The Mueller-Harder Family

[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!

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.