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Lulu the Princess and the Sea

June 30, 2025 Joe

Lulu, the Princess, and the Sea

Skagway, Alaska Territory. October 23, 1918. Latitude 59.5 degrees North. Temperature: 30F. Wind: Light.

It’s nearly 7:00PM, twilight. The steam whistle of the SS Princess Sophia, moored in Skagway Harbor, blares out her All Aboard, a last call to her 268 passengers. Scheduled departure is 7:00PM. Seagulls along the harbor’s four piers flit and shriek, proclaiming their annoyance at the whistle. A waning gibbous moon is ascending on the southeast horizon – hidden, for now, behind the steep mountains that guard the fjord.

Skagway Harbor, early 20th century

Sophia’s port side is snug against the wooden pier, secured firmly. This is one of the final few scheduled trips of the season for the Canadian Pacific Railway fleet. Sophia expects to soon have 75 crew members aboard. But not yet.

The Spanish Flu, which has been raging around the world, has reached even Alaska and the high seas. Some crew have fallen ill, and replacements are still being sought. This delay will last over three hours. ^[1]

Sophia’s skipper is Captain Leonard Locke. With 40 years of seafaring experience, he has piloted this trip at least 80 times. He’ll take the Sophia down the Chilkoot Inlet, at the top of Lynn Canal, one of North America’s largest fjords, then south to Juneau via the Lynn Canal and Stephens Passage. From there, she’ll sail to Vancouver, British Columbia, via the Inside Passage — a well-traveled marine route favored for its shelter from the open ocean by countless islands of the Pacific Northwest, making it safer in most weather. And from Vancouver, then to Seattle.

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In August 1896, gold nuggets were discovered eight miles up Rabbit Creek (soon renamed Bonanza Creek) from its mouth on the Klondike River, very near the confluence of that river and the Yukon. When word of this discovery reached the world, it sparked one of the most feverish and dramatic gold rushes in history. The Klondike Gold Rush. Tens of thousands — perhaps as many as 100,000 — hopeful fortune seekers poured into the rugged northern wilderness at the same time, chasing dreams of striking it rich.

But the journey was perilous. Only a fraction made it. Many died and a majority of the remainder turned back, or returned after arrival when they discovered there were no more claims available. The best routes to the Klondike goldfields required sailing to Skagway or nearby Dyea, then traversing treacherous mountain trails: the Chilkoot Trail from Dyea and the White Pass Trail from Skagway.From there, prospectors crossed into Canada, hiked to Whitehorse, and then floated north, down the mighty Yukon River — often on shabbily made rafts — along Lake Laberge, all the way to Dawson City at the rivers’ confluence. A distance of nearly 700 miles.

Consequently, Skagway exploded from a tiny, quiet fishing village into a vital gateway for those bound for the Yukon goldfields. Its deep, sheltered harbor also made it a key stop for steamers traveling the Inside Passage. The major waves of the gold rush boom faded by 1899. But many gold recovery enterprises remained. Skagway’s role remained significant in regional transport — a place where gold seekers, mine laborers, settlers seeking a new life, and all their families embarked and disembarked on seasonal steamships, like those operated by the Canadian Pacific Railway.

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Chilkoot Pass climb, late summer, 1897. Thousands of hopefuls made this climb dozens of times each, with 50-100 lbs carried each trip.

Murray Smith Eads was born the oldest of three children to Theo and Lucy (Smith) Eads on December 29, 1868, in Knoxville, Illinois — amid rich prairie lands abundant with wheat and corn fields. Grain elevators and train whistles marked the passing of seasons, but that settled life was not for Murray. He roamed west and found success running merchandise and drug stores in the U.S. Pacific Northwest.

He was a prospering merchant in Seattle when news of Yukon gold reached the city. Seattle was likely the first major location to learn of it outside Alaska and the Yukon. ^[5] Murray, conveniently already there — at the key embarkation point for the wild, untamed north — smelled opportunity. He wasted no time. Selling his business, he became one of the first “stampeders” to reach Dawson City in 1897.

Eads did well financially — not by striking gold himself, but by running the businesses all gold rushes have needed: dance halls, bars, and hotels. He thrived in this economy that accompanies the goldfields, supplying comfort, entertainment, and a taste of refinement at the very edge of civilization. He was invested in several other enterprises, including a bank in Seattle.

Lulu Mae Johnson

Lulu Mae Johnson was born in Alabama around 1878.^[3]Known for her striking beauty and natural talent, she could light up a room with her voice and dance. But it was more than just performance—Lulu had a spark, a mix of grace and grit — earned from survival in the rural post-war south — that made her stand out in any crowd. With the air of a Southern Belle and the steel of someone who’d faced hard times, she caught the eye of recruiters for Murray Eads. Like Murray Eads, this rural life and culture was not for her. A promising escape path. She was off … off to entertain the flood of hopefuls who’d made their way to Dawson.

Miss Lulu arrived in Dawson in 1899 as part of a dance troupe, stepping into a world of rough edges and wild dreams — ready to carve out her place in this wild frontier.

Captain James and Louise Alexander

Captain James Alexander was a veteran of the Boer War, where he earned the title Captain. He and his wife, Louise, arrived along the southern parts of Tagish Lake—headwaters of the Yukon River—in the early 1900s. There, on the borderlands between British Columbia and what would become Yukon Territory, they staked a claim and developed the very successful Engineer Mine.

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Skagway Harbor, Alaska. October 23, 1918. 10:10PM. Temperature: 28F. Wind: strengthening, white caps whipping up.

Replacement crew have been found. It’s the end of the season. Likely the last chance to exit Alaska’s remote panhandle until spring.

Sophia gives two whistle toots that roll along the harbor, cutting through the small town of some 800 sleepy inhabitants. The gulls again protest.

Winter is closing. The sky is black, well past twilight. Breezes are stirring, swirling through the fjord as they dance over the mountains and up the channel. An unspoken apprehension hangs in the air: bad weather might be approaching. It’s very unpredictable in these parts. Is this freshening breeze an omen?

Princess Sophia’s four coal-fueled Scotch Marine boilers are all fired up – full steam, full pressure.

Tugs come into place. The mooring lines — bow, stern, springs and breasts — eight in all, some are doubled for safety, are released. The tugs help Sophia slip her slip, carefully in the intensifying wind, and nudge her to the deepest part of the fjord’s channel, Chilkoot Inlet, at the top of the 90-mile-long Lynn Canal. Over three hours late.

Now above Face Mountain and Mount Cleveland, the gibbous moon, 80% illuminated, will help illuminate the Sophia‘s 12 hour journey to her first stop, Juneau. ^[4]

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The Canadian Pacific Railway

Founded in 1881, the Canadian Pacific Railway was Canada’s ambitious project to unite this vast and geographically diverse country from east to west. It was a critical link—both political and economic—that connected the eastern provinces to British Columbia.

In 1887, CPR’s rails reached the Pacific, terminating near present-day Burnaby, just east of Vancouver, on Burrard Inlet.

From this western terminus, CPR saw an opportunity to expand into marine transportation. It developed the Princess Line of ships —a series of elegant passenger steamers launched in the early 1900s, designed to link ports from Vancouver through British Columbia and the Inside Passage. Sophia was launched in 1911, in Glasgow, built by the Clyde Shipbuilding Company.

Sometimes called “Pocket Liners” these ships were intended to serve as smaller versions of the great upscale liners of Cunard and White Star that traversed the Atlantic. ^[5]

The Princess ships, including the Princess Sophia, were known for their combination of reliability, comfort, and fashionable accoutrements. They became vital lifelines for coastal communities, carrying passengers, mail, freight, and gold rush hopefuls through the stunning — but often treacherous — fjords and inlets of the Pacific Northwest.

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Late night, October 23/24, 1918. Northern Lynn Canal, Alaska. Latitude: 59 degrees, North. Temperature: 26F. Wind: 25-30 mph

Captain Locke has navigated Chilkoot Inlet and the Lynn Canal many dozens of times — northbound and southbound, in clear daylight and in the murk of night.

A gibbous moon, climbing higher, should cast a glow over the water and its well-known hazards, including Vanderbilt Reef. Steam whistle soundings, timed by echo, reveal the distance to the walls of the fjord.

But a storm is moving in. It’s cold, windy. Clouds gather and swell, snuffing out celestial light. Snow begins to fall. The wind’s howls begin to muffle the sound of the whistle’s echoes.

As the now-invisible moon continues to rise, the tide comes into the Lynn—one of the largest tidal swings in the world— and begins to flow northward, up the channel. Perhaps wanting to make up time lost to the ‘crew flu’, and going against the tide’s flow, Locke orders full speed ahead.

Vanderbilt Reef, still hours away, waits in silence.

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Lulu and Murray quickly formed a close business partnership, soon becoming inseparable in both work and life. She worked a room like a pro — singing, dancing, pouring drinks. Rumor had it she could charm a prospector out of a poke of gold dust — and make him feel lucky to part with it. In Robert W. Service’s famous poem “The Shooting of Dan McGrew,” the “lady known as Lou” was modeled on Lulu herself.

She was a wise and ambitious business partner. She convinced Murray to rename the dance hall from the risqué-sounding Flora Dora to the more dignified Royal Alexandra—a royal female name that hinted at a “Princess.”

The Flora Dora stands, restored, but now abandoned

They had rooms above the hall and soon expanded further into hospitality, opening a hotel with rooms upstairs.

Such a good business pair that they wed in 1904. They were doing very well, importing fine jewelry, clothing and house furnishings for themselves.

A likely extra source of income was laundry. Many women took in laundry. Working the river dredges and mines was dirty work. When a laundry load (by hand, of course) was complete the tub was very carefully and slowly drained, often revealing a thin coating of gold dust on the bottom.

Another source of income. Those “rooms above” and “upstairs” were for their brothel business. Hospitality comes in many forms. Some 20 ladies and rooms were available for carnal pleasures. Eventually they were confronted by the Northwest Mounted Police. They were highly regarded, the prince and princess of the town. They were arrested, but not charged. That branch of the business came to an end.

Even after the rush ended, they stayed on in Dawson, enjoying a pleasant lifestyle. By 1918 they’d had enough though. Murray’s family had moved to Omaha, and that’s where they would go – one way or another. Lulu Mae had no interest in returning to the post-civil-war south, cursed with poverty, Jim Crow and the stench of white supremacy. Backward in almost every regard, and still suffering from the hangover brought by the war’s consequences: Reconstruction and the Yankee Carpetbaggers.

The White Pass Railway was completed in 1900. It had dozens of trestles and tunnels.

They sold everything. Keeping their clothes, boxes of expensive jewelry, and wads of cash, they set out. A sternwheeler took them up the Yukon to Whitehorse. The White Pass train took them over the mountain to Skagway. There they bought passage to Seattle. And from there they’d go by train, and settle in Nebraska. Get out before they had to go through another arctic winter. [Although, whether a winter in Nebraska is an improvement is debatable].

James and Louise Alexander wanted out too. They negotiated the sale of their mine, for $1.5 million, a staggering sum, and headed out for their bank in Vancouver, where the deal would be formally concluded.

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Post Midnight, Lynn Canal, Latitude: 58.6 – 59.0 degrees North. Air temperature, 25 degrees. Water temperature: 42F. Winds: approaching gale force, with gusts beyond.

The Princess steams down the Lynn. Murray and Lulu Eads, and Captain James and Louise Alexander, settle into their comfortable cabins. As they drift off to sleep, snowflakes tap, tap, tap against their porthole windows, carried by a now audible wind.

Over the hours, the wind drives the Sophia nearly two miles off course. With only the ship’s lights, it’s impossible to tell exactly where she is. Yet, she steams on ahead. The high tide covers Vanderbilt Reef, its jagged rocks submerged, invisible, just feet below the surface. Lookouts, recently recruited, can’t see it.

Bang! Screech! Eerie, creepy, disturbing sounds of metal scraping on hard rock. At 3:30 AM., October 25, the Sophia strikes Vanderbilt Reef, coming to an abrupt halt from 12-14 knots. Passengers are jolted from their beds. Sophia’s bow rests clear of the frigid water, perched on the reef, pitched upward.

As the Princess Sophia lay stuck, precariously balanced on the reef, her keel wedged in a crag, she was pounded by high winds and heavy waves. The tide is now out, and as the twilight of dawn begins its glow, the great size of the reef becomes apparent. The bow is well above the low tide water line.

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A rescue boat, attempting to save passengers, captured this photo of the Sophia stuck on Vanderbilt reef

A radio call for help went out immediately. Locke was hopeful that the next high high tide (yes, “high high” tide) ^[6] , later that night, would free the Sophia, as it will be slightly higher than the night before. Rescue efforts struggle – and fail – in the storm. The tempest persisted. The Sophia was stranded on the reef for hours.

The next high tide, although slightly higher, did not free the Sophia. The storm renewed its vigor.

5:30 PM, October 25. The sun was down. Twilight was fading. The Sophia had been stranded through 40 hours of growing panic. Then, sans warning, the steel double hull began to break apart. By 6:00 PM she was gone. And so were all 343 people aboard. It remains the most terrible maritime disaster of the Pacific Northwest.

EPILOGUE

There was one survivor: a dog named Tommy, the Chesapeake Bay Retriever belonging to the Alexanders. The breed’s endurance, webbed feet and water-shedding coat helped him swim 10–15 miles through frigid water, then trek nearly 40 rugged twisty miles to Juneau. Cannery workers found him, emaciated and covered in oil. He feared water for the rest of his life, which he spent with the Alexanders’ relatives near Victoria, BC.

All passengers were deemed to have died from hypothermia or ingesting oil … not drowning.
Well, it was indeed “one way or another” to get to Omaha. Unfortunately, it was “another.” The earthly remains of Murray and Lulu Eads were sent to Murray’s relatives, in Omaha. They are buried side-by-side in Forest Lawn Cemetery, Omaha, in section 11, Lot 468. Together for eternity, on earth, and beyond.
When Lulu’s body was discovered, washed up ashore, a large wad of cash was found on her person. Perhaps several thousand dollars. None of that stash of cash, nor much of their prized jewelry, made it to Omaha. Someone had pinched Lulu’s poke.
The disaster is often referred to as the Titanic of the Northwest.

Thank you for reading. As always, you can add yourself to the notification list for newly published material by clicking here . Or emailing joe@girardmeister.com

Footnotes and stuff, with glossary below

Alaska Daily Empire, November 4, 1918

[1] We went on a short cruise last month. Hand sanitizer was everywhere, often with crew standing by to strongly encourage that passengers use it — and frequently.

[2] One history site has him born in Kentucky, but all other sources I found say Knoxville, IL.

[3] Turns out that Lulu Belle was a stupendously popular name in the south about that time. Finding the exact Lulu was beyond impossible. Plus, Lulu Mae could well have been a stage name. Some records, including the manifest of the SS Princess Sofia for that trip, show her born later, up to 1881. Not uncommon for women to do this in that era – who is going to check up on these details? The Yukon census of 1911 shows her age 31, so born around 1880.

[4] Despite its name, Lynn Canal is not a man-made canal but a natural fjord—a deep, narrow inlet carved by glaciers. Like Hood Canal in Washington state, the term “canal” here likely stems from an old usage related to “channel.”

[5] The Titanic was part of the Britannic line of White Star. It went down just 6-1/2 years before Sofia.

[6] There are low high tides, and high high tides, separated by, on average, 12.4 hours. Or 24.8 hours between high high tides.

Omaha Bee November 20, 1918

Ketchikan Daily Progressive-Miner, October 30, 1918

The Lost Money Scandal

Some Author notes:

I imagine that the flu-stricken crew originally felt unlucky, and then … very lucky.
We visited Dawson and Bonanza Creek recently. We were shocked at the damage done by the dredging and hydraulic mining. Those methods are now long gone — forbidden actually — but the heaps and piles of rock, the devastation to the creek beds and the hills that channel it, remain: it was all very ugly and nauseating.

Minnie Blizzard

June 21, 2025 Joe

The teacher had her students outside – it was a surprisingly lovely day. Looking toward the horizon she spotted an angry steel gray band, with a sharp blue patch beneath. A blue norther!

Thursday, January 12, 1888. In extremely rural, Nebraska, near Ord, 19-year-old Minnie Freeman is a boarder in a prairie farmhouse. She awakens before dawn. She needs to get to school early to prepare the one-room Midvale School in Mira Valley, south of Ord. She’s the teacher.

Minnie walks through the morning pre-dawn twilight, over the one and a half miles to the unassuming schoolhouse. The weather’s been unusually pleasant lately. The morning skies promise more, even better weather. The sun and soft warm breeze will likely melt away what little remains of the last week’s snow. In fact, the entire US plains and Midwest seem to be mesmerized by this lovely weather.

The young school teacher lights a small fire in the pot-bellied stove, pumps water from the well, and fills the ceramic water dispenser. Soon after these morning tasks 13 students, aged 5 to 15, trundle into the sod-walled schoolhouse,

Nebraska became the 37^th state in the Union in 1867. Before that, the Nebraska Territory was formed in 1854. Its southern boundary, even today as a state, was the 40^th parallel, separating it from Kansas Territory, and later State of Kansas, to the south. This boundary extended well west, following 40° to the mountains of what is now Colorado.

The population of the westernmost parts of the Nebraska and Kansas Territories had swelled, and cities popped up across the Rockies Front Range and up into the mountains. Its population had grown due to immigration driven by the Colorado Gold Rush – particularly the Fifty-Niners.

Neither territory really wanted the responsibility to manage the rowdy new arrivals in lands so far from their governmental centers, well to the east. So, Colorado was split off as its own territory in 1861.

Settlers there and in the great prairie lands of the Midwest, like Nebraska, were also driven by the desire to depart the crowded, sooty, malodorous and unsanitary conditions in eastern US cities.

Early January 1888. A strong high pressure forms in northwest Canada. It begins drifting southeast. A strong low pressure system forms in the southwest US and begins drifting east-northeast. Pressure isoclines draw tighter and nearer together.

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Minnie Mae Freeman was born on February 25, 1868, to James and Sarah (Cushing) Freeman, in Potter County, Pennsylvania. She was by seven years the youngest child. ^[1] It’s a wide, rural, hilly stretch at the northern reaches of the Appalachian chain; Potter county’s northern boundary is the state of New York (latitude 42 degrees). During that period many families began moving west into America’s frontier, seeking opportunity, better fortune and land. The Freemans fit in. When she was age 3 years old her family moved to central Nebraska.

Many came to the expansive upper west to take advantage of the Homestead Acts, offering up to 160 acres to settlers for a small filing fee. It was theirs if they could improve the land (build on it) and make it productive. As timber was so very scarce, many of the first homes and buildings were made of sod.
Prior to that, the land we know as Nebraska became part of the United States pursuant to the terms of the 1803 Louisiana Purchase, as part of the upper Mississippi watershed. Both the Spanish and the French had long before begun trading with Native Amerindian tribes.
And of course, approximately 10,000 years before the white European peoples settled these lands, American Indians had arrived and settled, mostly hunting big game, such as bison.

Minnie attended the Methodist Episcopal College, in York, Nebraska graduating in 1886. She then began teaching school. (Very young teachers were quite common, in fact the norm. (See It Happened F

Young Minnie Freeman

irst In, Part II).

She took an assignment for the little sod schoolhouse near Ord, Nebraska. She was offered reasonable lodging at a farmhouse about a mile and half from the school. She felt like she fit right in; it was her calling.

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One thing that Nebraska has always had is size. It’s large. Not just its geographic size, but its weather too. Harsh “old man” winter has always been a regular visitor, bringing nasty weather on the cold arctic air that sweeps down from the great plains of Canada and the Dakotas.

It can be fierce: arctic cold that freezes spit before it hits the ground, high winds to carry off pets, and snows that bury a prairie house. Summers can be ferociously hot, with dry winds – and massive thunderstorms with cyclonic clouds that can break out on almost any summer afternoon.

Snowy days can turn into bright warm days; and the reverse as well, when warm sunny days suddenly turn wintry.

North of the equator, air rotates clockwise around high-pressure cells. And counterclockwise around low cells.

This rotation causes the leading fronts of high pressure cells to pull down air from the north. And the reverse: the leading fronts of low pressure cells pull up air from the south.

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Typical upper plains sod house

The embryonic national weather service, then part of the Army Signal Corps, made use of telegraph to aggregate weather reports and atmospheric conditions from locations around the continent. These reports were assembled, notes were placed on a map, then studied. Weather forecasts were generated and then wired across the country – to places that had access to the Talking Wires, which were mostly along established railroad lines. Thence the forecasts were printed in the many thousands of newspapers.

For January 12, 1888, they had forecasted a sunny, warm morning, turning cold in the afternoon. Period.

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Despite the January date, it was so alluringly pleasant that Minnie decided to conduct the midday class outside. It’s not unlikely that the students begged her do so. I recall doing this in elementary school. Sometimes the nuns would acquiesce. They liked the weather too!

Approaching Blue Norther (AI generated)

Minnie had grown up on these plains. She was innately aware of its moody and changeable nature. She instinctively took a moment periodically to scan the sky. It was about noon when she spied the signs of a blue norther to the northwest: stormy dark steel gray and silver clouds, with a thin layer of contrasting dark blue below. Calmly, without panic, she quickly herded the students into the schoolhouse. They had less than 5 minutes to get shelter.

First the winds. 30mph steady, then 50. Then 80. In just a few minutes. The winds brought a sudden temperature drop, from near 50F (10C) the mercury immediately plunged 18 degrees F. And kept dropping. To the 20s, the teens. To zero. The powerful high pulled down frigid arctic air. There was no geographic feature along the plains — from the north of Alberta and Saskatchewan to the plains of the US Midwest — to stop or slow the soul-chilling winds. ^[2]

Hail fell. Then, in a minute, it turned to snow. Heavily. The equally powerful low had pulled up warm air from the south, pregnant with moisture. Powered by hurricane force winds the snow began to pile up against walls, on hills, and in valleys. Soon houses, barns and other structures were getting buried by the drifts. [By evening the temperature dropped to -40. Some weather stations reported a fall of 100 degrees in only 10 or 12 hours]

The wind came through cracks in the sod walls. The temperature in the wee schoolhouse dropped alarmingly. The pot belly stove couldn’t keep up. The children weren’t dressed for winter, let alone for a storm like this.

Minnie huddled the children together, near the stove. Would the storm last long? Or blow over? Either was possible. She commenced to lead them in prayer. She also began thinking about burning the desks, books and papers if the wood ran out.

White out!

Thoughts of fueling the stove were soon made moot. The school door and hinges began to fail, the door, dangling open, awkwardly and askew. The view out the doorway revealed … nothing. It looked like an artist’s blank palette with a matte finish. Total white out. The older boys tried to re-attach the door. It seemed they had it fixed, then …

… the tar paper roof ripped, detached, … and disappeared.

If not before, it certainly was now a matter of life and death. 14 lives. 14 deaths. And Minnie was in charge.

They had to go somewhere. Somewhere safer, warmer.

Minnie took a roll of twine, and, while giving her students a pep talk, tied them one student to the next, all 13, and finally to herself. They headed out – but to where? Minnie had a good sense of the fields and simple structures between the schoolhouse and the farmhouse where she dwelled. After all, she walked to and from that house every school day. But in literally blinding snow?

In the bleak prairie, no features stood out. One’s own feet were not visible. The sky looked like the ground. Direction? Up vs down? The ground couldn’t be seen. North, south, east and west: all looked the same. There was no perception of these. Only gut feel, one’s inner compass, and dead reckoning for navigation.

The flakes, falling sideways in the howling winds and scowling skies, struck their skin – their faces! – like sandblasting. Like a hundred teensy weensy needles poking at any exposed flesh every minute.

Music for song praising Minnie

Against all odds, Minnie led them all safely to the farmhouse. All survived. ^[3]

For a few years Minnie Freeman was a national heroine. Songs and poems were written about her heroic achievement, played and sung at gatherings and shows, and published in newspapers.

She didn’t think much of it. Just a job that needed to be done.

It’s now commonly called the Children’s Blizzard. It’s estimated that at least 250 people died in the storm, from Minnesota, to Kansas to North Dakota. The vast majority of fatalities were children, perhaps 90%. Many were sent home and never made it, or were walking home at the end of the school day when the storm hit. Others froze to death as they waited in their schoolhouses.

Minnie was indeed rather famous. She received many unsolicited marriage proposals. Some say 50; others up to 200.

In 1890 she met Edgar Penney, a local farmer from a prominent family – probably at a local rural society rendezvous. He was well off, she was famous. [Edgar’s father, Seth Penney, was a leading farmer, merchant, banker and school board member in Fullerton, Nebraska. High Society]. Edgar was two years her elder.

Distinguished older Minnie Freeman Penney

Minnie and Edgar were married on April 22,1891, in Omaha. They settled initially in Fullerton, NE and had 2 sons: Freeman and Frederick Penney. Of course, this ended her teaching career – married female teachers weren’t permitted, especially mothers. But, married to Edgar, she probably wouldn’t have taught anymore anyhow. Eventually Edgar was made president of the C.A. Mosso Chemical Company (petrochemical-based pharmaceuticals, ointments, skin and beauty products). With his job they re-located to Chicago, in 1923. Until about 1930 they maintained their official address in Fullerton. ^[4]

Minnie’s star continued to shine after her teaching career.

She was a member of:
- The Republican National Committee from Nebraska ^[5]
- Daughters of the American Revolution
- Order of the Eastern Star [sister org of Masons, a worldwide service organization, focused largely on serving children (think El Jebel for women)].
- First president of the Department of Nebraska of the American Legion Auxiliary
- She was on the committee to redesign Nebraska’s state seal.
She was an active advocate for
- Education (promoting proper training, high teacher standards and screening … hiring 17–19-year-olds seemed inappropriate)
- Political leadership (morals and qualifications)
- Promoting civil service at state and local levels (you – yes, you! – can serve your government, from volunteering, to employment, to elected office)
- Women’s rights, especially suffrage

On November 1, 1943, when they were living in an apartment, at 1055 Granville Avenue, on Chicago’s near north side, Minnie passed away. Her remains were cremated. Edgar passed October 13, 1955, just one day short of the 12^th anniversary of Minnie’s passing. ^[6]

Thank you for reading. As always, you can add yourself to the notification list for newly published material by clicking here . Or emailing joe@girardmeister.com

[1] one source says she was born in Raymonds Corners, PA (York County), south of York PA. I believe this is wrong. Raymond Corners is not near York, it’s in northern PA. This from a post by the York County historical society.
One source has her as the youngest of 6 children. This is possible, as the “four” children might be referring only to those who survived childhood. Life was rough.

[2] Alberta and Saskatchewan were then not Provinces, rather unsettled land that was part of the Northwest Territories.

[3] Some children and sources have it differently. Some sources say it was half a mile to a shack. Some children didn’t remember the twine that supposedly linked them. One remembered it as a tug-of-war rope. And another source says they went to a sod farm shack about ½ mile away.
It doesn’t really matter. There were many reports of people getting disoriented and freezing to death less than 100 yards from where they started. Some were found only just a few steps from their homes.

[4] Research data were not uniform or clear on Edgar’s climb up the corporate ladder with regard to timing and locations. But, in 1923 they DID move to Chicago, and he was president.

[5] Politics and political parties were different then.

[6] Minnie’s remains are not in any record, except it’s recorded that the cremation was at Graceland Cemetery, in Chicago. We presume the ashes went to family. Edgar is buried at Memorial Park Cemetery, in Skokie,

Biographical, History, Strong Women

Wing and a Prayer

May 19, 2025 Joe

On Saturday, March 20, 1943, a large group of pilots – about two dozen, both men and women – about one-half each – took off from Long Beach and headed east. They were ferrying BT-13 and BT-15 trainers, built by Vultee Aircraft, at their facility in Downey, CA facility. First overnight stop, Tucson

Rufus Elijah Fort was one of the most successful men in the history of Nashville, Tennessee – and perhaps the most successful in the first three decades of the last the century.

A native Tennessean, born in 1871 to a society family, he earned a degree from University of the South in Swanee,TN. He then attended Vanderbilt University, in Nashville, earning his medical degree from that most esteemed institution in 1894. ^[1] After post-grad work in New York, he returned to Nashville to serve as the head surgeon at Nashville General Hospital and of the Tennessee Central Railway.

He was also a director of the 3^rd National Bank (still today a very large bank in Nashville), a member of the State Board of Health, serving as its president — and more.

While also serving in the faculty of Vanderbilt Medical School he founded the National Life & Accident Insurance Company (later acquired by American General Corporation). Ever the entrepreneur, he founded a local radio station. Most of the station’s advertising, often built into the shows, was for National Life. He got the call letters WSM — short for “We Shield Millions.” ^[2]

Rufus was enormously financially successful in all of his ventures. Along the way he acquired a large plot of quiet pastoral land, some 360 acres, along the meandering Cumberland River, several miles east of downtown Nashville. There, he built a large estate, which he dubbed “Fortland.” In addition to farming, he raised horses and champion Jerseys.

He must have been considered quite a catch, but he was too busy for all that. Finally, he met and courted Louise Clark. They wed in 1909. He was 38. Louise would bear three sons, followed by two daughters.

Dr. Fort was stern and cautious. He made his children attend public elementary schools in Nashville to build character, empathy and engage those of lower classes. The city was far enough away that they required a private chauffeur to get there.

He followed developments in aviation closely. It terrified him. So many deaths. So many horrible injuries. It all seemed very dangerous and stupid. One day in 1924 he called his three sons into his office at Fortland. He proceeded to make all three – aged 15, 13 and 10 – swear on the family bible that they would never, ever take to flight.

His five-year-old daughter, Cornelia, was standing just outside his office door. She listened closely. She’d remember this moment for the rest of her life: she never made the vow. It hadn’t occurred to Rufus that she should.

Sunday. December 7, 1941. A lovely clear and calm Pacific Ocean morning over Oahu. The sun rises over the ocean’s horizon. A young flight instructor, in an Interstate Cadet, has handed the plane’s control over to her student, a civilian military contractor at the Pearl Harbor Naval facilities.

“What are all these planes doing here? There shouldn’t be so many at this hour. They’re violating flight rules!”

She sees the red sun insignias. Tracers go by. She yanks back control.

Cornelia Clark Fort, was born to Rufus and Louise, the 4^th of 5 children, on February 5, 1919.

Cornelia Fort, about 6 or 7 y/o

With three older brothers, she grew up fast, tough and strong. And she just plain grew. In high school, at the well-regarded Ward-Belmont private women’s prep-school and college (short walking distance to Vanderbilt University) she quickly approached 6 feet tall.

Tall, gangly and awkward, she didn’t get much attention from the boys — and that was fine with her. She preferred the simple life of horseback riding, fox hunting, and tom-foolery at Fortland. And hanging with girlfriends, who enjoyed visiting the mansion with its considerable acreage.

The life of a debutante, society soirées, servants and tea parties was definitely not for her. She still felt unappealing – out of place in her own body. At such forced gatherings her dance card was filled out for her, well in advance. Much to her chagrin.

By graduation, she stood at least 5’10”. Later reports put her at 5’11” and one at 6’0”. She stood out in a crowd.

After a year at a military-oriented college (her father’s choice, hoping she’d gain discipline), she went off to Sarah Lawrence College. She was always bookish and well-read. She also loved to write; she kept extensive diaries since her youth. Yet, she never quite fit into the college academia setting. She did, however, start to grow much more confident in social settings, mostly around other young ladies. She often neglected her class assignments, preferring to either read what she wanted, or drift off to New York City with friends to enjoy movies and live theater.

It was exciting to be away and make friends. But it wasn’t for her. She left after two years.

__________________________________________________

During a trip home, in January 1940, a friend offered her a joy-ride in a small plane, arranged through her boyfriend. The flight was very short. But it was enough. The thrill was overwhelming.

Rufus had passed away in 1938. So, the timing for flight training was perfect. With her “allowance” Cornelia secretly took flying lessons. A lot of lessons. She had a knack for it. And a passion.

Her first solo was in April, 1940. She was just 21. She earned her license that June. And her flight instructor’s license the following March.

Eventually her mother found out from brother Rufus, Jr. Both were shocked!

“Your father made you all swear!”

“Mom, he didn’t make ME swear. This is what I want to do.”

Unable to thwart Cornelia’s ambitions, Louise acquiesced. But, always concerned about her daughter’s spiritual life (which seemed to be waning, as often happens at that age) Louise requested that Cornelia never fly on Sundays.

79 Zeros flew at Pearl Harbor, Dec 7. (Mitsubishi A6M2)

“I saw this plane coming closer, violating air traffic rules. I waited for it to give way for me. And then I jerked the stick out of the student’s hand and pulled the plane up. I had seen the insignia on the Jap (sic) plane – red suns along the fuselage. But I still couldn’t believe it. Then I saw the smoke over Pearl Harbor, and decided it was real.”

She taught at a flight school in Nashville. With the war raging, she knew that the US would soon be involved. She kept her attention on that likelihood. The Army Air Force would soon need a lot more pilots. Knowing full-well that, as a woman, she’d almost certainly never get to fly in combat, she remained committed to helping the war effort anyway – through flying. She sought opportunities to help train new military pilots but made no inroads. She was only 22.

There was a great surge in piloting interest among civilians. Also, among military officers and civilian military contractors. Maybe this was seen as a way to get more prestigious assignments.

Word of her flying talent and passion spread. The Andrew Flying Service, flying out of John Roberts Airport (now Kalaelo Airport some 15 miles west of Honolulu) reached out to her, offering an instructor position. She was hired by wire, with no real interview. Just solid referrals. Departing Los Angeles on September 20^th, 1941 on the S.S. Mariposa, she arrived in Pearl five days later ^[3]

With her growing confidence, poise and maturity, Cornelia developed a glowing charisma. She was an attractive woman after all. At nearly 6 feet tall, with blondish hair, steely-blue eyes, lean and fit, she turned a lot of necks. Especially in that environment — men outnumbered women by about 25:1.

Some took an interest in her. From friends and letters we know that she enjoyed the attention. One guy she rather liked was a student of hers. Bill McCain was a Navy lieutenant, 6’-1”, well cut and assigned to the cruiser USS Indianapolis. He was smitten and fell hard for her. She broke his heart by declining two of his proposals over the next year and a half, although they remained very good friends … frequently corresponding and meeting when chance brought them to the same city. She was more than once a guest at his family’s house. ^[4]

Cornelia made pretty good money, $15 for a 45-minute lesson (not that she needed it). She was “living the life.” Flying was her first love, and she was getting plenty of it. She was making friends, growing very comfortable in social situations, and was an occasional tourist in a truly beautiful locale.

[Many customers appeared to be single women. They often missed their appointments but afterward paid anyhow. Cornelia was shocked to find out later that many were prostitutes, who themselves were making pretty good money in that environment. It all made sense, eventually].

__________________________________________________________________

Cornelia quickly landed the plane, while witnessing “shiny things” (bombs) fall from above toward the ships in harbor. One passed quite close to her plane. She and her student sprinted into a hangar. The sounds of strafing bouncing off the tarmac rang in their ears. “Nobody on the ground would believe me, until a mechanic ran up and said that Bob Tyce, the airport manager, had been killed.”

Afterward they noticed that the plane was scarred with dozens bullet holes. Perhaps it took hits on the ground, but the bird also took hits in the air.

__________________________________________________________________

Battleship USS California, Dec 7. My father-in-law was a radioman onboard

She was likely the first US pilot to take fire over Hawaii that fateful day.

Of course, it was all over for any civilian flying anywhere in the Pacific, let alone Honolulu, home of the US Pacific Fleet. It was over for just about everything. The lights went out. Night life stopped. Booze stopped flowing. No communication with the continent; it was all cluttered with military and state department wires.

Getting back to the mainland was difficult

No fun for Cornelia. After seven weeks, she finally secured passage home through her brother’s connections with Tennessee Senator McKellar.

She was quite the media sensation. Pictures of her and the descriptions of her “Day of Infamy” experience were in every major and most minor newspapers and magazines around the country. She was famous.

The Evening Star, Washington, D.C. Wednesday, March 4, 1942. [one of countless pieces]

Especially back home in Nashville.

The Fort family phone buzzed from all the calls requesting interviews and photographs. Now a celebrity, she was asked to participate in war bond drives; requests that she always honored. She was continually busy, all this while trying to get back into instructing and visiting old friends.

She was now quite a party personality, smoking and showing a remarkable capability to “hold her liquor.” She was a desired attendee at parties. She was no longer the awkward girl who headed off to Sarah Lawrence just 2 years before.

About this time her mom, Louise, moved away from Fortland. It was too big without her Rufus. She moved to town, living with Rufus, Jr. The mansion was effectively mothballed. Still, Cornelia swung by to see the place for old time’s sake, and to drop off her most recent diaries and correspondence.

In Nashville she was shocked at the impact of war rationing. Even in Tennessee, rationing was severe. The familiar luxury had disappeared.

She returned to flight instructing in Nashville. She was still probing for ways to use her only real talent to help the war effort. The US was most definitely at war now… in a big way.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The nation was in need of both pilots and airplanes. With many thousands of all sorts of aircraft rolling off assembly lines from Downy, California to Long Island, New York, they’d also need pilots to ferry those new planes to military bases around the country.

A ferry service was developed for this. Yet, with so many pilots required for warfare, the military could ill afford to have every single one of those planes ferried by men. A ferry service was birthed.

In September, 1942, a cable arrived addressed to Mr. Cornelia Fort. She was to report to Dover, Delaware for ferry flight training.

When pushed by her mom to inform them that she was really a female flyer, they replied, in effect: oh never mind that, we need you. Report to Newcastle airfield, Delaware ASAP.

She was one of the first two dozen female ferry pilots to be recruited (and the 2^nd to report) as, it turns out, into the Women’s Air Ferry Squadron (WAFS).

Nearly all of this early class were from upper society classes: it cost a lot to learn to fly on your own.

There was much to learn — not just military protocol and new aircraft types, but also marching and uniforms. They hated those parts, but accepted it as necessary.

The really good things about being in Delaware: flight experience in new planes and they had access to the officers’ club.

Their leader was Nancy Love — a skilled pilot already with over 3,000 flight hours. In fact, it was she who convinced Colonel William Tunner to spin up the WAFS. She was a great leader for them, but a poor marching leader – once leading them over a 10-foot embankment, which brought howls of laughter from her charges.

Sept 26, 1942. Eight WAFS heading off to flight

She encouraged all to use the new Link simulators. Eventually Cornelia thought they were fantastic.

Nancy advised them sternly. When flying with men, don’t ever let them get close to you. Many have been trained in formation flying. You have not. Many are young. Some might startle or annoy you — or show off. Always keep at least 500 feet between you and any other plane. Always.

_____________________________________________

The weather along the east coast was miserable almost all fall and winter. Cold. Storms. Wind. Fog. The team was often grounded. Too often. They grew grumpy. Cornelia focused many daytime hours on the simulator.

When they did fly, the craft were mostly small and often with open cockpits. They froze. In the thick winter storm clouds, fog and winds, they sometimes lost course, without radios, no beams to follow, and only maps in their laps … which flapped in the wind.

Still, they always got the job done, and every plane was delivered safely.

It was not glamorous. Getting to the pickup site, then home from the delivery site, was often as exhausting. Trains. Wee hour connections. Little towns. Funky hotels. Bad restaurants. But, on a positive note, sometimes it gave the odd opportunity to meet up with old friends.

In December, 1942 most of the WAFS from Cornelia’s group were informed they’d be transferred to Long Beach, CA at New Year’s. They would not miss the east coast weather.

En route to Long Beach, Cornelia was able stay in Nashville at Christmas time, visiting friends and staying mostly with family. She made a short trip out to the empty Fortland to reminisce and drop off a couple volumes of her diary. This extended time with old friends and her mother was precious.

.Sunday. March 21, 1943. A clear and calm desert morning. Two dozen BT-13s and -15s take off from Tucson.
The pilots are ferrying trainers to Dallas. From there they will be transported to military flight schools across the south.

A very pretty young lady

Heartbreak. Fortland mansion sat empty along the right bank of the Cumberland. Electric power still ran to the house for occasional visits and cleaning. That was unfortunate. The fire occurred a few days after Christmas, 1942, just after Cornelia had left Nashville. A small electrical short started a fire. With no one around, the fire grew to a conflagration before any fire fighting began.

It was a total loss. Everything. Cornelia was distraught for her mother. And for herself. All evidence of her childhood memories – gone. Years of diaries and correspondence – gone. From her letters it seems she never got over this loss.

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The WAFS got a lot of duty out of Long Beach. They were flying L-4Bs, BT-13 and -15s, PT-19s and PT-26s. The Vultee BTs were larger and more powerful than the aircraft they were used to flying back East. Thanks to the simulators and early training at Long Beach, they adjusted to them well.

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The long run from Long Beach, over the endless expanses of the southwest United States, to Love Field in Dallas was soothing. Comforting. No incidents or complications. Today we might say it was becoming a “milk run.”

The WAFS were doing so well, in fact, that Nancy Love was beginning to fly P-51 pursuits and C-47 transports. Soon Cornelia’s very good friend Betty Gillies, whom she met early back in Delaware, would be flying the huge fighter, Republic’s P-47 Thunderbolt (AKA Jugs).

A large ferry flight of about two dozen BT-13s and -15s began March 20, out of Long Beach, headed for Love Field (no connection to Nancy Love). All was smooth. They landed easily in Tucson for fuel and an overnight. As per usual most of the pilots got together in the evening to socialize. Trade stories. Piloting. Life on the move. Away from home. That night the topic of formation flying came up.

BT-13 on runway at Minter Field, CA. Taken March 1, 1943

It turned out that all of the men – many only 90-days out of flight school – and even a lot of the women, had done formation flying while ferrying. This was strictly verboten. Cornelia never had. For her flight was all serious. She still carried a whiff of the discipline her father had tried to instill.

She mused, “well, maybe I’d like to try it.”

Sunday, May 21, dawned clear, calm and sunny. Perfect. By 9:30AM they were all up in the air. They headed east, soon breaking into several groups. Cornelia Clark Fort was in a group of seven: 6 men and 1 woman, herself.

A flight of Vultee BT-13A Valiant basic trainers, (Smithsonian Institution National Air and Space Museum )

They flew into Midland, TX for refueling and a bite to eat. The topic came up again. Cornelia seemed more open to the notion. She knew 500 ft (about 165 meters) was the proximity limit, but, I guess, everyone was doing it.

Easy peasy. Flight straight and level and leave it to us.

They took off at about 2:30PM, circled to 7,000 ft then headed off for Dallas.

Mulberry Canyon lies near Abeline, Texas, some 10 miles generally southwest. It’s about half-way between Midland and Dallas. It was there that the left wing of Fort’s Vultee BT-13 violently clipped the landing gear of another plane.

_______________________________________________

Most of the upper surface of the BT-13’s left wing was stripped bare.
The -13 tipped left. Then a slow spiral. Then straight down.

The ground impact was so violent there was no explosion: full speed, straight down, falling from 7,000 feet. The plane’s engine simply buried deep into the soil; the fuselage fragmented into hundreds and hundreds of metallic shards and wooden splinters. Only 40 of Cornelia’s 145 pounds were recovered.

She had just turned 24 years old the previous month.

A military investigation report determined that Cornelia probably lost consciousness on impact with the other plane; other pilots saw no attempt to right the plane or pull out – which, in any case, would likely have been futile. Both pilots had violated the 500 ft spacing rule; no additional fault was assigned to her or the other pilot. ^{[See footnote 6]}

Cornelia Clark Fort was the first death of a woman pilot in service to the country. In one careless moment — out of her 1,100 total flying hours — the US lost what surely would have been one of its greatest female aviators ever. [The other pilot had only about 300 hrs]

Louise learned of her daughter’s sad end by phone that night. Then, the next day:

Cornelia Clark Fort. (Tennessee State Library and Archives)

Cornelia’s remains were sent to Nashville. The Episcopal funeral was overflowing. Nashville and the nation mourned her passing. Officially she was civilian, not military. There was no military burial. Nor any financial recompense.

A small collection of Cornelia’s belongings was sent to Nashville. Therein: Another heartache. Unbeknownst to her family, and, it seems even her friends, Cornelia had fallen in love. Hard. A returned letter she had written to a Lt. Joe Koons was in the collection.

She had met Joe in her travels, perhaps even Hawaii. He was stationed somewhere in the Pacific. Her letter implies that they had been able to meet up, briefly, several times along their travels.

It’s a fairly common name. I didn’t find much. But I did find a Lieutenant Joe Koons in a military report. He had flown P-61 Black Widows out of Pearl on the “Day of Infamy”, Dec 7^th; and later P-51s in the Pacific. At Iwo Jima, in February-March 1945, he earned one of only three Air Force Silver Stars awarded for Iwo. The name, rank, and location (Pacific) match all that we know about him from Cornelia’s letter.

Once the Pacific island hopping began, I suppose, the military mail service could no longer keep up with all the moves – especially for pilots. And that’s why the letter was returned. Otherwise, we’d never know of her love. My conjecture – but likely.

Her words to him were heartbreaking. Although brief, she poured out all her feelings for him, wishing they could spend much more time together, and soon. And hoping they could spend their lives together after the war.

She was the first female pilot to die in military service to the nation. Eventually, there would be 37. Like Cornelia, none received military honors, benefits, or the honor of a military burial.

Cornelia was laid to rest in a large graveside ceremony at Mount Olivet Cemetery, in Nashville – Section 25, Plot 40, Row 2 – just steps from her father, Rufus Sr.

Much of the spacious Fortland grounds were later joined with adjacent land and turned into an air park, named Cornelia Fort Airpark. The rest of Fortland, with much more land along the Cumberland, became Shelby Bottoms Greenway, a large reflective space and nature area, now surrounded by city residential neighborhood developments on three sides, the Cumberland on the 4^th. A trail through the nature area bears the name Fortland Trail. ^[5]

The WAFS were soon folded into the Women Air Force Service Pilots – the more famous WASPs. Those who had been WASF were soon flying all sorts of larger aircraft: aircraft used in cargo transport, re-con, pursuit/fighter, and almost all sizes of bombers.

December 7, 1941 and March 21, 1943 were both Sundays.

“I, for one, am profoundly grateful that my one talent, my knowledge of flying, happens to be of use to my country when it is needed.
That’s all the luck I ever hope to have.” – Cornelia Fort.

In 2022 she was inducted into the Women in Aviation International Pioneer Hall of Fame. Nancy Love was inducted in 2008.

Thank you for reading. As always, you can add yourself to the notification list for newly published material by clicking here . Or emailing joe@girardmeister.com

Some notes

It’s worth noting that, except for top brass initial apprehension and slow rolling of female pilots, the ladies were overwhelmingly well received and well treated by military men in all branches; yes even the Marines – them especially so.

Helen Love stayed on, even after the WASP program was terminated in late 1944, as the war neared its obvious conclusion. At the war’s end she was honored in a joint recognition ceremony with her husband, and was awarded the Air Medal, which she accepted as a representative of all women who served. [Her husband, an Air Corps Colonel, received the Distinguished Service Medal.

When the Air Force was established (as separate from the Army) in 1948, The Air Force Reserve was formed. Helen was commissioned as a Colonel in the Reserves.

You can still ride with Cornelia! Head to the Foxtrot Carousel in historic downtown Nashville. The carousel has many figures from Nashville’s history going round and round. Cornelia is one.

A scene in the movie Tora, Tora, Tora has her flying as the attack begins

How to ride with Cornelia today

Footnotes:

[1] Full disclosure: I attended Vanderbilt University and earned a Masters Degree in Engineering. I lived in Nashville for two years.
The north edge of the Belmont College campus (now University) is directly south across Wedgewood Ave from where I lived while attending Vanderbilt. No longer women only.

[2] Radio station WSM still exists. It’s a 50kW clear channel, 650AM. It’s probably the most famous country music station in the world, with its proximity to the truly massive Nashville country music scene. It’s also the home of the Grand Ole Opry, the world’s longest running music and entertainment radio program.

[3] Historical US passenger lists.

[4] McCain was re-assigned from the Indianapolis before its fateful and historic demise on July 30^th, 1945. He and Cornelia remained close, communicating often, with the occasional meet-up. She visited his family also and all held each other in high regard.

[5] https://www.friendsofshelby.org/history
Except for the small segment for the air field.

[6] I’ve found two likely causes presented. In one, the other pilot startles Cornelia, appearing suddenly above and in front of her. She jerked to avoid it and clipped the landing gear. In the other, Cornelia is approaching from the other plane’s rear, to join up. She approaches too quickly and hits the other plane’s gear.

Reference/Bibliography/some sources

“Daughter of the Air” by Rob Simbeck

https://digging-history.com/2014/03/21/feisty-females-cornelia-clark-fort/

https://www.pbs.org/wgbh/americanexperience/features/flygirls-cornelia-fort/

https://nashville.citycast.fm/nashville-history/cornelia-fort-airpark-story-nashville-history

https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth1010654/m1/26/

Another source.

https://www.thisdayinaviation.com/tag/cornelia-clark-fort/

USS California alongside Ford Island. Note all the men in the water

Biographical, History, Sports, Strong Women

Mary Bea – Golf is not Boring

April 20, 2025 Joe

A Pennsylvania Amish family is visiting cousins in Arizona, far from the world they know. They’re traveling with their 3-year-old son and two pre-teen daughters. ^[1]

________________________________________________________

Professional Golfer Mary Bea Porter was born in the city of huge Boeing aircraft, Everett, Washington, and mostly raised in Cost Mesa, California. As a lass she was highly athletic, playing many sports competitively through her youth. She played four varsity four sports in high school and at college. She was introduced to golf at an early age and took to it like it was her second nature. ^[2]

In Costa Mesa, she had the good fortune to meet LPGA co-founder Betty Hicks, who mentored her. At just 8 years old she conducted a golf-clinic with legendary Patty Berg. She also received occasional instruction from one of the greatest of all women golfers, Kathy Whitworth.

Competing for ASU

She attended one of the nation’s premier sports and golf universities, Arizona State University. In addition to helping ASU golf to national championships in 1970 and ’71, she also played on the softball team, on which she was the starter at 2^nd base; they won the NCAA championship in 1973.

Soon after graduation she turned professional and immediately qualified for the LPGA tour by winning the qualification school (Q-school) tournament in 1973. ^[3]

With Arizona’s year-round golf weather, she made the area her permanent home. After a few moves and a marriage, she settled in Scottsdale, an upscale suburb north-northeast of Phoenix.

After a slow start on tour, given her collegiate record and Q-School performance, she broke through in October 1975, winning the inaugural Golf Inns of America tournament at Rancho Bernardo Inn in San Diego. ^[4]

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After World War II, the U.S. housing industry underwent a massive transformation. Suburbs—once rare—began to flourish. A booming economy and a desire for independence drove people to move outside cities. Cars made commuting possible. At first, suburbs featured tidy tract homes with white picket fences, spaced evenly along curving streets lined with newly planted trees.

By the mid-1960s the trend expanded. New neighborhoods featured bigger, fancier homes and often had golf courses integrated within them. From above, you’d see golf holes weaving between fenced-off backyards. Many believed the view of open green space behind their homes increased property values. Plus, there was always the chance to see some wildlife—some of it human, judging by the occasional shouted profanity that wafted into the homes’ confines.

Early post-war suburb, and the 2nd Levittown, in PA

As a homeowner, I get the appeal, though it makes the course less appealing to me. Still, it beats living next to a busy road. In hot places like Arizona, backyard pools — “cement ponds,” as Granny and Jethro would say — were common.

___________________________________________________________________________________

Throughout her career, Porter qualified for three of the LPGA’s four major championships, making the cut several times. In 1975—the year she won in San Diego—she achieved her best major finish: 25th at the LPGA Championship at Pine Ridge Golf Course in suburban Baltimore. ^[6]

Golf can be fun at any age, but elite-level competition is a young person’s game. Men typically peak between 25 and 35; women several years earlier. It’s not unusual for a teenager to finish near the top of an LPGA leader board. Or even win.

Upscale PGA west course and neighborhood, La Quinta, CA

And so it was with Mary Bea Porter. By 1988, well into her 39^th trip around ole Sol, her game was in decline. Still she hung in there, sometimes cashing tournament checks, sometimes doing golf exhibitions – anything to make some money through the sport she loved.

Along the way, she had a child. That motivated her to learn some things about First Aid and CPR. She kept telling herself she needed to learn CPR – especially CPR for young children – but she never seemed to have time to get it done.

_____________________________________________________________________

It’s March18^th, 1988, and Mary Bea finds herself at the Moon Valley Golf Course in north Phoenix, playing in the Wednesday qualifier for the LPGA’s Standard Register/Samaritan Turquoise Classic. Moon Valley is close to her home. A home town event.

She’s recently divorced, a tragedy that left her nearly broke, and a single mom. Earning a check this week would mean a lot.

___________________________________________________________________________

At three-years-old Jonathon Smucker is naturally curious, and many things fascinate him. He and his Amish family know almost nothing of suburban life, let alone Phoenix, so there’s a lot to be curious about. Their world is a simple life, including farming without machines, horse-drawn carriages (oddly equipped with head and tail lights, turn signals and SMV placards), good old neighborly barn raisings, and 17^th & 18^thcentury German dialects.

Their hosts are out on a short errand. The Smuckers are inside a strange home with unfamiliar appliances. Outside, beyond a six-foot wrought iron fence, is a green open space with trees and people hitting little white balls.

Within the fence is something new to them: an in-ground pool. The family relaxes beside it. Their three-year-old son explores.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Standing on the tee of the 12th hole, Mary Bea is one under par — just enough to qualify. But it’s a messy hole for her. Her drive lands on a cart path, and she has to play two balls until a judge can rule later. The whole process takes extra time.

That delay will prove to be life-changing.

At the 13^th tee Mary Bea is optimistic. It’s a house-lined dog-leg left par 5; the leftward bend suits her eye, her game and her strength. A good chance to make a birdie and get that shot back.

She tees it high and lets it fly, swinging a tad harder than normal … trying to improve her chances of “getting home in two” and scoring a birdie.

It’s not a good strike, and she again finds herself in a non-optimal situation. She’ll have to play short … “laying up” to a safe spot for her third shot. Her second shot is also poor. It’s a low hook. She’s tried too hard to get the ball to bend left along the dog-leg’s contour. Her ball ends up well to the left of the short grass fairway, among scattered tree, near a fence that separates the golf course from the houses that line most holes … houses with pools.

It’s good luck. The ball is found, and she has an opening to the green. Next task: Mary Bea and her caddie, Wayne Sharp, must determine the exact yardage for the following shot. Not an easy task before laser range-finders. All the markers, sprinkler heads and landmarks referenced in the notes are many yards away. Some notional trigonometry is required, because she’s 20 yards off the fairway. 98 yards, they decide, is the “number.” [Yes, pros and the best players can dial-in the difference between 98 and say 100 yards].

Something doesn’t feel right. What’s up? What’s going on? Mary Bea looks around. Over the fence. That’s curious.

Two young girls are quietly sitting in chairs alongside a pool. In the pool a small body is floating face down in the water.

WOW! A bearded man – is that Amish clothing? – is standing at the pool’s edge. He jumps into the pool and pulls what appears to be a young boy out of the water. The man holds the child upside down and begins shaking him vigorously. The man is obviously panicked. He begins yelling to his wife and daughters to call for help. None know how to use a phone.

Instinctively Mary Bea and Wayne are already at the fence. They ask each other if the other knows CPR. Each replies: “No.”

Still a powerful athlete herself, she offers to boost Wayne over the fence. No, that won’t do: he’s a man-beast at 6 foot 4 inches and built like a linebacker. He boosts her up, practically throwing her over the fence. Parts of Mary Bea’s body scrape across the top of the wrought iron fence, then more scrapes on her knees and hands as she falls awkwardly on the other side (most AZ landscape is xeriscape: no grass, just pebbles).

Sharp can’t get over, too high. He darts down the fence line, to the next yard, where the fence is lower; he clambers over.
The panicked man with the boy has absolutely no idea what to do.

The lad’s face is gray. His skin is a blueish hue He’s very cold. He’s not breathing. He has no pulse.

Mary Bea takes the boy and lays him down.

She’s not CPR certified, but she’s seen it done on TV. She gently turns his head and clears his mouth; vomit and water pour out. As she begins CPR. Wayne dashes inside the house and calls 9-1-1.

Pump, breathe air into his lungs, repeat. Don’t forget to hold the nose clamped. Pump, breathe. And repeat. And repeat. She’s at it nearly a minute.

Nothing.

More cycles of pump and exhale. It’s tiring.

Still, nothing.

Finally, partly in frustration, she pounds on the toddler’s chest.

Something.

Again, another pound.

Something more. A cough.

She continues CPR until an ambulance arrives. He’s gasping and unconscious, but the toddler is still alive!

45 minutes after she and Wayne Smart had vaulted the fence, the ambulance, with Jonathon, leaves for the hospital. The family follows in a squad car.

Mary Bea and her caddie clamber back over the fence and return to her ball. Her group, her playing partners, have left her and Wayne behind long ago, and are now several holes ahead.

Back to golf. Still jacked-up with adrenaline, emotionally and physically drained from the CPR (it’s hard work), hurting from multiple scrapes and bruises, she mishits her 98-yard shot, now into a greenside sand trap. She makes a bogey 6. Instead of gaining a shot, she has lost one.

Mary Bea finishes her round. Her score (one source says 73, another 76) is not sufficient to qualify for the tournament. But, she is the talk of the tournament, the talk of the city, the talk of the tour. A hero.

No big deal, wouldn’t anyone do that? No Mary Bea, not everyone.

What if she hadn’t taken so long to play #12 or hit a poor shot on #13 that brought her so close to the fence? The Lord works in mysterious ways.

Several LPGA players wrote a frantic note to the tournament committee. It explained the day’s adventure, and pleaded for a special exception to allow Mary Bea Porter into the tournament. It was granted.

It would have been a perfect script for Hallmark or Disney she had done well in the tournament – or even won it.

Alas, that was not to be. She missed the cut. She didn’t get a check to cash that week. Again.

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A remarkable coincidence ensued. Jonathon spent that night in a shared hospital room in Phoenix Children’s Hospital. The boy he shared a room with had just been declared brain-dead … from a drowning. That’s when it truly hit the Smuckers how very, very fortunate they were.

Porter heard that Jonathon had survived. A great relief. Months later she learned that the Smuckers were trying to contact her. A phone call was set up where she received a huge thank you and an invitation to visit them in, what I call Amish-land, south central Pennsylvania. They had no address, just a town name.

Another few months went by before Porter could make the trip to Amish-land. Mrs Smucker set up a huge picnic for Mary Bea’s visit, inviting her own large family and neighbors. Porter attended with her own 6-year-old son, Joseph.

Mary Bea and Jonathon, at time of picnic.

Mrs Smucker asked Mary Bea if she knew why Jonathon had such severe purple bruises on his chest. A funny-not funny moment. They all stay in touch to this day.

Mary Bea did finally get First Aid and CPR certified.

Jonathan, all these decades later, has no recollection of the event. He knows it happened. He and his family are grateful. Although no longer Amish, he, his wife and children are deeply religious; the extraordinary experience is knitted into their strong faith.

Soon thereafter, Mary Bea retired from competitive golf. She remained very, very active in golf.

She probably suffered from PTSD from the event. She had frequent flashbacks and unsettling dreams, forcing her to relive that day over and over, … and, in her mind’s imagination, she saw dead little boys and heard sirens. Whenever she really heard sirens those past events overtook her consciousness. She suffered anxiety, was always tired and emotionally wrought. Even with help from sports psychologists she made little progress. It was time to move on.

She re-married, to Charles King, becoming Mary Bea Porter-King. They had met when he caddied for her in a LPGA tournament in Hawaii. They moved to Hawaii, Charles’ home state. There, she co-founded what turned out to be a hugely successful youth golf program: The Hawaii State Junior Golf Association. She also founded the Kauai Youth Golf Program.

A few years later she took another crack at being a touring pro. She just didn’t have the game for it anymore. Time waits for no one. Age takes its toll, year by year, bit by bit. Even though our minds still see ourselves as young, vibrant and competitive.

She also served on the PGA/LPGA rules committee for decades, including serving as a rules official at most major tournaments, including nearly all US located majors for the LPGA and the PGA (and even one British Open) for over 20 years. She served a number of years on the USGA Executive Committee, and as a member of the PGA Board of Directors. She was also a long-time director on the US Junior Golf Championship Committee.

She was inducted into the Arizona State University Sports Hall of Fame in 2001. She was inducted into Hawaii’s Golf Hall of Fame in 2004. In 2011, she was named the PGA’s “First Lady of Golf Award”, awarded to the woman who has made significant contributions to promoting the game of golf.

She’s also in the Southern California Golf Association Hall of Fame, and was the captain of Team USA for the Junior Solheim Cup competition.

In 1989 a new pro golf award was created by the Metropolitan Golf Writers Associated, and named for her: The Mary Bea Porter Humanitarian Award. Per the writers’ description: it honors a person “who, through a heroic or humanitarian act, saves or betters the lives of others.” She was, of course, the first recipient.

Mary Bea Porter-King, circa 2001

As the years went by, her family grew. Her children and grandchildren were on the mainland. So she and Charles, packed up and left Hawaii for southern California … near where she grew up.

Well done, Mary Bea Porter-King. A life very well lived.

Thank you for reading. As always, you can add yourself to the notification list for newly published material by clicking here . Or emailing joe@girardmeister.com

Author’s writing note: Tense. I took a gamble and switched to present tense for the rescue part of this essay. If you noticed it, then good for you. And, if you noticed, free to let me know what your reaction was. I’d really like to know.

Footnotes and final note

[1] Yes, the Amish can be permitted to travel by plane. Some sects allow it. And others allow it in special circumstances.

[2] The Boeing assembly building in Everett is the largest building in the world, by volume.

Porter’s athletic prowess came in the pre-Title IX era. Despite this, she competed in Softball, Volleyball, basketball, and, of course, golf. In 1973 ASU won the NCAA championship in softball; Porter was the team’s starting 2^nd baseman. The school also won the NCAA golf championship in 1970 and ’71, with Porter competing for the team.

[3] LPGA = Ladies Professional Golf Association. Winning the qualifying school competition is quite a big deal. Many many players, try to get into Q-school. This includes the PGA and LPGA. Making it to the tour qualifying tournament, let alone come out on top over all other competitors, is a gold star in anyone’s memory scrapbook.

[4] This tournament has been re-named several times. It last appeared on tour as the Honda Civic Classic in 1980. Except for Porter, all of the event’s winners were huge golf names: Sandra Palmer, Sally Little, JoAnne Carner (twice) whom most golf enthusiasts and historians recognize. [JoAnne Carner is a gem; I had the opportunity to meet and chat with her in about ’76 or’77].
The runner-up to Porter was Donna Caponi, another very big star of that era. (later Caponi-Young, and then Caponi-Byrnes … I’ve never seen a slower and more deliberate backswing)

[5] Typically professional events have a “cut” wherein over half of the field is eliminated after two rounds of play. [typically low 60 scores, plus ties, in a field of 144 to 156 players]. These “cut” players typically make no money that week.

[6] That tournament was won by Kathy Whitworth, in the last years of her truly amazing career, just before she turned 46 years old. She owns 88 LPGA tournament wins, exceeded only be Annika Sorenstam’s 89. And 98 total pro wins. I saw her at the 1980 Women’s US Open in Nashville. Even at age only 41 she was clearly past her prime. I think she went on to win only one or two more tournaments.

[6] As it’s a par 5, it would be standard to reach the green in three strokes. Allotting 2 putts to get in the hole, that makes it a par 5. By getting “home” in two, a birdie is more much more likely. Or even, getting close to the green in two shots improves the odds.

Final notes:

Other awardees of the First Lady of Golf award of note include: Barbara Nicklaus (Jack’s wife), Annika Sorenstam, Carol Mann, Judy Rankin, and the previously mentioned Kathy Whitworth, Donna Caponi.

The surname Smuckers is a bit unusual, with the highest occurence in the US in Ohio and Pennsylvania — two regions of high Amish population. I assume it derives from German word Schmucker, which can be translated as more fancy or beautiful (schmuck = jewel), or perhaps a ‘jeweler.’

Some resources. A few of the many sites that have details relating to this story.

https://www.latimes.com/archives/la-xpm-1988-03-24-sp-391-story.html

https://www.globalgolfpost.com/featured/mary-bea-porter-king-saves-lives-and-championships/

https://www.latimes.com/archives/la-xpm-1988-03-24-sp-391-story.html

https://www.scga.org/news/view/bastanchury-booth-porter-king-are-newest-additions-to-scga-hall-of-fame

https://www.powerfades.com/features/de5e1f31-2b82-457f-aadc-cc6aa8ce7794

https://www.usga.org/content/usga/home-page/celebrating-125-years-of-golf-in-america/hawaii.html

Biographical, Culture, Edwardian/Pre-War, Food, History, Strong Women

Cranberry Lady

February 20, 2025 Joe

When we US Americans ^[1] think of food and the Thanksgiving holiday, the vast majority will first think of turkey. Not far down the list many will also have cranberry sauce. A joke in our family is that Lime Jello-mold is still missing, but that’s a family joke for another essay.

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Of the 103 colonists who arrived at Plymouth in 1620, only 53 survived until the following fall. In celebration of a healthy harvest, and their own survival, the first Thanksgiving of Europeans on the new continent was held in early November, 1621. Little more is known, but two surviving accounts by Puritans state that the ceremony was celebrated with the local native Wampanoags.

For 12,000 years the Wampanoags had dwelt along the northeast coastal areas of the current USA, mostly in what is today the states of Massachusetts and Rhode Island.

They developed great local knowledge, shared by oral tradition over 100s of generations. This included knowledge of all the native plants, and how to use them. Among them were cranberries.

Land of the Wampanoags. New England Massachusetts and Rhode Island

The cranberry bush is rugged. It thrives in harsh, cool conditions, often near the sea, especially in acidic, sandy and salty soils. They do well in, and near, marshy bogs.

It seems quite likely to this author that cranberries were present at this “first” Thanksgiving. But not cranberry sauce. Wait about 300 years.

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We really enjoy the fruit at our house. Well, actually, we like the dried and sweetened product called “craisins.” Cranberries themselves are naturally tart, hence the sweetening. In addition to noshing on a handful from time to time, I add them to salads and even breakfast, either on yogurt or on cereals (my wife makes an awesome Muesli, but I sometimes throw a few in).

Our Colorado grandson, a frequent visitor, knows right where they are. One of his first destinations upon arrival is usually the pantry and shelf where we keep them. He’ll eat a pound if we let him. When we remember, we keep the pantry locked when he’s coming over. ^[2]

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The Wampanoag had many recipes with cranberries, including pemmican, a high-calorie mixture of fat, protein and dried fruits that kept well over the winter, and on hunting expeditions. They were also used for dyeing.

Cranberry harvest season is late summer and early autumn. Pemmican was prepared before winter, and dyeing was done during winter. The berries are packed with nutrients and offer numerous health benefits. They contain antioxidants, flavonoids, and phenolic acids, which help prevent urinary tract infections. They support cardiovascular health and regulate the immune system. Cranberries have also been shown to have anti-cancer properties, promote dental health, and support gut health. And shown to reduce LDL cholesterol. Eat more cranberries!

New Jersey Climate Areas

Cranberries are also native to the nearby coastal and pine barrens regions of New Jersey. It’s on the cooler end of the temperate climates. This climate has matches in southern Quebec on out to the ocean, and parts of Oregon, Washington and Wisconsin. The plant is also native to Quebec, but are now grown most prolifically in those 3 “non-native” states. In fact, most are now grown in the Badger State.

US-Americans consume 400 million pounds of cranberries each year. Twenty percent are eaten during Thanksgiving week.

On December 7, 1864, Elizabeth Fee, a first-generation US-American, was born to Irish immigrants John and Mary (O’Hagen) Fee in New York. It’s not hard to imagine they came across as a consequence of the great potato famines in the years 1845-51. And also because of the atrocious treatment of the Irish by the ruling imperialistic Brits. ^[3]

Elizabeth was the last of Mary and John’s three children, after James and Martha, 2 and 5 years older, respectively. Martha, as we’ll see, went on to play a large role in Elizabeth’s life. Elizabeth’s siblings were born in New Jersey, which would go on to be their life-long home. I am not sure why Elizabeth was born in New York. ^[4]

We first find the family documented in 1860, in Bordentown, NJ. John is a “Laborer” with a net worth of $100. The family’s residence was here for many years.

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We find no further family information until 1880. And, even then, Elizabeth remains elusive; still no record of her. Only Martha, who worked as a house maid servant in Freehold, NJ. She soon thereafter married Frank Howard Bills, a watchmaker, in 1881. They settled in Bordentown, NJ. A son, Enoch arrived in 1883. Enoch was Frank’s father’s name.

For genealogists and researchers (like me) 1890 was an empty year & 1896 was a very sad year. The US 1890 census records were destroyed in 1896 when a fire swept through the Commerce Building. ☹

Starting in 1900 Elizabeth finally shows up in records, and regularly. Usually as a dressmaker or dress designer, and always living with her sister, Martha. At one point she is listed as Designer/ Women’s Garments.

Dressmaking (seamstress) and watchmaking (and repairs) were pretty big deals in the later 19^th and early 20^th centuries. Textiles was a huge industry at the time in the US, and all manners of talent were required. The industrial age evolved to bring the era of precise time keeping. Economies ran on production and consumption; production and transportation of goods ran on ever tighter time schedules. This was before the widespread use of wristwatches, which, at the time, were considered rather a novelty item and only for women. Pocket watches were the norm.

We find Elizabeth again in 1905 (then going by “Lizzie”, but not for long) and 1915. She also appears in 1910 and ’20. Occupation: dressmaker. [NJ census, and US census]

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Late in the first decade of the 20^th century, Enoch – Elizabeth’s nephew and housemate, both living with her sister Martha in Bordentown – began growing blueberries over near New Egypt, NJ, along the fertile fields of Ocean County. As such, he and his aunt Elizabeth also became aware of the commercial potential of growing cranberries near there. By 1911 Elizabeth had acquired a large acreage of promising cranberry land nearby. Thus she began her great cranberry enterprise.

Cranberries do not need a bog to thrive. They grow along the mossy edges of moist woods, meadows, creeks, rivers and swamps. They even can be found growing in sand dunes near the beach. They tend to prefer sandy soils and certainly acidic soil.

After some early success selling cranberries, around 1912 Elizabeth started experimenting with making cranberry jellies. One reason given is that she wanted to develop a product to extend the selling/buying season throughout the year. Her special recipe eventually became the sauce we know well and associate with Thanksgiving.

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Other local cranberry growers were doing well and experimenting with the fruit; among them were Marcus Urann and John Makepeace. Urann also experimented with jellies and developed a process for canning the product.

In 1912, Elizabeth hit on the idea of using “reject” imperfect berries to make her jelly. Experimenting with berry concoctions of secret local ingredients, and sugar, she soon had it perfected.

From approximately 1910 to 1920, Martha’s husband, Frank Bills, is generally not living with his family. He may have first left to find better employment. First, he’s 20 or 30 miles away, in New Egypt, occupation: Cranberry Grower. Later, he’s living near New Egypt, out in the unincorporated parts of the county; occupation: laborer on his “own farm.” We deduce the operation has grown quite large and the family – at least Frank and Enoch – have completely committed to Elizabeth’s business. Enoch, still living with his mom Martha, sometimes working as a “structural engineer” with Newton AK Bugbee, in Trenton.

“She was so impressed with her creation that she took a few cases of it to Philadelphia to find an investor to buy and sell her sauce. However, no investors saw her, and because she didn’t want to carry the crates of sauce back to New Egypt, she left them there. By the time she returned to New Egypt, a phone call was waiting for her to inform her that an investor tasted her sauce and loved it and made an order of 500 cases. So, she got to cooking. She bought up all surplus berries from local cranberry bogs, and eventually had to relocate out of her kitchen and into an old chicken coop…” — https://www.geocaching.com/geocache/GC61Q5D.

Around 1913 the three big cranberry growers – Elizabeth, Makepeace and Urann – began collaborating, mostly sharing ideas on growing, jellies and marketing. Informal posts on the web suggest Makepeace was, or had been, in business with an Albert Westbrook Lee, a haberdasher of Trenton, NJ; he’d recently lost his wife, Mary, in 1910.

In any case, a relationship developed between Elizabeth and Albert; they were wed February 14, 1914 (Valentine’s Day). Albert was some 8 years older. Sadly, he passed away just 14 months later, April 23, 1915. She never remarried.

National “Eat a Cranberry Day” is November 23. Right before Thanksgiving!

As she progressed with her jellies, working in New Egypt, NJ, she renamed her company Bog Sauce.

All three collaborators were running their own businesses, Elizabeth (now Lee) soon again changed hers to Bog Sweets Cranberry Sauce. Urann occasionally operated as Ocean Spray Cranberries. Each had large and expanding operations.

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Enoch also endured a very short marriage. On July 24, 1917 he wed Emma Rogers Cowperthwait of Medford, NJ, shortly after registering for the draft. (US entered WWI in April that year). Very sadly, Emma passed away on November 24, that same year. Coincidentally just 2 days after Thanksgiving Day.

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According to the South Florida Reporter (March 23, 2024) … “canned cranberry sauce got its start in 1912 when cranberry growers Marcus L. Urann and Elizabeth Lee started working together to create a jellied sauce, which was concocted by boiling bruised berries from the bog. (say that 3 times fast, <BBBB>)”

Trucks deliver the good for the co-op, Cranberry Canners, Inc

In 1930 the three formally united, forming a cooperative called Cranberry Canners, Inc. From the name (Canners) we deduce that they were likely big into cranberry sauce. Along the timeline, the product name was changed from jelly to sauce.

Almost immediately upon joining together, the 3 began joint work on developing and marketing cranberry juice. Under a law passed by the New Jersey State Legislature in 2022, Cranberry Juice is the official state drink. The same law declared that Elizabeth Fee is the inventor of cranberry sauce.

In this sense, a co-op is owned by its members and operated for their benefit. In an economic sense, they’ll cooperate on any, up to all, aspects of the business. Procurement, processing, delivery, marketing, fundraising.
I have an ancestral line from a wine making valley some 25 km east of Stuttgart. They were in what was effectively a community cooperative. They shared equipment to press the grapes, ferment and age the wine, and get the wine to the market town of Feuerbach, just outside Stuttgart’s northern border. [Now consumed by Stuttgart, thus losing any physical manifestation of its legacy].

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After starting as “at school” (1900 census), Enoch’s occupation flips back-and-forth from “draughtsman” to a “structural engineer” and “contractor “, then finally just “cranberries.” I surmise he’s drafting and building additional cranberry processing plants. The colorized photo suggests they were enormous. (Draughtsman is an older USA spelling of Draftsman; also still used by the British).

Although cranberries need not be grown in bogs, this does make them easier to harvest. Because of this Cranberry “fields” are often flooded at harvest time to make an artificial bog. Elizabeth invented devices for harvesting and processing her cranberries.

Plant #3, Elizabeth Lee’s Cranberry Canners

The four (Elizabeth, Makepeace, Urann and nephew Enoch) formed the co-op’s leadership. Elizabeth was the operations vice president; Enoch ran the processing facilities.

In 1959 the cooperative changed its name to Ocean Spray Cranberries, Inc. Over the decades they’ve recruited new members from among cranberry growers in Wisconsin, Washington and Oregon states. They built processing plants there, too. Although cranberries are native to the US Northeast, far more Ocean Spray cranberries are grown in those states than in New Jersey and Massachusetts.

The cooperative now has over 1,000 members, growers of both cranberries and grapefruit, including in Canada.

Curious factoid about the name. Urann had used the “Ocean Spray” name briefly before, in the 1910s, and was attached to the image of “Ocean Spray.” Although he was two years into technical retirement by 1959, his encouragement led to the name change. However, the name’s trademark was owned by a fish company in Oregon. Ocean Spray bought the name.

Elizabeth Lee was the first treasurer of a local military support organization, The National Security League of Bordentown, beginning with the US entry into World War I. Often providing care packages to sailors. The port of Camden was nearby, with its naval shipbuilding enterprise. Many embarked to go “over there” from Camden, including the original battleship New Jersey which was in port there at least once.

“Born Tart. Raised Bold” ^TM, motto of Ocean Spray.
Applies to many strong women. Elizabeth Fee Lee as well.

Elizabeth Lee, probably early 1930s

Through the 1930s Elizabeth’s role in the operation slowly dwindled, although she remained vice-president because of her decades of experience in the business. She did very well financially; she had a “palatial summer home” on the coast, in Sea Girt.

She passed away April 22, 1942, at her sister Martha’s house after a brief illness, age 77. She was Roman Catholic. Not surprising at 100% Irish. She was interred at St Mary’s Cemetery in her longtime hometown of Bordentown after a private Requiem Mass at St Mary’s church.

Up until now she’s mostly only remembered as the Cranberry Queen. I’ve tried to add some meat to the skeletal remains of what memory there is of her. A remarkable woman, who “made her bones” after arriving in her middle age.

Thank you for reading. As always, you can add yourself to the notification list for newly published material by clicking here . Or emailing joe@girardmeister.com

Some notes:

[1] From the recent re-naming of the body of water formerly known as Gulf of Mexico, I am now trying to use “America” to refer to the 2 continents stretching from Tierra del Fuego and the Straits of Magellan, to well above the Arctic Circle. The country formerly commonly referred to as simply “America” is now some variation of USA, as appropriate. In the opening lines I used US-America.

[2] The sugar in craisins partly offsets the benefits of cranberries. Eat in moderation. https://www.lihpao.com/are-craisins-healthy/

[3] Likely he arrived aboard the SS Hancock in New York, September 21, 1850. “United States, Famine Irish Passenger Index, 1846-1851”, , FamilySearch (https://www.familysearch.org/ark:/61903/1:1:KDXT-3NJ : Fri Feb 14 23:38:06 UTC 2025), Entry for John Fee, 21 Sep 1850.
And Mary arrived November 11, that year aboard the Princeton

[4] Likely the family made a stay in NY, perhaps with relatives for a spell, to get through some financial or health hardships.

[5] Enoch wed Emma Rogers Cowperthwait, July 24, 1917. Shortly after registering for the draft, earlier that month. Sadly, Emma passed away, November 24, that same year. Finding no other records, I presume he never remarried.

Sources/bibliography. Mostly old census data and newspapers. Also: Find A Grave. And found stuff on a few random sites, like Reddit threads, and even a couple of Facebook pages. Familysearch.org (LDS) has gobs of data, and it’s free, but Elizabeth Lee isn’t found in many places in the records. And they have not yet scanned all records. The Library of Congress, also free, has tons of newspapers (and other stuff), but filtering through them is not easy. Newspapers.com has easier searching tools, but not as many as the LoC and it’s quite expensive.

General family timeline and references
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1. Martha Fee born (Elizabeth’s Sister), March 24, 1857, parents John and Mary, [“New Jersey, Births and Christenings, 1660-1980”, , FamilySearch (https://familysearch.org/ark:/61903/1:1:FZQZ-R9Z : 18 January 2020), Martha Fee, 1857.]
2. Martha born 1858, per soc sec data
3. Fee and Bills families locations, US Census 1860 {no good access to 1870 census data yet}
4. Martha and Frank Bills locations, US Census 1880
5. Martha marries Frank Howard Bills, New Holly News
6. Enoch Franklin Bills born, July 23, 1882, various, FindAGrave
7. Sisters Martha and Elizabeth living with 3 kids in Bordentown, 1885 New Jersey census, Frank living as boarder in Trenton
8. 1890 census – sadly destroyed in the US Commerce Department building fire, 1896
9. Enoch Bills is a boarder in Brooklyn, NY, with occupation Architect/Drafter, 1905 New York state census
  Elizabeth Fee is living with sister Martha in Bordentown, NJ 1905 census
10. All together in Bordentown, still Frank is gone; Martha’s son William shows up (9), 1910 US Census
11. Elizabeth weds Albert Westbrook Lee, Feb 18, 1914, Mount Holly News
12. Albert W Lee passes away, July, 1915, Find a Grave and FamilySearch.org
13. Enoch registers for draft, July 23, 1917, US Draft Registration Records
14. Enoch weds Emma Rogers Cowperthwait, July 24, 1917, New Holly News
15. Emma Lee (nee Cowperthwait) passes away, November 24, 1917, New Holly News
16. Enoch selected for jury duty until end of December, December 10, 1917, New Holly News
17. All living together, even Frank is not missing, Occupations: Elizabeth, Cranberry Bog, Enoch, Manufacturing, Frank, Cranberries, US Census, 1930
18. Elizabeth, occupation Manufacturing/wholesale canning
19. Elizabeth passes away, 1942, Camden Morning Post
20. Enoch Franklin Bills passes away, February 21, 1966, US GeneologyBank Historical newspaper Obituaries

Elizabeth is an extremely enigmatic person. When I came across a very brief account of her success, I thought “here’s a great strong-woman essay just waiting to be written.” I thought this would be a simple essay/biopic, like many others. Get some facts, make her an interesting person, and pound it out.
No. In fact, there’s only one extant picture of her. Scarce details scattered in odd corners. Was she a tomboy? Did she face adversity? Yes, she married at a mature age, and her husband soon died. What else? Romances? Travels? Just about nothing.
The historical societies of New Egypt, NJ and Ocean County (where she rose to fame and fortune) had nothing except very, very top level info. They told me simply: “She was a very private person.”
Almost all info herein was mined from hundreds of records and newspapers of that era. Scads of internet sites, but they simply repeated the same meager info.
Stunning how much census records and official records like birth, marriage and death turned up completely empty on her. Even her maiden name and parents were very difficult to find.
Note: AI is not to be trusted in these situations. You’ll get poor info and blind alleys.
Nonetheless, I was able to scrape together just enough to complete this bio-essay. I’ve sent a shorter version of this – strictly bio, no humor, no Amerindians, no grandsons, no cranberries – to the Ocean County Historical Society.

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Death Announcement Camden Morning Post, sadly WordPress imports are lossy and I can’t figure out how to fix it.

She even cheated a bit on her gravestone, 1865, not 1864.

Found this in the Mount Holly News, February 24, 1914. Mount Holly is about 5 miles from Bordentown.

Wedding announcement, Mount Holly News

Elizabeth serving on National Security League

Mount Holly News, April 9, 1918. It is interesting that Rev Charles Malloy was also on the committee. He had married Elizabeth and Albert Lee just a few years before.

Biographical, Culture, Entertainment Industry, History, Strong Women

$64,000 Women

December 30, 2024 Joe

“That’s the $64,000 question!” This once-common expression, now used primarily by oldies (like me), was a response to a challenging query or conundrum. Its origins trace back to a wildly popular 1950s game show, The $64,000 Question, wherein contestants answered increasingly difficult questions, doubling their winnings with each correct answer. The ultimate reward? Of course, a grand prize of $64,000.

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Television game shows have been a standard component of American TV since its earliest days. The genre began with simple question-and-answer formats like Quiz Kids and Truth or Consequences, which included live studio excitement. The quiz show format hit a golden era in the ‘50s. Such shows grew popular, with their “reality” feel which showcased wits, knowledge and cash.

The $64,000 Question was enormously popular from the get-go. Starting at 10PM Eastern Time on Thursday nights, the following cultural statistics dropped dramitically on Thursday evenings: movie theater attendance, other shows’ ratings, crime, car crashes, and long-distance phone calls. Within a year sponsor Revlon had tripled its sales.

However, the genre faced a major hit from scandal when it was revealed that parts of some episodes were rigged. This led to a decline in popularity. The Revson brothers, Charles and Joseph, who had co-founded the Revlon cosmetics company that sponsored $64,000 became very involved in influencing production of the shows, especially Charles. Answers were sometimes provided a priori to some contestants deemed to have “audience appeal” … perhaps based on Nielson Ratings, which began in 1950.

The scandals led to congressional hearings, damage to all game show viewership, and strict regulations. ^[1]

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Joyce Diane Bauer – born in Brooklyn, NY, on October 29, 1927 – was the eldest of two daughters born to Jewish parents, both lawyers: Morris K. Bauer and Estelle Rapport. They had hoped for a boy – the name Joseph had been selected. “Joyce” would do. She was raised by her highly intelligent parents without any regard to her gender. With highly accomplished parents, and libraries of books and literature in the house, the expectation of high achievement was implicit: tacit, yet plain to perceive.

Joyce grew up not merely highly intelligent, but ambitious and blessed with a knack for psychology. At 14 or 15 she founded and ran her own ballet school; the first few months were free of charge. Then they would pay to continue. Young Joyce would spin stories through those months, dropping a bit of the plot at each session. At the end of the free-trial the stories had reached such a point of excitement that they encouraged students to continue … and pay tuition.

She graduated high school shortly after turning 16, then earned degrees at Cornell and Columbia: double BS degrees in Economics and Psychology at Cornell, then a MA and a PhD in Psychology at Columbia.

At 21 years-old Joyce Bauer married a young 23-year newly-minted doctor with a very modest income, as he toiled through his internship. She’d be married to Milton Brothers MD for 40 years, until his passing from cancer.

When a daughter, Lisa, arrived in 1957 they were again somewhat financially pressed. Game shows with cash awards were popular, so, she took a swing at landing on $64,000 Question.

Dr Joyce Brothers, America’s psychologist

Clearly bright, with a calm, cheery demeanor, she was selected to compete after rounds of interviews and scoring 100% on a timed, 50 question test of broad general knowledge.

There was one question per week after reaching $4,000 in a single show (or perhaps two shows). ^[2] Winnings doubled each week, or they could bail with what they had (like Who wants to be a Millionaire). If they succeeded at $4,000, then that amount was guaranteed until their run ended (also like Millionaire), limiting the risk of attempting difficult questions.

In screening, contestants were required to list subject areas in which they were knowledgeable in a questionnaire. She listed psychology and home economics. Per game rules, these would be avoided. Charles Revson, co-founder of Revlon which sponsored the show, often meddled in the show’s production. If he didn’t like a contestant, he pushed for tougher questions. Joyce should get sports. Not any sport. Pick a sport not in the news every day, every week. Boxing.

Her husband, Dr Brothers, however, was a boxing fan. She thought boxing would fine. It was agreed.

Joyce was essentially totally ignorant of boxing. A complete blank.

She spent the three months before her appearance studying every possible aspect of the pugnacious sport. She had access to 20 volumes of boxing history, and her husband’s years of “The Ring” magazine.

She memorized it all. ALL. The rules. The competitors. The champions. The challengers. The knockouts, the TKOs, the judges’ decisions. The locations and dates and result of all important matches. Joyce could digest and retain mountains of facts.

Joyce zoomed easily to the $16,000 level. Charles Revson did not like her. He wanted her eliminated. A boxing historian and expert, Nat Fleischer, was recruited to devise the questions for this round. ^[3] She was given four questions, each requiring her to name the referees of four famous boxing matches. No one — No one — expected her to get even one correct, let alone ALL four. She did. Start about 12:05 here; https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WqhxN9a8OCg.

When she won the $64,000 grand prize on October 27, 1957, giving the final correct answer to the question (of three that day) “What is Sugar Ray Robinson’s record as a professional?”, she become quite famous.

The show had recently expanded its top award to $128K. So, after winning the title amount, she returned and did indeed attain the $128,000 maximum winnings.

Dr Joyce Brothers parlayed all of this into an extraordinary career, including, most prominently, as the nation’s de facto national psychologist.

She wrote and was consulted for decades on psychology for all sorts of things. She wrote columns. 40 years for Good Housekeeping, and about the same for her syndicated column, which was carried by 300 newspapers. She wrote several books. She was on TV often, sharing advice for all, including nearly 100 appearances with Johnny Carson on the Tonight Show, with whom she developed a warm friendship. From the Today Show, to Good Morning America and even Conan, she appeared in many popular shows, offering her well-reasoned, practical and informed advice.

She also hosted more than a few TV shows herself, The Dr. Joyce Brothers Show, Consult Dr. Brothers, Tell Me, Dr. Brothers, Ask Dr. Brothers, and Living Easy with Dr. Joyce Brothers. Here she covered a wide range of topics, such as looking at the future of American football, and the psychology of: football, women’s ever-changing clothing styles, HIV & AIDS, and the rise of school shootings. She made psychology interesting and available.

In one on-air live episode she helped a depressed caller avoid suicide by engaging him for 30-minutes until help arrived.

Sugar Ray Robinson, the best boxer of all time

In March, 1958 she was, famously, the first female on-air broadcaster for a boxing match. Working for CBS, she contributed color commentary in a big show-down between Carmen Basilio II and Sugar Ray Robinson at Chicago Stadium. It was highly watched, a brutal 15-round battle, as Sugar Ray re-gained the Middleweight crown Basilo, who had taken it from him the year before. Her esteem rose even higher. ^[4]

Coincidentally (ironically?) her $64,000 answer had been about Robinson.

It would be far too lengthy to touch on all of her remarkable achievements.

Dr Joyce Bauer Brothers outlasted her husband by 24 years, passing in 2013, age 85.

“Love comes when manipulation stops and you think more about the other person than about his or her reactions to you.”
― Dr. Joyce Brothers

______________________________________________________

Barbara Anne Hall was born, in Butler, western Pennsylvania on March 12, 1933, also the eldest of two daughters, to Jack and Dorothy Hall.

Raised in nearby Bethel Hill, a few minutes south of Pittsburgh, Barbara took an early liking to the arts in general, and acting in particular. Her parents were totally supportive. She studied briefly at Pittsburgh Playhouse and later earned a degree at Carnegie Institute of Technology in drama.

She was working as a show-girl in a short-lived revival of the Ziegfeld Follies at the Winter Garden Theater when she and fellow show-girls applied to be on $64,000.

She had previously performed at the very high end night club Copacabana, where she danced with many famous personalities. Even today she says that dancing with Fred Astaire is one of the brightest highlights of her life. The Ziegfeld Follies productions also had her appear with famous stars of that era. ^[5]

Barbara also scored 100% on the general knowledge test. Perky, clearly bright, engaging, and possessing a stage-presence, she was accepted to appear as a contestant, also in 1957. Even though, with common gender stereotyping of the era, many of the staff were skeptical of a show-girl’s intelligence.

[I suspect that she and the others were actually approached by $64,000 to compete … all of the Ziegfeld ladies were attractive with stage presence.]

She was given difficult topics to choose from; she agreed to Shakespeare. Although she’d studied drama, the bard from Stratford-upon-Avon was not at all in her wheelhouse. Drama is a wide field; Shakespeare is both very wide and very deep. She spent months studying the creations and life of the greatest Elizabethan writer.

The brilliant Barbara Hall, of course, won the Grand Prize. She provided the final $64,000 correct answer on June 25, 1957 (coincidentally my parents’ 2^nd anniversary … wonder if they watched as I slept?) — just as the Follies Revival ended, forever, as it turns out.

Trivia: Ed Sullivan was an on-and-off guest host that summer – the regular host, Ed March, was off shooting a movie – and it was Sullivan who asked Barbara Hall the $64K questions.

As $128K was now the top prize, she returned the following week, earning another $32,000. However, she missed the next week for another $32K. Nonetheless, $96,000 was an awful lot of money in 1957.

This greatly eased her financial situation. This might have partially led to her marriage to Lucien Verdoux-Feldon in 1958, a freelance photographer in portraits, often associated with shows and show personalities. Details are scant, but he was likely shooting at the Copa, Winter Garden, and/or the $64,000 studio.

Like all winners, Barbara became quite famous, and as an attractive lady, this suggested a boost to her hoped for acting career. But it took awhile.

Minor modeling assignments, and one-off bit parts in several TV serials, including Flipper, Man from U.N.C.L.E, and 12 O’clock High kept her career alive, but not really thriving.

As an advertising model, she made quite an impression in the 1960s with a TV ad for Top Brass men’s hair products. Stretched out casually and seductively on a tiger skin, pitching with a Kathleen Turner-type sexy voice, she got a lot of attention. This time, some big-time attention.

Spotted by scouts for a new TV comedy, she was cast in her career’s most iconic role as Agent 99 (no name ever given to her character) on the comedy spy show Get Smart, created by the teamwork of the brilliant Mel Brooks and Buck Henry.

The show ran from 1965-1970, opening in September, 1965 immediately after the inaugural show of I Dream of Jeannie. I’m not sure she ever really she escaped the typecast of Agent-99 on a goofy spy show: the smart, svelte and stylish female co-star in a show otherwise full of nitwits and half-wits. Well, she was always smart and stylish, everywhere she went. ^[6]

She went on to appear in many TV shows and movies, including numerous appearances on popular comedy variety shows like The Dean Martin Show, The Carol Burnett Show, and even Rowen and Martin’s Laugh-In. And, coming full circle, The Ed Sullivan Show.

She also won two Emmys for her performances in Get Smart. In a sort of reunion of note, Barbara Feldon co-starred with Jeannie’s Barbara Eden (the “genie” in Jeannie) in the quirky rom-coms A House Is Not a Home (1964), and The Lonely Guy (1984). I’d say both were rather typecast, as they played, again, the smart, good looking, sensible women who provided wisdom and calmness in humorous chaotic scenes.

Long cherished by all who saw her perform, now age 91, her life is quiet, very personal, with some writings. She stopped film appearances in 2006, ending with the mystery-comedy Last Request.

______________________________

Barbara’s husband, Lucien, turned out to be an abusive alcoholic. That marriage ended after 12 childless years. She had a 12-year relationship soon thereafter with Burt (aka Cary) Nodella, 9 years her elder, who produced 47 episodes of Get Smart.

“There’s not a day when somebody doesn’t smile and say, ‘Oh, you’re Agent 99!’ I like being in a world that regards me in a friendly way.” — Barbara Feldon, interview with Toby Kahn, 1983.

Barbara Anne Hall Feldon and Joyce Diane Bauer Brothers – two highly intelligent, beloved, revered, respected and successful women who share a remarkable coincidence: winners of the $64,000 grand prize (roughly $700,000 today). In the end, Hall-Feldon at $96,000 and Brothers at $128,000 … that’s over a million bucks equivalent in today’s dollars, each.

______________________________________

Overall, there were only 11 top winners in the 4 years that $64,000 ran (1955-58, inclusive), and only 3 were women (Dot McCullock was the 3^rd). Several of these 11 were tarnished by the scandal, later admitting to investigators and congress that they’d been provided some answers a priori. Both Brothers and Feldon vehemently denied being involved (Brothers breaking down in tears during questioning); producers later verified their innocence in testimony.

These two women were the first to win such a substantial amount on national television, making them trailblazers in a time when quiz shows were dominated by male contestants and hosts.

The $64,000 show was terminated in November, 1958; the other Revlon sponsored show, the more scandalous Twenty-One, sponsored by Geritol (by Pharmaceuticals, Inc), was canceled a month earlier.

Thank you for reading. As always, you can add yourself to the notification list for newly published material by clicking here . Or emailing joe@girardmeister.com

Footnotes:

[1] A smaller part of the scandal was that contestants were coached on how to act and give answers so as to heighten the drama. Brothers and Hall-Feldon both admitted to receiving this coaching, although Hall-Feldon, as a performer in both drama and stage shows, probably needed much less.

[2] My research suggests that contestants answered six questions valued at $64, $128, $256, $512, $1,000 and $2,000 before advancing to the “one question per week” levels, beginning at $4,000

[3] Fleischer was the editor in chief of The Ring magazine.

[4] Robinson was also, earlier, world champion at the Welterweight level. He’s often referred to as the greatest boxer of all time.

[5] Ziegfeld Follies: https://www.encyclopedia.com/history/culture-magazines/ziegfeld-follies
[5a] Winter Garden Theater was a very high-end theater in the center of NYC’s Broadway theater district. For example, Roberts’ and Berstein’s forever famous West Side Story opened there that year, 1957.

[6] I Dream of Jeannie became famous for allowing, for the first time ever, a woman’s navel to be shown (regularly) on TV. Eden’s eye-catching beauty, curvaceous figure, exposed belly button, and penchant for addressing the lead male character, Anthony Nelson, as “Master” probably did a lot to draw males into the audience of this otherwise ridiculous show.

Non-footnoted notes:

In another coincidence, Dr Brothers was also a frequent guest on The Ed Sullivan Show. Probably, more often than Feldon.
The Revsons were co-founders of Revlon with chemist Charles Lachman. So, the name Revlon, with an “L” for Lachman instead of “S” was a nod to his participation. Charles was largely the businessman in the group, with Joseph (and later another brother Martin) and Lachman focusing on product development and manufacturing. Perhaps not coincidently, all were Jewish.Sponsoring both Twenty-One and $64,000 was considered a gamble. The ultimate goal, of course, was to sell cosmetics. There was concern that black and white broadcasting would not deliver the desired result. Charles Revson, the more business-oriented of the team, took the chance.
As both Brothers and Hall (Feldon) appeared in mid-1957, I am presuming that this was a conscious attempt to attract and appease audiences. Bright women appearing, often doing well, especially nice-looking, would increase attention from both genders.
https://news.cornell.edu/stories/2013/05/dr-joyce-brothers-47-dies-age-85
Geritol/Pharmaceuticals was also investigated for faulty advertising claims in 1957-58

Feldon, as 99, on set for Get Smart, not gonna get any success holding a pistol that way. Probably hurt yourself. Maybe that was the point. ‘Twas a supremely goofy show.

Feldon, 1970s

Feldon ’60s glamor shot

Biographical, Culture, Edwardian/Pre-War, History, Strong Women

Sharpest Lady Ever

September 22, 2024 Joe

Guest Essay from Tara Ross, reprinted with permission

Annie as young adult

[August 13] 1860, the woman known as Annie Oakley is born. That wasn’t her real name, of course. The famous sharpshooter’s name at birth was Phoebe Ann Mosey.

Annie was nothing if not talented. “At 30 paces she could split a playing card held edge-on,” one commentator notes, “she hit dimes tossed into the air, she shot cigarettes from her husband’s lips, and, a playing card being thrown into the air, she riddled it before it touched the ground.”

She could even fire over her shoulder, using only a hand-held mirror.

Nevertheless, there was more to Annie than sharpshooting. “The incredible woman who called herself Annie Oakley,” her biographer writes, “overcame poverty, prejudice, physical setbacks, and her own inner shyness to become a star shooter and a durable legend.”

Promo in Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show. Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=605409

Trouble began early. Annie’s father passed away unexpectedly, leaving his wife behind with seven children under the age of 15. [Note: she was the 5^th] The family was barely getting by before. Now it was worse.

Annie must have been tough. At age 6, she was already helping to put food on the dinner table: She began by setting traps for small game, but then she moved on to using her father’s rifle. He’d taught her to shoot game through the head, leaving most of the meat untouched. She got it done.

Her efforts helped, but it still wasn’t enough. Annie was sent to Darke County Infirmary, where she earned money sewing or patching inmates’ clothing. Then matters took a turn for the worse.

_________________________________________________________________________

A man arrived one day, claiming that his wife needed help watching an infant. Would Annie do it? He promised 50 cents a week, plus time to go to school.

Annie later called him a wolf in sheep’s clothing. “I was held a prisoner,” she said of this time. “They would not let me go.” Annie worked in harsh conditions. Once, she was forced out into the snow because she fell asleep while darning socks. “I was slowly freezing to death,” Annie recalled. “So I got down on my little knees, looked toward God’s clear sky, and tried to pray. But my lips were frozen stiff and there was no sound.”

She barely survived.

Annie hung on, believing that her mother was receiving her 50 cent salary. She lasted for nearly two years before she ran away.

Annie was loved at home, but she was still an extra mouth to feed. Thus, she was soon back at the infirmary. She worked hard, but she was also happier than she’d been in a while. She’d escaped the “wolf” family. She was finally learning to read and write—and she even earned a raise. But her homesickness couldn’t be kept at bay. She decided to return and help her mother “build a little home.” She invested in traps, powder, and shot. She began trapping and shooting small game.

Annie late 1880s

She was quite good at it. Not only was she able to supply her mother’s dinner table with food, but she also had enough left over to supply a local shopkeeper. Annie’s business thrived, and she saved enough to pay off her mother’s mortgage. “Oh, how my heart leaped with joy,” Annie later remembered.

Little did Annie know it, but her life was about to change—again. The exact date is disputed, but at about age 15, Annie appeared in a shooting match with Frank Butler, an accomplished shooter who sometimes offered a challenge to local champions.

Annie won, of course. She hit 25 targets to Frank’s 24, which earned her a $50 prize. More importantly, she’d met the man who would become her husband and her future partner in Buffalo Bill’s Wild West show.

Naturally, the story of Annie Oakley’s rise to fame is a story for another day. 😉

Tara Ross © 2024
Read other history posts by Tara Ross: https://www.taraross.com/blog
She is a font of interesting history

Editor’s notes: Add’l text and images. First image from Tara Ross’ website.

She was born in rural Ohio, near the Indiana state line. There is a stone plaque mounted there. Her grave site and a marker can be found at https://tinyurl.com/googlocator [40.31790873573885, -84.4723223225884 ]

She was badly injured while traveling in a Wild West Show train in a head-on collision in October 1901. Asleep at the time, she was dumped into a swamp and presumed dead for a while. Her injuries included partial paralysis [mostly healed after FIVE spinal surgeries]. She retired from the Wild West Show, but later returned to competition and demonstrations. And continued to set records and amaze.

She spent these latter decades promoting women’s rights, the use of women in active military and gun training for women – believing strongly that women should have full access to personal protection and safety.

She and Frank were childless. Some presume this was due a childhood or young adult illness; others suggest it was due to their dedication to her career. Nonetheless, no descendants.

Her ashes are interred alongside her husband’s (Frank Butler) in rural western Ohio. Some 16 miles north of Greenville near Versailles, in Brock Cemetery. [map: Brock Cemetery]

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Some plaques.

Roadside marker; https://maps.app.goo.gl/iwGNf5eBccJcdDw17

Biographical, History, Strong Women

Baptise: a Life

July 26, 2024 Joe

Named for the great Corps of Discovery explorer William Clark, the Clark Fork finds its headwaters on the western slopes and canyons of the Beartooth Mountains in southcentral Montana, near the Wyoming border. It’s soon winding through a gently sloped high valley – so curvy that it has left Horseshoe lakes over the millennia. On its generally northwest course, the Clark soon levels out and forms the fertile (for the west) Clark Fork Valley.

The Fork wanders well over 300 miles from its furthest headwaters, reaching its terminus at a natural glacially formed lake: Lake Pend Orielle, in northern Idaho. That lake, in turn, via the river of the same name, ventures barely into British Columbia before joining the mighty Columbia, which drains into the Pacific Ocean.

On the “other side of the mountains” are Yellowstone River feeders, such as the Clark Fork of the Yellowstone, not to be confused with Clark Fork, which is our topic here. These waters eventually reach the Gulf of Mexico via the Missouri and Mississippi.

Along the Clark Fork lie cities, like Missoula, and many smaller communities in Granite County, like Drummond (pop 200ish) – and the wee hamlet of Gold Creek.

William Clark

Drummond was not a real settlement until 1883, when the Northern Pacific Railroad arrived. [Incidentally, it is also where the last spike on that line was hammered in].

The location of tiny Gold Creek had appeared a few decades before, around 1850. A fur trapper had noted the prospects presented by a crisp creek meeting the Clark Fork at that locale. He found a few gold nuggets in the creek, but probably not enough to be profitable, for him, a lone trapper far from civilization. His business was fur trapping. In 1858 two brothers, James and Granville Stuart – failures in the earlier California Gold Rush – were making their way east when Granville fell ill. Too ill to make it over the mountains. They settled near the confluence of the creek and the Fork, … and started looking for gold; they found it.

By the time they had the time and equipment to build an operation, it was clear that there was money to be made here.

[Hence the name of the settlement and the creek: Gold Creek.]

In 1862 the Montana Gold Rush was on. And it affected the entire area. Enormous amounts of wealth were acquired during the rush, which lasted until 1869. As in California before, and the Yukon three decades later, much of wealth was acquired by outfitters, provision suppliers, saloons, and … probably … brothel madams.

___________________________________________________________________________

Baptiste (also sometimes Jean Baptiste and “Pomp” as a child) was ready for another adventure. In the early spring of 1866, at the age of 61, he set off from Auburn, CA for the newly found gold deposit regions, one-thousand miles away.

Nearby, in southern Idaho, similar events were unfolding. Historians prefer the Montana as Baptiste’s destination, but Idaho was certainly a possibility. Baptiste had passed through this Montana region many times, his first as an infant, when he was a mere 15 months old. He felt called to return.

He’d already enjoyed and survived one of the most adventure-filled and exciting lives in American history. Yet, he left his life of relative luxury (he’d done very well in the California gold rush) and headed north for one more adventure.

Traveling often by stagecoach – across Danner Pass, then into the parched desolation of Nevada and eastern Oregon – he and his travelmates were at about halfway on their journey, when they came to the Owyhee River; in the harsh desert, it provided a sort of Oasis. [Near modern-day Rome, OR].

It’s quite likely that the 61-year-old Baptiste spent much of the journey on horseback, as he had served on and off for decades as a guide and scout in the US west. If so, he would have dismounted to guide coaches and others across the river.

During the river crossing, there was some sort of serious accident. Descriptions are vague. Baptiste was pitched into the waters — still roaring and chilly from the spring runoff of the western Idaho and northern Nevada mountains.

There are no official accounts. It seems Baptiste was in the water for quite some time, perhaps getting hypothermia. He also caught a cold. It soon worsened.

Weakened and feverish, he was transported some 30 miles east to the now nearly-a-ghost-town of Danner, OR. There lay Inskip Station. The area and station served as a support town for migrants on the Oregon Trail – with provisions, lodging and perhaps a modicum of health care: probably mostly lotions and potions. Surely no doctors.

There in Danner, on May 21, 1866, after days of delirium and suffering, our famous explorer and adventurer, passed on. How famous? Well, his image is on a US coin.
__________________________________________________________________

From here, I guess, it would best to go back the beginning. As Maria von Trapp said in the Sound of Music: Let’s start at the very beginning; a very good place to start.

Jean Baptiste “Pomp” arrived on February 11, 1805 in modern day North Dakota, along the Missouri River. His father, Toussaint Charbonneau was a French-Canadian fur trapper. His mother, Sacagawea, was a young native lass of about 16 years in age, and one of Charbonneau’s wives.

She’s of course well-known as one of the most important explorers in American history. She herself is more than worthy of an in-depth Bio; a bio that would fit into my “strong-woman” collection.

Here I’ll only note that, although a member of the Hidatsa Tribe, related in culture and to other northern plains tribes like the Crow and the Lakota, Sacagawea was actually Shoshone. She’d been kidnapped by the Hidasa about 4 years before. Kidnappings and such were common: beyond the need for domestic servants this was also a means of maintaining genetic diversity. The Shoshone, at the time, had settled along upper tributaries of the Snake River, across the Great Divide, after getting chased around by other tribes and Europeans further east.

The Hidatsa had come through and settled the upper Missouri after coming in contact with the Mandan tribe there. The Mandans had been there for a few decades before the Hidatsa. This after also getting chased around by tribes and whites – and getting nearly wiped out by smallpox.

Lewis and Clark’s corps of Discovery wintered near the Mandan-Hidatsa settlements, in 1804-05, on their way to the Pacific. All-in-all they were welcomed, well-treated – and helped – by the tribes. The fur trapper Toussaint was recruited to serve as a guide and translator – most of the northern plains’ languages were related. Accompanying him would be his wife Sacagawea – now in her late third-term pregnancy.

The delivery, her first, was difficult. She was given fragments of rattle-snake rattle to ease the delivery. It was the evening of Monday, February 11, 1805.

Spring 1805. It had been a cold and harsh winter. Winds had swept down from the Arctic, across the wide open swaths of land and lakes of what would be central Canada. Finally, the ice on the mighty Missouri cracked. Then the river began thawing and flowing. On April 7, 1805 the Corps of Discovery set out, going upstream on the Missouri. The papoose-borne Jean Baptiste (now going by Pomp or Pompey, an affectionate nickname given by Clark) joined America’s most famous expedition at a mere 55 days old.

Sacagawea’s contributions were extremely important — on at least two occasions she saved the expedition. She is memorialized on the same one dollar coin as her son, a coin that bears her name.

Upon their return from the long trip to the Pacific Ocean, arriving at the Mandan/Hitasa village, Sacagawea and Charbonneau settled briefly there in the Dakotas. ^[1]

Clark settled in Saint Louis, the capital of Upper Louisiana, to serve as general of the militia and the federal Indian Agent for western tribes, appointments from President Jefferson.

From the boy’s birth Clark was very fond of young Pomp. He had offered to educate the boy.

Around 1807-08 Sacagawea and Charboneau traveled to St Louis, staying with Clark, and taking him up on the offer to educate their son. They left Pomp there and returned to the northern plains. They returned briefly in 1809, again at Clark’s invitation, to try farming. But it didn’t take. They returned to the northern plains.

Toussaint and Sacagawea had one more child, Lisette, in 1812. This was again very difficult for Sacagawea. Her death followed soon after.

Clark adopted both Pomp and Lisette. They received the finest education at the Jesuit-staffed St Louis Academy. There, with Clark’s home tutelage, Pomp developed what was described as a “pleasant character.” He was noted as a very good speaker and writer of fine penmanship. He began learning English and French (which was still the main language there). He also learned some German and Spanish. Of course, he was well on his way with the tongues of the plains tribes. ^[2]

Clark had a substantial private natural and history museum on his property. Besides encouraging Pomp’s natural curiosity, it provided much opportunity for his further learning.

On June 21, 1823, Pomp, now going by Baptiste, was working at a trading post near Kansas City (Kansas). The Duke of Württemburg (Friedrich Paul Wilhelm) passed through there on a Natural History tour of the American plains (Toussaint was the guide). He was so impressed with the young man that, later in October, he offered to take him back to what would become Germany. They left from St Louis that December.

He remained with the Duke for six years, residing, except for travels, in the exquisitely lavish Ludwigsburg Palace. [Ludwig is the German equivalent of Louis]

Ludwigsburg Palace

It really is impressive. My wife and I gave ourselves a mini-tour of the grounds years ago. It’s just one main train stop north of Stuttgart.

Exactly what he did there for 6 years remains somewhat shrouded, floating in history’s mists. It is known that he vastly improved his German. He also improved his grasp of English, French and Spanish. Accounts say he was fluent in them. This could be the result of the Duke taking him on his many European travels. Gifted in languages, he might well have assisted the Duke in translations.

He was likely a largely well-treated servant who, simultaneously, received some education. It was common in those days for the wealthy and the nobility to acquire such far-off peoples as “trophies” to be on staff – which would impress their peers. As a trusted servant, the Duke also took him on travels in Northern Africa, as well as throughout much of Europe.

Baptiste had a romance in Ludwigsburg, fathering a son: Anton. Sadly, he perished aged only three months.

Baptise returned to the US in 1829 and began a most adventurous 30+ year western life. Fur trapper, guide, hunter (among others, he was the hunter for Bents Fort), mountain man (he attended rendezvous’). He hung out with famous western Americans including Jim Bridger and John Fremont.

He was a leader, under General Cooke, in the “Mormon Battalion” which built the first continuous road through the rugged and largely unknown southwest from Santa Fe to LA and San Diego. Their mission: deliver 20 wagons of military provisions for garrisons in southern CA. It was over 1,000 miles long. [Originally called Cooke’s Wagon Road, much of it became the path of famous Route 66].

During the Mexican-American War he served as scout to General Kearny across the near- and far-West. His familiarity with tribal languages, as well as terrain, was a huge benefit.

In 1847 he was appointed Alcalde of Mission San Luis Rey de Francia, California. As such he served as mayor, sheriff and magistrate. While serving as Alcade in California Jean Baptiste Charbonneau fathered a daughter. Her mother was a 23-year-old local Luiseño Native American named Margarita Sobin. Their child, Maria Catarina Charguana, arrived May 4, 1848. Maria has descendants from her marriage to a Trujillo, but they seem to have also disappeared into the mist. My research shows that she may also have carried the name Meyer for a period.

1848, the western foothills of California’s Sierra Nevada range. John Sutter wished to build a sawmill on the banks of the South Fork of the American River – a promising looking financial endeavor. The hills and mountains were rich in timber, including Ponderosa Pine, Foxtail Pine, Doug Fir and Black Oak.

Mills of the day required waterpower, which often involved building small dams and/or flow diversion to achieve greater descent in water “falls”, increasing the power available for the mill. Sutter partnered with James Marshall, a carpenter from New Jersey, who led this work. In January 1848 Marshall found flecks of gold in the riverbed while excavating. Was there more? Yes. Word of gold in California spread, first slowly, across the west, then the entire US. Then, like an internet virus, around the world.

Commemorating the 49ers

Charbonneau heard of this quite early. Already relatively well-off, and intrigued by the news, he resigned his Alcade post, and set off in August of 1848 from St Luis, when his daughter was only a few months old, to the south Fork region. The Great California Gold Rush was on. Charbonneau was among the very first “49-ers.”

He soon joined forces with three others to form a “gold team.” The group staked a claim to a likely piece of land. It turned out to be easily mined (shallow) and provided a fortune of no small consequence for them all. The others took their fortunes elsewhere. Baptiste remained in the area, extracting gold for another 16 years, long after the gold team broke up. By local accounts this was quite lucrative, and he was well off.

While there he also worked as the manager of nearby Auburn’s Orleans Hotel. The hotel’s business began to dry up as the gold harvests waned. So did his own gold profits.

During this era, he also served as Placer County Surveyor, a job necessary to resolve claim disputes. So, he was also a man of technology.

By the 1860s many miners, like the Stuart brothers above, were giving up on the area; they either returned home or headed off to Montana or other gold rushes of the ‘60s. Jean Baptiste Charbonneau, as a lifelong wanderer and adventurer, really had no home to return to. He followed the new gold rush and sought a return to the lands he had traversed for decades, going back to his infancy.
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Jean Baptiste (Pomp, Pompey) Charbonneau was buried near the location of his final breath, alongside the site of the now long gone Inskip Station. His grave is listed on the National Register of Historic Places. You can find it in the desolate expanses of far eastern Oregon, just outside Danner – the unincorporated near-ghost town.

Baptiste Charbonnequ tomb

The plaque reads: “This site marks the final resting place of the youngest member of the Lewis and Clark Expedition. Born to Sacagawea and Toussaint Charbonneau at Fort Mandan (North Dakota), on February 11, 1805, Baptiste and his mother symbolized the peaceful nature of the “Corps of Discovery”. Educated by Captain William Clark at St. Louis, Baptiste, at 18, traveled to Europe where he spent six years becoming fluent in English, German, French, and Spanish. Returning to America in 1829, he ranged the Far West for nearly four decades as a mountain man guide, interpreter, magistrate, and Forty-Niner. In 1866, he left the California gold fields for a new strike in Montana, contracted pneumonia en route, reached “Inskips Ranche”, here, and died on May 16, 1866.”

Thank you for reading. As always, you can add yourself to the notification list for newly published material by clicking here . Or emailing joe@girardmeister.com

Sacagawea and Pomp Charbonneau on the dollar coin

Author note: More than a few historians say that his life was more boring than adventurous. I disagree. His life seems anything but tedious, and everything like venturesome. Many times he traversed the wide and wild expanses of the American West – on foot, on horse and via wagon. He spent 6 years in Germany; using it as a hub to see most of Europe. He learned many languages, of whites and native Americans. He sought his fortune, found it, and, although wealthy, set out for more – and repeated this once more. This was a full life. And surely there have been very few as full, as venturesome or as rich with experience. Peruse the links below or search yourself. I don’t think I have shared even half of his story.

Some sources, not all
Jean Baptiste Charbonneau, “Pomp” | Sacagawea (sacagawea-biography.org)
https://www.oregonencyclopedia.org/articles/charbonneau_jean_baptiste/

https://lewis-clark.org/people/jean-baptiste-charbonneau/jean-baptiste-in-frontier-west/

Short bio video: https://youtu.be/6dpZdWktl0c

[1] Even a casual history enthusiast must add Steven Ambrose’s Undaunted Courage to their reading list.

[2] St Louis was still a largely French-speaking city. Many Germans had also settled there (it became a prolific brew town).

Biographical, Culture, Entertainment Industry, History, Music, Strong Women

Stories of a Ballad

June 12, 2024 Joe

Ballads tell stories. Often there are stories behind such stories.

Most boomers and the older among us will quickly recognize this 1971 song. It’s a narrative ballad, exposing a cycle of despair, hypocrisy, ostracism, and the shady underbelly of society. But it’s so-o-o well done. Many can still sing it today. If you haven’t heard it in a while, or ever, here’s the studio version (sorry if it becomes an earworm): Gypsys Tramps & Thieves.

I surmise that all such people can identify the young, talented and enchanting 24-year-old woman who performed it. The song itself is widely regarded as her signature song (although, later in her career, she made little secret of her contempt for it, singing it live only with lexical excisions).

Whatever the version, it begins eerily. And briskly – at 171 beats per minute, brisk for any ballad The original studio version begins with a few bars of mystical, even whimsical, sounding strings: a synthesizer emulating a sort of folksy fiddle, a bit harpsichord-ish, with a snare jumping in to emphasize the pace, and what sounds – to me – like some tambourines joining. A good job of setting the mood for a “Travelin’ Show.”
The bulk of the song is set in A-minor. ^[7] Minor keys are often used to set a mood of sadness. That mood is appropriate.

Cher and others have recorded several versions. Herein, I refer to Cher’s original studio recording.

          BPM: Compare to some ballads of that era like
     Bonnie and Clyde (106 bpm, George Fame)
     If You Could Read My Mind (123 bpm, Lightfoot)
     She’s Gone (139, Hall & Oates) and
     Ode to Billy Joe (120, Bobbie Gentry) <link in song name to song review>

___________________________________________________________________

Cherilyn Sarkisian was born in El Centro ^[1], California on May 20, 1946. Her parents were young – around 20. Her father, John Sarkisian, of full Armenian ancestry (the -ian surname ending is a giveaway clue), worked as a truck driver. Her mother Georgia (born Georgia Crouch), only briefly married to John, was of English and German ancestry – lore has it she even had a splash of Cherokee descent. Thus, Cherilyn’s beguiling skin tone: a sense of the exotic. but something you can’t quite identify.

Georgia herself was born to a 13-yeal old mother in rural Kensett, Arkansas in 1926; and her mom was married young and several times, part a life of poverty and constant moving.

Cherilyn was 10 months old when her parents split. Her dad had serious drinking and gambling problems. Her mom, Georgia, a woman of high energy and curiosity, had many interests. She’d won contests of beauty and talent since she was a child. She was also a capable singer and song writer. Her dad had taught her music: singing and piano. How they ended up in El Centro is anyone’s guess. I found no reason. ^[5]

Georgia took Cherilyn away from the somewhat famous town of El Centro [at ~40 feet below sea level, probably the lowest elevation of any US city over 1,000 inhabitants; site of the first well measured earthquake, (1940) ]. They settled in Los Angeles, some 200 miles northwest of El Centro.

There Georgia worked on her own music and acting career while working various part time jobs. Through several of her mom’s failed marriages Cherilyn was moved across California and the southwest. She spent long periods in an orphanage when her mom was too ill, too broke, or too busy to care for her. Many times, she spent long periods with her maternal grandparents, who substantially raised her. These were difficult times for the young family, often close to destitution.

In 1961 it’s back to SoCal where Georgia wed Gilbert LaPierre. He adopted 15-year-old Cherilyn, and her younger half-sister, Georgann. Now going legally as Cheryl LaPiere, the girl now had the financial support to attend a private school, Montclair College Preparatory School. Here, she really took to performing – both acting and music. She was, in the words of all who knew her then, exceptional.

[LaPiere was Georgia’s 4^th marriage. Cher’s half-sister Georgann, 5 years younger, was born to Georgia and her 3^rd husband, John Southall. Georgann was also adopted by LaPiere. Georgia wed 7 times in all, to six different men, re-marrying Sarkasian for a cup of coffee in 1964].

______________________________________________

The 1^st verse is a rich opening.

I was born in the wagon of a travelin’ show
My mama used to dance for the money they’d throw
Papa would do whatever he could
Preach a little gospel
Sell a couple bottles of Doctor Good

Travelin’ show. In line number one we’re told of a “Travelin’ Show.” This confirmation suggested by the title informs that we are to hear of a roaming “gypsies.”

Now referred to as Travelers, Romani or Roma, they usually drifted around, from place-to-place where they were generally neither welcomed nor appreciated, trying to eke out a living on whatever they could acquire – legally, or, if necessary, not. Many still do. [The term “gypsy” is now regarded as pejorative, and has been for quite a few decades. I’ll try to use this term only in the context of the song itself.]

With the synthesized show-fiddle, perhaps some harpsichord, accordion, and a calliope-like sound sprinkled in, we get the feeling of a show, … a traveling road show.

Mama danced, almost certainly exhibiting increasing exotic sexuality and progressing states of deshabille as the dance proceeds, thus coaxing the men to throw coins at her in lusty appreciation. Kinda yuck.

Preach a little Gospel. Travelers were adept at picking up local cultures, such as how to give a good fire-and-brimstone sermon in the deep south. Christian missionaries were active among the Romani, particularly in the US – and especially so in the south – hence they developed a sufficient grasp of how to implement that form of communication.

Doctor Good. Probably a variation of a mostly traditional cultural “homemade” Roma medicine of various ingredients. Some of which, if not all, probably had health benefit. Roma were known to use Juniper berries. Horrible tasting, they often rubbed it on their gums. This helped manage scurvy, both as prophylactic and as treatment, and generally keeping their mouths healthy.

As a “medicine” to non-Roma it was probably this juniper juice mixed with Gypsy Juice … and a good dose of distilled liquor. Easy enough to make. The horrible tastes (juniper + un-aged/un-barreled spirits) sort of canceled out, especially when mixed with ingredients like pureed spinach, celery, carrot, fruit juices, and honey.

Sometimes juices from soaking chopped garlic cloves in white vinegar were added. Possible further additions were sage, lemon zest, rose petals, calendula, rosemary … whatever was available and generally healthy, or at least benign. This mixing of ingredients had the “benefit” of making the “medicine” taste different from place to place, among various Roma groups, and as each band moved to new areas. ^[3]

[1] Some aficionados of music from that era may recall the line in Elton John’s Your Song (1970),
wherein he wonders: “If I a sculptor, no, or a man who makes potions in a travelin’ show.“

We hear the chorus for the first time. We sense a raw emotion – Sorrow? Worry? Revulsion? Loathing? She races into:

“Gypsies, tramps, and thieves!”
We’d hear it from the people of the town
They’d call us gypsies, tramps, and thieves.
But every night all the men would come around …
And lay their money down.

Lay their money down. This is clearly more than a casual suggestion of prostitution.

Chorus: Mama? You? One shudders to think ….

Not even to the 2^nd verse yet, and we’re into hypocrisy and sex.

Romani peoples. Originating in northern India (and perhaps in or near Afghanistan), they were exiled. First heading to NW China around the end of the first millennium, they wandered westward across Asia. Always in caravans of families – a custom they carried into the west, even to the US – they reached Constantinople (~50 years before it became Istanbul) around 1400 AD, crossed the Bosporus, and arrived in Romania in the 15^th century.

As in their original homeland, they were seldom, if ever, welcomed. And they were not welcomed in Romania. Maltreated and even enslaved, they were eventually freed and encouraged to leave. Spreading out across to central and western Europe, they were soon enough in most European countries. Any goodwill upon their arrival was always followed by rejection. They couldn’t or wouldn’t fit in culturally and were eventually regarded as thieves and scammers: perhaps many were. It’s tough to get by in lands where your type is not at all welcome. Waves of plague had swept humanity from China to Europe since the mid-14^th century. People learned to be wary of wandering strangers, especially those from strange lands.

[It’s a mere coincidence that the group’s name Romani – or Roma – seems to match with their misperceived European origin in Romania. It’s simply a variation of the original Sanskrit language root, Rom (or Dom), meaning “man.” Romani is the feminine form of the noun. The term “gypsy” stems from a common misconception that they originated in Egypt.]

For the most part, they continued their traditional caravan traveling, and never quite getting acceptance wherever they went. Starting in Britain they picked up the name Travelers.

Not a lot of space in a travelin’ van

Europeans, especially the colonial powers like Portugal, began exporting Romani to the new world as slave labor. Much of Europe has had “anti-gypsy” laws at some point. And then there’s the mass exterminations of them by Nazi Germany 1933-1945. Shamefully, President Sarkozy deported them from France in 2010 – mostly to Bulgaria and Romania. All this and more encouraged many Romani to migrate to the US, particularly in the mid-19^th century. Their reception there was mostly more of the same.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Los Angeles provided Cherilyn an excellent setting for beginning and growing her career. With her mother Georgia’s musical background (she appeared on several national shows and was a night club singer, composed songs, getting national recognition for “Honky Tonk Woman”). Cherilyn had the setting, the genes, the background, and maternal encouragement to begin an entertainment career.

Her mom had begun getting bit acting parts on TV and in movies – and was able to get some roles for her daughter, too.

At age 16 she left home and moved in with a friend. She took acting classes while working small club jobs and beating the pavement looking for entertainment jobs. That’s how she met Salvatore (Sonny) Bono. She was still just 16. He was an assistant to record producer Phil Spector at the time. Cherilyn’s talent and drive were apparent; he worked his contacts for her. She sang back-up vocals for several famous Spector groups’ recordings, including big hits: the Ronettes’ “Be my Baby” and the Righteous Brothers’ “You’ve Lost that Lovin’ Feelin’ ”.

When Cherilyn’s friend moved out, stretching her thin finances too far, Bono agreed to take her in as his “housekeeper.”

Sonny & Cher 1971, funny angle, Sonnty at 5′-5″, was about 3″ shorter than Cher.

Perfectly able to perform solo – Sonny wanted her to do just that – but she was just a teenager and still suffered from stage fright; she’d only sing with Sonny. Their relationship turned romantic; they wed in the autumn of ’64. She was 18. Sonny was 29 and already once-divorced. Their first hit together was “I got you Babe” (to me always associated with the movie Groundhog Day). That’s when Cheryl/Cherilyn LaPiere became simply “Cher.” When they sang together it was clear that Cher was far superior to Sonny. To me at least.

They quickly rose to fame. Their unique chemistry – musically, in appearance and in personality – captured the public’s imagination. They performed as “Sonny & Cher” with a type of soft pop in singles and albums. But America’s tastes were changing rapidly, and around 1970 their popularity ebbed. So did their personal lives.

Cher began pursuing a personal career. Although they often still worked together, this grew less frequent as their lives diverged. [Their variety and comedy show, The Sonny & Cher Show, which promoted her rapidly growing solo singing career, ran from 1971-74]. They divorced in 1975.

____________________________________________________________

Second Verse. We learn a lot more.

Picked up a boy just south of Mobile.
Gave him a ride, filled him with a hot meal.
I was sixteen, he was twenty-one;
Rode with us to Memphis,
Papa woulda shot him if he knew what he’d done

What is south of Mobile (Alabama)? Isn’t that the ocean, the Gulf of Mexico? Wrong. Mobile is some 15 miles up north from the “mouth” of Mobile Bay. Along the banks of the Bay, particularly on the west, are some areas of open space and parks that could host a “traveling show.” A bit filled in nowadays with development, I’m thinking that in the ‘50s or so (where I tend to place this story historically, but could be earlier) it was quite open.

She’s 16 and probably knows very, very little about life outsider her Traveler community. So much to learn. And those funky hormones.

Why would a 21-year old lad be leaving the area? On the lam? Legal issues? Pregnant girlfriend? Evicted by his family? Military AWOL? In any case, by hooking up with Travelers he was probably venturing far out of his element. And taking a chance. He was desperate. They fed him and transported him north. What good fortune. He pressed his luck.

Papa woulda shot him. I take this literally. It seems quite likely that Travelers, particularly in the deep south, would have firearms. No one really liked the Roma or having them around. Any issues with locals that lead to malicious actions? The law would look away. They themselves, as Roma, were their own first, last and only line of defense.

The song returns to the chorus, but it’s no relief. Rejection, hypocrisy and prostitution. Oy.

_________________________________________________________________

1970. Cher’s career was waning too soon. She was too talented and ambitious to allow this. Yet, major changes had to come.

Why? 1960s America. As the decade drew to its conclusion, America grew ever more edgy, in music, sex, drugs, rock-and-roll. First JFK, then MLK Jr, followed shortly by RFK. Viet Nam. Cold War. Race riots. Sit-ins. Social justice rallies. Kent State, May 1970. “Edgy” isn’t strong enough. Prickly? Restless? Even Cantankerous? Confrontational?

Cher, with Sonny, sought a new path, a new direction. Seeing the need to leave their soft “I got you Babe” and “The Beat Goes On” image, and set out on her own, she hooked up with song writer Bob Stone and producer “Snuff” Garrett. They proposed a new and restless approach that fit Cher and the era. It clicked.

Edgy? Stone was a sound engineer and composer for Frank Zappa and his son, Dweezil.

Result? “Gypsys, Tramps and Thieves” was the feature song, and also the name of her first album, released on January 1, 1971. (Originally the album was to be named “Cher”; she changed it to the song title when was clear it would be a huge hit). Near as I can tell it was just a fantastic job all around. The lyrics? Captivating. Memorable. The production? Amazing. The mix of instrument sounds, the tempo changes, the key change, all impeccably intertwined. And the vocal delivery? Absolutely stellar. This one had to have taken a very long time to get right. Even today, over 50 years later, when you hear the music, you think of Cher. When you hear her voice, you think of the music. Her charisma and character come right through your speakers; they enchant you and grab you: listen to me!

The bridge. The tempo slows, yet the arrangement still gives us something of a carnival feel, or … like a traveling show. A key change to C-major suggests a mood change, and, here in the bridge, it sounds a bit more reflective. It’s a nuanced twist, part of telling a story that is emotionally complex.

Here, Cher’s ability to drop to a deeper voice provides a dramatic inside view of the story.

I never had schoolin’ but he taught me well
With his smooth southern style.
Three months later I’m a gal in trouble
And I haven’t seen him for a while, ..
I haven’t seen him for a while.

As a Romani child, of course, she had no schooling. The lad is trying to teach her. How to read? About the world? Language? Literature? Arithmetic? Doesn’t matter. The lass is enchanted: he has a “smooth southern style.” A romance ensues.

At three months she’s “showing.” The lad grows fearful. Pa has that shotgun, and I’m sure he’s seen it. He’s on the run again. She hasn’t seen him for a while. And never will again.

And here we get a subtle hint that the girl is still enamored with him, with her memory of him and the experience – even though this story is probably told much later. You can detect a slight moaning “o-oh” at the beginning and at the ending of the last line in the bridge. She misses him still. She still has feelings for him. She’s still a bit in love. And perhaps that’s why the bridge is in a major key.

________________________________________________________________

The 1971 album and song rocketed to national attention and the top of the charts. Cher’s new style, with a new team of writer/producer of Bob Stone and Snuff Garrett, was electric.

Garrett was influenced early and mixed with a radio DJ career, produced dozens of songs, the edgy types, including, later, Cher’s Half Breed and Dark Lady, and Vickie Lawrence’s The Night the Lights went out in Georgia, and many for Bobby Vee and for Gary Lewis and the Playboys.

_________________________________________________

The final verse. The cycle continues.

She was born in the wagon of a travelin’ show.
Her mama had to dance for the money they’d throw.
Grandpa’d do whatever he could,
Preach a little gospel, sell a couple bottles of Doctor Good

Even a casual level of attention shows that it’s not a repeat of the first verse. How much changed?

Line 1 is rather obvious. With one word change we are back on the story’s track. The narrator/lass bears a daughter, at 16 or 17 years-old. The baby girl is born in a wagon – the same wagon of the same traveling show that the narrator herself was born in. The narrator has become the infant girl’s mother, strongly implying the baby – born in the same wagon – is destined to inherit the narrator’s circumstance in a repeating cycle. Just as she – the narrator – has become her own mother.

Dance for money, grandpa selling a concoction of Feel Good. Peeling back the onion now ….

In the very first verse we heard “my mama used to dance …” Now, later, with the narrator as the mother, it’s “her mama had to dance …” ^[6]

Two things.

One: the last verse, like the first, is also told in the past tense. Thus, this narrative could have occurred quite far into the future, well past “papa woulda shot him…”

Two: I do suspect the last verse is being told much later. Why? There is a difference between “had to dance” and “used to dance.” “Had to” implies that the dancing is imperative – it must be done to get enough money to survive. In verse 1 it’s only “used to dance.” Previously the dancing was optional, perhaps to generate a few extra dollars for auxiliary needs. The family financial situation has now deteriorated further. And here it’s HAD; that part of her life seems to be over.

The choice of “had” vs “has” suggests that she might even now be a woman decades beyond “I was 16.” She’s looking back at her life, musing about things as she remembers them: after all of the traveling, all the family crises, all the men coming around at night, and all the dancing is over. It’s all behind her now.

Or maybe she left the show traveling life, or was kicked out. Maybe she went on the lam, like the 21-year-old boy. The book is about to close, and the enigmatic story leaves us in mystery.

Oops, now it’s grandpa. So “papa,” has become “grandpa.” OK. If mama (the woman narrator) is now dancing for money … ewwww … where is the mama of verse 1? Why isn’t she now grandma? Did she not fit in this verse, or, as I gather here, she is no longer part of the story. Women travelers lived, on average, 10-15 years fewer than their menfolk. And men didn’t very live long either. Life was hard.

This last verse may be referring to a period in the past, but a couple of years after “papa woulda shot him” – the new young mama is now healthy enough, and – ahem – attractive enough, to dance for money and probably entertain the men who came around at night to “throw their money down.”

Overall the near duplication of the first verse is compelling. The clan of travelers, and this family, are stuck in a loop. Around the loop are despair, isolation, cultural rejection, hypocrisy, prostitution, strip teases, travel, travel, travel, eking out a living, sex without love, children born to struggling families.

Edgy, catchy, vibrant, quick and supremely performed, it is also one of the most emotional, gloomy and disturbing songs of my generation.

___________________________________________________________________

The use of the term “gypsy” was already considered pejorative by 1970. It was, and remains, a controversial choice for a title. The lyrics themselves show that each word was carefully selected. It’s no accident; the team intended to use “gypsy”. Some research suggests it was chosen in order to play upon the negative connotations the word still carries to today. These people weren’t simply wanderers; they were shunned – looked down upon with disdain. [the formal plural of gypsy is gypsies. I’m not sure why they all agreed on the ungrammatical Gypsys for the title. Perhaps to convey a sense that the story is told by an uneducated person?]

“Gypsys” was so successful that Stone and Garrett continued to write and produce Cher’s songs for over a decade. It was the top charting song for both Stone’s and Garrett’s career. [On the other side, Stone also wrote #1 country song Are Your Happy Baby?]

Cher’s and Sonny’s marriage ended in 1975. They remained somewhat close, mostly just professionally. But, it couldn’t last and they went their separate ways. He had helped her in her early career, and she was grateful. To me, at least, Cher needed to move past Sonny. It was the right time. [Sonny died in a violent ski accident in January, 1998. Cher gave a eulogy. He had entered politics and risen to be the mayor of Palm Springs, then a US congressman]

Cher 1975

Cher continued to be extremely popular and went on to successes in both theater and cinema. She has achieved a sort of Triple Crown: she’s won an Emmy, a Tony and a Grammy. That’s pretty dang amazing.

Now, at 78 she’s still performing live and drawing crowds in Las Vegas. Her tours have very heavy schedules, evidence of her enduring popularity and energy.

Cher drew from her own life’s experiences in her performance of Gypsys. You can feel the emotion coming through her delivery. She came from a very chaotic youth, peppered with poverty, a string of broken homes, and constantly moving from place to place. She had little formal education. She had (likely) her earliest romantic encounter at 16. And not unlike her own mother’s youth, and her grandmother’s youth, bearing children while still young (not 13 or 19, but at 21). Cher broke a generational cycle of poverty, rejection, and despair. From a hardscrabble youth – the lives of her shoes often extended by holding them together with rubber bands – Cher took her talents, her ambition, her dreams, her energy, her drive, and her opportunities to reach stardom.

A remarkable woman.

Thank you for reading. As always, you can add yourself to the notification list for newly published material by clicking here . Or emailing joe@girardmeister.com

[1] El Centro, perhaps best known for the very first digitally well-recorded and documented earthquake in 1940. The data were used to design CA buildings for decades. Other states too. Also, it’s likely the lowest elevation of US municipalities at -42 feet. It’s experienced many more shakes quite recently, although not very violent, but perhaps a portent of more and stronger earthshakes to come.

[2] Roma or Romani: somewhere near the end of the first millennium the Romani peoples were exiled from west India. Ethnically and culturally different they were not accepted. Whether cast out or of their own volition they left. Migrating ever westward, never fitting in, they moved through Persia, the Middle East and into Europe in the 14^th century. Persecuted and shunned everywhere they went, locals gave them pejorative names, including “gypsy.” In their native language, which is traceable to Sanskrit, “Rom” means man, or person. Roma, or Romai, is the name they prefer for themselves: People. They spread over Europe, from the Balkans to the channel, and to England. Roma began coming to the New World in the 17^th and 18^th centuries, at first often as slaves (Portugal and France). Due to ever increasing social maltreatment and economic hurdles, many found ways to emigrate in the 19^th and early 20^th centuries. Some countries, like England, sent many across the ocean as way to get rid of undesirables.

[3] Doctor Good: plenty of things would have been available, and healthy. Options would have included juniper berries. This bitterness could be smothered with honey, pureed spinach, celery, carrots, minced garlic, sage, citrus zest, rose petals and rosemary. Even calendula which has been brought to the Americas. With such options, various versions of Doctor Good would taste and smell different from one traveling show to another. They were probably healthy and with a little “kick” made consumers “feel good.”

[4] Georgia went by Georgia Holt the last 4 or 5 decades of her life. Holt was the surname of her last husband. She also had an interesting life, as you had probably guessed. Many sources on-line.

[5] Some rumors have it that Sarkasian and a quite pregnant Georgia were passing through El Centro when baby Cherilyn decided it was time for her debut appearance. And they stayed there.

[6] The last verse is as quick-paced as the rest. The storyteller seems even a bit more breathless. But it sure sounds as if there might be a slight “error”. The official lyrics say “her mama had to dance.” But Cher seems to sing “my mama had to dance.” Surely the production team noticed it, if it’s there… and opted to keep it. If so, perhaps they thought it conveyed a moment of confusion, caused by the overwhelming emotion from re-visiting a painful story – the storyteller blends her own story with her child’s. Or, perhaps they were running out of studio time.

[7] Key changes in songs are common. Changes of perspective, mood, …

Some sources:

[1] https://www.billboard.com/music/pop/cher-gypsys-tramps-thieves-greatest-song-7801038/

[2] https://www.npr.org/2017/09/20/552135954/shocking-omissions-the-resilient-reinvention-of-cher-s-gypsys-tramps-thieves
— but they did get a word in the first verse wrong.

Sports, Strong Women

Cookies in the Fields

March 28, 2024 Joe

Professional Baseball has had some highly creative owners in its history. Some were showmen trying to improve fan participation and attendance. Some wanted to improve the game. Some left us with features that lived well beyond themselves, and have become integrated into American culture.

Bill Veeck

The first such owner who comes to my mind is Bill Veeck, Jr (1914-1986), owner of the Cleveland Indians (now: Guardians), St Louis Browns and Chicago White Sox.

New scoreboard at Wrigley goes operational

Veeck Jr had some ideas to help dwindling attendance in the Depression 1930s. As a 13-year-old lad working for his dad (Bill Sr was an executive with the Chicago Cubs and eventually club president) young Bill dreamed up the concept of the outfield walls covered in ivy. Ten years later, as a team executive (his dad passed away in 1933) he had the now famous ivy on Wrigley Field’s outfield walls planted.

Veeck had the also now famous Wrigley scoreboard installed in center field. Modified several times over the decades, it still carries that feeling of yester-year. It’s been recognizable by every MLB fan for many decades. [It’s one of only two such hand operated scoreboards in baseball; the other is Fenway in Boston.]

In the ‘30s Veeck was the first to suggest inter-league competition. He surely had an eye toward a Chicago northside-southside rivalry (Cubs, Sox). That took decades to be accepted.

Ivy going in at Wrigley, 1937

Veeck Jr. served in the Marines in WW2 for 3 years, suffering an injury in an artillery accident that ended his military duty … and cost him his right leg.

Veeck Jr. still had baseball in his bones. Now a recovered veteran, he took on heavy loans to become the controlling owner of the Cleveland “Indians” in 1946, aged only 32. Here he’s remembered for signing Larry Doby, the first African-American in the American League. ^[1]

He also signed pitcher Satchel Paige. He was 42 years old!

Eddie Gaedel, shortest person to ever appear in a Major League Baseball game makes his only appearance.

After a sensational Hall of Fame career in the Negro Leagues, Paige had finally moved to the Majors; until recently completely “mayonnaise”. He’s still the oldest rookie in MLB history. On the roster for fewer than two months of that rookie ‘48 season (the last two months, in the pennant stretch), Paige was starting pitcher 7 times, recording six wins against one loss, with a stellar 2.48 ERA, while also tossing two shutouts. And an opposition batting average of only .228. The Indians went on to win the World Series. [More on Paige later] Oh, by the way, the Indians set an attendance record that year, over 2.8 million.

Veeck sold the Indians and bought the Saint Louis Browns in 1951. With low attendance and poor teams Veeck tried to work his promotional magic. Most famously he signed (for one game) the 3 foot – 7 inch tall (or short) Eddie Gaedel to take one single At Bat. Wearing the number ¹/₈he walked on four pitches. [He bowed to the crowd as he waltzed to first base; he was immediately removed for a pinch runner]

Veeck also had a “Grandstand Managers Night” — Fans were polled to make decisions in critical game situations. The promos all failed to achieve significant attendance increases. In 1954, Veeck was forced to sell the team to a group of investors, who moved the team to Baltimore (renaming the team the Orioles).

A few years later Veeck bought the Chicago White Sox. Here he originated shooting off fireworks after games. Under Veeck the Sox were the first team to put players’ names on their jerseys. More stuff too: “exploding” score boards with fireworks after home runs, Disco Demolition Night (tix were only 98 cents; riots ensued, leading to a forfeit).

His son, Mike, didn’t fall far from the family tree. Among other things, while running the Sox, he had a “Tonya Harding Bat Night.” No kidding. They gave away “Tonya Harding Bats!” She even appeared as part of the promo and actually signed baseball bats. As owner of a Florida class A team, he scheduled “Vasectomy Night” … on Father’s Day. Thankfully, the “promo” was cancelled.

Bill Veeck Jr is in the Major League Baseball Hall of Fame.

Charlie O. Finley

Better known, to me and my generation I suppose, is Charlie O. Finley. He bought the Kansas City Athletics in 1960 (formerly Philadelphia A’s). He ditched the traditional dingy grey and white uniforms for bright gold and green hues. Considered garish at the time, many teams today sport bright, colorful uniforms. Although not every game.

Charlie’s favorite mascot: Charlie-O, the mule [photo credit SportsBroadcastJournal.com]

He also thought the team needed a mascot. A mule. Yep, a mule for a mascot. A real live mule. Maybe because they’re known for being stubborn <?>. He named it “Charlie-O” (after himself) and dressed it in the team colors. For a while, Finley had relief pitchers ride in on Charlie from the bullpen when they entered the game. Fans loved it. Lawyers and insurers not so much. The mule remained, but riding it did not last long.

Mr Finley rides his mascot

The A’s had a horrendous season in 1965. In that season Finley put a pitch clock on the scoreboard. He hoped it would make pitchers and catchers aware of how the time between pitches extended a game’s duration. Didn’t work well then, but now in the 2020s it’s part of every game – as a rule, not a suggestion.

Two of his most memorable stunts came near the end of that miserable ’65 season. First, he had his shortstop, Bert Campaneris, play all 9 positions in a single game – one for each inning.

Soon after, Finley signed the aforesaid Satchel Paige, now 59 years old! Paige, who would be voted into the MLB Hall of Fame just 6 years later, had not pitched professionally in 12 years. And even that was at a very, very advanced age for a Major Leaguer.

On September 25, in his sole appearance that year, Paige strode proudly to the mound as the starting pitcher against the Boston Red Sox at the A’s KC stadium: Municipal Stadium. ^[2] Paige was magnificent, going three scoreless innings, allowing only a single hit.

In ’65 the Red Sox were also struggling, but it was no cakewalk for Paige: The Sox had Hall of Famer Carl Yastrzemski and slugger Tony Conigliaro. Only 9,300 attended the game. [Yaz got the only hit, a double.]

In KC, Finley continually struggled with low attendance and poor performance. He moved the team to Oakland in 1968, where they’ve been ever since. Well, for now, at least.

When the team moved, Finley kept the 1,200 lb mule; Charlie-O the mule followed the team to Oakland. [When Finley sold the A’s in 1981, the mule was eliminated as mascot. The A’s reverted to their traditional decades-old mascot: an elephant. But only on the logo.]

In Oakland the team achieved a three-peat, 1972-4, three consecutive World Series wins. Finley kept going with innovation.

A Cross fror Higbee

January 17, 2024 Joe

Lenah, circa 1918

Lenah Higbee, a life that deserves to be remembered

Originally Canadian, born May 18, 1874 ^(*1) in New Brunswick, Canada, Lenah Higbee (nee: Sutcliffe), immigrated to the US to attend nursing school at the New York Post Graduate Hospital [now NYU Medical], where she completed her nurse’s certification. She did further graduate study at Fordham University, in the Bronx and she also began her own private nursing practice.

In 1899 she met John H Higbee, a widower and retired Marine Lt. Colonel. They courted and were married that year.^(*2) He was in service for many years, beginning in 1861, in the US Civil War.

Through marriage Lenah immediately became a naturalized US citizen, by laws at that time (which stood until 1922, when US sentiment turned largely anti-immigrant). John was approximately three decades older than she.

In April, 1908 Lenah became a widow when John passed away. They had no children, although it’s possible John had children from his earlier marriage.

The very next month the US Congress passed legislation to form the Navy Nurse Corps. It became law when it was signed by President “Teddy” Roosevelt. On 1 October, 1908, Lenah Sutcliffe Higbee became one the first twenty nurses in the original Navy Nurse Corps (Historians call it The Sacred Twenty). Now widowed, she was unmarried, a requirement to serve.

The 20 were initially trained at Portsmouth, Virginia. She soon earned the role of Chief Nurse at Norfolk Naval Hospital (Virginia), and in January 1911 became the second ever “Superintendent” of the Corps.

Over the next 11 years of her military career Higbee was never given an official military rank (unlike Major “Hot Lips” Houlihan) and was paid less than other skilled Navy professionals with similar demands. Throughout the remainder of her Naval career, she carried the simple and non-military title “Superintendent”, an unofficial title (it is, however, the title of the commander of the US Naval Academy).

Superintendent Higbee

During this period, up until The Great War, she implemented universal training programs with demanding criteria to ensure Corps-wide competency in all situations. She helped grow and train the Corps to nearly 1,400 nurses. Higbee was a well-placed powerful activist for military nurses, advocating for better pay, better working conditions and better recognition. She served on many military and national medical committees, including the Red Cross, to help prepare for the Great War, in which America’s entry was appearing ever more likely.

In 1916 Woodrow Wilson was re-elected to the presidency under the slogan “He kept us out of war.” That wouldn’t last long. Just 10 weeks after the election, the Zimmermann Telegram was intercepted and de-cyphered by the Brits. A month later the message was relayed to President Wilson, who then released the text to the US public. [the one-month delay, was because the Brits feared revealing that they had broken the German code. Perhaps the first use of “Gentlemen don’t read each other’s mail”]. The Public outcry was enormous … and angry.

Coincident with the cable’s public release, the Germans resumed unrestricted submarine warfare; that included sinking unarmed ships of all sorts.

Thus, the US gave up on non-interventionism and, as of a Congressional Declaration of War requested by Wilson, April 17, was on the way to war: “Send the word over there: That the Yanks are coming.” [By Year’s end, Over There made it to #1]

The military was mobilized, but not all that quickly – the US wasn’t really prepared; they didn’t have a large military with respect to Gross National Product at that time. Recruiting was lagging, armaments and training were severely lacking.

But the Naval Nursing Corps was ready. With Lenah Higbee acting effectively as Naval Nurse Chief of Staff, in charge of everything within the Corps, working long hours at the Navy Bureau of Medicine & Surgery in Washington, she managed the recruitment, deployment to hospitals and ships, matériel, and logistics of all Navy and Marine Nurse contributions to wartime healthcare.

During the war, the Navy Nurse Corps served on every combat ship, transport ship, and supply ship. Nurses were also attached to the US Railway Battery in France.

Higbee’s nurses were also called upon to train the recently recruited Navy Corpsmen. About 350 in total.

The demands on Higbee were extremely challenging, made worse as the Spanish Flu pandemic ^(*3) that swept across the World ^(*4) and affected every nation of the war’s belligerents; the flu hit US servicemen just as its battle casualties began mounting [The US Military suffered some 117,000 deaths in the war, twice the loss in Viet Nam, in just a year and a half, with half the population; this includes about 45,000 from the flu].

Corpsmen and nurses assigned artillery land-duty dealt with shocking human trauma of every sort: Shrapnel, blast shocks, piercing bullet wounds, psychiatric troubles (“shell-shock”, now PTSD). Not to mention trench foot, vermin like rats, and gas warfare and STDs. And, of course, the Spanish Flu.

Higbee’s contributions were more than equal to any on the battlefield, or at sea. Her tireless and steadfast devotion were instrumental in providing high quality healthcare to servicemen. Success of the Nurse Corps, a vital component of the war effort, would not have happened without Lenah Sutcliffe Higbee. Her dedication and professionalism motivated not just the entire Corps, but all those working with and around her.

Her contributions were rightly recognized. On November 11, 1920 (1^st official anniversary of Armistice Day) she and three other Navy nurses — Marie Louise Hidell, Lillian M. Murphy and Edna Place — were the first women to be awarded the Navy Cross. Sadly, the awards to the other three were posthumous – they had succumbed to the Spanish Flu, contracted from patients they had treated. Higbee is, consequently, often regarded as the first woman to be so honored.

The Navy Cross

Thanks to the nurses’ and Higbee’s wartime efforts, which was carried on by their successors, military nurses were given official military rank beginning with World War II.

To this day, the Navy Nurse Corps continues to provide quality care to Navy Staff and families. The memory of Lenah Higbee is held as an inspiration to all who serve.

Higbee retired from the Navy on November 30, 1922. Throughout her very distinguished career, despite the ever-present discrimination from the still male-dominated medical professions, she had maintained her dignity and service commitment. After retirement she filled her life with pursuits not possible during her service to the nation. She eventually moved far from New York and Washington to central Florida.

The SS Orbita manifest shows her, as a widow, arriving at Ellis Island, New York, on May 23^rd, 1924 from Cherbourg, France – with an address in New York City at East 76^th Street (no bldg number); that’s in mid-Manhattan.
Another manifest, SS Dominica, shows her arriving February 2^nd,1926 at Ellis Island from Trinidad and Tobago (then part of British West Indies).
She arrived in New York on June 23^rd, 1935 from Southampton, England on the SS Statendam. Her Current residence now listed as Deer Isle, Maine. A remote island near no major cities. I surmise she moved to Florida after this trip.
Lenah Higbee at 49, passport photo

She received her first US passport in September 1899. I’ve found that she renewed it in December 1923; one of many renewals; in ’23 she was still residing at 55 East 76^th Street, NYC. When it was approved, her passport showed she had blue eyes — and a scar on her right wrist (injury?)

After retirement she also remained active in American health care. She was involved in, and soon became president of, the American Nurses’ Association. Among all her duties, she also campaigned for improved health care for all US residents.

Going back a bit … Because of the relatively close proximity to NY City, I will presume she attended the 1901 World’s Fair, in Buffalo. There are teasers that John may have spent some time here, although born in Manhattan. There, at that fair, many wonderous things were to be discovered; modern advancements in medical science were on display, including Roentgen’s X-Ray machine. Also exhibited were early manometers, improved stethoscopes, ophthalmoscopes, very early incubators, antiseptic techniques, and more. President McKinley was assassinated there in September. [See this girardmeister essay]

Lenah Sutcliffe Higbee passed away from natural causes on January 10, 1941, in Winter Park, Orange County, Florida, at age 66 years. Like her husband, she is interred with full Military Honors at Arlington National Cemetery. In fact, they are buried side-by-side –— Section 3, Site 1797.

Two naval vessels have been named for her Lenah Higbee.

USS Higbee, DD-806

The first, the USS Higbee (DD-806), was the first combat warship named after a female member of the U.S. military. It was commissioned in 1945, serving in Viet Nam and as part of the NASA Mercury missions Pacific Ocean recovery team. She was decommissioned in 1976 and, I guess sadly, was sunk in 1986 as part of an aerial bombardment exercise about 100 miles west of San Diego.

The second, the USS Lenah H. Sutcliffe Higbee (DDG-123), was laid in January 2020. It’s an Arleigh Burke-class* guided missile destroyer. It was christened in 2021, commissioned in May 2023 and due for official fleet entry later in 2024.

USS Higbee DD-123

Thanks for reading.

Thank you for reading. As always, you can add yourself to the notification list for newly published material by clicking here . Or emailing joe@girardmeister.com

L. Higbee at rest

Some final notes and linked sources

John’s data is scarce. He was born in New York, NY, 1840, and passed in Buffalo, NY, 1898
In the 1840 census, a John Higbee (father?) shows up in Brooklyn with two children under age 5 and a woman (name? wife?) aged 20-30. If this is our John’s family, our John Higbee would then be a “Junior.”
Can’t find any marriage, birth, or fatherhood records. However, it seems that all boroughs were not officially joined into New York City until 1898. So, perhaps, this is not the “John” we are looking for.
They may well have decided to dwell in Buffalo after visiting the Fair (where McKinley was assassinated, Sept 1901).
When I saw the name Edna Place (Navy Cross recipient) I couldn’t help but think of Etta Place, of “Butch Cassidy and Sundance Kid” fame, often considered the most beautiful woman of that era.
*For Colorado readers, Admiral Burke was a native of Boulder; The Burke school and Park are named for him. The school has been renamed Horizons Charter School
Tags in the text:
(*1) – Several Documents say 1873
(*2) – A very good guess is that John served in the 1st New York Marine Artillery Regiment. This regiment was first mustered in Nov, 1861, just after John’s joining, at age 17. Most 1st NY recruits were from New York City, his hometown. It’s also the only Marine group of any sort from New York state. Records show this group in combat, securing many ports from North Carolina up through Virginia.
(*3) – here I use pandemic, not epidemic. The former connotes worldwide; the latter something more local, as in epicenter.
(*4) – Spanish Flu: India lost 12 million, China almost 7 million to the flu. US “only” 675,000

Side by Side graves

[1] https://usstranquillity.blogspot.com/2012/01/echoes-of-navy-medicines-past-navy.html

Finding Lenah and John. Section 3

[2] https://www.worldwar1centennial.org/index.php/communicate/press-media/wwi-centennial-news/1198-women-of-world-war-one-honored-by-u-s-navy.html

[3] https://usnhistory.navylive.dodlive.mil/Recent/Article-View/Article/2686863/lenah-higbee-a-continuing-legacy-and-trailblazer-for-navy-women/

[4] Military Medicine, forgotten nurses, Spanish Flu in WWI — https://www.history.navy.mil/content/history/nhhc/browse-by-topic/wars-conflicts-and-operations/world-war-i/history/terrifying-experience.html#return7

[5] https://navylog.navymemorial.org/higbee-lenah

[6] https://usstranquillity.blogspot.com/2012/01/echoes-of-navy-medicines-past-navy.html

[7] https://www.taraross.com/post/tdih-lenah-higbee

[8] https://books.google.com/books?id=zoEfAQAAIAAJ&newbks=1&newbks_redir=0&printsec=frontcover#v=onepage&q=higbee&f=false
Page 126

[9] https://news.va.gov/113991/veteranoftheday-navy-lenah-s-higbee/

[10] https://www.worldwar1centennial.org/index.php/communicate/press-media/wwi-centennial-news/1198-women-of-world-war-one-honored-by-u-s-navy.html

[11] https://www.familysearch.org/search/record/results?q.anyDate.from=1941&q.anyPlace=new%20york&q.givenName=lenah&q.surname=higbee

[12] https://myokaloosa.com/bcc/lenahhigbee

[13] I also found familysearch.org to be very useful here. See [11] for one such item.

Biographical, History, Strong Women

Kate Chopin

March 17, 2023 Joe

The Women’s Convention of 1848, in Seneca Falls, NY, was an early major milestone in the US Women’s Rights movement. It was arguably the first. Two years later, in Saint Louis, a girl was born who would go on to become an unwilling icon of that movement: Catherine “Kate” O’Flaherty.

Catherine O’Flaherty was born, in Saint Louis, Missouri, in February, 1850, to an Irish immigrant father (Thomas) and a Saint Louisan mother (Eliza) of well-heeled lineage, including French-Creole ^[1] and Quebec ancestry.

_________________________________________________

Thomas O’Flaherty was born in 1805 in County Galway, Ireland. Ireland had been ruled by, and oppressed by, England for centuries. He emigrated to the United States around 1825 seeking opportunity — before the infamous Potato Famine hit in the mid-1840s. He settled in the country’s most prosperous and fastest growing heartland city, Saint Louis, Missouri.

Catherine “Kate” O’Flaherty Chopin, 1890s

He did well financially almost immediately. He ran a boat shop along the river and a small store. He expanded into cotton and grain trading. Now entitled to rub shoulders with city’s oldest and wealthiest families he moved in the highest circles. There, through arrangement, he met and courted Eliza Faris – she from a first class family in St Louis society, with well-established St Louis Creole roots. On August 1, 1844 they were wed. She was barely 16 at the time. Thomas 38.

Eliza was his second marriage – this time an arranged marriage. From the 1850 census, we see a child George O’Flaherty, age 9 in the household – Eliza’s stepchild. Eliza is some 22 years younger than Thomas. Besides George, Eliza, and several of her family, there are 2 more children: Thomas, age 2, and Catherine. The later shown as 0 years old; she was born on February 8 of that census year. Thomas’ profession in the census is shown as “Merchant.”

_______________________________________________________

At age 5 Catherine, now going by “Kate” was sent to a private Catholic boarding school, across the Missouri River, in St Charles. There her studies lasted but a few months.

______________________________________________________

Thomas extended his business interests. He saw opportunity in the nation’s expansion, and its need for more railroads. He was an initial investor in, and one of the founders of the Pacific Railroad (later the Missouri-Pacific Railroad).^[2]

Thomas and Eliza, circa 1845

In 1855, shortly after Kate was sent off to school, the Pacific’s first major line from St Louis to the state capital – Jefferson City – was finally completed after four excruciatingly long years of construction.* The inaugural trip to Jeff City, the state capital, was to occur on October 1.

[* Excruciating long: it took only 6 years to complete the “transcontinental” 1,800 mile line from Omaha to the San Francisco Bay area. From Saint Louis to Jefferson City was about 110 miles of rail line].

Again, a delay … this time to complete a temporary trestle bridge over the Gasconade River, just west of Hermann and some 20 miles short of the capital.

Finally, the line was complete by the end of October. A large freighter pulling a dozen Gondola cars, each with tons of gravel, traversed the entire line, confirming its safely. It was good to go.

Eliza & stepson George, ~1850

November 1, All Saints’ Day, ominously the day after Halloween, the inaugural full-length passenger run set out. The train carried some 600 passengers; among them were dozens of St Louis dignitaries, including O’Flaherty, Thomas O’Sullivan, and Henry Chouteau. O’Sullivan was the Pacific’s chief Engineer, Chouteau a direct descendant of St Louis’ founding family.

At 9AM, after much fanfare, band music and speechifying, the 14-car train pulled out of the Seventh Street Station (just south of the site of today’s Busch Stadium, and under ½ mile east of where the landmark Union Station would stand four decades later). Pulled by the small but mighty 4-4-0 locomotive Missouri* the train made its way west through a heavy rainstorm, over many creeks and small rivers, mostly along the right bank of the Missouri River, toward the capital city. About 25 miles from the route’s terminus, some 9 miles west of Hermann, the line crossed the Gasconade River bridge via the temporary mostly-timber trestle.

[* The locomotive had recently been re-named “O’Sullivan” after the engineer. He was also a prominent St Louisan and member of one of its oldest families].

At 1:30 PM the train reached the Gasconade bridge. A notion to stop and check the bridge was dismissed, as that heavy gravel-laden train had crossed the day before – with chief engineer O’Sullivan himself aboard that run as well. Plus, it was raining hard and the train was running late for the scheduled ceremonies to be held in Jeff City.

As the engine and tender rolled onto the first of six 150-foot spans the bridge gave way. Complete collapse. All cars but one left the track and tumbled down the thirty-five-foot embankment, most of them all the way into the swollen river. A historic catastrophe. Among the 30 fatalities were O’Sullivan, Chouteau and Thomas O’Flaherty. [This line along the Missouri River is still used by Amtrak today. It’s called the Missouri River Runner. The bridge has, of course, been replaced and upgraded several times]. Thomas is buried in Calvary Cemetery, in St Louis.

Trains were to proceed over the bridge by creeping at just a few miles per hour. The O’Sullivan “dared” to cross at over 10 mph. This was determined to be the catastrophe’s cause.

_________________________________________________________________________

This Missouri/O’Sullivan

Fatherless, Kate was returned home from school. For the rest of her youth she was raised in a household led by only women, all strong matriarchs: her mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother. All had been widowed young, never re-married, and developed into fully self-sufficient, self-directed and independently minded women. They raised Kate to be likewise. She was home-schooled, mostly by her great-grandmother, Victoria Verdon Charleville, assisted by her grandmother, Athenaise “Mary” Charleville Faris. They ensured she was well-educated, and that she was well-rounded, including extra studies in classic & contemporary literature, music and her ancestors’ French language.

After she completed what amounted to Elementary School at home – about the time her great-grandmother’s health began fading (she died in 1863) – Kate began attending the nearby Catholic Girl’s School, Academy of the Visitation, in St Louis’ Visitation Neighborhood around 1859.

Kate must’ve been quite the catch. Handsome, well-off, well-educated, much attention was directed at her by local young men. But it was on a family vacation to New Orleans where she met her future husband – Oscar Chopin.

These locomotive wheels were found at the accident site in the river 147 years later and are now on display at the Union Pacific Museum in Council Bluffs, Iowa. (The Missouri Pacific was acquired by the Union Pacific in 1982)

Chopin was also of French Creole decent; his surname is pronounced like the famous composer’s. They were married in 1870. By all accounts they had a good relationship and loving marriage. This despite Chopin’s father having a notorious reputation as a tyrant with an irritable disposition. Their relationship and marriage blossomed, and over the first 10 years of marriage they had six children.

Oscar held Kate in very high regard. He admired her intelligence, creativity and devotion to duty, all wrapped in a free spirit. He allowed her many freedoms not normally seen in the south. She was involved in his business, managed many of his contacts, went unescorted in public, and dressed as she wished. Oscar praised her publicly.

After an extravagant honeymoon that took them across Europe they settled in New Orleans. Following a few years of prosperity, Oscar’s cotton trade business failed due to a series of economic crises that struck the post-war South. They moved to Natchitoches Parish, started a General Store and helped manage local plantations. Although the store’s sales were healthy, Oscar was well-known to be excessively generous in extending credit to his customers, and then not bothering much with debt collection.

Buried in debt and struggling to support his family, the good-natured Oscar was under great pressure – to which he succumbed. In 1882, aged 38, he contracted “Swamp Fever”* and died after a period of brutally painful suffering.

[*a generic name for local diseases; it was probably malaria].

Kate was now a young widow, like three generations of women before her, at age 32, with 6 children and shouldering over $12,000 in debt (worth about $350,000 in 2023). She took over the business and ran it well for two years. During this time, she shamelessly flirted openly with local men – not all were single. Outrageous! She had a brief affair with a local wealthy plantation owner, Albert Sampite. (Although married, Sampite was estranged). He encouraged her to further reach for her own aspirations. He inspired her to boldly engage her imagination – something she’d do the rest of her days. It was a brief, yet exciting, liaison. But this was all just too much work. Her life was too full, too busy. At her mother’s urging she sold the store, packed up and returned to her hometown in 1884. Permanently, as it turned out. Saint Louis was home.

The main reasons for the big move were to get financial relief, emotional support, and help raising the children. The support was short-lived, however. Within a year of Kate’s arrival Eliza fell ill. When she died Kate was alone again. [Phone book records show them living at 1122 St. Ange Ave, in the Peabody Darst Webb neighborhood]

Through her mother’s illness Kate fell into a depressive funk. The doctor who attended to her mother through failing health, Dr Kolbenheyer, noticed Kate’s struggles. He recommended she try writing for solace. When Eliza died, Kate did start writing. Oh, how she could write. She wrote about what she knew. She was almost immediately successful, writing about people and things she knew about and had seen in Louisiana. With her inheritance and money she earned from writing she was pretty well-off. Enough to support herself and her children. She moved to a very nice home at 4232 McPherson Ave, in the Central West End neighborhood.

Inspired by this success, she tried writing novels. By the later 1890s she was well-known nationally and famous locally. She had hundreds of articles and short stories published, as well as novels that critics reviewed highly. In 1897 she embarked on writing her pièce de resistance: The Awakening.

After two years it was complete. Published in 1899, The Awakening caused quite a stir. Briefly it’s about a woman, Edna Pontellier, who is married to a wealthy businessman in New Orleans. She feels trapped in her life and hemmed in by the expectations of a wife and mother in the old south. She seeks independence and self-discovery. She seeks, and finds, her own desires – outside the bounds of polite society’s expectations. Her desire includes enjoyment, which includes sexual pleasures. The rest of the story is about the conflicts and crises that arise as she finds fulfillment of those desires. In the end, it’s a tragedy.

It was a scandal! In mixed reviews most critics found it disturbing. Readers thought the same. Shameful. Immoral. Outrageous. Women don’t do that! And if they do, we don’t write about it. Feminists praised her as a hero. Feminist “Hero” was a mantle she never accepted. She was just a writer.

The result? Chopin’s writing career crashed. Publishers eschewed her work. Copies of The Awakening were stashed away in unlit corners of libraries and homes. She was largely forgotten. Even by feminists. A decade after her death, her works were briefly re-considered, and some critics, like Fred Lewis Pattee, began considering her among the best writers of the late 19^th century. Alas, her works soon again drifted into the realm of cob-webbed dust-covered attics.

Her works lay largely dormant and forgotten until after the mid-20^th century when scholars, many of them feminists, re-discovered The Awakening. It’s now held in high regard as an early classic of feminist literature. It’s widely studied and celebrated for its exploration of themes like repression, gender roles, identity, sexual awakening, and women’s individuality and freedom.

Authors and readers since have been inspired by Chopin’s female characters. Two popular and very successful novelists of our era who nearly always include female protagonists who face challenges and grow to become heroic figures are Kristin Hannah and – gasp, a man! – Ken Follett.

________________________________________________________________________

Excitement for Kate. Her hometown, Saint Louis, hosted the 1904 World’s Fair. The main entrance was just two miles from her home in the Central West End neighborhood. Instead of going to see the world, the world had come to her: a perfect fit for her hungry and inquisitive mind. She bought a season’s pass and delighted in roaming the grounds – a nearly 1,300 acre expanse with over 1,500 buildings, 12 Palaces and a mile of Pike with curiosities of all sorts, all connected with 75 miles of roads and walkways – to learn of countless technical and cultural advances in the world.

A Saint Louis native, she certainly had already experienced many a warm day with oppressive humidity. Most Fair visitors that summer remarked on this unpleasant “feature” of Midwest weather. In the late morning of August 19, a huge storm system developed over Kansas, then moved slowly east. The intense storm dropped two inches of overnight rain on Saint Louis – much after midnight – before drifting east, dumping buckets all the way to Buffalo.

The next day Kate was at the Fair again. The heavy rain had driven the humidity to the point of being nearly unbearable in the 87-degree heat. With so much to see and learn, Kate soldiered on. In the afternoon she began feeling very tired and woozy. She began feeling faint. Then she passed out.

She was taken home. Victim of a cerebral hemorrhage. She passed away in her own bed, two days later, age 54. She is also buried in Calvary Cemetery and Mausoleum, St Louis, near her parents.

A legendary figure in Saint Louis history, literature and feminism, Kate Chopin aspired, achieved, and inspired many.

Thanks for reading. I enjoy sharing almost forgotten history from my own perspective. Be well. Be like Kate Chopin. Color outside the lines. Live your dreams. Aspire. Be you.

Peace,

Thank you for reading. As always, you can add yourself to the notification list for newly published material by clicking here . Or emailing joe@girardmeister.com

Author’s notes (footnotes follow):

Note 1: Many will wonder, after reading this, whether I am a “feminist,” or not. My position is nuanced, and largely depends upon how one defines the term. First the affirmative.

I am a feminist in a practical sense. No society can reach anything close its full potentional in areas of human progress – economics, arts, philosophy, or technology – while restricting the participation of one-half of its population. Yes, I’m a feminist insofar as that means fully empowering all of the population to contribute to society … legally and without infringing the rights of others. Everyone has something to contribute to society … as they see fit. This is consistent with classical liberal philosophy.

And the negative. I am not in harmony with fringe opinions attributed to “feminists.” These include notions of “male toxicity”, “all heterosexual intercourse is rape”, destruction of capitalism, attacks on trans-woman as they’re perceived to be “hogging” their victimhood spotlight, banning religions with a patriarchal history, renaming anything with the sounds “her, him or his” in the word: e.g. Hurricanes become Him-icanes. In any case, much may all be well on its way to history’s dustbin as women in the US now earn 38% more college degrees than men at nearly every level. This last point is very interesting – perhaps a topic for another essay.

I might have uncovered some disagreement here. OK. Tribal rules don’t care about nuance.

Note 2: As many of my readers reside in the St Louis area – and I’m hopeful more will join as I often write essays with St Louis themes – I have included reference to the St Louis neighborhoods, streets and addresses so that they can place events in the region.

[1] The term “Creole” has many definitions. Herein I use it to refer to those who trace their ancestry to Europe, of French and/or Spanish ancestry, often mixed with black. This ancestry often goes back to upper classes or upper-middle classes, whether the status was attained in Europe or in the New World. Most of these Creoles do not speak “pigeon English” and are definitely not Cajun, which is a unique Louisiana background and culture altogether – although in some parts of Louisiana they overlap.

It appears that O’Flaherty’s first marriage was also to a society St Louis Creole, named Catharine Reilhe. They wed in November, 1839. Catharine was born in 1819, in St Charles, and passed in 1846. It’s likely that Kate was named for her. His son from his first marriage, George, was born in 1841; he died in 1863. As with most of the O’Flaherty and Chopin family he’s buried in Calavary Cemetery, St Louis. It seems he died in Arkansas, as a member of the Confederate Army, as a consequence of the Battle of Prairie Grove, December 1862, in Northwest Arkansas. As Saint Louis, indeed most of Missouri, was very fractured over slavery and the Confederacy.

Reihle sounds like, and is, a name of Germanic origins — mostly Austrian, some from Württemberg. As multiple sources state she’s from a Creole background, I suspect this is either due to interpretation, or something acquired by ancestral marriage, separate from her maiden surname.

A much abbreviated list of sites for resource, plus there was familysearch.org, a great free resource.
https://digitalcommons.pace.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1002&context=research_awards
https://journals.ametsoc.org/view/journals/mwre/32/8/1520-0493_1904_32_357b_lsaslm_2_0_co_2.xml
Kate Chopin
https://www.stltoday.com/news/archives/nov-1-1855-a-bridge-disaster-derails-st-louis-dream-for-a-transcontinental-railroad/article_b7f82a8b-90b6-56a8-88fd-da1e93c31d54.html

Autobiographical, Strong Women

Der Brief

February 6, 2022 Joe

News to some of you: I spend a little time almost every day studying German. Even though my surname is French, I find German more interesting. For one thing, they pronounce pretty much all of the letters in all words, seldom resorting to dropping consonants and blowing snot bubbles. ^[1] For another, my parents were each ½ German, thus making me ½ German. Finally, my wife and I enjoy traveling there occasionally, and I must admit – my German skills there are rarely very useful. I can read signs. Sometimes in small villages it helps when no one can (or wants to) speak English.

As you might guess, Buchladen is Bookstore.

On some study days I will read short stories for variety, instead of the regular vocabulary and grammar lessons. Those can be a real grind.

Following is a very short story I read recently during a study session (my translation to English is good enough). Most stories are enjoyable, but I especially liked this one. It’s called “Der Brief”(The Letter).

Here goes. Translated by me.

_________________________________________________________________

Sari and Lilli are standing in front of a bookstore.

Immensee, famous 19th century German novella

Sari says: Let’s go in! I love old books!

Lilli: And that’s why we are friends.

They go into the bookstore. Sari takes a book and opens it up.

Sari: Lilli!! There’s an old letter in this book!

Lilli: What kind of letter?

Sari: A man named Joseph is writing to his good friend, Doris. He needs some advice.

Der Brief

Lilli: Why? What kind of advice?

Sari: He says that he loves two women, Marianna, and Ruth. Marianna is highly intelligent. But Ruth is very funny. He doesn’t know which one he should marry!

Lilli: I hope he stayed single. [Lilli is often the Debbie Downer in the lessons and stories]

Sari: Now I really need to know what his friend Doris had to say.

Just then, the woman who owns the bookstore comes over to them.

Owner: Oh! That is a terrific book! … It belonged to my husband. … He died last year.

Sari: Oh, I am so sorry!

Lilli (spark in her voice now): Was your husband’s name Joseph?

Owner (a little surprised): Yes!

Sari (excitedly): And what’s your name? Marianna … or Ruth?

The woman smiles, a fresh gleam in her eyes.

“My name is Doris.”

Well, hope you liked it at least half as much as I did.

Until next time …

_____________________________________________________________

[1] In some spoken instances they do drop final parts a word. E.g. Einen often becomes Ein because, quite frankly, who really cares if you get the gender and grammatical case correct?

Thanks for reading. As always, you can add yourself to the notification list for newly published material by clicking here. Or emailing joe@girardmeister.com

Autobiographical, Biographical, Culture, Current Events, History, Strong Women

Presenting: The Tippi-Review, the Trailer too

January 19, 2021 Joe

The One

“There! That’s the one!” A celebrated famous movie director and producer is shouting at his television. He’s also famously morbidly obese. He’s watching NBC’s Today Show, when up comes a commercial for a diet nourishment drink, one of scores of Ultra-Slim-Fast-type products of the day.

But he’s never been interested in dieting or health. He is one of the 20^th century’s great story tellers and film makers. He’s been looking for someone. Someone special. And now he’s captivated by the lithe and pretty blond pitching the diet drink. She has the beauty, the poise, the elegance, and the charm to play the characters in some films he’s been itching to make. She’s the one.

You’re never too old to change.

I’ve been biting my fingernails since my earliest memories. My parents tried every way possible to help me stop. It’s such a disgusting habit in several ways. If nothing else, it’s atrocious hygiene; and people will – unconsciously or not – often judge your character poorly for it. And it looks terrible.

Nancy and Sluggo. Famous cartoon characters since 1938

But I couldn’t stop. As Sluggo said to Nancy when asked about it: “But they’re so convenient. They’re right at my fingertips!”

I worked for a few decades with a fellow who gnawed his nails constantly. Way worse than even me. Every digit’s nail bitten right down to the quick. Catch him thinking about work stuff (another aerospace engineer) and his saliva covered fingers were jammed into his mouth.

“Well”, I could tell myself, “at least I’m not that bad.”

But, I did even disgust myself.

I tried many times to quit. Eventually, about 10 years ago, I started making great improvement and finally was able to cut back to almost never.

But a new problem arose. When nails grow long, they crack and split. Then what? Back to biting? I never replaced nail biting with a proper new habit, which – one would naturally think – would be to regularly trim my nails. So, even though I’ve mostly quit biting, my nails still look like a mess, as I will nervously pick at the splits and cracks, or maybe trim them with my teeth, or resort to a deep gash with clippers to remove the nick.

Nails, Nails, everywhere

During the 2007-2009 economic recession, I found myself looking at what was going on in brick-and-mortar businesses. Who’s closing? Who’s staying open? What businesses are resilient? I’ve been doing this ever since.

Typical Salon Sign, for the ubiquitous Nail Salon in most metro areas

One curious thing that I noticed is that our urban and suburban areas are absolutely loaded with Nail Salons. They are everywhere. Even now, I can’t help but scan strip malls and shopping centers to find the almost-always-present *NAILS* marquee signs. Usually in neon.

One reason, I suppose, is that people (mostly ladies) like to have very nice looking nails. I appreciate that. It’s a fairly inexpensive splurge (for most) that allows them to feel good about themselves, a bit feminine, and attractive. Any more reasons?

Go inside a nail salon and … wait!!, I don’t go in those. Maybe I should. Probably could use a good manicure occasionally (but no fake nails for me).

Anyhow …. look inside and you’ll very likely observe that the professional manicurists are Asian ladies. And if they are Asian, they are almost certainly Vietnamese ladies. [Yes, I’ve peered in the windows, and peeked through the doors to verify this. I usually don’t get pleasant looks in return.]

Tippi

Nathalie Kay Hedren was born in 1930, in New Ulm, Minnesota, the second child (and daughter) to first generation immigrants. New Ulm, probably with the closest hospital, is about 10 miles from her first hometown, the tiny hamlet of Lafayette, lying in the fertile south-central breadbasket of Minnesota. There, in Lafayette, her Swedish father ran a small general store. She was small and precocious, so her father called her “Tippi”, Swedish for “little girl”, or “sweetheart.” Tippi: The nickname stuck for life.

When Tippi was four, the family moved to Minneapolis, probably because of the impact of the great recession on her father’s farmer-customers. Genetically blessed with good looks, naturally blonde hair and bright hazel eyes, Tippi started appearing in local fashion shows and advertisements in the Twin City area when just a lass. When she was 16 her parents sought a gentler climate, as her father’s health was slipping. Upper Midwest winters will do that. They settled in San Diego, where she finished high school.

She then began studying art, at Pasadena City College, and also developed an interest in modeling. Soon, her good-looks, grace and aplomb would take her to New York. And on to a very successful decade in modeling. Over those years her face (and lean figure) graced the covers of Life, The Saturday Evening Post, McCall’s, Glamour and other magazines.

A failed marriage and one child later (she is actress Melanie Griffith’s mother), Tippi was back in southern California, making commercials for various brands, including Sego, a meal-replacement drink of only 225 calories. Thin was “in”, even then.

Tippi Hedren, in opening scenes in “The Birds”

The Find

Alfred Hitchcock’s wife and film-making partner, Imelda Staunton, noticed her first. A brilliant blond, on a diet drink commercial. She knew “Hitch” was looking for another blond to cast in a movie he was hoping to make. And she knew he had an eye for beauties, especially blonds, and putting them in terrifying situations; as in Eva Marie Saint (North by Northwest) and Janet Leigh (Psycho).

Hitchcock profile and silhouette. Used on his two TV series, both called “Alfred Hitchcock Presents”

An interview was set up. That paved the way to screenings. Hedren was no actress. But she worked very hard on her lines, which were generally from earlier Hitchcock hits. She impressed him with her determination; plus she had grace and class. Hitchcock intended to make her a star. He’d be her coach.

Tippi’s career

Hedren starred in the 1963 thriller “The Birds”, generally regarded as a top Hitchcock classic. Hedren went on to make one more movie with Hitchcock: the not-so-popular “Marnie” (1964, with Sean Connery) which was met with mixed critical reviews. Then they had a falling out (lots there, maybe watch the movie “The Girl”, a Hedren/Hitchcock biopic). ^[1]

She then floated in-and-out of acting the next few decades, mostly spot appearances on several TV series. She appeared with her daughter in an ’80s Hitchcock TV episode. Nothing so significant as “The Birds.” But she had developed new interests along the way.

The late 1960s found her in Africa for filming. There she became enchanted by exotic cats and she grew concerned about their exploitation and mistreatment. Inspired to act, in the early 1970s, Hedren began what would become a mission for the rest of her life: working with wildlife charities to assist in the rescue and protection of such beautiful animals. Land was bought north of Los Angeles to establish the Shambala Preserve as a wild feline sanctuary. Later, she established the Roar Foundation to further support this charitable activity. In fact, she lives at Shambala now, aged 90, with her beloved big cats.

Refugees

For the United States, the Vietnam war ended in 1973, when the treaty known as the Paris Peace Accord was signed in January. Although the US was out, the war continued. Treaty or not, North Vietnam bore down on South Vietnam. The South’s capital, Saigon (now Ho Chi Minh City), fell in April, 1975.

Fearing for the fate of so many who had been loyal to South Vietnam and the US, the US government evacuated over 130,000 refugees and brought them to the United States. They were put in camps around the country: to be fed, clothed, and trained for employment and integration into the US society and economy.

Hedren was moved to act. She visited the first non-military camp for refugees, Hope Village, near Weimar, CA, along I-80 in the foothills about 40 miles outside Sacramento. This was a humanitarian visit to encourage them and find a way to help. She came with typists and seamstresses, hoping to find careers the refugee women could connect with. ^[2]

Now 45, Hedren was still a strikingly beautiful blond. At 5’-5”, she was tall to them. Blond and tall: that’s not all they noticed about her. They noticed her beautiful nails. They were long, perfectly shaped, … and painted. They had never seen anything like that. They all wanted nails like that. How do you do that? They wanted to become manicurists!

Hedren watches teaching demonstration at Nail School, Camp Hope, 1975

Trying to find employment: why not work with what you love? Hedren flew her personal manicurist to Camp Hope, to help train them. Then she recruited a local beauty school to work with them. In that first class, they trained a group of about 20 Vietnamese women. She guaranteed them all jobs, when they graduated, mostly in southern California. And she flew them to LA too. And they continued to train more refugees who wanted to become manicurists. Not pure coincidence that LA county has the highest population and concentration of Vietnamese of any place in the world, outside Vietnam. [Many other refugees from nearby Camp Pendleton eventually settled there, too].

One of the first graduating classes at Camp Hope (Weimar, CA)

And from there the nail phenomenon exploded. In the US, the nail salon industry grosses over $8 billion in sales annually. There are about 55,000 nail salons in the US – you can see them in almost any strip mall and shopping center – and about half of them are owned and operated by Asians. And over 95% of those are Vietnamese. Of these Vietnamese professional manicurists, most are only one or two degrees of separation from Tippi Hendren and her nail salon school for Vietnamese refugees. _^[3]

Until next time, be well,

Notes:
[1] the veracity of Hedren’s sexual harassment claims against Hitchcock are much disputed, including by actors and stage hands who worked with them on “The Birds” and “Marnie.” I tend to concur with the skeptics. At 5’7″ and 300 pounds, one can hardly imagine that the rotund 61-year old Hitchcock thought he had any romantic chance with the 5’5″ 110-pound 30-year old blond bombshell. But, stranger things have happened (ahem: Harvey Weinstein). Plus, she returned to work with him, briefly, in the ’70s on a TV show.
[2] Hope Village is now the home of Weimar Institute, a health oriented college.
[3] US Nail Salon sales, staff and salary stats here

Autobiographical, Biographical, Culture, Entertainment Industry, Music, Strong Women

Analysis: Bobbie and Billie Joe

April 16, 2020 Joe

“There was a virus goin’ ‘round,
Papa caught it and he died last spring.
Now momma doesn’t seem to want to
Do much of anything.”
– From Ode to Billie Joe, by Bobbie Gentry

Introduction. Those lyrics popped into my head – I wonder why? – during one of my recent daily social-distancing long walks and bike rides that I’ve been taking during this time of coronavirus isolation. The lines are a couplet from the last verse of Bobbie Gentry’s 1967 smash hit, Ode to Billie Joe. [Note: if you haven’t heard the song in a while – or ever heard it – then maybe have a listen by clicking the link].

Album Cover: Bobbie Gentry’s Ode to Billie Joe

The tune became an earworm. I hummed it over-and-over to myself. Most of the melody and lyrics of the song came back to me – and of the story they told. The song remains as catchy and haunting as when it first came out. It mixes matter-of-fact family life in the Mississippi Delta with references to things mysterious and wrong, all packaged within a simple, non-distracting melody. The catchy, yet minimalist, musical arrangement even suggests naivety, such as an adolescent innocence.

“The hardest thing in song writing is to be simple and yet profound”
– Sting, in the documentary “Still Bill”, about Bill Withers.

Well, the song “Billie Joe” is profound … if initial and sustained popularity are any measures. It’s simple. But it’s more. It’s memorable. It’s catchy. It sticks with you. It tells a story. It’s moving. A story that is both awkward and incomplete. As humans, we crave completeness. Closure. But in Ode to Billie Joe it’s not there … just out of reach. And so, we always want a little more.

“… a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma.”
– Winston Churchill, describing Russia during WW II.

Similarly, the mysterious story of Billie Joe McAllister, is wrapped inside the enigmatic life of author/singer Bobbie Gentry. We don’t ever get to know the “why?” of the story of Billy Joe. And Bobbie Gentry – reportedly still alive – simply disappeared four decades ago when she was still a culturally popular and gorgeous brown-eyed brunette. She hasn’t been seen or heard from since.

Tons of research and speculation about the song’s background and meaning have been published. Go ahead. Google “What happened to Billie Joe McAllister?” You’ll get a zillion hits. None has the answer. Almost as many hits for “what happened to Bobbie Gentry?” Again, there just really are no fulfilling answers.

Nonetheless, my analysis follows. Why? This is largely a product of this bonanza of extra time — thanks to the novel coronavirus. I’ve contemplated the details of the lyrics, in the context of Gentry’s life. The lyrics are richly textured. They reflect an uncommon authenticity, even for country songs.

The musings and reflections herein are based mostly on: my own memories from my years living in the South; my book-learnin’ for the Ag Engineering degree that I earned there; fading memories; a little internet research; as well as my thoughts and imagination.

______________________________________________________

The first Verse:

It was the third of June – another sleepy, dusty Delta day.
I was out choppin’ cotton, and my brother was baling hay.
At dinner time we stopped and walked back to the house to eat.
And mama hollered out the back door: “Y’all, remember to wipe your feet.”

Gentry was born Roberta Lee Streeter in northern Mississippi in 1944 (or 1942, depending on source). Her family moved a few miles west when she was young, to Delta cotton country. Not unlike eastern Arkansas, where I lived for four years: also Delta country. In the South, it’s not hard to imagine she was called “Bobbie Lee.” She lived in Mississippi until age 13, when a messy divorce took her and her mother to southern California to stay with family.

During those early years, her family reportedly had no electricity and no plumbing. It must’ve been a hard life. One that gave heartfelt credibility to songs like “Billie Joe.”

Analysis: In Ode to Billie Joe, verse one starts out as a set up. Seems like regular, work-a-day life in a hot, dusty early June in the deep South. I’m not a musician, but it’s neither a happy key, nor a somber key. It sets a mood of ambivalence and ambiguity. Not joy. Not sadness. As in: I’m just here telling a story.

The song is a first-person narrative (“I was out choppin’ cotton …”). We instantly suppose that there are some autobiographical aspects in the story. What details support that supposition?

— “Chopping Cotton”: This does not mean picking cotton. Picking is done in late summer to early fall. “Chopping cotton” is done shortly after the cotton plants begin to emerge; so, the June 3 date makes a lot of sense. Using a manual hoe, the “chopper” turns over the weeds among the small, vulnerable cotton plants. It takes a good eye to tell the weeds from the cotton – an eye that usually has sweat dripping into it.

Chopping Cotton: many weeds are herbicide resistant. Chopping requires a good hoe, sun protection, gloves and a strong back

Chopping also includes thinning the cotton plants if they are emerging too close together. It is back-breaking grueling work. Bent over, in the sunny Delta humidity, hour after hour, row after row, acre after acre. It’s obviously a labor-intensive task that is physically demanding and boring. Yet, it’s an important task you can screw up with a slight amount of inattention, or clumsiness. If Bobbie Gentry didn’t do chopping herself as a girl, one can surmise she saw others doing it.

“Brother” is baling hay. The June 3 date again makes sense. “Hay” is usually a grass or a legume (alfalfa). It is richest in nutrients when it is fully leafed, just as after it blooms; as it prepares for seed growth. Once pollinated, the plant puts ever more energy into its next generation: healthy seeds. So, it is cut, dried and baled before seeds can form, when its nutrition is dense. In fertile Delta country, “Brother” is harvesting the hay, probably the first hay harvest of the year. It’s not clear whether this is done manually or with a mechanized hay harvester/baler.

Whether the family has farm animals to feed is not clear. If they don’t, they would sell the hay to others in the area who do.

Mechanized cotton equipment slowly became more and more available, affordable, and prevalent in the decade or two after the 2^nd World War. Since this is the 1950s, it’s likely that this family baled their hay – and picked their cotton – by hand. Perhaps with migrant workers, as in John Grisham’s novel A Painted House.

“At dinner time we walked back to the house to eat.” Clearly, this is southern-speak. Until several generations ago, across America, the mid-day meal was the main meal of the day, and hence called “dinner.” The evening meal was “supper.”

In most of America, “dinner” has become lunch; “supper” has become dinner, and the term supper … has just faded away.

In many ways the south is traditional and slow to such changes. Lunch is still quite often called “dinner.” I worked various factory jobs in Arkansas in the mid-70s; the mid-shift meal was always called “dinner break.”

[Close of the first verse, mama still speaking]

Then she said: “I got some news today from up on Choctaw Ridge.
Today Billie Joe McAllister jumped off the Tallahatchie Bridge.”

Boom. Someone they all know has jumped off a bridge. A suicide. This is a sudden change. It’s not an everyday southern thing, like the song until now. You’re on edge the rest of the song: why?

Yet Bobbie continues in her matter-of-fact and I’m-just-telling-a-story-here tone of voice, strumming gently.

_________________________________________________________

The second verse:

And papa said to mama, as he passed around the black-eyed peas,
“Well, Billie Joe never had a lick of sense. Pass the biscuits, please.
There’s five more acres in the lower forty I’ve got to plow.”
And mama said: “It’s a shame about Billy Joe, anyhow.

Seems like nothin’ ever comes to no good up on Choctaw Ridge.
And now Billie Joe MacAllister’s jumped off the Tallahatchie Bridge.”

Roberta had shown a knack for music at a young age. She sang in the church choir and learned to play piano by watching the church pianist. Her grandparents encouraged her musical interests. They traded a milk cow for her first piano.

After the divorce, when she and her mother were in California, living at first with relatives, her life prospects improved. Especially after her mom re-married. She started writing and singing songs. She taught herself guitar, banjo and bass.

A promising music and entertainment career took her briefly to Vegas – with a new name, Bobbie Gentry – where she performed in shows as a dancer and backup singer. She returned to LA after a couple years and attended the UCLA Conservatory of Music, working side jobs to get herself through. There she learned, among other things: music theory, composition and arranging. She had been writing songs since she was a girl. Now she had all the tools to do something with it.

She was completely prepared in all aspects to be a star. Mature beyond her years, she could write, sing, arrange, produce and play the music for her own songs.

Summer, 1967: Ode to Billie Joe was recorded as a demo. The session took only 40 minutes. The song immediately took off. Bobbie Gentry, an unknown country singer, crossed over to pop, and bumped the royal much revered Beatles (“All You Need is Love“) off the top of the chart. Until now, virtually totally unknown … she’d soon be awarded three Grammys. She was an instant star. Her story would be the unbelievable stuff of fancy, if it weren’t true.

Analysis: the song now mixes more everyday life on a family farm with recent news. “Papa” is very calm and unmoved. He clearly doesn’t think much of Billie Joe (“never had a lick of sense”), then barely pausing for breath to ask for some biscuits.

“Lick of sense” is a southern and rural expression that has migrated to some other areas. “Lick” means less than the bare minimum and is used to refer to things like “give your hands a lick” instead of a wash. It’s merely a perfunctory effort. Less than sufficient. That’s what Papa thought of Billie Joe.

Biscuits and black-eyed peas. Again, this is a true southern experience. The mid-day dinner is meant for a good dose of calories to replenish what’s been worked off in the morning, and for the long afternoon in the hot sun ahead.

Black Eyed Peas are a staple of southern diets. They are easy to grow, especially in rich Delta country, healthy to eat, full of protein, and are quite good for the topsoil. Being a legume, they deposit nitrogen, leaving healthy and fertile earth for the next crop. So, it is often built into the regular crop rotation (as is hay). As southerners — whether share-cropping farmers or not — the Black-Eyed Pea would certainly have been a family diet staple.

And what southern meal would be complete without biscuits? Easy to make, and so tasty (calorie rich) when smothered in gravy.

Other thoughts and possible clues for Billie Joe’s fate. Black-Eyed peas came to the South with the slave trade. They are generally pale in color, with a small dark spot – the Black-Eye. Could there be a black-white thing between the narrator and Billie Joe? Many have surmised this. I think not. This was mid- to late-1950s Mississippi Delta country. Like “pass the biscuits”, the “Black-Eyed Peas” reference is just settling the listener into day-to-day southern life.

Whereas “Papa” doesn’t feel any pain for Billie Joe, “Mama” seems to briefly manage a modicum of pity: “It’s a shame about Billie Joe” and then she immediately minimizes even that by adding “anyhow.”

Finally, Papa must plow another five acres on the “lower forty”, meaning forty acres. That’s a lot of land, and it implies they have quite a bit more. Whether they own it, or just work it, we don’t know.

The lower forty is also an expression for “way out yonder.” And there’s a reason: the “lower 40” is the acreage that is on your lowest land; the house and farm buildings are built on higher ground. The “Lower 40” would probably be the last acreage plowed in the late spring, or early summer, as they’d have to wait for it to dry out from the winter and spring rains. You can plant that late in the South, in fertile Delta soil, and still get a crop. So yes, June 3^rd again fits. And yes, it dried out: it’s a “dusty Delta day.”

In any case, it sounds like Papa has a tractor to pull the plow. So, they are not completely destitute.

Southern diet, southern language, southern rural farming workdays. The timing of chopping, baling and plowing. I conclude Gentry wrote from personal experience: both her own, and things she’d seen up close. This is authentic southern life. Her life. Not stuff you pick up from listening to stories and reading books. I judge this song to be largely autobiographical. Gentry has pulled back some veils from her history.
_________________________________________________________

The 3^rd verse:

And brother said he recollected when he, and Tom, and Billie Joe
Put a frog down my back at the Carroll County picture show.
And wasn’t I talkin’ to him after church last Sunday night?
“I’ll have another piece of apple pie. You know, it don’t seem right.

I saw him at the sawmill yesterday on Choctaw Ridge.
And now ya tell me Billie Joe’s jumped off the Tallahatchie Bridge.”

Bobbie Gentry worked her fame into a great career that must’ve been financially rewarding. She took personal control of virtually every detail of every tour, every show, every arrangement. The lighting, the sound, the production. And, she was very successful at it.

She returned to Vegas with her own show; she was a huge hit in Vegas. Her show ran quite a few years and always got rave reviews and a packed house of adoring crowds. I was lucky enough to see her Vegas show, August 1974. I was not quite 18 years old. I was blown away: Great show, beautiful woman, really good music. Just, wow.

Analysis: Brother – and the whole family for that matter – still has no name, but a new name pops up: Tom. I suspect this is only to give the line a more even meter. (As an Ode, it technically has minimal lyrical meter requirements — just a lick).

The “frog down my back” comment is, to me, very apropos. The kind of light, odd, funny comment someone would make at the wake of a deceased person. Or during a get-together after the funeral and burial. But … There is not going to be a wake, funeral, or get-together for Bille Joe. Or, if there is, no one from this family is going to attend.

“Brother” and Billie Joe were friends once, perhaps just a few years ago. This is a stunt one or two boys would dare their friend to do. I can imagine that Billie Joe had a crush on the boy and his friends have figured this out – they tease him about it and eventually dare BJ to put a frog down the back of her shirt. Wanting to fit in, he complies. Billie Joe is a bit of an outsider. He’ll put a frog down the shirt of a girl he likes just to show he “fits in.”

And what is a “picture show”? It’s another phrase that left most American lexicon long ago but remains in parts of the South. It’s just a word for “movie”, and “movie theater.” Carroll County is not very populated. Even now the entire county has only 10,000 scattered souls (although it has two county seats). So, it’s not hard to imagine that in the ‘50s there was but a single “picture show” in the entire county.

No doubt: This song has a reverberate ring of southern authenticity.

Why did “Brother” see Billie Joe at the sawmill up on Choctaw Ridge? I think this is a possible clue to the story. “Brother” could be there for two reasons: 1) he worked there (when he wasn’t baling hay on the family farm); or 2) he was buying lumber. #2 is rather unlikely (he’d probably go to a lumber yard in town), but in any case, he was there, at the mill. But: why was Billie Joe there? I suspect he was looking for a job. And he got turned down.

Conjecture: Billie Joe wanted a job to impress the narrator, or rather, the narrator’s father – who clearly disapproved of Billie Joe. Partly because he didn’t have a job. He’s not worth a lick.

_________________________________________________________

The 4^th verse:

And mama said to me: “Child, what’s happened to your appetite?
I’ve been cookin’ all morning, and you haven’t touched a single bite.”
That nice young preacher, Brother Taylor, dropped by today.
Said he’d be pleased to have dinner on Sunday. Oh, by the way:

He said he saw a girl that looked a lot like you up on Choctaw Ridge,
And she and Billie Joe was throwing somethin’ off the Tallahatchie Bridge

Bobbie Gentry started slowing her career down in the mid-‘70s. She had a few TV specials, mostly for Canadian and BBC viewers. Appeared on some talk shows.

In kind of an odd twist – and very fitting for the song and story – she re-recorded the song in 1976. It was released again, and it made the charts.

But – she insisted – the title and words to the original song were incorrect. It should have been Billy Joe, not Billie Joe.

Bobbie Gentry, 1969, Show Promo Pic [citation below, fair use here]

Ode to Billy Joe was the last song she recorded to make the charts (peaking at 46 in Canada, and 65 in the US). That’s probably the only time in music history that a singer/songwriter’s last song to make the charts was the same as their first song to chart – and with different titles no less.

“Billie Joe” remained very popular in decades that followed. The song – and the mystery of what happened – was still so intriguing that it was made into a movie, in 1976. In fact, the song was re-recorded for the movie (see album cover).

Cover to soundtrack album for movie: Ode to Billy Joe

The movie, also called Ode to Billy Joe (like the re-released song), was produced and directed by Max Baer, Jr. He’s better known as Jethro of The Beverly Hillbillies – not authentic southern – and also the son of Heavyweight champion boxing champion, Max Baer.

Gentry was originally cooperative in helping with the movie. She worked with Herman Raucher on the screenplay, which has the lead female role named “Bobbie Lee.” If she agreed to that name (her own!), she clearly saw the song as autobiographical.

At some point Gentry pulled her support for the movie. Raucher and Baer seemed too attached to the idea of setting up the mystery, and then revealing it to the audience at the end – a la Sherlock Holmes. She might not have liked the movie’s purported reason for Billie Joe’s suicide (no plot spoiler here). But she was most disappointed that they failed to fully present the casual and unfeeling way that the family reacted to the suicide and her situation.

About the time of the movie’s release Gentry started to reduce the frequency of her public appearances. This, as she went through two marriages. One was short. The other – to another country music star, Jim Stafford of “Spiders and Snakes” and “Wildwood Flower” fame – was extremely short. Although she and Stafford did have one son, her only known child. I simply cannot imagine anyone who wrote and sang “Billie Joe” being married to someone who sang about Spiders, Snakes and Wildwood Flowers.

Anyhow, by 1981 she was twice-divorced and had completely vanished.

Analysis: Verse four is curious because it is all “mama” talking (as verse three was all “brother” talking). I suspect she is babbling nervously to fill space and mask her own discomfort.

There is only one verse left. You can tell the song’s almost over, because if it lasts much more than four minutes it would never have made it on the radio in 1967.

What can we tell here? The narrator is nauseous. She was well enough to chop cotton in the field all morning, walk up to the house and wipe her feet … but now she’s ill. Clearly, Billie Joe meant something to her. The news of his suicide has disturbed her. But even mama has missed her own daughter’s quiet emotional pain. She’s even offended that the girl isn’t eating: “I’ve been cooking all morning!” [more evidence that the mid-day meal, dinner, is the largest of the day: cooking all morning].

Worse, Mama calls her “child.” This is a truly southern term, and one that – to my understanding – is usually part of the Afro-American lexicon. Yet, whites use it too, especially when emphasizing that someone is not yet adult. Or they are a young adult, but not acting like it. As in: “Lordy, child! What’s gotten into you? Clean your hands before you come to this table.”

We don’t know any other details, but we can guess the girl is at least mid-teens, maybe a tad older, and had done something(s) recently that made mama (and papa) think she’s sliding back into childhood. Like maybe confiding to them that she thought Billie Joe (who doesn’t have a lick of sense) might be “the one” for her.

The narrator is hurting, yet mama is thinking of her as a petulant, unappreciative adolescent who can’t act proper. “Rub some salt in that wound for me, please, would you?”

Is it coincidence that the same day that Billie Joe jumps off the bridge, the “young preacher” stops by and announces he’d be “pleased to have dinner next Sunday” with the family? Dinner would be lunch to us non-southerners, and Sunday – especially in summer – is an all-day church-related series of events in many parts of the South and even Mid-South. Church all morning, Church in the evening, with a church-congregation-centric social dinner in between. [Recall in verse three, the narrator was talking to Billie Joe “after church just last Sunday night”].

So, Brother Taylor. He gets a name, and a title. He’s young. He’s nice. Does he have an interest in the narrator? And, since mama gives him a proper title and name, does Mama have an interest in the “nice young preacher” as a mate for her daughter? The inference is certainly there. Safe to assume that Gentry wants us to recognize it.

And what was he doing up on Choctaw Ridge? Doesn’t he have pastoral duties? In many small southern congregations preachers have a career outside of the church. These congregations tend to be small and poor; there’s not enough money to support a full-time preacher. Brother Taylor probably wasn’t up on the Ridge for work. Was he stalking the narrator?

Regarding the “Brother” title for a preacher: this is a form of address that many Christians, especially in the South, address each other with.

And the second biggest question of the whole song, besides “why did Billie Joe jump?” — What were they throwing off the bridge? Is this a clue to their relationship, and, hence, a clue to the whole mystery?

Ruminate on that while we tackle the final verse; the one that first popped into my head during that lovely spring afternoon.

__________________________________________________________

[5^th and final verse]
A year has come and gone since we heard the news about Billie Joe.
And brother married Becky Thompson; they bought a store in Tupelo.
There was a virus going ’round. Papa caught it, and he died last spring.
And now mama doesn’t seem to want to do much of anything.

And me, I spend a lot of time pickin’ flowers up on Choctaw Ridge,
And drop them into the muddy water off the Tallahatchie Bridge.

Well, papa died. Mama, sensitive soul that she is, has fallen despondent and unable to do anything. The narrator is left alone; her older brother got married and moved away. Who could blame him? This family is emotionally detached from each other. — Besides: farm work (and sawmill work) are hard labor. So, brother’s gone, probably after getting a small inheritance. It’s easy to surmise that “Papa” did not approve of Becky Thompson either. Given freedom by Papa’s death, “brother” marries Becky and runs away.

A little more insight into “Papa” is provided by another song on the very same album with “Billie Joe” — this one called “Papa, Won’t you let me go to Town?” [lyrics]. Papa is not a very nice man.

And in Billy Joe he’s not very nice either. I presume that – based on the messy divorce – her own dad wasn’t a nice man.

Oh, if Billie Joe had only waited a few more months – Papa would have been gone and then he could have courted our little darling narrator. Alas, things happen the way they do, and they can’t be undone.

The story’s narrator. Where is she? She’s not working the farm. Is anyone working the farm? It’s been nearly at least half a year. In fact, what is she doing?

She is up on the ridge, picking flowers. Then she wanders over to the bridge and drops them into the water. Apparently over and over.

Analysis: The narrator is as emotionally detached as the rest of her family, just like they were toward her and Billie Joe when he jumped. What goes around, comes around. With papa dead, Mama is clearly suffering; yet darling daughter is off alone, feeling sorry for herself. And Brother is off in Tupelo, with his new bride.

There’s a lot of theories about the song. What it was about? What really happened? The song’s real meaning – the why? – will always remain a mystery. Bobbie Gentry – mysterious, beguiling – has never really said.

______________________________________________________________________

Bobbie Gentry disappeared. At first she made sporadic appearances — ever the mystery woman, as if she had planned to deceive us all along. She appeared on a Mother’s Day special in 1981, then disappeared for almost one full year — until the next April, when she showed up at the Country Music Awards (CMA) in Nashville, Tennessee. [We were there during CMA week in 2018 — the town is really fun anytime, but super abuzz that week]. No one has seen or reported on her since.

Fruitless analyses of the song and her life have been going on for decades. We’ll never really know why Billie Joe jumped to his death, what was his relationship with the narrator, or what they were throwing into the muddy waters of the Tallahatchie River. Pressed hard for an answer during an interview once, Gentry finally answered, with practiced carelessness: “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it was a ring.”

Endless research by inquiring reporters and fans have suggested that Gentry lives quietly in an upscale gated neighborhood near Memphis, not far from her birthplace and childhood Mississippi Delta roots. She takes no visitors and takes no calls. And the song? It’s meaning is left to the listener — which can change with mood and even time of day.

By many accounts, Jim Stafford is still in love with Bobbie Gentry. As a hopeless sentimental romantic, I sympathize. Alas, they simply weren’t meant for each other. In rare interviews, he is still probed about the meaning of Billie Joe. Through a lot of digging I have found one website, wherein a reporter claims that – in an interview through an alcohol lubricated night – Stafford suggested that Gentry one time shared some dark details of her youth with him. Details that fit with the story.

The details that Stafford recalled, and that the reporter recalled (hearsay), are all probably hazed, and the implied dark story are not worth repeating. [I lost the webpage, so I won’t tell the reporter’s text of Stafford’s take on the story.]

But I think the story/song is exquisite and sufficiently complete just the way it is. If Gentry had told us anymore, then it probably wouldn’t have been such a hit. Let alone a long-lasting hit. That’s the genius of good song writing. We’ve been hooked for decades just trying to figure it out. It still generates a regular healthy royalty check for her today.

Final analysis: Papa is a harsh man and stern head-of-the-household. He probably felt he had to be that way as the patriarch of a family working its own farm in 1950s Mississippi. Perhaps a WWII veteran and feeling the pain of the Great Depression. He didn’t want to lose his children (workhands) via marriage to some slackers who didn’t know the value of hard work. He was dismissive of his children’s yearnings to find a mate. Sadly, his emotional distancing set the tone for the family.

No one wanted to challenge Papa by expressing sympathy for Billie Joe, who’d committed suicide because of Papa. Nor did anyone dare show sympathy to the narrator, Billie Joe’s probable love interest.

Then, Papa got a virus and died. Probably between 35 and 45 years of age. Not old. Mama fell into depression and had to sell the farm. Whatever money “brother” got, he used to buy a store in Tupelo (Elvis Presley’s birthplace). He ran away with the girl Papa wouldn’t let him court. And all the narrator-daughter got was lots of free time to pick flowers.

In the end, the children were just like their parents. They didn’t know how to console others and show compassion in difficult times. Unable to respond to Mama’s and each other’s suffering …. they just ran away.

That’s sad. It’s a strong message. It’s a warning, delivered by a story, wrapped in a song.

With this virus “goin’ ’round” us now, and time on our hands, let’s remember what’s really important: family, understanding and support.

Peace

Thanks for reading. As always, you can add yourself to the notification list for Joe’s newly published material by clicking here . Or emailing joe@girardmeister.com

Footnotes

[1] Some bio links: http://performingsongwriter.com/bobbie-gentry-ode-billie-joe/
Bobby Gentry Found?
Jim Stafford breaks silence on Bobbie Gentry for interview, 1988
[2] Photo citation: By Capitol Records – http://rock60-70.ru/albums/bobbie-gentry-%E2%80%8E-patchwork-1971-usa-folkpopsoul.php, PD-US, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?curid=58064389

Afterthoughts & Things not included
Ode to Billie Joe changed country music and paved the way for new heartfelt types of music, telling stories where something is quite wrong, like Tanya Tucker’s Delta Dawn and Jeannie Riley’s Harper Valley PTA.

The Tallahatchie Bridge is only about 20 feet above the muddy river waters. Jumping to one’s death there is unlikely. But it fit the song well, and rhymed with Chocktaw Ridge. So unlikely is fatality, in fact, that jumping off the bridge became quite common, due to the song’s popularity. You can’t jump off that bridge anymore. It collapsed in 1972 and was rebuilt. Jumping was made more difficult and a fine for jumping was imposed. Other hints. Bobbie Gentry’s original draft was said to have been eleven verses. It was cut to five verses for marketing, so it could fit on a 45rmp record, and manageable for radio airtime. Gentry donated her handwritten lyrics of the first page of draft lyrics to the University of Mississippi (see below). The only new information is in an alternate verse one, which starts out “People don’t see Sally Jane in town anymore.” Some have speculated that what they threw off the bridge might have been the body of Sally Jane.

Biographical, Guest Essay, Sports, Strong Women

Young Champ

July 7, 2018 Joe

Guest essay, by John Sarkis

July 7, 1962 – 56 years-ago today, Karen Hantze Susman, a teenaged bride from St. Louis, won the Women’s Singles Championship at Wimbledon. She had also won the doubles title at that year’s Wimbledon, along with her partner, 17-year-old Billie Jean Moffitt. A year earlier, they had become the youngest team to ever win the women’s doubles championship. Moffitt would (of course) become better known by her married name, Billy Jean King.

Karen Susman in July 1962, after winning Wimbledon; and six years ago, at her home, on the 50th anniversary of her victory.

Karen Hantze, a native of San Diego and just eighteen years-old, moved to St Louis, the hometown of her husband, Rod, who had attended Ladue’s Horton Watkins High School before becoming a professional tennis player. Marrying against the advice of her family and friends, she and Rod just celebrated their 56th wedding anniversary at their home in suburban San Diego.

Karen would win three Grand Slam Doubles titles in her short career, but gave up playing competitively because there wasn’t enough money in women’s tennis to earn a living at that time.

Wimbledon didn’t award prize money until 1968. The winner of this year’s Wimbledon Women’s Championship, which is currently underway, will take home 2.25 Million British Pounds, the equivalent of just under $3 Million. Each of the Doubles Tournament winners this year will win 450,000 Pounds, or about $600,000.

[editor’s note: gently edited essay by John Sarkis, a Saint Louis native and retiree, who posts and writes regularly as a hobby about St Louis history]

Autobiographical, Biographical, Philosophy, Sports, Strong Women

Last At Bat, Good Sport

April 21, 2018 Joe

Three remarkable young women
+ Two unlikely events
+ One selfless decision
=
One unforgettable moment in sports history
Plus two great life lessons

“Being nice matters and I think sometimes our society forgets that.” – Mallory Holtman-Fletcher

Central Washington University is a medium-sized state university of some 10,000 students. It is a solid school, providing a breadth of education to students for about 150 different majors. It provides fantastic value; it was recently rated by The Economist magazine as providing the most positive economic impact on its students of all colleges and universities in the state of Washington. It offers 17 NCAA sports, usually competing at the Division-II level. You don’t hear a lot of noise from or about CWU; they just go about their job, doing it well and moving along just fine, thank you.

Central Washington University’s Historic Barge Hall

Students and alumni of other Washington state schools often disparagingly refer to CWU as “Car Wash State.” But CWU, staff, students and grads don’t mind much. And they don’t retaliate. It is a respectable school.

Ellensburg, Washington – located just over 100 miles east of Seattle, across the Cascade Range, where the mountains blend into the drier Kittitas Valley, and then to the even drier and flatter semi-desert of eastern Washington – is the host city to CWU. Ellensburg is a small, functional and well-located town of under 20,000 hearty souls. Ellensburg is a lot like CWU to me: there is no chest-thumping, no braggadocio, no flash. Just simple efficiency. Folks from Seattle and other towns west of the Cascades often like to knock it – sometimes as they breeze past on Interstate-90 – as a nothing, sleepy town. As the equivalent of fly-over country for road trips.

Due to a fleeting, shiny fleck of personal history, both CWU and Ellensburg will forever occupy a tiny, but special, place in my heart. A soft spot. Let’s call that soft spot a piece of cake.

Due to one of the most unlikely series of events (and sportsmanship) in all of NCAA history – if not all of sports history – that Ellensburg/CWU piece of cake now has a nice crown of icing. Very tasty.

There are a lot of sports that I don’t pay much attention to, except maybe into and through the playoffs when the best teams are playing, and they have something important to play for. NCAA Women’s Softball is one of those sports. I’ll catch a glimpse when in a sports bar, or channel flipping. Then I’m like a moth around a late-night light: I just can’t help myself. My attention is drawn to the pure athleticism and grace of the players under pressure; the pace of the game; the strategies and the drama. Perhaps their reflexes are the most impressive. Pitchers can throw the ball – underhand mind you – at speeds that approach major league pitch speeds. But the pitching rubber is some 14 feet closer than the majors! What a softball pitcher can make that ball do as it speeds along that distance of 46 feet at 80+ mph is astonishing! The pitches rise; they dip; they slip, and they slide. How do batters even touch the ball?

One thing that always amazes me is the size and physique of so many of the young women. I’ve always thought that most of the better players could swap uniforms with their school’s football players and you could use them as actors in making a realistic movie about linebackers.

I knew of the following story, and at least one other somewhat similar. Somehow, I forgot almost completely about it. But sportsmanship in competitive dramatic moments came up in a conversation with my wife recently, and my non-linear brain pulled up this story and quite a few details. At first, I contorted my brain to try and recall much more. Well the internet is an astounding resource. After finding many more details there, including some school records, I was overcome with the urge to write it down.

__________________________________________________________________________

When the Western Oregon University women’s softball team traveled to Ellensburg to play a double-header against Central Washington University on April 26, 2008, the teams were neck-and-neck for the season conference title, which would end in about a week. It was a special day at CWU: Senior Day. Their seniors were being honored as they would be playing the final home games of their career.

Playing first base for CWU that day was senior Mallory Holtman. During those last few weeks of the season she was playing through terrific pain. She really needed two knee surgeries. Those would have to wait; she did not want to let herself or her team down. She wanted one last chance for a conference championship. She was certainly one of the stars of the team – in fact the entire Great Northwestern Athletic Conference. At the time she was the conference’s all-time home run and RBI leader; she is still the all-time conference leader in those statistics. At season’s end she was chosen the GNAC Player of the Year, leading it in home runs and batting nearly .400.

Across the infield was friend Liz Wallace, another senior and team leader – also hoping to help lead CWU to the league championship and playoffs. Liz stood second to Mallory at almost every offensive statistic, and she held down the very important defensive position of shortstop. She had played in almost every single CWU game over her four years there. The day and the games meant a lot to these young women.

___________________________________________________

In 2008, Western Oregon was having one of their best seasons in years. In fact, their best season ever. They had momentum and they could feel it. And on that last Saturday in April they had just rolled into town from Idaho, having taken both ends of a double-header from Northwest Nazarene, in Nampa.

Petite and plucky Sara Tucholsky was a senior on that 2008 Western Oregon squad. She had been through the WOU bad times with good cheer. [The previous three years the team’s won-loss records were 14-33, 17-32, and a promising 26-25]. And, although she had only briefly been a full-time player – during part of her sophomore year – she was certainly enjoying being part of this team. It was a team of extraordinarily deep talent and chemistry. When she got a chance to play, she gave it her all – athletically, energetically and enthusiastically.

At only 5-foot 2-inches tall Sara stood nearly a head shorter than most other players. Add to that her rather slight frame and she would never be confused for a linebacker, no matter what she was wearing. This season, as during most of the previous three, Sara played only sparingly, sometimes against a non-conference foe, or – like today – in a double-header during a long stretch of games so that some players could rest.

Western Oregon took game one easily by a score of 8-1, behind star pitcher, team MVP and conference all-star Katie Fleer. (Fleer won 25 games that year).

For game two, Sara was inserted into the 8^th batting position and right field.

Her career batting statistics until this day raised no eyebrows. They were fodder for little conversation. Her college batting average was a humble .149, and she had but one lonely extra base hit in those four years – a double that fell in way back in her freshman year. Not only did she not have a single college home run, she had never hit a home run – ever. Not in high school, not in youth sports.

When Sara’s first turn to bat came up in that second game of a double-header, April 26, 2008, in the top of the second inning, her batting average for that 2008 season was an unimposing .088 – a mere three singles in 34 at bats. Yet she battled on.

She had diligently taken her turn at regular batting practice; taken advice from coaches; worked on drills. She exhibited a commitment to improvement when many others would have given up.

With one out and two runners on base Sara now made her way to home plate. A few jeers and giggles came from the crowd when her lack of height and brawn became evident during her stroll. She gave herself a little pep talk: ignore them, be brave, be focused, don’t give in, do your best, Sara – whatever that may bring.

She dug in to the right-handed batter’s box. The first pitch was a rising fast ball, about letter high. A borderline pitch. Sara let it go. Strike one!

Well, whatever happened next, she told herself, she wasn’t going to let that happen again.

She doesn’t remember where the next pitch was. Sara simply remembers swinging.

And that’s when the first unlikely event happened. Sara made solid contact. Very solid contact. Contact like she had never made before. Right on the sweet spot.

The batted ball soared out to centerfield and kept going … and going. The two base runners paused so they could tag up when the ball was caught– Sara certainly couldn’t hit the ball over the fence. Could she?

She did. That ball cleared the fence.

While the other runners jogged around the bases to home, Sara – a very jubilant lass – jumped and skipped as she ran to – and past – first base. In her excitement she initially missed the base. Every player and fan knows that a ball hit over the fence is not a home run until the batter touches all the bases, in order. Even though she had never hit a ball over an outfield fence before, Sara of course quickly realized she had missed the base. She stopped. Then she turned around – maybe a bit too quickly in the excitement. She had to return to, and touch, first base.

And that’s when the second unlikely event happened. Sara let out a short yelp – and crumpled to the dirt. Something was terribly wrong with her right knee. As it turned out, she had torn her ACL. She crawled back to first base, practically in tears.

And now the dilemma. Sara could not be expected to crawl around the bases like that, let alone walk or trot. The rules of baseball and softball do not permit physical assistance by a player’s teammates or coaches. If so, she would be declared out, and her home run would not be counted. If she were replaced by a pinch runner, it would be a dead ball substitution: The replacement runner would begin the next play at first base, Sara would only be credited with a single, and her run would not count.

After a few minutes of discussion – frustrating discussion between WOU coaches and umpires – there occurred the third surprise event: the unselfish act. Perhaps not quite as unlikely as the long hit and the sudden crippling injury, but one of the most wonderful decisions and events in sports EVER.

Just as Western Oregon’s coach was about to put a replacement runner at first base for Sara, Central Washington’s star first baseman, Mallory Holtman, asked if she and her teammates could help Sara around the bases. They conferred with the umpires, who concurred that this would be within the rules. Holtman, joined by teammate Liz Wallace, carried lame Sara the rest of the way around the diamond, pausing a moment at each base and gently lowering Sara so that her left foot could tap second, then third base … and then home plate. Whereupon Sara was handed over to her teammates.

Three great young women [photo credit: NCAA.ORG and Blake Wolf]

It was now official! Sara had hit a three-run home run! Those were her only three RBIs (Runs Batted In) for the entire season. It was, of course, her last at bat in college. Her improbable hit – and CWU’s extraordinary act of sportsmanship – were the unlikely difference in what turned out to be a 4-2 victory for Western Oregon.

________________________________________

The idea of carrying Sara around originally occurred to Holtman. And she had the gumption to approach the umpires and WOU coaches on her own. But she has always brushed off the praise. She’s always insisted that it’s something anyone could have thought of; and almost everyone would have done.

The event was highly documented and discussed at the time.^[1] The three young women won an ESPY for “Best Sports Moment” of the year that summer.^[2]They all would go on to a few years of notoriety, giving motivational speeches, usually Sara and Mallory, who formed a lasting friendship as a result. The video of their performance is still burned into their memory and that of many sports fans.^[3]

2008 ESPY Winners: Best Moment in Sports

Western Oregon indeed went on to win the conference championship. It was the school’s first conference championship – in any sport.^[4]They were eliminated from the Division II sectionals a few weeks later by another conference rival, Humboldt State (from California).

All three young women soon graduated. That was ten years ago. They are all now married and, near as I can tell, still live in the Northwest or West.

Mallory Holtman went to graduate school at CWU, became the school’s assistant softball coach, and just over two years later, became the head coach, beating out nearly 50 other applicants for the position, aged only 25. She recently retired from the demands of that position to spend more time with her family.

Liz Wallace is very involved in youth softball, helping to develop the coming generations of good athletes, and good sports. She also works as a human resources administrator. She’s living the life of a military spouse, so locating her at any time can be difficult.

Sara works as Area Manager of recruiters and representatives for various therapy services: physical therapy, occupational therapy, speech pathology, etc. She still gives motivational talks. She volunteers for various agencies, including Ronald McDonald House.

Sara and Mallory remain friends, although they live about four hours apart.

The two CWU young women ^[5] — Mallory and Liz — gave us all something to cherish and remember – whether or not we are sports enthusiasts. It’s this lesson: We must consider our fellow humans as part of the same team – before we can consider them competitors.

The second life lesson is thanks to Sara: no matter how down you are, no matter how bleak the outlook, you are never defeated if you don’t give up.

To this day Central Washington, Ellensburg and those three very special women don’t brag about it. That’s class. Actions speak for themselves.

Peace

Acknowledgement to my good friend Marcy, who helped with proof reading and editorial suggestions. She is a delight. It turns out she rather enjoyed the story for personal reasons as well: her cousin attends CWU. I apologize, Marcy, if any typos, errors, or uneven reading have crept through into the final draft. Your effort, as always and in all regards, is greatly appreciated.

Notes:

1) The umpires were in fact wrong. NCAA rules did permit a substitute runner in such a rare event to continue running the bases in a dead ball situation such as this. It’s an understandable error, and the sports world is better off for it. The rules have been amended to make this clearer.

2) ESPY = Excellence in Sports Performance Yearly

3) Watch a video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jocw-oD2pgo

4) However, as a club sport, the WOU men’s lacrosse team won the non-NCAA sanctioned PNCLL conference that year, 2008.

5) I almost used “Young Ladies” here and throughout. It was sort of a title, as in “Lord and Lady”, or “M’Lady” – as they had certainly earned a title. Upon reflection I was led to conclude the term could be considered disparaging, so used “Young Women” instead.

6) Box score for the game: http://www.wouwolves.com/custompages/Softball/SCStats/2008/wou41.htm

7) Yes I know that I named an earlier essay Last At Bat, but I couldn’t help myself. So this essay got an appropriate subtitle: Good Sport

Some resources:
NCAA: Where are they now?

Sara Tucholsky – An Inspiring Softball Story

Western Oregon Softball historical stats: http://www.wouwolves.com/sports/2018/1/15/SB_0113093741.aspx?path=softball

Biographical, Edwardian/Pre-War, History, Strong Women

Young Kate Shelley

February 25, 2017 Joe

Young Kate Shelley (the girl with two first names)

Table of Contents
Preview
1. Kate falls asleep
2. Transcontinental Railroad?
3. Prelude to The Storm … and Destiny
4. The Shelley Family
5. The Storm, July 6, 1881
6. Kate & the Bridges
7. Aftermath and Later Life
Notes and Author’s comments
More Notes and afterthoughts

Preview

Some swear they have seen it. Many refuse to look. Others, those who deny the romance of heroic history, say it is just plain nonsense.

Two mighty railroad bridges stand side-by-side out in the middle of Iowa. One is well over a century old; its steel trusses betraying its age. The other is gleaming and new … a 21^st century engineering marvel.

The older structure is slowly being retired. At first it no longer carried passengers. Now the engines of trains that cross her are required to crawl slowly as they haul their freight over the Des Moines River. Someday even that will cease; the clack of steel on steel will be relegated solely to the new bridge.

The New Kate Shelley High Bridge, under construction, 2008, next to the Old Kate Shelley Bridge.

And yet, as a National Historic Site, the older sibling may never be torn down – preserved forever as an American icon.

Until then the tiny, lonely, swaying light on the older bridge will still shine for those who believe. For them, late at night, when swollen rain clouds roll across Iowa’s fertile center, a faintly visible figure will move along the rusting old bridge, gently and deliberately swinging a light from side-to-side.

Some say it is the ghost of famous civil engineer George Morison, who passed away shortly after the older bridge was built. But most believers – trainmen, history buffs and lovers of local lore alike – well they know that it is something and someone else.

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1. Meet Kate as she Falls Asleep

Out in the plains of Iowa, on a small family farm, there once lived a 15-year old girl named Kate Shelley.

Most nights she lay in bed keenly awake until very late. Until long after the sun went down. After the chores were done. After her mother and siblings were fast asleep.

What was Kate doing? She was patiently waiting, carefully listening. She heard the sounds of sleep – snorts and sniffles, tossing and turning – coming from her three younger siblings. She not only shared a room with them, she had become their principal care taker.

That’s not what she was listening for. Wait for it Kate. Be still. Be quiet. Be patient.

She heard the creaks of the boards and nails in the farmhouse her father had built. She remembered him building it; she could recall many evenings he had continued to work on that modest farmhouse, keeping it in fine repair through all sorts of weather until just a few years ago.

House creaks were not what she was listening for. Wait Kate. It will come.

She heard the gentle sweep of prairie breezes, as they bounced over Honey Creek – with its swales and cottonwoods. She heard the shimmer of leaves, the waving of grasses, and sway of weeds up against the barn walls and farm fences.

That’s not what she was listening for. Be still Kate. You can do it … It won’t be long now.

She paced her breath. She wanted to be able to hear it as soon as possible – at the earliest possible moment. It was her trigger. Her window to an escape. An escape of fantasy from this life on the farm, to places far away from her endless duties.

A bullfrog croaks, then jumps into Honey Creek. Kind of late for mating season. Maybe that sly vixen fox had scared him; she does have a litter of kits to feed. Or maybe that Great Horned Owl had tried for the frog; she thought she’d seen one way up in a cottonwood along the creek last summer.

She was not listening for frogs, or foxes, or owls.

A horse from the barn whinnies – that would be Sady, Kate’s frequent companion in sleeplessness. Maybe she was waiting in anticipation, too. Or maybe arthritis; or maybe too many apples from that Thomson girl up the road.

No, not listening for Sady either.

There! Could that be it? She heard the distant clack-clack-clack of steel on steel.

Kate’s bed trembles ever-so-gently. Was that her quivering? Or the ground?

She can surely feel it coming now. The Midnight Express is coming! It is crossing the river now.

[1] The Midnight Express was formally known as the “Chicago Limited”, which ran from Omaha (with the new Union Pacific bridge across the Missouri since 1872) to Chicago. It was also sometimes called “The Fast Atlantic Express”, depending the locality. Of course it was known as the “Express” or “Limited” since it made only a few stops along the way – to pick up passengers from connector lines, or to get coal and water. Lighter loads and tender cars had allowed the Express trains to speed past most of the tiny railroad towns.

The Express is heading to Chicago. From there many passengers will go on to any exotic distant land. To whatever places they go, all are far from this farm. Soon people on the Express will be visiting with important people – Kings and Queens; beautiful princesses and handsome princes. They will be doing important things – selling lumber, buying steel, building factories, trading grain contracts, building the country.

The Express draws nearer quickly. It rumbles across the largest river she knows, by far: the Des Moines River. She knows well the hum and buzz of the trestle bridge under a heavy load.

She imagines herself as one of the well-dressed passengers, well fed, with finely coiffed hair. She imagines her own head full of worldly thoughts. A Pullman Porter checks on her to make sure that last jostle hasn’t disturbed her – or her precious cargo. Is it a briefcase of bonds, important coal contracts, or simply valuable jewels?

In less than a minute the coal-fired steam engine will cross another bridge, at Honey Creek, right behind the Shelley Farm. There’s the coming crescendo: one last loud set of rumbles and trembles. The boiler chugs some steam to push the mighty pistons; the engine belches smoke. Steam, having done its work to move the pistons, hisses out the steam ports. She can hear the rattle as the tire flanges clatter on the steel rails. ^[2]

[2] Train wheels have a very hard layer of steel around their perimeter, called tires. Much like car wheels have special tires around them. Tires have flanges made integral with them to help keep the train “on the rails.”

Kate holds tight to her fantasy most nights; she cherishes each night the Midnight Express rolls by; she is only a few hundred yards from a journey to the world. Outside of Iowa.

Then the sounds of the Express begin to slowly fade. As long as she can hear it, Kate stays awake. After the rattle of the bridges, after the chug of the steam engine. After the last cry of the steam trumpet ^[3] as the Iron Horse passes a distant depot, and when the jangling blast-furnace strengthened wheels screeching around turns laid out by steel rails have faded completely away … after all that, Kate allows herself to drift away.

[3] Steam Trumpet: name for the train’s whistle on a 19^th century steam engine train. To use it was “to blow off some steam.”

Some nights, when the air and breeze are just right, she can catch a whiff of something more: The air grows perceptibly denser, as if perfumed by some unseen censer ^[4]; it’s that Iowa bituminous and sulfur-infused coal. With the fading sound of the Midnight Express, the faint hypnotic smell of locomotive smoke, and carried by her fantasies, Kate Shelley hopes for a night of sweet dreams.

[4] This text is inspired by Poe’s The Raven, wherein the 14th verse begins: “Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer // Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.”

Soon enough a new day will dawn and, with it, hard reality.

And so the days passed. And the weeks. And the summer months…. One after another.

Although Kate loved her family and liked her life on the farm … well, maybe one night it would be different. Maybe one night, one special night, Kate’s life and the Midnight Express would come together in much more than fantasy.

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2. Transcontinental Railroad?

Most people know as certain fact that “The Golden Spike” driven at Promontory Point, in Utah, on May 10, 1869, joined the Union Pacific line with the Central Pacific line, thus completing America’s first transcontinental railway.

Fewer know that this is actually false. There was, technically, not then a true “transcontinental railroad.” At the time of “The Golden Spike” the eastern end of the Union Pacific line terminated in Omaha. There was yet no bridge across the Missouri River to connect Omaha to Council Bluffs, Iowa, and to America’s much more populous east.

The construction of the “transcontinental railroad” to connect Omaha with California’s Great Bay had begun in the summer of 1865, shortly after the Civil War ended.

Yet the Mississippi had been crossed with a railroad bridge way back in 1857, at Rock Island, Illinois – near what is known today as the Quad Cities. This was a magnificent transportation achievement for its day, and was accomplished largely thanks to an engineering survey conducted some years earlier by a young Army officer named Robert E. Lee. That the Rock Island bridge maintained this vital rail connection after a severe accident shortly after it opened was thanks largely to a railroad lawyer, named Abraham Lincoln.

Linking Chicago to America’s heartland, the Rock Island bridge had the effect of almost guaranteeing Chicago’s ascendancy (over front-runner St Louis) as the King City of America’s western empire. Through Chicago would flow the great bounty of grain and coal from America’s Breadbasket. And through Chicago to the Breadbasket would flow the great pine timbers to build towns and cities; the endless manufactured goods, such as stoves, furniture, tractors, cutlery …

By 1867, the railroad had made it all the way across Iowa, to Council Bluffs – directly across the Mighty Missouri River from Omaha. A bridge across the Missouri was finally completed in 1872; until then trains were ferried across the Missouri. Along the 300 miles across Iowa – as the railroad linked up cities, railroad towns, distribution centers, and coal mines – the rail line had to cross many rivers and streams. The largest of these was the Des Moines River, in Boone County, near Moingona, Iowa.

Built rather quickly, the bridge was quite narrow – only a single track with a slender maintenance walkway beside the line.

The walkway was not intended for pedestrian traffic. To discourage foot-travel, the nails on the boards were not pounded down flush. The boards were unevenly spaced. They were roughhewn, with open spaces between them; Looking down between gaps in the walkway’s board, one could quite intimately see and feel the river flowing below. There was no safety of a hand rail. Nonetheless, it was a remarkable bridge: its four spans over the river traversed about 675 yards.

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3. Prelude to The Storm & Destiny

As she had hoped – but surely not as she had dreamed or imagined – the destinies of Kate Shelley and The Midnight Express were forever joined one night: July, 6, 1881.

The rain came down all afternoon like Kate and her mom had never seen before. It was hard to tell when the sun went down, the sky was so dark. The barn, and windows and doors were all shuttered; but they all rattled in a way that made relaxing impossible. Lightning flashed across the sky every few seconds; then down to the ground. Heaven was letting loose some sort of evil rage.

After an anxious dinner none even tried to sleep. Sleepy little Honey Creek roared almost as loud as when the Midnight Express came by. Kate, by virtue of listening so intently almost every night, grew very worried. She wasn’t worried about the fox den getting washed out. Or the branches coming off trees; or trees falling into the creek. She wasn’t worried about the livestock. She wasn’t worried that the rain flattened their crops. She wasn’t even worried about the house or some small leaks that began moistening the kitchen.

She was worried about the Midnight Express. It was “her” life; it was “her” fantasy that was in jeopardy. In her own way, Kate considered the 100 or more souls on that train to be her friends. Would the Express come? And if it did: Would it be safe?

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4. Shelley Family History

The Shelley family had emigrated from Ireland in 1866, before Kate, her parents’ first-born, was even one year old. They ended up in central Iowa, near the tiny town of Moingona, where her father could get some land, run a farm, and work for the railroad.

Like most of the country, the economy there was beginning to really boom. Countless repeated ebbs and flows of glaciers from multiple ice ages had deposited rich soil across the great American Midwest. Thus blessed, farms produced grain and livestock to feed the county’s rapidly growing population.

Many ages before that, ancient seas had left vast deposits of aquatic biomass: these became the Iowa coal fields that helped feed the region’s rapidly growing industrialization and railroad tender cars.

It was a place rich with opportunity for those who were ready to work.

Michael Shelley built a small but sturdy farmhouse overlooking Honey Creek. Four siblings followed. Kate was a big sister.

Michael Shelley was especially fond of Kate, his oldest daughter. From her youngest memories they were very close. She especially loved when he came home in the evening. He would place his trusty railroad lantern on the mantle, then give her a hug, tousle her raven hair, and tell her how beautiful she was. Kate’s usual expression – and the look in her eyes – gave the impression of a deep sense of seriousness and resolve; a seriousness and resolve that could not easily be dismissed with a smile or a laugh.

Yet her father could make her seriousness melt and her spirit soar. He’d glide easily from hugs and tousles into a round of stories about his work in the railroad yard. The excitement of so many cars – so much cargo, so many people – moving from place to place. And it all depended on him.

At the end of every night’s telling of stories – some tall, some true – Michael would tell his daughter: “Kate, you can do anything. When the time comes, you will know what to do.”

Then, calamity. When Kate was only 13 her father fell gravely ill, and quickly passed away. Only a month later her 10-year old brother James, the next child after Kate, drowned in the nearby Des Moines river. Kate’s mother fell into despondency, perhaps depression. Now young Kate was more than just the big sister: over the next few years she took on more and more of the family’s responsibilities … raising her siblings, managing the house and farm. Her solemn nature of serious resolve became a great asset.

Soon enough, her resolve would grow stronger.

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5. The Storm – 2: July 6, 1881

There’s no telling what Kate was doing when her attentive ears first heard the noise on that fateful Wednesday, July 6, 1881. Perhaps she was finishing a turn at churning the butter. She could’ve been making lye, being careful not to give herself a chemical burn. Possibly feeding livestock, hoeing or weeding. Fixing a fence. Putting up hay. Plucking a chicken. Darning some socks, or repairing a shoe sole. If she wasn’t doing these herself, she was seeing to it that one of her siblings were on the tasks.

But she heard it. A deep long, ominous rumble. Most definitely: a thunderstorm was coming.

No doubt she found a way to quickly finish what she was doing. She put her things away … and had her siblings do the same … maybe in the shed, or in the barn, or in the cupboard.

Then she ran to the clothesline. Those skirts and shirts, pants and knickers would never dry if the storm came before she could get them inside.

Once inside, Kate and her family watched the storm clouds build, grow dark, and move over them – from horizon to horizon. They probably began preparing some stew or soup, heated over the wood or coal-fired stove. The rains came hard and fast, like they’d never seen before. This was no ordinary summer thunderstorm, what they sometimes called a “gully washer.” The clouds poured buckets down on central Iowa for hours. The lightning flashed; the thunder roared.

To fortify their nerves, Kate led her siblings in faux bravado through retorts to the thunder and wind.

“Is that all you’ve got??” They shouted. And: “Oh! That was nothing! Show us more!”; or: “Fart like you mean it!!”

It was whistling past the cemetery.

On and on it went. The rivers rose. The creeks rose. The streams and rivulets that fed the rivers washed out over the gently sloped Iowa fields.

Around dusk – with clouds so dark it was difficult to tell when dusk was – young Kate feared for the livestock sheltering in their humble barn, down close to Honey Creek.

Kate realized the animals in the barn might drown should the creek swell much further. She donned a shawl and straw hat, then ran down toward the creek, sloshing through the mud and puddles, skittering along like a water beetle. Just as she opened the barn door, a mighty gust of wind swept her hat away … and vigorously tousled her wild mop of dark hair. The mussing of her hair gave her a momentary sense that her father was near. She re-focused and, undistracted by the wind and storm, she opened each stall and led their few livestock – two horses, two cows and a sow – up a gentle rise to some woods behind the farm. Then she returned to the barn to fetch two piglets, which she carried up to the farmhouse.

Safely inside the farmhouse, her clothes and hair drenched, and sticking to her slender frame, Kate’s senses grew even more alert. Now she could not just keenly hear and see the storm; now she could feel and smell the evil in this storm. She sensed the potently electrified atmosphere, and the way the rain and low pressure sucked the primordial scents of the earth right out of the soil.

As her siblings and mother nervously poked at their dinner after watching Kate’s heroics, Kate sat by the stove to warm up. She had changed out of her work clothes and into her pajamas, and was wrapped in a woolen blanket. They all looked nervously at each other, taking bites between gusts of howling wind and peeling cracks of thunder.

Right after the Midnight Express of the Chicago & Northwest railroad crossed the wide Des Moines there was a much smaller bridge, across Honey Creek, at the edge of the Shelley farm. It really was just a tiny bridge, as far as railroad bridges go. Perhaps 25 yards across.

Rebuilt bridge over Honey Creek.

But the growing intensity of the creek’s roar gave Kate reason for great concern. The Midnight Express was due to cross in just a few hours. Would the bridge hold up?

Kate adjusted her ears to listen even more closely. Beyond the rain, beyond the thunder, beyond the wind she listened to the whoosh of Honey Creek. It was normally just a trickle.

Suddenly. Around 11 PM … she heard a booming colossal “CRACK!” through the cacophony of the storm.

About a mile and half to the west of the Shelley farm, across the Des Moines River, at the railroad station in Moingona, the night station manager grew anxious too. He’d never seen a storm like this either, and the Chicago & North Western crossed numerous creeks on its way east to tiny Harmon Switch, on the Jordan River, and then to Ames, home of the still rather new Iowa Agricultural College and Model Farm. ^[5][6].

[5] – The town of Harmon Switch was first called Midway, for its central Iowa proximity. In the 1850s it was renamed Harmon Switch after a local farmer and large landowner (William Harmon), and its small railroad junction. Later it was changed to Jordan, and remains so named today, the same as the river, which runs there. [History of Boone County, Iowa, Volume 1.(1914) Edited by Nathaniel Edward Goldwait. Pg 222.]
[6] – Iowa Agricultural College and Model farm is now, of course, Iowa State University.

Layout of Locations for events of July 6, 1881. Photo of sign outside the museum. (At the you are here pin). North is up. [credit to Kate Shelley Railroad Museum and Park]

At about 10:30PM, he sent out a pusher locomotive to check on the line … at least as far as the next station, near the Jordan, some 10 miles away. As soon as the boiler was fired, it took off east, across the river.

Leaving the station with four men the locomotive almost immediately crossed the long bridge across the Des Moines River. As lightning flashed they could see the water had risen nearly to the bridge.

A few minutes later they came to Honey Creek, with its tiny trestle bridge. They could not have known – they did not see – that some support timbers beneath the bridge had cracked and others washed away. As the locomotive crossed the bridge it failed completely, collapsing into swirling Honey Creek.

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6. Kate and the Bridges

Kate knew immediately what had happened. She re-wrapped herself in a shawl, took her father’s railroad lantern off the mantle and lit it. Then she fetched her father’s oversized railroad mackintosh – a rare extravagance in Iowa in those days – and briskly strode to the door as she slid her arms into the Mac.

“Mother. There’s a train in the creek! There are people down there.”

“Kate”, her mother yelled. “Please don’t go outside again. It’s too dangerous.”

Kate paused pensively. Then: “Mother, if father were still alive, that could well be him in the water. And if it weren’t him down there, then he’d be going down to help. I have to go.”

Her mother’s eyes softened and she tacitly nodded her consent.

Kate made her way down to the bridge. As it turned out, two men had perished in the collapse; but Kate couldn’t know that. But, there were two survivors. When they saw the light of the railroad lantern they yelled with all the energy their lungs could muster. One man clung to the upper branches of a collapsed tree; the other to bridge timbers.

You can do it Kate. You know what to do.

Indeed, Kate knew what had to be done. She had to cross the Des Moines River bridge, in the dark, in the storm, go to Moingona station, and stop the Midnight Express … otherwise it would surely plunge into Honey Creek atop these men.

The time was too short, and the slopes too muddy and steep, for Kate to try and save them herself. She violently swung the lantern from side to side to let the men know they’d been seen. Then she set off to the Des Moines River bridge.

Guided by her father’s lantern, Kate nimbly danced along the line, over the ties and between the rails – through the wind and rain – about a quarter-mile to the Des Moines River bridge. At the bridge’s beginning she paused a moment – to gather her courage and resolve – before stepping onto the perilously narrow walkway.

Suddenly, the mightiest gust of wind yet staggered her. Rain beat upon her face and her hands like sand … and stung as if they were a thousand tiny salt pellets. And worse: the lantern’s light went out.

Without the lantern’s light Kate could not possibly walk across the bridge without a dangerous, deathly stumble.

For a moment Kate lost her resolve, her focus. Dark was all around. The wind eased, whispering into her ears — it seemed to carry her father’s voice: “Kate. You can do this. You know what to do.”

Then she began to crawl across the bridge, plank by plank.

By her calculations, she had about 45 minutes to get across and make it to the Moingona station.

As Kate crawled on and on – board after board – splinters and nails tore at her coat, her pajamas, at her knees and at her hands. When she looked down she could see that the river had risen nearly up to the bridge. Halfway across, in a flash of lightning, she could see an enormous tree coming right for her. At the last moment a swirl in the river – or was it Providence? – diverted the tree … its mighty trunk and groping branches slipped safely past her.

At some point, perhaps halfway across the bridge – reaching almost blindly for each successive plank of the walkway – hypothermia began to set in. Now soaked and chilled from the rain, Kate fought back the delirium with determination. She must save the Express.

You can do it Kate. You know what to do.

On and on she went, feeling her way for each plank. One after another. And then … Finally! … Kate had reached solid ground!

She had a half-mile remaining to get to the station. Stiff, sore and cold, Kate managed to get up off her scratched and bloody knees, onto her feet, and begin running to the station along a footpath she had walked before in better weather; it paralleled the line’s north side.

The men at the station were astonished to see a dripping wet, exhausted 15-year old girl collapse in front of them.

Through her chattering shivering jaw she managed to squeak out: “S-s-s-top the ex-s-spress. S-s-stop express. Honey Creek Bridge ….”

As the men rushed to help Kate, one recognized her. “That’s Michael Shelley’s girl. That’s Kate. From Honey Creek. The bridge is out.”

The express did not stop in tiny Moingona. But it was scheduled to stop at the next station up the line, Ogden. Immediately the station’s telegrapher started tapping a message for Ogden station. The Morse read: STOP XPRESS. BRDG OUT.

The telegrapher did not receive a reply. It turned out that at that moment all the telegraph lines along the Chicago & North Western went down from the storm’s ferocity. A backup plan: The night’s head switchman ran out with a lantern to stop the Express.

Well, it turned out that the telegraph message got through. The Express stopped in Ogden.

Kate Shelley had saved the Midnight Express.

As Kate sat shivering by the stove, sipping some hot tea, she suddenly stood bolt upright. “There are two men in the water at Honey Creek! We’ve got to save them.”

Another engine was fired up, pulled up from the yard’s sidetrack, and three men and Kate climbed into the cab, behind the firebox. In a minute they were safely crossing back over the very same bridge Kate had just risked death to crawl over.

When the train’s headlight revealed the calamity at Honey Creek bridge, the engine stopped. In the dark, by the light of two faithful flickering railroad lanterns – one Kate’s father’s, the other the switchman’s – they found that the two men were still alive, clinging desperately to stay above the water. But they were on the far side of the creek; there was no way to get to them from the west side.

The wind, ebbed momentarily, and sounded like a ghostly whisper: “You can do it Kate. You know what to do.”

“Follow me!” Kate yelled above the roar of rushing waters. Carrying her father’s lantern, she led the rescuers upstream, nearly a quarter-mile, above the farm, to the next bridge across Honey Creek, which they found intact. Her sure feet showed them the way along the slippery soil of the creek bank. They crossed over the bridge, went back past the farm and then down to the collapsed bridge.

By the light of the lanterns they located one man close to shore clinging to a trestle timber. The rescuers, with Kate holding “her” lantern, risked their own drowning, linked their arms, and pulled him from the water.

The other was too far out in the flow to rescue that night. The three railroad men returned to the engine, dropping Kate off at the farmhouse, making sure her mother knew of Kate’s heroism. They spent the night in the engine’s cab, keeping an eye on their co-worker and friend, thanks to the light of a lantern. He was rescued the next morning, after the creek flow had abated, when sunlight had returned and evil had left.

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7. Aftermath and Later Life

As it turned out, there were 200 people on the Midnight Express that night. They took up a donation for Kate; it came to about $200 – no small sum. The Chicago and North Western Railroad gave her a cash award too; the state gave her a gold medal.

Soon enough, Kate was a national hero. Songs and poems were written to praise her.

The Railroad raised money for the Shelley children’s education. Kate was given a lifetime pass on the railroad; whenever she came home, she was able to get off right next to her family’s farm. For a few years the train frequently stopped at the Shelley farm so that admiring and well-wishing passengers could get out and greet Kate.

Even with her lifetime pass, Kate left Iowa only once. Of course she went to Chicago. That was to visit the Columbian Exposition, also called The 1893 World’s Fair. Despite her dreams and fantasies, as it turned out, Kate’s heart really was in Iowa. There she remained the rest of her life.

Kate got an education at nearby Simpson College, and tried teaching for a while. She bounced between various jobs, always in central Iowa, including working for the state and even running the Moingona station for a while. A woman running a train station; her dad would have been proud.

Many men were interested in courting Kate, especially a switchman at the station. Always her own woman – fierce, serious, determined, resolved – she never married, although she was engaged once.

In 1901 a new bridge was built across the Des Moines by George Morison a few miles to the north. It was called the Kate Shelley Bridge. When it was re-built, just a few years ago, the new bridge was dubbed The New Kate Shelley High Bridge. In the 1950s the Chicago and North Western began running a very modern streamlined train from Chicago through Iowa: It was called The Kate Shelley 400.

During the 1890s and first decade of the 20^th century, the Shelley farm fell into mortgage arrears. The railroad helped the farm stay afloat. Kate’s mom remained always in poor health – perhaps that’s the reason Kate never married or left Iowa – and Kate spent much of her time and energy on her mother. Mrs Shelley passed away in 1909.

Shortly after her mother’s passing, Kate began to fall into poor health herself. She struggled through a variety of illnesses. In 1911 she had her appendix removed. Very sadly, she never recovered, and passed away in January, 1912—age 46 – from Bright’s Disease, an acute failure of the kidneys – probably due to infection.

Kate Shelley is a true American Heroine.

The railroad line no longer crosses the Des Moines River at Moingona. Amtrak passenger trains pass far to the south, freight to the north, over the New Kate Shelley High Bridge. But you can go to what remains of the railroad station there. It now houses a museum, most of which is dedicated to honor the life and heroism of Boone County’s most famous resident: Kate Shelley.

In one of the museum’s most special and cherished displays stands an aged railroad lantern. That’s Kate’s father’s lantern, the one that led her to the barn, led her to the creek and led her to the brink of the Des Moines River bridge that fateful night, July 6, 1881.

The Kate Shelley Railroad Museum, Moingona, Iowa

If you go there, and you are all alone, and the museum is very quiet, and you are very patient, and you stand motionless before the lantern, and you listen very, very closely, history calls to you. “You know what to do. You can do it.”

The museum is closed at night. Even on summer nights when thunderstorms roll across Iowa. On such dark and stormy nights, when the “believers” have seen a swaying ghostly light appear to crawl slowly along the old High Bridge, no one has ever, ever gone to the museum to see if the lantern is resting in its display.

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Notes and Author’s comments – 1

Other Notes:

Kate and locals were not unfamiliar with train disasters. Evidently there had been a significant derailing near Stanwood, Iowa, the previous year.

Author’s Comments.

I initially came across this story in a small display at the “Steamtown National Historic Site”, a sort of museum to steam locomotion, in Scranton, PA, several years ago.

Since then I’ve been poking around libraries, book stores and the internet to find more information. I was astonished to find that no significant magnificent single body of work exists to relate this remarkable story of a heroic young woman.

I came across many, many sources … most very brief … that often conflict with each other in details. For this story, I chose to interpret everything in the most exciting and extravagant way possible. For example, some sources say Kate was 15-years old; others say 17. Which is more exciting? I say 15.

Some sources say the train had already stopped in Ogden; some say Kate’s message saved the train. Which is more extravagant? Kate saved the train.

Some say the telegraph went down before Kate arrived at the Moingona station; others say well after she arrived. I dramatically split the difference and chose to say it happened just as the message was received.

Where there were no details I did historical research; it was important for me to place Kate and her story appropriately within US, Iowa and railroad history.

Where other details were missing, well, I simply made them up – or skipped over them. For example, I have no idea what life was like for the Shelleys – life on the farm and schooling for the children. I do not know if or how Kate got the lantern across the long bridge. I have no idea what Michael Shelley might’ve done for the railroad — except that he DID have a lantern — whether he had a Mackintosh, and what Kate’s relationship with her father was like. I made all that up. Still, it’s all very plausible. I make no apologies.

Many Boone County locals do insist that the ghost of Kate Shelley roams the region and is partial to railroad lines and bridges. Of course this is silly. Or is it? I chose to include it as a possibility. For me, after this much study, Kate Shelley lives.

Finally, I had to finish this story and publish it for two reasons. First, it had rolled around in my addled head for so long that it was more or less “now or never.” I nearly deleted my work: the drafts and notes. Thankfully my wife not only talked me out of it, but she lovingly helped craft the structure of final drafts. Second, there appears to be a fairly substantial book to address Kate’s life and heroics coming out soon, called Boone County, by Misty McNally. I wanted to get this out so that I could not be accused of plagiarism.

I also must acknowledge the final draft editing help I received from my good friend Marcy.

As many of you know, I’ve been fighting headaches on-and-off for quite some time. My periods of intense focus are often quite short – and longer “free” periods are often devoted to the many details of life; so this was a bit of a labor of love. I worked on it a few minutes at a time, sometimes an hour or two, over the past many months. Why? It’s important to tell stories and personalize history. And I feel called to do so. Despite the desire to personalize the story, I chose not to include a picture of Miss Shelley. None I found did her any justice. Yes, I love history, I love writing, and … now … I even love Kate Shelley.

“I do believe in ghosts. I do. I do. I do.” – Cowardly Lion, Wizard of Oz

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Even more Notes and Author’s comments
More notes:

Another reason I was fascinated by this story, and how it evolved, is that it reminded me of a rather obscure song I like, by an obscure singer/writer I like. I call the song “Old John Joseph, the man with two first Names”, although the song’s singer/writer, Harry Chapin, named it “Corey’s Coming.”

Old John has worked for decades in a slowly dying railroad yard. He has stories and visions to share. You can listen here: Corey’s Coming.

I’ve written about Harry Chapin (Another Love Story) here: Another Love Story

The first Kate Shelley High Bridge was completed in 1901, essentially replacing the bridge Kate crawled across 20 years earlier. It’s one of the last projects of noted bridge engineer George Morison. He was trained as a lawyer. A famous civil engineer in his day, he was influential in getting the location of the great Central American canal changed from Nicaragua to Panama.

He does not appear to have aged well, was likely in poor health even during the Boone Viaduct (first official name) construction, and died two years after the structure was completed, aged only 60. The bridge was the longest and heaviest viaduct of its time, and also may well be the longest extant double-track railroad viaduct in the world. It is listed in the National Register of Historic Places. So, it will stay up as long as nature permits. Some say his ghost haunts the bridge as well.

Joe Girard

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Biographical, Current Events, Guest Essay, Strong Women

Remembering Lisa

February 5, 2017 Joe

By Ken Hutchison, Feb 3, 2017

Yesterday was a sad day for me. I walked in the building, along with hundreds of my co-workers, former co-workers and friends. I was handed the folded piece of paper; on it was one of my photographs. It’s happened before to me. I should be used to it, but not this time.

It was the portrait I took of Lisa Hardaway (that’s DR. Lisa Hardaway). In the photo, she’s holding a scale model of the New Horizons spacecraft. The spacecraft that passed Pluto last year, capturing the first ever, high resolution, up close and personal images of the furthest thing in our solar system. I remembered taking the shot; it was for various press releases, social media, education outreach, and because she was recently named as the Engineer of the year by the American Institute of Aeronautics and Astronautics. Lisa was so proud, and who wouldn’t be, because that’s the Holy Grail of aerospace engineering. Lisa was the program manager for the Ball part of the mission.

Then, on the paper, were the dates. The date she was born, and the day when she left us with only her memories and legacy. On the cover were two other pictures, of her and her husband, and the shot of her kids. Lisa, mother, wife, friend, co-worker, and damned smart American, died at the young age of 50.

We filed into a beautiful light filled room, hundreds standing and sitting, hugs, tears, handshakes that turn into hugs because men have that awkward “do I hug?” thing that we do.

The Rabbi came out. Now, I’m a flunky Presby kid from Pueblo, not exposed to the Jewish religion at all. I’ve never been to a Jewish funeral, only a wedding. That dance with the bride and groom in chairs is, well, different from our fussy traditions. Looks a lot more fun.

This, hands down, was one of the most beautiful services I’ve been to. The Rabbi began with what I guess was a call to worship or mourning, I’m not sure. It was Yiddish, ( 2/4/2017, author’s update: Hebrew, not Yiddish; pardon my ignorance) and my depth of that language is about as deep as saying “Oy!” Still, it was haunting, moving, having an ancient tone of thousands of years long. The Rabbi spoke, and then gave an outline of who would be talking with us. First up was her husband, James.

I’ve known James for years as a customer and colleague. He proceeded to wrap the entire room around his little finger with stories of how they met, the food and wine they loved, their children, and the things he learned from his wife. The last thing he mentioned that he learned was “courage”. At that point, and that point alone, is when his voice broke… Along with all of the hearts in the room, for we all felt the same. Next, her daughter Jaella Hardaway came up, and captured the room with her charm and grace, her laughter, humor, and stories, some of which she’d never shared. That girl has a future, you could see why Lisa was so proud of her.

There were a couple of more speakers, family and friends. Then the Rabbi addressed the family. At this point, the tears started for me, because she was a rockstar with her words. She asked the folks in the room that would be willing to provide life guidance to the children should they ever need it to stand up.

The entire room stood.

Then there were the closing prayers, chants and other Jewish customs which were alien to me, and the service was over. Upon exiting, I walked past the two men I noticed on the way in. They had pistols on their belts…private armed guards. You see, the Jewish Community Center had a bomb threat phoned in two days prior, along with dozens others around the country.

It was not only a sad day for us, but for our country as well, when those who are grieving need to be protected.

May God bless the family of Lisa Hardaway.

Editor’s Notes: Ken Hutchison is the Senior Staff Photographer at Ball Aerospace & Technologies Corporation. He also gives tours, entertains high level guests (Congress persons, Generals) and is a heck of a writer. He lives in Longmont, Colorado.
I also had the honor of working with Lisa on the New Horizons mission (Ball’s instrument was called “Ralph”). Ball is a very close community.

Biographical, History, Strong Women

Lee’s Gift

February 3, 2015 Joe

Forward to this 2015 release.

This essay was originally published on my earlier website (which is still up, but not maintained) to commemorate a 50-yr and a 83-yr anniversary, in January, 2012. Given the recent announcement that a sequel may come out this coming summer … [New York Times — Author to publish second novel] well, I thought it appropriate to re-publish the essay on this site. You, dear reader, will note that it will be in need of some factual updating. That is, if reports of a sequel turn out to be true.

____________________________________________

A shy bookish gal from a small town in Alabama, Nelle Lee, is trying to “make it” in the big city of New York in the 1950s. Her dream was to make it as a writer. Now, seven years later, she struggles with an odd collection of unpublished short biographical sketches while working various menial jobs, including employment as a reservationist for Eastern Airlines.

Introverted and reserved, she has managed to make a few friends, including a Broadway composer, Michael Brown, and his wife, Joy. Magic was about to happen. But they didn’t know it.

______________________________________

Nelle was born to attorney Amasa Lee and Frances (nee: Finch) Lee, their fourth and last child, in Monroeville, Alabama, in 1926. Always an outsider and a tomboy, she took to the books and fell in love with literature at a young age. She was convinced that she could become a writer, although she tried her hand at law school and a year at Oxford in England before deciding for sure what she would try to do. Everywhere she went, she was ever the loner and individualist, focusing on her studies and showing no interest in being anything like a southern belle.

One can only imagine how difficult it was for such a girl in New York. Despite steady encouragement from her friends, the Browns — and from another emerging writer who had achieved some renown and happened to be from her home town and same school, “Bulldog” Persons — young Miss Lee had not yet completed any work of significance. She shared her character sketches with her friends, and they were impressed. But her regular day jobs got in the way of making significant progress on a complete story.

The Brown’s major gift to Miss Lee came at Christmas, 1956. Michael Brown, who had written the tune Lizzie Borden for a play a few years before, had earned a sizable fee for getting some scores accepted. His wife suggested that they use part of the money to allow Miss Lee to take a year off from work and focus on her writing. And so he did. And so she did.

Lee got a literary agent and got to work, completing a manuscript oddly titled “Atticus”, a somewhat autobiographical story centered around characters and events of a small southern town, not unlike her own hometown of Monroeville. One of the major characters in the story, a boy named Dill, was based on her old hometown friend “Bulldog” Persons.

Through multiple rejections Lee grew more and more frustrated and unsure of herself. She soldiered on, with the support of her friends the Browns and Bulldog, and the encouragement of her agent. She continued to work on the script and waited through multiple publisher reviews … and rejections.

Finally, the book was published in 1960, by Lippencott & Company. For a shy girl from a small town in the south, the reaction of the country was overwhelming. She was stunned into numbness. As one of the most moving and appreciated books in American history, it immediately resonated with readers across the country and around the world. Millions and millions were sold. In short order she won the Pulitzer Prize for literature, and the book was made into a movie which won three Academy Awards … and still ranks as the 25^th best American movie of all time.

The novel itself has since been named the Best American Novel of the 20^thcentury by Library Journal.

Miss Nelle Lee is known to us as Harper Lee, as she has gone by her middle name since mid-adulthood. Her only novel was renamed by the publisher: “To Kill a Mockingbird.”

In a fortuitous historical coincidence, the book and the movie burst onto the national and world scene at the same time as the civil rights movement, led by Martin Luther King, Jr and others; it coincided with the brave voting registration drives and the Freedom Riders.

“Bulldog” Persons’ real first name was unusual: Truman. For his last name he took the nom de plume Capote. When the book was published, but before anyone knew how popular it would become, Lee traveled to Kansas with him to do research for a story that would turn into one his most famous works: In Cold Blood. For all practical purposes, it was the closest she came to writing again. Only a couple of essays.

Lee’s last public interview was March, 1964. Only one story, yet she left us with so much. The story still moves us today.

The role of Atticus, played by Gregory Peck, gave him the singular role for which he will be remembered forever. The American Film Institute named the role of Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird the top film hero of the last 100 years. Lee and Peck remained close the rest of his life, until he died in 2003. Several of his grand children have Lee in their names.

The movie’s character young Scout Finch (the autobiographical Lee, with the same last name as Lee’s mother) was played by 10-year old Mary Badham. At the time, she was the youngest ever to be nominated for Best Supporting Actor or Actress. Like Lee, she remained largely out of public view since then. During the movie she formed a lifelong friendship with the warm father-figure of Gregory Peck. They stayed in regular communication until his death; she always called him “Atticus.”

The movie gave us the first screen appearance of Robert Duval. Near the end of the movie, an odd looking young man appears, and Scout says: “Hey Boo.” Duval’s smile is touching. He played mentally challenged and kindly Arthur “Boo” Radley.

How do you write a sequel to To Kill a Mockingbird? Unimaginable that such an oeuvre could be a first effort! How do you write another story, another novel? Harper Lee tried a few times, but the bar was too high. All those efforts are filed under “U” for unfinished. Harper Lee was a shooting star, a comet who lit up our sky, and gave us a tremendous story for the ages. And then she was gone. She has lived a relatively reclusive life since then, privately splitting her time between New York with her sister, and her old hometown, Monroeville, Alabama.

Thank you to the Browns, whose gift of friendship, encouragement and financial support made Harper Lee’s manuscript completion and publication possible. And Thank you Harper Lee. Thank you for overcoming your shyness and insecurity long enough to hang in there to give us the gift of To Kill a Mockingbird, which allowed us to see ourselves so much better.

“I remember when my daddy gave me that gun. He told me that I should never point it at anything in the house; and that he’d rather I’d shoot at tin cans in the backyard. But he said that sooner or later he supposed the temptation to go after birds would be too much, and that I could shoot all the blue jays I wanted — if I could hit ’em; but to remember it was a sin to kill a mockingbird.”
— Atticus Finch (in Haper Lee’s “To Kill a Mockingbird”)

[1] Lizzie Borden, by Michael Brown: http://www.guntheranderson.com/v/data/lizziebo.htm

[2] This essay was to jointly commemorate the 50th anniversary of the release of the movie and the 83rd anniversary of Dr King’s birth.

January 2012.

February 2015 note: I hope this is not a hoax. How surprising that this “new” book was actually written first! No wonder it took Ms. Lee so long to come out with “To Kill a Mockingbird.”

Biographical, History, Strong Women

Haunting Bird

May 27, 2013 Joe

There is a genre of music I will attempt to define that is somewhat hard to describe. First, it is conflicted: haunting yet catchy. But, second, it is not haunting the way that Tubular Bells (theme of The Exorcist is haunting), but rather that its melody (and words if there are any) suggests a powerful influence by an unorganized medley of life’s most painful experiences.

Some obvious candidates are the torch songs; the song tells an incomplete story of someone spurned by a lover, or of the loss of a budding or possible love. Sinatra’s “One for my Baby” is good, but that’s too obvious. So the third criterion is that is has to be subtle; it can’t be obvious. Elvis Costello’s “Allison” is close: you know something is horribly wrong and there is an untold history; you just don’t know what it is.

The fourth criterion is that the tune must suggest a bigger story than just unrequited or lost love. In movies we get a taste of this from the instrumental Lara’s Theme (theme to Dr Zhivago) in its odd mix of Balalaika with full stringed orchestral backing. Despite people’s lives and loves getting completely crushed by the steamroller of history the melody is oddly jaunty, almost upbeat. It is defiant; hopeful in spite of misery. “I will survive. Things will be better.” Lara’s theme was set to words in Somewhere my Love, which captures that greatest of human emotions: hope. Criterion Five: Defiant with unjustified hope.

Similar to Lara’s Theme is another movie theme. Set at the awkward time mixing youth and world chaos – as we tried to make sense of a world gone hopelessly mad in global war – and cope with loss of life, and the loss of all manner of innocence, there was The Summer of ’42. Haunting. Complex. Catchy. Suggestive of pain, suffering and loss. Yet, like Lara’s Theme, oddly upbeat. Defiant.

[Unsurprisingly, each of these themes won Academy Awards. Zhivago took 1965’s award; Summer of ’42 won 1971’s]

One song, somewhat movie related, that is haunted in this way for me is a sing-songy nursery rhyme, Risselty-Rosselty. That’s because this is the song the children of Bodega Bay School are singing on the playground as the blackbirds gather to swarm in Sir Alfred Hitchcock’s epic 1963 thriller, The Birds. Every time I hear or think of that tune I can still see what those birds did to the beautiful Annie (Suzanne Pleshette). And it is the word “Bird” leads us to this essay’s principal character.

_________________________

It is a beautiful day at a café in Paris: a sensational August day in 1944. Paris has just been liberated. A singer of some budding renown is inspired. That afternoon, in that café – in the reborn glow of Liberté – she composes the feature song for which she would forever be known … and famous. The haunting yet catchy tune with words to match. It is not obvious, but it is suggestive of a complex and painful life, rife with struggles. It is somewhat bubbly, and yet there is that awkward juxtaposition of subdued melancholy with budding hope and expectation. Buoyant with the possibility of love. She wrote the song for herself to sing; to sing as if she were looking at the world through rose colored glasses. And yet she was to sing it as if she knew all along that she wore those glasses. Of what she sings is not real. Her whole life in one song.

_________________________

Born to street performers in Paris in December 1915, Édith Giovanna Gassion was abandoned by her mother shortly after birth. Called to fight in The Great War, her father turned her over to her grandmother, who raised tiny Edith in her brothel in Normandy. She was always petite, even frail, and appeared sickly. She ever remained a small creature, but grew to have a big, big voice.

Blind from age three to seven from a bout with keratitis, she remained with the prostitutes until her father fetched her as a young teen to work with him in his street performances as an acrobat. She collected money after the act, and, at some point, he convinced her to sing as she collected the money in small boxes and hats.

Soon enough Gassion was being recognized for her own talents and at age 15 she struck out on her own, working menial odd jobs and singing on street corners. She fell in love with a delivery boy, the first of untold many such love-life disasters. At age 17 she had her only child, a girl named Marcelle. As a teenaged street performer and day laborer she was unable to care for the infant. She abandoned the child and the child’s father, leaving him to raise the girl. Unfortunately, Marcelle died of meningitis two years later: the sorrow of losing the same child twice only sweetened the magic of her performances.

So she moved to the better side of town, in the Pagalle area, where a high-end tourist and cabaret district intersected with the sex industry. Performance of all kinds!; here she felt comfortable. And here she was spotted as a potential winning performer by a small time impresario named Louis Leplee, who ran a night club.

Leplee truly appreciated Gassion as a musical performer – not as a potential lover: he was a homosexual – and developed her potential. He became a genuine and kindly father figure – the “father she never had” – by day and her boss by night. He counseled Piaf to moderate her proclivity to mingle with the darker elements of Parisian culture; and he had her singing in his nightclub until 3AM – with rave reviews at age only 19. Shockingly, a year later, Leplee was shot in a murder that was never solved.

The petite Gassion was a suspect in the case, detained for questioning. Released, her prospects were clouded by her association with Leplee; other club owners were reluctant to hire her. She soon caught on with Raymond Asso – as a lover as well as business partner. A performer and composer as well, he turned her toward music writers who could mix Gassion’s powerful voice in a tiny body with her dark, street-gutter past; who could mix music with her love of tragic, melodramatic themes, in a concoction with elements of blues and jazz. He knew that this consonance, with a real-life story of “misery of the streets” would play on the hearts of those who still had money (this is now 1937, in the Depression).

But her name had to change. Gassion would not do. She was tiny, yet she flitted around with tremendous nervous energy. Just like a sparrow. Piaf. And so Edith Gassion became Edith Piaf.

Things went well for Piaf and Asso until 1939, when he was drafted into the next Great War. Asso had given her a bit of polish, and Piaf’s career continued to bloom — she even began to star in theatre. When France was overrun in 1940, Leplee was sent away to Germany to entertain the French POWs.

Meanwhile, for Piaf, presently alone, she continued performing in cabarets, but now mostly for the occupying Germans. She was sometimes accused of fraternizing and collaboration, charges that were never substantiated.

When the war ended, Piaf was soon again on top of the French entertainment industry. She set her sights on America. And she fell in love with the one whom she called “the one true love of her life”, World Middleweight Boxing Champion, Marcel Cerdan. In classic Piaf disaster, Cerdan was already married with three children.

With a revamped tour going well for Piaf in the US, her Cerdan had just lost a title bout wherein he sustained a career-ending shoulder injury. Still famous today as the most successful French boxer ever, Cerdan flew off to join her in New York. The plane would stop in the Azores en route. And there it crashed, taking Cerdan and all 47 others. Piaf learned of the disaster shortly before that evening’s show. She performed anyhow, the tragedy of loss adding to the delivery of her classic haunted, yet catchy style, evoking great emotion. “The greater life’s blows, the more powerful and magnificent her voice!”^[1]

Piaf had several more star-crossed romances and marriages. None went well. She was also involved in three severe auto accidents, all causing critical injuries in those days before seat belts. At least once she was ejected from the car by a high speed collision. These led to a dependency on morphine, an addiction that she fought the rest of her life by turning to an old affliction: alcohol.

Professionally re-living her life’s sorrows, she toggled between addictions, switched from lover to lover, and pushed herself to perform and record songs at a withering pace for such a frail, sickly woman.

In 1958 she caught on with a very young, intriguing and talented writer who would rejuvenate her career. Georges Moustaki (born as “Moustacchi”) was a most unusual blend of direct Egyptian, Greek and Italian descent. He spoke Italian, Arabic, Greek and – as a fourth language – French. All these tragic cultures he blended into his compositions for Piaf. Her tours were tremendously popular; her health continued failing. Naturally, they become lovers.

Piaf’s and Moustaki’s lives and careers separated after a few years. He would go on to be one of France’s most beloved composers and entertainers. ^[2] She continued performing and falling in love.

At age 46, still pushing herself to perform at a dizzying pace while struggling with dependency, she met and fell in love with a handsome Greek singer twenty years her junior. Piaf and Theo Sarapo were married … her third.

But she was so ill. And she drank. A lot. Her liver became cancerous, and the harried, haunted life of the sparrow came to an end in October, 1963; aged only 47.

Even in French (which I don’t like very much) the song La Vie en Rose that Piaf penned in that Parisian café in 1944 has captured the essence of my newly created musical category, specifically: Catchy with overtones of being haunted by history; yet subtle, with a touch of melancholy, defiance and hope

Enjoy this classic recording of Piaf singing La Vie en Rose. [Anglicized lyrics below].

[1] From History Channel’s short biography of Edith Piaf

2] This essay partly inspired by the recent death of Piaf’s songwriter Georges Moustaki, May, 23, 2013: http://www.nytimes.com/2013/05/25/arts/music/georges-moustaki-french-singer-and-songwriter-dies-at-79.html

Notes A)

Anglicized lyrics to La Vie en Rose (as Translated by Edith Paif herself)

With eyes which make mine lower,
A smile which is lost on his lips,
That’s the unembellished portrait
Of the man to whom I belong.

When he takes me in his arms
He speaks to me in a soft voice,
I see life as if rose tinted.

He whispers words to declare his love to me
Simple every day words.
And that does something to me.

He has entered into my heart.

A piece of happiness
the cause of which I know full well.

“It is him for me, me for him” in life
He said that to me, he swore to me “forever”.

And as soon as I see him
So I feel in me
My heart which beats

May the nights on which we make love never end,
A great joy which takes its place.
The trouble, the grief are removed
Content, content to die of it

When he takes me in his arms
He speaks to me in a very soft voice,
I see life as if it were rose-tinted.

He whispers words to declare to me his love
Words of the everyday
And that does something to me.

He has entered into my heart
A piece of happiness
the cause of which I recognize.

“It is him for me, me for him” in life
He said that to me, swore to me “forever.”

And as soon as I see him
So do I feel in me
My heart which beats

JG note: I think when she says “rose-tinted” it is the French equivalent to “seeing through rose colored glasses.”

B) Notes: Lyrics to Summer of ’42; which I don’t think has any lyrics in the movie

“Theme From Summer Of ’42”

The summer smiles, the summer knows
And unashamed she sheds her clothes
The summer smoothes the restless sky
And lovingly she warms the sand, on which you lie

The summer knows, the summer’s wise
She sees the doubts within your eyes
And so she takes her summertime

Tells the moon to wait and the sun to linger
Twists the world round her summer finger
Lets you see the wonder of it all

And if you’ve learned your lesson well
There’s little more for her to tell
One last caress, it’s time to dress, for fall

C) Lyrics to “Somewhere my Love” (Lara’s Theme) ;
which I also don’t think has any lyrics in the movie

Somewhere, my love,
There will be songs to sing
Although the snow
Covers the hope of spring.

Somewhere a hill
Blossoms in green and gold
And there are dreams
All that your heart can hold.

Someday we’ll meet again, my love.
Someday, whenever the spring breaks through.

You’ll come to me
Out of the long ago,
Warm as the wind,
Soft as the kiss of snow.

Till then, my sweet,
Think of me now and then.
God, speed my love
‘Til you are mine again.