I
THOUGHT YOU HAD
A BIGGER DREAM
The Legacy That Built Jacob’s House
PENNY ROBICHAUX-KOONTZ
with
Claudia Stewart Farrell
Copyright
2011 Penny Robichaux-Koontz
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I
Thought You Had A Bigger Dream
Copyright © 2011 by Penny
Robichaux-Koontz. All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any way by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author except as provided by USA copyright law.
Scripture quotations marked (kjv) are taken from the Holy Bible, King James Version, Cambridge, 1769. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
Scripture quotations marked (niv) are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, niv®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com
Scripture quotations marked (amp) are taken from the Amplified Bible, Copyright © 1954, 1958, 1962, 1964, 1965, 1987 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission.
Scripture quotations marked (msg) are taken from The Message. Copyright © 1993, 1994, 1995, 1996, 2000, 2001, 2002. Used by permission of NavPress Publishing Group.
Cover
design by April Marciszewski
Interior design by Chelsea Womble
1.
Biography & Autobiogrphy, Personal Memoirs
2. Biography &
Autobiography, Religious
11.03.22
DEDICATION
To my children, thank you for willingly sharing your mother with hurting people. Thank you for doing it so unselfishly. I want you to know that I know that you did it at great cost. You have been my greatest support and inspiration. It is my prayer that you seize your legacy and run your race fearlessly, with boldness and joy. That you fall in love with God and be filled with His Spirit and a spirit of adventure. That you realize that Jesus said, “Every day has trouble of its own… so you must face each day and each trial as a challenge you are able to conquer. That you call on every memory of God’s faithfulness in bringing us through because He is good and we did not quit” (Matthew 6:34, niv).
QUOTING THEEODORE ROOSEVELT’S
“MAN IN THE ARENA”
It is not the critic who counts: not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming, but who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, who spends himself for a worthy cause; who, at the best, knows, in the end, the triumph of high achievement, and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory nor defeat.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
First, I want to thank my mother, Sally Nelson, who shared her legacy with me and cheered me on through every tough challenge reminding me to never give up, never quit.
To my friend, Claudia Farrell, thank you for taking a manuscript that has evolved over thirty years, the words of my mouth, and the thoughts of my heart and putting it together in book form, wow, what a task. I pray that it is pleasing to God and that it bless those who read it.
To my navy family of the USS Mispillion and Chris Munson, who was on the scene in 1952 and continues to be a huge part of my life. To Dick Francisco and the other marine pilots in my father’s unit who were dear friends and family for fifty-eight years. Semper Fi
To my fabulous cousins—especially Durm, Hank, and George—and to my friends and sorority sisters, Mary and Tina, for keeping me laughing, humble, and involved through high school, and to Daina Perkins who continued what they began, celebrating life, and standing in faith through some dark days.
To my daughter (in-love), Noreen, who has been a constant source of strength and joy since the day I met you. Thank you for being a child of excellence, motivated by love and having passion for life and for our Lord. Your encouragement has rallied me and your humor, dry as it is, delights me. You are the first child of my heart.
To Eddie and Bessie, how I love you, and all those who came through the Garden, teaching me, stretching my faith, and causing me to laugh from my toes. Your friendship and service still amazes me.
To Joanne King Herring, who seeded our transition when all seemed lost.
To Robert Bauer, Harold, and Barbara Mayfield, gifts from God and first board members and intercessors, thank you for everything all these years.
To Bobbie Hood, dear friend, prayer partner, dinner cooker, and floor scrubber. As iron sharpens iron, the friend that loveth at all times, for this I thank you. A very big thank you for sharing Frank with us all these years, faithful partners… I love you.
To Maria Remy, the steadiest and most faithful woman I know. Thank you for the laughs, for keeping everything adding up, for taking care of my mother until I could convince her to move to Missouri. You were there the first day I inquired about a homeless shelter, and you are still a rock to me today.
To Lynn and Roark Wells for being a bridge between Texas and Missouri, thank you. I am so grateful to my Texas family.
To Becky Kirkland, a special thank you for so many times being my hands and feet at Jacob’s House Missouri. We would not be where we are without your gentle devotion and the dedication of your precious time.
To Curt and Kathy Lawrence, from our first meeting on my first day in Branson to today, thank you for your counsel, your friendship, your support and your laughter.
To Greg and Victoria Volich, and Paul and Jill Scribner who believed in my mission and made Jacob’s House Missouri a reality through their time, talent, and money, my deepest gratitude. How will I ever thank you? I know, keep changing the lives of children.
To James Garrett, who stayed the course and put it all on the line for Jacob’s House on Thunder Ranch, who tells our story to his audiences and loves our children.
To Mr. Paul and Ann Bluto for promoting our cause, believing our dream, and helping us at every turn. Branson IMAX became our second home and command central for ideas and support for our projects. You are the wind beneath our wings.
To Chris, mighty man of God, and Cyndi, my little songbird, thank you for being more than I dreamed of for Jacob’s House and everything God promised to me. I love our working together fulfilling the goal of a loving home for every child on this land, and sharing our gifts with each other.
To all our friends and partners in Missouri, too many to name, thank you for your faithfulness. We are so grateful for making us known so the children who need us can find us and then for being part of the supply to raise them. For making a Texan feel right at home.
To the College of the Ozark interns, every one of you have touched our lives and enhanced the experiences of each child who calls Jacob’s House home. Thank you for your love and dedication to our cause and to your education. To all our partners and volunteers… thank you.
To my sweet Jeremiah for massaging my shoulders while I typed the manuscript, telling me… “I will be writing books just like you, Mom.”
To Haley, the little girl I prayed for more than forty years, for our girls’ days out and cuddling in bed watching movies.
To Jacob, dear son, for cooking dinners and bringing me golden nugget happy eggs and for making me laugh in the hard times and reminding me of the good times, I love you.
And to Dan, you had no idea what you were getting into, but you have been faithful holding down the fort while the daunting task of finishing this work was completed. Thank you for never growing weary in well doing. Thank you for waking me up by playing the piano and for crawling through the berry patch and the creek with our kids. I am looking forward to our future, an adventure in faith.
I close with this thank you to John and Dodie Osteen for living their faith in front of me. For sharing their love of family with their congregation—it inspired me. For John’s humor and unwavering faith. For Dodie’s passion and quiet strength. I thank them for solid teaching and for being touchable, humble, and genuine. Without the grounding they provided, I may never have run my race and certainly would never have discerned the relationship I have with Jesus and may never have come to know my Heavenly Father. As Noreen said recently, “If not for them, this entire family may not have been saved.” Thank you, Jesus, for showing Yourself big to me, in them.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
A Puppy, Three Dolls, No Daddy
Rub-A-Dub-Dub, Two Kids in a Tub
School Bells, Wedding Bells, Alarm Bells
Fairy Tales Really Do Come True
My Thoughts Are Not Your Thoughts
Where Have You Been All My Life
Feeling the Heat and Rising Above It
With Long Life I Will Satisfy You
In 2007, Penny asked me to read a book she was writing about her family. At that time, I read the manuscript suggesting some grammatical and punctuation changes. It was a work in progress, and Penny knew there would be more added as life unfolded before she would attempt to have the book published.
Then three years later, after little contact with Penny due to much travel on my part, I received a beautiful electronic Easter card from her. However, to my deep concern, her daughter Haley’s name was not on the card with the other children. I was upset to think Haley was not in Penny’s care. I did not realize until that moment how this little girl had captured my heart. Much to my delight, I was soon to learn that all was well with Haley, as Penny told me she was safe by her side.
Was Haley’s name missing from the card, or did I just not see it? We will never know because we are unable to retrieve it from cyberspace. What we do know is that at just the right time Penny and I were again in touch. Why? We believe it was divine timing. It was time to publish the book. Penny asked that I once again read the manuscript as she had recorded recent events, completing these chapters of her life. I agreed and received the text via an e-mail–transmitted file.
As I questioned Penny on different aspects of the story, we soon found ourselves working as a team to chronicle her family history. We were able to collaborate in a special way, with her pouring her heart out, sharing her pain, her humor, her joy, and her faith as I hooked up with her vision, adding the commas and breaking up the run-on sentences with laughter and delight for both of us.
It was no longer a cold editing to dot the i’s and cross the t’s. We camped out together and walked down the road of book writing side-by-side, our skills complementing each other’s. As a great storyteller, she recited tales of pain and glory, sadness and humor, effort and triumph, myself expressing and engineering the words into proper format until at last we captured the essence of a story well told, and lives well lived.
We worked from approximately thirty years of written memories, a record of the thoughts, feelings, and oral history of a family to honor the author’s mother. The dialogue is, of course, to the best of her memory including actual quotes passed down from mother to daughter.
To write someone else’s story, you must not only assimilate the history but also know the heart and character of the person on a level that allows you to express their thoughts in the same way they would. Her story captured my heart as I had the privilege of better learning my friend in all of her external and internal beauty by getting a more complete understanding of the day-today molding that made her the amazing woman of strength and virtue she is today.
I am a contemporary of Penny (Nelson) Robichaux-Koontz. We are women born in the same year, reaching maturity 1800 miles apart, who found each other in a small Missouri town, sixty years later. She grew up in the deserts of the western United States and next door to Disneyland, and I on an Iowa dairy farm. We are baby boomer children who faced the scare of the polio epidemic. She contracted the crippling disease at age three. I did not. However, I do remember sensing the great fear of the dread disease in the conversations of my parents and grandparents.
Her life was a series of challenges, both physical and emotional keeping appointments with doctors, therapists, and tutors, sprinkled with adventures and experiences that would delight any child. My childhood was that of a typical Midwestern farm girl enjoying the harmony of nature and family but by comparison uneventful. My memory was tickled by her story and then jogged by my older brother to recall standing in line at a large community building awaiting my turn for the “gun” to be pressed against my upper arm to be inoculated against polio and later sucking on sugar cubes flavored with the polio booster.
I tell this to express the connection she and I made on a level that enabled me to relate her story from her childhood days through her teenage years and young married life and beyond. We are as much the same as we are different by our connection in time, and a common moral compass establishing us as the daughters, mothers, wives, and women we are today.
The purpose of telling this story is to show what a person can accomplish through sheer guts and a never say die attitude. It is also to honor a woman who lost almost everything yet found a string to hold on to until she was able to twist it into a rope that was strong enough to pull herself and her children out of the depths of loss and despair into productive lives that reached outside themselves. Woven into the book are life-lessons, which when applied can alter understanding, shine light on circumstances, and modify behaviors to bring positive changes into the life of the reader.
What can be drawn from this remarkable story is not just a heart breaking and heart touching tale of surviving and virtually overcoming loss but of triumphing in life, through strong character, hard work, and confidence that there is more good in this world than evil.
—Claudia Stewart Farrell
Mother, tonight I am reporter, emotionally set free:
I have to
stop and take a breath,
this is of you and me.
Around a table just we two,
sharing, talking as we do,
jotting
down notes and things,
remembering the times our lives have seen.
Oh, how revealing, our hopes and our dreams,
from the soft and
tender loving times
to the nightmares, pains, and screams.
Shall we tell this? We must I guess,
who could understand the
best without the rest.
I started out to honor you for all the special things you do,
to
open eyes of passersby, that life is what we make it.
That inside
us a power dwells if we do not forsake it.
That prayer is good but not alone,
its works He wants to see,
for at the moment of your birth
the tools were given thee.
When at last I rest my pen
and our story has been told,
what
will be the judgment of men,
if I may be so bold?
Will they only understand the parts
like a fairytale,
or will
they realize it was the trials
we did not fail.
This one thing I am certain,
for others I cannot plea,
but
this has been a great life,
the one you shared with me.
So if this book brings understanding
to just one parent and
child,
if it gives hope to one defeated,
or helps one life
that has gone wild,
if it makes one single human being
stand
up and say “I can,”
then I’m sure we would both be willing
to be judged by any man.
So from the very first page until the very last,
it’s your
“number one trooper” saying,
“Thanks, Mom, it’s been a
blast.”
The night was clear and cool after the heat of another August day. Rolling the window down in her 1950 Cadillac, she took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. She rolled her head back and repeated the measured breathing, taking in the salty smell of the Pacific Ocean. Suddenly, she thought she should drive faster, but the temptation to enjoy these miles along the beautiful coastline tugged at her heart, while worry took control of her mind.
They had been in California just a little over two months, yet it felt like a lifetime since she left Huron, South Dakota. She was waiting for the return of her husband who had shipped out of Long Beach to Korea.
She had been going to the same Catholic church night after night to light a candle for her husband, Forey Nelson, now declared MIA (missing in action). One moment her heart filled with fear, and the next moment she was full of hope. She knew fear had to stop; it was tearing her to pieces, draining her of strength. He is strong and healthy and had been a guide and hunter in the Black Hills of South Dakota all his adult life. He served six years as a marine. What is wrong with me? He is highly trained for the mission, a fighter pilot; he will fight. He is familiar with the risk and prepared for the possibility of capture, or is he? Once again, she remembered one of the last conversations they had after his orders came, recalling him to active service.
“My reaction time is ten seconds off, Sally, which is the difference between success and failure of a mission. It is the difference between life and death in war.”
Last year at this time, she thought Forey was home for good. The marine was a full-time husband and a father now. His life had changed. He had exchanged planes for a Cadillac, war games and mission strategies for bowling balls and dance halls. Ten seconds in timing just was not an issue outside a “Corsair airplane,” then the Korean War, the recall. How long did it take to read the new orders? Ten seconds? How ironic, she thought as she brushed away another tear. Coming to herself, she thought, Hurry, Ella is waiting, and falling apart is not doing Forey or our children any good.
She realized that she was shaking now. The night air had turned cold as she picked up speed. Reaching to roll up the window, she wondered if she would ever be comfortable again. With one hand, she began gently rubbing her stomach, now swollen in her seventh month of pregnancy. “This has to be hard on you, little one. I hope I can hide my fears and tears from your sister and brother, but your little heart beats with mine.”
She put more pressure on the gas pedal wondering and glancing at her watch again, what would Ella think? Ella volunteered to watch the children while she went to church tonight, but Penny wasn’t feeling well, and Jon seemed to sense something was wrong. “I can’t keep imposing on Ella; she is a newlywed with a husband at sea. They hadn’t even had the chance to start their family before he shipped out, and I’m asking her to help raise mine.”
The headlights shone on the driveway that led to their trailer park. With both hands, she turned the steering wheel and slowly inched her way to her trailer, trying to be as quiet as possible. It was late. As she opened the car door, a scream pierced the stillness of the night. She froze, and then the scream came again.
Rushing to the trailer door, she knew it was Penny. “My God!” she cried as she opened the door, and then her eyes fell on her three-year-old daughter.
No one was touching her, she hadn’t fallen, but the screams continued. Her little arms, until now, had only reached out to hold a doll or hug a parent or her baby brother. Now those arms wrapped around her head. The long platinum curls, so tenderly brushed into ringlets earlier that day, were wet with sweat and lay crushed against her pale, terrified face and the pillow where she lay.
Dropping to her knees, pulling her daughter’s body close to her, she said, “My God, you are burning up, Penny. Can you tell Mommy where you hurt?”
Quickly her eyes started looking over the body she had created and taken such delight in watching grow; that perfect little body that was so active just weeks before, running, and dancing was now burning with fever and contorted in pain.
“My head, Mommy, my head,” she screamed, crying and pressing her head into her mother’s body as if the pressure would ease the pain.
Quietly, out of the shadows, a little boy not two feet tall drew closer. He was afraid of the screams, afraid because his new friend Ella was crying and so was his mom; but it was too hard to be alone in the next room, so he came closer and closer until he stood next to his mother.
Looking over her son’s head, she said, “Ella, we need help.” The only person she had in town was her brother, Bill. “Ella, will you just stay a minute longer while I go to the payphone to call my brother?”
Ella lifted Jon onto her lap and nodded yes, as she tried to comfort him, rocking slowly back and forth, kissing his head, and brushing away her own tears.
“Penny, I will be right back, honey. I’m going to call your Uncle Bill.”
“Will you hurry, Mommy?”
“I’ll hurry!”
Running to the payphone, she searched the bottom of her purse for change. She grabbed the receiver, pressed the dime into the slot, waiting for the familiar sound of the coin dropping and the tone that would signal her to dial her brother’s number.
“Hello,” a woman’s voice answered on the second ring.
“Donna, this is Sally. Penny is sick. I need Bill; please put him on the line.”
“Bill isn’t home, Sally. He’s gone to see a play in Los Angeles tonight. I don’t know what time he will be back, but I will tell him you called and send him over the minute he comes in.” Donna could tell that the line was still open, but it was so quiet that she thought for a moment that the telephone had gone dead. “Sally, are you there?”
“Donna, tell him he has to hurry; we need help. Every doctor that has seen Penny says she just has a virus and she’ll be fine. They think I am exaggerating her symptoms or I am hysterical because Forey is missing. They blame my being pregnant as the reason I am getting so emotional about little things; but, Donna, this is not little. If you could hear her screaming… Bill is my only hope right now.”
“Sally, I’ll tell him just the minute he walks in. I’m sure he will not be much longer,” she said, trying to calm her, sensing the panic that was welling up in her sister-in-law. “Let me hang up now, in case he tries calling me before getting on the road, then I’ll send him to you right away.”
“Thank you, Donna,” she said, placing the receiver back on the hook and dropping her head to rest on the hand that could not break the connection completely. “Oh God. Forey, where are you? Why aren’t you here with us? I need you; the kids need you!” There was no answer to her question; in fact, there seemed to be no answers at all.
Summoning all her strength, she turned to walk back to the trailer, remembering her promise to Penny that she would hurry. Her legs felt like lead, her stomach cramping, her head throbbing, and her heart pounding so hard it sounded like a drum beating in her ears with every step.
“She just fell asleep. Did you reach your brother?” Ella asked. “Is he coming? Were you able to find a doctor? Sally, are you listening to me?” Jon slipped off Ella’s lap and ran to his mother’s side, clutching her leg.
“I hear you, Ella. Bill has gone out tonight. You asked if I was able to find a doctor. I have been to so many. One says its bronchitis, another scarlet fever. They give her an antibiotic and then pat me on the back, telling me to go home and everything will be all right. I’ve been reading about polio in the paper nearly every day. It’s an epidemic now, but when I ask them if they think it could be polio, they answer, ‘No, Mrs. Nelson.’ This has been going on for nearly two weeks now, since Penny’s birthday. She was fine in the morning but so sick by evening. She’s never sick, and yet whatever this is doesn’t seem to end. She just can’t shake it.”
The screams were intermittent now, as the pain would wake her, mixed with whimpering, then a few minutes of sleep. The two women watched the clock as the minutes ticked by; they seemed like hours and still no sign of Bill and no break in the fever. The room grew quiet and still.
Ella whispered, “Jon has fallen asleep. Should I put him in his bed?”
“Let’s not move him right now. I think Penny is waking up again, and I don’t want him to hear her from the other room. It’s better if he can see us.” No sooner than spoken, another scream shattered the eerie peace.
Just then the trailer door opened. Her brother didn’t bother to knock, as he heard the scream the moment he stepped out of the car. His sister, sitting on the floor of the small trailer, looked into his gaze. Her brown eyes seemed to consume her face as the dark black circles exaggerated their size until every other feature he knew so well seemed to disappear.
“Bill,” she spoke his name and then just stared, holding him captive with those eyes that flashed a look of relief and then instantly filled with tears. For a split second, there was no sound in the trailer. Then, just as quickly, he heard the whimpers and saw the writhing body of his niece. He felt little hands take hold of his leg, pulling on his slacks.
Looking down he found his nephew, whose eyes were as dark as his mother’s and as full of fear, brimming, softly crying, “Hold me, Uncle Bill.”
Bill tried to smile as he picked up his nephew. “Hi, Jonnie. You’re sure up late tonight. Are you being a good boy for your mommy?” He hoped his voice sounded normal.
What a nightmare, he thought to himself.
“Bill, I don’t want to hear another doctor tell me I’m crazy or hysterical,” she interrupted. “You can see Penny is sick, can’t you? You know she’s never been like this before. Could you talk to your doctor for me, Bill? Ask him to come and see for himself?”
“How long has she been like this?” He turned his gaze to his niece, as he comforted Jon.
Her small body, so limp, looked as if it had become part of the davenport.
“The fever started again while I was at church tonight. That has been hours ago now. But, Bill, it has never been this high, and she has been sick since her birthday. Please call your doctor.”
“I’ll go call him now, Sis,” he said, putting Jon in Ella’s open arms. “I know he’ll come right over. Just hold on a little longer, honey. We’ll take care of her. “
Walking to the telephone booth he thought, What more could happen to them? Forey missing, my sister pregnant, and now Penny. How much can one person take? Sally, always the strong one, the one who raised me after Mom and Dad died. No one can be this strong.
Reaching the telephone booth, he whispered a silent prayer while dialing the number, “Please be available, and please help my sister and niece.”
The ringing stopped, and a familiar voice said, “Hello.”
“Doctor Sullivan, this is Bill Blatnik. My three-year-old niece is in pain, holding her head, and has a raging fever. I’m telling you, Doctor, she’s burning up. Can you please come over right away? I know it’s late. I am sorry to wake you, but please help.”
“Calm down, Bill, and slow down. Of course, I’ll come. Just tell me how to get there, and I’ll leave immediately.”
The doctor knew exactly where the trailer park was. “I know the place, Bill. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
Bill took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, determined to be the strong one this time. Always the baby, Sally always taking care of me, but this time, this time I will be there for her.
“Doctor Sullivan is on his way,” he said as he opened the trailer door. “He is a good man and said he would find the answer to this. Try to calm down; it won’t be long now.”
Bill took the few steps that separated them and knelt down beside his sister, wrapping one arm around her as she laid her head against his chest. Leaning over, he gently placed a kiss on his niece’s forehead.
She feels like fire, he thought.
“You will be fine, honey. The doctor will make you all better.”
Closing his eyes, he touched her damp hair with his free hand; he bid back the tears that threatened to reveal his own fears.
“Sally,” Ella whispered, “I’m going back to my trailer now, but you come and get me if you need me anymore tonight. Do you want me to keep Jonnie until morning?”
“Thank you, Ella, for everything; really, Jon will be fine now that his uncle is here. You have already done so much; how will I ever thank you?”
“Forget it,” she said as she closed the door quietly. She didn’t want to wake Jon who was curled up in his mom’s lap. She knew Sally had made the right decision. He needed his mom, and things would be fine now; surely, everything would be fine.
It seemed like hours when finally they heard the knock they had been waiting for.
Jumping to his feet, taking the single step to the door, “Hi, Doctor,” Bill said, opening the door for him. “Sally, this is Doctor Sullivan.”
The doctor smiled but quickly made his way past them both to the small body lying on the davenport.
“Thank you for coming, Doctor,” she said, trying to keep her emotions under control.
Putting his case on the floor next to the davenport, Dr. Sullivan smiled at the sight of the little boy sleeping on his mother’s lap.
“Well, he looks healthy enough,” he said, trying to take the obvious edge off the situation. “Has he shown any similar symptoms or been running a fever at all?”
“No,” she said, picking Jon up to put him in his bed. “Jon is just fine, a little frightened, but fine.”
“Have you been sick, Mrs. Nelson, or any of your daughter’s playmates?”
“No, I haven’t been sick, and the only children she plays with besides her cousins live in this park. I would have heard if any one of them were sick. Bill, the boys are fine, right?” she asked, suddenly realizing she hadn’t asked Donna or Bill about the boys.
“I can’t remember the last time the boys were sick,” he answered, breathing a sigh of relief, thinking surely they would have shown symptoms by now if this thing were contagious.
The birthday party was nearly two weeks ago, and they had been together all day and into the night.
“Well, then, let me see what is wrong with this little girl. Hello, Penny, may I have a look in your mouth?”
“Uh-huh.” She nodded. He gently placed a tongue depressor in her mouth and looked closely at her throat. “Okay, now let me look in those ears. Are there any potatoes growin’ in there? No, I can’t see any. Penny, will you hold this under your tongue for me and don’t bite down on it?”
She nodded yes. He placed the thermometer in her mouth; then lifting her arm, he began checking her pulse in silence.
“Okay, honey, just one more thing.” Dr. Sullivan took another tongue depressor out of his bag, slowly he drew a line across her stomach, and then another, forming an X. “Does this tickle, Penny?” he asked.
“No,” she answered softly.
Dr. Sullivan stood up. “Mrs. Nelson, do you have a telephone I could use?” The look on his face was somber as he met her eyes first and then Bill’s. The look softened a moment as he brushed some hair away from the child’s face.
“No, Doctor,” Bill interrupted, “but there is a phone booth at the front entrance of the trailer park. I’ll show you where.”
“Why do you need a telephone?” she asked, feeling panic creep back into the pit of her stomach.
“We need to call an ambulance, Mrs. Nelson. Penny needs to be hospitalized immediately.”
Her brother drew her closer to his side, taking her hand in his and gently squeezing it, as the word ambulance seemed to register in her mind.
“Why, for God’s sake, I have a car. Just tell me where to take her to and how to get there. Bill, you can take Jon home with you, and—”
“Mrs. Nelson, listen to me very closely. You will need to follow the ambulance in your car. Your daughter is very ill, and she could be contagious. We really know very little about these cases right now.”
“What cases? What do you think it is, Doctor?”
“Mrs. Nelson, I believe your daughter has polio. We can discuss the rest of your questions once we get to the hospital, but right now, I need to use that telephone.”
Bill felt the weight of his sister’s body sag against him as her legs nearly collapsed under the weight of the doctor’s answer.
“Bill, where exactly is that telephone?”
“Right outside the manager’s office on the left; you can’t miss it. I better stay here with my sister.”
Bill could see his nephew coming back into the hall. He could see the fresh tears streaming now as he watched his mother crying in his uncle’s arms. Little eyes swollen from interrupted sleep and too many hours of crying. How much could he understand?
“Sally, sit down here by Penny a minute. I’m going to dress Jonnie.”
“His shoes are on the kitchen counter. I polished them before I left for church last night. And his clothes are—”
“I’ll find everything, honey. Just try to relax a minute. Let’s go, Jonnie. We’re going to see your cousins and you can spend the night with them tonight, okay?”
The doctor returned, but no one heard the door this time. “The ambulance is on its way, Mrs. Nelson. We’ll be taking her to Harbor General Hospital. Once we get her admitted, I’ll be able to tell you more about her condition and what treatment will be necessary or even available for her.”
“DeeDee sic’?” Jon asked his mother, using the familiar pet name as he and Bill came back into the room.
Kneeling down to kiss her son, she said, “Yes, Jonnie. I’m taking her to the hospital, and you’re going to visit Durm and Hank at Uncle Bill’s house. Honey, I’ll come for you in a little while. Be a good boy.”
The sound of a siren in the distance soon started an urgent commotion in the small trailer. The doctor stepped outside to direct the drivers to the correct trailer, and Jonnie started pulling away from his uncle, reaching for his mother.
“Come on, son. Let’s get in the car and go see the kids. Sally, do you need me to pick up anything for you after I drop Jon off?”
“No, I can’t think of anything right now, Bill. Jonnie, stop taking your shoes off,” Sally implored. The frustration in her voice sounded harsh even to her ears. “Let’s put your shoes back on,” she said, trying to sound gentler now.
“It’s time to go, Mrs. Nelson,” the doctor said as they placed her daughter on the stretcher. “I think it would be better to let your brother drive you to the hospital.”
“I’ll follow you,” she said, her eyes quickly glancing around the room.
She reached for her scissors and moved toward the stretcher. Quickly she cut off one blonde curl from her daughter’s head and slipped it in her pocket. “Okay, I’m ready now.”
She hadn’t realized how warm it had gotten until she stood outside locking the trailer door. She heard the sound of car doors closing, her son calling her, and then the sirens starting again. Sliding quickly behind the wheel of the car, she kept hearing words over and over that would change her life forever: missing, polio, contagious.
Stop thinking, she told herself. Just follow. It’s going to be hotter than hell again today.
Oh God, what must Jon think? How can he understand what is happening? How did this happen to us?
She was lost in thought as if mulling it over and over would pin point the cause or the beginning of this madness, and then she realized the sirens had stopped. The hospital loomed in front of her, but she couldn’t remember turning or even driving past the exit of the trailer park.
Harbor General—all suspected polio cases ended up here. Once the doors opened, it was like walking into a war zone, chaotic. Polio, so little was known about this disease, but it certainly caused panic in everyone. People standing in the halls and sitting in the waiting rooms didn’t make eye contact with anyone, almost afraid to see their own fear reflected in the eyes of strangers.
Suddenly thoughts of death and fear flooded her memory as she remembered the headlines: “Husband and Five Children Stricken—Texas.” Bodies everywhere on gurneys, there was no indication that this was a childhood problem, as men, women, and children lined the halls, waiting. It was just the beginning of endless waiting.
A nurse had appeared from nowhere holding a facemask and white gown. “What? Are you talking to me?”
“You can see your daughter for a moment, Mrs. Nelson, but you’ll need to put these on.”
“Yes, just slip this on over your clothes, Mrs. Nelson, and wear this facemask for your own protection. Come with me; she is right down this hall.”
“Please, let me take off the mask. I don’t want to scare her. She won’t know who I am.”
“Oh, she’ll know you. You must keep the mask on. Just talk to her, Mrs. Nelson. I’m sure she will know your voice.”
Once in the room, she couldn’t believe so little time had passed, yet such a different child was lying in that sterile white bed. Maybe it was the lighting or that horrible shade of green paint on the walls. She walked to the bed and touched the pale face that was still too hot. Penny was sleeping now, but it wasn’t a peaceful normal sleep of a happy, healthy three-year-old child. Instead, it was an uneasy, restless sleep making it all too clear she was still in distress.
“I love you, Penny,” she whispered, just as she heard the nurse say it was time to leave. “Leave? I just got here. I won’t wake her, but I need to stay with her.”
“I’m sorry. You can go to the waiting room just outside. The doctor will come to talk to you, and he may let you spend time with her. Remember, you’re pregnant, Mrs. Nelson, and we do not know what your exposure has been or even what it means to your baby. Let’s just wait until the doctors come. They’ll know more. You must be careful.”
Waiting for the doctor was not any easier than watching her daughter slip away from her. How did everything get so hard? She could hear the iron lungs doing the job of pumping air into a body and out.
When did I ever even think about breathing?
She wondered which of the strangers waiting in this ugly green room with her had a loved one in that horrible capsule. Would Penny be the next one? Could she just stop breathing on her own? Some people were standing, some were sitting, some praying, almost all were crying, but no one was making eye contact, no one was talking. Every once in a while, someone new would come in the room, look around until they found a familiar face, and then move toward the person they recognized, embrace them, and then assume that zombie-like state that even now she could feel herself slipping into.
HIDE THIS NUGGET IN
YOUR
HEART
When the thing you greatly feared is facing you, face your greatest fear.
That is how mother related the story to me so many times over the years. I can’t remember the ride to the hospital, but I do remember how my mother looked as I watched her from my hospital bed. The dark circles under her eyes are forever burnt into my memory. I couldn’t tell you what she was thinking but I had a clear impression that something was different about her. I seemed to sense her anguish even though she never expressed it in words.
She was in a strange city, and it is true that most of the things that cause us to feel secure were not available to her. She was a determined individual, but somehow all her plans and dreams seemed to be drifting just beyond her reach. Thank God, she came from strong stuff!
My maternal great grandmother, Emma Voelker, had nineteen children, so it is no surprise that she dedicated herself to her home and family. I called her Grandma Gris Mum, which meant grandma-grandma. She didn’t speak much English; German was her first language but there was no interpreter needed when it came to drinking tea with her and having a cracker. She instilled in me the love of a special tea party.
Grandma Gris Mum’s greatest desire was to go to the Vatican. Being a good Catholic she wanted at least one priest out of her brood. When Grandma Gris Mum’s children had grown, one was a politician, the other eighteen were hard working businessmen and homemakers but none became a priest. However, her children did fulfill her biggest dream the year they surprised her with a trip to Rome.
Her priority as a mother was to teach her children to be responsible, hard-working, and morally and physically clean citizens. These traits were passed down through her children to her grandchildren. Mother’s heritage was hard work, clean house, clean kids, and clean living.
Grandma Gris Mum lived to be ninety-four years old. One day she decided that she was satisfied with life and stopped her newspaper and dairy deliveries and discontinued her telephone service. When her children couldn’t reach her, they went to her home and found her lying on her bed with her rosary and prayer book in her hand. Grandma Gris Mum had moved to heaven.
My Grandpa Blatnik, mom’s father, came to this country with a fourth grade education. Even though he did not have a formal education, he was fluent in eight languages because of the diverse peoples and languages that surrounded him in Slovenia. He was interested in government, and once he was in America, he took every opportunity to learn the political system. His family were innkeepers in Ohio, so he was exposed to people from all walks of life. It wasn’t long before he started acting as an interpreter for other immigrants in his community. He was found trustworthy and was soon introduced to the leader of organized labor, John L Lewis. Grandpa spent the next thirteen years traveling and interpreting for Mr. Lewis as the AFL-CIO developed. Grandpa felt a rush of adrenalin around the action of those early labor days and had the charisma of a masterful speaker as he interpreted Lewis’s words for the workers. Grandpa had used the gift he had for languages and forged an admirable career which provided a great life for himself and his family.
On one of those trips, he found himself in Pennsylvania in the home of a very large family. To Grandpa’s surprise, he met a 103 pound, roller skating, fair haired, green eyed girl name Alma and it was love at first sight. Knowing he would be on the road again soon, he courted Alma vigorously and soon they were married. Alma’s first husband had died leaving her with one child, Stella. The next Blatnik baby was a son John, then came Margaret, Agnes Sarah (Sally-my mother), Henry (Hank) and the baby William (Bill).
The Blatnik family was one of the affluent families in McKinley Heights, and Grandma made sure her children looked the part, clean and well dressed. Mother learned the golden rule at home, but it wasn’t the one most people would think. It was the saying that “cleanliness is next to godliness’. Somehow, I could just see Grandma and my mom very near the throne of God, one with bleach and the other with ammonia.
Grandma was a homemaker. Grandpa was a hard worker by day and a “good ole boy” by night with his cigar and scotch in hand, he entertained some of the biggest men in town in his basement.
The basement was, also, a magic place for my mother. That is where she dreamed her dreams of dancing and found her form perfect. But that passion on the inside of her didn’t please Grandma.
“Sally, I sent you for the Hoover, not to daydream; there is work to be done,” Grandma shouted firmly.
“Yes, Mother,” she answered, grabbing the vacuum and running up the stairs.
“Sally, there is no time for daydreaming. Your father will be home soon expecting dinner, not the sound of you doing your chores. That’s what’s wrong with those fancy stage dancers. They live loose. Do you hear me, Sally? We live with purpose, and that means we do what is right, when it is right, no matter what.”
Nevertheless, when she was in that basement, the room was not made of concrete. It became a ballroom, and Mother was the star. She dreamed of being a professional dancer. She spent all her free time dancing with her shadow. Or was that Fred Astaire?
These were good days, but just around the corner was the Great Depression. Grandpa had managed his money well; his properties and cars were debt free. However, when Mother was in the ninth grade, Grandpa became sick. It was cancer, and death came too soon. Now, not only was the United States in financial turmoil, but the Blatnik home was badly shaken.
Grandma held the family and the store together for the next few years but one day she said, “I’m very tired.”
Her daughters knew she hadn’t been keeping things up to the standard she had established. “What’s going on?” Sally said to her sisters, “This just isn’t like her. Mom’s a fighter. No matter what happens, she just doesn’t give up. I think she needs to see a doctor. Will you talk to her, Stella?”
Even though Grandma Blatnik did see a doctor, he gave no clear diagnosis but suggested exploratory surgery at which time they found cancer. It had progressed too far to do anything for her. She had little time left to get things in order. Knowing this, she prepared her family for their future without her or their father. It was 1939. She decided to sell the store and did some matchmaking to see to it that Stella and Marge were married before she was gone. Hank had met a girl, Emma and married also. This left only mom and Bill. My mother had not given up her dream of being a professional dancer, and Bill was still in high school, too young to live on his own. Grandma had to do something about that.
Soon, Grandma was in the hospital with only days to live. Again, she had a plan. She exacted two promises from my mother. As mother knew, Grandma had a deep seated belief that show business people and professional dancers led wicked lives. She asked mother to promise she would never dance professionally. Feeling the pressure of the circumstances, mother promised. Grandma, also, asked mother to take care of Bill.
HIDE THIS NUGGET IN
YOUR
HEART
Look around you and see the resources and possibilities you already have at hand. Don’t let lack or the things you don’t have be a roadblock. Don’t forget to dance in the basement. Dream and create your future.
After Grandma died, relatives offered to raise Bill, but he wanted to stay with his sister until he graduated and could join the army. Making the promises wasn’t hard, but keeping her promises was. She wasn’t trying to avoid the responsibility; however, she was young and unskilled for work outside the home.
In 1941 the United States entered into World War II, and as with many women, Mother went to work. Molina Shell Company hired her to make 155-millimeter shells on an assembly line. Many Molina employees formed car pools. One man in her car pool was Tiny Nelson. Tiny told his wife, Arlene, about my mother. Arlene thought she’d be perfect for Tiny’s wild marine brother, Forest Nelson. Arlene was sure that Forey only needed the love of a good woman to settle him down. She plotted and planned. Then late in 1942, while Forey was going through cadet training, a meeting was arranged, and the two were about to lay eyes on each other for the first time.
Was he great looking? Oh yes, and he was so cocky and a big tease. However, what interested Mom was, he could dance! Their dark eyes locked, and the dance floor rocked. He’d pick mother up on the dance floor and swing her around. Then she would pick him up and swing him right back. They definitely cleared the floor as others gave them plenty of room to swing. Mom was a star, and this time she wasn’t in the basement.
Forey loved being a marine. He had worked hard to get in the corps. He was only five foot seven, and though short, he had a great body and a winning personality. He ate bananas to put weight on until he thought he would hang from a tree. He pumped up and stretched out until he passed the physical and became his dream, a United States Marine.
Grandma had given lots of advice to her daughters about men, but her strongest warning was never get involved with a service man. Sally loved going bowling and dancing with Forey, but she really didn’t consider marriage, at least not to this man. So dating was what they did over the next few years while the marine would ship out and then come back in. In 1945, Forey learned that his mother had cancer and came home for good on a hardship leave. He accepted a position to train pilots at a flight school in Huron, South Dakota.
Bill had reached enlistment age and joined the army just as he planned. This left Mother ready to go ahead with her own life. She and Forey had dated for three years. As time passed, Mother knew eventually they would marry but not until he made some changes. She believed that once you married, you stayed home to tend to your home and your husband, and of course, you had a baby. In her mind, Forey needed a more reliable job. In South Dakota, the weather was bad, and half the time he couldn’t fly. If he couldn’t fly, he wasn’t paid.
Now Forey thought he had the world’s greatest job, because he loved flying and he loved playing. When he wasn’t in the air, he was having a good time. It sounded like a perfect job, right? Not to Mom, but Forey just didn’t understand why Mother kept postponing the wedding over a job. After all, he was sure he could earn enough to feed them both and still have money left for a little dancing and bowling. Finally, he got it! Sally wasn’t going to marry him until he would “try” to think and live like a stable ex-marine.
Forey loved hunting, dancing, playing practical jokes, and he loved his golden retriever. Oh, did I mention, he loved the girls? As the saying goes, this was before I was “a twinkle in my daddy’s eye.” From the stories told about those brown roving eyes, there just wasn’t room for a twinkle yet.
However, over time, he did sense the wind of change coming his way, and as a good pilot, he understood the effects of the wind. He finally settled down and went to school to be a mechanic. The big day came May 4, 1947, Forest Archie Nelson married Agnes Sarah Blatnik, and my future was not far off.
Mother was Catholic, so Daddy converted. The wedding itself was a total disaster as far as weddings go. I think it was absolutely in line with my parents’ personalities. The attendants, Fred and Lois Beck, were very close to Mom and Dad. They not only were to be the witnesses of their union, but they were to play a huge role in the early years of my parents’ marriage.
The day finally arrived. The bride meticulous in every detail, the matron of honor on duty and very efficient, pacing themselves perfectly. They heard the chords of the first song notifying them that it was time to walk down the aisle. Mother was a beautiful bride and Daddy so handsome, stood waiting to take her hand and make her his wife. Mother’s steps were perfect. After all, she had rhythm and her timing impeccable with each beat of the bridal march. When she arrived at the altar, she turned toward Daddy, and looking into his laughing eyes, she… promptly fainted! The matron of honor came to the rescue, but she, too, fainted. Most of the wedding pictures are of Dad and his best man holding the bridal bouquet and clowning around. It was nearly a marriage by proxy. They were, eventually, pronounced man and wife and did walk back down the aisle together, trying not to make eye contact with their friends who were already having enough trouble holding back the laughter.
Once outside the church, Mother smiled timidly at Dad. She whispered she wasn’t sure about going on the honeymoon alone, hinting that Fred and Lois should go along for moral support. I’m sure all—especially the marine—had a great time.
Home from the honeymoon, Mother was ready to get down to business. She found a huge pickle jar, cleaned it up, and found a picture of a baby that she thought looked just right. She cut it out and glued it to the jar. Under the picture, she printed in bold letters “Penny” and started saving her change to pay the doctor. Mother had beautiful brown eyes and an olive complexion. Dad’s eyes were a darker brown, and his complexion was even a darker olive, but Mother’s pickle jar baby had blue eyes, blonde hair, and a fair complexion.
Good for his word, Dad continued in school so that soon Mother could quit her job and start being a homemaker. Dad was faithful to his homework as well; however, every month to Mother’s dismay, nothing. She still wasn’t pregnant.
There could be only one answer to this dilemma, she thought. God was punishing Mr. Romance for all his philandering.