The Mueller-Harder Family

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.

[10 October, 1933]
[Salem, Oregon]

Dear Grandmother and Grandfather:

Are you behaving with the dignity proper to such elevated stations? We got Mother’s letter yesterday and were properly thrilled and excited — as was the whole Blind School. We didn’t expect it quite so soon. They are all right, are they? I’m glad it’s all over, but I spose you, Mother, will go right on working too hard just the same. I wish you didn’t have to! Will Jean be well and strong now after while? I do hope so. If they lived by themselves she’d have to be, I spose. I hope you’ll let me know what I can make or buy to send her for the baby — I do so want to do something and haven’t known what to do at all.

Before I forget it — our address is 775 Bellevue St., I thought I’d told you. We like our little house more and more, though it’s still in an awful mess. Housebreaking two animals at once when you have to leave them alone all day and trying to get settled at the same time, doesn’t leave one much time to fool around. We got rash and bought a new lamp and a rug the other day. That is, we turned in the old green table lamp on a new bridge lamp, very simple and quite good-looking and not expensive, and then we just out and out bought a rug. It’s deep green with a little rust in it, and we think it’s awfully good looking. We are slowly getting our rust curtains finished, and we have a corner now, with the couch with my gray and green Chinese couch cover — you remember the scratchy one — and the little table Lew got from the Deaf school with the lamp Jean and Kenny gave us on it, and the green rug on the floor and the tall lamp nearby. There’s a window by the couch and it will have the rust hangings, and the little book-rack is across the room, and altogether it looks cheerful and nice. We bought a new baby-ben, too, the old one had finally given out. It’s copper and has two tones to alarm in and really looks quite imposing.

We’ve been fixing the kitchen a bit — Lew put up a shelf and some hooks and we hung all our brand-new aluminum pans up in a row. Lew insists on using them for a zylophone, and they look like a million dollars. Things at the school are about the same. I told the new matron you were jealous of her, Mother. She comes to me to ask about what we did about so many things, neither Mr. nor Mrs. really knows much about any of ’em. The Drys seem really trying to be as nice as they can be, and we try hard not to get into any situations. We’re fixed so that we read to different groups the same weeks and Mr. Dry said we might as well take our suppers up there that week, so it’s really as nice as they could make it.

We’ll send you a draft right away. Meant to get down to buy it any number of times and will really get it off to you soon. We corralled your napkin ring, and told Miss Hadyn we wanted the blotter and the recipe book. She’d found the book and we’ll get it one day. Effie is much the same — so happy because her Carl seems really a changed boy. He’s so different you’d hardly know him and we’re all so pleased, though we’re still holding our breath.

I really haven’t much to say — I just wrote a note to Jean, and this is just to tell you our address and to tell you to write oftener. We really get kinda worried when we don’t hear from you for too long. How’s Grandma? Tell me about her, Mother. You just say a little bit now and again that makes me wonder and not understand. How’s Evvie behaving or don’t you see anything of her?

Dad, do you ever see that Spaulding man? He doesn’t need any new teachers, I take it? We can hardly write him again, I spose, we acknowledged his acknowledgement and that seems like about all that one could do. Do you like being a grandpa? Why couldn’t you have had a grandson? Aren’t you about fed up on ladies? You wait till Lew and I start — in about 1946 — and we’ll have six boys, all at once! How goes the Shrine job? All right? We are hoping hard not to have to come back to this one this next year, but so far haven’t any prospects of anything else. If you ever get any inklings of anything that seems at all worth even writing to, why be sure and let us know. To get out into the public school field is what Lew needs and wants, of course, so that when he has his Master’s he’ll have some public school experience to help him into a small college job. There’s no hope of Rollins, is there? I had some work under a Rollins man this summer, but he’d never even heard of Tampa University.

I must cease. My love to you all, and our address is 775 Bellevue St. Don’t forget it — we like to get mail in our nice white mailbox.

Betty

[10 October, 1933]
[Salem, Oregon]

Dearest Jean,

How proud you sound! If you knew how cocked up we are to be a nuncle and a naunt, you’d think we’d had the baby. I’m so glad she’s here and that everything’s all right. What does she look like, aside from being the most beautiful and marvellous infant in existence? If I remember, you were very red and unattractive for a long time after your arrival — is she? Now, maybe you’ll tell me what I can send! I’ve been chewing my fingernails out here, waiting to hear some kind of suggestions as to what the well-dressed baby will wear for months! What does she, or do you, need? Or would you rather I sent sillies? I’d love to, but I’d felt rather guilty when I knew how strapped we all were. You better say, or I’ll be sending her pantie dresses and bathing suits!

And now as to names. Lew is having fits for fear you will have named her before he gets his perfectly wonderful suggestion in. We couldn’t quite tell from Bill’s letter whether you had or not. He, Lew, thinks that the young lady should be named Betty Lou. Not because he’s conceited, oh, no, a far better reason than that. You see, he hopes to have a boat some day — made by Bill, of course, or at least designed by him — and wants to name it the Betty Lew, but he’s afraid that that would sound odd, naming a boat after ourselves, and so he wants a nice little niece to name it after. Complimentary to the niece, you see, and a grand name for both boat and niece. Don’t you think that’s a brilliant idea? Or are you naming her after her grandmothers? We had a letter from Mother just exploding because we were uncle and aunt, but never once commenting on the fact that she is a grandmother! Does she like the honor? And as for Grandma being a great — hevings!

Mother’s letter came to the school and so we told everyone and they were all so interested and pleased to know the lady was here and you were all right. You’d think they knew you — but then they do know your picture and have heard Mother and me talk about you a lot. You’ll have to bring her out here on a trip some day — sort of a second honeymoon or something like that. Just think what a lot of geography she’d learn! Are you going to hurry up and have a boy now to keep her company and teach her to be a good sport? They say that while you’re having ’em you might as well do the job up brown.

I’d like to talk about our dog and our cat, who are both very superior animals, even if the cat has gone off somewhere and may be lost, but in the face of a real live baby girls, I don’t spose I dare mention ’em. Anyway, they’re almost housebroke, and I bet she isn’t!

I hope you’re strong enough to write us soon, though we enjoyed the letter from Bill — first real one we’d ever had — and will tell us all about her. I’m so very glad for you, dear, and know she’ll be just the nicest baby ever. Let us hear all the things she does and looks like, and most of all, what you want for her.

Much love from Uncle Lewis and Aunt Betty!!

Betty

1933 SEP 15 PM 10 21
NA91 50 NL
SALEM ORE 15

MRS F W COLE
6220 MAIN ST INTERBAY TAMPA FLO

I AM SO GRATEFUL THAT PAPA IS HAPPY AT LAST NOW YOU HAVE ONLY THE
SAME GLAD MEMORIES OF HIM I HAVE HE WAS THE FINEST KINDEST MOST
PERFECT GENTLEMAN ON EARTH AND WE CAN NEVER THINK OF HIM OTHERWISE MY
THOUGHTS ARE ALWAYS WITH YOU MUCH LOVE TO YOU

BETTY.