Meeting the future son-in-law, part one

Leta was nervous, so nervous, in fact, that she started getting ready two hours before the time she and her daughter scheduled. She bathed, ironed one of her nicest dresses, donned her new slip, curled her hair and then thinking better of it, pinned it up. She frowned at herself in the mirror. The hairstyle made her look more matronly, an appearance she always strove against. However, the occasion called for her to be more subdued.

In the late afternoon sun, she poured herself a short drink—gin, because that’s all she had in her small bed-sit—and sat in her only chair while the band of sun that stretched across the wall above her bed shrank in the light of late afternoon.

In less than two hours, she was going to meet Mr. Edward Metzker, a radio technician, the man her 22-year-old daughter Vivian had been dating for several months. After all this time, Vivian was finally ready to introduce her beau to her mother. Mother and daughter were neither estranged nor close. After spending two years working as a nanny/housekeeper for a family in Michigan, Vivian had recently returned home to Toledo and was living again with her father and grandparents. The couple had been introduced by a mutual friend.

Although Vivian rarely expressed her emotions visibly, she always flushed just a little bit when the conversation turned to Edward, which it recently had with greater frequency. The future, Leta believed, looked promising.

The gin was warm. Leta preferred a little ice to soften the taste and lighten it up, but she had no access to ice in her room. And, if her landlady knew that she had any illegal alcohol in the room, she would be evicted. Prohibition was the law of the land, and although practically everyone Leta knew enjoyed some form of alcohol, they all did it secretly.

She told herself that she only needed one drink to calm her nerves. She wanted Vivian’s gentleman to like her, and from everything her daughter told her, Leta figured Edward was rather conservative. While he supported President Roosevelt’s reforms to improve the country’s shattered economy, he did so with one ear tuned to potential excess. He believed in working hard, earning his own way, taking care of himself and making a life of himself. He was, Leta rationalized, German.

“Very proper, Aunt Leta,” one of her nieces told her after she met the young man. He was only 21, nearly a year younger than her daughter, but determined to make a good life for himself, and for both of them, if their relationship proceeded in that direction.

Leta poured herself another drink. This took some effort, as she kept her gin bottles—both of them—in a garment bag in another bag in her closet. However, the anxiety continued to raise the hair on her arms, and she wanted to feel smooth and calm when she met the young man. She must be sure to gargle with Listerine before she left the house.

To be continued.

Meeting Albert Mohr

Leta and her husband Ralph had been separated since February, and their opportunities for reconciliation continually failed. Leta and their children Vivian and Dale had moved in with her mother Julia. While the situation was comfortable for all—Leta and Julia were compatible living companions—financially they struggled. The Great Depression was in full swing, but fortunately for both, they were accustomed to living frugally. Still, by the time summer arrived, Leta knew she would have to find steady work in order to support herself and the children.

She had finally agreed to work in a hat shop, plying her craft as a woman’s hat designer and mender, and assist with sales. The income would be rather low, but it would be income nonetheless. She would start officially on July 5.

           

To celebrate Independence Day, Leta’s brother Aaron and sister-in-law Florence invited them to a picnic hosted by Aaron’s factory for its employees, one that would conclude with a few fireworks to celebrate the country’s birthday. That there was a picnic and that there would even be fireworks was a sign that there was some hope in the air. It was a pleasant day, not too hot and humid, mostly sunny with chunks of cumulus clouds marching across the sky in a steady pace.

Leta brought apple and rhubarb pies, and enjoyed the company and food, while the children partook of both organized and impromptu games and activities.

It was much later in the afternoon, when Leta was retrieving her empty pie tins from the dessert area, that she encountered a friendly gentleman.

“Hello again,” a deep, pleasant voice said.

Leta turned to acknowledge the voice and saw a familiar face, but she could not place it.

“Hello,” she replied.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” the man asked.

Leta shook her head sheepishly. “No, I’m afraid not.”

“Did you make the rhubarb pie?” he asked, looking at the empty, but still dirty tin in her hand.

“Yes, one of them,” she answered. “There were a couple, I think. Rhubarb is in season.”

“But did yours have the dash of cinnamon and perhaps a drip of lemon in it?” he inquired.

Leta blushed.

“Well, yes. Yes, it did,” she stammered, suddenly feeling as though her entire world had reduced itself to this conversation, to this man at this picnic, late in the afternoon on Independence Day at the height of the Great Depression in 1922. He was wearing a straw hat and lightly striped long-sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up to expose his dark arms, lightly covered with blonde hair. His pants were a light brown, and while he was not overweight, he had a little tummy, one common to mature men. He was taller than Leta, but did not dwarf her, and for a moment, she envisioned the two of them standing together, his arm nestled comfortably around her waist.

Just then she turned her gaze and looked right into his eyes, his blue eyes, and she nearly gasped.

He laughed loudly and easily.

“Now you remember me!”

“Oh my!” Leta agreed, “Of course. I am so sorry.”

“Yes, from the diner. You were with several other ladies. It was a hot afternoon.”

“It was very hot,” Leta corrected pleasantly, re-feeling—or so it seemed to her—the same burning sun and humidity that she felt that same day.

And for a moment, she and the gentleman stared at each other.

Leta Wescotte

My great-grandmother Leta was the youngest in her family. She was only about two years old when her parents Julia and David divorced and her father left the family to travel in the West. Her sister Louise was four years older and like all of their siblings, developed a protective bond for Leta. The two sisters remained close, and as the two youngest in a family of six children, were constant companions and playmates. When Julia accepted their father back into the family (around 1909), Louise (age 20) and Leta (age 16) were still living with their mother and working in a nearby factory.

In 1910, shortly after she turned 21, Louise married Hiram Wescotte. They remained married until her death in 1971 (at age 81). Hiram survived her (he was a year younger) by seven years and died in 1978 (at age 87).

While I don’t yet know much about the lives of Louise and Hiram, I do know that they lived in Oregon, Ohio (my own hometown) and had one child, a daughter, born in 1912. They named her Leta. As far as I know, she is the only family member named after another.

In 1939, Leta Wescotte graduated from Bowling Green State University, earning her Bachelor of Science in Education. She majored in “Foreign Language” and minored in English. While going to school, she was a member of the foreign language club and Kappa Delta Pi, the international honor society in education. Kappa Delta Pi was established to “foster excellence in education and promote fellowship among those dedicated to teaching.”

Following her graduation, she began teaching English and art at Clay Elementary School in Oregon. After several years, she became Dean of Girls at Josephine Fassett Junior High School, also Oregon, Ohio. For many years, she was a member of the Alpha Epsilon Chapter of Delta Kappa Gamma Society, a professional honorary Society of women educators that promotes professional and personal growth of its members and excellence in education. In 1951 at least she was an officer (second vice-president) of her local chapter.

In the early 1930s, Leta and her mother Louise drove to British Columbia, where Louise was reunited with her older sister Mabel. The two had not seen each other in at least 33 years. Mabel returned to Ohio with her sister and niece and spent a couple of months visiting with family. During the summer of 1949, Leta Wescotte traveled to Athens, Ohio, to take a painting class with Aaron Bohrod, (1907-1992), an American artist best known for highly decorative, detailed still life paintings which give an illusion of real life.

But the biggest surprise in googling Leta Wescotte was learning that in 1975, she was inducted in the Clay High School Athletic Hall of Fame, one of six inaugural inductees and the only woman. Further research showed that the Outstanding Female Athlete Award was named after her.

Now I have added to my Ohio research tasks a further exploration of my cousin, whether I used the information in the book or not. I simply want to know.

The Google search also lists a book: Vitalizing English Composition Through the Employment of Centers of Interest by Leta Eleanor Wescotte, published by Ohio State University in 1943, and although her name almost matches (I know her middle name began with “E”), I have no verification.

Leta Wescotte died on May 5, 1970 at age 57. She never married and lived with her parents her entire life.

Spring Cleaning

Leta awoke early—it was still dark—but she was ready to start. As he lay beside her, Albert’s breath lightly massaging her neck, his body close enough that even without actually touching, she could feel him. On any other morning, she would smile to herself and relax back into slumber.

But today was different. Her plans beckoned her. She gently slid out of the bed so as to not disturb her husband, at least not for a little while, and dressed quietly. She had laid out her clothes before retiring, as she usually did, but today was different. Instead of her usual housedress, she donned a worn and stained cotton dress she kept in the back of her closet, an apron that had seen better days and swept her hair into a headscarf.

Then she smiled.

She left her own bedroom with the door open, stepped down the hall and rapped on her daughter Vivian’s door.

“Vivian,” she called sweetly, “time to get up.”

She heard the slight stirring and then asked, “Are you awake?”

Leta was rewarded with the rich morning voice of her ten-year-old daughter, “Yes, Ma, I’m up.”

Ten minutes later, mother and daughter were sipping coffee and eating toast at the kitchen table. The sun was rising, and the birds began to serenade them.

“It’s a perfect day,” Leta said with a big smile. “Did you strip your bed?”

“Yes, Ma,” Vivian answered.

“Excellent. We’ll start there.”

Leta absolutely loved spring cleaning, chasing away the darkness of winter and refreshing the house to greet longer, brighter days. After they finished their breakfast, Leta opened every window. The cool morning air and brightening day filled her with energy. She started in the kitchen, moved through the dining and living rooms and then to the bedrooms – first her own, where her husband Albert was rousing from the noise, then Vivian’s and finally her son Dale’s. The seven-year-old resisted a little, but mother’s cheer and humming, the open windows with sunlight streaming in and her aggressive removal of pillows and sheets forced the boy to wake.

All four of the members of the Mohr-Chetister family were soon all engaged in various tasks. While Vivian washed all the bedding, including the pillows, and hung each piece on the clothesline, Dale assisted his stepfather in beating rugs and washing all of the screens for the windows. Meanwhile, Leta was scrubbing bedroom floors and washing walls. Following the bedding, Vivian washed draperies, as Leta moved room-by-room.

When Lunchtime came, Leta removed a plate of leftover turkey she had stored in in the icebox and made sandwiches, which the hungry family devoured. Then they all went right back to work. Again and again, Leta emptied and refilled her bucket with sudsy water, humming and singing along, checking on each family member’s task. Late in the afternoon, they converged in the kitchen, where they emptied the cupboards of their contents and washed every shelf while Albert cleaned the stove.

For their late supper, Leta had previously prepared fried chicken, potato salad and lemonade. The famished family devoured it, and once they finished returning their respective bedrooms to order, they again converged for fresh pie and ice cream.

As the sun descended and the air grew chilly, Leta finished hanging the drapes and closed the windows. The setting sun peered through the front window and cast a shimmer on the walls and furniture. Leta looked through the house and smiled contentedly. While there were a few odds and ends to tackle on the following afternoon, such as washing all the glass pieces she liked to keep on windowsills and the shelves in the dining room, the house seemed new and fresh. Her beloved family was in the kitchen where Vivian was cutting pieces of strawberry-rhubarb pie. A quick laugh erupted, and Leta sighed happily.

“Spring is here,” she said.