In Search of My Crown: Miss Universe Part II

When I was in the 2nd grade, my mother used to set my hair in pincurls on her night off, using bobby pins. All over my scalp she would place these sticks of torture and then off to bed I would go. I would ease my pin-laden head gently down and as my head hit the pillow, I could find no comfortable middle ground. It was a constant, ow, ow, ow, ow, turning back and forth, while the pins stabbed my head like swords throughout the night.

But in the morning, va-voom. The bobby pins would come out and I would have the biggest curliest afro haloing my head. My mom would comb, and tease, and work it until she achieved the perfect jiffy pop bubble on my head. Into the middle of this would go a velvet bow, and then I had to close my eyes as she lacquered it in place with 5 minutes worth of Aqua Net hairspray. I looked like a cross between a 1950s housewife, and a French poodle.

That year my lovely teacher, Miss Nelson, commemorated the 1967/68 school year with a book of personalized poems for each of her students. Mine was:

Susan Lewin

What is that upon your head?

I think it is a bow of red!

Explaining, while she was reading aloud, “...because your hair always looks ‘so nice’.”

The problem with this look was my hair was fine and naturally stick straight so that by the end of a long day at school my bubble-do would begin to wilt and fall. Once, on a particularly windy afternoon on the playground, my ‘do really caved in. When a line of 4th graders marched by on their way to the cafeteria, several of them pointed and shrieked at me. ‘Ewwww, look at Phyllis Diller! That girl looks like PHYLLIS DILLER! Ewwwwwww!” I ran home in tears to announce there would be no more bobby pins, no more hairspray, and I was growing my hair long and straight.

***

During the semi-final round the audience is treated to little “get-to-know-you” video clips of the 10 contestants. We learn that Trinidad/Tobago enjoys yoga, tai chi, dancing in the rain, and is studying singing and aesthetics. Venezuela is a student of economics and likes rappelling and extreme sports. Japan has a B.A. in American literature and a teaching certificate, is an expert in Japanese calligraphy and flower arranging. Serbia/Montenegro is just an 18-year-old high school graduate. In her video clip she is shown cuddling a kitten. She says she “...loves leetle cats” and she likes “...to held them, and to save them.” I give her extra points on my sheet of paper.

***

In 1970 we moved to Tamarak apartments. While Tamarak was still low income housing, it promised a fresh beginning and the double deck apartments were new and modern. I quickly made friends with the beautiful sisters who lived in one of the upstairs units.

One summer day I found them in the middle of setting up a beauty pageant in their part of the complex. I helped Bernadette and Linda twine rolls of toilet paper through the stair railings and set up folding chairs at the bottom of the sidewalk runway. Then we began to practice. One at a time, each girl would descend the staircase gracefully, drop into a deep curtsy and then proceed to a chair, where the idea was to perch on the end, knees together, and toes pointed daintily to the ground. Someone had to be the host, and we would take turns asking pageant questions along the lines of “If you could go anywhere you wanted in the world, where would you go and why?” After hours and hours of practice, we decided we must have a “real” Miss Universe Pageant” as soon as possible.

***

The 5 finalists are being announced: Miss Venezuela, Miss Dominican Republic, Miss Japan, Miss South Africa, and Miss Serbia/Montenegro. 4 of my 5 picks have made it and will proceed to the question and answer round.

***

Within a week of our intense practice sessions, we were in my living room and the real pageant was happening. All the little sister entrants had been eliminated and it was down to the two real contestants, Bernadette and myself. Bernadette did double duty as both contestant and host. We needed a final judge for the last event and my mother was the closest at hand. By this point we had both changed into our formal wear (nightgowns as long dresses) and all that was left to do was curtsy and tell why we wanted to win the title of Miss Universe. My mother was wrecking the whole thing because she refused to judge between myself and Bernadette, who, incidentally happened to be a dark brunette.

I began to have a small breakdown getting red in the face and teary, which is not a good look on me. At that moment the black girl group, Julia, Pat, Nancy, Nancy’s little sister and her friend, walked by our patio door. My mom suggested we get them to be judges because she was not going to do it. I was doubtful, these were tough girls, they had laughed at us when we were practicing. But Bernadette was all for it and I tried to compose myself. It was my house after all. My mom asked the girls in and they huddled on the gold crushed velvet couch as my mom explained the situation. They were being really sweet. Maybe this was going to turn out fine after all.

Bernadette did her deep curtsy with one arm straight out, the other clutching a bouquet of plastic flowers. She lowered her knees slowly parallel to the tops of her shoes and bowed her head dramatically down, touching her forehead to her curtsied knees. She reversed the move in a graceful slow motion rise and when upright looked at the judges with sincere brown eyes and declared how, though she wanted to be Miss Universe, she wasn’t sure she deserved it. But if she won, she would do her very best.

Then it was my turn, and I tried to copy Bernadette’s move and felt I did all right. I smiled wide and said it would be an honor to win Miss Universe and I would appreciate the honor of being Miss Universe.

It was time for the vote and Bernadette and I sat on the matching gold loveseat with our toes pointed down and barely brushing the ground. We smiled at the living room and we smiled at ourselves and our smiles did not break at all. Bernadette wished me luck. I wished her luck back. The judges moved to the kitchen table and my mother gave them pieces of paper to write on. They cast their votes, but got all giggly and wouldn’t announce the winner so my mom had to finish the job after all.

“The winner is....Bernadette.” My frozen smile turned to horror and I flew into my room crying and ripping at the nylon purple paisley nightgown I was wearing over my other clothes. Everyone followed and there was a crush at the door as Bernadette, my sisters, my mother and the black girls crowded in to see my despair. Bernadette was all consolation and sweetness as she promised we would have another pageant and next time I would “get” it.