My Mother was a Character

This somewhat embellished short story is based on verbal recordings taken when my mother was 90 and did not have long to live.

“I was born September, 1907 in a small western semidesert town in the United States to Dean and Lucy Marcussen and was burdened with the name, Gerherdena Marcussen. Imagine how hard it was for me to learn how to write my name in first grade. Out of kindness, my father consented to let me be called “Dena”. He was the city auditor of our village, an elective position--but one which came from patronage from the Republican Party to which Dad dedicated a great deal of his life--he loved dearly. I was the eldest of six children born to my parents, only four of whom survived childhood--the last two, a son and a daughter who were stillborn--were never named.

“I was delivered into the world by a midwife named Erdine something or other. She delivered all of Mama’s babies and miscarriages--five. We lived in a log-cabin duplex with a big yard. We had a wood stove, an outside toilet supplied with each new year’s Sears catalogue, and got our water from a well in the back yard. We had a horse for our carriage and for Dad to hunt deer in the winter to supply us with meat. We had a baby goat which had a bit of a devil in him. He used to corner Mama in the toilet and not let her out. The kids loved that about him because Mama was mean and stingy. Our little goat ate everything and was a terrible nuisance, but we loved him—more that Mama. We had an old rooster that was as mean as sin. I was in charge of getting the eggs every morning, and that nasty old thing used to chase me around the farmyard and peck me. That all changed when my good grandpa saw what was going on and chopped the booger’s head off.

“My Grandpa loved me and spoiled me, which I loved. He was my favorite—even more than the goat. I liked that rooster even less than I liked my Mama. I used to bat my eye winkers at my Daddy whenever I wanted anything. Worked almost every time.

“When I was about six or so, we moved to an actual new house; and my baby sister, Marie was born there. Grandma Thatcher lived next door. We had something of a struggle financially. Papa just didn’t seem to know how to make money outside his job as the county auditor. After he got home from his mission for the church, he got a pretty good job working for the Young Men’s Mercantile Institution. It was small, but it had everything in it you could even imagine. I remember the day we got rolled toilet paper. It was such a great happening that the town fathers held a parade and everything.

“For some reason, the good old store went broke; so, Daddy’s next job was at the sugar factory in the county seat. A lot of times, we didn’t have enough to eat, but he took his lunch in a tin bucket every day. He was a sweet man. He saved a small piece of his sandwich for me every day; so, I always got some lunch. We had a pleasant time to enjoy eating a little something with each other. I never got a spanking or had to sit in the corner or anything. My Daddy wouldn’t allow it, especially if I batted my eye winkers. Daddy spoiled me, I guess.

“I learned most of what I had to know when I grew up from my mother. She was a very good cook, and most of the time had me watch her make the food. We had a lady boarder most of the time I was growing up. She had lipstick, face powder, and high heels. Daddy called her a painted lady. I remember “borrowing” her blouse and make up and her high heels one time. Just one time. Otherwise, I looked awful all the time because Mama had no sense of dressing up or looking good. She never did. I had truly beautiful hair, but Mama always wanted it braided; so, I wouldn’t look stuck up or like a model. I always bawled when she braided my hair because it didn’t let me look pretty. She was mean about it, like everything else. I thought she was wicked. I put on all the boarder’s powder, lipstick, blouse, and high heels, and went to church—the new chapel on Main Street. Daddy was sitting on the stand—he was an important man in the church. When he saw me all dolled up like that, he dragged me out of church and all the way home where he made me scrub all the paint off my face. I was mortified. I have never liked to wear lipstick since then. If you want to know the truth, I never wanted to go to church anymore. I never told anybody but you about that.

“Although my father--a perfectly sweet man who loved me dearly, and I loved him—had enough money to give me some to be able to dress decently, my mother would only let me have one new dress a year. That proved to be awkward as I started to grow faster, and the dresses became too tight—at times way too tight, and things started to show, if you get my meaning. I remember my prom year. I got asked out by several boys, but I could not bear to say yes because the old dress I had was thread-bare, seedy from overuse, and sexy like the movie stars wore. I would look like Marlena Dietrich, Theda Bara, or that sexy-pot, Jean Harlow.

“I asked my mother to get me a new one; so, I would not be humiliated at the dance; but, she refused emphatically. I sat down on our stoop and began to sob. My father asked me what the matter was, and I told him. He rolled his eyes, stood me up, and took me to the mercantile where he used to work and bought me an expensive new dress and new socks and dress shoes to boot. I loved him for that.

“When my mother was surly and unpleasant to me about the new extravagance, Daddy shushed her, and none too sweetly either. I loved him for that as well. Mother was never nice to me; she used to swat my hands with a stout stick when I did something wrong and really hurt me. She told me that if I cried, she would “give me what Paddy gave the drum”, evidently some silly thing that was part of her girlhood.

“One thing we did for fun as a family when I was young was to go camping in a place called Castila, in one of the canyons. I was about four or five at the time. It was not exactly real camping. We hitched up our old horse, Fanny, to the buggy and carried all the tenting and other supplies to our spot to stay. There were quite a few other people up there doing the same thing. Mama and Daddy sat in the buggy to get out of the sun, and I had a little stool to sit on called a buggy stool.

“One day we ran out of supplies, and Daddy had to take the horse and buggy down to the county seat to get another load. This was before the car days. When he left, the Spanish Fork River was calm and not too swollen; but on the way back--all of sudden--it filled up as a torrent. A big rush of water came down from the mountains; it was Spring. There was flooding, and poor Daddy slid off the road and into the water. He almost drowned; so, he cut loose the buggy with all the supplies and climbed up on Fanny’s back. The old horse swam Daddy to the shore. There were a lot of people watching from the bank. They had been out looking for Daddy because he was late, and the weather was frightful. They cheered when he and Fanny made it to safety. We were all extremely grateful to Fanny. We felt like she saved all our lives. I wasn’t all that thankful; after all, we lost all the supplies and had no more money. And the river wouldn’t let us through anyway.

“I started school at the Village Elementary School when I was six. My first teacher was Miss Jamison. My second-grade teacher was the first one’s sister, also Miss Jamison. They were very good teachers. They never got married. When I was in the third grade, Mama got the idea that I was too pretty; and the teacher--a man--was after me, for heaven’s sake. I don’t remember anything like that, she took me out of that school.

I had to go to a special school called Thurber School in the eighth grade because my uncle Hub was a teacher there. He was also the principal. I had a friend there named Katherine; we were both in Uncle Hub’s class. Katherine was deathly afraid of mice, and I was full of the devil. I put a mouse in her coat pocket. She screamed and yelled. Uncle Hub knew it was me. He wouldn’t hurt me, because I was his niece; thank the Lord, I can’t remember what happened. I didn’t do great in high school. Almost nobody ever got an A, especially not me.

“I had my first really serious boyfriend, named Alan, while I was going to high school. He was involved in theater. During the heyday years of the school operettas, Alan was the big shot from the student body. He thought he could sing. I guess he could. He was very popular and a great big guy, and he always had the lead. During our last year of high school, he gave me a diamond ring; so, we were officially, really engaged to be married. Then, I found out that he was going with a girl in another town at the same time we were engaged.

“When I confronted him, he told me that he wanted to marry the other girl. Lucky me, as it turns out. I was very sad for a while. It was actually funny. I had a terrible time getting the ring off my finger. I should have kept it; would have served him right. When I let him know, Daddy came and got me and brought me home; he felt so sorry for me. I cried partly because I felt so stupid. I was very young, but I was also stupid, at least to my way of thinking.?

“We—the family, I mean--built a new house when I was about ten years old. We got electricity then, and Mama got a new coal cook stove which was a real step up. In the new house, I was given the job of cleaning the little chimneys which covered the candles. They were real smoky and dirty. We no longer had coal oil lamps after the move.?

“I had nine girl friends. Sunday or Friday, or Saturday night, we all went down town to hunt the boys. The boys came from another town, and one of them had a car. His name was Maurice, and his dad was a doctor. We all piled in the best we could and had a lot of fun just riding up and down the street [“dragging main”].

“I remember that he was the first one ever to have a radio, or that ever even heard of a radio. His dad had the radio, and Maurice brought it over. It was just earphones at that time. You’d plug them in and then have a short rope to get the plug in. We would take turns putting these ear plugs in to listen to what was being broadcast on the radio.

“I remember that it was the start of World War I, at least when we got involved—about 1917. So, I guess, I was more like ten years old then. It was a fascinating time. When the boys left for the war, the band played, and everybody was happy and celebrating. When they started coming back, it was terrible. They were ruined, all broken up. I vividly remember the end of it. First, there was what was called the False Armistice. We all went up town to celebrate. I pushed my baby sister in a baby buggy. But turned out to be false, and the war went on for another year.

“After high school, I was in a contest to become Miss Spanish Fork, which meant that I was the prettiest girl in the whole town. My cousin Edna sat on the front row of the theater where the contest was held and made faces at me and made me laugh; so, I got embarrassed. But the judges said they liked my laughing, and that is what put me over the top. We didn’t have to talk or perform; so, I guess I just stood up there and looked like an idiot. Anyway, I was enough of a looker to win.

“I graduated from high school when I was seventeen. First thing I did was to get a job in a drug store—Christianson’s. I didn’t like it because I couldn’t go out. All my friends were going out and having a good time. That’s awful of me, isn’t it??After that, I went to the BY Academy for two years where I got my teaching certificate. It was called “Normal School” to become a teacher back then. I used to ride back and forth to school from Spanish Fork on the trolley, called the Interurban; it went straight up Main Street. I had lots of fun on the train and at school. That conveyance is now gone without a trace.

“I have to admit that I was a fliberty-jibbet. One of the buildings near the school had double seats in it. That’s where most of the couples went to do their wooing during that period of time. Maybe you don’t believe me, but it’s absolutely true. You would go into the room, find a couple of seats, put a pile of books on top of them and sit behind them and have a good time with your boyfriend. That’s what everybody did. I had lots of fun like I said before.

“Don’t tell anyone, but I was engaged to four young men during my high school years, apparently none of them very seriously, I guess. For the first time ever, Daddy got really mad at me when I brought the fourth one in a row home to meet him and Mama.

“I got a teacher’s certificate from BYA in 1927 and quickly got a job in the Spring Canyon mining camp in Carbon County which was run by my uncle, Carl Marcussen, who was the superintendent. Back in those days, it was difficult for girls to find a job, any job; and I was glad to have a leg up from my important uncle.

“I started teaching fourth grade for ten dollars a week at the humble little school built by the company for the miners’ children. I liked my job, but I was under the thumb of my autocratic, rich, and dominating, uncle Carl. I liked the miners. they were all very strong, crude, swore a lot, and were exceptionally hard workers. They had to be because the company kept raising the quotas of how much coal they had to bring out in a day to keep their jobs

The miners and their families had to do all their shopping at the company store at inflated prices but with liberal policies of putting the bill on the books against what they earned in the mine. My rent was cheap, and electricity was free. We were only allowed one light bulb. Sixteen tons of number nine coal was the standard quota, and that came to be immortalized in a popular song in the fifties and sixties written by Merle Travis and made popular by Johnny Cash and Tennessee Ernie Ford: (originally by Merle Travis)

Some people say a man is made outta' mud

A poor man's made outta' muscle and blood

Muscle and blood and skin and bones

A mind that's a-weak and a back that's strong

You load sixteen tons, what do you get?

Another day older and deeper in debt

Saint Peter don't you call me 'cause I can't go

I owe my soul to the company store

I was born one mornin' when the sun didn't shine

I picked up my shovel and I walked to the mine

I loaded sixteen tons of number 9 coal

And the store boss said "Well, a-bless my soul"

You load sixteen tons, what do you get?

Another day older and deeper in debt

Saint Peter, don't you call me 'cause I can't go

I owe my soul to the company store

I was born one mornin', it was drizzlin' rain

Fightin' and trouble are my middle name

I was raised in the canebrake by an ol' mama lion

Cain't no-a high-toned woman make me walk the line

You load sixteen tons, what do you get?

Another day older and deeper in debt

Saint Peter, don't you call me 'cause I can't go

I owe my soul to the company store

If you see me comin', better step aside

A lotta men didn't, a lotta men died

One fist of iron, the other of steel

If the right one don't a-get you, then the left one will

You load sixteen tons, what do you get?

Another day older and deeper in debt

Saint Peter, don't you call me 'cause I can't go

I owe my soul to the company store.

“I made up my mind that I was going to get away from there before I became as downtrodden as the other women in the camp and just as devoid of prospects or hope. My roommate--another teacher and I--had it a lot better than a lot of people in the camp. We had two rooms and shared a bathroom in a good solid cement block building. Most of the other people, the miners, lived in poorly built slat board houses—not much better than sticks, really. A family lived in the back of our house in the other two rooms. Times were tough. I remember the awful sound of the camp whistle when there was a mine accident, and all the people gathered around to find out if anybody was badly hurt or killed. One guy was badly hurt, and they got him to the hospital as fast as they could; but he didn’t make it. It was sad and not terribly rare.

“I met a guy named Karl, who started working for the mining company on the section gang, then became a Sixth and Seventh grades teacher at the camp school; but by the time we became interested in one another he had transferred to the business office because the mine supervisor liked him. He had about as much education as me, maybe even less. Karl also ran the movies. I was sitting with one of my mates from school teaching. I swear that I said, “That’s the guy I’m going to marry.” Sounds strange, but it’s true. Once we got going together, I used to sit in the projection room and watch him feed the film and take care of the projector.

“After a disastrous first date, Karl and I started having a lot to do with each other; I’ll tell you about that in a minute. I stopped seeing Donald, and the three guys I was engaged to. Karl and I would hike around the mountains quite a bit, but I have never been much of a hiker. Believe it or not, we did most of our courting in the classrooms. Finally, we got the principal to let us use the library to do our wooing. Karl got a little Chevy, and we drove around in that a little—and did a little more wooing. The car was none too dependable; so, we couldn’t go very far away from the camp.

“That Karl and I had so little education yet were in responsible positions said something about the quality of education and the quality of life in the dismal mining camp where the men died young of accidents or black lung; and the women and children went on the dole. When the Great Depression hit in 1929, the mining company would no longer allow married women to work; so, I had to take a job at the Golden Rule in town. Later Karl had to come to work there as well. Karl and I shared the same opinion about our aspirations. We wanted to get up and out of there and away from my domineering uncle; a year of his domination in the Carbon County School was enough for me. Karl had ambitions: he wanted to be a doctor, which seemed to be an impossibility for a young man with no money, a family with no money, and no apparent way to pay for such an expensive education. Didn’t matter to him; he was driven.

“When I went home for the weekend, I usually had a date already set up before I got there. One time, I came home and had a date with three different boys the same night. My dad was really mad at me, nearly killed me. I dated the three of them as three separate dates from early in the evening to late at night; and Karl was one of those dates. That first date required Karl to drive from Spring Canyon to Ephraim to borrow his father’s car. He was late in getting to my house because he had two flat tires on the way. Car tires weren’t all that good in those days, and flats were common. I decided not to wait for him, got another date, and went walking down the street with him. Uh oh, I saw Karl walking down the street towards me. He’d come all the way from Ephraim, had the flat tires, and all that—which I didn’t know about. I felt terrible, and he wouldn’t speak to me for a very long time.

“My dad was mad at me from the beginning of the evening because he had to tell each guy in turn that I wasn’t there, but they could sit and wait for me. And they did.?It just wasn’t done, you know. But it was loads of fun, and I knew that my dad could not stay mad at me for long. I grew up a bit from that and decided I just wanted to get married to the main man, Karl. I was crazy about him. We had to get Karl’s folks’s permission; so, we went up to Ephraim to see them. His dad was an important doctor, and they were haughty Danish people. I was scared to death of them. I don’t think they approved of me very much.

“I guess that’s enough talk from me for today; I’m tired. Next time, I’ll tell you about marriage, the depression, and medical school. It’ll curl your hair.”

?Carl Douglass "Neurosurgeon Turned Author Writes With Gripping Realism"

??Learn more: https://authormasterminds.com/carl-douglass