My Women Heroes - Margaret Mead and Lucille Ball
In my essay last year, “Women, and heroes for all: aviators Tilly Reeve and Beryl Markham,” I talked about feeling inspired to consider a different sort of hero, one that’s filtered out those outdated gender roles. After talking with Captain Erin McSwain, Army Ranger and one of the first female graduates from West Point, I realized that most of my role models had been men. But, upon closer examination, I had been greatly influenced by many women in my life, as well; women I could easily call my heroes. So, I set out to identify a few, and talk about what made these women so special to me. You will note that I choose not to call these women “heroines.” Heroin(e) is for junkies. Heroes are heroes (unless you’re talking about gyro’s, the Greek sandwich that’s also pronounced “heroes”).
As I wrote in my first essay on the subject, “heroism is not gender-specific. We should not pigeonhole greatness. Greatness knows no gender, no sexual preference, no color, no nationality, no balance in a bank account, no region, no religion.” I believe that my next two heroes, Margaret Mead, and Lucille Ball certainly live up to that same spirit of greatness.
Mead and Ball shared a lot in common with my first two heroes, Tilly Reeve and Beryl Markham. They were fearless and refreshingly uninhibited—they didn’t seem to care for what anyone, much less any women of their era were supposed to be doing with their lives. They were trendsetters and game-changers—unbound by the tenets of any one “category” of person. All four of these heroes explored the outer reaches of their capabilities and their worlds. But for Margaret Mead and Lucille Ball, in particular, these heroes were true expressions of “self-invention”, originality, cut from whole cloth, weaved from the spirit of their own talents and worldview. They sang their own unique songs—not because someone told them to, but rather, because they had their own tune, and sung it well.
Margaret Mead - Inventing Oneself
(1901 to 1978)
From www.groundbreakinggirls.com
Nowadays, Margaret Mead is iconic because she brought us an entirely unique way of looking at the world, each other, and indeed, ourselves. She was a true original, and for me was an obvious pick to be one of my heroes.
Mead was the first to recognize that the observer themselves had to be accounted for within the observation. Not only could she do it, but she had the eye and the temperament to do it well. This manifested itself in her studies of ethnocentrism—a subject that is every bit as relevant today as it was 100 years ago.
Mead may be most famous for her discussion of “nurture versus nature.” In this, she posits if we, as individuals, and as cultures, are more influenced by what we learn from our family and peers (nurture), or the culture and environment we live in (nature). It’s easy to believe that one or the other is more dominant. However, in a true intellectual break with European ethnocentrism (which, at the time, posited that culture was the main determinant), Mead suggested that the real answer was the interplay between the two. She further expanded her post-colonial thinking with observations of the many variations of the role of gender in various cultures.
She felt that neither ethnicity nor gender was the most important determining factor for the persona of any one human being and that one must study differences among individual people before determining differences based on race or gender.
Some of the societies she studied—all racially homogeneous—were patriarchal, while others were matriarchal, and in others still, they were egalitarian in the sense that leadership was balanced equally between both men and women.
In one failed swoop, she took down ethnocentrism and the idea that one’s gender determined their role in society. Of course, we are still debating all of this in 2022—evidence that the world has not yet caught up with Mead. But that’s also what makes her so special: heroes are those who are not afraid to be ahead of their time.
Another thing I liked about Mead is how she brought science and sociology to the masses. Most academics of her time did not mind being removed from the “common people,” and were satisfied if their writings and lectures were only read and heard by their academic peers.
Not Mead. Call it her noblesse oblige.
Her exploits were often published in popular magazines, and her lectures were extremely well attended by people from all walks of life. Mead was the Neil deGrasse Tyson of her time as one of the few widely recognizable scientists and she brought anthropology to life in a way that has inspired future generations as we continue to tackle many of the issues of our multicultural world.
Yet her work and her conclusions were also extremely controversial. One could even say, gasp(!), that she was occasionally wrong. Under these circumstances, modern America might have simply dismissed her, labeling her science as “faulty.” But one of the heroic things about Margaret is that she didn’t let that slow her down; she kept on exploring anyway.
It’s striking how “modern” some of Mead’s concepts are. Here’s a bit of what I mean:
“A small group of thoughtful people could change the world. Indeed, it's the only thing that ever has.”
“Children must be taught how to think, not what to think.”
“Always remember that you are absolutely unique. Just like everyone else.”
“There is no greater insight into the future than recognizing...when we save our children, we save ourselves.”
Yup. That was all Mead.
Because the concepts sound so current, it's easy to forget how radical they were at the time; especially coming from a Ph.D.-educated woman from the 1930s, conducting most of her research in the mid-20th century.
Mead’s work and way of looking at the world have been incredibly important to me, because they hark back to a time when we encouraged curiosity. This was very influential to my education and upbringing. Not only that, but Mead’s view is global, inclusive, curious. It demands that we personally be part of the inquiry and not just the sole determiner of merit.
In an era where everything seems to scream “look at me,” Mead encouraged us to look around, see how we fit in—and to notice more than how it all fits us. Interestingly, even though Mead studied indigenous peoples, her conclusions do not feel faraway. In this way, she provides us with a map toward understanding all people as members of the human race first, our ancestral tribes second. In short, Mead helped me form my own belief system, even as she taught me to understand the beliefs of others.
To harness the spirit of Mead is to care about others’ stories as much as we care about telling our own.
This spirit is a powerful force in a world filled with so much racial, political, and global tension. It’s a spirit that can help to create space for those who had previously been unseen and unheard—a space where they can finally share their stories with all of us. After all, it’s their stories that have helped us begin our own dialogues about all kinds of topics—race, religion, gender roles—many topics which continue to this day.
Mead created spaces to allow for the naming of the previously unnamed. In one instance, she had one tribe pick the name of their own people, as they had not felt the need to do so before. They did not need a collective name, but we did. They chose the name they used simply for “the people.” That ultimately became our name, too.
Mead was one of many post-colonials bursting onto the scene who revolutionized the way the “less developed parts the world” could be seen; not as places to exploit and dominate, but rather as a new source of sensibilities and human understanding. I dare say the world has not yet caught up with Mead, but she left us a map if we choose to follow her path.
Lucille Désirée Ball - Reinventing Oneself
(1911 to 1989)
John Florea, The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Lucille Désirée Ball was certainly one of the most unique women of the 20th century—not just because of who she was and what she accomplished, but also because of how she managed to reinvent herself over and over again, each time recreating herself into someone even more fantastic.
But it wasn’t always fantastic.
How’s this for an early career? She was kicked out of acting school because they said she had no talent. Nevertheless, she was able to secure a contract with RKO studios as one of their stable of “pretty girls,” but was released from her contract because they said she was not “pretty enough.” In the middle of all of this, she was accused of being a member of the communist party and had to appear before the House Committee on Un-American Affairs in 1953—during a time when people’s Hollywood careers were being shut down by the mere whisper of Communism.
Yet, here she is, three-quarters of a century later, with not one, but two movies about her life released in 2022. One is a documentary produced by Amy Poehler, aptly titled “Lucy and Desi”, and the other is a feature film called “Being the Ricardos”, starring It-Gal Nicole Kidman, which has been nominated for three Academy Awards.
How could someone—who started out with a career that seemed so unpromising—reinvent herself to share It-Gal status with Nicole Kidman? True heroes just do stuff like this.
My connection with Lucy started when I was a little kid watching the new comedy hit series, “I Love Lucy” on our family’s bulbous black and white TV screen. I had forgotten how happy and exciting it all was for our Cuban-American family, until I once again heard the theme song in the movie, “Being the Ricardos.” Da da da, dada DAT da da… All brassy, with Cuban conga beats and a sort of big band elegance.
Many people know the story of Lucy and Desi by now—it’s been told so many times, including the two movies out this year. Lucy was what everybody thought of as an “over-the-hill pretty girl” actress. She meets a younger guy, Desi Arnaz. Desi is one of the best-looking men on the block. Not only is he an extremely talented frontman for a hip Cuban-mambo band, but he’s also still a rising star. Yet, they fall madly in love and combine their talents to start a small-time radio comedy program.
At the time, who would’ve known this was the start of yet another reinvention for Lucy?
It was that very radio program that became one of the most popular television series of all time, “I Love Lucy.” In the process, Lucy and Desi would slay all kinds of dragons, like:
Addressing what was then considered an “interracial marriage” (she was a redhead, and he was Cuban—how verboten!).
Becoming pregnant and actually “showing” during filming (the sponsors did not want to insinuate that a married couple might be having sex, much less a baby—but Lucy won that argument).
Having the female lead, Lucy, maintain an iron grip on the script, camera angles, and scene staging (heretofore actresses were allowed only to “stay in their own lane”—that is, to look good and act).
Negotiating ownership rights for their productions, thus simultaneously birthing the creative legend, I Love Lucy.
Plus, Lucy and Desi secured financial/commercial legend status by owning the rights to what they created.
Put simply, none of this was the norm in 1960s Hollywood—much less the usual score from a “washed-up” actress and a “wet behind the ears” immigrant.
However, while the show flourished, Lucy and Desi’s marriage did not. He was a womanizer. She was someone who had virtually no filter for BS, and even though she loved and admired Desi, she ended the marriage. These days it may be difficult to understand that even this act of self-respect was highly unusual for a woman of Lucy’s age in the 1960s. Most women of her era would have simply “put up with it.” But that’s what heroes are—they know who they are, what they need to thrive, and how to stay true to themselves, no matter the risks.
When Lucy asked Desi to leave, one of the risks she took was how their business ventures would be handled. Lucy and Desi had co-founded Desilu Studios, in Culver City, California, to produce “I Love Lucy” as well as a smattering of other productions. Such as it was in the 1960s, everyone assumed that Desi was the business guy and Lucy was simply tagging along.
Of course, those who were privy to Lucy’s drive and penchant for directing knew she had keen talents that went well beyond acting. All of this came to light when Lucy surprised everyone. She bought out Desi, becoming the sole owner and President of Desilu. This made her the first woman to preside over a Hollywood studio and the most powerful woman in Hollywood.
Desilu didn’t stop there—the company went on to even bigger things, producing perhaps the two most iconic TV shows of the 1960s—Mission Impossible, and Star Trek.
It’s not nothing that both of these shows went on to be major movie franchises and are still going strong to this day. One could even say that (along with Desilu’s first production, “I Love Lucy”), these three shows represent one of the most important pieces of American cinematic culture. On her way to reinventing herself yet again, her reinvention created numerous spinoffs, which continue to reinvent themselves on their own. This is hero-stuff, folks.
Another reason Lucy is my hero? Simple—she reminds me of my mother, Dora.
My mother was an immigrant who refused to live the life assigned to her, just as Lucy refused to accept the early narratives of who she was supposed to be. Both Lucy and Dora were working women who rose to be captains of their professions. Dora started off as a secretary, but later became the first female Vice President of the largest geophysical company in the world—Compagnie General de Geophysique (CGG), based in Paris, France. Both Lucy and Dora were resilient even in the face of bad marriages, lack of opportunity, and unlucky breaks. Both were wonderful mothers, and I was so lucky to have Dora as mine, just as Lucy’s children must have felt the same.
Granted, Dora and Lucy look nothing alike, and their personalities are not remotely similar. But they were both women of their time who overcame incredible odds, thrived, and yes, reinvented themselves on numerous occasions.
On the opposite side of the same coin, Lucy was far from perfect. Heroes never are. She was surprisingly serious and humorless at times. Lucy was so driven that she drove others crazy, exhausting those around her. She was suspicious. Her son-in-law, Laurence Luckinbill once said, “Lucy was the sentry in her own life.” She was gruff, sometimes rude, arrogant, and yes, was certainly one of the great prima-donnas of her time.
Later in life, when she was on top of both her fame and fortune, her idea of human interaction seemed to be that she would simply “hold court”. Not hero-like? I disagree. What makes a hero a hero is not just their amazing talent, but also the very things that make them human.
In addition to her well-recognized flaws, Lucy had many endearing qualities. She was incredibly loving and loved by friends and family. Even when obviously wronged, she could still turn around and be forgiving—after all, she managed to remain friends with Desi Arnaz for life. Even though she had spent her whole life as a working woman, she was also an outstanding wife to both of her husbands, Desi Arnaz, and her second husband Gary Morton. She was a great mother to her two children, raising them and even working with them on subsequent television shows.
It goes without saying that Lucy was damn funny—one of the most gifted comedians of all time. And even though the public only knew of her as that ditzy redhead, she was one of the savviest businesspeople in Hollywood. And while she is mostly known for one show, “I Love Lucy,” she actually made over 80 films. It’s safe to say that Lucy was a bit misunderstood.
But isn’t that the way it goes for any hero? Complex, talented, flawed, human. They say it’s best not to meet your heroes, as it’d break the illusion of their magnificence. But I disagree. As long as you don’t put your heroes on a pedestal, you can learn a lot from their wins, losses, flaws, and all. Go ahead, misunderstand them. They’ll still be outshining the rest.