The Mueller-Harder Family

[Sometime in the 1960s]
[Upward Wing, Marshfield Hills, Massachusetts]

[unknown Boston-area newspaper]
[between 8 & 12 February, 1965]

DISBROW — February 7, Anna (Dykstra), age 82, formerly of Florida,
wife of the late William Cook Disbrow Jr. Services at the Sparrell
Funeral Home, Central Street, Norwell, Saturday, February 13, at 3
P.M.

937A PST MAR 29 63 0B053 BC189
B LLC049 PD WUX BOSTON MASS 29 1207P EST
ERIK HARDER
  262 28 ST OAKLAND CALIF
DEAR ERIK: WELCOME. CANT WAIT TO MEET YOU — GLAD DADDY MADE
IT. MY LOVE
  JANNY

JANNY
(31).

[December 1937 or January 1938, give or take]

Jan Disbrow with her baby sister Karen.

[Probably summer of 1934]
[The Hipple house, Pierre, South Dakota]

Ella Bowman Cole (Ruth Bowman Hipple’s sister) with her needlepoint in the garden.On the back, we read:

Taken in Ruth's
garden the summer
of 19

in what I believe is Rachel Cole Cooper’s writing. “34″ has been added in a different pen. Jean Cooper Disbrow has added in her thorough style:

Grandmother Ella Bowman Cole
Mrs. Francis W. Cole
Rachel Cole Cooper's mother
Kathrine Cole Lyon's "
Phillip Bowman Cole's "

[Probably February, 1934]
[The Cole’s house, Interbay, Florida]

Jan with her grandmother (Rachel Cole Cooper) and grandfather (Frank Lafayette Cooper).

[Probably mid-January, 1934]
[Interbay(?), Florida(?)]

Jan and Jean Disbrow.

Saturday, November 18

Dear Mamma,

What do you know about it!  I finished my aquarium, and it holds water — better’n four gallons of it.  Two fish have lived happily in it for two days.  My success as a carpenter is beginning to peter out though.  Betty got a big packing-case from Miller’s to make a chest out of.  I undertook the job, and produced an animal that Betty is mildly inclined to deride.  She doesn’t like the color that came out of the “Chinese red” can and she thinks the modernistic decorations I appliquéd (nailed) on look like asparagus.  I’ll draw you a picture of it and see what you think.

Golly, but we were glad to get your letter.  Go right ahead and write another like that now.  Betty is still delivering greetings and asking the questions that you sent.

A special session of the legislature meets Monday to make liquor control laws, truck license laws, and to appropriate money for poor relief.  I’m getting my civics classes primed to attend some of the debates.  There is a possibility that the school can have a new building out of money loaned the state by the Federal government to speed up employment on public works.  The prison and Cookoo College are, as usual, yammering for a lion’s share, but Mr. Dry has scurried around arousing interest in our necessity.  Rufe is blowing his horn for us, and the blind Mr. Irvine had an editorial in his Oregon Journal.  The kids and faculty are all drawing plans in their heads, and one is continually stumbling over architects in the reception room.

I’ve finally chosen a Christmas play, called “Columbine Madonna.”  It’s a humdinger, except that it takes four boys and only one girl.  The tentative cast is:  Gerry, Columbine; Orval, Pierrot; Bob Mealy, Harlequin; Elbert Stone, Pantaloon; and Wilbur, Scaramouche.  Gerry is getting to be quite a capable girl.  The housemother doesn’t monkey a great deal with the little kids, so Gerry does.  She takes them to play in the Gym, showers them, tubs them, etc., sometimes with the consent, sometimes at the request of the housemother.  This morning we met her and Edna bringing a whole herd of little girls and boys back from the city library, where they had attended a story hour.  Betty and I were thinking maybe Gerry might make a little girls’ housemother someday.  The Drys, Follises, and Jefferises have taken the orchestra to the beach for the week-end.  They are to play tonight in the new Manzanita Community House.

My dad has been in the hospital a month with an infected finger — the little one on his right hand.  They’ve amputated it now, and he’ll be home in a few days.  He and Mother are coming down for Thanksgiving, and we’re getting slicked up so that we can show them that the younger generation knows a thing or two about plain and fancy housekeeping.

Well, I guess I’ll leave a little for Betty to say.  I’ve just enough room to draw a picture of the ten-cent cedar chest.

Gobs of love,

Lewis

[Probably the 12th or 19th of November, 1933]
[The Cole’s house in Interbay, Florida]

Jan with her “mother and daddy,” as she grew up to call them.

Jan and her mother (Jean Cooper Disbrow), grandmother (Rachel Cole Cooper), and great-grandmother (Ella Bowman Cole).

Jan with an unknown person whom I had thought was my great-grandfather (Francis Wayland Cole) — certainly they look alike. It cannot be, however, because Mr. Cole died no more than a couple of days before 15 September, 1933. So, who is this gentleman, anyway?

Dearest Mother:

I am so clean I squeak and have on a new pair of purple pajamas — is that stylish enough to write you in? What you spose we had for supper last night? Wild duck sandwiches! Yes-ir! We went rowing on the river Saturday afternoon — it was a gorgeous clear day — and on the way back found a wounded duck floating on his back. We scooped him up and the boatman said he was one of a kind they’re not allowed to kill. Lew cut his head off and we roasted him and ate him! He was good, too, fat and everything. That same eventful trip we took Perry. He wouldn’t stand still in the boat, and finally covered himself with glory by tumbling head first out of the bow and coming up under the boat. He swam like a little fish and we hauled him all drowned-rat-ish, and wrapped him in Lew’s overcoat. I don’t think he’ll do that again soon! He’s getting awfully big and clever and naughty — he knows to ‘Howdy’ and to ‘charge’ and to ‘bring it’ and occasionally to ‘come’. Everyone spoils him, but he is cute.

You sound too tired and busy, Mother, you just mustn’t let yourself do all the working. You’ll be down sick and then what would happen? Is Jean really ill? Her letter sounded as if she had one foot in the grave, has she? I’ll send some sheets for the crib right away. I sent the zipper thing in desperation because I didn’t know what in the world she wanted and they said that would wash and wasn’t too heavy-weight. Send it back if she can’t use it. What sent Bill to Detroit? Do they build boats there? Do you have to do all the doing that’s done around there? No help or nothin’, Mamma? How much would a ‘cullud girl’ cost? Would you hire one if I sent you the money to do it with? I hate to think of you working so hard down there!

What was that magazine that Bill like to have and couldn’t afford to subscribe to? Would he like to be sent it for Christmas? Can you send me any ideas for people’s Christmas? I so much want to send things you all want, and am so sunk when I don’t know what those things are! What would please Grandma? Don’t tell and don’t read this out loud, and I’ll tell you what I’ve thought so far. The Readers’ Digest for Dad — would he like that? Clothes for Jean? What do you just need? Lew wants to know too, so could you write us a letter that talked a little about such things? Please! We do so want a letter from you — even if you are tired, wouldn’t it rest you to write us a little bit of a note now and then? Do you know it was just exactly a month from the letter saying there was a baby to this one from Jean telling us how fearfully hard you’re working?

What are you-all doing Thanksgiving? Lew’s mother and father are coming down to dinner and I’m stewing. How do you make cranberry sauce? How do you make stuffing? I know I can’t roast a turkey in this oven and I don’t know where to get a good turkey, anyway. Could you send me some very specific directions — for a wood-stove household — on how to get a Thanksgiving dinner? I have my lovely tablecloth and napkins but no table to put ’em on — only this little breakfast table that you can almost use a bridge set on. Oh, well, it’ll all come out in the wash, but I’d be so thrilled with a recipe and a suggestion or two. I cert’ny need you!

The landlady let us have an old rather disreputable looking table of hers, and Lew took the leaves off it and put a superstructure on it with a shelf in it and a pigeon-hole, and we painted the whole thing green, and now we have the best-looking desk you ever saw. Didn’t know I married a carpenter, did you? I had a letter from Jo today and she said the baby laughs out loud now, so maybe——. I sure hope so.

Lew’s father hurt his hand at the mill and has been in the hospital more than a week. He’s going to lose the finger — a little one — but the infection’s stopped and they’re expecting him home soon. Accident insurance took care of all the expenses for him, but she’s been terribly worried and we’re awfully glad to see him getting over it. Did I tell you that we went to Portland last week-end to sort of comfort and console her? I do so wish you could see our house — Lew’ll draw a plan. I hope you like house-plans, we seem to be always sending ’em to you.

I must hop to bed. You remember that when you went away you promised you’d write no matter what, and really, we do worry a bit when you don’t. You stop working yourself to death and take time off to say ‘hello’ at us anyway — we miss you such a lot! Gobs and lots of love to you all, Dad too, and a special gob for Munner.

Betty

P.S. We love you!