All about charm bracelets

Upon reading in my late grandmother Vivian's European travel journal that she purchased some charms for her charm bracelet, I became very curious about this type of jewelry. I remembered that Vivian, her daughter Linda and her mother Leta all had charm bracelets, as did my mother. They also sought to add charms to them for a period of time in the late 1960s/early 1970s.

My grandmother's charm bracelet.

A charm bracelet is, of course, a metal article of jewelry worn around the wrist. It is comprised of links. The wearer attaches small pendants or trinkets to these links, as many as she collects and the bracelet (or her wrist) can bear. These charms then dangle from the chain bracelet. The trinkets ostensibly have a personal significance for the wearer. She may collect them while on vacation, to signify interest and hobbies, or for some other special reason. My grandmother Vivian, for example, had charms to signify each of her three grandchildren. Leta’s was more decorative, fancier, with pearls. Most of the charms are sterling silver, although other metals, gems and beads are sometimes used.

My great-grandmother Leta's charm bracelet.

Historically charms were adornments used to ward off evil spirits and as protection. In ancient Egypt, for example, charms were used as symbols of faith and luck and to identify an individual to the gods in the afterlife. During the Roman Empire, Christians would use tiny fish charms hidden in their clothing to identify themselves to other Christians. Jewish scholars of the same period would write tiny passages of the Torah and put them in amulets round their necks to keep the law close to their heart at all times. Medieval knights wore charms for protection in battle. Charms also were worn in the Dark Ages to represent family origin, religious and political convictions.

While these charms may not have been on bracelets (some were amulets, pins or necklaces), charm bracelets have been the subject of several waves of trends.

My aunt's charm bracelet.

The modern charm bracelet fad began in England during the late 1800s, when Queen Victoria (1819–1901) began wearing a gold chain with lockets that contained portraits of her family. This transformed the charm bracelet from one of protection to decorative with a personal meaning. Many women copied the queen by hanging glass beads and lockets from their bracelets. Throughout the twentieth century and into today, charm bracelets came into and out of fashion several times. After World War II, soldiers brought home trinkets made by craftsmen local to the area where they were fighting to give to loved ones. In the 1950s and early 1960s, American teenagers collected charms to record the events in their lives. There were resurgences of popularity in 1980 and 2000 with collectors eagerly seeking vintage charms and added an occasional new one. Inspired by to the movie Pirates of the Caribbean, bracelets with little charms of swords, crosses and skulls were introduced as a fashion trend in 2006.

Mom's charm bracelet.

It seems my family was on the tail end of the fad, for according to reports, charm bracelets faded in popularity in the late 1960s-early 1970s. As noted, my grandmother collected several of hers in 1967 in Europe, also adding to her daughter-my aunt’s collection. My mother’s includes charms from a family vacation to Colorado in 1973, as well as one that commemorates our annual vacation week to Houghton Lake in Michigan.

First kiss

When Leta was eleven, an older boy decided to kiss her one day after school. The gesture both thrilled and repulsed her. He had her backed against a tree with one outstretched arm blocking her on one side. She had folded her hands before her, turning her head slightly aside as she had once seen an older girl do. The boy put his free hand to her chin, turning her face to his.

"Ever kissed a boy, girl?" he asked.

She turned her eyes away and blinked a few times. She didn't want to answer. What could she say? That she hadn't? What would he think of her then? That she was still a little girl? She looked back. Actually, that's all she knew how to do. She blinked a couple more times. Batting her eyes, her sister Louise called it. He pulled her mouth closer. She looked into his eyes; they were a cold slate gray. She had no idea what to do with her lips, so she puckered them tightly. She could feel his breath. And smell it. It was like sour milk. Did he have his mouth open?

She never found out, for just then a blast of cool air separated them, as a strong arm yanked the boy away from her.

"What the hell is going on here?" a deep, gruff and very familiar voice demanded.

Leta turned. There was her older brother Aaron holding the boy by the neck. Aaron's face was red and his eyes on fire.

The terrified boy was stammering gibberish.

"Aaron!" Leta screamed, "What are you doing?"

"Go home, Leta," he ordered.

"But he didn't do anything!" she protested.

"I said go home," Aaron repeated sternly.

Leta refused. Instead she grabbed her older brother's arm, the one choking the boy, and pulled with all her might.

"No, no, no, no," she insisted until he gave way, relaxed his hold and finally let go.

The boy stood between them, his entire body shaking.

"I was…I wasn’t doin’ nothin’,” the boy stammered. “I was just gonna ki--."

"If I were you, I'd head on home, boy," Aaron advised, "while you got the chance. I mean it."

The boy obeyed. Sister and brother watched him run down the road until he was out of sight, which didn't take very long at the speed he was going.

Then Aaron turned to his sister. He was still angry, she could tell. Leta gave him the biggest little girl smile in her arsenal, the one that always worked on him. He scowled.

"Don't be thinking I'm going to let you off that easily, little doll baby. What were you thinking?"

"He was just--"

"He was just going to kiss you. I know, you told me." Then he adopted his sternest, most fatherly tone. "Don't you understand, there is no 'just' when it comes to boys, particularly when it comes to boys and kissing?"

Leta was looking hard at him. She wanted to understand, but she didn't really. She only knew that there was a kind of thrill in having the boy like her, and it made her more alive than she had ever felt. She liked the feeling, and while she was no longer angry with her brother for interrupting, she was more confused than she was when the boy was about to kiss her.

"Look, I know this is hard for you to understand, doll baby," Aaron confided, far more gently. "But believe me when I tell you that boys rarely want to stop at kissing. So I'm telling you that it is best, at least for now to not be kissing boys, okay?"

Leta simply looked at him. All she knew is how disappointed and abused she felt.

"Okay?" he asked more sternly.

"Okay," she agreed reluctantly.

He put his hand on her shoulder and looked her right in the eye. "I mean it," he said with finality.

Leta did not kiss another boy until she was already a young woman of 17, and she was head over heels in love with him.

Trip to Europe, Part Three

This is the third part in an exploration of my grandmother Vivian’s journal of a trip to seven countries in Europe. She and my grandfather spent 35 days there in 1967 touring and working. He was chief electrical engineer for Champion spark plugs at the time and visited auto shows and factories intermittently. After my grandfather’s second wife died in 2008, I acquired this journal of fascinating tidbits, not only about their trip, but my late grandmother, in particular. I was only 12 when she died in 1976, so this bit of writing in longhand is quite a treasure for me. And while it may not be directly included in the book about her mother/my great-grandmother Leta, it nonetheless is influencing the emotional component of writing the history.

During their trip, Vivian found the toilets in many of the places they visited unusual, to say the least. In Copenhagen, she experienced that the toilets were rather large: “I thought I was going in and my feet didn’t touch floor.” (She was about 5’1”.) In Amsterdam, their hotel room had “twin beds, a view of the canal and another odd john. Flushes to the front.” But she disliked the bedding, generally a bottom sheet and a feather comforter. Leaving Frankfurt, she noted, “Glad to leave the feather bed quilt, too warm.” However, in Rothenburg, their very next destination, she learned “feather bed covers again” and the chairs in the restaurant were so high, “my feet didn’t touch the floor.” “In Switzerland had sheet & blanket in addition to feather comforter.” I strongly suspect this provided a little relief for them, and they didn’t use the comforter. (When I was in Germany and the Czech Republic a few years ago, I also found this form of bedding rather warm.) During their drive to Munich, they learned via experience that rest areas had “no johns so went in woods (where everyone else goes, I guess).”

In my own travel journals, I don’t usually note what I had for meals unless there is some specific reason. In Ireland, for example, I described the Irish breakfast I had at the Bed & Breakfasts (but only once). However, my grandmother noted her meals, and why shouldn’t she? Here’s a sample lunch: “cold pot[ato] soup, wine, roast filet, pot[ato] croquettes, ice cream sundaes served in dish of ice.” And here is a banquet dinner (with my grandfather’s work colleagues): “Had glass of champagne, celery soup, fish course, veal and pot[atoes], partridge and pot[atoes], 3 wines, champagne, ice cream cake with wh[ipped] cream frosting decorated with red candy colored cherries which had been dipped in rum. Carried in a stretcher with lighted spark plug candles, cookies, coffee, cognac.” Now, I don’t know exactly what she ate of these choices or how much, but I suspect that she tried a little bit of everything, at least. No wonder she writes very early on: “Must quit eating & drinking.” However, the extensive eating continued throughout their trip. Three weeks later in Walldorf, Germany, their evening meal consisted of: “filet steak for two: onion soup, red wine, French fries, potato puffs, green beans, mushrooms, carrots & peas, tomato, cauliflower with sauce, 1 spear asparagus and a mixed salad of green beans, carrots, cucumbers, tomato, cabbage, lettuce & dressings. Way too much food.” In London, she liked Irish coffee so much, she got the recipe.

“Gaelic coffee recipe:

Warm glass

Mix:

  1 tsp. Brown sugar

  1 shot of whiskey

Add hot black coffee and stir.

Get coffee spinning and take 1 shot heavy cream and pour inverted spoon onto coffee.”

Not all the food they were served suited their tastes, however. In Frankfurt, she “ordered an egg as all they serve is rather hard rolls and jam and getting tired of them.” For lunch in a café, she ordered a sandwich, but was disappointed: “Won’t order another sandwich as bread like a rock.”

While I don’t recall them being art enthusiasts of any kind, they had two specific art experiences during this trip. First, she writes with great interest about the paintings of Hans Memlinc (1433-1494) who took 4-7 years to finish a painting, used only one hair brush and painted on both sides of the piece of wood. “48 Memlinc paintings in the world,” she reports. And in London, they saw a play by George Bernard Shaw that “had been running 6 years & as of the present performance longest run in London Theater….Wonderful show.”

My grandmother's bracelet, note the silhouette of me.

Alas, their European adventure was stopped abruptly when they received a telegram that Ed’s mother Ana had died. Their friend Syd kissed them good-by. “Seems Londoners are more inclined to that. Syd a very nice person,” she concludes.

As I was only 3-1/2 at the time, I don’t remember their absence for such a long period of time. I do remember, however, their return, the gifts they gave us and the long slide show of their adventures. My grandmother also writes about collecting charms, which reminded me that she had a charm bracelet. At that time and into the 1970s they were quite the rage. My mother and younger sister both had one. And, I do still have one of my gifts, a doll replica of one of the Queen’s Buckingham Palace guards. Yep, it’s one of my treasures.

Trip to Europe, Part Two

For 35 days in 1967, my paternal grandparents took a business/vacation trip in seven European countries. My grandmother Vivian kept a journal, which came into my possession with a number of other bits of history of her and my great-grandmother Leta (her mother) after my grandfather Ed’s second wife Ethel’s death in 2008. Somewhat reliving the experience through Vivian’s eyes creates warm fuzzies for me. She died unexpectedly in 1976 when I was 12 years old, so every turn of phrase, delight and habit reconnects me to her. Heck, just reading her handwriting is wonderful.

While I am not sure what or how much of this information will overtly be included in the book about her mother Leta, the covert participation will come from some of the following notes that I’ve pulled. (By the way, Leta was widowed at the time and stayed with my teenaged uncle and aunt while their parents were away.)

Several of the sites my grandparents Vivian and Ed visited were of particular interest to them (and some to me). In Denmark, they went to Kronborg Castle in Elsinore (the setting for Shakespeare’s Hamlet) and the Palace Rosenborg, where she made notes about the crown jewels: “The jewel case drops in the floor every night and also if you touch the glass. It was well guarded.” At Christian Palace, “We put large felt slippers on our shoes to go in. We saw 20 rooms and there are over a thousand. A large number being used by Parliament.”

As they were Lutheran, my grandmother noted that Sweden was 96% Lutheran “but Catholicism increasing.” She also shares that they saw a 12^th century church called St. Laurens with two pillars in its basement—one with a mother and child and a second with a giant. The legend, she reports, was that they were turned to stone when they tried to tear down the church. She also noted that buildings have hooks on top to “hoist things thro window as staircases too narrow for large articles.” At a visit to a bulb grower with over 100 varieties of tulips and hyacinths in Rotterdam, Vivian sent 100 bulbs home. Many she kept for her own flower garden, but she did give a number of them to our family.

In Brussels, she was intrigued by a city legend of an elderly couple that arrived at the town hall several times a year to marry; however, the officials refuse to let them complete the ceremony, because the man was always drunk. The woman responded that it’s the only way she could get him to come. There is also the famous Mannekin Pis or peeing boy statue, which she notes has 148 different uniforms, although mostly he’s left nude. This statue so tickled them that they bought a liquor decanter of it that my grandfather kept in his bar and still may be somewhere in the family.

While I have done quite a bit of travel myself, the only places we intersected were in London and Frankfurt. In the latter, we all visited the house of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. Near the end of the Frankfurt bus tour, she reports that they saw two accidents and a third with the engine on fire. “Our bus driver stopped and put it out with fire extinguisher.” Near Wilderswil, Switzerland, she noted, “Some farmers have their own power station. Farmers put their cattle in buildings in the fields in daytime as they can’t stand the heat and might jump off cliff” (What? Really?) and “Rocks on roofs because of wind.”

Having lived in Ohio all of her life, she was fascinated by meeting people from different cultures. In Amsterdam they “met man & woman from India. She had six diamond studs inside of nose.” I am sure a note like this and accompanying picture thrilled all of us back then. During their tour of Jungfraugh, they met and befriended a couple from South Africa, exchanging addresses. I strongly suspect that this was an Afrikaner—i.e. white—couple.

Other experiences and cultural interests in the next entry.

Trip to Europe, Part One

My grandfather Ed, husband of Leta's daughter Vivian, was chief electrician for Champion Spark Plugs, a Fortune 500 company based in Toledo, Ohio with several additional factories across the world. In 1989, after he retired, Champion was purchased by Cooper Industries and is currently a wholly owned brand of Federal-Mogul Corporation. The Toledo factory was shuttered. However, he worked there for about forty years.

In August and September of 1967, Ed and Vivian took an extended business trip/vacation to Western Europe, where in the midst of his surveying the equipment and processes of Champion’s European partners, they explored several countries.

While my dad, their oldest child, was with my mother raising their own family (I was 3-1/2), his siblings Larry and Linda, ages 16 and 14 respectively, lived with their parents. My great-grandmother Leta, whose eighth and last husband died in 1963, stayed with them while their parents were gone. My aunt remembered from this experience that Grandma Eckman had Pop-Tarts® and Ovaltine as her evening snack. And while a loving grandmother, she had strict rules, particularly that her grandchildren must be home before the streetlights came on.

During the European trip, Vivian kept a diary of her experiences and adventures. While I’m not sure yet how this trip and journal will figure into the novel, I have read my grandmother’s reflections on her experiences with great interest. She used a small spiral notebook as a site-by-site tour guide and photo reference record, as well as recording stories and observations of particular interest. She also wrote much about the food.

Their trip began on August 25 and ended abruptly on September 29. The prior day, they received a telegram informing them that Ed’s mother Ana had died. They started in Copenhagen, Denmark, and my grandmother notes in a coffee shop where they had lunch while waiting for their hotel room to be ready, “People push food on fork with knife. Children drink beer.” She also noted that the toilets were rather large: “I thought I was going in and my feet didn’t touch floor.” (She was about 5’1”.)

They visited (in order) Denmark, Sweden, the Netherlands, Brussels (where there was a Champion plant), West Germany, Austria and England (where there was another Champion plant).  In each country, my grandmother’s references and stores enhance the experience and also provide insight to her and her interests.

As I was only 12 when she died unexpectedly in 1976, I have read and re-read this diary to fuel my memories of her. For instance although she drank beer, wine, and sometimes champagne, I believe her cocktail of choice was a whiskey sour. This I don’t think I would have ever known.

And there’s more of fun and interest to come.

Leta & Son-in-Law Ed

Vivian & Ed

Sadly, there was little love lost between my great-grandmother Leta and her two children’s respective spouses. While she was very close to her son Dale, her daughter-in-law always kept her at a bit of arm’s length away. Although no one had ever told Leta, she knew that Kathryn’s family, strict Eastern European Roman Catholics, was opposed to the marriage. While they liked the groom, they were concerned how much his mother’s scandalous reputation would tarnish their own. After all, she was a loose woman. She went with a lot of men, and everyone knew it. What did it say about them that she was now in their family? It’s hard for a person to be friendly and close to folks who are always sitting in judgment.

Roman Catholic guilt, as it is called, further pulled daughter-in-law from mother-in-law. While I don’t know how many children my great-uncle and aunt intended to have, I do know that they lived in an era where devout Roman Catholics did not use birth control and followed their denomination’s dictum to have as many children as was physically possible. Dale and Kathryn had four children. The first three were born in the early years of their marriage, one right after the other. But their second-born, their only son, died at age 4-1/2 of infant paralysis. This meant that for many months before, his mother spent most of her time nursing him as he slowly deteriorated. I can’t help but think that the family considered his death as divine punishment for Leta’s sins. This, of course, would have further alienated daughter-in-law from mother-in-law.

As for Leta and her daughter Vivian, that relationship took much more work. Vivian was older than Dale and much more conscious of their parents’ divorce and her mother’s subsequent scandalous behavior—multiple marriages/divorces and just simply going with men. I think that my grandmother’s stoicism grew out of this, and suspect that for many years there was a cool attitude from daughter to mother, one that a mother’s persistence and a daughter’s strong sense of duty had to work very hard to achieve a sense of mutual respect and connection. I am also convinced that Leta was not a part of Vivian’s wedding to Ed. When the couple met, Vivian was living with her father and paternal grandmother and had been for some time.

And Vivian and Ed were dating long before he met her mother. His first impression, furthermore, was not very flattering. He is the one, after all, who first told me that my great-grandmother had married several times, that she made poor marriage choices and that she didn’t really know she had a daughter. He’s the one who shared with me that Leta’s second husband was murdered in some Mafia-related activity during Prohibition. He’s the one who told me that “there was a time your grandmother got a call. ‘Come, get me,’ she said. She had married some farmer with eight kids a week before and wanted out. Christ, you should have seen the dilapidated shack she was living in. Filthy, no running water, in the middle of nowhere.”

He also said that the first time they met, Leta was drunk. She threw her arms around and slobbered all over him, just what any young man in his early twenties would expect from his future mother-in-law. From that moment on, Ed kept his distance. Like his wife, he was formal in many ways and not very affectionate, but friendly and kind.

This dislike must have been very hard for my grandmother, just another aspect of life that she bore on a regular basis. However, daughter and mother must have reached some reconciliation. Throughout my childhood I recall them spending time together and my great-grandmother a regular part of our family. When Leta determined that it was time for her to enter the senior care facility, Vivian worked with her to make all the appropriate personal and financial arrangements.

But even after Vivian died, I remember that at the funeral home, Leta and Ed could not have been farther removed from each other. She spent a lot of her time, expressing her grief from one of the couches, and he—solid, firm, tall—never sat at all. While Leta spent two Christmas holidays with us after that, this was at the instigation of my aunt. My grandfather married, and he rarely mentioned his mother-in-law again

The Blind Pony, Part Three

Leta knew that although her special friend couldn't see her, it could hear her as she approached his paddock. The pony shook off some flies from his head, or shuddered, or even stretched and then walked over to meet her at their usual place. He sniffed her eagerly, hoping perhaps for the usual treat she brought him. Even though she realized that her regular visits could result in overfeeding him, she always brought one sugar cube. Of course, not this time. When she didn’t offer her open hand, Charley jerked his head curiously a couple of times to assess the situation and then settled his head and neck against her in a loving gesture she had not previously experienced.

While the animal’s owner Mr. Crocker had told her during one of their several conversations that horses were not the brightest of animals, at least in this moment, she felt a great empathy from the blind pony and leaned against him. She suddenly felt too exhausted to bear her own weight.

“Oh, Charley,” she said softly, “it has been a hard day.”

She didn’t need to tell him anything, that she had only a few hours ago been full of hope at the prospect of another grandchild, that her heart burned with joy and excitement for her daughter Vivian who, after so many unsuccessful attempts, had made it into her third month and was also so happy. She didn’t need to tell him of her anxiety at the doctor’s office during Vivian’s examination, sitting in a room full of expectant mothers and their mothers. She didn’t need to tell him that the doctor with almost no feeling at all had informed them that Vivian had suffered a false pregnancy, or as he put it “hysterical pregnancy,” that her daughter had wanted a second child so badly she had used her powerful mind to convince herself she was. The doctor further told the thirty-seven-year-old woman it was time for her to stop trying. She never told him that for several hours mother and daughter, stunned and weakened had simply sat next to each other in her living room before Vivian cast off the temporary paralysis and went home to share the information with her husband. She didn’t need to tell the attentive animal that after Vivian drove off, instead of returning to her empty house, she walked down the street to this place, to spend the rest of the afternoon with her dear friend.

They just stood there for a while, woman and pony, just the two of them, Leta’s head as empty of thought as the horse’s and her body weakened by the ordeal, the heat of the summer day and dehydration.

While they stood, the sun continued to move across the sky, straining toward the western horizon while being held back by the strength of summer’s pull. It was only when she heard the activity in the barn for feeding time that she was stirred. She was grateful that Charley ignored the familiar sounds that usually had him charging toward the door in anticipation of his evening meal.

“You’re a good friend, Charley,” she said, after raising her head from the pony’s neck. “Thank you. Now, go eat your supper.”

Even as she uttered the words, she remembered her own responsibility. She had neglected to telephone Vivian’s mother-in-law, who was babysitting their grandson. Almost instantaneously Leta was walking as swiftly as she could back to her own house, chastising herself for her selfishness all the way.

Life, responsibility, taking care of family, living—that was the focus, and Leta had important duties to perform.

The Blind Pony, Part Two

Vivian had just left to share her terrible news with her husband Ed, leaving Leta alone for the first time since the doctor told them that the pregnancy had been a false one. The knowledge had been devastating to both daughter and mother, and while Vivian was responsible for sharing the news and making recompense to herself, Leta had never felt more alone in her life. After her daughter left, she didn’t go back into the house. Instead, she headed down the street in the late afternoon.

The farm at the end of her street had been in the area a long time, long before the encroaching neighborhood grew beside it. With the War and its aftermath finally over, the automobile industry was booming in Toledo, and manufacturing was becoming a primary form of business in the area. Veterans like her son and son-in-law were finally marrying, settling down and producing families. While they may have worked on farms as young children, they were not farmers at heart any longer. And all the new technology that had grown out of the War required different forms of expertise. Returning soldiers needed jobs and houses.

Certainly during the war, the number of factories grew tremendously, especially in railroad and shipping areas like Toledo on Lake Erie. And quiet neighborhoods like Leta and her husband’s were growing. An entirely new street had been added parallel to theirs in only a month and another had just been plotted. The small farm at the end of the street didn’t have a chance.

The property consisted of a large old farmhouse, several acres of wheat, strawberry patch, vegetable garden, twenty apple and cherry trees, chicken coop, equipment barn and animal barn, which primarily housed retired workhorses. The barn had a large paddock nearest the end of the street.

As usual, the horses were standing at the far end of the paddock in the shade, but Leta walked past them. She had no interest. Instead, she walked around the barn to where Charley was in his own paddock in his own reverie.

Earlier in the summer, her grandson Don had come barreling into the kitchen one afternoon, his face flushed and his voice loud with excitement. Although he had visited the horses several times that spring and summer already, this was the first time he had learned that just on the other side of the barn was a smaller, private paddock for a blind pony. His enthusiasm and description had piqued his grandmother’s interest, so she followed him. While she knew about the horses and other animals, she had not considered that a second, smaller paddock was just on the other side of the barn, beyond her sight, a small enclosure that provided a small exercise area for a single, blind miniature horse.

That first time, the blind pony seemed to be waiting for them, sniffed Don quickly, but then turned its attention to her, and she simply wanted to hug it.

“His name is Charley,” Don told her.

The Blind Pony, Part One

"I should head home," Vivian finally said and stood abruptly.

They had been sitting in the Leta’s living room for a long time after returning from Vivian’s doctor’s appointment, and mother was concerned about daughter, but also relieved. For the past hour at least Vivian had nearly been clinging to her, and the close contact made Leta feel trapped.

           

“Are you sure?” Leta inquired. She really did care that her daughter had returned to her strong emotional centeredness.

“Yes,” Vivian replied. “Ed will be wanting his supper, and Mother Metzker will be worried. She expected my return for Don a couple of hours ago.”

“I can telephone them,” Leta offered, “Ed and his mother, if you need me to.”

“No,” Vivian said firmly. “I can go.”

For a moment, Leta saw the little girl in her daughter’s eyes, the one who stared at her with such uncertainty all those years ago when informed that they were moving into a different residence for a little while to stop the fighting between mother and father. It was such a terrible time for Leta that she didn’t recognize her daughter’s anguish then, but she saw this anguish, plain as day, and hoped, even prayed, that she would never have to see it again.

The look on Vivian’s face was one of disappointment, anger and shame with blame dancing around the edges. She was mostly blaming herself and ashamed of what she had done. That it was psychological, the doctor explained, made it all the more painful. He called it hysterical pregnancy. For over two months, Vivian had used her powerful mind to convince her body that she was going to have a baby. She had exhibited all the signs—morning sickness, breast sensitivity, weight gain and menstrual disruption. After several years of failed attempts, Vivian was joyful at the pregnancy. Her son Don was already nine, and she had hoped to have at least three children by then—boys and girls. But life had so far handed her only one item on the family plate. Somehow she had convinced herself and her body that she was at last pregnant, and this child was going to be born. However, she was wrong. Finding out she had manufactured it all with her mind was devastating. But Vivian had already lived through much. This event, while truly devastating, would be survived.

And just as quickly as it came, the look disappeared, and the poised and mature woman returned.

“Thanks, Mother,” Vivian said, “for the lemonade. For everything.”

“Of course, darling,” Leta said with her warmest voice. “Now, I’ll be checking in with you later. And if you need me, telephone me immediately.”

“I will.”

Vivian collected her purse, and Leta walked her to the car. Although quiet, she walked with purpose. Yes, Vivian would make it home.

Once inside, Vivian looked up at her.

“Will you call Mother Metzker for me?” she requested. “To ask if Don can stay there for supper. Tell her Ed and I will pick him up before it gets too late.”

“Of course,” Leta replied. “Drive safely.”

“But don’t tell her,” Vivian urged.

“Of course not,” Leta agreed.

She stood in the driveway until Vivian’s automobile had turned the corner and disappeared.

“Dear Lord,” she prayed, “please be with my daughter and son-in-law as they struggle with this.” She took the handkerchief she had been holding and dabbed her wet eyes. Before she realized what she was doing, she was walking down the street to the farm, where over the summer she had spent many afternoons.

TO BE CONTINUED.

The Flat Iron

During the time in the 1930s that my great-grandmother Leta lived mostly with her brother Aaron, they both frequented a local drinking establishment—the Flat Iron. The bar was named for its triangular shape, which from above made it look like an iron. This shape was determined by its location—on a boulevard where three streets imperfectly intersected. The bar probably was the only local drinking establishment in their farming community and only very recently opened as a legal purveyor of alcohol after the repeal of prohibition in December 1933.

 

As it was located on a state highway that ran east to west along the northern border of Ohio, it most likely served both locals and men traveling across or through the state. Thus, its clientele would be both regulars and out-of-towners.

While both Leta and Aaron were regulars, I find it highly improbable that they would go together. Although Aaron seems not to have chastised or made life miserable for his baby sister for her sexual proclivities, I cannot imagine that he would have supported her in them. If they were in the bar together, I imagine she behaved in a much different manner than when she was on her own. It was only a mile or two from their house, so she could walk, and more often than not, I suspect, she was driven home by one of the men she had met or knew there.

Leta, of course, would socialize with the other drinkers, mostly men, at the bar. As a trained poker dealer who had spent some time in Reno, Nevada, Aaron would host a secret backroom card game. Gambling then, as now, would have been illegal.

These goings on must have created some tension in the household. After all, Aaron had two teenaged daughters at home and his wife Florence was a fundamentalist Christian tea-totaler. In those days, women did give their men license to have a drink here and there or even regularly, but dealing cards and drinking seems to push her capability of acceptance. And even though she enjoyed her times at the bar, Leta was very supportive of Florence and her needs.

One evening there was an incident. Against his wife’s wishes, Aaron was at the Flat Iron, dealing cards in the backroom. She and Leta were home. Both daughters were observing their mother’s distress, and Leta was growing angry at her brother’s insensitivity toward his wife. Perhaps from her mother’s experience, perhaps from her own (she had been married four times so far), Leta once again sought to right her sister-in-law’s wrong. (According to family lore, she frequently chastised her brother for incidences of neglectful behavior toward his wife.)

On a mission for her sister-in-law, Leta interrupted Aaron’s backroom poker game with the message that his wife required his presence at home immediately. He refused and continued at the poker table. Leta reminded him of his responsibility to return; Aaron rejected her claims. And they began to argue. Neither was easily dissuaded. When she realized that she couldn’t convince her brother to come home with reason, volume, anger or threats, Leta took drastic action by jumping onto the poker table and commencing a vulgar strip tease. This behavior at last was successful, although not entirely without its own pitfalls.

Aaron was so embarrassed and furious that he literally dragged his sister back home with a serious threat of bodily harm and disassociation if she ever attempted to interrupt him in such a manner again. According to his daughters, she never did, but in this instance, Leta fulfilled her mission to retrieve her brother from his poker game and return him to his distressed wife.

The Flat Iron building still exists, but its days as a bar have long passed. Its most recent use was as an office of some kind. This I could tell by looking its two front windows. It’s available for rent, if you’re interested.