Patty Bell
Mrs. Bell
English 4 CP, A-1
31 October 2012 (Second Revision)
For Love or Money
(not sure about this title—is it enough oomph?)
More than any other emotion, I was angry at Mrs. Lola Bergner. I did not know what good would
come of it, being furious at a dead woman, but I felt undeniable rage. Mrs. Lola Bergner, a Jewish
concentration camp survivor and my mother’s employer, chose to end her own life on October 12, 1976.
Not only did she methodically select a box cutter to sever her wrists, but she also hand-picked my mother
to be the one to find her lifeless body. No wonder I was angry!
The privileged wife of a doctor, Mrs. Bergner made regular trips to New York City to shop at the
exclusive stores on Fifth Avenue, where a scarf costs $800. She selected a new Lincoln Continental each
year because she certainly couldn’t be caught driving last year’s model. Her full-time gardener, Floyd,
was a man who spouted Latin plant names like an oracle, and her live-in maids changed as quickly as
cloud formations on a windy day. She thought nothing of hosting gala events at her 10,000+ square foot
Colonial-style home. If Williamson, New York, had had paparazzi, they would have jostled for prime
positions outside her security gate. Daisy Buchanan had nothing on Mrs. Bergner when it came to
extravagance.
At the fragile age of thirteen, I was sickly thin and unsure of every step I took. A farm girl. I wore
ill-fitting hand-me-down clothes from my sister who was shaped much more like Marilyn Monroe than
my DNA dictated. The first new dress I ever purchased was a K-Mart layaway special with a fly-away
collar. Our used, two-toned Impala left us stranded too many times to count. We pinched pennies because
we didn’t have quarters!
Mom grabbed her purse and the keys to the Impala. She had been talking on the phone to another
one of Mrs. Bergner’s employees who had asked her to come to Mrs. Bergner’s house. “Do your
homework! Don’t fight! Don’t know when I’ll be home. Be good!” Mom always ended every farewell
speech with that statement: “Be good.” She kissed each of us in turn. Could I have known my life was
about to turn inside out? The next morning, Mom still wasn’t home and I grumbled as I made my PB and
J for school lunch.
That afternoon my sisters, brother, and I bounded off the school bus, forgetting that Mom had
been gone that morning and the night before. We knew something wasn’t right as soon as we walked into
the kitchen. Crying, Mom held her head in her hands. I can honestly say that seeing my mother cry was as
strange as seeing her waste time. Quietly she unfolded the details of Mrs. Bergner’s suicide. All I could
think about were her cars, her clothes, her jewelry. How could she kill herself when she had clothes in her
closet with the Lord & Taylor tags still on them?
But at the age of thirteen, I discovered that Mrs. Bergner, with all of her pomp and circumstance,
was unhappy. She employed people to fulfill her need for companionship. She had “paid friends” who left
every day at 5:00 and had weekends off. Mrs. Bergner surrounded herself with extraordinary things that
others coveted (maybe ‘valued’ here); I was surrounded by extraordinary people who valued me. She had it
all and chose to leave it all; I had little, but I had unconditional love which is something money can’t buy.
(effectiveness of ending????) start comparison earlier