Society Columnist on the Prowl

Carla Sue Broeker churned through the party like a great ship. She fired off grins and squeals of greeting. In her wake were smiles. “It’s a blue-ribbon crowd,” she said, all but smacking her lips.

The event was another bit of raw material for her weekly column. Broeker’s approach is essentially reporting—who, what, when, and where—distinguished by a galloping enthusiasm for parties. She flogs the reader from buffet to reception, from wedding to barbeque.

She covers the food: “Oysters in aspic . . . gravlax, loin of rabbit in raspberry vinegar sauce . . . caviar, pickled quail eggs, herring with onion and mustard.”

The settings: “Pink-skirted tables with white rose-printed tablecloths were set around the lawn with white chairs and centerpieces of silver bowls with luxuriant arrangements of roses, larkspur, apricot lilies, Queen Anne’s Lace, wine-colored crab foliage and spears of sorghum.”

The people and their clothes: “Mini-skirts abounded, and one woman came in a see-through body stocking with red roses for fig leaves.”

But for Carla Sue Broeker, it’s never just about the comings and the goings and the chit and the chat.

Since she was 16, Broeker has kept a secret journal on what she has seen and heard among the city’s movers and shakers. The journal lapsed a few years ago, but she plans to take it up again. She also plans to leave it to the Filson Historical Society with orders that it be sealed for fifty years after her death.

The journal includes notes on which movers and shakers are into bondage, and which are into drink and drugs. Distant generations are not spared. Broeker knows whose ancestors mistreated their servants, abused their children, and raped their slaves.

Once she was at a party with a woman who behaved in a remarkably snooty fashion. “I thought, ‘If you knew what I know, you wouldn’t be acting so high and mighty.’”

Broeker somehow manages to say this without sounding judgmental. “As I get older, I realize that no one is ‘normal.’ Everyone is crazy. There are just degrees of craziness, variations on craziness.”

—The Courier-Journal

This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Comments are closed, but you can leave a trackback: Trackback URL.