Stop by Odd Alewives on a Sunday afternoon, and you’ll spot a group of women around a table talking and breaking out laughing. They’re The Wild Women of Waldoboro, an informal group of five, six or seven who have become friends for life. At 68, Mary Sidelinger is one of the younger members. So, think “80 for Brady,” the Lily Tomlin-Tom Brady movie because these women like to do crazy things, too. But also think “Sex and the City,” because, above everything, they are about friendship. And no topic is off bounds. You might at them at Narrows listening to music. Or elsewhere. Having fun is important. Some nights they’ll dine in each other’s homes, or have movie nights, or head out for dancing. For Mary, it’s one of the centers of her life. In a sense, it’s where she was reborn. She’d married right after high school and had babies when most of her friends were in college and partying. She loved her family, but she discovered fun after divorce. Even before she was a Wild Woman, Mary had a wild streak. With the encouragement of her husband, she got her commercial driver’s license -- in her 40s and being less than five feet tall, no less. Together, they drove 18-wheelers on long hauls, through almost every state. It was probably too much closeness. They separated and then divorced. It was loss, but it was also freedom.
I was working at Taction (Telephone in Action) when I met Jann Minzy. She was teaching, but also working nights to help put her kids through college. And one day she said to me, “On Tuesday nights I always go to the Narrows Tavern because they have music.” Well, I was single, and I went. It was the Rusty Hinges. And it was upbeat and happy, and they played sing-along music.
My entire life changed then. I started to meet people that I’d never known before. I met Caren Clark, and we became very close. And Susan Kellam and Marcia Kimpton. I brought in Maury Lord from Sproul Block, and now Maury sings at Perch Café. And Susan Price has become my soulmate. We still love to sing “Those were the days my friend, I thought they’d never end.”
I didn’t have a lot of female friends until this happened to me. That’s why I say it changed my entire world. And we didn’t just go to Narrows Tavern. Sometimes, if we didn’t have a place to go and it had been a few days, somebody would say, “Well, let’s do dinner at my house.”
We found places to go dancing. My sister Cathy Cushing was in a band, and we’d go down to New Harbor where they played. They did this very really fast, upbeat music. And when they started up “Devil with the Blue Dress On,” I would go flying to the dance floor. I used to tell Cathy, “If I die before you, play that song. I’ll be dancing in heaven, I promise you.”
My sister was the one that started calling us out, saying, “Listen up — The Wild Women of Waldoboro are in the house tonight.” Well, my sister’s not in a band anymore, and the story kind of dwindles, but it’s still a good one.
Friendship, though, is really what this story is about. My women friends are my everything, especially now that I’m older and have never remarried. Everybody is single but it’s not necessarily a requirement. Caren wasn’t single when she was in the group, and her partner Edward would sometimes come, too. But he wasn’t a wild woman.
I don’t know why men don’t understand us the way women understand each other. My husband and I were really good together, but there were certain things he couldn’t find empathy or any sympathy for because he just couldn’t understand. But we friends, we women, we understand. You could tell me things, and I would know what you’re feeling.
I’ve come close to death twice. The first was when they thought I had a tumor on my spine, so they went in for a biopsy. During the procedure, I had a stroke, and I woke up paralyzed from the neck down. Then I got pneumonia. The doctors said it didn’t look good. Then I got sepsis. I was in the hospital for four months. But I came out.
The second time was when I got necrotizing fasciitis, the flesh-eating disease, out in Hawaii with my daughter. I went swimming with an open sore and I think that’s how I got it. The doctor told my daughter that he didn’t hold out any hope. Well, the next day, I was still there. They ended up taking out a lot of the bad stuff from my leg and then they put on skin grafts. It’s harder for me to get around, and I’m probably going to need a walker soon, but that won’t stop me from dancing. I’m all about the miracles.
As hard as those two events were, though, they didn’t compare to a heartbreak I had in Phoenix a year or so ago. That’s why I came back to Waldoboro even though I didn’t have a place to stay. Jann Minzy opened her home to me. I stayed with her maybe five months. In that time, I applied everywhere for housing. I ended up here, in Sproul Block.
I was broken when I came back. My friends put me back together. They were there for me. They had patience. They let me talk about it when I wanted to. They let me cry when I had to. And they let me be when I needed to be alone. They let me heal at my own pace. And if they were getting together, most of the time I would get myself together, too, and go out with them. I knew if I didn’t, I would never be myself again.
I still have my days. The thing that always helps is knowing we are there for each other.
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