John and I had lots of guests. We were always willing to host receptions, provide meals and sleeping accommodations for speakers who came to the Anthropology Department, both at Iowa State University, and later, at the University of Minnesota-Duluth, where we both were employed. Sometimes receptions reached one-hundred or more people. As we grew in stature, so did our role in speaker selection. Since John had colleagues from here, there, and everywhere, good friends and well-known anthropologists, we were able to bring many of them to our universities as guest lecturers. These visitors often benefitted John’s teaching and research program.
One of our first guests was Anthropologist Margaret Mead. She was invited to Iowa State to give an evening public lecture in Stephens Auditorium, sponsored by the Anthropology Department, and we were asked to wine and dine her. This was to be an intimate, get-acquainted event before the main attraction, and a rare opportunity for a chosen few to chit-chat with the world’s most famous anthropologist.
As I think back on it, I was nervous about my role as party-giver. We hadn’t been in Ames very long, and although I was accustomed to being with many important anthropologists in Kenya, this was different. We were back in America, and Margaret Mead, in her last years by 1975, was a very famous person. We, on the other hand, were in our virgin years in academia. I worried about trivial things—Will she like my home? Will my meal turn out alright? What will I say to her?
It also happened before we moved to the big house on the hill above Brookside Park. This was our first home under mortgage on Annear Street in Ames—a three-bedroom, split-level bungalow with steep steps to its entrance. It was these stairs that Margaret had to climb with her lame leg and walking staff. We watched from the big bay window, hoping she could make the ascent and wishing for an elevator or a lift of some sort to assist her. Mike Whiteford, Chair of the Anthropology Department, hung on to her arm, and with some struggle, she finally made it breathlessly to the door.
Unexpectedly, my eight-year old took over. As soon as Margaret reached the door, Jennifer ran to her with an extended hand. Margaret took it tenderly, and they bonded quickly as friends. Jennifer brought her to one of two hide-covered chairs, and stayed by her side, playing the little “hostess with the mostest” throughout the evening. Her prize was a personal thank-you note in her autograph book.
The group was small—Margaret, our family, Mike, Political Scientist Stefan Schmidt, and Historian Andre Plakans and wife Barbara—eight people in all. They fit perfectly around our Iowa Amana Colonies harvest table.
I prepared an African meal because that was what I was doing then. We had recently returned from one year and six months of living in Kenya. Our dress, as well as the décor in our house, reflected East African culture. I had covered the kitchen walls with Serengeti wildlife wallpaper, and African paraphernalia was everywhere. For the occasion, John, Jennifer, and I wore African kangas with the same pattern—his, a top, Jennifer, a dress, and I, a skirt. The main dish was chicken curry served with ugali (cornmeal) and various accompaniments, a popular meal in East Africa, influenced by its large Indian population. The curry’s main seasoning is garam masala, a blend of cinnamon, cumin, coriander, cardamom and black pepper, which added a spicy and pungent aroma to the dining area.
Margaret told many tales of adventure about her fieldwork in Samoa and New Guinea. As the chef, I was so busy running back-and-forth, to-and-fro, from the kitchen to the table, that I only got snatches of the interesting conversation. The main thing is everything went well. The dinner group were good eaters. Margaret made it down the stairs safely. She had a packed house for her talk, and there was a good attendance at a reception at Mike and Patty’s home afterwards.
Over the years, Margaret Mead’s conclusions regarding the relationship of adolescent sex in Samoa to biological factors and cultural upbringing, and their meaning for child rearing in the United States, have become controversial. She also has been criticized by her peers for not living in a Samoan household, but instead preferring white living quarters while conducting her research.
Looking at her book Coming of Age in Samoa, I noticed she received a bachelor’s degree from Barnard College and a PhD from Columbia University. This made me wonder if Jennifer’s attraction to Margaret that day indirectly influenced her decision to go to Barnard, since it was never a school on John’s or my radar.
So, I asked Jennifer if she recalled “The Day when Margaret Mead Came to Dinner.” She said, “I don’t remember a lot. She was a nice old lady. I realized she was famous but didn’t have a very good idea of why at the time. I remember she spoke at CY Stephens and that was impressive. I think hearing Jane Goodall speak made a bigger impression on me.”