No April Fools

Moved back a day to avoid April Fools Day, Marvin and Jennetta were married on March 31, 1937; that’s 72 years ago today. Father George Murphy performed the 7:30 a.m. ceremony in the chapel of Sacred Heart Church in Klamath Falls rather than on the main altar because Dad was a non-Catholic. Afterwards nineteen people, including family members and a few close friends, gathered at the home of Blanche and Jasper Cole for a wedding breakfast. Blanche had fried six chickens early that morning for the feast. Since the newlyweds had no car, they rode to Portland with Marvin’s parents, Lydia and William, stopping at Crooked River Bridge Park for one of Mamoo’s infamous salmon sandwiches. Needless to say, after one bite Mom relinquished hers to Dad. After depositing Dad’s parents at their home in Portland, the newlyweds spent the night at a hotel and took Granddad’s car to visit Marvin’s brother and sister-in-law in Pendleton. Several days later they took the car back to Portland and then returned to Klamath Falls by train.

Sister-in-law Georgie & Jennetta

Although they started out poor as church mice, married in a chapel instead of a church, with a honeymoon spent with family in a borrowed car, the couple’s vows carried them through good times and bad, sickness and health for just short of 60 years before Marvin died in February of 1997. They understood each other, aggravated each other, admired each other, made all their decisions together, and loved each other. Mom once said that she could still remember sitting at Aunt Blanche’s sewing machine before they were married and looking out the window in time to see Dad walking down the street with his hat tipped jauntily to one side. Even though they had separated for a time because of their differences in religion (Catholic vs Baptist), she knew he was the only one for her and she was just waiting for him to figure out the same thing. Sure enough, he did and they spent their married life respecting one another’s beliefs and focusing on what they had in common. In later years they quietly studied their bibles together in the early morning hours while drinking their first cups of coffee.

Georgie, Marv, brother Bill, & niece & nephew JoAnn & John

Two months before Dad died, he told me how beautiful he thought Mom was. I will never forget the inflection in his voice. Twenty-four hours before he died, as Mom was feeding him tapioca, she asked if he knew who we were. After he nodded, she prodded, “Say my name.” It took some internal work on his part, but in spite of encroaching dementia he looked her in the eye and spoke her name in syllables, “Jen-net-ta” and smiled. Their kind of bond was not showy or demonstrative, but it sure was strong, durable and blessed.

Blanche & AJ: A Love Story

circa. 1923

Once upon a time, somewhere around Eugene in the Cascade Mountains of Oregon, there was a very independent young woman hired on at a Booth Kelly Lumber Company logging camp as the assistant to the cook. The oldest of eight, Blanche was accustomed to self-reliance and work since she had stepped in at a young age to help her crippled mother raise and provide for her younger siblings. In a camp full of men, this pretty young woman of about 19 did not go unnoticed, but one, in particular, won her heart. Abner James, better known as Boots, became friends with Blanche and a fast friendship blossomed into love.

Only a year older than her, Boots had run away to Oregon several years earlier. Doing everything from clean up to working in the treetops to being a choker, hard work and discipline eventually earned him one of the hightest paid jobs in the logging industry. Called a powder monkey, he set the dynamite charges that cleared the way for laying down train tracks that were used to haul out the logs. In time, these two kindred spirits decided to get married. While Blanche managed to get permission to take a day off for the event, Boots did not. Long on determination and stubbornness, they quit their jobs, got married and found work elsewhere.

This quiet love story of your fraternal great grandparents did not end there. It went on for over 50 years until Blanche died unexpectedly from a blood clot that broke loose during her recuperation after hip surgery. Side by side they worked, raised two boys, hunted, fished, and in their retirement, traveled around in their camper going to rock shows, collecting rocks that they made into tables, clocks, and jewelry, and visiting grandkids. So compatible were they that it was hard to tell where one left off and the other began. Each seemed to be the other's best friend and greatest admirer and neither needed anything else to feel complete. Their lives were simple but connected, quiet but strong, and inextricably linked. What more could any of us hope for in our own relationships?