The Mueller-Harder Family

WINTHROP, MASSACHUSETTS — Janneke Rachel Disbrow of Winthrop, Mass., passed away peacefully on Friday, October 12, 2007 at the Chestnut Hill Benevolent Association after a brief illness. “Janny” was the loving aunt of Erik Disbrow Mueller-Harder of Cabot, Vt., and Christian Asbury Harder of Norwood, Mass., and their families. She was predeceased by her sister Karen Disbrow Harder in 2004.

Born in Tampa, Fla., in 1933 as Jan Disbrow, Janneke was the daughter of William Cook Disbrow and Jean Cooper Disbrow. She moved from Florida with her family to Newton in 1948 and then to Wellesley in 1950, where she graduated from high school in 1951. Janneke graduated from Bates College in 1955, afterwards working as a translator for the Christian Science Publishing Society. In 1975, Janneke joined the newly forming Downer & Company in Boston, beginning a close professional relationship that would last for more than 30 years.

She loved languages, math, music, art, and nature, and she fostered these interests in her nephews and their children, who dearly miss her.

A memorial service will be held at the Martha-Mary Chapel at Longfellow’s Wayside Inn, 72 Wayside Inn Rd., Sudbury, Mass., on November 30, 2007, at 3:00 p.m. Relatives and friends are kindly invited.

In lieu of flowers, donations in Janneke’s memory may be sent to:

Arrangements are by J.S. Waterman & Sons & Waring Funeral Home, 592 Washington St., Wellesley, MA 02482.

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 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.

[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?

775 Bellevue
Salem, Oregon
November 6

Dear Mamma,

How in the Ding ding are you, anyway? We haven’t heard from you in so long. We had a letter from Jean the other day, and she said you were working yourself skinny. Mamma, you mustn’t; you might as well be a matron. We felt exceedingly bad that Jean didn’t even consider the very smart name we suggested, and we’re sure that everyone will think Jan was born in January. I wish you could visit our latest domicile. I’ve got the funniest little house, full of the dearest wife, and the cutest pup, and the homiest atmosphere!

The weeks are clicking past quite smoothly at school. Gerry, Wilbur, David, and Betty and I were the committee for the Halloween party. We put up a ballyhoo sign for the masquerade two weeks in advance, stirring up enthusiasm, by announcing prizes, etc. A couple of days before the party we put up another sign, reading “Live and Die in Zilchville.” Everyone responded by being frankly curious, and puzzled. We fixed the gym up as Zilchville. The piano corner was “Zilch’s Dance Hall.” The near, right corner was “Zilch’s Pool Hall”; here one could play anagrams, checkers, or cards. The far right corner contained “Zilch’s a-er-ah Tea Room.” The tea room consisted of a bar, upon which rested a barrel, from which cider was dispensed throughout the evening. It was also the point from which emanated at one time in the evening paper plates of ice cream, and big trays piled high with doughnuts. The fourth corner, the far one, we transformed into “Zilch’s Marble Orchard.” I covered a big expanse of the wall with yards and yards of white grocery paper, and painted on it a background of a creepy-looking dead tree with with a yellow moon coming up behind it. We made six tombstones by covering cases of soap with paper, and one monument by similarly treating a big box of Braille books. On the monument sat old man Zilch himself — the skeleton from my schoolroom. His epitaph read: —

This is Hiram Zilch, who built the town —
Nothing but bones, and a proper noun.
Nevertheless, he runs the show;
If you’ve any complaints, here’s where to go.

The other stones bore epitaphs, surrounded by appropriate decorations. I’ll see if I can remember some.

Here he lies, in sweet repose,
The noble chieftain, Manuel Mose.
He was feeling fine, till one fateful day,
Someone said, “Work” — he passed away.

This Orval Nunn was a big gun,
Who blew the saxophone for phone.
He blew and blew without cessation,
Until that last and sad occasion,
For which we now so deeply mourn,
When he blew himself right through that horn.

Nellie Bales was one of those frails,
Who blush and pale and bite their nails,
When confronted by admiring males.
Timid, shy, mild, and meek,
She hadn’t spoken for nigh a week,
When suddenly she sat upon a mouse,
And gave a shout that rocked the house.
Maybe she died from lack of breath,
But many believe she was scared to death.

Underneath this dreary spot,
Lie the remains of one Faye Scott. —
Little, and pretty, and not so dumb,
But everlastingly chewing gum —
Really a most annoying habit,
Her imitation of cow, or rabbit.
The facts of the matter can’t be hid;
She had to quit business when Wrigley did.

Here he lies, loquacious Whetstone,
Who most vigorously did intone
Pig-latin, Gibberish, Choctaw,
Till the day he got the lockjaw.
The end of him came with the end of his buzz,
For the wagging jaw was all there wuzz.

’Neath piles of stones in these chill banks
Do rest the bones of Ada Willbanks.
Aching, and groaning, her joints all loose,
Too old and squeaky for further use,
She now finds comfort, solace, rest,
In a subterranean cedar chest.

We also enhanced the whole room with an abundance of crepe paper and pumpkins. The little kids masked too, and came to the first part of the party. The costumes were excellent, and the whole affair went over quite well.

I was going to tell you some more things but Betty has already taken her bath and is waiting to add to this, so I had better let her start as I don’t want her to get cold. Maybe she will tell you the story of how the dog fell in the river, and how we found a duck.

Very much love,

Lew

Tuesday Nite
[Detroit, Michigan]

Dearest,

Well, I got here and settled without any trouble at all. After I wrote you yesterday I went out and found my street and caught a bus that took me within two blocks of the factory. Nablo was out of town until this morning, so I had to get acquainted with everybody without him. Everyone was glad to see me and took me right in. They are, without exception, as nice a bunch of people as you will find anywhere.

I spent the day wandering around finding out where everything is and talking to everybody to find out just what he does, so that I know whom to ask what questions.

One of the men, he might be termed “practical engineer at large” as he makes a good engine out of what they have when the other departments get through with their new designs, — as I was going to say — has a large house and they, the Richmonds by name, take an occasional roomer, so I am staying here with them. They are awfully nice and friendly people — and you have no conception of what a clean house is.

This morning I met Nablo and had a nice talk with him. I never saw a man in a worse condition — mental or physical. He is so nervous and has so many things on his mind at once that he doesn’t know what it is all about.

I spent most of the day in the testing room and talking with Carr. Carr is an almost exact composite of Joe Flower and Arthur Brown. He is 37 and a high pressure salesman and I like him, tho’ my father couldn’t stand him five minutes.

Oh — oh, — your family are not the only ones who snore!

Tonight I went out to dinner and to the Ford Exposition (Ford’s own automobile show) and to the movies to see Mae West with one of the young fellows in the office — of course at Gray’s expense. I got one of the restaurant’s mat[???] folder’s — engraved.

I hope I hear from you tomorrow; I thought maybe I would today.

Gosh, I hope Jan has been good to you and that all the difficulties have been smoothed out. I keep myself happy thinking of you just having to do enough for her to enjoy her, as it should be. Does she know you yet, and has she changed much yet?

Darling, don’t feel bad about my being away a little while. Please keep happy. The only way I can ever be happy is to know you are, you know.

Here it is almost one o’clock! If you aren’t asleep now I am going to give you a good spanking the first thing!

I didn’t think I had to go away from you to know how much I didn’t want to, but it is even worse than I thought it was going to be. Oh I love you so much, my Jean.

Goodnight, sweet darling,

I love you.

your Bill.

[Probably 22 October, 1933, judging from the Sunday clothes; photos marked “3 weeks,” which would be 25 October]
[The Cole’s house, Interbay, Florida]

Jan Disbrow with her proud and happy parents, Jean and Bill Disbrow. The Disbrows were living with Jean’s grandparents, Francis and Ella Cole — as well as also, I believe, her parents, Frank and Rachel Cooper — at 6220 South Main Avenue, Interbay (Tampa), Florida.

[10 October, 1933]
[Salem, Oregon]

Dear Mamma,

You should see me swell up with avuncular pomposity — married only nine months and an uncle already! Don’t take up wearing black taffeta because you’re a grandma; keep your hat on one ear in your own swanky way. I certainly wish you were here to bring home from church or something every now and then. When I go around some corner like Ira Jorgensen’s, that we used to walk around, it seems funny to think that you are on a corner so far away.

The new matron is a good sport, and has brains and humor. She and Kal and Effie were over last night and we had toast and jam. I am hunting a play for the kids, but so far have found only one for the faculty. It’s about three scrubwomen, in a stockbroker’s office, who play the markets from the quotations left on the board, and from the psychological evidence of half-smoked or badly-chewed cigar butts. I think maybe the matron, Beth, Ethel, and I will do it as a complete surprise to the rest of the faculty and the kids. Betty declines to act, but says she will be stage-manager. We can practice over here at our house.

Our house is a lot of fun. I get a kick out of splitting wood and making things in the wood-shed — I’ve always wanted a wood-shed and never had one before.
Well, I must take this up to the P. O. and go to the library.

Very much love from,

Lewis

P.S. Of course you will convey my greetings to the new parents and my beautiful young niece.