Debbie Todhunter: plucky an
Editor’s note: following is the third in a series of weekly ar
ticles profiling University students selected at random.
By RICHARD DYMOND
Collegiapptaff Writer
Raggedy Ann Todhunter spends the morning arranged on
the divan facing the door in her mommy’s ninth-floor one
bedroom apartment in Penn Towers. Just above the doll’s
head, in a fish-bowl, live Golda Meir, a yellow and black
fantail, and Edward G. Robinson, a silvery-blaclj fellow who
has googly eyes and roomy cheeks. He and Miss Meir, who is a
bit ostentatious, seem to have an understanding. Further
along the wall on the window sill, the lid and bottom of an
empty egg carton are filled with soil and seeds. A tiny, tiny
philadendron has emerged from the first dip. A breeze high
above East Beaver Ave, ruffles a white sheepskin on the divan
opposite Raggedy Ann.
\At noon, Debbie Todhunter (llth-biology) unlocks her door
ahd places her G. Sci. 20 notebook (undoodled) on a coffee
table. She begins to straighten the small apartment, still a bit
messy from weekend guests. Raggedy Ann, who has been
Debbie’s for three years and sometimes sleeps with her also
gets a straightening. Soon Debbie becomes tired and sits down
to proofread a Nutrition 351 paper that kept her up late the
previous night.
She goes to class, hands in her paper and comes back late in
the afternoon. After a nap, some television and something to
eat, she gathers lip her laundry, puts it in a plastic basket and
hauls it down to Armenara Plaza, where the machines are
cheaper. After putting the clothes in the washer, she sits down
in one of those plastic chairs to read the laundromat’s copy of
“Newsweek” and enjoy a Virginia Slim. That’s where I met
her.
Debbie Todhunter, whose name is English and means fox
hunter, let me carry her laundry baskethome. I couldn’t wait
to talk to her because she lived on’ a farm in a place near
Ebensburg called Nicktown, a community outside Johnstown
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that sweet laugh
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with a small population. The first thing I noticed about Debbie
was her hair and how unflappable it was, the way it always fell
so perfectly into fine, seamless ends. It’s the kind of hair that
is naturally buoyant, like a young child’s. |
At home, she lit a cigarette *nd kicked off her boat
sneakers
She began living on the farm when sl igL
but about a year ago her father gave up most of their
livestock, which included horses and cows, to work as a mine
"... We were standing near the pig pen and / asked , 'Where do
you get the mud for tfiem?' These porkers were standing in mud up to
their belly. / thought they must bring it in from somewhere. The hired,
hand looks at me and says, 'That isn't mud...'”
engineer. He graduated from Penn State in 1952 with a degree
in geology and mine engineering. Twelve cats and a few dogs
remain at the farm. Debbie went to Northern Cambria High
School, a rural school with a tiny graduating class.
“In high school I was a wallflower. I never got close to those
people. Everyone knew everybody. 1
“My father was great then. He’s a tall man with gray hair
and he’s letting it grow (she laughs). I could always talk to my
father. He seems to give me the confidence I lack.
“I always liked biology. When I came up here I majored in
chemistry for one term. (She laughs that sweet laugh.) Big
mistake. Chem. 12 finished that. A friend suggested Biology
11.1 took it and I loved it. Up here you can take high-powered
biology courses where you have the pre-med majors and those
looking to get good grades. I’d rather the more comfortable
courses.” ' :
I noticed the sheepskin on the sofa.
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“I got that in England last summer. My friend Marcia and I
spent three months working for a friend of my father’s. We
worked on his farm in the center of England called the
Midlands and lived in a hotel within distance. He gave us a
little car to use, a Hillman Minx.”
I asked for more information.
“My father’s friend was Captain Ayer, an ex-RAF soldier.
He was very, very! English. They have a subtle sense of
humor. He had about 300 she'ep and 400 pigs and one cow and
some chickens. The houses there were very old, made out of
stone from the mountains. All the barns are real oldj and they
have sjate roofs and the houses are covered with moss. You
can look down from the top of the valley into the village. It
rained a lot. I
“We did ~ L ’
..e did everything and got paid 12 pounds a wejek (about
$2B) and we earned; it. When we first got there they were
pretty easy on us. We would repair fences or paint ihem with
creosote. But later on we had to do istuff like cleaning out the
pig pens, which I hated.
“Do you know anything about pigs? I’d never been near a
pig until I got overi there. They’re very smart animals. I
remember we were 'standing near the pig pen and I asked,
“Where do you get the mud for them?” These porkers were
standing in mud up to their belly. I thought they must bring it
in from somewhere, you know. The hired hand looks at me and
says, “That isn’t mud.” I said, “Ugh...don’t tell me.” Every
week, twice a week.jwe had to clean those things put. We’d
have to shovel it all into one of those tractors with the scoop on
the end. We’d come hack after work and it would stick to our
clothing and smell in our hair. I hated pigs. If you’d climb in to
clean them, they’d bite at your legs. After a while I started
jabbing them with my pitchfork.”
As she sat in the chair, Debbie pulled at the hem of her
brown corduroys and'lifted her feet from the floor. Her eyes
were large and blue, but there was something else about them,
something I couldn’t decipher just then, as she talked.
“They slaughtered a few sheep while I was there. I always
wondered how they got the skins from the animal. They have a
thing that looks like a bicycle pump; a slit is made in the
animals throat and they just blow it up and the skin separates
from the meat and then theyjcut it off.”
“How about the food?” i; asked.
“Food was amazing. Even though we were workers, we ate
lunch with the family and had tea each day at 5 sharp. Lunch
was a sit-down affair with courses. We’d have wine, lamb or
mutton, pot pies, plum pudding (which is whole plums in a
thick eggy cake) and fresh raspberries or. strawberries in
heavy whipped cream. Since we had a cow we had real cream,
and the English put it on everything.
“What did you do with your free time? Did you gojto pubs?”
“We went to some'pubs and we found out that nice, polite
girls do not go unescorted to the pubs. They tended to dislike
Americans anyway. One time, when we went into a pub and
talked, everyone got silent and began to look at us, then
someone made the remark, ‘see you later mac' in an
American accent. That really upset me.” I
I saw Debbie the next day. We met after her Biology 405
class and went over to the HUB for something to eat. She had
coffee (she’s one of those girls who thinks she needs to diet)
and I had a yogurt. She grinned. i
“Do you know that you can go blind from eating too much
yogurt? I mean the Dannon freaks who subsist on it for years
without eating anything else. It involves the body being unable
to fully break down that much lactose or something. ”
‘This is my last yogurt, Debbie.”
I liked the way'she laughed and shook her finger at me'as I
worked up a yawn. A friend of hers came by, and she gave him
her full attention. I watched her as she worked at listening.
She leaned toward him and propped herself on her hands. I
noticed two little gold rings on her fingers. When the boy had
gone, she turned back. ■■■ ;
“Did you notice how he spoke so slowly? Both he and his
'lfriend k slow.” :
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'! L
The Daily Collegian Friday, July 20, 1973—3
passionate
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'ir [
5 1 <r‘ ,
We left the HUB together and went to sit on Old Main Lawn.
It was a hot, sticky afternoon and we both felt uncomfortable.
“Where would you like to be if you could be anywhere else?”
“Vermont,” she said. “I love the mountains."
I noticed her eyes again, and this time I realized a strange
wisdom in them that I had not seen in another person my age.
Her eyes said she had forgiven those who had robbed her in
one way or another. The wisdom that comes with forgiveness
had worn special shadows into her face. Still, her eyes are
more hopeful then any I have ever seen.
“I had this one teacher, for speech, and she was a beautiful
Jwoman with long, dark hair that she would wear up. I never
;had a teacher'who could get you to talk so openly as she did. I
'remember she would sometimes interrupt us in the middle of
jour speeches and say, “What do you really mean by that?”,
;or, “What do you really want to say?” And we would just blurt
|out what we were thinking.
“Well, the last day of class she said to us, ‘Does anybody
want to ask me a question?’ This one guy asked, ‘Why don't
you ever wear your hair down?’ She said that if she took it
down she would begin to play with it, making her less at
tentive. Then I asked, ‘Weren’t you wearing a hairpiece
sometimes?’ She said it was always her real hair. Then
another boy asked if she would let it down right there so we
could see how long it was. When she let it down it fell
beautifully down to her backside, and she played with it the
rest of class. She was right. She wasn’t as effective with her
hair down.” ,
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