Dale Joins the Navy

Leta's son Dale told her he had a surprise for her. Would she meet him on Saturday morning at his favorite restaurant for lunch? Leta didn’t care for surprises, disliked the restaurant, and detested that this was also a restaurant frequented by Dale’s father Ralph, her first husband. She still felt several resentments toward Ralph, even after being divorced for nearly thirteen years. Both had been remarried, Leta several times, and Ralph once to a woman who died of cirrhosis of the liver—or, as Leta liked to put it, drinking too much. She should have felt some compassion or even a little sympathy for Ralph. After all, he was her children’s father. But she did not. Once he tried to steal her children away from her, and he always called her an unfit mother. These atrocities she could not forgive.

“Can’t we meet somewhere else?’ she asked Dale on the telephone.

“This is the best place,” he replied. “Humor me, Ma, just this once.”

Leta was apprehensive. After taking a three-month hiatus from responsibility by living as a hobo, Dale had been home for barely a month. She had seen him only a couple of times since then but knew that he was still not seeking employment, nor was he staying home very much. Now, he made this unusual request for her to dine with him at a place where she would already be uncomfortable to tell her something she probably didn’t want to hear. She was his mother, and she was concerned.

“Please, Ma?” he entreated.

“Very well,” she sighed.

At the appointed time, Leta arrived at the restaurant. She looked inside, and didn’t see her son. Nor was he waiting for her on the street outside. She watched for him, looking up and down the sidewalk. After all, he did not own an automobile. Without employment, he could not afford one. Then she heard a voice that sounded familiar, coming from one of the vehicles that had just parked across the street, and with a flutter in her heart looked there. As he closed the door on the vehicle, an older man was whispering into the ear of a large, giggling woman. For a few moments after that, Leta wondered if perhaps her son did acquire an automobile. He had often talked about getting one, and since neither his father nor grandparents with whom he still lived drove, they could easily have financed the possibility of having him drive them to various destinations. It would be a foolish decision, but a far more welcome surprise to her than an announcement that he decided to leave home again for distant parts.

When he old her about his three-month excursion, riding in boxcars throughout the eastern states, he focused on where he went. He had seen Pittsburgh, Philadelphia, Gettysburg, Buffalo, Boston, New York, and the New Jersey shore. He talked about the cities, historical landmarks and practices of the people in those environs. He told her that he ate, slept well and was never arrested for vagrancy. However, he never shared a word about the men with whom he traveled. All she could draw out of him was that they were all men of many different ages, some of whom had been traveling for years and others going to specific destinations. While they all drank illegal liquor, not all of them were drunkards. They bathed where and when they could. He never mentioned names and would only say he had traveled with a couple of fellows for more than a day or two.

Nothing much had happened to her son since then, so what, she wondered, could he possibly have to tell her today?

Leta did not see her son until he was nearly upon her. While she was looking in his direction, and actually saw him from a distance, she did not recognize him, because of his attire. Then he was upon her, and her countenance fell and rose simultaneously. While her face lit up, her shoulders dropped. There was her son, standing barely twenty feet from her and coming closer quickly, dressed as a sailor.

“Dale?” she inquired, still not quite believing her eyes.

“Ma,” he smiled. “Yep, it’s true. I joined the Navy.”

Dale Returns

Leta's son Dale graduated from high school in 1933. Unlike his older sister Vivian, he was not a good student. Leta always believed he was smart, only that he was restless and lacked concentration. Perhaps he had been living with her through his high school years, she might have been able to work the skittishness out of him, but since eighth grade, he had lived with his father, grandparents, and, for a short time, a stepmother. While she had no direct experience of their home-life, Leta strongly suspected that there was very little of the kind of discipline that Dale needed in order for him to succeed. Nonetheless, he did finish high school, but upon completion had secured no employment.

Dale’s father Ralph was a postal employee, but Dale was not interested in a position with the U.S. mail. His grandfather had worked in manufacturing, but Dale wasn’t interested in that either. Vivian worked as a secretary and then became a housekeeper for another family, a position that a boy could never do. Even though Leta was not working when he graduated, she had several contacts from jobs she held over the past years, as well as many cousins and acquaintances who would have helped him secure a job, but Dale gently refused her offers of assistance, also.

For the first six months following his high school graduation, they were all patient with him. As far as Leta could ascertain, her son was not a drinking man, but he did enjoy the company of rowdy, drinking men. Vivian relayed to her that throughout the summer and fall, he was rarely at the house, and when he was, spent most of his time sleeping after being out all night. When winter came, Dale’s activities were diminished. With no job and little to do, he spent most of his time idling in the house with his grandparents and stepmother, who was ill much of the time.

Finally, in March of 1935, at age 18, Dale made a quick visit to her. He had a small satchel in his hand and told her that he and a friend were going to “take to the rails” and “hobo it” across the country. He would write when he could, and she would see him when he returned. Despite her questioning of his plan, his mind was made up. She fed him, gave him some extra food and then let him go.

After he left, she did not sleep for the next three days until finally the grief and anxiety fell away, and she collapsed into bed and slept for sixteen hours. Leta was not much of a worrier. Certainly, she missed her children during those years when they were still young and lived away from her, and she thought about them regularly. But they were neither a welcome or unwelcome burden on her mind. Dale’s abrupt departure, however, filled her with dread. It brought back all the loneliness and self-blame she felt as a small child when her two older brothers, oldest sister and father all suddenly left home. While she didn’t remember any of the details, she remembered the feelings. She felt abandoned.

Dale’s departure brought that abandonment back, and even as the feelings became less prominent over the first two months, they still lingered. She received one letter at the end of March, one in April and one in early May. Each was similar: He reported that he was doing fine, he was getting enough to eat, and he was having the time of his life. He never shared if or when he would be returning home.

“What possessed him to do such a thing?” Leta asked her daughter Vivian, as they were sharing the first letter.

Vivian shook her head and slightly shrugged her shoulders. “Ma, he’s just a little restless, that’s all,” she answered.

Leta looked hard at her daughter. This was the truth and not the truth. While there was a certain air about Dale that made him slightly different from other boys, she would not call it restlessness. Aaron called it skittishness, “like a young mare,” he explained. Although she agreed in principle, Leta disliked the comparison of her son to a female animal.

When June arrived, more than two months since Dale left, Leta continued to worry, but it had a lesser impact on her life. She was working at an office downtown and living in a boarding house to be closer rather than traveling from her brother’s house in the country every day. She didn’t really like the job—not the work as much as the man who owned the company. He spent much of his time locked up in his office, and whenever he needed something, he would ring a bell. Leta’s co-worker would look at her, and then she would have to stop whatever she was doing to cater to the owner’s need. Sometimes it was fetching coffee or delivering some papers to a colleague in another office. Sometimes, it was as ridiculous as sharpening his pencils, because he had no interest in getting out of his chair. At 11:45a.m. every morning, she would leave the office to get his lunch at a luncheonette two blocks away. He had a routine, which made the task easier, a specific lunch every day, but he became downright vicious when the hot meals were lukewarm.

One miserable, dreary Wednesday afternoon in mid-June, as she was leaving the office and craving a stiff belt of whiskey, she was greeted by a very familiar voice.

“Well, if it isn’t my beautiful mother.”

Leta nearly dropped her pocketbook. She turned quickly, and there was her beloved son, standing a few feet behind her with his arms open.

“Dale?” she whispered.

“Ma,” he acknowledged.

He looked scruffy and unkempt. His clothes and face were dirty, and he was thinner than he had ever been. Leta did not care. He was her boy, and after three months away, he returned.

They walked steadily toward each other and embraced.

Learning to Drive, part five

Leta was having her second driving lesson. During the first, she sat in the driver’s seat, learned the names and purposes of the dials and controls, and mimed shifting the gears, manipulating the choke and the clutch. After some experience with this, she successfully started the automobile. That was her lesson. After a quick bottle of beer, her husband Bob took over and drove them on a scenic drive along the river. For Leta, the experience was a surprise. She had never considered the possibility that she would or even could operate an automobile. The experience startled her, but because her daughter Vivian had recently learned and mastered operating the vehicle, she thought she should at least try. However, upon completion of the first lesson, she began to dread the moment when her husband would lead her again to the driver’s seat for a second lesson. They hadn’t planned any specific time for the second lesson, so she had no idea when he would bring up the matter. Sundays were most likely days, since he had more time available. On Wednesday afternoon Sunday seemed a long way off.

Then Bob came home from work a little early and a few minutes later, she was once again behind the steering wheel.

The second lesson started with a review. That was simple enough. She made a couple of errors in remembering parts of the console, but pleased herself by how much she did remember. Before he instructed her to start the engine, Bob had her twice simulate doing so and putting the automobile into gear to drive.

“Make sure you’re in neutral,” he said again. “Now, start the engine.”

Leta had also done this in her previous lesson, so she followed the instruction. The engine sputtered to life.

“Now, put her in gear,” he said with flair.

While her mind didn’t go completely blank, Leta suddenly felt as though she was in the vehicle for the first time. She released the choke, fumbled with the gear, and as her husband whispered helpfully, “slowly, slowly,” she released the clutch with her left foot. The vehicle rebelled with a groan and then went silent.

“What?” she gasped.

“Oops!” Bob said, loudly with just as much surprise.

Leta was shaking.

“It’s okay, darling,” Bob said as he pattered her arm. “When you release the clutch, you need to add gas at the same time. Remember?”

Leta was breathing heavily.

“Yes, yes, I remember,” she gasped.

“Take a deep breath,” he instructed, and then breathed with her. “Let’s try this again.

It took her four more times before she actually was able to get the vehicle to move. The second time, she punched the gas pedal before releasing the clutch, while resulted in a loud and impotent roar from the vehicle. The third and fourth times she stalled, and then on the fifth time, the automobile began to inch forward.

“That’s it!” her husband cheered. “Now give it a little more gas.” She did. “Now, get ready to go into second gear.”

Leta nervously slammed on the brake.

“Damn!” she cried.

“It’s all right,” Bob said soothingly, and then whipped his perspiring forehead with his handkerchief once again. “We’re getting there.”

However, Leta never achieved what she wanted. In fits and starts, she managed to drive halfway around the block. Everything distracted her—a child playing in a yard with a ball, a dog running beside her, an oncoming vehicle. With each one, she slammed on the brake and cut the engine. Her arms ached from clutching the steering wheel, and it was difficult to turn it, even when the car was moving. Her legs cramped, and shoulders hurt. By the time, they reached the second corner, she could think of nothing else but getting out of the vehicle and never getting in another one. Not once did she achieve a steady speed. Once she started to move, she would fail at shifting and stall the car. Bob continued to speak softly for the most part, but she noticed how over the course of the thirty minutes that it took them to get from their house to the second corner, he was wiping his forehead with his handkerchief more and more frequently. When she slammed on the brakes one time, he had been leaning toward her and suddenly flew back. After that, he rubbed his neck here and there.

Finally, she stopped. They were at a corner. There were no other vehicles on the road. Leta simply put her foot on the brake and let the engine shut down.

“I’m through,” she said with serious finality. Then she opened the door and started to exit the car. Remarkably, the vehicle was still idling, and unfortunately, they were on a little slope in the road. The automobile continued to glide forward.

“The brake! The brake!” Bob exclaimed.

Leta had the door open and one foot out. She lost her balance and fell against the car door, her outside leg dragging on the ground. She was holding onto the door and the steering wheel for dear life. This made the automobile swerve slightly to the left.

“Help me!” she cried in terror, as the vehicle started to gain momentum.

“Use the parking brake!” Bob ordered.

“I can’t,” she shrieked. “I can’t move. Bob!”

For the rest of her life, Leta would never be able to articulate how Bob managed to stop the automobile without it crashing or either of them being injured, but somehow he did. Still, neither was without blemish from the melee. Leta twisted her ankle, spending two full days with her leg raised and wrapped in ice to manage the swelling. Bob had acquired a long gash on his left arm, which bled for at least two hours, even after they cleaned and dressed it. To the day he died, he bore the scar. The automobile was unscathed.

As for the incident, neither mentioned it nor Leta’s unsuccessful attempt at operating an automobile. The possibility that Leta might learn to drive never came up again.

Learning to Drive, part four

Leta could not ascertain whether she was eager or anxious about her second automobile driving lesson. Aside from her nervousness and fear, however, the first lesson went very well. She sat in the driver’s seat, learned some of the controls, practiced with the choke, clutch and gears, and even started the engine. These were activities she could manage. Then again, she had not operated the automobile while it was in motion, down the street, with pedestrians and bicycles and other automobiles also moving in the same and opposite directions. This would be the next step, and she was apprehensive. She could have been less nervous if she actually knew when her next lesson would be.

“Or more,” she said aloud without realizing it as she set the table for supper on Wednesday evening. After all, if she had a specific date and time, she might be dreading the moment even more. For his part, her husband Bob had been very supportive. During the first lesson, he was patient and supportive. Then he praised her for learning so quickly.

Earlier that Wednesday, she had gone shopping with her daughter Vivian. While Bob would not admit it, Leta believed that his insistence on teaching her how to drive an automobile was the direct result of Vivian having learned from her husband Ed. While her daughter and son-in-law owned only one automobile, of course, Vivian had learned to operate the vehicle so that she could use it on certain days for activities and appointments. After all, Vivian explained to her, mostly the car just sat in the parking lot of the factory where Ed worked all day. Whether Vivian had noticed or not, Leta watched her like a hawk during their drives. The ease at which Vivian managed the clutch and gears simultaneously terrified and thrilled her. But she said nothing about her own driving lesson. After Vivian left, Leta continued to think about driving.

Bob arrived home a little earlier than usual in very good spirits. He was a warm and engaging fellow most of the time, anyway, but on this particular Wednesday, he was more than usually cheerful.

“Hello, wife!” he said, as he entered the kitchen and kissed her on the cheek.

She was so startled and his good cheer so effective that she also laughed.

“You’re home early,” she noted.

“Yepper,” he said as he poked around the stove. “It’s a beautiful day.”

Leta glanced out the window. “It most certainly is.”

“A beautiful day for a driving lesson, that is,” he continued.

Leta had just put the last fork down. Instantly, she was as tense as she had ever been. Bob was standing by the stove. She looked at him.

“We can turn this off for a little while, can’t we?” he asked, gesturing to the simmering pots on the stove.

“How long are we talking here?”

“About 30 minutes I’d say,” he clarified.

“Well, yes, I suppose,” she answered.

“We’ll just take a few turns around the block. I don’t want you to forget what I’ve taught you so far.

There was a long pause.

“Are you ready then?” Bob finally asked.

Leta’s body felt as though she had gone into shock. She couldn’t move. Even her mind had gone blank, and all she could do was look at her husband, standing by the stove, framed by steam from the boiling potatoes and corn behind him. She could not decide if it made him look like some angel descended from heaven or a devil with the fiery furnace of hell behind him. Finally, he turned.

“I’ll just turn these off,” he said, reaching around to the dials of the burners on the stove, “while you get your hat.”

Leta’s body started to move before she had conscious knowledge of it, and a few moments later she was standing at the front door in her hat and coat.

“I don’t think you need your coat,” Bob said. “It’s pretty warm out there, and warm in the auto.”

Leta looked at herself, and laughed awkwardly.

“Yes, of course,” she said. “I don’t know where my head is. You just surprised me. And look,” she added as she took off her coat, “I’m still wearing my apron!”

A couple of minutes later, she was sitting again in the driver’s seat of Bob’s automobile.

To be continued.

Learning to Drive, Part three

Leta stared at the console. Although she had been in an automobile many times, she had always been a passenger. The dials and instruments were not completely unfamiliar to her, but she had never paid much attention to them. She had never needed to, and while she wasn’t afraid of learning new things, she was practical about doing so. Sitting in the driver’s seat of her husband Bob’s automobile was a foreign experience.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to do to me,” she said. “I can’t learn how to drive this contraption.”

“Of course, you can,” her husband said, hovering beside her. He was still standing outside the vehicle, holding himself with one arm on the open door and another on the top of the car. He was leaning in very closely.

“But I’m 45 years old!” she protested.

“And beautiful,” he added. “Don’t forget beautiful.”

She pursed her lips and looked at him quickly.

“Flattery is not going to get you anywhere,” she said.

“Then humor me,” he said. “One lesson, and if you don’t like it, we’ll stop.”

“It just,” she stuttered, “it just seems unnatural.”

“Trust me on this,” he said. “It’ll be like learning how to ride a bike.”

“I don’t know how to ride a bike,” she stated.

He paused only a moment, but decided not to respond to her. Then he reached in and began to go over the controls. After that, he closed the car door, circled around it, and sat beside her in the passenger seat. Leta still held her hands in her lap.

“Now put your hands on the steering wheel, he said, your right hand at two o’clock and your left at eight o’clock. Leta complied. “Now just relax,” he urged. “You’re stiff as a board.”

“I’m nervous,” she said.

“The automobile is your friend, a companion,” Bob said soothingly. “Have you ever driven a buggy?”

“Yes.”

“Then think about it this way—you are in a horseless carriage. Instead of the reins, you have the steering wheel,” he explained. “And I promise you. The automobile is far more obedient than one or two horses. And look, the parking brake is basically the same. That lever right there.”

Leta reached for it.

“Don’t touch it!” Bob warned quickly, and she pulled her hand back. “We don’t want you accidentally releasing it.”

Both of Leta’s hands were back in her lap, and she turned to her husband with a scowl. “I do understand about parking brakes,” she snapped.

“Of course, of course,” he smiled.

For a few moments, Leta’s bit of anger relaxed her, and Bob was able to have her go through the gears and choke. When she tried to turn the steering wheel, she was surprised to learn that it wouldn’t budge. He told her that it would be easier when the automobile was moving, but that it would require some arm strength. Then he had her practice operating the choke and gears without actually turning on the ignition. From her perspective, he was as apprehensive as she was to let her start the engine and control actual movement. She practiced this several times, and then Bob had her start the car.

“You’re doing very well, darling,” he said.

Leta just stared ahead, clutching the steering wheel with all her strength.

“Now turn off the engine.”

“What?” she questioned quickly.

“Turn off the engine. “This ends your first lesson.

Leta completed the task and slumped back in the seat.

Bob gave her a quick hug and turned to toward the back seat.

“You deserve a beer,” he said.

To be continued.

Learning to Drive, part two

On a pleasant Sunday afternoon, Bob suggested to Leta that they go for a drive. Usually that meant a brief road trip to a pub for a beer. Sometimes they would stop at a grassy knoll on the Maumee River and watch the boats. While neither was much for boating, they did enjoy watching both the large lake freighters and smaller pleasure boats coming and going for business and pleasure.

Leta was writing a letter to her sister Mabel and feeling a little melancholy. While the sisters corresponded regularly, they had not seen each other in decades. In fact, if Mabel had not sent photographs over the years to Leta or her sisters Louise and Nellie who lived close by, Leta would not know what she looked like. Mabel had left home and Ohio when Leta was only three years old, ending up in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada. Still, Leta believed that they were close. They shared stories of their lives with each other and also gave advice and support when necessary. During one of Leta’s bleaker financial periods, Mabel event sent her $10 to pay her grocery and electric bills. Leta paid her sister back as soon as she was able; she always paid her debts.

Bob made his suggestion after finishing the newspaper and coming into the kitchen where Leta was writing. At first, she thought he might be angling for a snack. He knew that she had made a cherry pie for supper, and sometimes he ran out of patience while waiting.

“How’s about going for a drive?” he said with more energy and enthusiasm than usual.

Still holding her pen, she looked up at him. “Right now?”

“Yes,” he said with a stretch. “It’s a sunny day. Hate being cooped up in the house all the time. It would be a waste, don’t you think?”

“Can I finish my letter first?” she inquired. “Then we can drop it in the post box.”

“If I can have a piece of pie while I wait,” he responded slyly.

She furrowed her brow and looked at her husband. He raised his eyebrows, a habit he had of sharing a joke. She smiled.

“Okay, you win,” she conceded as she stood. “We go for a drive now.”

“Aw, Leta,” he protested like a ten-year-old boy.

“You said you wanted to go for a drive,” she smiled. “Let me get my hat and my pocketbook.”

Five minutes later, she took his arm as they left their front porch toward the driveway where his car was parked. Usually, he walked her to the passenger side, opened the door, and after she situated herself, closed it behind her. This time, he escorted her to the driver’s side.

“Robert?” she questioned.

He opened the car door and with a flourish gestured that she should seat herself.

“What’s going on here?” she asked.

“Please, take your seat, madam,” he said, extending his arm and bowing slightly.

“I’m sure you’re not expecting me to sit there,” she said.

“Well, my darling, you are never going to learn how to drive an automobile until you get in and start your first lesson.”

Leta stepped back and then did it again as she spoke.

“You want me to learn how to drive?” she gasped.

To be continued.

Learning to Drive, part one

One breezy Wednesday afternoon, Leta was sitting on the front porch darning some of her husband Bob’s socks. She had finished most of her housework for the day and had been sitting in her favorite rocking chair for fifteen minutes. She liked the light of being outside, but the wind was chilly, and she had not put on a sweater. While the sun provided good lighting for her work, even popping in and out from behind a chain of cumulus clouds that chugged across the sky, it withheld the warmth that would have made her time on the porch more comfortable.

She was chilled. She needed to start cooking supper. She needed a cup of coffee. She stood and started to gather her materials. As the street had been quiet for some time, she felt as much as saw the automobile approaching. The driver was moving cautiously, but steadily.

It looks like Ed’s car, she said to herself, but she knew that her son-in-law was still at work. Yet her own curiosity kept her gaze as the auto continued. She became more interested when the vehicle seemed to be going slower as it neared. Still holding her sewing materials and three pairs of recently darned stocks, Leta moved to the edge of the porch. The view didn’t change all that much, but she felt closer to the activity.

The vehicle stopped in front of her house. It sure looked like her son-in-law’s car. The sun had just reappeared, reflecting off the shiny exterior and darkening the windows, so all she saw of the driver was a shadowy figure. The door opened, and she leaned forward even more. The driver stood, and then Leta stepped back. The driver was her daughter Vivian!

Vivian waved. Leta responded in kind, but weakly as she was very startled.

“Hi, Ma!” her daughter said as she approached the sidewalk up to the porch.

“Saint’s alive,” Leta gasped. “you drove here?”

Vivian smiled.

“When did you learn how to drive?” Leta questioned.

“Ed taught me,” Vivian answered. “He’s been teaching me for a few weeks. Today is my first day driving by myself.”

Leta had never anticipated such a thing. While she knew of a couple of women who drove automobiles, they were rare. Neither she nor any of her sisters or sister-in-law knew how to drive, although her sister Louise had been talking about learning.

“Mother?” Vivian inquired gently. Leta was so startled that she lost track of her senses for a few moments.

“Oh yes,” Leta said, still disconcerted but functional. “I was just about to go inside. Come with me.”

They both took one look at the automobile parked on the street, and then went into the house. Leta put her sewing on a chair, and they proceeded into the kitchen for a cup of a coffee.

“How long has this been going on?” Leta asked. “I can hardly believe it.”

“Ed’s been teaching me for a few weeks now,” Vivian answered. He first taught me about the controls, and then I began to practice, driving around our neighborhood. A few days ago I got my license.”

She opened her purse and produced the piece of paper testifying to her ability to operate the vehicle.

“And you didn’t tell me?” Leta pressed after examining the document.

“I wanted to surprise you,” Vivian answered, unsuccessfully holding back a smile.

“Well, you most certainly did.” Then she sighed loudly. “Saint’s alive, my daughter is driving a motorcar.”

“It’s actually a good thing, Ma,” Vivian said. “It allows me to run errands during the day and do other things, like visit you.”

“What about Ed?”

“I take him to work in the morning, and pick him up at the end of the day. Not every day, just one here and there. Believe me, I don’t want to be driving all the time. But if you need me to, I can take you places, too.”

“But I have Bob and the streetcar when I need it,” Leta said.

‘Of course, you do,” Vivian said. “And now you have me, too.”

For the next hour, the two chatted about driving, home life, sewing and many other things that both would forget about almost immediately. Then, with Leta watching from the sidewalk, Vivian got into the vehicle, started it, turned it around, and proceeded down the street. Leta heart was beating hard, and once Vivian started, she realized she had forgotten to tell her daughter to be careful on the bridge across the river. She took a few awkward and anxious steps toward the vanishing automobile, but quickly realized it was too late. Leta spent the rest of the evening in a light state of nervousness until she finally telephoned her daughter to make sure the young woman arrived home safely. She had and was just about to eat her supper with Ed.

When her own husband asked how her day went, Leta reported the news. Robert was less surprised than she expected, but then again, he was never the old fashioned sort.

“Good for her,” he said with a touch of pride.

To be continued.