Pop Goes The World Joann Ware
Five years ago, the family and friends of William “Bill” Badgett gathered at Oak Grove Cemetery for his graveside funeral. It was a cold and blustery day with periods of sunshine and snow showers. The ceremony was brief; he was never fond of people making a huge fuss about him. His children spoke as tears made their voices shaky, but their love for their father made their words abundantly clear.
I was best friends with Bill Badgett’s youngest child, Frances. We met when we were students in Mrs. Harmison’s first grade homeroom at Waddell Elementary. I spent a lot of time at the Badgetts’ home on Jefferson Street, which to me always looked like something you’d see in Colonial Williamsburg. The beautiful red brick home with the wide and welcoming porch may have looked like a museum on the inside with its oil paintings of Badgett ancestors and antique furnishings, but it was not stuffy. Though kept neat, it was also lived in. The parents’ bedroom was often a gathering place for the whole family. Frances’ two older sisters, Amanda and Anne, would scale the high twin beds – which must have been a good 4 feet off the floor – to curl up and watch the tiny TV, though there was a much larger set in the living room with a Betamax video player.
Frances had her own room in the attic, which was topped by a square cupola. She had once shared the room with Amanda, but when Anne moved out, Amanda moved into her room on the main floor. Her brother, Jeffrey, had a room in the basement where there had once been a dentist’s office. On the wall of the stairway leading to Frances’ room was a mock movie poster of a film called “Bedtime for Brezhnev” with an illustration of President Reagan dressed in Western attire grabbing the former leader of the Soviet Union by the lapels. The Badgetts were all Democrats and my family, with a few exceptions, was staunchly Republican.
The bedroom itself was small and filled with everything a child of the 1980s could wish for. Frances had all the “Star Wars” stuff, including the much coveted Death Star playset. It was pretty much a Barbie townhouse, but smaller and with a trash compactor. I’m pretty sure that every young viewer of “The Sound of Music” wondered what it would be like to have a marionette set like the one that the Trapp children had and Frances had one. It was much smaller than the one in the movie and Frances and I both found operating the marionettes more frustrating than fun.
Frances was raised Catholic and I was fascinated by the veil she wore for her First Communion. I would put it on and pretend to be getting ready for my marriage to whichever member of Duran Duran I had a crush on at that time.
Frances was a huge fan of Billy Joel and we listened to his music a lot. Meanwhile her father was downstairs blasting Chopin, Tchaikovsky and Wagner in his record-filled study. I can’t remember Frances’ mother ever asking us to turn our music down, but I can remember Mrs. Badgett requesting that her husband cut the decibel level down to something not so ear-splitting in her Tennessee-tinctured voice.
Frances’ mother, Varny, was small in stature and every square inch of her was heart. She always made me feel welcome in her home. Varny was one of the women who established the Rockbridge Area Relief Association. One evening I scared her into thinking that I was not receiving adequate nutrition at home. The youth group at my church was observing a 48-hour fast in observance of World Hunger Day. The end of the fast coincided with my dinner at the Badgetts’ house. I was famished. I’m surprised I didn’t scoop the spaghetti into my mouth with my bare hands, but I did manage to mind my table manners. Mr. and Mrs. Badgett excused themselves from the table and went into the kitchen. I overheard Mrs. Badgett say, “Bill, that poor girl is starving!” Before they could call Child Protective Services, I let them know about the fast and we all had a good laugh.
On that cold day in March five years ago, I realized that I was seeing the Badgett children gathered together in Lexington for the very last time. They have no reason to return now.
I drive by the former Badgett home every day. It’s lovingly maintained by its current owner. I look at the porch and remember sitting with Frances on the porch swing and talking about Skylab and boys. I look at the cupola and remember her room, the marionettes, the music, the preparations for another make believe marriage and the magic of childhood.
