In Warhaven — from a distance through the dust — tarnish, rust, patina, they look about the same. Her aged beauty and tested mettle of her demeanor still cast a clarion call for respect. That was Mary Means in 1940, age 73, the oil executive who was born and raised on the West Hills farm of her parents.
Some called her demeanor haughty, others, less observant, labeled it shyness. Despite her long years spent in the Mediterranean and Middle East in business, she was of that class of strong western women, independent, blunt, succinct.
Mary had been away a long while, working for Standard Oil and doing well. When her husband, John Dee, passed away in Beirut in 1938, she lost that edgy will to continue in business.
Mary had kept the family farm, and decided to return to Warhaven, which she did the following year.
Immediately she was approached by Ohio DuMont, who convinced her to run for the West Hills seat which would open in the next year’s election. She reasoned this would give her some focus, would permit her to reconnect in meaningful ways, would perhaps bring her some joy and walk her out of her grieving for her beloved John Dee. She won the election. She was a quick study and in 1943 served her first of three terms as mayor of Warhaven.
When Mary and John worked for Standard Oil, it was his strident mandate that she carry a gun out of sheer prudence. Her handgun of choice was the Remington 95 Double Deringer with pearl grip. Now in Warhaven she laughed out loud, thinking, “A western desperado would sneer at such a measly piece of concealed steel.” So her persona donned a tooled leather holster on the back of her hip, tied off to her lower thigh which housed a 12-inch barreled Colt Buntline Special, her .45 cartridges filled with No. 9 shot. She became a walking billboard for the Second Amendment rights of women. When a tourist questioned the civility of such a practice in 1946, Mary looked down her nose at the man in his khaki vest and pith helmet and said in her throaty voice, “Why, sir, I believe all adults ought to pack weapons, every one, every Indian, every Black man and woman, every Japanese American neighbor of mine, even you, sir, although I surmise you’d be one foot shy shortly.”
This was about the time she took to smoking Chesterfields, saying goodbye to her favored, exotic Sobranie Black Russian cigarettes, and wearing a crushed down fedora, beneath which hung her full long gray locks, streaked with some red of her youth, braided in pigtails. She savored delight in riding her roan horse Betsy down into town, clad in jodhpurs and snake boots. Mary would tie up Betsy in front of Brown’s Lunch Counter and walk about town with errands and social visits, her freckled face and cornflower blue eyes glowing in anticipation of small adventures.
Another event from August 1946 is well worth mentioning. Tony Dini, then manager of the L&M Merc, was planning to retire in the coming year. He was having his weekly lunch with competitor Henry Fieldman, manager and owner of Sid’s Groceries. This tradition had begun 21 years before. They always sat in the back booth, and the contents of their whispered confabs were guardedly confidential. Many thought it was merely to share dirty jokes or snide remarks about customers. No one suspected, not even their wives, that these men were the founders and administrators of the mysterious and generous Sisterhood of Kindness, that anonymous charity that had done so much to diminish the pain and anguish of World War II here in New Hope County.
Mary was about as astute as a person can be. She found herself at Brown’s that afternoon, dining on a Reuben sandwich and iced sweet tea. Two of her business skill sets were foreign languages (Farsi, Arabic, Turkish, and Kurmanji) and lipreading, the latter coming in handy virtually every day of her career with Standard Oil.
In the middle of a bite she glanced up, absent-mindedly entering the conversation of Henty and Tony, discovering their long-held secret.
She was the consummate diplomat, practicing the delicate touch in business on sheiks, emirs, and princes. Mary sensed Henry’s burden of carrying the charity along alone, knowing now Henry’s sadness over Tony’s imminent retirement.
She finished her meal, paid the bill, and strolled over to their table. They both looked up, startled.
“Gentlemen, excuse me.” She leaned down, over the table and whispered, “You two are deep in conversation. I simply want to say your work is highly appreciated and respected. Thank you.”
She turned to leave, but turned back, placing a check on the tabletop. She smiled and walked away.
“Gosh!” exclaimed Tony, “It’s a check for $5,000!”
Henry grabbed it, reading, stammering, “She knows!”
Incredulous, dumbfounded, they stared at each other.
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