My Stong Woman Number--What's in a name?

Noel Battles?!! It’s a translation of my maiden (and often) professional name, Carol Lucha. Carol and Noel conjure an image of happy songs. Lucha is Spanish for struggle or battle. The first and last names reflect my contrasting personality and served me well throughout my formative years. My parents raised me with the belief that life consists of battles waiting to be won, and at a young age I learned to savor the win by relishing in the humor of every situation. I took exceptional joy in putting down arrogant bullies with very large egos. One such event occurred in my mid-forties, shortly before my bid for the coveted academic title of full professor.

The occasion arose when the university vice president asked me to produce and direct a musical for Women’s History Month. He wanted it produced in the large 700-seat campus theatre and insisted that it focus on women, both as performers and audience members. I’m Getting My Act Together and Taking it On The Road, an off Broadway 1978 hit that ran for 1,165 performance and made a statement about women and their relationships with men was the perfect choice. The small cast show was dramatically powerful, the music energetic, and the lyrics and dialogue thought provoking. The date was set, the royalties paid and rehearsals began. All seemed well, until the day the posters went up. That happened to be the day of the weekly faculty meeting and the day I changed my name.

The rather boring meeting was drawing to a conclusion when the department chair began a lengthy diatribe outlining his belief that I was undermining the department for directing a show without gaining the permission of the department before agreeing to misrepresent the faculty.

My confusion was apparent as I tried to ascertain his problem.

Five minutes later everything fell into place. “You mean you don’t think I have the right to do this project because it will reflect badly on the department because it may look like the theatre department produced it?

“Yes, the performance is in the Johnson Theatre.”

I responded quickly, “But it doesn’t say Department of Theatre, it only mentions my name as director.”

“Exactly. Your name is listed as director.”

“Your telling me that I can’t direct anything not of your choosing? Some may consider that a violation of a academic freedom.”

Sudden backtracking from the red-faced chair. “No, you can direct wherever you want, just not in the Johnson Theatre because everyone will see your name on the poster and think it is our production.

“So your main problem is my name appearing on the poster?”

Relief sprang into his flaccid, flabby face. “Yes, if your name appears, everyone will think it is under our auspices.”

I felt myself smile as my blue eyes narrowed in delight. I simpered like Scarlet O’Hara on the terrace at Tara. “Oooh, I understand now what your problem is. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll fix everything.”

The bell rang. Meeting over. I meandered over to the Women’s Studies office to ask that new posters be redesigned, printed and disseminated. After hearing my rationale, it was agreed and I left humming “I’m doing my strong woman number…” one of my favorite songs in the show.

I explained the need for secrecy among the female student cast and we entered the fray. The new posters papered the campus. Noel Battles was listed as the director. The name was displayed in prominent red letters.

It was amusing to hear the various faculty comments.

“The new posters are eye catching.”

“They sure are.”

“Should boost ticket sales.”

“I certainly hope so.”

“I see there is a new director.”

No comment, just an impish grin.

“Is it anyone I may know.”

“I respect her work as much as I do my own. She is an excellent director.”

“When will we meet her?”

“When you come to the show.”

And so on. Over the next two weeks the cast, crew and I were united in our anticipation of the clever remarks we might make to avert the next query about Noel Battles. It was delightful. It was delicious. The songs in the show took on new meaning as we bonded against that “old boy network.”

At last. It was the day of the opening and of the weekly faculty meeting. Tension oozed from the chair as the meeting commenced. He asked a few pointed questions, “Is everyone ready for opening?”

“Yes.”

“When will you introduce me to the director?”

I decided it was time to turn the knife a little. “I’m certain you have already met.”

“I don’t know anyone named Noel Battles.”

The frown on my face was apparent, the smile on my face was growing larger and my mind was whirling at the thrill of winning the game.

“Oooh (Scarlet O’Hara and the southern accent emerged), I’m sure you do, but you’ll find out tonight. You are coming aren’t you?”

His face grew red. He couldn’t contain himself. He reminded me of a balloon ready to pop. The sweet side of my nature grew concerned that he might have a heart attack.

The bell rang. He yelled, “Damn it. Who the hell is Noel Battles?”

I answered his question quietly, “Me.” I collected my things, bowed and explained. “You had a problem because Carol Lucha’s name was on the poster. I solved your problem by removing the name from the poster but not the person from the production.”

I left a very quiet room humming “Who’s got the last laugh now?”

And that is just one incident in my story. Next time I’ll tell you topics that may be covered in the ensuing postings. Some you may skip and others may be of interest. They are all topical, most have a touch of humor and all are reflections of the girl who was raised by a mother eight years OLDER than her husband, my father. But the Mom/Carol and Dad/Carol stories I’ll save for later blogs.

created by humor, tenacity, the belief that I made a difference to my students