At the top, bread isn't for everyone

Stairways to a lighthouse-worthy view used to be for servants. Now it's for penthouses. But the sea is clear: The view (and the bread) isn't for everyone.

Curated by: Thalia Toha, 2024. [Images by: Gutto Reiis, Vintage Illustrations, & Dans Design, Getty images]

Friends-

I had some tech difficulty this week. And had to move the schedule around. So the podcast episodes will hopefully resume next week once the smart folks finish tinkering. Thanks for sitting tight with me!

Meanwhile, I wanted to talk a bit more deeply about a girl I introduced you to earlier this week: Thelma Austin. Her parents died within months of each other. Leaving twenty-one year old Thelma to care for her seven siblings.

If you missed her story, you can take a read here.

My first impression of coming to the US did not involve any lighthouses.

And maybe that’s a good thing now that air travel has become more common. But If I had arrived just one hundred years earlier, everything would be different.

One hundred years sounds like a lifetime ago. But it’s really just one ‘life’ ago. Well, one good, long life anyway. My greataunt is in her mid nineties. And I know a 104-year old, Ms. Mimi, who still plays the piano at dance recitals.

Thelma’s mother passed away in 1925. Almost exactly one hundred years ago. Her father, after two months of mourning, died, too. People say it’s of a broken heart. It could be due to lack of care. It could also be due to exhaustion. It could be anything.

But Thelma and her seven siblings now had a choice.

To starve. And join the land of the dead.

Or to continue the job they were born into. In Point Fermin lighthouse.

Point Fermin lighthouse might look like a beautiful place to grow up in. And maybe it was. But I find that handsome things can be terrifying in equal measure. [Photo: Thomas Nicolello, Getty images] 33.7054° N, 118.2937° W

Point Fermin was considered a smaller lighthouse. Lighthouses are typically about 10 m (33 ft) to 63 m (208 ft) high. That’s about two-thirds as tall as the Statue of Liberty. Or roughly 80 to 100 steps. And of course, they did not have elevators. So imagine walking up and down those stairs every morning. Every night. And every other time you’re not on ground level.

I think the only time I’ve ever climbed more than three flights of steps, was at the Tiger Cave Temple in Krabi, Thailand. The stair landings were tiny. As if meant for you to have only enough to tippy-toe onto the next step. But never enough to give you a full, flat-footed rest at any given point.

There were 1,237 steps leading up to the Cave.

The Tiger Cave Temple might be taller than most lighthouses, but climbing shorter distances—for many more days at a time—can be more difficult than doing everything only once.

I can tell you that, in the first twenty minutes, all I felt was bitter resentment. I was in decent shape at the time. But the temperature was sizzling. The deep humidity added more pressure. And seeing sweat drip onto the steps in front of me, before I even took a step, felt like life just decided to have a good laugh.

Then, somewhere in the middle of the journey, something shifted.

The resentment was still there. But it was as if I could tell when the hour changed. And when sunlight moved just one degree behind me. I no longer noticed my sweat-bucket full of misery. I saw things turn. As if I never noticed their movements before. The leaves in front of me. Directly around me. And even those below my shoes. My shadow against the mossy rocks. The sharp height of one step. The ill-placed, yet natural height of the next.

Then, the breeze.

If I ever felt thankful that I could notice anything, it is that at that exact moment, at the top of the day, when I finally reached the top of the steps, I got to remember that one generous breeze.

The view from above. [Photo: Balate Dorin]

The Cave’s staircase was straight up. But most lighthouse steps are spiral staircases. They’re very narrow. Particularly closer to the stem-pole where it spirals. You almost have to purposefully avoid getting close to the middle.

Or else, you’ll fall.

Like the Krabi stairway, there aren’t much resting possible on lighthouse stairwells.

So the climb inevitably would start as a journey of self-opposition. At least until we get used to the climb.

Thelma and her siblings all grew up in the lighthouse. So it’s likely not too difficult for them. But with the loss of a mother, and then a father, even the most mundane task can feel like lifting the ocean floor. Especially when everything happened so suddenly. After the death of the two adults, the screaming of a hungry sister, the wailing of another sibling, and the fear that this is all … forever—Point Fermin lighthouse was more lonesome than the sea.

Surrounded, yet unsupported, Thelma had to decide.

She could either stay up there. Waiting for chaos to finally be forgiving. Or she could go downstairs. Leave the lighthouse. And everything else. Forever.

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Around the same time …

Across the continent, the New York Roaring Twenties’ scene was in full speed.

[Images: Aleutie & The Everett Collection]

Multi-story towers were already a common thing then. All the way at the top of these towers are the servants’ quarters. Dingy, dark, and unkept. Some more so than others.

I couldn’t find many records of what they looked like. But it’s no surprise that this is the case. After all, shiny-object prone weaklings that we are, we’d rather hear about the pretty ladies and handsome gents in suits and sparkly dresses. Living life like nothing can touch them.

And that’s exactly what they did.

They kicked their servants out of their top-floor quarters, so they could illegally sublet the top floors. Earning cash when not doing so wouldn’t have made any difference to them.

Just so that nothing would touch them.

The servants had to leave their lighthouse-worthy views.

And perhaps we never hear much about the servants because they really just didn’t have the choice either way. Perhaps they didn’t think much of it, having accepted that their job was simply to serve. Upstairs, or downstairs. And perhaps to them, what mattered most was not the view. Or the height of their residence. Perhaps they just want to get home, with extra coins in their hands. So that they can finally buy freshly baked bread. Not just the leftovers.

I doubt Thelma was ever that concerned about the trek up and down the lighthouse. But of the freshly baked bread—I bet she was.

But more than the image of the bread, she may have remembered the silhouette of her father or mother. Going up after everyone’s gone to bed. To begin the night watch. When everyone else was ending. Carrying the light in one hand. And being careful to step away from the thin middle of the stairs. She may have remembered the same figure coming down, first thing in the morning. This time rather more slouched down.

More than the image of the bread, she may have also remembered when that slouched figure was grumpy. Tired. Angry. Frustrated. Or perhaps, simply glad. Whenever the sea was merciful.

More than the bread, she may have remembered that the job of going up and down the stairs—regardless of situation, position, or willingness—is ultimately a servant’s role.

And somehow, that was enough for Thelma.

It was enough for her to walk down her lighthouse, to stand in front of the US Lighthouse Service Board, to request being appointed Head Lighthouse Keeper at Point Fermin, and to climb back up her lighthouse … as Head Keeper.

She knew, that worthiness just above sea-level … has more to do with leveling her own worth, than leveling the sea by owning it.

-Thalia

PS: Did you like Thelma’s story? If so, hit the like button. Then, tell me what about it stood out to you? I’d love to hear.

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PSS:

I created this newsletter because I believe everyone deserves to find more meaningful ways to live. Regardless of their situation, position, or what they’re born into. If you believe in the same, you can support this newsletter with a paid-subscription. It’ll help me research, share, and keep more stories like Thelma’s alive. I appreciate you!