Mail-Order Kid: An Orphan Train Rider's Story

by Marilyn June Coffey

  In May 1944, Teresa graduated from high school, one year after Mildred. How difficult going to school, working full time, and taking care of her family had been! Accepting her diploma, Teresa swore that she would never go to school again, but she soon took a library-science correspondence course from the University of Chicago. Kathryn O’Loughlin McCarthy, who had recommended her to Mrs. Fields, paid for the school—$40, an impressive amount. Eventually Teresa completed the fifteen long lessons, received an “A” in the non-accredited course, and earned a certificate in Library Technique. How that pleased her!

  Teresa mentioned to her former neighbor, Dr. Burnett, a Fort Hays State College sociology professor, that the correspondence course lacked college credits. He suggested that she study library science at the college, so in the fall of 1944, she enrolled. Hearing that a grown woman was a college student excited a few people. In 1944, nontraditional female students were rare, especially one with a family and a job. Most supported Teresa although some, primarily Volgas, told her she shouldn’t waste time getting an education. She wondered what they imagined she should do—stay at home and scrub floors?

  Teresa’s high school graduation picture. She was 38. (Courtesy of Teresa Martin)

  At first, Teresa took only subjects she wanted to study: German, English, and all the library courses she could find. Enrolling in German courses was easy; during the war, few wanted to study German. Those who did chose their hours, which made courses convenient. Not surprisingly, Teresa and three other students, all German majors, became close friends.

  Frau Golden, a short fat professor with a heavy German accent, taught them. Teresa enjoyed studying with her, but the number of C’s she received surprised her. After all, she had spoken High German since she turned four years old. What was she doing wrong? Had she offended the teacher? She asked Vince Rufus, a fellow student, who told her that he got straight A’s after his wife did Frau Golden’s laundry.

  “Give her some of your rations,” he said. “Your grades will go up.”

  Teresa recoiled. Bribe the teacher? Surely, Frau Golden wouldn’t change her grade for sugar stamps. Or would she? Finally, Teresa tested her. She gave some spare sugar stamps to Frau Golden, who seemed appreciative. When Teresa’s grades jumped right up, she kept on giving her teacher extra stamps and received nothing but A’s and B’s after that. Having justified it with herself, Teresa continued to argue the issue with her mother who now had a name. “There’s nothing wrong with that,” she told Rosie. “She needs the sugar, and I deserve those grades.”

  Teresa enjoyed her college classes; she never knew when she would learn something unexpected. For instance, when a history professor, Eugene Richard Crane, said, “There are still people who believe in Adam and Eve,” Teresa jumped, recognizing herself. She always believed that Bible stories were true. After that class, though, she wondered.

  Another day, a student making a speech in class said horrible things about Japanese women. Teresa shifted in her seat. During the war, everybody talked against the Japanese, including herself, but in a public setting, the student’s words made Teresa uncomfortable. She expected her professor, James R. Start, a well-liked, down-to-earth sort of man, to speak against the Japanese, too, but instead he changed the subject. This confused Teresa. Why hadn’t he spoken out? Didn’t he consider the Japanese people the enemy?

  Once thing was clear: college made Teresa think.

  Then in August 1945, the United States dropped atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, leaving her with mixed feelings. So terrific that we’d beaten Japan, but so awful that thousands of people died such gruesome deaths. When Japan surrendered on August 14, Teresa knew the war would not be over until the Japanese signed articles of surrender on September 2, but around her, an enormous spontaneous celebration erupted. Even though it was Tuesday, stores closed as people poured out into the streets rejoicing the end of the war.

  •

  The Binder family, 1947. From left, Teresa, seated, Mildred, Doris, Jess. (Courtesy of Teresa Martin)

  One Sunday morning that fall, Jess yelled, “Dammit, I can’t get any air!”

  He’s just being cranky. Then Teresa realized that Jess actually was struggling to breathe. Hands shaking, she called his brother George who drove them to Saint Anthony’s Hospital. All the hospital’s doctors were attending a convention except for one who admitted Jess; when he realized his new patient had an asthmatic heart, this doctor declined to care for him. What kind of a doctor is he? I thought all doctors had to swear the Hippocratic Oath. To her relief, nuns immediately stepped in to nurse Jess, especially Sister Myra who’d saved Doris’s life when she was a baby.

  Knowing that Teresa and Jess had a mixed marriage, some nuns decided to convert Jess to Catholicism, which irritated Teresa. Why should they bother her suffering husband about religion? This wasn’t the place. Jess tried to put the nuns off by saying that he would become a Catholic “when I get out of here,” meaning when he left the hospital.

  One day when Teresa walked into his room, Jess picked up a newspaper. Smiling, he said, “See. I’m getting better. I’m reading the frigging funnies.” He didn’t know he held the paper upside down, but Teresa was not fooled. She knew Jess was fighting for his life and had been since they’d arrived at the hospital a week earlier. Believing he failed to understand the severity of his illness, she considered talking to him about the possibility that he might die. However, she didn’t want to be pessimistic. She wondered if he knew when he said, “Should something happen to me, be careful, but I am going to be all right.”

  Sister Charles, who worked hard with Jess, seemed determined to baptize him before he died. When the family continued to refuse her, she asked if she could baptize him right after his death.

  “For two hours after a person dies,” she said, “the soul does not leave the body.”

  “After Jess is dead, you can do whatever you want,” Teresa said. “Just do not trouble him while he’s alive.”

  On the night of October 15, 1947, at the age of forty-five Jess’s asthmatic heart gave way. Shortly after his last breath, Sister Charles baptized him Catholic. Teresa, watching, shook her head. Still in shock from Jess’s death, she couldn’t decide whether to be amused or amazed or angry. Certainly, she’d never met such a zealous Catholic as Sister Charles.

  Afterward, Teresa called a taxi to take her and her daughters home, but in the flurry of last minute goodbyes, she forgot she’d called one. They walked the seven blocks home through a pitch-black night so still Teresa swore she heard her heart beat.

  Doris, now seventeen, snuggled close to Teresa. “I’m your mother now,” she said. “Daddy said if anything happened to him, I should look after you.”

  Teresa squeezed Doris’s arm. “Hush. I can still take care of myself.”

  Although Sister Charles baptized Jess Catholic, his funeral was held in his Baptist church. Watching people pour in gratified Teresa. So many mourners crowded the service that the church set up extra chairs. Many people respected Jess for his bravery in the face of his pain from rheumatoid arthritis. Well, Jess was no angel by any means, but his courage obviously inspired people. How awful to be left with the knowledge that Jess thought she didn’t love him. She did really care for him, but he was so strict, so set in his ways, he seemed more like her father than her husband. When she wasn’t losing her temper at him, she was struggling to please him. Truly, what surprised her about Jess’s death was her pride in him, a feeling he rarely invoked in her when he lived. Ah, Rosie, mother mine. Maybe I loved him more than I thought.

  9

  Oh, to Be Learn-ed!

  On January 6, 1948, Teresa became a grandmother. Her older child Mildred had married Jack Rosell and now gave birth to her first child, Sharon. Teresa adored having a grandchild, but at forty-two, she felt too young to be a grandma. She peered into the mirror to see if she looked different, but her curly hair was still black and she had hardly any wrinkles, just little crow’s feet at the corner
s of her eyes. Those don’t matter. Those come from laughing.

  That fall, after Jess had been gone nearly a year, Teresa started to go to dances. Soon she dated. Eighteen-year-old Doris, still living with Teresa, abhorred her mother’s dating. “Don’t you bring any of your ‘male friends’ inside this house,” Doris said, and Teresa agreed, but she continued to date. She couldn’t let Doris rule her life.

  Besides, she loved to dance. She never drank at dances, but my, she did enjoy dancing and flirting! Goodness! she thought as she refreshed her lipstick in the dance hall bathroom. I’m as bad as a teenager, living just to doll up and cut a rug. However, she carefully kept her active dating life from interfering with her college classes and library work. And Doris.

  Some time later, Irene Binder, now running with the oil-field crowd, urged Teresa to meet a friend.

  “I’m not interested,” Teresa said. By then, so many dates had become tiresome that she recoiled from meeting still another man.

  A few days later, Irene turned up at the library at closing. “Hurry up. Let’s go for coffee at Kent’s Café.”

  “Why? I don’t want to meet any of those big fat greasy men with their oily clothes.” But Teresa went anyway, to please Irene.

  While they drank coffee, Teresa noticed a classy-looking man—handsome, well-dressed—sitting by himself. She pointed him out to Irene, “I’ll bet that man’s lonely.”

  Irene laughed. “He’s the big fat greasy oil field worker I wanted you to meet.”

  So Teresa met Lawrence “Frenchy” Martin. No oil worker, Frenchy ran a string of cigarette machines and owned half of a Hays supper club, the Golden Acres.

  On their first date, Teresa noticed his well-kept, late-model Buick, a Roadmaster. She liked the way he held the car door open for her as though she were royalty. Frenchy had manners, and he danced exceptionally well. She loved to feel the lightness of his hands as he held her; she loved the swift sure way he moved around the floor when they waltzed, and she loved the way he smiled down at her from time to time. Frenchy also had a beautiful crooning voice. He enjoyed singing, especially after he had had a bit to drink.

  Soon Teresa dated no one else.

  Doris objected. Of all Teresa’s dates, she particularly disliked Frenchy. His drinking disgusted her.

  Lawrence “Frenchy” Martin. (Courtesy of Teresa Martin)

  “I’ve heard you preach against drinking so often,” Doris said, “I can’t understand why you would go out with a man who comes to the door reeking of alcohol.”

  Teresa, who preferred to focus on Frenchy’s assets, listened patiently. She knew Frenchy drank too much, but at least he drank legally. That November, Kansas had repealed its sixty-eight-year-old state prohibition law. Teresa laughed to read that only eighteen Ellis County residents, fewer than any county in the state, voted to keep Kansas dry. She bet none lived in Schoenchen!

  Still, as time passed, nothing changed the fact of Jess’s death. Teresa might forget it for hours or even days; then suddenly a memory would bring Jess to mind. She missed his constant presence. Not hearing his voice, not being told what to do, not being occupied every moment seemed strange to her. How could she be lonely with Doris and Frenchy around all the time? But she was. Lonely for Jess.

  •

  One afternoon, Mrs. Addison, head of Hays Business and Professional Women’s Club and a dynamo in the community, approached Teresa. She knew Mrs. Addison to be a formidable woman. Mrs. Fields once hinted that Mrs. Addison’s pull enabled Teresa to graduate from high school as rapidly as she did.

  The intimidating woman laid a thick manuscript on Teresa’s desk. “I’m a strong Episcopalian, you know, and we’re looking for someone to type this history of the Episcopal church in Hays. Mrs. Fields says you type well. Won’t you type this for us?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Teresa eyed the thick handwritten manuscript. “I really don’t have much time.”

  “But you don’t have a husband at home anymore, do you?”

  “No, but I’m taking courses at the college and sometimes I work overtime.”

  Mrs. Addison nodded. “I’ll speak to Mrs. Fields about the overtime. You must remember that you are an orphan. You’re fortunate to have this good library job and to be so well accepted in town. Now don’t you think you could find a few moments here and there to type this for us?”

  Teresa crumbled and took the copious manuscript home.

  After Teresa finished the project, Mrs. Addison sponsored her into the Business and Professional Women’s Club. She reminded Teresa how fortunate she was, as an orphan, to join this group. Soon Teresa had accepted an officer’s position, and each month after she gave her report, Mrs. Addison would pat her and say, “My, how much can those little shoulders carry?” So, despite the woman’s pomposity, Teresa almost liked her.

  Through Mrs. Addison, Teresa met her husband, a genial unpretentious man.

  “You know, I saw you come into Hays from New York,” he said.

  “You did?”

  “Yes, I was in the station that day watching this one and that one pick you up. My, you were popular! If I’d had my say, I’d have brought you home to be a little sister to our two boys.”

  This unexpected prospect of life with Mrs. Addison as her mother made Teresa flinch.

  Teresa experienced a disruptive recurring nightmare. In the dream, she shook a piece of laundry, a sheet or sometimes a towel, and a baby fell out. The dream petrified her; she woke short of breath, her heart pounding. She dimly remembered the Foundling’s basement laundry where huge machines washed clothes, where white sheets hung on long lines. Such a disquieting dream. Was she that baby falling out of a sheet? That orphan? Why won’t my past leave me be?

  •

  Despite Doris’s protests, Teresa and Frenchy continued to date. Before long, he asked her to marry him, but she refused. He was too spoiled, he drank too much, and when he sobered up, he became wretchedly ill. So Teresa turned down his repeated proposals.

  Then one morning after Doris left for school, Frenchy came to Teresa’s home to eat breakfast. With him, she had broken the rule about no male friends in the apartment, but she only let him in when Doris was away.

  Noticing his hangover, Teresa fixed Frenchy some coffee, and then sat beside him at the table. When he attempted to scoop a spoonful of sugar, his hand shook so badly the spoon rattled against the sugar bowl. Teresa helped him hoist the sugar into his cup. I took care of Jess. I might as well take care of him. She watched him lift his shaking cup with both hands. At this rate, he won’t live out the year anyway. So she agreed to marry him.

  Before they could marry, Teresa entered the hospital to have a nonmalignant fibroid tumor removed from her uterus, a tumor that Doris insisted Frenchy caused. When Teresa needed a blood transfusion, Frenchy offered to donate blood, but their types didn’t match.

  “Doris,” Teresa said, ever mindful of her fiancé’s virtues, “wasn’t it nice of Frenchy to offer his blood?”

  Doris demurred, “His blood would be no good; it would be full of alcohol.”

  Knowing Doris would protest their wedding, Teresa and Frenchy married secretly on March 26, 1951, in nearby Russell so they could avoid a notice in the Hays newspaper. When the newlyweds returned, they continued to live separately, hoping Doris would suspect nothing until after her upcoming July marriage to Donald Crippen, a college boy.

  At work, Teresa continued to be “Mrs. Binder,” although Frenchy objected. “Let’s let people know you’re Mrs. Martin.” However, Teresa, afraid of Doris’s anger, refused.

  •

  At the library, the new director, Lucy Cole, hired after Sara Fields died, resigned. Teresa was glad. Miss Cole stood over six feet tall, and she lied to board members about Teresa’s work. She said Teresa knew only how to shelve books, as if she hadn’t been cataloging books and supervising the children’s library for years under Mrs. Fields. Fortunately, board members ignored Miss Cole and promoted Teresa to children’s librar
ian.

  After the new director resigned, Teresa received calls suggesting she apply for the position. At first, she dismissed the idea. She never dreamed of becoming head librarian and certainly couldn’t apply now; she needed time to heal from her tumor operation. As more people encouraged her to apply, she decided to try.

  On the day of her formal interview, Teresa arrived at the library unusually edgy, having downed only several cups of coffee for breakfast. As she walked into the familiar boardroom, she seemed to step back in time. The board members’ familiar faces encircling her transformed into the faces of her Volga German classmates on the playground. A sense of helplessness rose in her. Everyone seemed to shout; she couldn’t hear what anyone said. She felt battered.

  One man asked her about ordering books, which she’d done for years, but she couldn’t think how to answer him. Another asked about cataloguing, but she forgot everything she knew, including her courses in library science. She did remember that Miss Herriot, her Fort Hays instructor, considered her unusually good at library work, but she didn’t know how to mention that.

  Finally she stuttered, “I guess I don’t know a thing,” and fled the way she’d run from her tormenters when they cried, “Das geschickte,” “The sent-for one,” the mail-order kid.

  In the ladies’ room, she wept. I knew the answers! I knew them. Why did I clam up?

  The board selected Dorothy Richards for the position, even though she had only two hours of library science. Teresa feared Mrs. Richards would fire her for her behavior in the boardroom, but the new director didn’t. That was a relief. Teresa needed her paychecks to help Doris finance a fine wedding.

  To her surprise, Teresa felt no jealousy of Mrs. Richards. Instead, she liked the brash outspoken woman. How can I feel bitter? She applied for the job and got it fair and square. But Teresa cringed when the new director bragged about how easily she’d aced the interview. However, Mrs. Richards knew how to put Teresa at ease. That, as much as anything, led to their friendship, although it helped when Teresa showed the new director many aspects of the library that she didn’t know.