by Ames Sheldon
To augment his income, he continues working as a lab assistant for his former biology professor Dr. Schmitt. The Radisson gives him as many hours of work as he can handle, but that’s not a job that’s going to get him anywhere. Dr. Schmitt thinks Nat should go to medical school. He did well in his biology and chemistry classes at the U, and he does enjoy having his brain engaged with scientific questions.
The idea of giving up his dream absolutely breaks his heart.
At the same time, there’s the reality of a second child on the way, a wife, and a tiny apartment. He’s twenty-five years old now. Perhaps he should consider a serious profession in which he can care for his family in a manner that’s similar to his own upbringing. Doesn’t he owe his children that much?
He decides it’s time for him to become a man.
August 8, 1953
Dear Father and Mother,
I am writing to let you know that I have very reluctantly come to the conclusion that I have to give up my dreams of working as a professional jazz musician. Since graduating from the university I have pursued every possible opportunity to play sax in clubs around the Twin Cities. It seems a lot of the clubs aren’t really interested in modern jazz; they prefer Dixieland, which is terribly disappointing.
I have done absolutely everything I can think of to get enough work, but I simply cannot earn enough to take proper care of my family. You see, we’re expecting another child, and Dorie no longer sings in the clubs—she stays home with Abby. Dorie loves being pregnant, and she really wants to have a large family, which I can understand since she was an only child herself.
I am very sad to have to reach this decision, but it’s something of a relief as well. I’m so damned tired of hitting my head against a wall. Ultimately I’ve come to see that my pursuit of music is self-indulgent. It’s time for me to grow up and act like a responsible husband and father.
You were right, Father. I’ll never make a living as a musician.
I want to do something that is needed, something that helps others. I want to acquire a body of knowledge that will really make a difference in the world.
The good news is that I’ve been accepted into the medical school here at the University of Minnesota. I just completed the final prerequisite this summer, a course in organic chemistry. Harriet would be proud—I aced it. Minnesota’s medical school is absolutely top notch—the world’s first successful open-heart surgery was performed here at the university last year. I’m very excited that I got in. And once I’m a full-fledged physician, I won’t ever have to worry about being able to earn a good living.
Father, I imagine you’re wondering how I can afford to go to medical school when I have a family to support. I will continue to play my sax for paying gigs where I can—I won’t give up music entirely! I’ll keep working at the Radisson as much as possible. I will work as a lab assistant for my biology professor Dr. Schmitt, and I’ve applied to the medical school for financial aid. I get a break on fees since I’m a Minnesota resident. With classes and studying and working I’ll be awfully busy—fortunately I don’t need much sleep.
Dorie and I live very modestly in a $75/month efficiency apartment, which is adjacent to the campus. We don’t own a car. Sometimes I’m able to bring home leftover food from the Radisson, which helps. We eat a lot of peanut butter and soup.
Mother and Father, I am writing to you now with my hat in my hand. Would you be willing to invest in my education as I work my way through medical school? Fees for the first year are $736, which includes a one-time charge of $300 for a microscope. I would pay you back as soon as I start earning a decent salary. I don’t know exactly how much money I might need to borrow because I don’t know how many hours I’ll be able to work once I’m immersed in medical school.
Please telephone once you’ve had a chance to consider my request.
Love,
Nathaniel
The following Sunday, the phone rings on the kitchen counter in their apartment. Dorie answers.
“Hello. Yes, Father Sutton. He’s right here.”
Nat takes the receiver. “Father?”
“Nathaniel. Your mother is still at Sea View or she’d be in on this call as well. I am proud of you for getting into the university’s medical school, and most of all I applaud your decision to become a physician. You’ve finally chosen a path that makes sense.”
Briefly he bridles at his father’s words, but he keeps his mouth shut.
“Of course we will help you financially.”
“Oh, Father, thank you. That’s such a relief!”
“Your mother will be delighted to hear that another grandchild is on the way. With two children, you’ll need a larger place in which to live, so you should move as soon as you can. You’ll need some kind of car too. We’ll figure out the financial details after you send me a budget detailing your income and expenses.”
Before he can finish reiterating his thanks, his father hangs up in his usual brusque manner. Putting the receiver back in its cradle, he grabs Dorie and dances her around the room. “We’re going to be all right, Dorie!”
An hour later his mother calls. “Nat! Your father just read me your letter over the phone. I am so happy Abby will be getting a sister or brother—that’s grand news! And I couldn’t be more pleased to hear you’re going into medicine.”
“Thank you, Mother. I’m glad too.”
“I guess you take after your old mother after all. Though I always thought you were the spitting image of your father.”
“Really?” He’s like his father? “How are things at Sea View?”
“Fine, everyone’s fine. When do I get to see you? Can you come home for Christmas?”
“I don’t know. I’ll have to see what sort of flexibility I have once I’m in med school.”
“I’ll send you money for airplane tickets.”
“That would help.”
“When is the baby due?”
“Sometime in January.”
“Dorie can’t fly that close to her due date. Let’s plan on the next year then.”
WESTERN UNION
ELIZABETH NJ 430P MAR 13 1954
MR. NATHANIEL SUTTON
825 FOURTH STREET SE MINNEAPOLIS MN
MY MOTHER HAD A STROKE AND DIED LAST NIGHT NO
MEMORIAL SERVICE PER HER INSTRUCTIONS FATHER
January 23, 1956
Dear Nat,
I miss you. I wish you could see my children—Retta and Joey are growing so quickly! Retta loves numbers and jigsaw puzzles. And Joey can already read. It was great to see you and Dorie and Abby and to meet Ned for the first time when you came home for Christmas last year. I wish you’d bring your family to Sea View so our children can get to know each other better. Even if you can’t come yourself, why not send Dorie with Abby and Ned? We would take good care of them.
Mother reports that you’re working your fanny off at medical school. I hope you’re glad to be on this path now. I must admit that I feel envious—I would love to be learning about the latest discoveries in science and medicine.
It’s been nearly seven years since I stopped working. After staying home to raise my children, I’m beginning to feel my brain atrophy. I want something more than just taking care of my husband, children, and home. Retta attends school seven hours a day now, and Joey will start first grade next fall. It’s time for me to get out of the house and do something really challenging. I’m ready to become a member of the workforce again.
I wouldn’t go back to Sutton Chemical. I was trying to fill in for Eddie by working for Father, but I really couldn’t take his place. Besides, I learned that making money for the company didn’t provide me with the sense of satisfaction that I had doing research at Madison. I guess business isn’t my cup of tea. I might have been happier working at the Rockefeller Institute when I had the opportunity, but that’s all water under the bridge now.
I’ve started to wonder about teaching chemistry in one of the private schools nearby.
Perhaps Hartley could use a new science teacher next fall, or maybe your alma mater would.
When I told Ron I was thinking about going into teaching, he raised all sorts of objections. He works hard at his office in Manhattan, and usually he doesn’t even get home before seven—he’s ready to put his feet up as soon as he gets here. He likes to find his martini ready and dinner in the oven so we can eat together as soon as the children are in bed. He doesn’t want to have to wait. Only one of the wives in the couples we’re closest to has a job, and Ron looks down on her husband for allowing that. He feels it reflects badly on the husband’s ability to provide for his family. I pointed out that being a teacher would give me much the same schedule as the children, with weeks off at Christmas and Easter, and the whole summer free.
Before I agreed to marry Ron, I made sure he felt comfortable about my continuing to work. I don’t know whether he’s changed his tune based on what he sees his peers doing or whether he wasn’t quite truthful during our courtship.
I don’t know what more I can say to convince Ron that this would benefit our family because it would be good for me. If I have to insist, I will.
Am I thinking straight, Nat? Being a mother seems to have softened my mind. I believe I need to do something with my life beyond simply being a wife and mother. I want to try something new—make a fresh start—and I think teaching might be just the ticket. I’d really like to hear your thoughts.
Please get in touch, Nat.
Lots of love,
Harry
February 1, 1956
Dear Harry,
You would make a GREAT teacher! When we were together last Christmas, I admired the way you were constantly explaining things to your children as well as to mine. You asked lots of questions, making the kids observe and think, and you stimulated their curiosity. You’re so much more patient with them than Dorie is.
Yes, you should definitely become a teacher! I can’t wait to hear more.
Love,
Nat
September 1958
Harriet was thrilled when she was offered the job to teach general science in the middle school at Hartley, the day school she attended as a girl, for the ’56/’57 school year. Last spring when Hartley’s upper school chemistry teacher retired, she’d applied and was hired for that position. She’d spent the summer preparing for her new classes.
Now it’s after ten at night. Harriet and Ron sit on each end of the sofa in their living room. Harriet is reading the New York Times while Ron looks at Forbes. The children are asleep in their rooms.
Ron gets up and stumbles a bit as he heads toward the bar on a table in the corner.
“Please don’t have another drink, Ron. Let’s go to bed now.” She stands and puts her arms around his shoulders. “I’ll give you a treat if you come with me now.” Usually this works. They make love frequently, with great satisfaction. Aside from their children, sex is their strongest bond.
This time, he extricates himself from her hold. “I’ll be up soon.”
Although she’s tired, she sits back down. She’s glad to see he poured himself only half a glass of Scotch this time.
She says, “I think we should lock up the liquor from now on. I don’t want Retta and Joey experimenting when we’re not around.”
“They’re way too young to get into anything like that.”
“They’re growing up quickly.” If the bottles are out of sight, maybe they’ll be out of Ron’s mind.
“Go ahead, if you wish.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
Once they’re under the covers, he says, “I might be late tomorrow night. The partners are throwing a little retirement party for Tim Mulcahy. He didn’t want a splashy event, so spouses aren’t included.”
“That’s fine—I’ll be busy grading lab reports.”
“You’re always busy, Harriet.”
“I love working, Ron. You know that.” Is he trying to get her to quit her job?
“It just doesn’t reflect well on me. People could think you have to work because I don’t earn enough money.”
“Why would you care what people think?”
“I have to look successful to attract new clients.”
“Don’t your new Cadillac and fancy suits and membership at the country club convey success?”
“To become a senior partner at Smith Barney, I need to bring in more business than I have lately.”
“You will, Ron. You listen really well, you respect your clients, and you’re completely ethical. You just have to be patient.” Patience isn’t one of his strong points. She believes that because success came so easily to him at school and in sports, he hasn’t acquired much grit. She isn’t worried about his success in his profession—he’s smart and he’s charming and he really likes people.
“I need to find a huge new account.”
“Thanks for letting me know you’ll be late tomorrow. Usually you don’t warn me ahead of time, so when you’re not home by seven thirty, I just go ahead and eat supper by myself. That’s been happening a lot recently.”
“You know I need to entertain my customers and friends at the club.”
“I know.”
“Maybe I should join Rotary. That might bring in some new contacts.”
“Good idea.”
The next night, it’s one in the morning when Ron finally drives into their garage. Waiting in the living room, Harriet rises after a few minutes and goes out to see why he hasn’t come into the house yet. The Cadillac is running and the garage door is still open. He’s slumped forward over the steering wheel. She opens the car door and leans over to turn off the ignition. She shakes his shoulder.
“Come on, Ron, wake up. You need to come inside.”
He lurches back against the seat.
“Come on, I’ll help.” She pulls him out of the car and then puts his arm around her so she can help support him into the house. She tries to be kind, but she really hates it when he gets like this.
A month later, Harriet hurries home from the weekly after-school staff meeting at Hartley to relieve her mother, who picks Retta and Joey up from their schools every Wednesday and feeds them at her own house before driving them home. Eleanor claims to have more fun alone with her grandchildren than when their parents are around. Ron is out of town on business.
When she gets into the house, she finds her mother in the kitchen at the stove heating milk. Setting her books and papers on the counter, she asks, “Where are the kids?”
Eleanor murmurs, “They’re upstairs in your bathroom. I’ve just been cleaning them up.” She won’t look Harriet in the face.
Harriet moves in close. “What happened, Mother?”
“We had a little accident on the drive over here.”
“What!”
“I ran into a truck. We weren’t going fast. I’d just turned my attention away for a second to look at what Joey was doing.”
“The children were hurt?”
“Retta has a gash where her head banged into the dashboard, but she doesn’t need stitches. You know how those head wounds bleed!”
“Joey?”
“He says his shoulder has ‘an owie’ but I couldn’t see anything when I removed his shirt. They’re both going to be fine.”
Harriet leans in even closer to her mother. “How much did you have to drink before you drove my children over here? I can smell booze on your breath.”
“I only had one drink, Harriet.”
She doesn’t believe that. “Mother!” she explodes. She’s so furious she’s shaking “How could you endanger my children like that!”
“I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry. I won’t drink when I’m around the children. I’ll quit drinking entirely.”
Turning away, Harriet races up the stairs.
Once the children are in bed asleep, Harriet telephones Nat to tell him about the accident.
“The kids are all right, but we’ve got to do something about Mother’s drinking. Does medic
ine have any answers for this?”
“I’ll make some inquiries,” Nat says. “We should talk to Father too.”
“I’ll telephone him tomorrow at the office.”
Two weeks later, Harriet tells her mother she’d like to stop by before lunch on Saturday. After she picks Nat up at the Newark airport, they drive to their parents’ house, where George awaits them.
When she and Nat walk in the front door, she calls, “Mother, where are you?”
“We’re in the parlor, dearie.”
Silently Nat follows Harriet down the hall and into the parlor.
“Nat!” exclaims Eleanor. “I didn’t know you were coming for a visit.” She rises from the couch and goes over to hug him.
“I’m not here for a visit, Mother.”
“Then what are you doing here?” Her surprise quickly fades to a look of fear. “What’s going on? I thought Harriet was coming over to tell us that Retta and Joey could expect a new brother or sister before long.”
Harriet says, “I’m afraid that’s not what this is about, Mother.”
“What is this about?”
Her father looks at Nat and Harriet, then at her mother. “Sit down, Eleanor,” he says. He sounds grim.
Taking a chair, Eleanor asks, “What’s happened?”
“Nothing … yet,” he replies.
“What? What is going on?”
George says, “We’re here to talk with you about your drinking, Eleanor. It has gotten completely out of control. You aren’t yourself any longer.”
Eleanor crosses her legs and wraps her arms around her chest.
He goes on. “You embarrass me in front of our friends. You’re more interested in your next drink than in anything else. Booze has gotten to be more important to you than your family, your husband …”
