Described to me as a cross between a Mary Kay Andrews novel and The Help. That's fairly apt. Many overly entitled characters that you cannot help but dislike, with an underdog character you root for, along with loving "House Mom". Good escapist read for the end of Summer.
Rush
Lisa Patton
St. Martin's Press
August 21, 2018
Click HERE to read an excerpt
Set in modern day Oxford, Mississippi,
on the Ole Miss campus, bestselling author Lisa Patton’s RUSH is a
story about women―from both ends of the social ladder―discovering their
voices and their empowerment.
Cali Watkins possesses all the
qualities sororities are looking for in a potential new member. She’s
kind and intelligent, makes friends easily, even plans to someday run
for governor. But her resume lacks a vital ingredient. Pedigree. Without
family money Cali's chances of sorority membership are already thin,
but she has an even bigger problem. If anyone discovers the dark family
secrets she's hiding, she’ll be dropped from Rush in an instant.
When Lilith Whitmore, the
well-heeled House Corp President of Alpha Delta Beta, one of the
premiere sororities on campus, appoints recent empty-nester Wilda to the
Rush Advisory Board, Wilda can hardly believe her luck. What’s more,
Lilith suggests their daughters, both incoming freshman, room together.
What Wilda doesn’t know is that it's all part of Lilith’s plan to ensure
her own daughter receives an Alpha Delt bid―no matter what.
For twenty-five years, Miss
Pearl―as her “babies” like to call her―has been housekeeper and a second
mother to the Alpha Delt girls, even though it reminds her of a painful
part of her past she’ll never forget. When an opportunity for promotion
arises, it seems a natural fit. But Lilith Whitmore slams her Prada
heel down fast, crushing Miss Pearl’s hopes of a better future. When
Wilda and the girls find out, they devise a plan destined to change
Alpha Delta Beta―and maybe the entire Greek system―forever.
Achingly poignant, yet
laugh-out-loud funny, RUSH takes a sharp nuanced look at a centuries-old
tradition while exploring the complex, intimate relationships between
mothers and daughters and female friends. Brimming with heart and hope
for a better tomorrow, RUSH is an uplifting novel universal to us all.
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A Note from
the Author…
Some
of the best days of my life were spent at my sorority house at the University
of Alabama. I formed sincere friendships that will last for the rest of my
life. Although I don’t see my sorority sisters as often as I wish, when I do
spend time with them it seems only weeks have passed. Not decades. We pick
right up where we left off. Well, maybe not with our famed college antics, but
certainly with love and camaraderie. Our bonds are special and I treasure our
time together.
When I attended college back in the late 70s, my sorority sisters and I dearly loved
the ladies on our House staff. I well remember mornings before class, poking my
head in the kitchen, and reeling off a special order to one of the cooks. My
requests were always met with a: “Coming right up,
baby. How you doing this morning?” A weeknight or a Sunday lunch didn’t go by
without all 150 of us sitting down together—in our Sunday best, mind you—to
enjoy a home cooked meal made and served by the ladies in our kitchen. Our
favorite dinner was fried chicken (the best you’ve
ever tasted) with mashed potatoes, gravy and green beans. Zebra pudding was our
favorite dessert: thin chocolate wafers stuffed with real, hand whipped, sweet
cream. Our rooms and bathrooms were cleaned for us daily. I remember feeling jealous of my friends in another sorority who
had a housekeeper they all considered a second mother who gave sage advice
about whatever trouble they had gotten themselves into or any issues they were
facing.
As a college student it never once
crossed my mind, and I’m betting it never crossed the minds of other sorority
girls, to ask if these women had healthcare or retirement benefits. After all,
House business was none of ours. We were students. It was only thirty-five
years later, while attending the dedication of our
brand new sorority house that the thought actually occurred to me. (Rush is a
phenomenon in the South and pledge classes have grown exponentially. All the
old Alabama sorority houses have been torn down and 40,000 square foot, multi-million dollar mansions have taken their places. In
2016 each of the eighteen Alabama sororities extended bids to approximately 155
girls.)
The ribbon cutting was held during the Alabama UT football
game weekend and I had met my college roommate in
Tuscaloosa. When we walked inside the House our jaws dropped—the marbled
entryway, the grand staircase, the exquisite décor—it was extraordinary.
Later in the day, a housekeeper pushing her dust mop down
the long hallway lined with composites caught my eye,
and the longer I watched her I noticed several actives and alums stopping to
give her hugs. When I overheard girls telling her they loved her I became
intrigued so I moseyed over and introduced myself. We spent a great deal of
time talking about how much she loved working at the
sorority house. One conversation dissolved into another and when she took me by
the hand, leading me to the past year’s composite with tears rolling down her
face, naturally I became concerned. Her beloved friend, the head cook, had recently passed away from cancer, and the active
members had included her picture on the composite to honor her memory and her
27-year-legacy. Wiping the tears away with the back of her hand, the
housekeeper explained the cook had not had proper healthcare.
When I pushed her for more details she reluctantly admitted the cook had no
health insurance. None of them did.
Once I got home I kept thinking about her story. It grabbed
a hold of my heart and wouldn’t let go. After a few phone calls, and quite a bit of research, I learned this was not only true at my sorority house, but the majority of sorority and fraternity houses
on campus. And not just at Alabama, but all over the South and possibly the
country. A very few houses in the SEC, I learned, do provide
health insurance, but, like many jobs, the staff is required to pay a
percentage of the premium, which often precludes them from participating. (In
some cases the house directors are provided health and dental insurance by the
sororities or fraternities. The University of
Alabama, in particular, has begun hiring house directors as state employees to
extend health and dental insurance benefits.)
Many of these men and women have worked in these opulent
environments for decades for minimal compensation and
have to work two jobs to make a living wage. I researched how much it would
cost to provide not just health insurance for everyone on the staff, but a full
gamut of benefits and was surprised to learn how little it would take. Most SEC
sororities have active memberships ranging between
250 and 550 girls, with fees as high as $7600 per semester for girls living in
and eating their meals at the House. If each active member paid an additional
small amount, in many cases as low as fifteen dollars per month, depending on the number of active members and staff
members, the house staff could be given a full benefits package. It is
my earnest belief that the reason this isn’t done today is due to an oversight
and it is not intentional. Often times things continue simply because of the
way they have always been done in the past. Perhaps this practice will have
changed by the release of this book.
As
a lifelong southerner and a child of the sixties and seventies in Memphis,
Tennessee, I grew up in a prejudiced environment. As shameful as it is for me
to admit, I spent time in my younger years with the notion that I was somehow
better because of my skin color, my religion and my socioeconomic status. When
I look back on my thoughtlessness now, I am filled with sorrow and deep regret.
Another hard thing to concede is that my father was a blatant racist.
Ironically, like most affluent families in the South, he employed African
American women to care for his children and my sisters and I fell in love with
these ladies like they were our second mothers. We loved them through life and
grieved deeply when they passed away as they had left indelible imprints on our
hearts. They taught us life skills and life lessons and most admirably: we
never once heard them complain about their situations.
Has
an African American lady ever been housemother of a white sorority house? I was
in the bathtub one morning—my favorite place to ponder—when that thought
crossed my mind. I had heard of rare occasions when black housekeepers filled
in for vacationing white house directors but had no idea if a black lady had
ever been given the fulltime job. To satisfy my curiosity a friend introduced
me to a former beloved housekeeper at an SEC sorority house who had substituted
for her boss on several occasions. This lady gave me countless hours of her
time to answer my question and many others. Although she was working on her
Bachelor’s degree at the time, she never considered applying for a fulltime
house director position at any sorority house on campus. On the days she filled
in, rumblings from parents let her know she’d never get the job. To my
knowledge, there are no African American house directors of National
Panhellenic Sororities anywhere in the SEC. Perhaps this, too, will change in
the near future.
Like
most good southern stories I needed a devil, in this case a she-devil, so I
created Lilith. She is not based on anyone I know. She is simply a figment of
my imagination. Yet, sadly, I’ve met people just like her. My intention was
definitely not to single out House Corporation Board Presidents who give
graciously of their time and money to their home sororities, but someone had to
be the story villain. I took liberty when describing Lilith’s duties as Board
President. It is not one alum, but an entire board making all manners of House
decisions.
Why
Ole Miss? Why not set my book at Alabama? The simple answer is that everyone
loves Ole Miss and Oxford, Mississippi provided a more charming and colorful
backdrop for the story. But, no matter the location, it is the same story most
everywhere. I spoke with housemothers at several SEC sororities and
fraternities, alumnae board members, fraternity members, active sorority
sisters and alumnae sorority sisters. I interviewed both past and present staff
members. Some people I interviewed asked to remain anonymous. Many were eager
for change. I interviewed Charlotte Sands-Malus of Greek House Resource, an
esteemed organization that matches house directors with sorority houses all
over the country. She remembers only placing two African American House Directors
in her nineteen year career.
This
book took me much longer than my others. Resistance threw every fiery dart in
his arsenal my way, trying his best to thwart my progress. I got sick. I
couldn’t sleep. There were family issues and significant, yet positive, changes
to my author team. My computer died, twice. I dropped my phone in the
toilet—thrice. I even quit several times, threatening to buy back my contract
and hang up my career as an author. But all the while I felt God tugging at my
heartstrings, pushing me toward the finish line.
Like all novelists, I asked myself the
ever-important question: what if? What if the staff’s story had a different
ending? What if things really could change? What if a black lady became the
house director of a white sorority house? (The
Nashville Junior League just elected its first black president.) What if every
sorority girl or fraternity guy pitched in a little more per month so health
insurance, life insurance, dental insurance and retirement benefits could be
available for each staff member? Wouldn’t that be the
right thing to do? Wouldn’t all of their lives be changed forever? It seemed
not only possible, but entirely doable. There is an old saying: “The shortest
distance between the human heart and truth is a story,”
so I closed my eyes and imagined one where racial equality is the norm, not the
exception. I dreamed of a story where the men and women who work for sorority
and fraternity houses had a better ending. After my eyes were opened I knew I
had no other choice.