Happy Birthday, Betty Crocker!

 Today marks 100 years of Betty Crocker! 

When I wrote the book on Betty I had no doubts that Betty would make it until her 100th. Of course the same cannot be said for other food mascots. But Betty isn't like any other, is she? I have a bunch of props leftover from my book tour- like this cardboard cutout of my hardcover. I can't believe I'm actually doing another Betty-related project. Once she gets under your skin - she's in.

Here's to you Betty! 100 years strong.

Betty Crocker's 100th Anniversary

A lot of people have been asking about Betty's 100th anniversary/birthday. I have a lot to say about it, especially after recently unearthing some material this month that I really wish I would have had available to me when I wrote the book and made the film.

I hope to get to writing about it soon. In the meantime you can read about Betty's 100 years of fav recipes.

By the way, I left the Betty Crocker musical production at the History Theatre in St. Paul, MN. After a year, the progress was so minimal and it just made me sad to be a part of such a struggling production. Too bad. It could have been great.

Repost: The Good, The Bad and The Book Tour

In honor of Betty Crocker's 100 year anniversary - a little more reflection on what it took to tell her story.

I had some big emotions after being chewed up and spit out by the process of writing a book on Betty Crocker and going on a book tour. So what do writers do when they want the painful, messy and occasionally beautiful truth to be told?  You guessed it.

Me on my book tour in Toronto

The Good, The Bad and The Book Tour by Susan Marks

After they recovered from the shock of learning that I actually wrote a book on Betty Crocker, one of the first question out of people’s mouths was, “Are you going on a book tour?” I think they asked because a book could be just a book, but a book tour suggests something a bit more grandiose – maybe even glamorous. So, I think I sent everyone reeling again when I answered, “Yes.” 

Now, I know from glamorous and my book tour was bound to be anything but. I had no illusions of a Carrie Bradshaw-type book launch followed by the kind of celebrity author tour that involves violating fire safety codes with scores of people crammed into bookstores and auditoriums. No, I knew my tour would be small, humble, ever-controversial and mostly tiring. Still, if people wanted to believe I was destined for something more brilliant, I wasn’t about to stop them and besides, I couldn’t wait to go. What first-time author doesn’t dream of her book tour, even if she knows better? 

The first stop on my 5-city tour was actually my hometown of Minneapolis, Minnesota – so that worked out well. Prior to the release of my book, I made the rounds with a month’s worth of radio, magazine, newspaper and television interviews. Besides the standard questions about Betty’s portraits, recipes and cake mixes and true identity, I heard everything from how I could be Betty’s daughter to jokes about Betty’s illicit affair with the Gorton’s Fisherman and Kingsford Charcoal man. The whole buildup to the main event and jam-packed publicity schedule was an intoxicating cocktail of high-octane adrenaline, nerves, giddy excitement and shameless vanity. The end result was a massive hangover that took me about me about 8 months to shake. 

With equal parts fear and excitement, I braced myself for the book launch at the Mill City Museum along the Mississippi River in downtown Minneapolis. I was to stand in front of a live crowd, answer tough questions about how Betty both defined and marginalized women while I likely groped around in search of something clever, entertaining and historically accurate to say. To my surprise the crowd swelled to hundreds of overwhelmingly supportive people – some of whom I didn’t even know. They watched a rough-cut of my documentary film, The Betty Mystique, laughed in the right places, smiled at me afterwards and asked intelligent questions. In fact, my 5-year-old nephew was so moved by the Spirit of Betty that he started witnessing to anyone who would listen that Betty Crocker came upon her great cake baking skills by praying to the good Lord above. A television crew from CBS Sunday Morning covered the book launch, helping to heighten the excitement, as all the copies of my book sold out, and three hours magically sped by in a matter of seconds. More importantly, a foreign feeling swept over me as if I had done something right – really right.*

In retrospect, I should have seen it coming. The rest of a tour didn’t feel quite as “right” but it wasn’t without its moments. New York, LA, Boston, Miami, and Seattle wouldn’t have me – but the Midwest and Canada couldn’t wait to get their Betty Crocker on, so I was off with the requisite press and signing events. For the most part, I’m not sure what I said or what I wore, but no one kicked me off their show for dressing indecently nor did I get banned from any bookstores for carrying on inappropriately. However, I did disappoint some people – and not just your garden-variety disappointment. The fact that I didn’t have a recipe to prepare, my hair was in a ponytail, I was not Betty Crocker, and my book cost $23 really riled a few people. 

The disappointment portion of my tour began upon arriving at a television station where a producer “greeted” me with a panicked-stricken expression, looking all around me, asking where my equipment was. Turns out, he thought I was appearing on the cooking segment of this morning talk show and that I would be preparing something from a Betty Crocker cookbook. The very thought of me cooking LIVE on TV would have every single person I know laugh out loud. When I explained that I was just an author of a history book about the history Betty Crocker, he replied stiffly that he “was given different information.” Now, the little misunderstanding was on his end because my publicists at Simon and Schuster were pros, but I was too polite to tell him so. I shrugged it off thinking the little misunderstanding would end with a chuckle and I would head for the green room to sweat it out, but no. 

My lack of cooking equipment prompted phone calls, conversations in hushed tones, and worried expressions directed my way. Truthfully, it wasn’t like I was dying to get on this show. If they decided to boot me, I would have chalked it up to inevitable glitch in their early morning television system and headed out for coffee and maybe a muffin. But finally the producer approached me with a sigh and told me they could still fit me in. The anchor fell silent, shook his head and sighed too. I was late to the next TV station, but they still greeted me with a, “Betty Crocker’s in the house!” And nobody sighed, shook their heads nor asked me to cook anything. I could have stayed there all day, except people all over town were waiting to get a piece of me. 

Oddly, it was my hair that was so objectionable it prompted the next grand wave of disappointment. It seems that the effects of the heat and humidity were just too compelling to pass up. A woman/troll greeted me at a cool little independent bookstore and started in on how she barely recognized me because my hair looked nothing like it did in my author photo. And then Haggletooth, (I’m pretty sure that was her name) went on to say that she liked my hair a lot better when I wasn’t wearing a ponytail and seemed to want some sort of explanation. I tried to plead my case saying that humidity just has its way with me. Haggletooth actually winced on my behalf and cut the conversation short. 

I was mortified! Not for me, but for her. Sashaying up to an author and announcing that her hair isn’t as lovely as I think it should be is among the many things I would never do. In fact, I was raised to NEVER tell anyone that their hair looks bad. No matter what. And I have been tested on this! For ten years, I have been friends with a certain someone and I have never once told her that her hairdo makes her look like she’s playing the part of a witch in a community theater production. Perhaps truthfulness in friendship should trump good manners, but that’s a can of wicked witch hair I just don’t want to open. 

And for my next act of disappointment, I caused a minor scene in a chain bookstore. Before the event started a patron, I’ll call her Crazy, excitedly hurried into bookstore. Crazy showed up early, hoping to get a good seat to hear Betty Crocker give a little talk. But when she saw my photo on the event poster, she downward spiraled. Who the hell was I? She wanted to know. I certainly wasn’t the Betty Crocker she had gotten to know over the years. Booksellers rushed to her aid as other patrons started looking a bit spooked. Crazy was so furious that she wanted only to talk to a manager, in a voice that was way too loud for a bookstore. Unfortunately, he couldn’t make Betty magically appear, nor could he convince her to stick around a learn more about Betty’s true identity. I made a joke to the small crowd that I didn’t want to be around when she found out the truth about Aunt Jemima and Capt. Crunch, but people just smiled courteously, and looked embarrassed for me. 

Admittedly, it wasn’t the best way to begin the event, but honestly is it my fault that people don’t question advertising until it’s too late and/or forget to take their medication? There was no reason to be embarrassed for me. I was fine. And yet, I couldn’t fight the feeling that a pattern was emerging. 

But in all fairness, some of people were amazing. At various events they came out in their red hats and purple dresses, some sported pins from the Betty Crocker Search For Homemaker of Tomorrow Scholarship program, some brought their well-worn copies of their kitchen bible, Betty’s Big Red cookbook and other people just smiled and smiled at everything I said. Bookstore managers graciously welcomed me and other folks lined up just to talk and several even thanked me for writing the book. And some radio and television personalities and newspaper reporters could not have been more interesting, smart and fun. Salt of the earth – these people. 

Meanwhile almost everyone asked me when I was scheduled to make an appearance on the Today Show. Oh I wish I could have announced that I was jetting off to NYC to spending the morning at Studio 1A in Rockefeller Center, but the invitation never came. (For the record, Oprah and Ellen didn’t invite me either) But CBS Sunday Morning (one of the best shows on television) did a segment on the book and I couldn’t have been more thrilled. Most of the people I talked to know and love the show, but there are many who never heard of it, or they made some vague connection, mumbling something like “Isn’t there some Charles guy on that show…no wait, there was a Charles guy and then another Charles guy took his place…” I stopped telling people about it after awhile because the disappointing tables were starting to turn. 

But these were little things. I chalked it up to life on the road. Life in the trenches. Life of an author. The good, the bad, the book tour. And I soon gained a better understanding of whole writer/booze connection. But all the wine in the world couldn’t have helped me with my most appalling book-signing event. It took place the weekend after Thanksgiving in an upscale cooking store. 

From the moment I walked in, I knew it wouldn’t end well. I now wish I would have run in the other direction when I saw that the only people in the store were the employees – on the busiest retail weekend of the year. Even though I was more than humbled, I felt worse for the store’s owner. When I suggested that we cancel the event she flew into a fit, “What? Do you only do events where people are lining up outside the door!?” While flustered, I rallied enough to reply, “Yes and no – I’ve had as few as 7 show up and as many as 450 show. I’ve just never actually done an event where no one has shown up.” But as luck would have it, two people arrived at that moment, got their own private Betty presentation, asked where the bathroom was, and left without buying a thing. 

To fill the rest of the time, an aging staff member, with questionable intentions, showed her support by bestowing me with unsolicited advice on how I should market my book, distribute my documentary film and manage my career. (Side note: This woman didn’t have a single original idea in her head. I was praying that she would get a customer and leave me alone, but it never happened). The funny thing about free advice and me is that I know the value of it and would sooner give up chocolate before I would take it or for that matter, give it. Yet, the frequency of unsolicited advice flying my way makes me convinced that there’s just something so floundering about my nature that I appear to have stumbled off the path of common sense, just waiting for a firm, guiding hand to set me right again. As I stood there in the empty store with Miss Pushy Talksalot babbling on and on, I grew nostalgic for Haggletooth and Crazy. Needless to say, I learned a valuable lesson right there in the cooking store: Empty stores are empty for a reason. Other signing events are slower to reveal their true colors. 

One of my most memorable events involved a speaking engagement for the American Association of Family Consumer Sciences (Formerly known as Home Ec). I sat at a table near the silent auctions and tried to pinpoint if I had ever felt quite so awkward and out of place. For a long time no one said anything to me, except those people who asked me if my books are a part of the silent auction. And when I said no, you guessed it, they looked genuinely disappointed in me. Someone wandered over and asked me where the decaf was. I pointed to the nearby orange pot. (It’s been said before, but doesn't everyone know by now that decaf is served in the orange pot?) But other than that, things were slow. I think I even saw a lone tumbleweed blow by my table. I was starting to feel like a bit of a party crasher so I made a bold move to engage people in conversation. "Hi" I said to a lady near my table, to which she replied, "What did you just say to me?" "Oh, all I said was 'hi.'" And before I got the last syllable out she lost interest in me and started conversing with her friend. A couple of people came over to my table and thumbed through my book and said things like, "What's this all about?" Or, "$23! That's way too much money." Or they would just flip through it with a look on their faces as if to say, "What kind of person writes a book on severed limbs?" True, not everyone is a fan of Betty, but to make a face? When you are a card-carrying member of the group that no-longer-wants-to-be-known-as-home-economics? 

Occasionally one of the event organizers would come by and reaffirm that I was invited and supposed to be selling books—which was nice, really nice. And then the awards ceremony started and didn't stop for a long time. Finally, it was time for the last award - Friend to Family Consumer Science and the winner was me! They even gave me a plaque and a corsage. I was utterly in shock. Everyone applauded and someone even cheered. I felt so honored and so unworthy. And then I gave my little spiel on Betty and the crowd seemed happy and they cleaned me out of books and thanked me profusely and told me their stories about Betty. And one woman apologized for not realizing I was the author before and said had she known, she would never have said that $23 was too much to pay for my book. Another woman said she wished I was her granddaughter and until that moment I had never felt a pain well up so quickly and sharply in my throat. But I somehow managed to wait until I got in my car before I burst out in tears. I have no idea what happened – but I will tell you what, by the end of the night I was ready to become a member and not just a friend. 

Still, my all-time favorite event was the sold out Roseville Lutheran Church Annual Winter Tea in Roseville, Minnesota. It was the second largest signing event with 400 people packed in to hear stories of Betty Crocker. It was also a homecoming of sorts considering I grew up and misspent most of my youth in Roseville – a suburb of St. Paul, Minnesota. Nothing spectacular happened at the event – besides the fact that hundreds of people voluntarily left the warmth of their homes on a snowy January Sunday. But it was nice and everyone was friendly and grateful. And lucky for me, if the crowd thought my hair looked bad or if they were convinced that I needed some career counseling – they kept it to themselves. The Master of Ceremony even went on and on about how young I looked (God Bless her). And those Lutherans served cake – delicious, heavy on the frosting side. Considering what I’ve learned about never underestimating the power of a friendly face and sweet, heavenly baked goods, I really couldn’t have asked for a better way to wind down the tour. 

© 2006 Susan Marks

*There was a college student who showed up to my book launch and announced that she, too, was writing a book on Betty Crocker. I was polite to her but the whole time I was thinking, who does this? Well, sweetie, that was back in 2005. It's now 2021, where's your book on Betty Crocker? Yeah, that's what I thought.😉

Before Betty there was Aunt Jemima

Goodbye, Aunt Jemima! 

When I was on my book tour for Betty Crocker a lot of people asked me about Aunt Jemima - who proceeded Betty and was even more controversial.

Aunt Jemima is such a huge topic that shouldn't be shoehorned into Betty's story, so I always referred people to this book by M.M. Manring:

Here is a review of Slave in a Box: The Strange Career of Aunt Jemima from Amazon:

The figure of the mammy occupies a central place in the lore of the Old South and has long been used to illustrate distinct social phenomena, including racial oppression and class identity. In the early twentieth century, the mammy became immortalized as Aunt Jemima, the spokesperson for a line of ready-mixed breakfast products. Although Aunt Jemima has undergone many makeovers over the years, she apparently has not lost her commercial appeal; her face graces more than forty food products nationwide and she still resonates in some form for millions of Americans.

In Slave in a Box, M.M. Manring addresses the vexing question of why the troubling figure of Aunt Jemima has endured in American culture. Manring traces the evolution of the mammy from her roots in the Old South slave reality and mythology, through reinterpretations during Reconstruction and in minstrel shows and turn-of-the-century advertisements, to Aunt Jemima's symbolic role in the Civil Rights movement and her present incarnation as a "working grandmother." We learn how advertising entrepreneur James Webb Young, aided by celebrated illustrator N.C. Wyeth, skillfully tapped into nostalgic 1920s perceptions of the South as a culture of white leisure and black labor. Aunt Jemima's ready-mixed products offered middle-class housewives the next best thing to a black servant: a "slave in a box" that conjured up romantic images of not only the food but also the social hierarchy of the plantation South.

The initial success of the Aunt Jemima brand, Manring reveals, was based on a variety of factors, from lingering attempts to reunite the country after the Civil War to marketing strategies around World War I. Her continued appeal in the late twentieth century is a more complex and disturbing phenomenon we may never fully understand. Manring suggests that by documenting Aunt Jemima's fascinating evolution, however, we can learn important lessons about our collective cultural identity.

Today is was officially announced that Aunt Jemima is no more. Check out this article, including some history

From NPR: Quaker Oats will replace the 130-year-old Aunt Jemima brand and logo in June, one year after it announced plans to do so.

Quaker Oats cooked up a new image for an old offensive brand. PepsiCo Inc. the parent company for Quaker Oats, announced rebranding Aunt Jemima, retiring a racist stereotype used for the product's image.

PepsiCo will replace Aunt Jemima with the Pearl Milling Company in June — one full year after the company first announced plans to do away with the Aunt Jemima brand.

Aunt Jemima and other food brands, including Uncle Ben's, Cream of Wheat, and Mrs. Butterworth's, announced redesigns amid protests against systemic racism and police brutality in the U.S. last summer. But calls to remove the Aunt Jemima imagery, and others like it, were made long before companies acquiesced to public pressure last year.

Both Aunt Jemima and Uncle Ben's have been criticized for relying on the titles aunt and uncle, which historically were used by people who resisted applying the honorific Mr. or Ms. to a Black person.Aunt Jemima has been criticized as an image harkening back to slavery. Old Aunt Jemima originated as a song of field slaves that was later performed at minstrel shows. The original Aunt Jemima character was portrayed by Nancy Green, who was born into slavery. Quaker Oats paid Green to travel and promote Aunt Jemima products in costume.

The Uncle Ben's logo was of an elderly Back man, who originally wore a bow fie evocative of a servant. Mars, Incorporated announced in September it would remove the name and logo of Uncle Ben's and rename the rice brand as Ben's Original. 

Origin of Pearl Milling Company

Pearl Milling Company was founded in 1888 in St. Joseph, Missouri, and according to a PepsiCo statement, it created the self-rising pancake mix that became known as Aunt Jemima. Quaker Oats purchased the Aunt Jemima brand in 1925.

The company said Pearl Milling Company will also announce details of a $1 million commitment to empower and uplift Black girls and women in the coming weeks. The investment is in addition to PepsiCo's $400 million, five-year commitment to advance and uplift Black businesses and communities, the company said.

The Light and Dark Side of Telling Betty Crocker's Story

In 2021 Betty Crocker celebrates her 100th year. Such great, deep history that no other advertising character can match. 

Lately I've been reflecting a lot on my journey with Betty Crocker. People ask me all the time how I got interested in writing a book and making a documentary film about Betty Crocker. 

My book on Betty first published in hardcover by Simon & Schuster.

The short answer is that no one had done it yet. It is and was a shockingly good story, far too good to pass up. And how often does that happen in a person's life? It truly felt like Betty chose me. 

From my documentary film on Betty.

But the long answer is much more complicated.

I was a tour guide for the Minnesota Historical Society and about to start a graduate school program in American Studies and Film Studies at the University of Minnesota. On my tours people would get downright giddy when I pointed to the Washburn A Mill ruins (which soon after became the Mill City Museum) and explained that it was Betty Crocker's birthplace. People had so many questions about Betty and I had questions too. Like, why was everyone so giddy about Betty? And didn't they know she wasn't real? 

It happened so often that I decided to read the book on Betty Crocker's history because clearly, I wasn't getting something so significantly shared by tourists. I quickly discovered that there was no book on Betty. So I tried to find the documentary film. There wasn't one of those either. Curiouser and curiouser. 

I was blown away that this rich history that had been ignored by authors, historians, documentary filmmakers, etc. However, it did make sense to me that many people simply would not be able to get past the corporate narrative and see the compelling story underneath. 

So, I naively set out to make a film and write a book about Betty Crocker. I hadn't written a book nor made a documentary film, but at that point I had read so many poorly written books (and horribly edited ones) and seen so many cheesy, boring documentary films that I knew I could as least do better than most. And I folded my research into my graduate work, so I was getting constant feedback about the academic merits of my work. 

The journey was long and arduous and I discovered why no one had written a book nor made a film on Betty. The key was access. At the time, the General Mills archivist was cagey and suspicious of anyone outside of the company writing about Betty. She was very concerned about tarnishing the Betty brand and didn't want me poking around. But after a few requests and the knowledge I shared through Betty Crocker radio broadcasts I found in an academic library, she did allow me to come into the archives and research the letters sent to Betty - for which I am still grateful. 

I had to get creative and get serious with my research. Beyond reading history books (secondary research), I conducted oral history interviews (primary research) with women who lived through the height of Betty Crocker's popularity in the 1940s and 1950s. I put the word out that I was looking to interview anyone who worked at the Betty Crocker Kitchens - especially under the direction of Marjorie Child Husted. I wrote an article for the Hennepin County History Museum (Minneapolis) and wrote an op-ed piece to solicit Betty stories. 

Additionally, I researched in special collections at libraries, historical societies, and even church archives. I eventually tapped into a network of retired home economists from the Betty Crocker Kitchens aka "The Crockettes." I conducted oral history interviews with many over the phone and I traveled to meet face to face with some of them. 

I loved interviewing Crockettes and they often shared their personal photos with me from working in the Betty Crocker Kitchens.

Eventually, the General Mills archivist retired and the new archivist, Katie Dishman embraced me and my storytelling, allowed me access to everything Betty related in the archives. She even put me work as a contractor researcher on the history of the Chex brand. 

Now there's a common misconception about corporate archives that they save everything. They do not. I'm not sure how this rumor started but the General Mills archives did not tell the full picture of Betty's history, so I wound up having to fill in the gaps.

I purchased a lot of Betty Crocker ephemeral items like cookbooks, ads, letters, radio show scripts, tv scripts, photos, radio recording, recipe booklets, menus from the Betty Crocker short-lived restaurant, the Betty Crocker magazine, etc. from eBay and antique dealers. It really was amazing what I could find to help fill out the story. While I kept a lot of rare gems, much of it I donated to the General Mills archives in thanks for letting me in. If I hadn’t, I could have easily opened up my own Betty Crocker museum.

But there's a dark side to all this. 

I rarely talk about it because "all's well that ends well" and for a historian, I ironically don't like to dwell in the past. But last week when I was talking with a friend we joked about how if it weren't for Betty Crocker, we wouldn't even know each other. 

She read my book, blogged about it, we started talking and soon we were good friends. I made an off-handed comment about how I’m glad that I didn't listen to all the people who were against me writing the Betty book and making the film. She wasn't remotely surprised but encouraged me to not be shy about telling that side of the story. She's a successful public figure who knows a thing or two about the naysayers and the damage they do. 

We wound up talking about how friends, acquaintances, coworkers, etc. said some truly detrimental and discouraging things to me in an attempt to get me to give up on my hopes and dream. Or they just wanted to put me in my place and make feel bad because it would make them feel better about themselves. (People like that are truly the worst and will always be chasing that fix.) 

Weirdly, until she encouraged me to talk about it, I had almost completely forgot about all those trash conversations and the damage people tried to inflict on me. When memories like this surface it’s a reminder to how ugly people can be when you're an artist starting out and how truly threatened people are by anyone who is doing something special with their lives. 

In the beginning of my Betty journey I was out of my comfort zone every single day, just trying to tell a story that hadn't been told before. I was vocal, transparent, vulnerable and excited. 

I thought my friends and acquaintances would be excited and happy for me because I had found my thing. And I always shared in their excitement over their hopes and dreams. And of course, many were lovely and wonderfully supportive every step of the way and I'm deeply grateful to them.

Although if I'm being honest, many did not become outwardly supportive until the actual book was published, I had a book launch, was making national tv appearances and went on a book tour. 

I had a very memorable stop on my book tour to Toronto. But I don't remember taking this picture at all. Ha! 

But back to what people don't usually talk about. 

A lot of people did not support me. In fact, they wanted to take me and my enthusiasm out. They told me in direct and indirect ways that there was no way I could write a book, get it published nor make a film. I didn't have enough experience. General Mills wouldn't allow it. General Mills would sue me. I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t know what I was getting myself into. I was in over my head. I was full of sh*t. I wasn't an established author, so I wouldn't be able to find an agent. I would have to team up with a historian to write the book because I didn't know enough on my own. It went on and on. 

A few people even rolled their eyes and laughed in my face saying, "Why would you want to write a book on Betty Crocker?” and “I would never want to see that movie.” As I’m writing this I keep wondering, was it that really that bad? Am I exaggerating? But sadly, I think I’m underselling it. Ugh, people can be truly awful.

Over time, I welcomed the challenge. I liked that I had this giant project outside of my everyday work and I enjoyed talking about. (This is laughable to me because now I rarely talk about my writing and doc filmmaking until a project is done. I’m simply not the same person.) And if people wanted to argue with me about it, I thought, "Fine. Let's do this." What was it that was so ridiculous about me and Betty Crocker? 

It usually came in the form of someone claiming to be "worried about me." They would grill me about how I planned on making it all happen. And of course they would focus in on any part of my plan that was out of my control. (like getting an agent, publisher, funding for the film). It made them feel fantastic that there were elements of fate to my plan that they could throw back in my face as proof that none of it would work out. When I reminded them that all artists need to be open to fate, have faith and take risks, it made their blood boil. 

Looking back, it's astounding that people would get so worked up over me writing and book and making a documentary film about Betty Crocker, (where were my giddy people?) but I think it says more about how they underestimated me from the start and found my ambitions a threat to them. 

And where are those people today? Not a single one of them is in my life. They just faded away. (With the exception of a few friends and family members who will always have a “bee in their bonnet” about me and Betty. Ha! Big babies.) And no one ever apologized to me nor admitted I was right all along. I guess that only happens in the movies. 

But seriously, what would have happened if I had listened to those people? What if I shrunk to fit their idea of who I was or dulled my shine to make them feel brighter? What if I hadn't taken the risks? Because after all, there was no guarantee that I would get published or finish the film. What if I didn't even start because it was so difficult to be out of my comfort zone? What if I didn't dare to dream because there wasn't a risk-free path to follow? 

I learned to not listen to anyone. (And I cannot emphasize enough how mad this made people - especially Baby Boomer men). I stopped listening because it became crystal clear to me that none of them knew what they were talking about. It was obvious just by looking at their low-risk lives. Plus, I'm just made of tougher stuff than them. There was no way I was going to quit because someone rolled their eyes at me. Or told me I was going to get screwed over by my publisher, if I ever got one. Or that my book idea was so niche that only a few people would ever read it. Were any of these people experts in indie documentary filmmaking, publishing or marketing? No, again, they knew nothing other than how to spot a risk. 

Interestingly, when I told people I got a book deal the very first question out of their mouth was always, "Who is the publisher?" And I proudly told them Simon & Schuster and they were always stunned silent. They wanted to pick that apart too, tell me they never heard of that publisher, but of course everyone knows about S&S. So I left them out of moves. 

So, in the end, I won. It took me seven years but I wrote the book, made the film, went on a book tour and launched my creative career. I made more films, wrote more books and screenplays. I won awards, fellowships, screened my films internationally, spoke to crowds of 1000s of people, screened one of my films at the Smithsonian American Art Museum (very few people can ever say that). I sold and optioned screenplays and had meetings with some of Hollywood's elite about adapting my work. All of which came with a whole new set of much bigger problems and issues than people telling me to give up on Betty Crocker.

But I think this all these negative memories resurfaced for a reason. Someone or perhaps several people need to hear this and hopefully it will help. I got treated like a punching bag because I dared to dream big and be open about it. But I also got very used to it and thought it came with the territory. But now I see that I could have done more to stop the verbal and emotion abuse that comes with chasing your dreams. Bottom line: People should not have treated me that way. And you shouldn't allow people to treat you this way. I learned the hard way so you don't have to.

Your success can feel like an affront to others because they choose to feel small and act impulsively. Too bad for them and thank God you aren't them. It's a backhanded compliment to you, so just walk away. Don't engage. Over time, you'll stop attracting people like that in your life. And you will learn more about setting boundaries and being selective about what you share. 

Constant criticism is often a dream crusher. And if you read this whole post and think, "Wow. I have no idea what this lady is talking about" then you are likely blind to the fact that you are crushing other people's dreams. So now that you know here's your tough love moment: Choose to be a better person. Even if you feel threatened by someone else's dream or you are so jaded that you only see failure or feel the need to control things. Just smile and say, "Good for you! I'll support you every step of the way." 

Let's all try being supportive to anyone who is doing something positive, getting out of their comfort zone - especially in the arts. Writing is tough. Documentary filmmaking is even tougher. People everywhere need healing, not for you to cause them more pain. 

Obviously, there's a lot more to my journey. I've oversimplified quite a bit and I left out a lot. But if you are the person I unearthed this for, I wish you nothing but light on your journey and feel free to reach out and tell your story. Please don't give up. Write your dream on a post-it note, look at it each day and honor your path. 

Mine said: "I'm so happy that I’m the first person to write a book and make a documentary film about Betty Crocker!" I wrote that post-it seven years before my dream was realized. And guess what? I'm still the first and only person to do these things. Apparently, I'm a tough act to follow. And I know in my heart that you are too.

Did you work for the Betty Crocker Kitchens? UPDATE

                Happy New Year! Betty Crocker turns 100 in 2021!

 

            

     

Over the years I have conducted countless interviews with former Crockettes for my book Finding Betty Crocker and my master's thesis.  

And now that Betty is turning 100 I have so many more questions. Please be in touch if you work for The Betty Crocker Kitchens! I would love to talk to you.

2024 Update: I've heard from a few of you but would still love to hear from more. Guess what a lot of you Crockettes and other staffers have in common? You are writing memoirs! I love it.