Our late northern Minnesota winter brought the usual wild mix of temperatures – 50 degrees above zero toward the end of February, and 20 below two weeks later in March. John and I continued in perpetual planning mode for our section of the new garden, abandoning every final decision on seeds as soon as the next catalog arrived in the mail. Peas seemed to be a definite go, if we could settle on a variety – but carrots and peanuts were among those drifting on and off the list. Mother was amused by our fickle loyalties and didn’t seem to care if we ever decided. She completed her – far more stable and practical – list and sent it to Daddy for his official OK.
We read all the books Daddy mailed, and Mother sent him a continuous list of suggestions for more. But with so much happening around the country with politics and the economy, she was growing more frustrated with our isolation. “I wish I could get news quicker. Can we afford to take the paper again? Will you send me an American and a Woman’s Home Companion as my subscriptions have run out.”
After that, Daddy started a subscription to the Minneapolis Tribune for her “as a kind of present”, asking only that she send him the magazine section and the funnies each week with his laundry. “I feel real up to date” she wrote, and was extra pleased that her paper arrived the same day it was published.
In the middle of March, Mother decided that John and I should try attending school again “to find out how things are.” So the next morning we got ready early, packed lunches, and headed out, taking our frozen shortcut across the slough. Over cookies and milk later, we had the usual reports; nothing had changed, spitballs and chalkboard erasers flew… She smiled as we told her about our day – wondering if Miss Edum still blamed John for being the class ringleader. By the time we finished sharing our news, Mother had decided she was more than ready for an escape to the city, and started planning a visit to Minneapolis.
It was not warm enough to begin our gardening for the season, so it was a good time to be away. She grew more excited as the details came together; she could spend time with daddy, do some of her legendary spring house-cleaning, shop in the big department stores downtown, and get some sewing done on her electric Singer. At night she would sleep in Daddy’s room, and John and I would stay a few blocks away at our Aunt Esther and Uncle Alfred’s house. We spent hours planning and packing for the new adventure.
Daddy came up on the train and we met him in Park Rapids the day before we left. The next morning we loaded the car with bags of city clothes, books, and Betty June. Mother packed one of her four-course lunches for the trip and stashed it in back – no hints. We were down to one cat by this time – Tommy had disappeared – but we decided to leave The Mother Cat outside, sure she could fend for herself. After one final check inside and out, we all climbed into the Ford, happy to be together again. Three of us, at least, were eager to visit our old home town…
Re-entry to civilization proved to be as disappointing as our first trip to the farm, making John and I acutely aware of how much we had changed. Daddy’s cramped room was on a busy thoroughfare, and the new sounds felt like an assault – the constant clamor of autos, revving trucks, and rattling streetcars passing by. How could he sleep? We missed our chirping crickets and soft breezes rustling through the grove.
Aunt Esther’s street was relatively quiet, and she tried to make our stay pleasant, but we really didn’t know her well enough to feel comfortable. Her home was not set up for kids, and we felt inhibited trying to play there. We grew impatient with being shuttled back and forth to Daddy’s room, with no time to visit our friends in the old neighborhood. By the end, John and I were eager to get back to our cozy little cabin.
There was only one highlight of the visit – we added a new member to the family. Mother had wanted a dog since we moved to the farm. In her second letter to daddy she said a dog would, “let us know when someone is coming. It startles me when folks come up to the door so quietly.” She mentioned it again a few days later. “I wish we had a dog. Mrs. Jenson brought the milk over Saturday night and walked right in before we knew she was here.”
We had no dog leads back in Park Rapids, and Daddy hadn’t heard of any in Minneapolis. There were a few more obstacles: the Pound was located on the opposite side of the city; animals were not permitted on streetcars; and most of the time we had the car, so when Daddy occasionally did hear about a dog needing a home, there was no way for him to follow up or get it to us.
But the stars must have lined up while we were in Minneapolis, because one of daddy’s friends gave us a barely-weaned puppy. We named her Mitzi. She was a spirited little white fox terrier with brindle spots covering her ears, and a jet black nose. We loved the way her unbobbed tail wagged furiously when she was happy, which as far as we could tell, was all the time.
She seemed to enjoy the long trip back with us, and leaped out of the car when we arrived at the farm, eager to explore her new surroundings. The Mother Cat was nowhere in sight. But as we were carrying things in from the car, we heard a sharp yelp – announcing the two had met. Mitzi came bounding over to us, obviously shocked by this strange creature’s unprovoked attack. We knew that many families in our neighborhood had cats and dogs who got along, despite their natural enmity. The Mother Cat, however, accustomed to being the resident queen of our grove, did not know this, and she was not amused….
She stalked boldly across the yard and positioned herself strategically on the back stoop. Her green-eyed surveillance left no doubt she would bar the entrance of this canine interloper. Each time Mitzi approached, the cat stood up, a growl in her throat, her tail and back arched, her lips curled ready to spit, and her forepaw raised to slash any tender nose within range. Mitzi got the message and stayed well away from the door, entering the house only when one of us stood guard, or the cat was out hunting.
We tried to console The Mother Cat, giving her special attention and meaty bones to drag away and gnaw in her secret places, but she was unmollified. And we thought of offering her favorite flour and water paste, but concluded it might lose some appeal without the intrigue of her stalking and sneak attacks. She began a stealth campaign, crouching on a chair pushed under the table, with her steely eyes focused on kitchen traffic. If Mitzi came too close, a lighting-rake of sharp claws sent her yelping off to a safe corner … as the cat laid back for a satisfied nap. Mitzi learned to stay away from the table, but the cat basically ignored our behavior modification techniques – like cuffing her after each ambush.
One of Mother’s biggest frustrations was trying to persuade Daddy to get things for himself. In February she had told him to disregard some items on her list of requests, “I’d rather you’d buy yourself a Sunday shirt with the rest of the money. Will you do that please and look around and get as good quality as you can.” But he never confirmed, and there were no new shirts in his laundry.
A month later she made another appeal. “You should be looking at suits for yourself, getting a line on quality, color, and styles, because I want you to get one this spring. I want you to look your best all the time because you are a nice-looking man when you take the time to fix yourself up.” Daddy replied that her letter “sure made me feel good,” but never followed through.
She tried again in April. “Now my main idea in writing is to tell you I want you to take enough money from the bank to buy yourself some new clothes. I’m asking this as a favor and you owe it to yourself and the Company. Get your uniform cleaned and mended. Buy shirts. Go downtown where they have new goods and don’t buy anything cheap. I’d like you to get two nice broadcloth shirts with collars attached and three or four work shirts. Get a raincoat too. Also get a new cap for Sunday. This sounds like a lot but they are all things you need. We are going to get new clothes too but you need them the most.
“And I wouldn’t hang around the station listening to other men’s troubles. If each one of you would talk things over with your wives more and shut your ears to gossip the world would be a lot better off. A man’s first duty is to protect and provide for his family. If you have any time left after that is done you can work for some good cause.”
| Gross Pay | $37.50 | |||||
| Savings Deduction | 4.00 | |||||
| Rent Bank loan Haircut Candy Groceries Tablet Lead Envelopes Stamps | $6.00 8.50 .25 .15 2.90 .10 .10 .05 .37 | Stamped envelopes Martha Postage [parcels] Eggs Wheaties Banana Milk Make-up Change | .50 5.00 .40 .16 23 .02 .04 2.50 | |||
| Total Expenses | 24.77 | |||||
| Cash on Hand | 6.23 |
Shortly after that, the company announced a pay cut, reducing Daddy’s wages from 55 cents to 50 cents per hour, to which Mother replied: “Too bad about the cut but that is one of the things you have to take.” Despite their decreased income, she repeated her request: “You must get two or three good shirts right away. Don’t get anything cheap, and get some towels and washcloths.” Meanwhile, he was writing her, “Don’t be afraid to order things.”
True to form, Mother never let up. He finally wrote, “I will send you some money in the package and I will try to get it mailed tomorrow. If the shirts you looked at in Park Rapids are well made and good material get me one 15 1/2 size.”
During our trip, Daddy had noticed the car had developed a front-wheel shimmy and some rust spots on the body. He was worried about Mother driving with the steering problems, and didn’t want the rust to spread, so he decided to drive it back to Minneapolis for repairs and a new paint job. Once back in the city, however, there was a sudden surge in work – more than he really wanted, though the money was always welcome. “The company sure is keeping us on the jump now. I have had three runs in a row and Friday I made $6.25.” One day the power went off for about fifteen minutes and “tied up the lines” so he ended up working two extra hours – for one extra dollar on his check.
Daddy had liked being a conductor. He enjoyed the social interaction – greeting and joking with the passengers, selling tokens, collecting fares, and giving out transfers. He was also grateful to have a job when so many millions of men were standing in soup lines. However, there is only one way to describe his feelings about driving — he hated it…. “I drove all afternoon and just got home now and had a bite to eat and I am so tired from driving I am trembling, but tomorrow I con[duct] for awhile … I gave 79 cents for your stockings. I hope they are good, but it’s hard to pick out such things.”
Occasionally the strain would spill over, “I am well except I am so homesick for you folks and nervous that I don’t know what to do at times. I will sure be glad when this damn depression is over and we can get settled again.” But most of the time he focussed on the future and tried to shield us from his miserable grind, “Well Johnnie, just you wait and you and I will have some horses of our own and then you can ride and drive them as much as you like.”
More changes on the job resulted in even greater stress. When the company modified the cars for one-man operation, it increased their top speed, but did nothing to improve the mediocre brakes. Schedules were adjusted for the faster speed, without allowing for varying weather conditions, which almost forced the drivers to take chances – but they were penalized if anything went wrong.
The rails were dangerous at times – slippery with ice, snow, or crushed leaves in the fall – and required reduced speeds for safety. “We are supposed to be perfect,” Daddy wrote. Of course a streetcar could not steer away from trouble, so a double-parked truck – just one inch too close – an auto accident, a fallen tree limb, or a fire hose across the tracks could play havoc with the new schedules. [The company had portable steel “bridges” that enabled cars to cross over fire hoses, but it took time to get these out to the site.]
They could be fired over any infraction or accident, and Daddy was continually aware of the threat hanging over every driver. “One of the old-time motormen had a bad accident this morning which may mean his job. It smashed in the whole front end of the streetcar.” … doubly serious because the vehicle he ran into was one of the Company’s own buses.
One-man operators were expected to perform quite a juggling act. They took on all of the conductor’s duties like fares, tokens, and transfers but, while the car was moving, both hands were always occupied managing two main control levers. Drivers kept their left hand on the throttle to regulate speed, while the right hand worked a spring-loaded brake control. The brake was designed to engage automatically if the lever was released, a safety feature that made it impossible to perform simple tasks like punching transfers or sorting change between stops.
Darkness and bad weather added more problems. “It’s hard to see when it’s raining”, he said after a series of nighttime runs. The driver of a one-man car had to be accessible to the passengers and was only partially shielded from distracting glass reflections inside the car. When converting the cars for one driver, the company had not reduced the interior lighting levels.
But most dangerous of all, the cars had no automatic windshield wipers, only a manual lever inside for the motorman to pull, which moved the blade down across the glass. A third arm would have been particularly useful in the rain….
After midnight, cars ran only once an hour so he usually walked the mile back to his room rather than wait and ride. At least he had finally bought himself a raincoat – more than eight months after Mother’s first suggestion….
One of Daddy’s letters signaled hope for emancipation from part of our washday drudgery, “I have some more news, I can get a gasoline motor that will fit on the Maytag for $15.00 so when we get ready for one, that will work OK. And I can get 10 hens for 50 cents apiece. They are mostly white leghorns and are laying.” Neither prospect, however, became a reality.
Progress on the car repairs dragged as Daddy tried to fit it into his new work schedule, cope with the unpredictable spring weather, and shop for us while doing his own cooking and other housekeeping chores. He replaced a fender, managing to find one “good as new” at a used car parts place for only ten cents. For the final painting, he was waiting to find a dust-free garage that he could use on a windless day.
Mother was not happy about the delay. “I hope you’ll get the car fixed and get it up here as soon as possible as I need it very much …. It is cruel to leave us up here without some means of getting out. And I want to do some of the buying myself. That is my job.” Yet a few days later she told him: “Don’t work too hard on the car I’m sure it is going to look fine.”
Daddy soon told us it was nearly ready, “I got a good two days work on the Ford and have only the wheels and back and under the fenders left to paint. I was out and looked at it this morning and it sure looked nice. I hope I can finish it tomorrow.”
Shortly after that he drove it back to us. Mother was pleased and said “the Ford worked like a top, and even made it up Crazy Horse Hill in high gear”. She washed the car, and with John’s help, tied a canvas over it. I wrote Daddy that when we came back from taking him to the train station “the dog looked around for you she looked in the car and in the house and in our play houses and everywhere.”
Daddy’s next letter began, “My dear little sweetheart and children, I just got a letter today that was worth it’s weight in gold, for I had heard they had a bad storm in Park Rapids and would have worried about you folks all day tomorrow if I had not gotten your letter tonight. I am sending you the piece in the paper about the storm….” We were on the outer edge of the storm, but on our next trip to town we saw several washed out places along the way.
In his “spare time” Daddy was on Jury duty and apologized for the delay in sending up a package. “This court case may keep me tied up for awhile and I have been going night and day for a week. We have been up before 4 o’clock every morning since Sunday. I was going to take this down [to the main post office] and mail it tonight but I am too tired so I’ll mail it in the morning.” The trial was a convoluted case involving an accident with a Ford coupe, a driver, two adult passengers, a boy, and a dog.
With the never-ending drama and problems at school, Mother wrote at the end of April, “We want to go back to the city for school in the fall.” Although he knew it could mean the end to his dream of a family farm, Daddy agreed without reservation. “I am planning on you folks coming back here when school starts for if they don’t get a new teacher, there is no darn use sending the children there.” But we soon learned that they would be hiring a new teacher the next year.
That was the good news…. There were three prospects for the position, and the parents were all lining up behind the candidate they believed would be the most favorable choice for their own children. Educational goals aside – it was all about loyalties and personal advantage.
Mother said, “We won’t get a better deal in school no matter who the teacher is.” The salary was only $40.00 per month plus a room and meals. The teacher would board with households in the area, paid for by the school district. It was hard to imagine how that meager wage and benefits, despite the difficult times, would attract a better candidate than Miss Edum. Given Mother’s position as a new and marginal member of the community, plus her belief that all the applicants were flawed, she did not join in the bickering.
With plans shifting, John and I wondered if all of our garden planning had been in vain, but we realized that, even if we stayed just over the summer, our crops would feed us. We could help Mother can the surplus for the next year – no matter where that would be. We plowed ahead….
April and May were the beginning of the growing season. Our neighbor, Eddie Rood, brought over his team of horses and disked the end of the cornfield we’d chosen for our garden. The rhubarb plants we had found in the yard the year before had grown into a lush mass. Our combined seed lists that we finally sent to Daddy included: string beans, large navy beans, spinach, endive, Swiss chard, corn, Spanish onions, beets, carrots, parsnips, and baby limas. Since it was our first full growing season, we decided we were not ready to try to sell produce yet.
With an earlier start than last year, we hoped for bountiful crops. Daddy sent us some planting hints, and Mother helped John and I start our tomato and cabbage seeds in flats inside. We hoped to have sturdy plants ready as soon as the ground was warm enough to transplant them outside. In our eagerness to learn farming, we’d over-estimated a bit. When the time came, we had 240 tomato and 100 cabbage plants. During our many long discussions, John and I had drawn a diagram of the garden, and we planted the rest of the seeds according to plan, adding some honey dew and watermelons. We were able to enjoy our first official harvest – radishes and green onions – before we finished planting the last of the seed potatoes, which daddy had arranged to buy from Jensons for ten cents a bushel.
Knowing how lonely Mother was during the day while we were in school, John and I started coming home for lunch. She wrote, -“It makes a lot of walking for them but they offered to do it.” But exercise was about the only benefit we got from attending school. By early May she said, “I am keeping the children home for good. I give them a good stiff lesson in arithmetic and spelling every day and they take hold real well and will be up in their work by the time school is out.” This time the superintendant chose not to intervene….
We went back for the last three days of class, for our year-end testing with the other children, and to return our text books. In spite of all the weeks spent at home, John and I both got the highest grades on all our tests. Our last activity was the annual school picnic, a major local event. Mother, usually the decisive one, was so unnerved by the year-long conflicts at school that she could not decide whether we should attend the festivities, and asked Daddy’s opinion.
He answered: “I think you and the children had better go to the school picnic and also take the car and get away for Memorial Day. Pack a nice lunch and go to some of the other lakes, or maybe there will be a celebration in Park Rapids, but anyway get out and see something different on that day.”
She took half of his advice. We did not do anything special on Memorial Day but we did go to the picnic, which was held in a farmer’s pasture bordering one of the lakes near our school. It was a pot luck affair and we all gorged on potato salad, jello salads, baked beans, wieners strung on a wire and roasted over a fire, home baked buns, condiments, and an assortment of cakes and pies. Mother’s contribution was an orange cake with orange frosting which drew considerable praise. The grown-ups sat in the shade and visited while the children waded in a near-by creek, trying to catch ever-elusive minnows and frogs.
Mother’s final observation on the year was, “I am sorry about their missing so much school but I really think I did the right thing and they are farther ahead than they would have been.”
On Memorial Day, Daddy rode across town on the streetcar to visit the cemetery where Mother’s family was buried. “I put a nice plant on Jane’s grave and set a nice one in the cement vase for your Father and Mother. The plant for them is a double pink geranium, it has 2 big bunches of blossoms and one bunch of buds on.”
Then he worked two different runs, with a twenty minute break between them. The first one began at 12:36 PM and the second one ended at 1:57 AM, followed by the mile walk back home. In his letter he wrote, “I wish I could of been with you and the children today. Sundays and holidays are the worst to be alone.”