How to Spot a Hippie:

The Life and Times of Catherine Patricia ("Pat," "Trish") Sacco nee Jacobsen

ALTERNATIVE TRANSPORTATION

When asked about getting a driver's license, Pat would recount a story about her late brother Ken trying to teach her to drive, when they were teenagers.  She almost drove them off a cliff, so, chose to stick with walking, and more walking.  Then bussing and sometimes taxi-ing.    Often covering a LOT of ground.  Having limited resources and a love of exploring, she sowed the seeds of public transportation use in her kids.  When neighbors curiously watched them walk to and from bus stops, she would smile and wave, as if to say, "Don't Be Afraid of us, we take the bus…. You should try it sometime!"  This was years before many Americans eventually joined the bandwagon.  So, she was an early adapter, accidentally setting examples of minimal carbon foot-printing. Up until her mid-80s, she could be found walking to and from bus stops, stores, and church.  Such exercise kept her in shape, as did her consistently healthy, "early organic" breakfasts of bran flakes, blueberries, grapefruit, decaf coffee, and water.  Daily dark chocolate, too!  At this daily picnic, she managed to mix in a lil laughter, reading, and writing, often sharing anecdotes and improv with the world.

Of mixed Danish Sea Captain and Northern European genes, she was born on Monday, February16th, 1931, two days later than an expected Valentine's Day arrival, in Washington, D.C., soon moving to Baltimore when her father's sales job transferred the family. She would later remark, "I arrived into the world the Day Bella Lugosi's film 'Dracula' was released - an unforgettable day for many!" And in the early, equally horrid part of the Great Depression.  From what grandkids could learn about her parents, they both loved the arts.  Her mother trained at the Maryland Art Institute as a talented colorist and was a spirited pianist. Her father was also musical, and intensely literary.  Struck with the Spanish Flu as a youngster, he was bed-bound for the better part of two years, during which time he read many of literature's classics, later, as a father imparting a love of stories to his kids.

CREATIVE DRIVE

Having the hippie drive for expression, Pat was profound in her poetry.  She also spearheaded several artsy activities around the house:   funny story writing, sock roll parties with her many kids; and first-rate impersonations.   There were spontaneous trips, too, when she was able to shop for groceries, and, every blue moon, buy new lipstick at "the 99 cent store," as she liked to call the hood's drugstores.  Especially not to be forgotten was the spitball construction on a rainy day, facilitated by her late brother Ken, a Baltimore City Government attorney, who once humorously interrupted a court hearing to provide assembly instructions to Pat for her bored kids.

There was also fun cooking when she led us into making rich fudge caramels, chocolate easter eggs, or French Toast and more…often resulting in food-stained important papers, since, with limited space in a full house, she worked at the dining room table.

Her first school was St Anne's, then Saints Philip and James, in downtown Baltimore.  Even though there were few higher education options, she got a solid general high school diploma from Seton, where she included Latin and Chemistry in the mix.  She, like her late sister, Mary Jane, subsequently entered and remained in the workforce through their 20's, being dedicated workers before stopping for marriage and child rearing.

Despite coming into this world during the Depression years, she grew up in a family with a warm, humorous disposition, calling her "Trisha", who tempered days of economic angst and hard work with storytelling, music and mimicry, while living resourcefully.  She cherished her father's reading the classics to her three siblings and her at the end of his work day, in their simple abode, where the 4 young kids shared a room until economic recovery.

She knew early in life that she wanted to be a writer, to the dismay of aunties. Last year, she said her earliest memory of creative endeavors was when she named her childhood stuffed rabbit "Pat O'Day" and auditioned him for imaginary theater.   She began composing a play.  All went well until the rabbit landed on the roof with the assistance of prankster older siblings, who themselves could later in life be found hamming it up in Karaoke bars, actively and comically performing diverse musical renditions.  Despite such interruptions, she quietly persisted in her writing.  And, like a classic hippie, she happily once reported that she could get to a point in her stressful life where she could visualize a clear lake and calm sun, to recharge.  She did daily meditations, but instead of using beads, it was the rosary.  And maybe a peppermint paddy afterward.  She found contentment in simple things.  All that was missing was the tie-dye shirt! During her last years, she was even heard making numerous marijuana references and no one is sure how that all started!

Like the household in which she was reared, she was fearless about hard work and returned to full outside jobs the minute her youngest child was able to advance in elementary school.  Since her life partner was beleaguered by health issues, before departing early, she wore many hats, as did her kids, to survive.  She was able to combine mothering AND fathering tasks with work and constant poetry, plus news reading (a trait she shared with her late son).

She later worked as a dedicated caregiver to the elderly, and dental office manager, relying on dental assistant training from her 20's.  Through her long, winding work road, she composed even more poetry, with occasional publication along the way.  Her jobs, we all know, were low-wage specials often endured by folks who didn't have the good fortune to score higher education.   So she often needed help from others, while continuing to work hard.

We can appreciate that during her many years on earth, schooling and careers for women finally became the norm through a lot of the world.  Alongside that progress, we know her long life spanned World War II (she remembered the air raid drills), the Korean and Vietnam Wars, along with the Iraq War, Afghanistan conflicts, the Covid era, and more recently Ukraine and Middle East tragedies, against the backdrop of intense world political turmoil in the face of changing societal cognition and the onset of decisive civil rights.  AND, she got to touch massive technological progress:  especially television (her family, by way of her father's sales jobs) was one of the first to enjoy one.   Crucially, her generation enjoyed significant medical advances, too, from earlier disease screenings to more effective treatments, facilitated by gradually improving healthcare and better nutrition.

MOTTO FOR PROGRESS

Whenever some who knew her have a seemingly insurmountable problem, they remember her words of encouragement when meeting earlier challenges: "…A Little Bit Each Day, Hon!" This constancy of effort was a hallmark of her life, and a strong Scandinavian trait we've seen creeping through her family history.  In recalling these words, we consciously honor "the Jacobsen genes."

She also used to ply her kids who were involved in track teams with pasta dinners on nights preceding races ("You'll have plenty of energy, hon!").

COMMUNITY INVOLVEMENT

Not to be overlooked are the diverse ways she supported community, while joking about the mafia.  Hers was a gangster life of a different sort.

Often, she gave her food money to homeless folks. Later, in some challenging confines of nursing home care, and during Covid concerns, Pat comforted and befriended residents, coming to be known as "The Little Mother." Whether some outsiders often visited her and others rarely, she was able to partially entertain her floormates, despite untreated hearing loss, stressful conditions, and mobility challenges.

Through her long life, pets loved her, though she never became a vegetarian!  Cats who did not deign to sit with other humans regularly planted themselves on her lap as she read and wrote.

She described herself as shy and was viewed as a classic example of the "still waters run deep" metaphor.  By her quiet, unassuming, and modest nature, she could even appear diffident, so that some distant relatives and outsiders even ridiculed her.  Like a detached hippie, she could equally come across as tuned out sometimes.  Often, she was simply distracted by family duties, yet she was often quietly listening and observing, or simply turning over more story ideas…

She had an innate sense of the world, no doubt fostered by her literary family, and her different jobs, including that as a mother to her seven kids. And she was a reliable confidante to many, taking many secrets with her.  All of this while vividly witnessing the 1960's.

Later in life, before needing assisted living, she was able to fully write by joining the Parkville Senior Center's poetry class, where she met many interesting souls like herself, and added to a class poetry book.

To the surprise of those who didn't know her well, she could easily engage and laugh with folks, even assert herself when pushed, sometimes explosively at a provocateur…. She would hold sadness and anxiety at bay, particularly later in life, by daily calls to her late sister and friends. At the same time, she continued helping her kids, if only by encouragement.

And where she may have seemed out of the loop, she was occasionally flattered by cultural labels.  One example was when discussing a child's school project, the phrase "Age of Aquarius" came up.  She was Aquarian and proudly quipped, "You know, there's a song about that, ….and I'm in it!"  Apparently, that astrological sign's traits are strong humanitarian values, constant independence of movement and thought, keen observation and alternative living.  In addition to being a devoted mother, and living in the above-mentioned manner, taking rare quiet time for herself, she often provided a sympathetic ear to many people in need, while writing her insightful poetry.

Besides lending her time, energy and ear to many, she directly supported community, by donating to Goodwill, Purple Heart, repairing and even repurposing items, shopping at local businesses and in many ways spotlighting human dignity.  One vivid example of these last contributions was seen in the early 1970s when a strawberry vendor of African descent would regularly visit the neighborhood leading a mule-drawn cart. Pat would scrounge together small change and rush to the curbside to buy a simple basket, while many of greater means and even fear simply ignored the vendor.

Her wit was fierce. When ill as a spry 70-year-old, she was provided a wig, and exclaimed, "If I saw that thing on the street, I would shoot it!"  As her children grew and she finally gained free time, she was able to boost the local chapter of Amnesty International.

On more of the parenting level, where time and pocket money permitted, she loved assembling her kids and taking the bus to the Inner Harbor, showing them the world via Baltimore's ethnic festivals, and foreign ship tours.  And as her son John mentioned, Pat could be unflappable and maintain her composure – staying strong at her late brother Ken's funeral, then her sister's, then having to say goodbye to another late brother just before the Covid era, and then, during the Covid era, a niece who was an early Covid fatality; finally the son who was most like her, after his sudden heart attack.  Because of the Covid lockdowns, she was unable to attend her son's funeral.  Still she carried on, writing, and often comforting her fellow care center residents.  When, after her brother Ken's funeral, John asked her how she could be so calm, she replied, "…. Heaven begins on Earth…When we're with each other, we can really be with each other."

She persisted with grit and integrity, throughout her life, ignoring occasional contempt and criticism of some uninformed, insecure outsiders.

And she used to say "Don't take things personally when people insult or ridicule you." She displayed this value when she was once called "poor white trash" while walking home from church one day, during the early 1970's.  A few teenagers were nearby and saw her walking in her denim mid-length, simple skirt. Continuing to walk determinedly, with her head held high, she didn't even flinch or acknowledge them; they eventually grew tired of trying for reactions and walked in another direction.

As her daughter, Mary, mentioned: she loved folks unconditionally and displayed great patience.  She mentioned wanting to be a nun just after high school but was encouraged to first live and work for a while.  A visit to a nearby friend led to a chance meeting with the man who would become her husband.  They married, bought a home and raised a family in Parkville.  Because of his many struggles, some of which alienated family and friends, Pat and her kids had to work hard to meet the brutal economic demands of maintaining a home, while bringing in food and clothing in a very competitive society.

Given her heavy home workload and lack of emotional support, she could have become bitter, burned out, cynical and detached from the world, to just get the jobs of mothering and survival accomplished.    Yet those who stopped to carefully look at the picture saw how she hung on, propelled by love for all, inspiring them in the process.  What especially helped her hang on was that she was fascinated by people, and loved comedy (other traits shared by her late son).  This was reflected in some delightfully quirky poetry.  Despite what others would have described as a very conservative, sheltered upbringing, and maybe because of that, she was very curious, open-minded, and observant, all the while sharing her poetry with the world.  Very few things shocked her. And she had a funny story for every occasion.  The very distinctly different lives of her kids were never judged by her.  She saw only good in their paths and strove to nurture their interests and talents. She even helped John practice Aikido, learning to flip a person, before trying it out on her husband as they all trained with John, one warm sunny day on the front lawn.

She was a giver who outlasted many of the takers. And she could always find a way to desserts. If there was leftover change from harbor forays with her kids, they could stop for ice cream.  Her sweet tooth was legendary, and as many of us know (and willfully enabled throughout our time with her), dark chocolate was her vice.

Another way she was a true hippie was that she was resourceful, managing to get glasses, and braces for her kids; with limited means, even after some of the so-called professionals had done shoddy work.

She often spoke of hopes for society to help an increasing number of disabled people, be it hearing impaired, visually or mobility limited, or mentally ill. She didn't advocate welfare, or enabling behavioral challenges; rather, providing accessible therapy, simple encouragement, affordable medicine, and nutrition, pairing these crucial elements with social contact and basic respect.   She appreciated those nursing home staff members whom she described as "inspiring," and "kind," then strove to avoid the witnessed, more problematic, unmotivated workers.  In her last months, she was delighted to attend the group music therapy sessions on her floor, for at least the videos and captioning with the crowd.    And it gave her more story ideas.

We can see there's something in her own story for just about everyone.

WHAT WE LEARNED FROM HER:

We remember to try a little bit each day, finding some way to do what we love, even if it's not to be found in our work, and work we will have to do, if even just to get through another day.

Don't give up just because things don't go as planned – "If you want to make God laugh, make a plan!"

Remember that everyone has a shy side.

Give what you can and stay alert.

Dare to laugh.  Just before the Covid era, while enjoying a classic Maryland Crabcake inside the nursing home, frustrated over not being able to get outdoors, watching a Ravens game with visitors who complimented her when she finished relating yet another funny story, she got quiet, looked into the distance and said, "If you have a good sense of humor, and you tell a lot of jokes, you're really free…Your spirit is free…You're not anywhere near incarcerated!"

Communicate - speak up, even if your voice shakes!

Remember too, that just because people don't seem like they've had a hard life, they've suffered in some other way and often walk a sad path. It's hard to appreciate that, if one is surrounded by spoiled, perfect physical trainer-bodied rich folks, but amongst them, we often see underlying absence of love and resulting substance abuse.

Also stand back and see the whole picture, for at least a good poem!

And as she once expressed when she could finally have more free time in life, "…. You never really stop growing."

Enjoy a good ole fashioned newspaper wherever possible….

…In the lacunae of lessons she imparted, we might miss her own funeral were we to list everything.

So the simplest, final goodies she highlighted were: Dare to get enough sleep; you can still "Be Here Now!" Because there's something to celebrate every day.

In lieu of flowers please consider donations to Disability Rights Maryland .