This is true, so much so that I have omitted names and identify persons only as they relate to the principle character, “sister.” I leave out specific place names for the same reason, while retaining others which are less identifying.
Sister was born September 21, 1930 in the P. Maternity Home, because it was too difficult to manage in the capital city where her parents, Father and Mother were living and going to school. Her mother ran a boarding house, and they were living more or less hand-to-mouth. The Great Depression had just hit and was beginning to be felt throughout the world.
She was two years old when the little family packed up all their belongings in a bed cover, tied up the ends with a piece of rope, and boarded the train for Chicago where her father was about to finish his last two years—the clinical years—of his medical training, in Rush Medical School—later, the University of Chicago Medical Center. They joined thousands of the great unwashed–mostly immigrants–and found a five-floor walk-up apartment on Maxwell Street, relatively near the hospital and Marshal Fields where Mother was to find one of the few jobs available. Sister frequently tended by the neighbors, the Polettis, who were godsends. They were Italians; they had food; and they were generous. Carroll Lee was a bright and pretty child who became a quick favorite of the United Nations level diverse population in their building and in the neighborhood. She was the whitest, brightest, and fairest, of the children and was doted over because of her sparkling personality. She assimilated with the melting pot on Maxwell Street enthusiastically. The one thing she had that gave her real pleasure was a goat cart, and photos at the time showed her experiencing pure joy in that little vehicle.
Her mother got too sick to care for her adequately; Mother was starving. Father had to work inconceivably long hours; so, something had to be done for Sister. Finally, they called Grandfather and he drove out to Chicago to pick up Sister and Mother to take them home to the West—the real West—for some much needed nurturing. Both girls were home and among family and friends where they thrived. Sister remembers her grandfather had a cow in the back yard and used to squirt milk into the family cat’s mouth. She had two friends, Betty and Norma Jean, with whom she enjoyed a normal fun childhood. There were a pair of twin boys—Ted and Fred—who were part of her circle. Besides the grandparents and great grandparent, Uncle Archie and Aunt Mary lived down the street.
The nuclear family finally reunited when Father came back west to do his internship at the County Hospital. They made a firm decision to settle in a rural mountain valley, found a temporary house in what was then called Mairsville—on the wrong side of Main Street. It was 1938. Her brother, The Author, was born there in 1940 and younger brother, in 1946. Ever optimistic Father and Mother had a house built on Fony and Janies’ farmland on what is now the middle of a moderate sized rural city. It was a grand house—costing $14,000, including the land, and covering Lake Creek, which ran through the property. Father’s family was shocked. The question was “why on earth do you want to build such a place in that little burg?” The answer from Father was “because this is where we are going to live, and I am going to do my work for the rest of our lives.”
Before the new house was completed, eight-year-old Sister attended Elementary School through the fourth grade, until she was ten. Then, she finished grade school in the Old School, which was nearer home, only about a mile away. Winters were tough then, but 1948-1949 was the worst in recorded history. Snow covered cars and fences, and to the eaves of many smaller houses. Sister was able to slide off the kitchen roof and into a huge snowbank that filled the area of the yard abutting the house. She bundled up in five layers of winter clothing and joined her friends as they walked over unseen fences to school. The snow drifts created by the wind and the city snowplows created snowbanks fifteen feet high, into which Sister and her friends made snow huts that survived until the Fourth of July.
Sister played the saxophone in the high school marching band—starting in the seventh grade–with handsome heavy black and gold woolen uniforms that caused near heat prostration and dehydration during their annual appearances in the Fair Days parades and in the parades in the capital city in the middle of July in the broiling sun. She loved it. She made dozens of best friends and was popular, but shy about it. Her mother wanted her to be what amounted to a socialite in local society, a distinction Sister rejected outright. She wanted to be like the other girls, to dress like them, go to school like them, and did not want to dress up as fancy as her mother wanted. She showed an iron will and resisted blandishments to be something she was not. She made her own choices, and they were good ones.
She had a high school boy-friend who did not prove to be exactly a sweetheart with lasting power. They often double-dated. She also dated another popular young man, who has not made much of a memorable impression. Her friends were: best friend LB who was kind of a pistol, AC, who lived across the street, and EG. Sister was bright, even brilliant, graduating with honors—salutatorian–from the county high school and going to college afterwards to pursue an education and a career in Laboratory Technology under Dr. C. at the major hospital in the capital. She was smart—I told you so—graduating phi kappa phi from college. Her long-lasting and fond friends from her college days were again LB, and the sisters V and D L–both striking beauties I used to ogle when they came to visit, which made Sister want to give me one of her famous back scrubbings.
Then, a lightning bolt hit; she met The One at college, back from his stint in the navy. She used to save him a seat in the class they took together after their long walk to the Admin Building. He was, in the words of Mother, “the handsomest, strongest, and best mechanical person, anywhere.” Her other description was, “My Willie can fix anything.” We all loved him and rooted for them to get married. Father became his greatest fan. So, Sister did not stand a chance, nor did she want to. Their wedding in the Salt and the reception was the grandest ever—Valentine’s Day, 1951. Sister was too love struck to realize that her mother had succeeded in creating such a splendid soiree. Her dress was a beautiful satin gown with a three-foot train that accentuated her natural beauty. That dress was perfect; and, as I recall, was worn by five women of the family for their weddings, including her sister-in-law, my wife, V.
She finished her schooling and worked as a lab tech for a while until she started having children—six of them. Kudos to her and to Husband for producing such a successful family of children, grandchildren (20) and finally, great grandchildren (40). Her father was “Daddy” and they shared a timeless and complete love. When she married, Father delivered several of her babies. Husband was as much—maybe more—of a son as his two boys, and he doted over every one of them he got a chance to see. She was as busy as a one-armed paper hanger all the time, but never complained—she was a real Stoic. And she always had ample time for her children and husband, often at the expense of her needed sleep time.
Among the highlights of their early life was the biannual family trip to Newport Beach, where she got at least some rest and play time. Everyone loved the beach, playing in the surf, body surfing, beach and deep-sea fishing, and eating an emperor’s spread every day. She blossomed there. She was always a reader—did I mention that she has always been very intelligent and curious? She consumed books, and never let on about how bright she was, except when interesting questions or arguments arose and needed factual answers. She had a treasure-trove of pertinent and arcane information, almost entirely self-taught. She resisted blandishments to go to expensive and contrived entertainment venues—which she loved—to make her family, including the growing extended family, happy. She was unselfish, almost to a fault, and can be described as the quintessential good wife, mother, aunt, grandmother, niece, in-law, church member, friend, and sister.
Her church has been an integral part of her life and service, about which she has always been selfless and quiet. She received the church’s award—comparable to the Eagle Scout for Boys. She served the church at one time or another as the organist, the piano accompanist in Mutual, compassionate service for Relief Society [food for babies and funeral potatoes for appropriate occasions], Young Women’s President, and of course a Visiting Teacher. In their senior years, she and Husband served a local church mission—for fifteen years–and a mission to serve in Toronto, Canada. She traveled with Husband and brother and sister in law to the British Isles where she had a great opportunity to expand her world knowledge, and she enjoyed every minute of it.
My personal experience with Sister has been a mixed bag. I was the little brother whom she had to tend a good deal more often than she wanted to. She took that out on me when I was an innocent little kid in the bathtub. As I recall, she scrubbed my back with gasoline and a wire brush until I bawled, and she was satisfied. She was my protector and confidant for all of that. I loved to talk to her, and still do, because she knew stuff—things about the world around us that my parents had neither time nor inclination to share, and she had a great and appealing dry wit. I took pride in how she looked going to school dances and proms. I would say to my friends with justified pride, “That’s my big sister. Isn’t she neat?”
Since then, she was my biggest fan as I accomplished something or other. Later on, during my years of trouble, she was unfailingly kind and inquisitive about how I was doing and offering such help as she could. Her almost daily calls were a small ray of light during a dark time for me and for V. I admire her immensely–how she has been at her husband’s side during his severe encounters with health problems, hospitals, dealing with doctors, nurses, and anxious family members.
V remembers fondly shortly after our daughter, Kristina, was born, and she was in the doldrums of postpartum blues. We were living in the capital at the time, and Sister dropped in to see V and the new baby. She was experienced and empathetic. One look at V’s face told her that she was looking at the face of real depression. She scooped up the older child and took him to the park to give V a rest, which was very restorative. She made dinner and generally brought in a shaft of life to a dull and dark place. Later–when we went to San Francisco for a scholastic sabbatical–she and Husband picked up our pet bulldog, Baron, at the airport and took care of him for a year without complaining when he slobbered or chewed up rugs and shrubs.
When it was hot in the night while we lived in our hovel near the U, she had us sleep on her cool lawn. When I had the mumps and could not take care of myself, I lived in her basement. She and Husband have attended every milestone event in my family’s life—baptisms, church talks, big time birthday celebrations, graduations, ceremonies, and family marriages. In her mother’s declining years, she was caregiver, entertainer, cook, comforter, and friend. She has always been there for me and for the rest of her family. At ninety, she still is.
