The GI Bride

by Simantel, Iris Jones

Bobby McCarthy, Pat Connolly (another GI bride) and I set off for Columbus. We were all lucky enough to have friends or family to take care of our children for the long weekend. Pat had offered to drive us there. Her car was a new white convertible, and off we went, top down, just like Thelma and Louise, plus one. It was a glorious day, and we sang as we whizzed through the countryside. Suddenly smoke started coming out from under the car’s hood. We pulled off the road as soon as it was safe to do so. Pat went around to the front of the car and threw the hood up. Flames shot into the air. She screamed, we screamed, and as fast as we could, we got away from the car. I don’t know how it happened but soon a fire truck came barrelling towards us, sirens wailing. The flames were soon extinguished. A tow truck took us to the nearest town where the car was repaired. Finally, in Pat’s brand new now-scorched car, we resumed our journey. Pat was distraught but at last we reached our destination in the wee hours of the morning. Thank God, we still had one free day to recuperate before the convention’s general meeting began.

  That evening, as we congregated in the lobby and bar of the hotel, we found ourselves surrounded by gorgeous young men. We soon learned that they were members of a baseball team. I tired eventually of the banter and, since I still had to practise my speech for the next day, retired to my room early. Exhausted after the excitement of the day, I climbed into bed and, since I’d had a few drinks, was soon sound asleep. Bobby shared the room with me, and I thought I heard her come in later. When I woke up the next morning, I looked at her and had the shock of my life: one of the baseball players was in bed with her. I coughed loudly. Bobby sat bolt upright. She was naked, with makeup smeared all over her face and her hair sticking out in every direction. I’m not sure if she looked more like a raccoon or a porcupine. She stared at me, then turned. I will never forget her reaction.

  ‘Good heavens,’ she said. ‘How did he get here?’ Bobby’s language reflected her background and her choice of words was quite different from what mine would have been. I made a dash for the bathroom. When I emerged some time later, Mr Gorgeous was gone, and there sat Bobby, a sheet wrapped around her.

  ‘I’d prefer that we don’t speak of this again, ever,’ she said, somewhat sheepishly. I couldn’t answer her: I was laughing too hard.

  I’m sure that my bid to win the next convention was successful because of the coaching and advice I’d received from Convention Bureau staff. I made the most professional presentation of the day and they selected Chicago unanimously for their next national meeting. When I returned with the good news, my home group elected me to organize and chair the convention. Oh, Lord, I thought. Now look what I’ve got myself into.

  After we’d chosen a committee to help with planning the convention, word about our coming event went out to all the Chicago hotels. We immediately began to receive proposals and invitations to tour the possible city venues. My committee and I were wined and dined by hotel sales teams, and you wouldn’t believe the bribes we were offered. They came mostly in the form of monetary kickbacks, but although Palmer and I were always broke and up to our eyes in debt, I could never have accepted a bribe: I was too afraid of being discovered. Palmer had warned me that it might and probably would happen, and I wondered how he resisted the temptation but, of course, he never had to pay for meals or drinks at the Chicago hotels: they relied on him to bring them business. We girls had a grand time and, although we never succumbed to financial bribery, we took full advantage of the benefits. The fact was that I was playing Palmer’s game, and enjoying the attention.

  The committee and I had plenty of laughs at some of the menus included in various hotel proposal packages. In an effort to appeal to the British tastes of our organization, selections like cock-a-leekie soup and trifle appeared on several offerings.

  ‘Blimey,’ said one of the girls. ‘Next thing you know they’ll be suggesting toad-in-the-hole or even spotted dick!’ We roared at that idea. We really lost it, though, when one catering manager told us he had done his homework thoroughly.

  ‘Ah,’ he said, with a knowing wink, ‘not many people would know you Brits like to have a prune in your cock-a-leekie.’ I almost choked on that one. None of us had ever heard of putting prunes in cock-a-leekie soup, but when I checked it later, I discovered that the original recipe did have prunes, or pieces of prune, in it. We certainly had learned something new, and from a Chicago hotel sales rep!

  Besides choosing the hotel for the convention, there were many other things to arrange, but again, the Convention Bureau supplied me with printed lists of things to do and schedules that outlined when we should do them. We had to establish the size and number of meeting rooms we needed, choose a band for the grand ball, sort out entertainment, door prizes and guest speakers. There was more to do than we could ever have imagined, but we did it, and we did it well. Everything went smoothly, even the speech I had to give before the dinner and dance. The British consul general was our keynote speaker, and officers from the British TBPA came to Chicago. Besides making speeches, they praised our convention as the best there had ever been. Perhaps I’ve missed my calling, I thought, but no: having to do all that work on a regular basis would have taken the fun out of it.

  During the convention planning, the meetings, the visits to hotels and such, we had to leave our children with baby-sitters or tolerant husbands. Occasionally Palmer was at home and willing to care for Wayne, but other than that, I had to rely on my friends in the apartment building. Everyone loved my little son, especially Mary and John Nicholson, who then had no children of their own. I never had to worry about him, although I’m sure, as with any child, he’d rather have had his mother at home, but it was only the occasional afternoon or evening that I had to be away during the year that led up to the convention.

  One thing stands out in my mind from that convention. After I’d made my speech and introduced the keynote speaker, I sat down at the table on the platform and looked out over the sea of happy faces that were gazing up at us. All of them, like me, had been GI brides; all of them had left family and home to make a new life in the United States with their American husbands. I wondered how they had coped and what each of their stories might be. How many of them paralleled my own? I was sure each of them had suffered in one way or another, from loneliness, homesickness and alienation. For now, though, they seemed happy simply being together, sisters related by experience rather than blood. At that moment, I loved them all. They had become my family.

  The Chicago Convention Bureau had assigned Palmer to work full time as liaison with the Non-Partisan Fund Raising Committee for the National Republican Convention to take place in Chicago in July 1960. The person he worked most closely with, and whose right-hand man he became, was Fred Gurley, chairman of the board of the Santa Fe railroad. Through Fred Gurley, Palmer was now meeting more and more famous and moneyed people, which meant more dinners and parties, all involving alcohol. The problem was that Palmer could not control his drinking and I learned that he was visiting my ex-employer, Dr H., regularly to get help. He was also spending a lot of time and money at the steam baths, trying to sober up, so that he would be physically and mentally able to attend the growing number of functions required for this major convention planning and fund raising. I didn’t always know the extent of what was going on as the people he worked with did a good job of covering up for him to avoid embarrassment in political circles. There was no question at that point of replacing him: he was far too deeply involved with the convention and its organizers.

  I didn’t see much of him during the lead-up to the convention, but I had begun to dread him coming home. He was always drunk, and always stank of booze. Even after he had showered, the smell seeped out through his p
ores and he would perspire so much that his clothes were permeated with the acrid smell of sweat and alcohol. He didn’t own many suits, so instead of having them cleaned between wearings, he would take them off at the dry-cleaner’s and wait while they pressed them. He and his clothes made me feel sick and I could hardly bear having him near me; he often repulsed me.

  ‘You should buy a couple of seersucker suits,’ I told him. Seersucker was popular at the time: it was much cooler to wear, especially in Chicago’s hot, humid weather. ‘I could wash and iron them myself and we could save a lot on dry-cleaning bills.’

  ‘Good idea,’ he said. ‘I’ll sneak it in on my expense account.’ I must have looked puzzled. ‘Well, after all, it is work-related, or I’d just be wearing sweat pants, wouldn’t I?’ How appropriate, I thought. They don’t call them sweat pants for nothing.

  Finally, the convention started, one big round of parties and meetings, and not only for Palmer: sometimes my presence was required. It was one of the most exciting times of my life, being involved at such close quarters with American politics, politicians, the media and people from the entertainment world. During the convention, we had a room on the same floor as the media in the convention headquarters hotel, then known as the Pick Congress, on Michigan Avenue. The media person I remember best was Mike Wallace, who was in the next room to us I remember how surprised I was by his pock-marked face. There were so many famous people floating around in the hallways and the hospitality rooms that it was hard not to stand and stare.

  One night we had attended a huge affair in the grand ballroom of the hotel. The party, hosted by the Hawaiian delegation to the convention, was a typical Hawaiian luau. Everyone was dressed in the bright colours of the tropical islands, with orchid leis around their necks, flown in especially for the occasion. I had never seen such an extravagant production, except perhaps in movies. As I was leaving the function, I stepped into the elevator, followed by Senator Thruston B. Morton, who had also just left the party after giving a speech. Senator Morton was one of America’s most senior and respected politicians at the time. He greeted me and said what a nice party it had been and something to the effect that he was going to take a nap. He then took off his orchid lei and placed it around my neck as he got out of the elevator. I still have that lei pressed in my scrapbook, and for many years I delighted in telling people that I’d been ‘leid’ by Senator Thruston B. Morton in the elevator at the Pick Congress Hotel.

  The general delegation meetings were held at the Chicago Amphitheater (McCormick Place was not yet built), and it was always packed. We had special tickets to attend the sessions and the Gurleys’ chauffeur usually picked me up and drove me downtown. The limousine was also sent to collect me for a private party held in Fred Gurley’s personal railroad car, which had been brought into the Chicago Stockyards for the Gurleys to entertain in. Many famous people attended the party that evening; it was all I could do to stop myself staring with my mouth wide open. I was introduced to the Davieses, who owned the L. A. Times; their daughter Nancy married Ronald Reagan and later became America’s First Lady.

  Mrs Gurley told me they were disappointed that Walt Disney had sent his apologies; apparently, he and Fred Gurley were close friends, so much so that Gurley had named one of his trains after Disney. I never could quite figure out why I was there and felt completely out of place. The Gurleys were wonderful people and very down-to-earth, but I was hopelessly embarrassed in their company on one particular occasion. Wayne, who was four or five at the time, had been invited to come downtown with us in the limousine, along with Mrs Gurley and me. Out of the blue he started calling Mrs Gurley ‘Grandma’. I wanted to die, but she roared with laughter.

  Later I learned that Fred Gurley had been one of those who were covering up Palmer’s drinking. Apparently, it had become a mutual thing: Mr Gurley also had help from Dr H. and the steam baths during the run-up to and period of the convention. They covered for each other, the only difference being that Fred Gurley could afford it.

  After the convention had nominated Richard Nixon to run against John F. Kennedy in the Presedential Election, we received a card from Nixon thanking us for our efforts on his behalf. Palmer was as mad as hell when Kennedy won that election. He thought Nixon was wonderful and continued to think that even after the Watergate scandal, which blew up years later and resulted in Nixon resigning the presidency. For some reason, even though I knew little about American politics or politicians, I never did like Nixon.

  15: New Baby and Las Vegas

  I began yearning for another child and was convinced that if we had one together Palmer might stop drinking. Surely, I thought, if he had a child of his own, he would grow up and be more responsible. Perhaps his parents would be nicer if I gave them a grandchild. They treated Wayne kindly but without affection. They always seemed a little uncomfortable around us, perhaps because they had spent so little time being a family in the past. I always tried to give them the benefit of the doubt, but it wasn’t easy.

  Our living conditions had also become an issue for me, especially when I realized that all of Palmer’s workmates were living in elegant apartment buildings on Lakeshore Drive or big houses in the suburbs, while we were in the same basement apartment. I thought that if he stopped drinking and spending money foolishly, we could pay off some of our mounting debts and be able to afford a nicer apartment or house. If he was a father, things would change, I felt sure.

  Every month when my period started, I would be shattered with disappointment. It wasn’t easy to interest Palmer in sex I supposed because of his drinking. He usually went to sleep far too quickly, often on the sofa, or simply couldn’t perform. I begged and pleaded with him to stop drinking, for just a short while, so that I’d have a better chance of becoming pregnant, but my pleas were in vain. Occasionally he said he would try, but still he arrived home drunk each night.

  I finally went to my old friend Dr Crown and asked his advice. He told me we should do a sperm count to find out if a pregnancy was possible. We already knew that I could conceive. I explained this to Palmer and, although it was embarrassing, with his co-operation I collected the semen sample in a condom, where it was secured, ready for transportation. I had to keep it warm, next to my body, and get it into the doctor’s office right away. We carried it out in a very contrived way early one Saturday morning. I will never forget that trip downtown on the bus, with a semen-filled condom under my arm: I was praying all the way that it wouldn’t burst.

  Dr Crown inspected the sample under a microscope and invited me to look too. He pointed out that there were few sperm and they were not very active. He did say, though, that I could get pregnant. He gave me some advice on increasing the possibility of those few lazy little sperm finding their target, and told me it would help a lot if Palmer were to stop drinking, which he did not.

  I won’t go into detail about the acrobatics we performed to help steer those tired little swimmers in the right direction, but you couldn’t do them with grace, especially if you were not in good physical condition. Often we would collapse in hysterical laughter at least this had given us something to laugh about together. But something worked because I was soon pregnant. We were both elated, and even Palmer’s parents were pleased at the prospect of becoming grandparents.

  By then I had stopped working so I immediately started on a healthy regimen of walking and exercising every day in an effort not to gain as much weight as I had in my first pregnancy. I was also hoping that it would have an effect on the size of the baby. I was not keen on giving birth to another very large one. I walked miles every day and had never felt healthier. I would also have been happier, had it not been for Palmer’s drinking, wh
ich was getting worse instead of better, as I’d hoped.

  For a while, we’d had a housekeeper coming in once a week to help clean and do the ironing, but now we couldn’t afford that and in those days it cost only nine dollars for the day. We had become fond of our housekeeper, whose name was Mary Butler. Mary was a large jolly African American, who I think was as fond of us as we were of her. She had been unhappy that Wayne called Palmer by his first name and nagged him into calling him ‘Daddy Bob’. When I told her we could no longer afford to have her, we both cried. The following week she showed up anyway. We were all still in bed and she was banging on the door but Palmer wouldn’t let her in and refused to allow me to go and talk to her. He was angry that she had defied his order not to come any more but I believe she was worried about us: she knew about his drinking and had observed his crazy behaviour. It was heartbreaking hearing her calling to us, and it seemed an eternity before she finally left. I truly think she knew we needed her, and I believe she would have worked for nothing, had Palmer allowed her to come. This proved to be one of the first unreasonable control issues that was to make our future lives unbearable at times.

  While I was pregnant, my friend Mary Nicholson started taking evening classes in shorthand and typing at the nearby high school. I thought that sounded wonderful and decided it might be a good idea if I checked to see what was available for me. I found an art class that sounded interesting, and since it took place on just one evening a week, and I was spending so many evenings alone anyway, I signed up. Mary agreed to watch Wayne for me if Palmer wasn’t home. I really enjoyed learning something new rather than just sitting at home wondering when Palmer would appear and in what condition he’d be. One night as I was getting ready to go to class, he arrived home and was obviously very drunk.