Mon, Jul 7, 1947: Woodrow

"Woodrow came out to spend the night with us; so after supper he brought his slide projector into the frontroom to display some color pictures to the family. He had some dandies. Of course, a large share were of Phillip and Carol playing in swings, on the slippery slide, etc. A number were taken at our house--the cutest were those taken at a birthday party Mother had when Phillip was five.  It wasn't difficult to see where his chief interest in life was. Yet he has taken the loss remarkably well.  After that we had a long talk -- mainly about photography. Now it's bedtime."

-- Letter from my father, Bloomington, Kans., to my mother, Winfield, Kans., Monday, July 7, 1947. Woodrow’s children, Phillip, 9, and Carol, 7, had been struck and killed by an automobile while crossing the street in Wichita four days earlier on July 3. The two children had stayed at my grandparents’ house for extended periods, during times when their parents, Woodrow and Maryjane, were separated. After the couple’s second and final divorce, Woodrow was awarded custody of the children.  They were killed while on a visit with their mother. 

Mon, Jul 7, 1947: riding horseback

"Darling DeVere,

“It seemed that I kept thinking about you, so I thought it would be psychologically sound to write to you to clear you out of my mind so I could write on my theme. Also, I found my outline in this pad, so that proves I was right.... I just got back from a walk, which I justified because I was stiff from riding horseback and needed to work it out.  (I didn't tell you yesterday that I was getting very sore & don't you tell Stanley!  I'm not at all hurt by it.)...

"Well, my dearest, I'm certainly ready and willing to join your family and form here on out I'm going to act that way.  I do feel a part of it now.  I certainly want you & your immediate family to know how much I enjoy and appreciate them.  I had the best time yet this weekend and especially my attempts at education into farm procedure.  I hope we can be a family as good and family-like as yours.  I think everyone of you is tops.  It's mighty good of you to take care of me for such a long time.

"I'm quite positive there's no one as good and good for me in the world as you and fortunately, in just 201 days, I won't have to get along without you any more."

--Letter from my mother, Winfield, Kans. to my father, Bloomington, Kans., Monday, July 7, 1947.  This is the first time that my mother called my father DeVere in a letter.  His name was Sidney DeVere Brown.  Most of his family called him DeVere, while his college friends and Navy friends called him Sid.

Fri, Jul 4, 1947: North End Tragedy

“Truck Kills Two Wichita Children: Small Sister and Brother Struck Down: Carol and Philip Berger, 7 and 9, are victims in North End Tragedy; Police Probe Speeding: Wichita suffered its second fatal traffic accident Thursday afternoon when two young children, sister and brother, were struck down and fatally injured by a truck as they were crossing the street a block from their home, 2202 North Minneapolis, to buy some firecrackers.”

-- Wichita Eagle, Friday, July 4, 1947.  Carol and Philip were the children of Woodrow Berger, my great-uncle. Carol was born October 31, 1939, and Philip Eugene, May 27, 1938.  The children often stayed with my grandparents, during times when Woodrow and his wife Maryjane were separated. The couple eventually divorced. 

Tue, Jul 1, 1947: 'chawin' tobacco

"Bales of alfalfa from the field to the hay rack to the barn loft in an endless procession -- this sums up my day.  Mechanical gadgets handle nearly all heavy work on the farm; but none is inexpensive enough to be practicable for this work. Hence I spent another day lifting alfalfa hay -- green gold to the farmer of 1947.  Warren drove the team and old Mr. Dickson with his snaggle-teeth a product of long years of ‘chawin’ tobacco, helped most of the day.  For a man of 65 he gets around surprisingly well.  His predilection to talkativeness has run out -- and the old man was almost reticent today.  Dad characterizes him as a 'hill billy.'"

-- Letter from my father, Bloomington, Kans., to my mother, Winfield, Kans., Tuesday, July 1, 1947.

Wed, Jun 25, 1947: two boys & two girls

"Someone on the radio said the American home is the foundation & strongest thing in the world.  So many are not, however-- but we are going to make one more and we have confidence & hope that ours will be strong and an influence to the good for our two boys & two girls--Fortunately we can't see what is ahead of us, but we are going to go step by step doing what seems best & I at least am going to leave off wondering about paths we can't explore, for we can only take one at a time & must choose one at each crossroads--I suppose the crossroads will be many."

--Letter from my mother, Winfield, Kans., to my father, Bloomington, Kans., Wednesday, June 25, 1947. My parents did, indeed, end up with two boys and two girls.

Mon, Jun 23, 1947: 'if a chicken drowns'

"After you left for Winfield last night I sat in grandpa's living room while the relatives gabbed. One can learn interesting facts by listening to such conversations, e.g., 'if a chicken drowns, give it to your neighbor.' That appears in the Bible--so Uncle Everett told his wife when she reprimanded him for giving a drowned chicken to a half-wit neighbor.  Since Uncle Everett is not an erudite man--quite definitely not the type to be a Bible reader, she took it with a grain of salt--until her Bible study class under the direction of Maude Haver took up a study of Deuteronomy the following evening.  Among the first verses read was the one containing in terse King James English the command which Uncle Everett had adhered to--3000 years after Moses had made it."

--Letter from my father, Bloomington, Kans., to my mother, Winfield, Kans., Monday, June 23, 1947.

Thu, Jun 19, 1947: worn out at 55

"Finally, Joe Naden, himself -- his head skinny and bald entered the barn to discuss the practical aspects of the unwanted rain. A victim of heart disease -- rather heavy -- worn out at 55 -- his only son a military casualty -- he seems a pitiable person to me.  He has one big interest in life yet -- His eyes fairly light up when he talks about the bumper oat crops. ‘I think it'll make 60 bushels to the acre,’ he predicts with a tone of voice alive, and different from the usual whiny voice."

--Letter from my father, Bloomington, Kans., to my mother, Winfield, Kans., Thursday, June 19, 1947.

Mon, Jun 16, 1947: Farmall tractor

"The tractor driver does nothing but sit--so it appears to the outsider. Pulling a lister through tough Kansas gumbo soil entails a lot of work that doesn't appear on the surface, however.  After four hours aboard our Farmall tractor I felt as if I had done a day's work.  The job is wearing on the nerves--and eardrums--more than on the sinews and muscles. The illusion of pastoral peacefulness--which I had built up over the weekend here- has left me amidst the cacophony of a growling, roaring tractor, and a squeaking, hard-pulling lister. The noise still rings in my ears two hours later."

--Letter from my father, Bloomington, Kans., to my mother, Winfield, Kans., Monday, June 16, 1947.

Mon, Jun 9, 1947: a stupid dream

"I wasn't satisfied with that leave-taking last night, so this is to say I love you because I didn't get to then.  Also, because after a whole week, I miss you even more.  As if I wasn't bad enough off, I had a stupid dream last night in which Southwestern faculty, railroad workers, high school friends & I were all involved. At the end, I was going to marry Dr. Mac Gregor!"

--Letter from my mother, Winfield, Kans., to my father, Bloomington, Kans., Monday, June 9, 1947.

Sun, Jun 1, 1947: cooked first meal

“church at Grace – cooked first meal – meat loaf, roasting ears, shoestr potatoes, tomato salad, peaches – bike riding –“

--Entry in my mother’s diary about dating my father, Sunday,  June 1, 1947, Southwestern College, Winfield, Kansas.