurie was a tall, blonde woman, always on the lookout for ways to advance her husband’s career.
“Oh, yes. My duties. I told Patty I still intend to help out whenever I can.” Her face registered resignation.
“Well, I’m staying in the ranks,” Laurie said. “I’ve waited my turn for too long. I know things are changing. But I’m going to keep right on being the good Foreign Service wife.”
“That can be defined in different ways,” Amy said.
“Well, I hope it’s possible,” Janet said. “My husband says the Ambassador is fit to be tied. He says, next thing you know, all the wives will be taking jobs. Forgetting their responsibilities here.”
“That’s the point, Janet. We have no duties. Other wives, not just me, feel that serving without compensation just isn’t right. If it ever was.”
“Apparently Patty thinks some of the younger women are looking to you for guidance.”
“Oh, come now. You know I’m no pace-setter – or whatever it is they say. This is a personal decision. ”
“What about your diplomatic passport? Is that still good?”
“I am certain it is. A reciprocal agreement with the Japanese Government.”
“Well, Amy, you’ve put us on the spot. People are already wondering if we’re looking for jobs, too.”
“That’s silly. It’s my own decision and doesn’t involve anybody else. I’ve made up my mind.”
“You are our friend,” Janet said. “But we don’t want to antagonize Patty—or the Ambassador.” She lifted her open hands in a display of surrender.
“I think you are exaggerating things. It’s no big deal.”
Amy had been so confident. She kept telling herself that, like the popular Dylan song had it, the times they were a’changing. But her friends’ comments generated pangs of uncertainty? She had anticipated a bit more understanding if not support. Had her job decision simply been an impulsive one?
~ ~ ~
That evening, when Amy picked up the ringing phone, she heard the voice of Rachel Martin, the wife of a junior officer in the political section.
“Mrs. Cresswell, this is Rachel. I hope I’m not calling at an inconvenient time.”
“No. What can I do for you?” Amy recalled Rachel as a plain-looking woman, one who rarely smiled; the living definition of a serious disposition.
“Well, we’ve heard you are taking a job. And we were wondering
if . . .”
“Who is we?”
“Well, I don’t think the others want me to use their names. I guess I’m kind of their representative.
“Yes.”
“Well, we just feel you are doing something we don’t have the courage to do ourselves. And we were wondering if you’d be willing to kind of share your experience. Maybe give us some advice.”
“I’m honored you have so much confidence in me. But please understand I’m not trying to lead some kind of movement. Each of us has our own reasons for our actions. I’m not about to tell others what to do.”
“We appreciate that. But we still want you to know we admire you for what you are doing.”
“I’m not even sure exactly what it is you think I’m doing. I’m hardly the first person to take a job outside the Embassy. I’m still a pretty traditional person. Just a little exploration. Looking for the middle ground.” She paused. “What are your concerns?”
“Well to be honest it’s a kind of hodge-podge. A less stringent dress code. People don’t want to have to wear heels and stockings to go shopping on the base. We want to take “outside jobs” like you are doing. We don’t want to act as servants at Embassy functions. We don’t want to be required to pass food and drink trays when local employees aren’t doing the job. And we don’t think it is appropriate for comments on wives’ to be included in our husbands’ evaluation reports. There’s more, but . . .”
Rachel recited a familiar catalogue. “I might agree with you on some things and not on others. In any case, be prudent. Try to see things from a different viewpoint. I’m well aware the times are changing. But I am also aware they haven’t changed yet. Thank you for calling.”
~ ~ ~
Two days later, Amy hailed a cab and headed for Toranomon and the ABC English Institute. Remnants of overnight rain glittered on the street, and the air felt uncomfortably warm and damp. The sidewalks bristled with people, some still carrying umbrellas: students in dark uniforms, housewives in yukata, office workers in summer suits, delivery men in happi coats. Trucks and taxies maneuvered for position in the crowded streets. Columns of people flowed into the subway stations; columns of people flowed out of the subway stations. Where could they all be going?
No question, Amy thought, Tokyo was a huge city, a vibrant city, an overwhelming city. Reporting to this new job, she now regretted how limited her own experience still was. Oh, she’d been to a kabuki performance, attended an obligatory tea ceremony, and ridden a tour bus to Lake Hakone. Still, uncertain as to what she might be getting into, she envied Paul his cultural expertise.
As they made their way through the traffic, the driver turned on his radio.
“U.S. station,” he said. “For lady.” He’d tuned in the military’s Far East Network.
Suddenly the interior of the vehicle was filled with the voice of Janis Joplin wailing away on Me and Bobby McGee.
“Strong singer, nee,” the driver said.
“Hai. Hai. Amy replied, pretty much exhausting her Japanese vocabulary.
Both nervous and eager, however, Amy’s mind focused elsewhere. She sought to reassure herself she’d made the right decision. The proffered pay looked good and the hours appeared to be flexible. She calculated she could still take part in selected Embassy functions, And the Ambassador’s wife would likely adjust to the current of the times.
Kensuke Tanaka, President of the ABC English Institute, greeted Amy when she arrived at the school. A slim man in his fifties, wearing rimless eye glasses, he had on a dark blue suit. He smiled a lot, and his black hair exuded the cloying smell of camellia oil pomade. Amy later described him to her husband as slick. He seemed to work at it.
As it turned out, the school occupied a suite of offices on the first floor of a somewhat the worse for wear five story building. Extending an open guiding hand, Tanaka ushered Amy into a paneled office. Amy sat primly on a straight back chair, purse in her lap, her hands folded on top. She’d opted for a summer-weight suit, dark gray. The room was warm, and Amy immediately felt ill-at-ease.
“This office,” Tanaka said, “will be yours.” It looked more like an executive office than a spot for a part-time language instructor. He reminded her of a real estate agent showing a property to a prospective customer.
Fresh flowers, iris and lavender, adorned a coffee table and a large window provided an expansive view of a nearby park. A kimono-clad young woman materialized and offered Amy her choice of tea or coffee. The server accompanied this offering with a platter of cookies and cakes. Uncertain what was expected of her, Amy put down her purse and accepted a cup of tea.
“Please enjoy,” Tanaka said, unctuousness sprung to life. “We want you to feel special welcome. Having you on staff makes this school more high class. Top quality school.”
“That’s very kind. I look forward to being here. Perhaps you can you tell me about my teaching duties? Perhaps I can see some classes. Meet teachers and students.”
“Maybe to begin, you can be a kind of advisor. Newspaper man wants interview. We think to make a short film. Maybe show on television. You can introduce people to the school.”
“I’m a bit confused. I thought you wanted me to teach an English class.” She experienced a trickle of perspiration coursing down the back of her neck.
“Best you be kind of senior advisor. Give school a good face.”
And perhaps a tidy profit, Amy thought. This was not going in a good direction.
“We are honored to have US Embassy lady.”
“As you must know, Mr. Tanaka, I don’t work for the embassy. My husband does that.” She experienced a clouding sense of apprehension.
Tanaka ignored her comment. He said again, “We are honored to have US Embassy lady.” He seemed like someone with an attention deficit disorder.
“Mr. Tanaka, I thought I was being employed to be a language teacher. I’d hoped to receive some teaching materials.”
“Yes. But first you can be our special advisor. Interest more people. Show ours is top class school.”
A quick tour of three classrooms, none with more than a half dozen students, followed. Greeted by a pair of Japanese female instructors, Amy realized they could barely manage a sentence in English, the language they professed to teach. She quickly concluded both Tanaka and his school constituted a case of near mediocrity.
Her husband had cautioned her when she first broached the idea of taking the job. He’d said they’d likely try to exploit her for her embassy connection. Amy had patted his hand and assured him she was not that naïve. Now she felt she had, indeed, been naïve. The “job” amounted to a position with a nice office and no real work. She realized they wanted her, as Paul later referred to it, as a medama shohin, true value aside, a kind of attractive showpiece. She knew it. She should have vetted the school and Tanaka’s offer more thoroughly.
That evening, Paul sought to buoy her spirits. “Don’t make a snap decision,” he told her when she described her experience. “Give it a try for a week of two. Tell him what you want to do is to teach. Let him know public relations is not something you feel is appropriate.”
“I’ll try,” she said. But her words lacked conviction. She concluded Paul regretted his endorsement and now simply wanted to be supportive. At best, she hoped to stay long enough to save face.
~ ~ ~
But it did not happen. The job was no job at all. She tried to stay on, hoping Tanaka would reshape the work requirements. He did not. Instead, he sought to win her over with a unagi (eel) lunch at nearby restaurant. She did not care for eel, in fact she did not care for it at all.
She was at a loss as to how to extract herself from the situation with dignity still intact. She would be embarrassed. Her husband would be embarrassed. The old timers would feel they had been right; some of the younger wives would feel disappointed; and the ambassador’s wife would feel vindicated. Indeed, Patty had just hosted a dinner for visitors from Seoul; Amy had not been on the invitation list.
Surely, she had not expected these responses. Amy had taken the job with a good heart. Now she missed the Embassy family embrace. Had her decision to look for employment been premature? Certainly, she had not expected the array of reactions she’d encountered. After a week at the school, having taught not a single student, she submitted her resignation.
Amy heard nothing from Patty, who surely knew of her failed job attempt. Like a marker of her fall from grace, Amy was not invited to an upcoming Embassy luncheon for the wife of Assistant Secretary Johnson, visiting from Washington.
Paul told her the omission must simply be an oversight by the protocol office. He said he would have it corrected. But Amy declined his offer. Her modest break with tradition had failed. She told Paul she felt down-hearted, downcast, down-in-the-dumps, defeated.
Now, days after her resignation, she received a call from Janet Mullins. “Just wanted to give you a heads up. I went to the luncheon for Elaine Johnson today. Thought you’d be there. Anyway, Elaine asked after you. I think Patty was caught off guard. Just said you had been otherwise engaged.”
“Paul could have spoken to the Ambassador. Got me included. But under the circumstances, I just told him not to bother. We are going to the dinner tomorrow night.”
“Elaine said she’d hoped to meet you. Heard you’d taken a job. In keeping with the new policy. Turns out she is a big advocate of spouses having a life outside the Embassy. Said her husband is a real supporter, too. Like I said, I think her comments caught Patty off guard. Mumbled something about you being a pace-setter, a real exemplar for spouses serving abroad. Anyway, thought you’d like to know.”
Describing this conversation later, Amy told Paul she felt better - but not much.
Then came near back-to-back phone calls. The first came from the principal of the highly regarded Cathedral Girls’ School. She’d called to offer Amy a position as a teaching assistant. Amy was delighted. They had been slow to respond, but now a new opportunity presented itself, one promising a positive outcome. The pay would be less, but the job was real. The school relied on no medama shohin.
Amy’s first words in response were, “When would you like me to start?”
Perhaps an even more gratifying call came an hour or so. It was Patty Troutner, her voice less imperious. “We missed you today at lunch, dear girl. I’m so sorry. There seems to have been some confusion about your invitation. Elaine Johnson asked about your job. I wasn’t quite certain how to respond. I’d heard you’d rejected that English language school. I, of course, told her we felt you are very much in touch with the changing times. One of our stars. We surely look forward to seeing you and Paul at our dinner for the Johnsons tonight.”
Sardonic disdain transformed into whole-hearted endorsement, it was a flip-flop the envy of any aspiring gymnast. Amy simply replied, “Why of course, Patty. We are very much looking forward to it. And I’ll be happy to share news of my next foray into the language teaching world.”
Amy basked in the realization she’d made the right choice. Still some distance to travel. But the times, they were a’changing.
