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Even now, ten years after the death of my father, not one of his six children can make a definite statement about who he was or how-why he was the way that he was in our childhood.  The ability to master any clear perception of him alludes us all just about equally.  If all six of us sat in session with the most competent therapist for a month of Sundays, would we come to any better of a conclusion about him than – “He was an enigma?”

Did we all come out of our insane childhood equally enveloped within the illusion that my mother was ‘the demon’ and my father was ‘the angel’?  After all, that kind of ‘splitting of the archetype’ of good versus bad was certainly a big part of the delusions of my mother.

I am sure glad that I am not an only child.  I am very glad that I have five mature siblings who all agree with me about the condition of the home we grew up in together.  And yet, reading these letters my father wrote to my mother in 1957 makes me feel uneasy, as if we all made up one version of a childhood while OBVIOUSLY my father lived in a different one!

It baffles me that anyone could be as blind to my mother as he evidently was.

In this letter (below) from my father:

“And I miss the children too – the feeling of all of us together as a family – the happy rush to meet me when I come home – the tender little voices at bedtime – I even miss their noises.  It gives me the saddest, tenderest feeling to think of all of you so bravely carrying on without me, and depending on me to take care of you – and I will.  And I will take care of everything, you can depend on me and trust me completely – always!”

and:

“(And thank you, my dearest Mildred, for being the sweetest Mother any children ever had.)”

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July 1, 1957 Monday – Anchorage, Alaska

Dearest Mildred,

Boy – what a time I had today!  The woman who brings the mail around to the office came in this morning and handed me a bundle of mail – 8 envelopes and 3 cards!  J  The mail seemed to be very slow last week, and some of them had been mailed as long ago as Wedensday [sic].  Then this afternoon she brought me another one which you mailed on Saturday!

Thank you, thank you, thank you – for writing so much and for telling me everything.  I know how you feel – the loneliness, the responsibility and the helplessness.  I don’t wonder that you wrote the way you did.  I don’t know which of my letters you got when, or even remember just what I said, but I know you react to the things I write.  The one where I talked about buying the house was written hurriedly in the postoffice [sic].  I’d  been out looking at houses for sale – much as you’d been looking at cars.  The one I wrote about would have been a good deal, a nice house to live in, one that could be enlarged very easily, and a good resale.  But of course it would be out of the question.

I know I must have told you about the apartments but I’ll repeat it just to be sure.  The first week I was here I went over to their rental office and filled out a card.  When she went to file it she found that I already had one in, dated May 10^th – when I wrote to them.  So I’m on the list as of then, but she also told me that there were still people on the waiting list who’d been waiting since March.  She said that today, July first, was the deadline for people to give notice who were moving out August 1^st, so I’m going over again tomorrow to check on it.  Incidentally, I’ve been over twice more in between – just to make sure I didn’t miss out on anything.

From what you said in your letters last week you apparently didn’t know this.  Yes, I would take an apartment right now if I could get one, and yes, I have applied and will keep hounding them.  As for anything else – I followed up several ads in the paper which proved to be no good, but in every case in talking to the people I found that they expected two months’ rent right now.  They wouldn’t even take a deposit to hold if a few days while I wired for money!  They have a credit union here at the District where I could borrow money but – Dammit – you have to be here 90 days before you can use it – which is no help at all.

I figured that I would have to send money to you on payday – Wedensday [sic] – but in this last letter I got you said not to.  I still don’t understand about those two small checks you got from work – or did I understand what you said about getting $68 soon from L.A.  Is that my vacation pay?  Did you check on it?  Anyhow – I’ll put as much of my pay check as possible in the bank, and I won’t send you any unless you ask for it.  Your next letters may tell me more, but I’ll go on the assumption that you have enough to get by on, unless I hear otherwise.  I would like to send it all to you, but the most important thing right now is to have enough to rent a house for us to put our home in.

I’m living just as cheaply as I possibly can, and I’ve resorted to one of Charley’s [mother’s brother] old tricks.  I bought a notebook before I left L.A. to keep track of my expenses on the trip so I could put in for reimbursement, and after I got here I kept on using it.  I write down everything I spend – even a nickel for a cup of coffee – and it sure helps.  I think twice before I spend anything!  Breakfast only costs 60 to 80 cents, lunch about the same, but suppers run from $.75 to $2.00 – and there’s no place else to eat.  The room costs $6.15 every two weeks, which is about 45 [cents] a day.  I wash my own socks and underwear but I send my shirts to the laundry at 40 [cents] each so that’s another 20 [cents] a day.  Yes, you’re certainly right about the cost angle of this business – and that’s the least-bad part of it.

Don’t ever, ever think I’m “getting used” to being away from you!  Perhaps you feel the strain more because you have the sole care of the children and because you’re reminded so much, but I do miss you – Mildred, I love you – I need you – I want you here as much as you want it.  I am and will always do everything in my power to get you here just as soon as possible.  Nothing in this world could ever make me go through a separation like this again!  We were made for each other, Darling Mildred, and we were made to be together!

I want so much to be able to give you the comfort – the love – the care, protection, – everything you need.  And I need just as much from you – all the things that you and only you can give me.  But most of all I simply need to be with you – always near you.  Sweetheart, my eyes fill with tears too when I think of being away from you any longer – Oh Mildred I want YOU!

And I miss the children too – the feeling of all of us together as a family – the happy rush to meet me when I come home – the tender little voices at bedtime – I even miss their noises.  It gives me the saddest, tenderest feeling to think of all of you so bravely carrying on without me, and depending on me to take care of you – and I will.  And I will take care of everything, you can depend on me and trust me completely – always!

I’m sending you a clipping from the paper – let’s hope it does some good.

I’m also sending the Household Finance paper back – signed.  Sorry I missed it last time, too much hurry I guess.

I’m so happy that you and the children have had a little fun for yourselves.  I had noticed that Museum when we’ve gone by it before, but never got around to going there – like so many other things.  I’ll bet Johnny really enjoyed looking at the old cars, the way he’s always talked about old-fashioned things being best.  🙂  And the fishing trip!  How I wish we’d discovered that before.  That sounds like so much fun – for you and them.  Next summer we’ll be able to do that all the time – and not at 40 [cents] a fish either.  I’m waiting eagerly for those pictures – I can just imagine the happy, happy faces.  🙂

I looked at the postcards first when the mail came, and I couldn’t figure out where they came from or how.  Then I read through all the rest of the letters and came to the last one before I finally found out.  I hope you didn’t forget the rest of the adventure story – the titles were intriguing!

As I read your various letters, I got several stories about the car.  But when I got to the last one I discovered that you weren’t going to wait for an answer from me.  It would sure be nice to have a new station wagon, and the prices you quoted were better than the first one you gave me by quite a bit – and considerably less than the price I got here, even counting $300 for shipping.  But I think you’d do better to sell the Chevy yourself rather than trading it in, in any event.  If you have definitely decided to go to your Mother’s to stay, you could get by without our car for now.  Then we could decide later about a new one.  I agree that the Ford is a better buy than the Chevy – this year anyhow.  I’ve tried to find out about how much travel allowance we’d get if you drove to Seattle – just out of curiosity mind you, I still don’t like the idea – but so far I haven’t been able to.  It seems that every time I try to see somebody they’re on vacation.

As I said before, Darling, you alone can decide whether you could live at your Mother’s.  It would certainly be the most practical thing to do – if the other can be worked out.  [Linda note:  “Other” being grandmother’s interference with mother’s parenting]

I am truly sorry about the letter that Jonna saw – there was really no need to say those things and I regretted it right afterwards.  You might know that would be the one!  I’ll never do that again, and not because I expect you to let anyone read them.

I still haven’t gotten my trunk, there was a ship last week but it wasn’t on it.  There’s another one next Monday and I sure hope it’s on it.  I need my “tools” and books at the office, and my clothes that I put in there.  I’m sure glad you insisted I get some moth-balls, the moths could have emptied the trunk in all this time!

Tell Cindy “thank you” for the lovely bag she made for me.  I’ll use it every day and think of her.  And tell Linda that her picture looks very nice on the wall next to the other one she sent.  And another thank you to Johnny and to the girls for the beautiful pictures of the place where they went fishing. They are on the wall too, and my room is brighter for having them there.  Tell Johnny I would like to have another letter from him, too.

(And thank you, my dearest Mildred, for being the sweetest Mother any children ever had.)

This is my last sheet of paper, so I have to stop now.

This time each day when I write to you is the happiest – and the saddest – of the whole day.  It makes me feel close to you for a little, but when I seal the envelope and drop it in the mail box – a piece of my heart goes with it, and I walk back to my room with sad, slow steps.  Without you I am so alone, my sweet, I need you to make me whole again.  I love you always, I love you truly, Bill.

P.S.  Yes again, I did take out Blue Cross, and you are covered.

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