In life, a singular pleasure is to come into contact with an exceptional human being. To be invited into their home. To be exposed to their way of thinking, decorating, recreating. To absorb the wisdom that can only be the byproduct of a full life. That was the rare gift bestowed by Barbara Ann Vaughan, denizen of Philadelphia, PA, and later Cherry Hill, NJ — with a tip o’ the hat to Ruth Bader Ginsburg, the Notorious BAV.
With sienna-toned hair and meticulously pigmented lips, Barb was a firebrand, notorious for uncompromising standards, outspoken views and exquisite taste. As the mother of my best friend, she was an integral part of my teen years, guiding and shaping me as surely as any blood relation (possibly even more so, as my interest was purely voluntary). Barb was high drama. Sure, she could be lots of fun — for one of my birthdays she took us to see Hall & Oates, and Crosby Stills & Nash, The Beatles and Bette Midler were the background tracks to domestic life. She loved songs with “doo-doo-doo-doo-doot’s,” which was frivolously amusing.
She left a big impression: Barbara Ann Vaughan
But she was also profound. The books on her nightstand included The Bhagavad Gita and Kahlil Gibran’s The Prophet. She had a way of making even casual observations sound intense. “It’s not time yet,” was her response to a lament about my lackluster love life. “You write beautifully,” her assessment when I gave her a copy of my first book. She always dressed well — her jeans and t-shirts pressed, accessorized to perfection, makeup impeccable, wafting fine perfume. Wanting, too, to smell like a rich old lady, fear of aging was eliminated in me. It was cool.
BAV wasn’t really rich, unless you count style and spirit. Although she was descended from a fine lineage of entertainment royalty (her father was one of the founders and owners of a ritzy local nightspot, The Latin Casino, it was vaguely understood that the family fortune had been diluted through divorce (acknowledged in the way kids care more about the myth than the reality of such things). Her queenly bearing was more the product of a privileged upbringing than current circumstance. She worked for a living, but had the glamour of old money.
One might have mistaken BAV for a WASP, but she was Jewish. She loved Judiasm with an exuberance that made me love it too, though I’m not sure what drew me the most, the family values or the food. She introduced me to blintzes, kugel and lox, this last prompting me to exclaim “I love them!” She never tired of recounting with great amusement my blunder at mistaking it for the plural, “locks.” Although raised Catholic, after this exposure to Jewish life I wanted in. I became determined to marry a Jew (and I did). And although the marriage didn’t last, I guess in a way my lovely half-Jewish daughter is the product of Notorious BAV’s influence.
It’s funny because as she grew up, there were certain of her friends that I took a special shine to, but anything beyond impersonal maternal acquaintance and she would have none of it. Her jealous guarding of my affection was flattering, in its way, but also made me acutely aware of the generous spirit evinced by my own mother (celebrated here) and Barb’s daughter, Lori, in indulging our somewhat unlikely friendship. There were lots of lunches at Ponzios Diner, mostly with Lori, but some without. And after doing the EST training, Barb made Lori do it, and of course I wanted to do it too, which my mother, strange as it must have seemed to her, allowed me to do (the only thing I remember is “what you resist persists”).
If it seems I’m dwelling disproportionately on superficial things, let me stress that Barbara Vaughan was a warm and loving person. Although she could have a sharp tongue (she was a Scoprio, one of her defining traits), she was always there to lend moral support, remembered my birthdays and visited me in the hospital. That she raised such an amazing daughter is a testament to her character. And were it not for Barbara’s singular style, I might never have known Lori, who I noticed in high school because she had a dramatic blonde stripe in the crest of her brown mane, making me determined to know this girl who was so unusually chic. I’m sure that streak must have been Barbara’s idea (her second husband, Richard Vaughan, who she divorced and then in an unusual show of chutzpah later remarried, was a hairdresser. Her first husband, Gene Berk, is a very talented fashion designer).
Barb left this world in 2015 at age 75 after a long and painful bout with cancer. A social butterfly throughout life, during her waning years she preferred keeping to herself. She drifted away, but her presence lingers. She is the type of person that once met, is impossible to forget. It is a great pleasure to remember Barbara Ann Vaughan this Mother’s Day 2019.
Lori Berk and Barbara Vaughan on graduation day.
Barbara Vaughan and first husband Gene Berk, esteemed fashion designer.
Barbara Vaughan (second from left) and her second (and third!) husband Richard Vaughan (far right) at their son Jay’s wedding.
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