Remembering June Cleaver

This column was first published here on October 20, 2010.
Edited versions were subsequently published,with permission of the author,

in print and online editions of community newspapers across Chicago.

I used to hate June Cleaver.

Years ago, when I was a young wife getting adjusted to married life and having those first-year squabbles that I think all newlyweds have, one of my common sarcastic retorts to my husband was, “Sorry, I’m not June Cleaver.”

Back then, I viewed the “Leave it to Beaver” mom as an impossible standard of womanly perfection (created by men, of course)—the human equivalent of a rigged carnival game of skill that looks easy enough, yet leaves you broke and feeling like an idiot after you try and try and fall short every time.

On a tree-lined avenue in the tranquil suburb of Mayfield, June Cleaver ran the perfect household. She wore stylish yet sensible outfits. She cooked a perfect roast, never burned the toast, and had the good manners of Emily Post.

Check out citymomchicago.blogspot.com, where I have a “June Cleaver” video link posted, as well as a link to the actual blueprint of the Cleaver home at 211 Pine Street.


June kept her husband content; and her sons were good-hearted boys who only got into trouble so minor that it easily be cleared up in 30 minutes each week---with everyone enjoying a wholesome chuckle just before the credits rolled and the screen faded to black.

She even wore pearls while cleaning the house!

Seriously, who among us could live up to that?

But as the years went by in my marriage---and the ‘80s became the 90s and then the new millennium, June Cleaver changed, even though “Leave it to Beaver” ended in 1963 after 234 episodes.

Or was it just me maturing as a wife and mom?

Reminds me of what Mark Twain once said:

“When I was a boy of 14, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be 21, I was astonished at how much he had learned in seven years.”

Over time, as I watched re-runs of the show, I started to look at June Cleaver differently. I looked past the pearls, the perfect dinners, the meticulous manners. And I saw that I was wrong in my assessment of Wally and the Beaver’s mom. June was not the 1950s version of a robotic Stepford Wife, as I once had believed.

Thanks largely to the acting skill of Barbara Billingsley, the character of June Cleaver was often more complex and substantial than I had seen in years past. She showed wisdom and compassion. In the context of life in the 1950s, she was assertive when she needed to be and showed restraint when it was prudent.

Over time, I grew to appreciate June Cleaver; and in a good way. She was a mom’s mom. She was always there and always got it right. She became a standard against which I measured myself---even though I knew I would always fall short. But so what? Never let the perfect be the enemy of the good, right?

So when I read in the newspaper that Barbara Billingsley, 94, died last Saturday in her home in Santa Monica, I felt a deep pang of sadness. In a larger sense, I felt as if I lost a member of my family. She was always there, in the background, and I was happy she was there.

In real life, Barbara Billingsley’s children actually likened her to June Cleaver; and they meant it as high praise. Her son Glenn described her as “nurturing, classy and lovely” in real life as June Cleaver was on television.

So in honor of Barbara Billingsley, may every wife and/or mother reading this resolve to do one thing---just one thing---in the next seven days to re-connect with our husbands and/or our children. Even something as simple as an extra hug, kiss or I Love You.

See you next week…

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Joan Hadac is a Chicago news/feature reporter, editor and columnist.
Read her online at www.citymomchicago.blogspot.com