Mary Volkman ’92, English, is a Baltimore native who writes fiction under the pen name “Margo Christie.” Her first novel, These Days: A Tale of Nostalgia on Baltimore’s Block, relies not only on the author’s time working in show bars on the city’s most notorious stretch of real estate (right under the shadow of City Hall, hon) in the 1970s and ’80s, but also in her careful attention to the reminiscences of those who’d been there during the heyday of burlesque just after World War II.

But Margo Christie wrote the book. So let her tell it:

It’s often said first novels are autobiographical, inspired by the author’s coming-of-age and family of origin. Just as often, it’s said the best literature rises out of adversity. When I sat down to write a first novel, I was a step ahead of the game, having lived a tough life, and having not one, but two, families upon which to build my colorful characters. The first was, naturally, my family of origin – which included an alcoholic, disabled dad, nostalgic for his finer days; and a jazz musician grandfather, rumored to have played trumpet in “houses of ill repute.”

I fell into my second “family” when, at age 16, my first family broke up and (of necessity) I became a stripper on “the Block” – Baltimore’s once-stylish but by then seedy burlesque strip. My adopted Block family included burlesque-era strippers working as barmaids, and a strip-joint manager rumored to have consorted with the mob.

Milton Carter had been on the Block since the 1930s. During the heyday of burlesque, the 1940s and 1950s, Milton had been a “straw man” club owner, holding the liquor and cabaret licenses for the actual owners, mobbed-up guys who, owing to their criminal records, couldn’t get such licenses in their own names.

I met Milton when he was in his 70s and managing the Stage Door, a side-street joint housed within the rearmost portion of the historic Gayety Theater on Baltimore Street. Milton liked to tell the tale of the Stage Door in the old days, when it was “regular” bar where Gayety performers would relax between shows, drinking and carousing with their wealthy admirers, known as “Stage Door Johnnies.” Yet he was quick to also point out that no customer, regardless of how much he spent, had the right to assume anything about his Stage Door girls.

On my first day there, I was drinking with a guy who, having spent a considerable sum on champagne, thought that earned him the right to bully me into the back room. Milton intervened, pulling me aside to tell me I didn’t have to do anything I didn’t want to do. If I didn’t like how things were going with any customer, he said, I should tell the barmaid and she’d remedy the situation. This was important to know, as most Block clubs were fronts for prostitution in those days, and I was too green – just a month past 16 years old – to yet have a clear idea of what going in the back room really meant!

In this and other ways, Milton was like the father that my real father wasn’t, guiding me away from compromise and toward self-preservation. He regularly got on me about smoking cigarettes and advised me to stay away from certain dancers, those with drug habits and pimps for boyfriends. A health-conscious diabetic, he neither smoked nor drank. For his birthday and for Christmas, myself, the barmaid, and one or two other reliable day-shift girls, would chip in and buy him a big box of diabetic cookies.

Birthdays and Christmases were always celebrated at the Stage Door. The owner’s wife, a busty stripper who worked a “circuit,” like the burlesque queens of yesteryear, knew everyone’s birthday and never failed to provide a card and store-bought, personalized cake. On Christmas, the club was closed, but those of us without families showed up anyway. A cold-cut platter was spread across the bar, courtesy of the boss, and a gift exchange was organized by his wife. An overweight bartender who worked nights donned a Santa suit. A chair was placed onstage, names were drawn out of a hat, and every girl in attendance took her turn on Santa’s lap to receive a gift. Lacking in familial closeness as I was, rituals like this one kept me grounded, out of the path of drugs and pimps, as Milton often advised me to stay.

It’s unfortunate that in this modern age, American writers know so little of struggle. Not only have many of us never known it firsthand, but we live in a glib, image-obsessed world where sadness gets stuffed in favor of social media trends and “Likes.”

Studying English at UMBC in the early 1990s, I was fortunate to learn writing from Tom Nugent, a retired newspaperman who knew that to write about life one needed to immerse oneself in it. In the 1970s, he lived at Baltimore’s flea-bag Congress Hotel while writing an exposé about its welfare-roll inhabitants.

My advice for writers today? Live life on the edge, but with a safety net of “family,” real or adopted, to keep you on track when you drift into harm’s way.

Read the full issue of the Summer 2014 UMBC Magazine.

Every so often, we’ll chat with an alum about what they do and how they go there. Today we’re talking with novelist Mary Volkman – whose pen name is Margo Christie – about writing and living a colorful life. Volkman’s debut novel These Days won second prize in Amazon’s 2012 Breakthrough Novel Award contest.

Name: Mary Volkman, aka Margo Christie
Grad Year and Major: 1992, English
Job Title: Writer
Employer: Self-employed
Your Website: www.margochristienovelist.com

Q: Tell us a little about how you wound up at UMBC. What’s your background?

A: You could call me a hard-luck story. A refugee from a broken home, I dropped out of high school at age 16. But you could also call me persistent. I’ve always been creative, so upon quitting high school I immediately enrolled in classes at Catonsville Community College [now known as the Community College of Baltimore County, or CCBC], first in the fine arts and theater programs, then in general studies. From there, the transition to UMBC was a natural one. While at CCC I discovered I wanted to write, so I inquired into UMBC’s English program. As someone who was footing the bill for college, UMBC was a good choice. The curriculum was a good fit and it was affordable. The staff consistently guided me toward available grants, and the rest I was able to afford myself.

Q: How did you wind up writing novels? What inspires you, and what do you ultimately hope to see come from it? Tell us about your recent successes.

A: I’ve been creative all my life. In my teens I painted. In my twenties I made jewelry and studied theater. In my thirties I made stained glass and wrote stories. I’ve lived a hard and colorful life, so I always knew there was a novel in me. I think it was my contemporary interest in real-life stories, especially those with some “grit” to them, which got me going. My book, These Days, is about a starstruck teenage stripteaser who’s enamored with the good old days of burlesque and makes the best of her circumstances by reviving them. Though it’s fiction, it’s closely related to my own experience stripping on Baltimore’s “Block” in the late 70s. Like I said, I’m a refugee from a broken home. I come by “grit” legitimately!

My writing, from my short stories to These Days, focuses on “creative-but-fallen characters who long for redemption.” I believe all human experience is worthy of consideration. In writing about stigmatized people like strippers, my hope is that readers who’ve experienced any sort of societal marginalization will come away from my work with a sense of fellow feeling, with a sense of “I’m worthy of consideration, after all.”

I promote These Days through burlesque performances. Recently, I did a reading/performance with a stand-up comedy show in Denver. It was frightening! Comedy audiences can be brutal, and I always had in mind that my work would make people cry or commiserate, not laugh. Yet I managed to make them laugh! And I got my message – that of celebrating the beauty of all humanity – across without alienating anyone. I believe the open-minded environment of a higher-education institution like UMBC helped in this regard.

As These Days is set in Baltimore, I’ve had some success in reaching out to the Baltimore literary community for help in promoting it. I have a reading scheduled on Saturday, October 19, as well as an interview with Aaron Henkin of Baltimore Public Radio WYPR’s “The Signal” program. Details about both of these events can be obtained via my website. Additionally, I received a call from the owner of The Ivy Bookshop, expressing interest in carrying These Days in their store. Interest in my book has really picked up as a result of reaching out to people.

Q: Is there a particular class or professor who really inspired you at UMBC?

A: Tom Nugent, who I had for Creative Writing. He was witty and fun but no-nonsense when it came to teaching the craft of writing. I was writing life-inspired stuff even then, and he helped me eliminate flowery “over-writing” and get down to the nitty-gritty. He was what I’d describe as an “immersion” writer in that he immersed himself in whatever environment he wanted to write about. I read that, while working for The Baltimore Sun, he lived for a week at the crumbling, flea-bag Congress Hotel in order to write about the marginalized, lonely folks who called it home. He came to UMBC with a wealth of experience. We were very fortunate to have him around.

Q: What is your favorite UMBC memory?

A: Wow! There are many. I loved hanging around the cafeteria exchanging ideas with fellow students. As a writer, I’m a student of life. I loved hearing people’s stories, especially the ones that differed markedly from mine. I gravitated toward foreign-born and gay students, as well as creative, counter-cultured ones like myself. The more exotic their stories, the better I liked being around them! Like I said, UMBC was a very open-minded place.