Part 1: Death, Divorce, and Disappointment

It looks a lot like home to me

Summertime, an' the livin' is easy...

Mama was the second child an’ only daughter of Herbert an’ Faye Smith, born an’ raised in the cozy little farm town of Grinnell, Iowa, where ever’body really did know your name. All your secrets, too.

In 1939 she had a Tale of Two Cities kind of year. One of the best an’ worst she’d ever known. It would portend the rest of her life, huge highs an’ lethal lows on a roller coaster ride from one decade into another. It all started out real good with the birth of her little brother Dickie Lee in May. As soon as she laid eyes on that baby she fell in love.

As it turned out, Dickie Lee would be one of only a few bright spots that year; the sun rose an’ set with that child. But the shadows cast by that light were nearly at her door. To the day of her death, she couldn’t even say his name without tears springin’ up in her eyes.

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On September fourteenth, two months to the day after Mama’s twelfth birthday, an’ four months after Dickie Lee’s birth, her Daddy left her Mama an’ their five children for a woman named Jeannette. They moved in together just four blocks down the street.

Jeannette wasn’t just any woman. She’s filled with the same kind of female fury an’ a quiet, shadowy power that many women of that era knew well.

Jeannette was a lifelong family friend who attended the same one room schoolhouse as my Granny. Her face is found in family photos I now possess that date back before World War I.

Herbert an’ Jeannette’s affair wasn’t a sudden thing; it had been growin’ in back-alley pool halls where she found Herbert long before he married my Granny. He played a secret an’ risky game of hide-n-seek over on the wrong side of the tracks, a game she knew well.

But it was my Granny, not Jeannette, who bore the brunt of the town’s judgment.

An’ throughout the Herbert an’ Faye scandal that ripped through Grinnell, Jeannette sat tall in her car, eyes shielded behind dark glasses, while the town whispered her name, an’ blamed my Granny for what her husband an’ her so-called friend had done.

Granny never talked about those whispers though. In fact, I’d never know it ever happened except for Mama. Granny just couldn’t bring herself to look it square in the eye, maybe outta shame, maybe pride. I never knew for sure. Mama, on the other hand, held it in her heart, tellin’ me that story many times throughout her life.

That summer, even before Mama’s world began to crumble, the sun bore down heavy, makin’ the air thick an’ still, like it was holdin’ its breath for what was yet to come. Mama said even the birds seemed quieter, especially after her dad packed up an’ walked out.

She said she couldn’t decide what hurt worse, her Daddy leavin’, or the way the whole town seemed to know ‘bout it before she could make sense of it herself.

When her dad ripped open the family closet to reveal all the skeletons rattlin’ in there, Mama thought she’s gonna die. They all did. But instead, ever’body just went through their own special kind of hell. Mama said death woulda been better.

But instead of dyin’, she learned how to live with loss, even when it felt like it might break her, an’ that’s a lesson she passed on to me, whether she meant to or not. Those rattlin’ bones didn’t stay in that closet either, they followed her, an’ in time, found their way to me.

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With her Daddy gone an’ most of the money gone with him, nobody expected much for Christmas that year. But somehow, Granny found a way to make it special. She strung popcorn garlands late into the night an’ baked cookies outta what little flour and sugar they had left, while the sound of Dickie Lee’s laughter filled the house. She’d tell the boys they’d make it through, just you wait an’ see, and just like magic, one baby’s joy an’ a plate full of cookies saved the day.

The holiday came an’ went, an’ for a little while, the music of Dickie Lee’s laughter kept the house warm.

The New Year brought bitter cold Iowa weather. January and February felt endless, each day heavy with gray skies and the bite of wind that seemed to find its way into every corner of their house. The snow lay thick on the ground, bright white fadin’ to dull patches as the days dragged on. In the midst of their sorrow, Dickie Lee was the one thing they could count on. The warmth he brought to their lives was like the sun risin’ ever’ mornin’ always there no matter what.

Bundled up in layers of woolen warmth, Mama cradled her baby brother in her arms near the kitchen stove. His tiny hands tuggin’ at her hair an’ pullin’ at her heart as his eyes searched hers, remindin’ her there was still somethin’ good left in the world. That little boy was pure joy when the world outside their door was frozen solid.

By March, the snow began to melt, leavin’ behind muddy roads an’ patches of dead grass. The thaw came slow, the earth hesitatin’ to wake from her long slumber, the scent of damp soil hangin’ in the air. But as April arrived, the promise of spring began to unfold. Crocuses pushed their way through the thawin’ ground, an’ the trees began to show the faintest hint of green.

For the first time in months, Mama let herself believe that better days might be ahead.

Spring came in earnest with May. The air grew warm an’ sweet, carryin’ the scent of blossomin’ lilacs an’ damp earth. Birds returned to the trees, fillin’ the mornings with music of warblers, wrens, an’ vireos. Mama would take Dickie Lee outside, layin’ him on a quilt under a trio of redbud trees where he could feel the sun on his cheeks. He’d giggle at the sound of robins callin’ to one another, an’ for a while, it was easy to imagine they were a family again, the way they used to be.

Then just as the earth came back to life, Dickie Lee came down with a high fever that nobody could explain. When he had to be taken to the hospital, Granny assured the others that he’d be fine, but Mama felt somethin’ tighten up in the pit of her stomach that told her otherwise.

Spinal meningitis nearly turned that little boy inside out before it stole him away, bendin’ his tiny body backward like a bow. The sight of him like that, helpless an’ sufferin’ was burned into Mama’s memory forever.  That baby had become a livin’, breathin’ predictor of how their lives were bein’ twisted all the wrong way around. I cannot imagine how awful it musta been.

When Granny came home from the hospital for the last time on May 19, 1940, Mama said the house went so quiet it hurt her ears. She sat by Dickie Lee’s empty crib for hours, whisperin’ his name, holdin’ his favorite wooden toy horse, the one she’d given him on the only Christmas he’d ever know.

By then, Mama’s world had already turned on its head. She’d lost her Daddy, an’ most of her friends along with him. She an’ her four brothers, Herbert Junior, Gene, Billy, an’ Dickie Lee, had become outcasts when families told their children they could no longer be seen with Smitty’s kids. That was her Daddy’s nick name.

People started crossin’ the road to avoid passin’ ‘em on the sidewalk. They didn’t want to come any closer to the shame Smitty brought to the town. But havin’ someone to look down on to feel bigger themselves turned out to be a bonus. By the time Dickie Lee died, Mama had all of three friends left: June, Ellen, an’ Richard.

She an’ Richard were best friends. Ever’ time her heart broke in two he helped her put it back together. First her Daddy, then Dickie Lee. They spent hours ridin’ their bikes on the sidewalk that stretched from her house to his in a one-mile-long straight line. He made her laugh an’ she’d forget for just a while that the whole world was fallin’ apart.

They’d known each other since they’s babies, but it was Christmas of 1938 that they knew they's in love. King Edward of England abdicated his throne two years earlier for the love of his life, Wallis Simpson, a three-time-divorced American commoner. He left ever'thing to be with Wallis.

When Richard told her he didn’t blame the King for what he’d done an’ said he felt the same way ‘bout her, Mama knew she had found her very own Prince Charmin’. She was eleven an’ he was thirteen. That’s young, but sometimes you just know.

What her Daddy did a year later didn’t matter to Richard. He an’ his family loved my Mama an’ she loved ‘em back. They welcomed her into their home like one of their own, offerin’ her a safe place where the town’s whispers couldn’t reach.

They made it possible for her to remember Dickie Lee an’ forget ‘bout her Daddy without breakin’ apart most days. Because of that, she figured out how to survive a year that woulda destroyed most twelve-year-old girls.

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Mama’s family had been Quakers since they’d come to this country more’n two hundred years earlier. The name of their religion came from their practice of “trembling at the word of God” in their Sunday meetings. It was meant as an insult. But in time, it became a badge of honor.

Quakers had once stood for equality an’ liberty. Alice Paul, a leader of the Suffragette movement, drew strength from her faith to fight for a woman’s right to vote. But by the time Mama came along, their focus had shifted to rule keepin’, with little room left for notions of liberty an’ justice for all.

Women were expected to wear long sleeves, even on the hottest day. Dresses or skirts only, even on the coldest day, an’ never any makeup or jewelry. Alcohol was off limits along with card playin’, movies, an’ absolutely no entertainment of any kind on the Lord’s Day.

When my mother was very young, an entire family in their church was shunned because their daughter was caught rollin’ down the sidewalk in her older sister’s skates after church. She was four. She had no idea she was breakin’ their silly rules. But her family became outcasts, invisible, untouchable — all the same.

Most people have little experience of this practice, but it happened to me once when my choices were judged to be shun worthy. I’s a member of the Assembly of God church, an’ although I hadn’t actually done anything wrong, I had committed “sins of the mind”. That could not be tolerated.

They knew what I’s thinkin’ based on answers I had provided ‘bout my relationship with a friend, innocently assumin’ it was best to tell the truth. It woulda been much better for me an’ my children if I had lied.

Yeah, Quakers aren’t the only lovers of God who could throw down cruelty in the face of perceived sin.

When I found myself shunned for these so-called ‘sins of the mind,’ I thought of Mama an’ how she musta felt, carryin’ a burden that wasn’t hers to bear.

When she an’ her family walked inside the meetin’ house for the first time after her Daddy left, the shame they felt was evident as they passed folks they knew well, all red faced an’ heads bowed. The silence they encountered felt like it would crush her as the scrape of their shoes on the wooden floor magnified the truth that they didn’t belong there anymore.

Friends who once welcomed their company were lookin’ the other way. Mama an’ her family had become invisible because of somethin’ somebody else did. Somethin’ they had no control over.

What they felt that day wasn’t just shame, it was a soul wound that would take years to scar over, a wound that would shape my Mama’s life an’ eventually find its way into mine.

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Mama had an older brother. He wasn’t with ‘em that Sunday in the meetin’ house. Refused to go. Said they were all hypocrites an’ he wasn’t goin’ back. Named after their Daddy, he went by the name Junior. Made him proud the first fifteen years of his life, but ever'thing was different now.

Junior hated what the church was doin’ to his Mama, actin’ like she wasn’t worth their time after ever'thing she’d been through. But he hated even more how she stayed quiet, bowin’ her head when she shoulda been standin’ tall.

Their family’s persecution an’ his Mama’s willingness to accept it was unfair but there was nothin’ he could do ‘bout it. So, when he was finally old enough, he joined the Army.

Quakers have always been pacifists an’ I’m pretty sure his choice was a deliberate one, meant to shock church people who were makin’ his Mama’s life even harder’n it already was.

He couldn’t care less what they thought. Thinkin’ ‘bout ‘em whisperin’ in outrage behind closed doors made him smile. After ever'thing they’d put his Mama through, it felt like he was takin’ somethin’ back.

It was early 1941 an’ by this time things in Europe were pretty bad so Granny turned a blind eye to Junior’s military choice. She just nodded her head with her lips pressed tight, like she was swallowin’ somethin’ too big to get down. Some of the church people decided to do the same.

Others whispered about Junior’s choice like it was a betrayal. Then with the war in Europe growin’ worse by the day, even the most devout pacifists started to falter. Hitler’s evil became impossible to ignore, outweighing any objections Granny or the Quakers might have to Junior becomin’ a soldier.

That was the beginnin’ of everybody easin’ up on all that “red-faced” nonsense. Suddenly, his decision to fight didn’t seem so wrong.

When Junior left Iowa that summer, whatever was goin’ on in Europe didn’t matter to him. He was headed to paradise. Stationed at Wheeler Field on the island of Oahu, his picture postcards from Pearl Harbor looked like somethin’ straight out of the movies.

Mama an’ her brothers fought over who got to bring in the mail, just in case one of his cards would be waitin’ there in the box. Bein’ the first one to read out loud what their brother had to say provided special standin’ in the family an’ could be used to win any argument for the rest of the day.

On December 7th, when Japanese planes came screamin’ over Wheeler Field, Junior barely made it out alive. He carried the scars of that day for the rest of his life, jagged reminders on his body an’ shadows in his eyes of how close he came to never comin’ home.

For a while nobody knew if he’d make it back to Grinnell a’tall. But when he did, the Second World War was in full swing an’ it was all anybody cared about. Junior returned a war hero that summer pavin’ the way for the whole family to enter back into polite society.

The whispers stopped, an’ folks who once crossed the road to avoid Smitty’s kids, started noddin’ polite-like on Sunday mornings, forgettin’ the self-righteous bigotry they had once enjoyed.

Junior’s return ended their petty shunnin’ and in the midst of a world war, it brought Granny an’ her children a fleetin’ measure of peace.

That’s when polio hit.