The characters in my novels 
often haunt me–in a good way. That’s when I know they are true. Mrs. Tibbles, a character in my next novel, is inspired by a friend and student I had many years ago who had been a Martha Graham dancer. Ellen had that willowy bend to her arms and legs. The lilt of her head that said grace. Her shoulders were square and straight, but not soldiery. In the writing workshop I facilitated, she worked on a memoir of her dancing days. Her stories were tales of working with musical comedic legend Zero Mostel, Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright Tennesee Williams, master dancer and choreographer Paul Taylor, and the relentless “mother of modern dance” Martha Graham. Ellen was also a 1950s Vogue cover model, a fact I only know because once, when I picked her up to take her to lunch after she left the group, she showed me around her home. A one-story Southern California middle class two-bedroom, with photographs and magazine covers modestly framed, hung here and there. The Cleavers could have lived in this house, and maybe they did.
That’s what fascinates me about human beings: we don’t really know what goes on inside anyone else’s world, home, or their head. Yet we assume we all want the same things. We don’t, of course, but I believe there is one thing we all aspire to, and we can only get it from other people.
While I can only speculate about what was inside Ellen’s head, I know a lot about what went on in her life, because she told those of us in the group. What she wrote was actually very banal, with hardly any detail. But she would elaborate verbally when we asked her to. “Put it on the page!” we would say when she’d relate a story about clomping around her apartment with large tomato juice cans tied to her feet to practice for a dance. At the time, her neighbors would complain. Now, so did we. “Write it down!” we’d repeat, when she told stories of entertaining Russian delegates in her dinky New York apartment, serving dinner on a table made from her bathroom door laid over two bookcases, and later making love on top of that horizontal door. I picture her in a velvet and lace red dress, pouring ouzo or chilled vodka into tiny crystal glasses. That last part is in my head, details that arrange themselves based on who I imagine she was.
She never did write down these stories, nor all the others that spilled off her tongue over the years. When she started to lose her way to my house (my living room is where I hold my private groups), we thought she was bonkers. She’d trip and fall over nothing in the street. We’d smile at one another, a look in our eye that translated to “She’s loopy.” We meant it with love.
But then Ellen was diagnosed with severe Alzheimer’s. Family services took away her car, and she had to leave the group. I stayed in touch, took her to lunch, and tried to reach out to her. I didn’t want her stories to disappear; I encouraged her to write. On one of my visits to her house, she told me she had quit taking her medication because it made her dizzy, and “what dancer wants to be dizzy?” She’d had a good life, the best life anyone could expect, she said. She didn’t see any point in having to stick around for what was to come.
One day, after a panicky and disoriented lunch, she called and said I was the only person who still contacted her. She believed everyone had forgotten her.
I never heard from Ellen again.
Photo credit: bienaldancaceara, antydiluvian
Amy Wallen
Amy Wallen is the bestselling author of MoonPies and Movie Stars, a frequent contributing book critic for the Los Angeles Times and other national magazines. Amy is also the founder and comedic host of the reading series DimeStories, 3-minute stories ...
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More on these topics:
martha graham, modern dance, paul taylor, tennessee williams, vogue magazine, zero mostel
Jenn says:
thank you amy for making me cry this morning :-) and isn't that a big part of why we write? to tell our stories ("our" in the collective consciousness kind of way), to immortalize ourselves, and others, to leave a mark that says "I was here."
DaDonna says:
A very touching portrait. She's fascinating and I'm sorry I never got to meet her. Oh, but I have. You did that for me here. So, thanks for that. I bet Ellen would thank you too. And I'm dying to know how she ended up in SoCal. I'm sure there's a story there too.
JD Boucharde says:
Wow. Thanks, Amy. Beautiful.
Steve says:
What a moving story. Amazing that in so few words Ms. Wallen was able to summon the spirit of this fascinating woman. Makes me anxious to read about Mrs. Tibbles. When will the novel be out? Thanks for this fine, fine story.
Hope says:
This is so poignant, Amy, and such a beautiful commemoration of Ellen. Having taught nonfiction students for so many years, I know what you mean about wanting some of them to put their detailed stories down in writing. Some can spin tales beautifully, but then the electricity fades in the translation to paper. That's why cabaret-style and spoken word events like Dime Stories are so important: they allow oral storytellers to shine. So glad you're doing what you do!!
Jim says:
Oh wow, this is so sad. I need to make some phone calls this weekend!
Giacomo says:
Lovely. Can't wait to see how Ellen manifests herself as Mrs. Tibbles in your next work!
Shannon says:
I love this, Amy. It reminds me of my grandmother, who could only speak two words (was and seven) toward the end. I'm afraid I missed out on capturing so many of her stories. But I'm working on rebuilding them from her letters.
Thanks for inspiring me to take up that project (and others) again, Amy! :)
Ann says:
If only Ellen knew that her stories would live on in Mrs. Tibbles. Thanks to you, Amy, she won't be forgotten. A very touching piece.
shara says:
What a great story. I am glad you are writing down her words :)
Ellen Meister says:
I can't imagine a more touching tribute, Amy. This is magnificent. Thanks for this ... for delivering her to us with so much love.
Christine Schwab says:
Amy, What a lovely story. Ellen might not have been able to put her story down on paper in a way to engage readers, but I know you will make her story come alive through Mrs. Tibbles in your new novel. Wouldn’t Ellen have loved that? Perhaps that’s why your paths crossed, she wanted to share her story and you are the person who can make that possible. While I agree we can’t know what goes on in each other’s heads, writers have the ability to explore those thoughts more than the average person. It’s almost as if Ellen knew her story would be kept alive because of you, the one person who stayed in touch.
ruth says:
Amy,
I remember Ellen from your group and you have captured some of the incredible stories she would tell us as she slowly descended into confusion. She was long and elegant and sat erect and tall on her tail bones, as she put it. I hope some new therapies and treatments can help the Ellens of our time hold on to this world longer. I miss those stories, too.
RomanHans says:
Much applause for a great story. And for a woman who's added a new entry to my bucket list: making love on *top* of the bathroom door.
Ann Mason says:
Amy, Thank you for such a thought-provoking article. Even as a teen I thought it is a sad reflection that the western world does not revere and nurture it's elders as some other cultures do. That the un-perfect are all-too-soon discarded and forgotten.
I love your writing and hope to read more from you soon.
Meredith says:
This is a character/woman/person we somehow know. Her likeness and memory are in capable hands with your writing and I look forward to your next novel.
Shanna says:
I don't even know Ellen and now I miss her. Sigh.
Amy C says:
I cried when I read this.
Josh Board says:
I can't believe that...on a Friday night, home from a wonderful night out...I sit down and read this and start balling my eyes out. Damn you, Amy Wallen!
What a nice little story. Wonderful. I wish people would do stories like this for their folks, and let them read the pieces BEFORE they pass away. They'll realize that we DID appreciate all the years of great stories they shared with us about their lives.
Regarding the part about "write it down," well...a lot of people just aren't great writers/storytellers. They can tell a story that's interesting, because...if yuo're dancing with Grace Kelly, or having sex in a weird place, the nature of the story is going to be interesting. It doesn't mean you're always a great storyteller.
I just did a story on comedians, and one taught workshops on writing and comedy. I asked if you could make someone funny that wasn't already. He gave the answer I figured he would...but the real answer is...so many people want to write and tell stories. And many of them just aren't that interesting.
I'm glad yours usually are.
Enid says:
Hey, I missed your column. Where you been girl? What a great return with this touching portrait. It's brief yet mesmerizing and I can't wait to read your novel.
Alex Bosworth says:
Wonderful, Amy! "Loopy" is used affectionately amongst my loved ones as well. At least I think so.
binkboy says:
Wow. This is so great and touching and vivid. If this is your column, I can't wait to read your novel.