Walking Together: Shoe Stories and Creations
UMass Lowell "Steps Into" the Women's Week Public Art Project

Writings by UMass Lowell Students and Workshop Participants

A Walk in My Shoes

(An excerpt)

My first pair of shoes were attached to my leg braces. I was confined and restricted. My shoes held me back from playing, and having fun. I eventually broke out of the confinement and moved on. This is where the journey begins…

Anonymous

Untitled

When I was a kid, I used to visit my grandmother in Mississippi. We used to run thru the fields. I used to call it “barefootin”. I used to wish that I had a pair of shoes to wear. And when I grew up, I got a pair of pumps, and they took me everywhere. I went places in those shoes that I would never have seen if I didn’t have them. I walked a thousand miles in my shoes. And I thank God today that I am still walking in my shoes. I’m lucky that I didn’t have to kick off my shoes in the terror of September 11.

Geraldyn Spencer

Shoes as a Symbol of Taking Action

When I put on my favorite walking shoe
I can walk ½ a mile to refresh myself,
walk 5 miles for breast cancer awareness.
Whatever the reason, when I wear
my favorite walking shoe, I am ready
to take my first step.

The journey of a thousand miles
begins with a single step.
Self-determination for all people.

Anonymous

What Is a Beautiful Shoe?

When I was growing up, my father worked in the shoe business. He got discounts on pretty shoes—high heeled pumps, sandals, elegant flats. He brought them to my sister and my aunts and cousins, but not to me. I wore orthopedic oxfords with arch supports, and hated them. A strong memory of my childhood is wanting to grow up and wear pretty shoes, like everyone else I knew.

Well, I did this for awhile. I remember strappy sandals and sexy high heels. I remember Dr. Scholl sandals and falling in clogs. I would always choose appearances over comfort. But a shoe is not just a shoe, it is a measuring cup.

Shoes hold me up and keep me grounded. Comfort on the feet means a smile on the face. Now I look at pretty heels and feel them in my mind. I am Imelde Marcos of the comfort shoes. My, how things change. I buy oxfords of my own free will.

Many things in life are uncertain, but not the pleasure of fuzzy winter slippers. In comforting myself in shoes, I gladden my heart and can then comfort others.

Sherry Kahn

Conversation with My Mother

Muriel McMahon Mulvey’s “Shoe Stories”

Excerpts

Muriel McMahon Mulvey, my mother, donated shoes to the public art project. The donated shoes led to stories, including memories of New York City where she was born and lived until she was married at the age of 27. The donated shoes included three pairs of very dressy very high heels that were more than 40 years old and a pair of bowling shoes—World War II vintage! Some of my students and the participants in the workshops that they conducted used my mother’s shoes as the foundation for their creative expressions. I created a tribute to my mother using some of her shoes and stories. Excerpts from my mother’s conversation about her shoes and life follow.

Seeing the Empire State Building being built as a teenager:

I had two very good friends, Irene and Virginia, and Irene was very cosmopolitan. We’d walk along 34th Street and stare up at the top of the Empire State Building [being built], and Irene would say, “Don’t look, don’t look, you know what’s up there. They’ll think we’re tourists.” And she didn’t want to be a tourist. Of course, we knew that, so we just did it to annoy her. …But we watched it go up. I think that was 1934.

Bowling during World War II:

Before World War II, women weren’t allowed to bowl at the Cathedral Club, a private men’s club in Park Slope [Brooklyn]. The bowling alley was in the basement. But during the war, women were allowed to bowl once a week while the men were gone. I bowled there then and even joined a team when we lived in Joliet [IL].

September 11th and the World Trade Center:

I remember that day (Sept. 11, 2001) and talking about it—that women ran away and took off their high heels and people in shoe stores came out with shoes for them. … I saw it all happen [on TV]. I think after the first one hit, I jumped up and called Cate (daughter) before the second one…just astonished. Because I had been to the top of the World Trade Center for lunch…I think my college had a luncheon there. … The prettiest building in New York is still the Chrysler building [built] after the Empire State building, but not too long after.

Muriel McMahon Mulvey

Closing poem
To thank the students for their great work on the art project and in the course, I wrote this poem:

Stepping Out and In

Choosing used shoes, choosing to tell
shoe stories, we step toward each other
our soles tapping on the shared ground
of girls, adolescents, athletes,
“djs,” daughters, mothers, scholars,
single, married, not allowed to marry.

As little girls, we wore black patent leather
and anklets trimmed with daisies and white lace,
played “dress up” in auntie’s sequined heels
or our sister’s satin shoes dyed to match prom dress.
We skipped from “Mary Jane’s” and saddle shoes
to go-go boots, work boots, orthopedic
oxfords, earth shoes, Birkenstocks, stilettos,
even platforms, but all our feet were squeezed
from trying hard to please, even harder
to look like we thought we should
but knew we didn’t.
Braces hold tight and won’t let go.
Sensible shoes support, constrain,
hold lots of pain. Our soles are sore
from too much or too little work, school, pay,
privilege--too much or too little family.
We are stopped in our tracks, striding
into our own, or left out in the cold.
We keep walking, running, pacing, sprinting
to keep up, afraid of falling behind or apart.
We pick up old shoes and shoeboxes
of paints, pearls, pencils, stencils, pens,
and stroll through Lowell recycling
sneakers, stories, leather and dreams.
We step in and out to create, reshape,
re-make, and we name bone-splintering pain.

We step into uncertain worlds,
but we walk together toward the women
we want to become and toward all
of our sisters, too. Remembering
that a single step begins the longest
journey, we claim feet, bodies, hearts,
heads, souls—we claim our whole selves.
We cobble shoes made to fit us,
try on new stories made to last.

Anne Mulvey, Ph.D.
 

Copyright © 2003 by Anne Mulvey

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Copyright © 2001 by The Bridge Review: Merrimack Valley Culture and University of Massachusetts Lowell. All Rights Reserved for compilation. Rights revert to individual contributors following publication. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any manner without written permission from the publisher and individual contributor.