Jane’s story:
To be honest, I always thought Penny was a little spoiled, always grousing about this thing and the other. Always complaining that there were no fellows, no dances, no parties, and no fun. You see, it was Topeka during the war years, and I guess if I were completely honest, I missed it all too. So when Penny said she wanted a vacation in San Francisco, I jumped on it. We bought the plane tickets.
We figured we’d see the sights, and go dancing at the USO and it’d just be marvy!
Penny and I, we were both secretaries. It took us months to save up the money and we had to ask in advance for the time off of work. But it was all going to be worth it...until...
Until Penny came down with appendicitis. “You can’t go by yourself,” she said from her hospital bed.
I said. “The tickets are non –refundable and I can’t postpone my vacation days. They already got a replacement for me at the bank. And I worked too hard to just give up all that money and time.”
“Well, you can’t go to San Francisco alone. It’s dangerous. It’s not proper. And besides how much fun can you have without me?” But she winked as she said it.
“Watch me,” I said. We both laughed and I hugged here as hard as I dared to after her surgery.
From San Francisco International Airport, I took a bus to the city, and I got into San Francisco on a bleak, drizzly October afternoon as shadows deepened along the streets. My first view of the legendary city was the inside of the Greyhound Bus Station, its gray walls decorated with graffiti and coffee splashes here and there. Benches were laid out row upon row, their wood shiny with old varnish.
I have to admit, at that moment I wished that Penny were with me. The floor was littered with cigarette butts, candy wrappers, and Popsicle sticks, and you could hear the sound of snoring echoing through the terminal. It made me flinch. The snores came from passengers and vagrants curled up on the benches and covered up with jackets and newspapers. Not what I’d hoped for at the beginning of my adventure in the big city. I flagged down a taxi and directed the driver to the YWCA.
Pretty soon I was starving and, according to the girl at the YWCA front desk, there was a diner only a block away. For half a second, I got hit by an attack of shyness - I didn’t know anyone in San Francisco, and there’s something sort of sad about eating alone. But this was the beginning of my big adventure. So, clutching a book like a life-preserver, I headed for the diner. It turned out to be a typical hamburger joint. The floors were black and white checkerboard, and the walls were mostly pink. I ordered a hamburger, fries, and a Coke. I remember it well. That was the hamburger meal that changed my life.
John’s story:
So I was sitting alone in a dumpy diner nursing a coffee and not even hungry. My buddy Andy and me, we’d planned to do Frisco together. Maybe meet some chicks, have a few laughs – but nothing serious. See, we were shipping out in five days, and there was no sense in anyone getting a case of bleeding heart. So nothing serious – that was the plan. Except Andy met this red head, and he’s always been a sucker for red heads, and next thing I know, he’s taking her somewhere for coffee, and I’m on my own in the dumpy diner staring at the linoleum.
But wait a sec – suddenly this girl walks in, and I’m understanding what happened to Andy. She sits down a couple of booths over, and she orders a burger and fries, and I’m trying not to be obvious about it, but I’m staring at her. And now I want a burger too.
Such a bitty thing she was! She took off her hat, and her hair sort of swooped up at the sides, and suddenly I had this incredible urge to touch that hair. I wanted to put my arm around her waist, and of course I wanted to kiss her, but also - I know this sounds dumb, but I wanted to protect her.
She was alone and she really did look like she could use company. I stood up, suddenly strong and brave, and walked over to her. I guess I swaggered a little. “Hey, I’m John. May I buy you a coke?”
“I already have one,” she said, “but bring your coffee over here if you want to.”
So I told her I was shipping out in five days, and I told her it had to be nothing serious, but I’d enjoy her company. I ordered a burger for myself and we talked forever.
And then we went dancing at the USO. The last number they played was “Tennessee Waltz”. I fell asleep that night thinking about Jane’s perfume, and Jane’s arms around me, while “Tennessee Waltz” danced in my mind.
Jane’s story:
Maybe it was the war, or maybe it happened because I needed a partner for my adventure, but I don’t think so. I think it was John, just the man he was, who won my heart. He had these deep blue eyes and, when I said something, he looked at me as if I was the most important girl in the world. And when he smiled or talked, he had this peaceful way about him that just made me happy.
And, yes, I did think about what Penny had said about being proper. Remember – you had to worry more about looking respectable back then. But, talking with this guy who was shipping out in five days, and said so right off the bat – well, I just felt safe – so very safe, and so happy I felt like hugging myself.
The next day we found Playland at the beach. There was this crazy life-size fat-lady doll in front of the fun house laughing hysterically. We had to go in. They had these really tall fast slides. “Are you sure you want to try this?” John asked, but I was already climbing the steps up to the top. You had to sit on a burlap bag sliding down, or you’d get burns on your legs. That was my favorite part of the fun house.
We explored the fun house from one end to the other – there was this circle that everyone climbed up on. Then it started to rotate, faster and faster, until almost everyone had slid off and there was only one person left in the middle.
Outside, there were arcade games. John won me a Kewpie doll, and I won a goldfish which I gave to a little girl because I wasn’t sure I wanted to trek back to Kansas with a living souvenir.
John’s story:
The best days of my life. I refused to think about shipping out. She was so delicate. I wanted to stay with her, to protect her, to take care of her.
“Can I get you something to eat?" I asked.
"Popcorn, I guess”
I walked to the concession stand and, apparently while I was gone, a smarmy marine zeroes in on Jane as if she’s a transport vessel and he’s a submarine. Walking back with the snacks, I saw the worm making moves on her. The marine was clearly drunk, the kind of drunk where he was shouting slurred threats and looking around for someone to punch. He’d gone beyond rude and obnoxious. I figured he was dangerous. Instinct to protect swelled like corn kernels popping in hot oil. I dropped the Coke and popcorn. I ran back ready to protect Jane, my Jane. Was she my Jane? I didn’t care at that moment. But I needn’t have bothered. To my astonishment that bitty half-pint, that lady bug, that bunny rabbit gave the marine a knee to his anatomy and turned her back to him. He mumbled some garbage sheepishly – something designed to save face - and left, limping slightly.
Don't underestimate, I told myself. She's not a delicate orchid. But she is rare and she is special.
We held hands and rode the roller coaster. After the fifth ride, I looked over at Jane. I had to say it. “You don’t need to be protected, do you?”
She laughed.
And she hugged me.
We spent the next three days together. The weather warmed up some and we walked all the way through Golden Gate Park from one end to the other. We saw Coit Tower. (Big deal, we both thought.) We bought crab on Fisherman’s Wharf.
We watched a movie. I forget which one - I mainly remember gingerly putting an arm around Jane's shoulder. And, just like that it was Sunday, and I had to be back at the base by three p.m.
Jane’s story:
Sunday, our last day together! We’d spent the morning walking along the beach. I gave John my address. We stopped at a stupid gift shop and he bought two souvenir wood carvings of sea gulls – one for him and one for me. Then we had to scramble to get his things packed and get him on to the base before three. We weren’t sure how much trouble you got into if you were late. At the gate to the barracks, he kissed me. Long and slow. My hair shot out of my head. He was holding me like he’d never let go. And I didn’t want to let go. I couldn’t let go. Except I couldn’t let him get in trouble with the army. I’ll write to you, I said. John kissed me one last time and walked through the gate.
All around me, couples were holding onto each other, kissing each other, saying good bye, telling each other they’d wait forever. Then the doors opened and John came running out and he ran up to me and grabbed me and threw his arms around me and lifted me into the air.
“Daylight savings time!” He exclaimed.
“Daylight savings time?”
“I don’t have to report for another hour.”
Then we were crying, and laughing, and kissing, and hugging, and yelling “daylight savings time” for the next fifty-nine minutes.
A flurry of letters:
Darling Jane,
I can’t get my mind off of you. I wake up and see your face and then remember I’m on a ship bound for Europe… I’m making my bunk, and suddenly I’m thinking about you again….
Dear John,
The days we spent together were precious. I know you’ve only left a few days ago, but it already seems like a lifetime that I’ve spent waiting. I get the newspaper, and expect to see headlines that the war is over and that you’re coming home….
Dear Jane,
When we first met, I said “nothing serious”, but I hadn’t expected to fall in love so quickly….
Dear John,
This stupid war can’t be over soon enough. I think about you a lot. I find myself asking myself about every little old thing, “Would John like it?” “What would John do?” I picture you with me all the time. There was the most beautiful sunset last night. All I could think of was that I wanted to see it with you. But I guess you have your own sunsets….
Dearest,
We have sunsets over here as well, and some are beauties. Each night, I’ll make sure to watch for the sunset when I can, and I’ll imagine you're watching it too. I know it’s not really the same sunset we’re seeing, but it makes me feel close to you. Oh, Jane, I love you so much….
John, my Darling,
Can’t Hitler just apologize and call this whole thing off? I wish I could actually see you, and touch you, and be near you. I still watch sunsets every night, and I still imagine you watching them wherever you are…..
And finally:
Dear Jane,
I’m coming home. I just got my orders….
Jane’s story:
Mom and Dad had squirreled away some money, which they gave me for another trip to San Francisco, and I was down at the docks ready to meet the ship when John came home.
The dock was this amazing human crazy quilt - wives and sweethearts, waiting for their men. They’d put on their prettiest dresses, and dolled themselves up with makeup and perfume. Everyone was smiling and craning their necks as the ship approached, trying to see their soldier. All that happiness just floating around in the air! Children fidgeted and ran around under foot – they hadn’t seen their daddies in years. And then there were the babies to whom Daddy was still a stranger.
I was nervous. We hardly knew each other, John and I, - had hardly spent any time together at all. What if we weren’t really in love at all? Or, even worse, what if only one of us wasn’t in love at all???? And then John was running towards me and I ran into his arms and kissed him and held on and we laughed and kissed and couldn’t let go of each other.
John came back to Kansas with me, and for the next few weeks, we spent every free minute together.
Mom and Dad adored him, especially when it turned out he could replace a broken clutch.
And then there was the night he asked me out for dinner and told me to “get gussied up”. His restaurant was French and very elegant, without a hint of snooty. John ordered champagne to celebrate being together. Was it my imagination, or did the waiters give us extra service? A musician came by our table singing “Tennessee Waltz”. And by the time dessert crepes were served, I felt spoiled beyond all reason, and so happy it couldn’t get any better.
Only it did. Because John knelt beside me, one knee to the floor. “I can’t believe I’m lucky enough to be here with you,” he said. “Jane, please marry me. Say you’ll be my wife and I’ll love you as long as I live. I’ll make you happy. Each day will be a blessing and a celebration - just because we’re together.” Then he took my hand and put a ring on my finger. “And each day we’re together we'll be living a new chapter of a of a great adventure, I promise, a love story that will last as long as we live.”
No one had a lot of money in those days, so we arranged the wedding ourselves. We were married in a Lutheran church in Topeka, Kansas on December 15th 1946. I wore my mother’s wedding dress which was trimmed with doves and rosebuds made out of heavy old-fashioned lace. My Aunt Dorothy had to hem it to fit me, and she removed three huge bows to make it more modern. Mom and Aunt Carol made a fantastic three-tiered wedding cake, which they topped with real roses. And we decorated the church with pine branches and ivy. It was all so beautiful!
Penny was my maid of honor and Andy was John’s best man. And I take it all back about Penny being spoiled. She was the best friend a girl could have.
I tried to hold on to the memories and feelings of that day for as long as possible: walking down the aisle and John waiting for me, my mother trying to hide her tears. And I remember the look in John’s eyes when we said our vows. “I, Jane, take thee John to by my lawful wedded Husband…” I still get chills thinking about it.
And then we had a party, the best party in the history of weddings. We danced and sang and laughed well into the night.
And then we were married, and the real adventure started...
Suddenly, we weren't kids any more. We were like my Mom and Dad, grown ups starting a life together,getting jobs, learning to cook, taking care of each other. It was an adventure all right!
I'd been feeling funny for days now, queasy and tired. On a misty November morning I showed up for my doctor’s appointment - fifteen minutes early, and all but giggling out lout. I was 99% sure it would be good news, but, there was always the possibility that something was wrong. I hadn’t told John anything yet. Just in case.
The walls in the doctor's waiting room were painted green. Why did they always paint doctors’ walls that ridiculous dying-philodendron green color that was supposed to relax you? It did anything but relax you. I picked up a Good Housekeeping magazine and fingered the pages.
I fantasized about how I’d tell John. I’d cook a fancy dinner. With chocolate pudding for dessert? No something fancier. Apple Brown Betty. I could put a diaper pin inside. No you could accidentally swallow a diaper pin. A candle. Apple brown Betty with a candle on top, and the table decorated with nursery rhyme pictures. “Don’t get too happy yet,” I told myself. “There’s still the exam to get through.”
And finally a chubby red-headed nurse poked her head into the waiting room and said those wonderful words: “The doctor will see you now.”
The doctor and his nurse were very businesslike. They took a urine sample and a blood sample. They asked questions. They poked and prodded, and stethoscoped, and blood-pressured, and then I had to wait three days for results. I was washing dishes when the doctor called and told me, “you’re pregnant.” I cried. And laughed. My mouth smiled on its own. And kept smiling until John came home that night.
Our next adventure - pregnancy. First there was morning sickness. I didn’t care. I was too happy. Then about the fifth month, I felt a thump, and then another, like someone tickling me from the inside. “John, John come over here. You have to feel this.”
After about eight months, the novelty of pregnancy wore off. Morning sickness gave way to heartburn and leg cramps. Pounds showed up on their own, and attached themselves to the truck tire ever expanding around my waist. Bigger and bigger – I got so I couldn’t wait for this leg of the adventure to be over.
John’s story:
Jane woke me in the middle of the night with contractions coming quick and hard. I’d imagined and planned for the baby’s birth, but I didn’t expect it all to be so huge and overwhelming. I hope I acted cool and in control in front of Jane. I didn’t feel that way. I drove to the hospital in panic - imagine driving the Indie 500. Then I paced in the waiting room. Back and forth – it went on forever. It seemed like days passed, but it was only seven hours, and I held Carol Elizabeth in my arms. She was so small and so wonderful! I couldn’t help it. I cried. Carol Elizabeth, our princess. Now I had two darlings to care for. I looked over at Jane. To me she’d never looked more beautiful.
We took Carol home, and then adventure followed adventure – night feedings, diapers, and an occasional fever that sent me into a tailspin. We celebrate the “firsts” Jane and I did – the first step, the first word, the first poop in the potty.
Then Jane told me she was pregnant again. This time I felt like an old hand at having babies. And before I could blink, it seemed, Janet Victoria – our Jan – was born.
More adventures and more “firsts” blessed our lives - the first day at school, the first recital, the first boyfriend. It all went by like a dream. I wish I could have stopped and held onto some of the moments, but time doesn’t work that way.
All too soon, we were planning weddings, giving our daughters away to a couple of kids, nowhere near old enough to get married, and who looked as nervous as I was on the day of my wedding to Jane.
In time they had their own adventures - Jeffrey Scott, Victoria Jane, and Lisa Marie joined the clan. How did the time go by so fast?
Vicki’s tale:
This year, the grand kids – that’s Lisa and me - were cooking Christmas dinner. And we wanted to make it special. I could feel Christmas magic all around me. Playing the carols. Buying the presents. For Grandma Jane, some perfume, and a “special” gift from Victoria’s Secret”. You could get Grandma a present like that. And Lisa and I shared the cooking. I got the turkey, stuffing, drinks, dessert. She did the rest. We did the tree up with ornaments and tinsel. The house looked like a winter wonderland. The work wasn’t work. It was love, love, love. We couldn’t wait for Christmas to get here.
Grandpa John and Grandma Jane drove in mid afternoon, and they even admitted to being tired. So we sent them up to my bedroom for a power nap. They came back down shortly before an early dinner followed by the traditional opening of the presents.
We sat around the table, and Dan said the blessing, and we began passing around food and laughing and talking. But I noticed Grandma. She looked distant. Like she was making an effort. You have to understand that Grandma Jane was the ultimate grandmother. She lived for stuff like this. But this Christmas she looked like she couldn’t wait to leave. How could Grandma not like my cooking. Food poisoning???!!!! That was the only explanatin I could think of. It seemed awfully sudden. Wasn’t there supposed to be an incubation period before you felt sick??
But Grandma was almost eighty. Maybe she was extra fragile. Grandpa John didn’t look so hot either. I was sure I’d cooked the turkey long enough. And the stuffing had been bubbling in the oven. That should have taken care of any germs. Oh please don’t let me be the one to poison my grandmother!
We adjourned to the living room to open presents. I expected a couple of laughs at the Victoria Secret present, but there wasn’t so much as a chuckle from Grandma or Grandpa. And they didn’t seem too thrilled by the perfume and the shirts either. I’d wanted Christmas to be so special, and somehow it was turning out to be a big mess. Grandma and Grandpa weren’t interested in anything, not even the kids.
They left early.
John’s Story
I didn’t want to say anything. Sitting at dinner, I felt queer – peculiar - dizzy, nauseous, and with a pounding headache. Could it be my heart? I tried to remember the symptoms for heart attack and stroke. But nothing seemed right. I felt my pulse under the table. It seemed okay. I wasn’t sweating or hurting except for my head. I could raise both arms together, and, looking in the mirror, my smile seemed normal. My speech wasn’t slurred, and as far as I could tell, the words weren’t coming out garbled. What the hector was going on?
Jane’s story:
Something was very wrong. My head ached, and everything was blurry. I’d been feeling fine until dinner at Carol’s house, and suddenly, I felt disoriented, out of control. Dinner seemed to drag on forever, and then we opened the presents. I felt awful. I had to get home. I signaled John. Let’s go home, I mouthed the words. He nodded, and a few minutes later, he and I were thanking Vicki and Lisa and saying goodnight. “We had a lovely time. Thank you for everything.” I barely got the words out of mouth. On the way home, neither John nor I said much of anything.
John’s story:
I’m not sure how I got us home. The road was a blur, and it was all I could do to concentrate on my driving. Fortunately I knew the road so well I could have driven it in my sleep. Which is just about what I did. At home, we all but collapsed into our beds peeling off our clothing and just throwing it - not at all Jane's style. I removed my glasses, and they felt strange in my hand. And I looked at Jane, and she looked at me.
We were wearing each other’s glasses.
Jane's Story
We’d hit our eighties in full stride. “Let’s go to France,” John said one day, just out of the blue. And we did. We practically waltzed through the countryside - woke up to sheep bleating and roosters claiming their kingdom, and fell asleep with the scent of lavender floating above our bed. We ended our trip in Paris. They say that Paris is made for lovers, and, apparently, John and I were still lovers.
Our friends began to complain – about everything from heartburn and bad hips to operations, walkers, and pill bottles lined up across the kitchen counter like soldiers. Body parts were leaking - heart valves, noses, bladders and a few things they didn’t even know they had. And John and I somehow avoided the whole mess. In fact, while everyone we knew was overweight and gaining in spite of eating nothing, it seemed, but rutabaga and lettuce, John was dropping pounds without trying. We’d somehow bypassed old age.
But then, John had a bad day and a bad night and another bad day. The bad days became more frequent and got worse quickly. Finally our doctor confirmed that it was cancer and that John was dying. “Thank goodness we got to see France,” was the first thing out of John's mouth.
We called hospice, and they helped us set up the house for John. Kids and grandkids, and special friends stopped by. They gave us love in so many ways. They tended the things that needed tending - buying groceries, setting up a hospital bed, feeding pets. Neighbors and friends sent their love and their casseroles, as well as cards, and prayers by the hundreds.
The minister visited with communion, and he'd stay and we'd talk about France, fly fishing, the museum's fund-raiser. His name was Dave, and he had an easy way about him. "So," John asked, "where do you think I'm headed?" He downplayed it - made it sound like a joke.
Dave shook his head. "Be careful of anyone claiming to know God's plan. But here's how I imagine Heaven: Take the best of all of us; Take the best of the world, remember times of love and of peace, remember Christmas, take all of that, wrap it all up into a huge pot luck party - where everyone's welcome. And I do mean everyone."
And John looked at me long and hard. "I'll see you on the other side," he said.
I wanted to say all kinds of soppy, mushy versions of ‘I love you’ to John. I wanted to hold onto every last second I had with him. Holding on and kissing him like that day years ago when he had had to report for the army. Only this time he wasn’t coming back home.
But we'd said all the mushy, soppy things so many times... and over so many years! Instead, we held hands, and I touched his face. And the touching was more real.
Our last days together went by so quickly! John got weaker until he couldn't get out of bed, and he lost all interest in food. His breath got shallow and raspy until it was all he could do to make the air move in and out. The rattling sound got louder still, and the hospice nurse said it would happen in a matter of hours. I sat next to him, held his hand. Sometimes I'd dose off, resting my head next to his arm. They'd given him a strong dose of morphine, and he seemed at peace. "I love you, John," I said. "Thank you for making my life so wonderful." The breathing came slower and slower until it stopped. That's when I cried all the tears I'd been holding back.
A part of me - the best part of me - was torn from my heart that day.
They say time heals. Months have passed, and I still ache and wish I could have him back with me - just for one more night. I cook dinner and wish I were cooking for two. I raise my orange juice glass each morning. "Here's to you. See you on the other side." I say the words out loud. Sometimes I am moved to tears knowing what a treasured life I've had with John. I hold his memory close to my heart hold it for as long as I can. Then it flutters away, and I'm left to move through the world on my own.
