Great Family Loss

On February 27, 1976, Leta and the rest of her—our—family suffered a devastating loss. I don’t think I will ever forget that day. It was a Friday, and my younger sister Michele and I arrived home from school, ran round the house to the back door and came in. While our mother was not always in the kitchen, her presence seemed to be entirely absent. Perhaps she was upstairs. We were excited. Saturday was one day away, and it was going to be special because we were going to visit our beloved grandmother Vivian, my father’s mother, in the hospital. She, our grandfather and parents determined that she would be sufficiently recovered from her hip replacement surgery of several days earlier to have a 15-year-old, 12-year-old and 10-year-old visit her.

My sister and I had a collection of gifts for her that included homemade cards and items we purchased.

Before we could visit, however, we needed to change into our play clothes and then deliver the daily newspaper, or at least I needed to deliver my half of the papers. My older brother Jeff and I shared a paper route with about 50 customers. We divided the area in half and alternated each week. In those days, newspaper carriers also collected the subscription fees, and that was my job. Our deal was that since I did that, except for Christmas, I got to keep the tips. This was not a terrible arrangement for my brother. Yes, he was older, but he also was entirely responsible for delivering the morning newspaper.

Missy and I raced through the kitchen and dining room, then into the living room. We turned the corner, and our father was there, sitting in the gold upholstered rocking chair. We stopped immediately.

Before Christmas our parents had separated. He was living in an apartment, and we saw him infrequently. However, when he was living with us, we rarely saw him. He held two jobs and worked constantly. One job was as a sergeant with our hometown police department, and the other was in house construction with a long-time friend of the family.

Dad was very serious, and we knew that something was up. I don’t know how he held onto his composure, or even if he did. I only remember the world around me going dark as his words invaded and surrounded me with blackness. Grandma Vivian had died that morning. My sister immediately collapsed in sobs, and I—wretched boy that I was—expressed a kind of absurd schadenfreude. I smiled, and then in shame and grief, I ran up the stairs and into my bedroom. By the time I hit the third step, my smile had transformed to tears, and by the time I reached my room, I was lost to grief.

I don’t know how long I was there. I only remember that when the first wave subsided, my father and sister entered the room.

He told us that she had been healing well, walking with a walker and looking forward to our visit. During her morning walk, she told her nurse and therapist that she was having difficulty breathing, so they had her lie down. A blood clot had developed, and in a short time made its way to her lungs. She died very quickly. While she had long taken Coumadin, she had, of course, stopped for her hip replacement surgery.

“She wanted you to know how much she loved you,” Dad whispered to us. “She thought the world of you kids and was very proud to be your grandmother.”

I don’t remember how long he spoke, but I know that a second wave of sobbing ensued, and this time he joined us.

My grandmother was, as far as any of us were concerned, the glue of our family. She was the one who took care of us when our parents needed someone. Her house was always open (and only four blocks away) to us, and we took advantage of that, spending many afternoons playing, making cookies with her and just being in her open and engaging presence. She was the one who took care of everyone. I remember one family gathering where every living room chair was occupied. My grandfather had refurbished a broken antique loveseat, which only had a full back on one side. She was sitting there, and I was sitting beside her. But I grew tired of holding myself up. “That’s a tough place to sit now, isn’t it?” she said, putting her arm around me, so I could lean against her.

At the time of her death, our family was in some tumult, particularly with my parents having separated. (This was not the first time they had problems in their marriage, but this was the most precarious instance.) My grandmother was devoting her wisdom, compassion and sense to address the situation. After all, and I didn’t know this then, not only had her own parents divorced when she was a girl (age 8), but she had lived through several stepparents, poverty, homelessness and being shuffled from one parent to the other.

With her gone, the deterioration of my parents’ marriage became permanent. I suppose it was most likely to happen anyway, but I firmly believe that she would have guided us through the terrible transition that resulted in several years of hurt and struggle.

My parents divorced in June and both had remarried before the year was out.

As for Leta, my great-grandmother and mother to Vivian, she had to live one the rest of her life under the most dreaded circumstance for any parent—that her daughter died before she did. Not only had her daughter passed away, but Leta was dependent on Vivian, who was her primary caretaker. (Leta was living in a senior residence at the time, but her daughter visited her regularly, took her shopping and on errands and brought her home for long periods of time.) Leta and Vivian had also arranged Leta’s finances. Upon my grandmother’s death, the caregiving was assumed by Leta’s son and daughter-in-law, the financial matters needed to be reorganized, and even her relationships altered.

But I am extremely proud of my mother. The surviving women had already shared a bond (at my birth, which occurred the day after my great-grandmother’s eighth and final husband passed away). Leta—Grandma Eckman—also defended and supported my mother ferociously during my father’s poor behavior (and more than once read him the riot act). After the divorce, my mother, having retained custody of my brother, sister and me, she still continued to visit Leta, and take us with her. In fact, my mother had a fourth child with my stepfather and my little brother knew Grandma Eckman as well as any of us, if not better, having spent many years of his early childhood in her company.

And Leta lived on—for eight more years.

Custody Battle, part six

After her sister Louise left, Leta finished the cookies they had started together. As she had not been to the grocer’s in several days, and even when she went only purchased what she needed immediately, she was lacking some of the usual ingredients. So she improvised.

While Leta was feeling refreshed, dread still clung to her like Dale’s wet coat clung to him when he arrived home from school. She stripped him right there at the front door, toweled him dry and then made him put on fresh clothes while she set out his cookie and milk. Once he tramped down the hall, she held the towel to the face to breathe in her son’s damp boy smell and choked back a tear. She was his mother. He belonged with her. In those brief five minutes, she had made up her mind on what she needed to do to retain custody of both of her children. She pushed the dread and fear to the back of her mind and fixated herself on the task at hand. That evening, after the children were in bed, she would tell Al that in order to retain custody of the children, they could not keep a moonshine still in the basement.

Over the next two hours, she occasionally questioned her resolve, but never truly wavered. In order to stay strong, she kept herself busy. Then Al was late. Instead of coming right home from work, he told her via telephone, he needed to run some errands. This usually meant that he would be hitting a blind pig with some of his work friends and then arrive home in some state of inebriation. Although she asked him quite firmly to come home, he stuck with his itinerary. So she ate with the children, fixed him a plate, cleaned up the kitchen and spent a quiet evening with Dale and Vivian. She was determined that Vivian would wear her new dress to church on Sunday, and it was Friday evening. After Louise had left that morning, she finished the lace collar, and all that remained was the skirt hem, which Vivian did beautifully while Leta put Dale to bed. After a final inspection, she handed her daughter the dress and instructed her to put it on.

“Go into my bedroom,” she said, “and then let me see how it looks.”

“Yes, Ma,” Vivian answered. While the girl retained her gentle and composed demeanor, Leta noted a quicker step that indicated some excitement.

She was a little excited, too. After all, this was her daughter’s first time sewing her own dress. The girl had just gone into the bedroom when Al came bounding in the door.

“Leta!” he shouted, his voice reverberating like thunder. A moment later he was standing in the living room facing her, his face flush with drink and excitement. She had been putting the sewing materials back in the box and stood the moment she heard his voice.

“Leta,” he said after calming himself enough to be clear, “we got him!”

It took Leta’s brain a few seconds to catch up with him.

“Ralph?” she questioned.

“Yes, Ralph!” he exclaimed and grabbed her hands.

But she pulled them away and held them up. Then she leaned her torso around her husband and shouted toward the bedroom door.

“Darling, give Daddy and me a few minutes before you come out,” she called. Then she looked at her husband, gestured and mouthed, “Vivian.”

“Oh.”

He grabbed her hands and took her into the kitchen where they could speak without their daughter’s sensitive ears picking up their conversation. Leta still had not told Vivian or Dale about their father’s custody claim.

Once they were in the more private location, Al lowered his voice but maintained his intensity.

“So I was having some of the fellows from work check out Ralph’s comings and goings, you know,” Al explained.

“Al!” Leta scolded.

“Just listen,” he instructed and then continued. “I don’t know how a grown man without a job and living with his parents can be as squeaky clean as Ralph appears to be. I’ve been there, Leta. Sometimes a man’s just got to let loose, if only for his own sanity.”

“Al, I told you. I don’t want to know about your behavior before we were married,” she protested.

“I know, I know,” he agreed, “but my own experience, and that of a couple of my friends, tells me that in all likelihood Ralph would have done something that might be useful to us in our custody battle.”

“So you had your friends spy on him?”

“Not exactly. We just asked around, and followed his footsteps, so to speak.”

Then he paused for permission to continue.

“And?” she asked.

“I won’t tell you if it’s going to upset you, darling.”

“Al, you have to tell me, whether I like it or not. These are my children we’re talking about.”

“Very irregularly, once every few weeks or so, your former husband, gets all dressed up and heads over to 342 Vine—“

“—Three hundred forty-two Vine!” Leta exclaimed. “But that’s a—“

“—Cathouse,” Al finished. “Yep.” He paused before continuing to give Leta time to process the information. “I am sure that Mrs. Chetister would be none too pleased to know what her boy was up to.”

Leta sat at the table, equally relieved and surprised.

“Well, what do you know?” she sighed and then let out a chortle.

“A man has needs, Leta,” Al shared.

“And do you think that some of your friends would tell this to the judge?” she inquired. “They would be putting themselves at risk.”

“We can ask Halteman,” Al offered, referring to the patrolman who lived around the corner.

“Do you think he would do it?” Leta asked. “Wouldn’t he have to just arrest everyone there?”

“Leta, darling, that’s not how it works,” Al said. “Certainly, the police are supposed to stop everyone from doing bad, but there are so many people out there doing something they shouldn’t and really not harming anyone that they need to pick and choose. We’ll just explain to him the situation.”

“He is fond of Dale,” Leta noted.

“And you cooked for them when his wife was sick,” Al added.

“But that was nothing. She’d do the same for us.”

“Precisely.”

Leta started to smile. She could feel the surge of hopefulness strengthen and grow as it coursed through her body.

“So it’s a plan then?” Al asked.

“Let’s first talk to Ralph,” she said.

Ralph folded almost immediately, and on September 22, he withdrew his petition for custody.

But the possibility of Ralph renewing his claim persisted, as long as they had the still in the basement. And Leta’s children were growing and changing, particularly Vivian.

End of story.

Custody Battle, part five

It was a quiet morning, a Friday, not even a week after she had confronted her ex-husband Ralph about his petitioning for custody of their children. He had never been much of a father. He would go for weeks without any communication with their children whatsoever, but now, with no warning, he began the process of taking her children away from her. Not only was legal precedence in his favor, but he had also threatened to expose to the authorities the illegal alcohol-making business that Leta ran with her husband Albert.

For days, she barely performed her household duties. She was distracted and constantly on the verge of tears. She and Albert had told no one, none of the members of her family and definitely not the children.

Leta was alone in the house. Her mind was so distracted by her own melancholy that she did not even hear her older sister Louise enter.

“Why are you sitting in the dark?” Louise inquired. “And sewing? How can you sew when you can’t even see?”

Louise reached past Leta to the lamp and turned it on.

The light startled Leta even more than her sister’s unexpected appearance.

“I telephoned, but you didn’t answer,” Louise continued. “Leta?”

Leta felt like she was in a deep sleep, and her sister’s voice reached way into the darkness, grabbed her by the collar of her dress and was pulling her out. Even though she didn’t want to leave her place, she could not resist the sister strength and insistence.

Louise was standing over her, still in her long coat, her hair bundled in a hat that cast a shadow across her face.

“Leta?” Louise said again.

And finally Leta’s eyes registered her sister and her surroundings, and she could speak.

“Louise? Hello. Is everything all right?”

“Not with you obviously,” Louise answered.

“Is it raining?” Leta asked. She was so overwhelmed by her own grief that her mind could barely grasp what was happening.

“It wasn’t when I walked in the door, but—“ Louise began before realizing that the drapes were closed. “Why are you sitting here in the dark?”

Louise strode across the room and opened the drapes on the front windows. There was light, but still not enough to turn off the lamp.

“It’s starting to sprinkle, I think,” Louise answered. “Why doesn’t it just rain and get it over with? It was like this all day yesterday, too.”

“Was it?”

Louise turned to her younger sister, and her concerned look flashed with a little frustration and anger.

“Leta? What is going on here? Where is your mind? Albert?”

Leta knew what she meant. Both of her sisters thought that she had married Albert rashly, and that their romance would dwindle. After all, he was older, had never been married, was known as a ladies’ man, laughed too easily and was far too affectionate for their more conservative behavior. While he had a good job, he liked to imbibe quite a bit, and then there was the moonshine still. They liked him, but feared he would not last. He seemed a bit too much like their own father in his more rambunctious behaviors. And while Leta had a lot of her father in her, she also had her mother’s steadfastness and work ethic. This made her highly vulnerable and volatile at the same time.

“Ralph,” Leta corrected, putting Vivian’s unfinished dress aside and standing.

“Ralph?” Louise gasped.

“Let me fix you a cup of coffee,” Leta said, and guided her sister into the kitchen, where she told her all that had been transpiring. For the most part, she kept calm, but near the end of her tale, the tears started to flow. In an uncommon gesture, Louise reached across the table and touched her hand.

“I’m so sorry,” Louise murmured. “What are you going to do?”

“Honestly?” Leta answered. “I don’t know. If I protest or say anything, he’ll tell the court we have a still in the basement, that we’re moonshiners.”

“Well, Leta!” Louise snapped incredulously. “Then you need to get rid of the still!”

“But, it’s Al’s…“ Leta stammered. “He…”

“We’re talking about Vivian and Dale!”

Leta bowed her head and dabbed her eyes with her already soaked handkerchief.

Louise stayed for the morning, prepared lunch and forced Leta to eat. Then she had her sister wash, comb her hair, put on a different dress and even a little make-up.

“Now, make those kids of yours some of your raisin cookies,” she ordered. “I insist.”

To be continued.

Custody Battle, part four

Leta's ex-husband Ralph, who was unemployed and living with his parents, had petitioned the court for custody of their children. When she had confronted him about it, he threatened to inform on her and her beloved husband Albert for their alcohol-making business. In 1925, anything to do with alcohol was a crime, and just like that, Leta’s calm, her tenuous happiness, was ripped apart like a bad seam.

The next several days were murderously slow and agonizing. As much as she tried, it was impossible to contain that much worry and grief. She constantly struggled with grabbing her children and running away. Why not? She asked herself. Her father had run away, her brother had run away and even her eldest sister ran away. They had all, as far as she knew, made good lives for themselves. She was made of the same material; she could do the same. And she would keep her beloved children with her.

She tried to remind herself that every day with her children was precious, and spending time with each and both of them was the best way to hold them to her. On this particular evening, she was guiding Vivian, age 11, to make her own dress. She had just left Vivian for a few moments to check on her son Dale, age 9, who was playing in the back yard, when Vivian, as a child was wont to do, simply blurted out that her father Ralph had been to school that day.

And just like that, Leta’s tenuous peace was shattered.

“What?” she snapped, her voice filling with emotion before she could contain it. “Why?”

Vivian stopped sewing and looked directly at her mother. The room had filled with tension.

“I don’t know. I saw him from a distance,” Vivian answered, her voice starting to crack with emotion. “It looked like he was talking to the principal.”

“The principal?” Leta hissed. She rushed back to her daughter, who had pulled the unfinished dress up defensively. “He was talking to your principal?”

“Yes, I-I-I think so,” Vivian stammered. “He was d-d-down the hall, and-and I was going to recess.”

“But you’re sure it was him?”

“He waved.”

Leta became incredibly calm.

“I think that’s enough sewing for tonight,” she stated coldly. “I think it’s time for you to go to bed.”

“But, Ma—“

“—You can read in your room.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And, please, take your brother upstairs and put him to bed for me.”

“Okay.”

Leta took the dress from Vivian, who walked past her toward the back door. After only a few steps, when by Leta’s estimation, she reached the doorway between the living room and kitchen, Vivian stopped.

“Are you all right, Ma?”

Leta was holding her breath. She felt that if she even let herself expel the air, it would explode out of her with a fit of wailing that she did not want her daughter to hear. She swallowed hard, nearly choking herself, and then coughed.

“Just do as I say,” she croaked.

Thirty minutes later, the children were in their bedrooms, and Albert held her as she wept. It was obvious to both of them that Ralph had commenced his preparation to move the children. If he won custody, this would include transferring them to the school near where he lived.

The despair of this heavy loss began to weigh heavily on Leta. For the next two days, she struggled to get out of bed, dressed haphazardly, failed to style her hair, wandered through her household duties in a constant state of distraction. One morning after breakfast she put the milk in the oven rather than the icebox, and when she turned on the heat to later in the afternoon to cook supper, the milk bottle exploded. When Vivian and Dale arrived home from school in the afternoon, they found her sitting at the kitchen table with a cold cup of coffee beside her hand. She looked up when they arrived and then quickly turned away. Vivian hurriedly steered her little brother out of the kitchen and onto the front porch, where Albert found them two hours later upon arriving home from work.

On the third day, a Friday, of Leta’s somnambulant existence, her sister Louise appeared at her door early in the morning. As Leta failed to keep her regular Thursday lunch date with her friends, sisters, and sister-in-law Florence, Louise took it upon herself to check up on Leta. She was sitting on the sofa with Vivian’s nearly finished dress on her lap. She was added some lace to the collar, a delicate act that she knew her daughter was not ready to complete yet. It was a dark morning; the air was heavy with moisture, as if the sky would unleash a torrent at any moment. Leta was so lost in her own upcoming loss that she failed to hear her sister or even notice her until the older woman was standing in front of her.

To be continued.

Custody battle, part four

For days after her confrontation with her ex-husband Ralph, Leta was inconsolable.  After being divorced and basically an absentee father for three years, he had filed for custody of their two children, Vivian and Dale. She confronted him, and he responded with a kind of smug confidence that she had never before experienced from him. And he had a strong case; she and her husband Albert were, as he called them, “bootleggers” They made and sold their own corn whiskey. All Ralph had to do was tell the law, and not only would she lose custody of her children, she would most likely go to federal prison. Then she would lose her children completely and permanently.

She tried to maintain a cheerful front for the children and continued to perform her household duties, but several times a day, she would simply collapse into the nearest chair and cry. While she was never very affectionate with Vivian and Dale, her distress at losing them increased her maternal need to keep them as close to her as possible. She also made their favorite meals, baked their favorite cookies, bought them candy and assisted them in every area of life she could, from their homework to dressing and bathing.

“What’s the matter, Ma?” Vivian asked one evening while the two were sewing the girl a new dress. Vivian had recently mastered a blind stitch, so Leta permitted her to sew the hem.

“I’m a little tired is all,” Leta lied. “I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Is this because of the business?” the girl inquired.

Over the past few months, Leta and Albert had referred to their alcohol making and sales as “the business.” Initially, they did so to conceal their activities from the children, but their perceptive young ones easily adopted the euphemism, even without fully comprehending what “the business” was.

“Indirectly, yes,” Leta answered. “Now, how was school today? Did you finish your arithmetic homework?”

“Oh yes,” the girl responded proudly. “I am very good at arithmetic.”

“That’s what makes you so good at sewing. Your ability to calculate. You know, I was always good at arithmetic, too.”

“You were?” the girl exclaimed and began to beam. “That’s wonderful, Ma.”

“I used to keep the family accounts for your Grandma Scott when she was working many jobs. I was about your age when I started.”

“I know. I remember.”

“Watch your stitch,” Leta cautioned.

For a few moments, Leta once again felt happy with the world. The sun was setting, and she was sitting very close to her daughter who smelled like fresh soap with a splash of lemon from washing the supper dishes. Leta always added a few drops of lemon juice to her dishwater. She believed that the fruit increased the shine and assisted in removing food particles. Plus, she liked the fragrance.

“How’s that?” Vivian asked.

“Perfect,” Leta answered. Vivian’s steady hand continued to stitch, following the designated line. “I am going let you keep sewing while I check on your brother. It’s time I get that boy to bed. Do you think you can manage without me?”

“I think so,” Vivian said confidently.

“If you get stuck, let me know.”

“Yes, Ma.”

Leta was pleased with Vivian’s capability and comfort. She could have easily let her daughter sew the entire hem on her own, but under the circumstances wanted to remain as close as she could for as long as she could. She moved slower than usual, as if this was the last time the two would sit together.

“Oh, Ma?” Vivian called as Leta was walking toward the kitchen and subsequently the back yard where she had left Dale playing.

Leta turned back. “Yes, my darling?”

“I forgot to tell you. Papa came to school today.”

To be continued.