My grandmother was the archetypal 1920's flapper. Born in 1903, she was at just that age when the 20's came roaring in. Ardently sought after by men, she was a dark-haired, mysterious beauty with finger curls and loads of style. Maybe a little wild (or, at least, what might have been considered wild for the time.)
By the time I knew her she was a quiet, gentle lady who wore Endora-from-Bewitched-style caftans with huge, chunky costume jewelry. She and my uncle, Jim, would throw lavish parties that would pack the house and everybody who was anybody was in attendance. She enjoyed those parties but, more than anything, else she loved to read. Not surprisingly, F. Scott Fitzgerald was her favorite author. My oldest brother was even named for him and he was always her pet. I didn't get to know her for very long. She died when I was just five years old, but I've never forgotten her style or her understated brand of elegance or her gentility. To this day, she still influences me.
