"By[e] for Now": Mary Raney's Letters to Daughter Jean, 1955-7

Grandma and Mom c1944

Because we didn't have a telephone until 1963, when I was a senior in high school, Mom [Geneva Raney Charbonneau (1925-2014)] corresponded with her parents, Frank and Mary Raney, from 1951, when we moved across the state line into Idaho, until she got a job in 1959 in the Spokane Valley and could call them during her lunch break. When I cleaned out the house after moving Mom into assisted living in 2007, I found a packet of letters from Grandma, written from December 1955 through 1956, and a few from 1957. Mom and Grandma wrote each other nearly every week.

Our grandmother, Mary Emma Smith Raney (18 July 1882-10 May 1979), had only a third-grade education and in her early thirties became deaf; yet she had the urge to communicate. Her spelling did not improve with age. With the onset of deafness, learning how to pronounce new words ceased, and she often cut off the endings of words, not only in her speech, but in her writing. She didn't have a hearing aid until the early 1940s, I believe, when Uncle Denny bought one and surprised her with it. Think how much vocal knowledge you've acquired since your early 30s, and imagine not being able to hear new words. See excerpts from her correspondence with Grandpa (1906-10)while he was in the army. HERE

Grandma and Grandpa underwent some drastic changes during the months previous to that first extant letter of December 8, 1955.  Grandpa's sister, Laura Esther (b.1902), who had been caring for their father, James Raney, died at age 51 on September 8, 1953 back in Indiana.

Laura Esther Raney (1902-1953)

Grandma and Grandpa brought James Raney (b.1868) back with them to Spokane. He died in the hospital, May 28, 1954, at age 86, while recuperating from surgery.

Frank, his father James, his son Dennis, and grandson Jack Raney c1946

Grandma had a short respite from caring for two men, but then her younger sister Laura Smith (b.1888) died of a cerebral hemorrhage up on the farm outside of Addy, Washington, on 27 November, 1955. She was only 67.

c1946 Mary Raney, her brother Gus Smith and sister Laura Smith at their farm

I distinctly remember her death because our neighbor, Becky Miller, had a telephone and Grandpa called her, asking her to impart the sad news to us. Apparently Great-grandpa's death in May 1954 left me unfazed, but Great-aunt Laura's death did affect me (I was 10), and I flung myself on my bed and sobbed and sobbed. Mom snapped, "What are you crying for . . . you didn't even know her."

Great-uncle Gus & Kerry c1950

 I did recall visiting the farm, riding the big workhorse Sugar, having to have my long hair put up because the kid goats kept chewing on it,  and refusing to eat the sour-tasting cottage cheese Aunt Laura made from goats' milk, my rejection embarrassing Mom and eliciting a scolding.

Grandma's older brother Augusta Smith (b.1876) had recently turned 79, but that accident in 1943 when the horses dragged him (see Mom's reference to it in a letter in my last blog HERE) had damaged his brain, so that he'd have episodes of hearing loud noises, suffer memory loss, and would wander off until a neighbor spotted him and took him home. Grandma and Grandpa had little choice but to bring Gus down from the farm to live with them. He was with them but a few days when Grandma, whose spelling I've left in the original, wrote:

Thursday Dec. 8, 1955
Dearest Children and Kerry

Will answer your nice letter we recived today. Gus is a little better today. Monday he was awfully bad, he didn't know where he was, he would get up and he would fall. We could hardly keep [him] in bed and he could not sleep. We had to call the Doctor for him to send some sleeping pills. We had to give him 4 - and he never went to sleep ontil eleven clock, but he slept the next day after 12 clock. Tuesday we had [to] give 2 more, so he slept after 12 clock, but we did not give him any last night, but he slept good all night and he never got up ontil 1 clock today and he slept on his chair. He eats pretty good, but he is so weak he cant walk by his self. Dad half to help him to to the Bathroom.

And more snow today. I wish we did not half to go to Colville tomorrow, but we will. Junice and her Mother are coming over to stay with Gus. We cant take him with us, it might cause him to have another spell. We got a letter today from  Iren[e] Carpenter. She wrote that she miss[es] Gus and Laura so much, they got the dog and she said her Mother would take the cat. 

Laura and Gus Smith with horse and unnamed dog c1950

Dad feels lots better. I get awful tired. [Grandma was 73.] We wash[ed] a big washing Monday, and had a big ironing but we got all through. [No such thing as permanent press cotton then.]


Dont you worry about us. We will be all right. We will not go to the farm tomorrow to get the things. We will get a truck and we can bring every thing. This will be all for this time so hopeing to see you soon. 

With love to all and God Bless you.
Mother and Dad

Jan 2 1956
Dearest Children and Grand Daughter
Will answer your nice letter we recived last week. We were to sorry that you was so sick. Hope you feel better by now. I had a bad spell of stomach flue last Saturday. I was in bed nearly all day. I was so sick, but I feel better now. Uncle Gus has an atact of it today. He hasnt eaten anything all day. His stomach dont feel good, but he hasent vomit[ed] any yet.

We watched the Rose Bowl Parade this morning. It was nice to see. I hope you got to see it. Dad['s] watching the foot ball game. He sure enjoy[s] it. [They had recently purchased a television.] And more snow yesterday and today. I was in hope we wouldnt have any more but I guess we will have lots more.

Janet Rae Rooney [1936 Spokane-1986 Fernie, BC] got married to day, we were invited but we did not go. We got her a nice set of towls.

Sandra [Raney] came over [from Seattle] a week ago today but she went back last Saturday morning. She stayed part of the time over at Dennis house and with her girlfriend. She came over two times but she did not stay long. She had a boy friend with her the last time she came over. Junice said she had the stomach flue one day. Dennis he had the stomache flue one day last week he was so awful sick. I hope Dad dont get it. Jack [Raney] is leaving tonight to go back to his home of study. [at the seminary. He was 15].

Jack Raney and sister Kathleen Raney Sullivan c1970s

Mary Agnes had truble with her back last week, but she is better now. Red had to work yesterday and today. It is nearly 5 clock. It soon will be time to get some thing to eat again. Will wash tomorrow.
By now and Wishing you all a happy New Year. With Love and kisses and God Bless you all. We want to thank you again for the nice Christmas present. We sure like it. It is so pretty.
P.S. I forgot to tell you the name of the man that Janet Rae is getting married to - his name is Robert J. Gariepy . . .

Barn and Great-Uncle Gus's horses

Thursday Jan. 12 [1956]
. . We were so glad to hear from you and to know you were all well. For our selfs we are pretty good but awful tired. Uncle Gus feels some better but he is awful dizzy he cant walk by his self. He had a light spell last week. He fell on the floor and bump[ed] his head on the chair. We went to the farm last Saturday to get the things. Dennis, Junice and all the children, Red and 3 boys and my self, and when we turn[ed] from the highway to go [to] the farm we found nothing but a sheet of ice. The boys had to put on chains on the truck so they could get to the house. Dennis couldnt get to the house with the car. It was so slippery we could hardly stand up. They had to help me so I could get in the house. 

We have been so busy put[ting] the things away. There was so much. We did not bring everything. We left lots of carrots and cabbage, parsnips and other things. Dear ones I hope you can come over soon . . . .

Back of farmhouse with storage for vegetables and fruit

Monday Jan. 23, 1955 [Grandma meant 1956]
. .Will answer your nice letter we recived last week. I should have wrote to you last week, but time went by so fast I did not get very much done. We wash[ed] this morning. I put some of the cloths outside to dry. I sure will be glad when I can hang them all out.

Red and Mary Agnes, 1970, and children Rich, Chuck, John, Tom, Greg, Paul, Nick, Sharon & Steve

I hope your cold is better by now. I dont feel to good some time. Dad and Uncle Gus they are about the same. Gus can walk better than he did. . . Mary Agnes, Red and the baby [Paul Charbonneau, born the year before] came over last Saturday evening. She feels pretty good but the baby had a bad cold, so did the other two little ones. Red had to go on a [diet] and he [has] to loose 30 lb the Doctor said. Dennis and Junice and the girls had a bad cold for the last two weeks. Many thanks for the nice steak. Its sure good. [We raised some cattle and Dad butchered a yearling steer every autumn. Mom inevitably named the calves, and then had to say, "Doesn't Steery . . . or Toro . . . or Taurus . . . or Zorro taste good."]

One of the farm out-buildings (Note wash tubs hanging on side)

Gus got a letter from Mrs. Brooks his neighbor and she said there was lots of snow and ice around there. They cant go hardly any place it is so bad. The weather was nice this morning but it is getting cloudy and it is snowing.

We want to thank Kerry for the nice letter she wrote. It was a nice letter. No body could have wrote any better. Many thanks, Kerry and you must write some more letters to us . . . [Needless to say, Mom would nag until I sat down and wrote a thank you letter.]

Thursday Feb 2, 1956
. . We were so glad to hear from you and that you are all well. For [our]selfs we are all pretty good. Gus feel[s] pretty good the last few days. The first of the week his head was hurting pretty bad. I was afraid he would have one of those spell[s]. I do hope he dont have any moore. It is sure awful to see him when he has those spell[s].

I do hope this cold weather lets up soon. It sure was cold yesterday. It was 12 below here. At Colville [near the farm] it was 21 below. [The 1950s had especially cold winters.] I am so glad that Gus is not living there now. I dont know what they would do, he did not have very much wood reddy. He got a letter from the Brooks and they wrote it was awful bad around there. Lots of ice.

Mary Agnes got a new automatic washer and a new water tank. She is so happy to get the washer. She said her washing wouldnt be so hard now. [She must have had a wringer-washer before.] They are all well now. Junice still has her cough. Dennis feels better now. We havent seen [him] since Sunday. 

Denny Raney 1959

[Uncle Denny, who was always so very good to Grandma and Grandpa, would drive them to mass on Sunday at St. Als in bad weather.] I do hope this cold weather lets up so I can go to the store. . . I havent been doing very much this week but set[ting] around the stove and try to keep warm. . . .

Junice Moe Raney c.1948

Friday, Feb 10, 1956
. . We havent had no letter from you this week yet but I will write a few lines my way. I do hope you are all well and that you got home O.K. [We must have gone to see them on Saturday or Sunday.]

For our selfs Dad and I are awful tired. Uncle Gus [has] been haveing his bad spells. Since last Tuesday night he has had 8 spell[s]. He had one yesterday and fell here in the dining room by the flour stand and nock down some of the flowers. His [mind] is pretty bad. He has been up since 2 clock. He said he could not sleep there was a big noise around here. He just can't sleep when he has those spells. Tuesday night at 12 clock he started to have them and Dad heard him [Grandma having turned off her hearing aid] and we got up but there was nothing we can do for him and he had 4 spells from 12 clock to 5. We sure did not have much sleep that night. I do wish we could find some thing to healp him. . . .

Thur. Feb 16 1956
. . Here it is Thursday and still zero weather. I am getting so tired of this cold weather. We went to church yesterday morning and my face was nearly froze when we got to church. [Ash Wednesday. A weekday, Uncle Denny would have been working.] Pupos were there and brought us home. [Mom grew up with Amelia Pupo.]

Last Monday was nice. We wash[ed] and hung part of the washing out. Dad fell of[f] the back [steps] and hurt his back. He wanted to take the chicken bones to the cat [a stray? He never liked cats] and he step[ped] on some ice [that] was on the step and down he went with the chicken bones in his face. He feels some better but he is awful sore yet. Uncle Gus feels some better agian but he was all week before he [knew] what he was doing. Had to give him some sleeping pills so he could sleep. He had 9 of those spell[s]. It is just awful to see him like that, and nothing we can do healp him. 

Mary Agnes they are all well. Red said she went to a pot luck dinner last Sunday with the boys and he stayed home with the little ones. Dennis they are all better with their colds. 

Dear ones many thanks for the nice Valetines and Kerry it was sweet of you to send those to us. Uncle Gus thought it was pretty nice. I guess this is about all the news, it will soon be time to get lunch reddy. Hoping you can come over soon. . . .

Sunday Feb. 26 1956
. . We recived your nice letter Friday. We were so sorry that you had such a bad time with your ear so hope it is better. Glad to know Kerry and Al are well. For our selfs we are all pretty good. Dad feels better with his back. It was pretty sore for [a] while. Uncle Gus feels pretty good now. He sleeps good and eat[s] pretty good but I am afriad he might get another spell next month, he gets one nearly every month. I sure hope he wont. 

Next Sunday the Novena starts and I wish he could go. It would be so nice if he could go. He has never been to one. The reason I did not write to you last week We thought you might come over Friday evening. But I guess the roads are still bad and moore snow ever day but hope it will soon be better.

Mary Agnes baby had the stamach flue two weeks ago but is better now [Paul again). Dear ones, I hope you can come over soon. . . . 

The goats on Uncle Gus's farm. He must have missed them, unless they'd been sold before Aunt Laura died.

Mon. Morning Mar. 5 1956
. . A few lines to let you know we are O.K. Uncle Gus hasent had any spell so far but it is about time for him to have them, but do hope he wont have any now. We started the Novena yesterday and if he was to have a spell we couldnt go we would  half to stay home. 

Yesterday was a bad day. It snowed and the Wind blew so hard. This morning we went to the six clock mass and it was pretty cold. 

Mary Agnes and Red came over. Mary Agnes [has] been going to Mission ever[y] evening last week. She said she sure enjoyed. She wont get to make the Novena. Red has to work ever[y] night this week. She said Leona [Red's sister] was in the hospital. She has a blood clot in her leg, she was in an automobile wreck and she got hurt . That['s] what caused the clot in her leg.

Mom, Paul and Mary Agnes 1991

Paul is in the hospital. He had to have an operation. He has prostate glands. It will be about two weeks before he will be home. . . Well dear ones I will half to hurry up . I half to go to the Guild meeting this after noon and half to get lunch for Dad and Gus. . . .

Monday afternoon March 26-56
. . A few lines to let you know we are all felling pretty good. Uncle Gus feels better than he did last week. He hadnt had a bad spell for over a month. He still take[s] [medicine] after each meal. Dear ones we will be very happy to go over for Easter, but it will be to much truble for you to come after us and bring us home. I do hope the Weather will be better. It rain[ed] and snowed some this morning. The wind is sure cold. I got cold this morning going to Church. Father O'Malley brought holey communion to Uncle Gus this morning. 

Father O'Malley with Grandpa and Grandma on their 50th wedding anniversary June, 1960

We are sorry we did not send you your birthday gift [Mom's birthday was March 20]. We thought you would be coming over soon. I guess we will wait ontill you do come over so we can give it to you. I have been pretty busy last week. Washed the kitchen curtain, washing, ironing and I went last Friday morning and healp clean the Church. This morning washe[d] the front door curtains. They were so dirty had to wash them before I start cleaning house. Last Sunday Mary Agnes, Red and Chuckey and Richard stop[ped] here on there way home from Our Lady of Lourdes [where] the two boys recived there ad altare Dei award for there Scout work. [The Ad Altare Dei (to the Altar of God) program is to help Catholic Boy Scouts of the Roman Rite develop a fully Christian way of life in the faith community.] They sure look nice in there union forme [uniforms]. They sure did fine; not all the boys in the scout[s] made the grades. There were only 70 recive[d] awards.

Dont work so hard and take care of your selfs, and come over when you can, it has been a long time since you were here. . . .

Thursda[y] April 5 [1956]
. . We are all fine and we want to thank you again for the nice time we had Sunday. We all enjoyed our selfs so much ever[y]thing was so nice the dinner was so good. Uncle Gus said he had a nice visit. [We were still living in the two-car garage while Mom and Dad worked hard to complete our house nearby, but I have no memory of Uncle Gus coming to that tiny one-room house for Easter. Maybe he was lying on the sofa when Grandpa took pictures outside]

Mom, Grandma and Knute in front of unfinished house, Easter 1956

We sure [are] having nice weather. We wash Monday and I iron Tuesday. Yesterday I clean[ed] out the Closet so I would have moor room for Uncle Gus clothes. Dad got all the yard clean. He said he was going to work in the shop today. [His wood-working area in the basement?] I forgot to ask you if you would like one of those feather bed[s]. They are still nice. We got 3 of them. If we had a different bed for Gus to sleep I would put one on for him to sleep on. . . . [Uncle Gus was sleeping in the guest room with its double bed; I suppose the feather beds were for single beds. We didn't take a feather bed - a term used in our 18th century ancestors' wills. Similar to the present duvet, the feather bed was a valuable possession, usually stuffed with down pulled from the breast of a living goose time and again.]

April 12-56
. . Recived your letter today. Were very happy to hear from you and glad to know that you were all well. For our selfs we are about the same. I have a cold in my head but its some better. Uncle Gus about the same, he was outside this morning for a while. He said the sun felt good, but he is sleeping now on his chair. He sure sleep[s] a lot. Dad [is] busy makin[g] the gate for the back fence. He hasen't got the wire yet, but he will get it next week. We sure are having nice weather now. I hope it will last.

Dad and Dennis are going to Colville next Saturday. I hope it will be a nice day. 

Mrs. Lee got home but she had the flue before she came home and it settle[d] in her ear and she cant hardley hear now. Mary Agnes they are all well. Red works nearly every night. It helps them a lot. Dont work to hard. Come over when you can, but I know you are pretty busy now. . . .
Thursday April 18 1956
. . For ourselfs we are all well. Uncle Gus about the same sometime awful nearvers [nervous].

Grandpa's loveseat, gate and the rose trellis he built in 1956.

Dad [is] painting his love seat today. He plant[ed] quit[e] a bit of the garden this week and allso some gladiolus. We are sure having nice weather it is so nice to be out.There are some people wonts to buy Gus['s] farm, I guess they will buy it. They seeme to want it pretty bad, they will pay $8000 for it. Gus is well pleas[ed] about it, but he still worry[s] about the horses. He worry moore about the horses than about Laura been gone. Dennis, Dad, Frankie and the Kolbert[s] [I'm not familiar with them, but maybe you Raneys know who they were] went to the farm last Saturday. Dad said it sure look[ed] lonesome there.

Great-uncle Gus, his horse and one of his goats, 1950

Mary Agnes they are all well. Red still work[s] at the Coliseum when there is something on. Next week the home show starts than he will half to be there. Junice [is] papering the rooms up stairs. Its all most lunch time. Soon be time to eat again. Got a pot roast on. Soon be done. . . .

Thursday April 26 1956
. . Dad['s] stomach was hurting him last night but feel[s] better this morning. [Mom always said Grandpa loved taking patent medicine. A shelf in the walk-in pantry was full of patent medicine with old brown labels for every ailment imaginable - most containing lots of alcohol.] Uncle Gus awful nearverness [nervous] this morning, his head hurts some. He get[s] outside and set in the sun he enjoys it. . . Gus sold the farm. A widow woman from Montaine [Montana?] bought it. She has 2 growing boys. She payed $8000. She liked the place so well she did not think it was to much. She give what Gus asked for it. [I don't know how much acreage Uncle Gus had. When Mom and Dad bought our 66 acres in 1951, they paid $4500.00 for it.] Leimen Brook [Uncle Gus's neighbor] was going to buy the oats but the roof leake[d] and it got all spoil[ed] so now he cant sell it. 

Mary Agnes had a bad cold last week but some better now. She said the baby [Paul] had it to. Dennis and all the family went fishing last Sunday. It was pretty cool.

Kathleen Raney c.1956

Kathleen caught a cold and couldnt go to school Tuesday. Mary Jean fell in the lake.

Mary Jean Raney c.1956

They did not catch very many fish they said.

Geraldine "Geri" Raney c1956, who didn't fall in or catch a cold.

Sandra [sent] us her Graduation picture. She looks awful nice. . . .

Sandra Raney 1956

Sunday May 6 1956
. . I did not write last week. I thought you might come over. It has been a long time since you have been here. [Mom didn't drive, so she depended on Dad's occasional good mood to facilitate a visit.] I have been busy cleaning house. Junice came over last Tuesday and clean[ed] all the living room, the little front room and the dining room walls and she allso clean[ed] the dining room cealing. That was quite a job and she is com[ing] back next Tuesday to clean our bedroom and the kitchen. I did not want her to do it but she would.

Grandma and Junice discussing the table setting, 1973

Our garden is growing pretty good ever[y] thing looks pretty nice. The pie plant [rhubarb] is big enough to use it . . . The tulips are ready to bloom. Mary Agnes said she had a nice visite with you. I told her I was glad they had gone over, she [doesn't] get to go any were very much on count of Red working nearly ever[y] Sunday. They had been over Saturday evening. It was the first time in nearly a month, but I am glad he can work like he does, so the[y] can keep up with all there expence[s]. Uncle Gus is about the same, he goes out side when the sun shines and its warm. He enjoys it. But we havent had much sun shine this month. Dad has been busy working in the garden and the yard. He will paint the front porch when the weather gets warmer. . . .

Fri. May 18 1956
. . We are about the same except Dad he wasent feeling very good last night. His heart was hurting him . He has been working to hard. [Acid reflux is my guess.] He painted the front porch and the back porch. I worry about him. I never went to sleep until 1 clock, but I got up at five and went to six clock mass. The weather is sure nice and warm here. It got up to 84 yesterday. Uncle Gus likes to get out side and let the sun shine on his back.

It was so nice to see all of you Sunday, only wish you could have stayed longer. Mary Agnes they all came over in the evening and so [did] Dennis, Junice, the children and Mrs Clup [Cupp - Junice's mom].

Junice and her mother Ruby Cupp

Mrs Duffy [is] having an opration on her eye today. I hope she will be able to see again. She can still [see] a little out one eye. Bob Lee['s] wife is going to have a baby in July but she has that albume [albumin] so bad they are afraid they half to take the baby before the time. She is 7 months along now. I do hope they can save baby and her. [The older Lees were neighbors. She may have been suffering from hypertension and the doctor may have worried about possible kidney failure.]

I have been pretty busy this week. Wash[ed] the dining room curtains clean[ed] all the doors but I am not through yet lots moore to clean. I dont know if you can read this or not. I get worse ever[y] time I try to write. [They had a coal furnace, which gave good heat, but also soot.]
Deare thanks again for the nice Mother gift and try to come over soon. . . .

Wed. May 23 1956
. . A few lines this morning to let you know how we are about the same. Some days not so good, and again better. Dad feels some better he is on the dite [diet] again, the hot weather and his fat to much dont get along very well. It is to hard on his heart. Uncle Gus feels some better to day his head been hurting him pretty bad last week, he has been outside and sitting were the sun shine[s] on his back. It healps him some. 

Pat Raney in 1951

Pat [Raney] came over last Saturday after the [Lilac] parade. He sure look[ed] nice in his uniform. [He was in ROTC at Seattle U.] He did not get to stay long. He had to go back to Fort Wright and stay there all night. Sandra [Raney] graduate[s] next Sunday the 27. Pat said she might get married. He did not know what she was going to do yet. Pat has two moor year[s] of college yet. He said he was going to stay in the army. 

D[ad is] busy working in the yard and got the fance [fence] up it sure looks nice. The garden [is] growing nice. We have reddish [raddish] big enough to eat and the onions are geting big to. . . .
Wed. June 6 1956
. . Time goes by so fast. Last Mon. I went to the Guild meeting and in the evening we went to see Frank graduate [from St. Aloysius Grade School].

Frank Raney c.1956

There were 93 that graduated out of the 8 grade. It was nice. And last Sunday night Chuck graduated [from 8th grade] and after it was over Red, Mary Agnes and Chuck came over. Chuck look[ed] so nice. Mary and Red were sure proud of him. They got him a watch. I dont know what Dennis got Frank. He did not say. 

Chuck Charbonneau 4 years later when he graduated from Gonzaga Prep 1960

The weather has been very nice this week. We did our washing Tuesday and I iron[ed] this morning. I have a head cold today. It sure doesn't feel very good. Dad feel[s] pretty good. He just got through washing the lunch dishes. Uncle Gus is about the same. He went outside this morning, but he had to come in it was to cold. Sandra came to Spokane last Thursday, but she hasn't been over here yet. She said she was going to stay a week. She said she did not know what she was going to do yet. She is not planing on getting married yet. She did not know when the rest of the family was comming to Spokane. Jack will get home next Sunday. 

Yesterday Dennis took us over to see the eye doctor, but he could not help us. He said he couldnt fit us with glasses any better than the ones we had. It was the same one Mary Agnes went to. I guess cause we are to old, that is why he can't help us. 

Many thanks for the nice Anniversary card [their 46th]. Yesterday was Mr and Mrs Duffy 50 anniversary but they wont celebrate ontill Sunday. Mrs Duffy['s] eye is getting better but I dont know if she can see very good yet or not. [Perhaps she had cataract surgery.] I havent been over. [She lived across the street] . . . P.S. Kerry how are you and the horse getting along. Fine I hope. [I'd recently gone with Dad to the Spokane stockyard, where he paid $90 for my black mustang gelding, Comanche, which taught me everything one should know about handling a strong-minded horse.]

Comanche

July 9 1956
. . Here its Monday morning and nearly 10 clock but we got all our washing out, and, be time for our coffee brake. . . Junice the girls and Frank they went to the lake for the Fourth of July and the[y] stayed the rest of the week, so Dennis came over Wed. evening for dinner. Jack had to go back to work Thursday so him and Dennis were here for Thursday evening dinner, so they both went back to the lake Friday evening, and I guess they came home last night.

Junice at lake, July 1956

Last Saturday evening Mary Agnes and Red came over and they wanted to go for a ride so we went over to Meragers. [The Meragers had been the Raneys' neighbors when they lived out on the prairie off Broadway until 1935. Their daughter Jackie, Mom's childhood friend, married Dad's brother, Raouel Charbonneau. They were Red's first cousins. Jackie and Raouel lived near her parents in the valley.]

Back Row: Raouel, Red, and Al Charbonneau. Front row: Jackie Merager Charbonneau, Rich Charbonneau [Red & Mary Agnes' 2nd son], and Mom at Grandma's & Grandpa's

 We went over to Jackie['s] place and she had gone to Canada all by herself. Raoul and the 3 boys [Gary, Colin and Mike] were home and the little girl [Nadine] stays with Mrs Merager, so we went over to see Mrs Merager. She was sure mad at Jackie for going away like that, and she was comming back Sunday and she was bring[ing] back some of the folks from there [apparently Mrs Merager's kin because she hailed from British Columbia]. Mrs Merager sure did not like that she said she did not have time for visiter[s] for she half to go to the hospital ever[y] day. Tod[d] [her husband] was a little better but he will half to stay in the hospital for a while longer. He cant walk his right leg. He cant use it. It looks that we are going to get some hot weather now. . . . [Grandma included a clipping from the Spokane Chronicle regarding Red's sister Matilda "Tillie" Charbonneau Swanger, then living in Hungry Horse, Montana, who, a few days before the birth of her baby, shot and killed a bear in her back yard because she was afraid to let her two children out to play. "So she and her sister-in-law waited in the car one night until the bear showed up about 9:30 p.m. Tillie turned on the headlights and killed the bear as it was eating from the trash can. Mrs. Swanger, who attended St. Ann's parish school and Holy Names academy here, gave birth yesterday to a red-haired boy."

 Wed. Aug. 29 1956
. . I should have written yesterday but was busy washing and ironing. We wash[ed] Monday but it rain[ed] and could not hang them out ontill yesterday. It was a nice day and got them dryed. And I iron[ed] all afternoon.

Tippy and me, August 1956, taken while Mom & I stayed with Grandma, Grandpa & Uncle Gus

We are glad you got back your dog. I was afraid something might happen to her out here. It is better for her to be out there with you. She is moore safe there. [Mom and I had spent some days staying at Grandma's and Grandpa's. We took our little dog Tippy, which my dad disliked because he claimed her snoring kept him awake (even though she slept in the close bathroom). I recall Mom buying me school clothes downtown, but I don't recall much about the visit - not even seeing Uncle Gus every day. I do recall Dad coming to get us, barely saying hello, but ordering Mom to leave Tippy there because he slept very well while we were gone. Mom was devastated. She begged Grandma and Grandpa to keep Tippy. They agreed, but, instead, they talked Denny and Junice into taking her. The ride home was awful. Dad was smug and Mom was angry and crying. Finally, on the county road a couple of miles from home, Mom demanded Dad let us out so we could walk home. He drove off, but eventually came back for us. I was pretty miserable when we got home, spending time away from them, visiting the cats and our German shepherd Knute. The next day while Mom was brushing my hair, she asked if I would mind if we left Dad and moved into town. I tried not to cry, but recall feeling helpless and anguished.  I don't remember what Mom did to change his mind about Tippy - maybe stopped cooking good meals, or cooked better ones - but by the end of the week he relented. When we arrived to fetch Tippy home, we discovered she was at Uncle Denny's.  They'd forgotten to give her water and she was panting with thirst. It ended happily enough. Mom didn't leave Dad and Tippy lived to age 17, dying in 1967.]

I guess you was surprised yesterday to see Dennis and Junice and all of them. Junice said they had a nice time and enjoyed there visite and they like your house. She said it was sure nice [as yet unfinished.]

Uncle Gus['s] head [has] been hurting him all week. He hasent got up yet this morning and it is nearly 9 clock. He seem[s] to have those spell[s] ever[y] month and sometime 2 time[s] a month. Dad['s] leg [is] getting some better. It doesnt hurt him so bad now. He got a nice pair of pajamas from Paul and Grace [for his birthday].

Its raining again this morning. I am glad we [got] the washing done. Dad is putting all his papper in the safty box you give him , it will be nice to know were all the papers will be moore safe [another birthday gift].

Dear ones I hope you can all come over soon. we sure did enjoy haveing you and Kerry with us, we do hope you can come next summer and stay longer. . . .

Grandma among the dahlias, late August 1956

Wed. Sep. 12 1956
. . Will write to you this morning, have been so busy canning fruits and making butters. Can[ned] pears Saturday and made pear butter and Monday can[ned] 12 [quarts] of peaches and made 11 pints of peach butter. Yeasterday we wash[ed] and did some ironing but I did not finish. Mrs Lee came over. Have a basket of grapes. Will make some jelley and can some of the juice. Yesterday we went and vote[d]. We stayed up late last night and watch[ed] the votes comming in. Some of the Democrat[s] were [a]head of the Republican. It looks like Langlie [is] going to be left out. [Arthur B. Langlie, a Republican, was governor of Washington from 1941 to 1945 and from 1949 to 1957.]

Last week Mary Agnes had the stomach flue and a cold. She said the boys all like the school this year. Junice, Dennis and Mary Jean came over last Sun. for a while. Junice['s] mother came back last week Dennis told us. She was getting married last Monday. Junice said she was staying down town, that['s] all she said. Uncle Gus feels some better this week. Last week his head was hurting pretty bad. Dad['s] leg [is] some better. He can walk better, he went last week to the dentis[t] and got some new theets [teeth]. They cost $135. They looks nice he can eat better now. [A set of false teeth now runs up to $3,000.00.]The weather got some cooler but it was nice and warm yesterday. I will have to get busy now and finish my ironing. . . .

Mom saved no letters from the rest of 1956 or early 1957.  But she saved some from later in 1957.

Grandma & Grandpa Easter 1957. Urged to don their jackets and come outside, both didn't complete the buttoning.

Mon. April 22, 1957
Dearest Children and Kerry,
Here it is Monday and Easter gone by so fast, I dont know why time goes by so fast. It must be because we have nice weather.

Dad is out planting cabbage plant[s] and head lettuce. He has nearly all the garden planted except beanes. It is to early to plant beanes, there might be frost yet to come.

We had a nice Easter. Only wish you could had came over. Dennis, Junice and Frank came and Mary Agnes and Red came over for a while. Dennis came and took Uncle Gus to church. They went to the 8 clock mass and he sure enjoy[ed] it, and they took him home with them and he had breakfast with them. And you know he has put on so much weight that he could not weare his Sunday pants. He had to weare one of Dad['s] pants and coat and they were not to big for him, he was so surprise at his self. He could not yet [indecipherable] how he put on all that fat. Now he think[s] he never will be able to were his Sunday pants, he wonders who he can give [them] to.

Uncle Gus that Easter, 1957. This may be the last photo of Uncle Gus. Thanks to Kathleen Raney Sullivan for providing it.

I hope you are all well. For our selfs we are pretty good, execept for my knee it still hurts pretty bad yet and it swell[s] by evening. My leg and ankle are all swollen. It will take a while to get well, we all half to have our pains and suffering sometime.

We had a nice day to wash. They all got dry. Will half to iron tomorrow. Hope you had a nice Easter and hope you can come one [day] soon. Take care of your selfs.

By now with our love to all of your and God Bless you all.

Mother Dad and Uncle Gus

Sometime in the 1960s when the climbing roses enveloped the love seat and trellis

Mon. May 6 1957
. . For ourselfs we are some better. I can walk better. Uncle Gus['s] cold [is] some better. We had a nice rain last night, it sure makes the garden grow. Those Peonies you give us they are all comming up nice. There are 24. Some [have] buds on them.[Old Mr. Cable, from whom Mom and Dad bought the place, had fruit orchards and rows of red, pink and white peonies he sold commercially. Mom must have dug some up the previous fall for Grandma. We still have many red peonies blooming in late May or early June.] Ever[y]thing looks nice the lilacs are bloming. The flowers will all be gone for [Memorial] Day. They bloom so early.

Seen Mary Agnes last Friday evening. Dad and I we went to church to see the Confirmation. It sure was nice, there were a large crowed there. It is time to get lunch so I will close for this time, hoping we will get to see you soon. . . .

Mon. May 20 1957
. . We were tired last week. We clean[ed] the little room and the dining room. We will start on our bedroom today. We have a big washing to do, but its is raining so we wont get to wash today. We sure [are] having lots of rain. It has been raining for 3 days now.

Uncle Gus went to Colville yesterday. Leiman Brooks came to Spokane to see his brother. He is in the hospital. Leimen wrote to Gus last week and said he would be over Sunday and he would like for him to go home with him, so he had to go buy some new cloths a pair of pants and some shoes. He is getting so fat he had [to] get a size 42 pants. But he will lose his fat by walking over those hills, and he will worry about everything again.

Dear children, it was nice to see you and thanks agian for the nice box of candy. Hope you can come over soon. . . .

Mon. May 27 1957
. . Here it is Monday morning again. We got all our washing out and it is only 9 clock. We got up early. I sure like to get up early in summer. That is when I am not to sleepy.

Dear ones we sure were all sorry to read your letter about the flood that cause[d] you so much damage, and there is nothing one can do about it. [Dad had put off finishing the house the summer before to build the swimming pool, using concrete blocks to build its walls. It was finished in time for a couple of weeks of swimming toward the end of August.  After heavy snows, in the spring the creek became a torrent, overrunning its banks and collapsing the long walls of the swimming pool, filling it with debris. Dad spent half the summer cleaning it out, hauling away the cinder blocks, building forms and having concrete poured for new pool walls. Mom was distraught because she knew this event would postpone the completion of our house. Six years we'd lived in that 2-car garage.]  It sure [has] been bad all over the country so many tornado[es] killing so many people it sure [is] awful. [This was Grandma reminding Mom that others had it far worse]


We got all our bedroom finish[ed] and all clean. I wish the kitchen was done. We will start on it next month. Mary Agnes and Red came over last Saturday evening and Nickolas will have to have his tonslies [tonsils] taken out. He has been having a running ear for some time and the Doctor think[s] that [is] what [causes] his ear to hurt. And Mary Agnes will have to have an operation. The Doctor said that is the only way he can help her. She said she thought she would be in the hospital for her Birthday. . . Eveline [Evelyn, Red's sister] had a baby girl. Mary Agnes said it sure made her mad they [Red's sisters]all have girls and she cant have one.

Uncle Gus will come home Wed. We got a card from Bishop [an Addy neighbor?] and they said he was there, and they were comming to Spokane and they would bring him home. They said he was fine. This is the news for this time . . . .

[I don't recall when they put Uncle Gus into a nursing home - maybe later that year. He became incontinent and Grandpa said it was too much for Grandma to care for him. Mom said in later years that it was Grandpa who got tired of having Uncle Gus around and he wanted Grandma's undivided attention, but you can see from the letters that Grandma at age 74 was exhausted with caring for two old men. A few years later Grandma asked if we would take her to see Uncle Gus. He was in a county nursing facility in a storefront in downtown Spokane - one large room filled with bedridden old men. It smelled bad in there and after saying hello to Uncle Gus, I escaped with my dad outside to the sidewalk. I think Uncle Gus was strapped to the bed. I think all the old men were tied to their beds. Grandma greeted him with, "O, Gussie . . . Gussie . . ." I don't recall if he knew who she was. What happened to the $8,000.00? It would have paid for a lot of decent care for Uncle Gus. He died on June 11, 1965, when I was in summer school at Gonzaga University. I recall walking over to St. Al's from campus, more intent with how I looked in my little beige suit and hat, than feeling any grief for the old bald-headed man with protruding ears, who had spiraled into senility, whom I hadn't seen for years. Grandma was standing outside on the sidewalk (with Grandpa), greeting her family. She looked small and forlorn.

Grandma on grandson Paul Charbonneau's lap, c.1975

Mom kept one more letter from Grandma, the envelope postdated 30 January 1979. Grandma had been in the nursing home for over two years. Mom would go visit her twice a week, but when the roads were icy, she couldn't make it in. This letter is in Grandma's hand-writing, but very shaky.

Grandma and Mom 1970s

Dear Children
So happy to receve your letter but I miss you so much but I know [it's] to bad for you to drive on those ice roads so be careful. Dennis came the other afternoon. He hadnt been over for 2 weeks. His foot hurts him so bad. Red and Mary came yesterday. While Red has trouble with his back he had not work[ed] all week and Mary['s] leg hurts her awful bad. Mike [Raney] hurt his leg playing basketball. He will haf to go on [crutches] for about 6 weeks poor boy. . . Mark Raney came by yesterday. He said Grace was getting along pretty good. I wish it would stop snowing. I havnt been feeling too good of late. If it [indecipherable] the sooner the better.

Mark Raney 6 years earlier in 1973

I wish I could write. I hope you can read this chicken scrathing. And Dear one I want to thank you so much for ever[y] thing you do for me. Thanks. I guess I better quite. You cant read it. Throw it in the waist basket.

So by with all my love to both of you.
Mother Raney.

Mary Emma Smith Raney (1882-1979)

Geneva Raney & Albert Charbonneau: War Letters, Part 2

Staff sergeant Albert J. Charbonneau (1921-1994), Sept. 1944, seeing for the first time his nephew Ron Mallonee (sister Evie's son) after returning home from New Guinea. Note the deep scar on his lips and chin. This photo will have to do until I locate his studio portrait Mom kept on her bedside table while he was overseas.

On 19 May, 1943, my father, Staff sergeant Albert J. Charbonneau, at the time a waist gunner on a B-24 Liberator, flew with his crew from Topeka, Kansas, to San Francisco. Stopping there for refueling and maintenance, he made a short telephone call to my mother, Jeanne Raney. And then he flew on to Hickam Field, Oahu, Hawaii. He recalled in later years that he and his crew were surprised to see Japanese-American mechanics working on their plane at Hickam. Weren't they all in internment camps? The answer was that only Stateside were Japanese-Americans rounded up and interned for the duration of the war. In Hawaii, they were needed for the war effort. The crew flew on to to Australia, where they were assigned to the 5th Air Force.

The final destination was Jackson Field, Port Moresby, Papua, New Guinea. Officially, the Battle of Port Moresby was ongoing, with Port Moresby still being attacked, but the tide was turning. HERE

Mom wrote on June 9th, acknowledging getting Dad's V mail letter from Hawaii (Victory Mail was written, censored, copied to film, and printed back on paper when it arrived at its destination). She thought Hawaii was his new station and asked about the beautiful girls he must see there.

Jeanne Raney (1925-2014) 1944

. . Believe it or not, I am a telegraph operator at Western Union, It's so much fun. I'm awfully tired at the end of the day, but it is well worth it. My hours are from eight in the morning until five at night. Only eight hours . . .

June 20, 1943
 . . I received you cablegram last week darling. As you know I'm learning to be a telegraph operator. We-ll every day I go up to the telegraph room to check the incoming telegrams for an hour. I pulled one telegram off the crane that just came in from San Francisco. The ink was still damp on it. I looked down and saw Nora [Street] on it. So-oo-o Thought I to myself. "Hmm, maybe I know the people." So I glanced at the name and honestly darling you can imagine my surprise. I just stood there and gasped. I just couldn't seem to understand that it was for me. It was sweet of you darling, to let me know that you are all right. I haven't gotten over the thrill yet . . .

Mom's oldest sibling, Paul Raney (1913-2005)

 I told you didn't I, Dear, that Paul is in the Merchant Marine? He sailed several weeks ago and he should have reached his destination by now -- if everything went off all right. I miss him so very much . . .

Junice Moe Raney (1916-2012)

. . Junice [Mom's sister-in-law, married to Denny Raney] and I had dinner out and then we went to "The Human Comedy" with Mickey Rooney. I sat there and just sobbed. Everybody was crying. It was, without a doubt, the most wonderful picture I've ever seen . . . [After reading this letter about 25 years ago, I was able to rent "The Human Comedy." Mickey Rooney played a telegram delivery boy, who eventually had to deliver the telegram announcing his older brother's death in combat. Everyone was so anxious for their loved ones fighting then, I'm not surprised the audience was in tears. I mentioned it to Mom and she didn't recall seeing it. ]

One of the two B-24s on which Dad was a crew member. The other was called Ace in the Hole, but its photo has disappeared. I don't recall which ship crashed.

Dad finally wrote, and his letter was passed by the censor. Mom received it on July 29th.

July 6, 1943
 . . Now that I am stationed somewhere in New Guinea [unable to state exactly where], and on a permanent base, I can write more often. I haven't yet received any mail from the States, but I expect some within a week or two. We have been bombing the Japs quite often, and doing a very good job of it, starting a lot of fires - that's all that we can see because all our work is at night so far . . . [They were bombing Japanese ships in Simpson Harbor at Rabaul, and other targets.]

Simpson Harbor, Rabaul. Dots on water are Japanese ships. Yellow square is target. From Dad's scrapbook

August 23, 1943
 . . Paul has just come back from Liverpool. Uh-huh. He's in New York now. But he will soon be called back to ship. He's going to get another commission of Lieut. That's all double-talk to me. The only thing I can understand is army and when anything concerning the navy comes [up] with the conversation I'm completely lost. . .

I recall the grass skirt, which he brought home, being a deep burnt sienna color. Photo taken at Port Moresby, 1943.

Dad was not involved with the initial bombing of Wewak from 17 to 21 August 1943, and bad weather kept his plane from dropping its load on 24 August, but his plane made clean-up bombing runs on it 29 August, 28 September, and 28 November. The preparation and timing for the massive August bombing of this large contingent of Japanese planes is fascinating reading, for it saved Port Moresby from a major attack.  HERE

 August 29, 1943
. . Yesterday I became a full-fledged operator. Before, I was merely going to school, trying to cram into this brain of mine the essentials of telegraphy. And yesterday I graduated and now I'm a junior operator. Pat me on the back darling - I'm surprised myself.

Friday I received a letter from Paul. As you know he is now in New York, but he is shoving off soon. He is now commissioned to a Lieut. which is equivalent to a captain in the army. We are quite proud of him. He deserves the best of everything because his life has been one continuous line of dirty deals and bad luck. So drink a silent toast to him and keep your fingers crossed because this mission is going to be more trying than ever before. . . [You can read about Paul Raney's adventurous life during the war HERE]

Mom began working swing shift - 3:30 to midnight - and lest you think the streets of Spokane were empty when she got off work, think again. Men in uniform crowded the sidewalks, lonely to talk to a girl. They came from Farragut near Sandpoint, Geiger Field, Ft. George Wright, and off the trains en-route to somewhere else. One night, a couple of Australian soldiers approached her and her workmate, Monnie, who boarded next door. "Kin I boy ye a cuke?" one asked. "A what?" she answered. "A cuke . . . ye know . . . A Cuka Cula." Because it was wartime, she wrote, she got two days off a month, often on a Sunday, during which time she would become reacquainted with "the folks."

Sept. 20, 1943
 . . . I'm sending you some things that I think you need - I'm taking advantage of the Christmas mailing time. As you probably know, they won't let you send anything overseas without a permit. It's easy to understand that because every inch of valuable space is needed for the essentials that will bring the end of the war nearer . . . I'm very proud of [Paul] - but I get such an awful lost feeling when I come up the steps and have that star staring me in the face. [The blue star flag mothers of servicemen were authorized to hang in a window.] He's very dear to me. . . .[I recall it also hanging for Paul in the window of the large front door during the Korean War.]

In the middle of September Dad went on furlough to Australia - Sydney, I think. He wrote afterwards: . . I had a nice time. It felt good to get back to civilization again. I didn't do much but run around with a few of the fellows on my crew. We went to shows, horse racing, boat racing, dancing and a few other things . . . When I returned . . . I found seven letters waiting for me and every one was from you. . .

Mom also wrote of occasionally visiting Dad's guardians, Ed and Mary Chopot, pictured with Dad's older sister Evie (Charbonneau) Mallonee (1918-2012) in 1942

Oct 3, 1943
. . Remember the time we stayed up all nite and went to the five o'clock mass [when he came home the previous Christmas]? I have to chuckle every time I think of it. The next Sunday Father gave a long sermon about these young people who stay up all nite and go to an early mass. But it was fun, wasn't it. . . We haven't heard from Paul. That of course is understandable seeing that he is Somewhere in the North Atlantic. Before he left he wrote me his usual long letter, giving me encouragement on that - telling me not to do this and so forth [He was12 years older than Mom]. Then he told me where he was going. I really felt quite flattered because I was the only member of the family he told. I haven't told anyone - not even Dad. And I'm not going to tell until he is safely home again. Doggone it - they won't be able to say that it was a slip of my lip that sank his ship. . . .

Dad wrote in early October.
. . Just a few lines to let you know how everything is around this hot and miserable place. When it rains here, it really pours. . . I live in a tent large enough for six persons to live peacefully. . . Everyone has their bunks along the side of the tent, leaving room for a table in the middle. Oh, oh, pardon a minute while I kill a black widow spider that just now jumped on me. . . The place if filthy with them. They're not poison, but they sure give a guy a scare when they jump on you . . . [He must have been mistaken about the spider's genus, probably of the tarantula family. He told me in later years that, and this must have been at a different base, they had a path to a water hole through the jungle where they'd bathe, and a large shiny green spider built a thick web overnight across the path and one of the men walked into it. B-r-r!]  . . . I'm . . . bunked opposite the main exit. There are many exits in this tent; the tent walls are propped up in order to have good ventilation, also leaving many exits for the fox hole, in case of an air raid from the Japs. We hear them coming, and run like hell for the fox hole, then pray that we don't get hit. . . Alongside my bunk I have a clothes rack, which consist of winter flying clothes, and working clothes. . . You may think it funny, darling, to have winter flying clothes here in the South West Pacific, but it's true. It really gets cold up there when you fly high . . . I know for sure it's below zero at times . . . but the change from hot to cold is what I like . . . It makes you feel so cool and refreshing up there, until it starts to freeze, then you want to come down where its warm, but of course you can't. You have to stay up there and take it for a few hours [his flights were averaging 5 to 7 hours, but toward the end, 10 and 11 hours] . . . I also have my mess kit for eating chow, an oxygen mask used for high altitude flying, which is getting plenty of use; a gas mask - I'm sure you've seen those things before, they look so gruesome, but they're a life saver. I also have two large barracks bags . . . a B-4 flying bag, packed with Sunday go-to-meeting clothing . . . alongside the clothes rack I have an apple box with two shelves in it. On the shelves I have toilet articles, gum, which I suppose is hard to get in the States, cigarettes, flashlite, and medical supplies. On top of this apple-box I have the most wonderful thing of all, which is a very beautiful picture of the girl I love, and boy, is she a knock-out. . . I sleep on an air mattress with no blankets needed, plus a mosquito net, which is spread out over the bunk at night . . . On the outside . . . there are two fifty-gallon barrels of water . . . a large tub for cleaning clothes and a foxhole . . . For recreation we have a ping pong table, a little poker now & then and a show three times a week, if the Japs don't bust it up. . . .

On October 12, 1943, two years to the day before I was born, Dad, now a tail-gunner on his B-24, and his crew took off to bomb the Japanese fleet at the port of Rabaul and its five airfields.

One of five airfields at Rabaul. Note distance between Japanese planes, parked in revetments (excavations with earthen walls). From Dad's scrapbook.

Dad's aircraft was one of 349 that day, code-name Operation Cartwheel, flown by the U.S. Fifth Air Force, the Royal Australian Air Force and the Royal New Zealand Air Force, directed by the Allied air commander in the South West Pacific Area, General George Kenney. Dad's plane didn't make it back to base, and the story of what occurred was slow to unfold for security reasons.

He was able to write to her on 25 October from the hospital, using American Red Cross letterhead, which I suppose he hoped was the tip-off, because he couldn't reveal what happened.

My Darling,
It's been a long time since I've written to you and I'm sure I had no intention of waiting so long. . . I would have written had I been able. I hope you understand. Everything seems to be fine from what I can make of it. . . Well, darling, I'll take good care of myself and hope to come back to you in one piece. I feel frightened at the thought of not coming back at all. But we all can't have sunshine and roses. Although I've never mentioned this to you before, for fear it would frighten you, but now I think you have the strength and courage to take it if anything should happen . . .

Probably published in November, 1943

In the meantime, having no word that Dad had been injured, Mom wrote on Oct. 27th.
. . You brother came home. [Raoul Charbonneau (1920-2000), called Smoky by my dad, had enlisted in 1939, now returned from Panama.]  I met him Saturday nite - in fact I went out with him. First we had dinner over at Mary's and Red's [Red being Dad's, Evie's and Raoul's double first cousin, and Mom's brother-in-law] . . .

Omer "Red" Charbonneau (1916-1987) c.1950

. . then we all went out to the White House. We had a pretty good time - but not as much fun as when we went out. He is so different from you. He doesn't resemble you unless his face is turned away and then his profile is like yours. He is much quieter than you and he laughs very seldom. But I can close my eyes and I'd swear that it was you talking. He hasn't got twin devils in his eyes like you, but has got twin dimples (I prefer the devils). He dances very well and I did manage not to step on his toes . . . Then Sunday, he and Mary and Red came over for dinner. Mother and Dad like him, but they like you much more. And everyone was calling him Al. . . Mother said, "Al, do you care for coffee?" Then Dad said, "Pass the bread to Al." . . . I don't imagine I'll see him again, but it was nice meeting him. [After the war, Smoky married Mom's childhood friend, Jackie Merager. A few years after Dad died in 1994, Jackie died of a stroke. Smoky, then in his late 70s, spent much of his time at Mom's, fixing things, watching TV, and eating meals she cooked. They had a pleasant camaraderie until his heart gave out in 2000 at age 81.]

Dad was injured on Oct 12. The telegram was finally sent Oct. 27 to Dad's guardian."Seriously injured" surprises me, but maybe he was.

Oct. 28, 1943
. . I was at the store when Aunt Mary [Dad's guardian, but no relation] called up. She told Mother and when I came back Mother was crying. She loves you very much, too - I knew right away something had happened to you. . . I felt my knees going weak . . .Then Mother told me your were hurt. Part of me died right then. I called up immediately and she [Aunt Mary] was all broken up. Oh, darling - darling - if you only knew how much we love you. Then everyone began calling up - everything was a regular bull ringing affair. But I went to work. I had to go because if I just sat around, I'd go insane. . . I didn't tell anyone but a very dear friend [Monnie] - but she told them and they were so thoughtful and considerate . . . Oh, my darling - if only I could be there with you . . . to hold you in my arms and make you forget what you've been through. We'd forget everything and everyone but us. and we'd think and talk only of our future in our little apartment - and all our dreams and hopes . . . .

Oct. 29, 1943
. . [after writing about her rediscovered love for Dad] Don't tell anyone but I'm skaired - uh-huh - I'm a coward at heart. But nobody's home and they won't be home for a while. You see Uncle Gus [Grandma's older brother who lived with his sister Laura on a farm outside Addy, WA] is terribly sick - his horses ran away with him and drug him for a long time before they could stop them. And he's hurt pretty badly - he's almost seventy and there's not much chance of his pulling through, but Mother and Dad went up there [Uncle Gus survived, but had head injuries and eventually dementia] . . . and I'm all alone. This old house fairly creaks with strange noises. Wish you were here to hold my hand . . . Know what,  darling - I got my first [war] bond today - I've been buying stamps and I finally got my book filled and I cashed it in and now I've got an interest in this land of ours. We'll cash it in ten years from now and put Junior through college . . . .

Augusta Smith (1876-1965) and one of his beloved goats, c.1949

Mom's "home alone" episode continued over the weekend, despite having her girlfriend Monnie stay with her.

Nov. 1, 1943
 . . Before we went to bed we gorged ourselves with scrambled eggs and bacon. It's funny how when it gets dark those of the less braver type simply wilt. Well it was twelve when we got home from work [Monnie worked at Western Union, too, and would become Mom's bridesmaid] and we didn't get to bed before two. . . we were chattering away . . . but then our blood froze because it sounded just like some heavy person coming up the outside steps. Wow! Did we freeze then. Very timidly we turned the porch light on and found out it was only the screen door thumping against the side of the house. But that settled it right there - we were going to protect ourselves even if all the doors had triple locks on them. So, don't laugh, dear, 'cause it wasn't funny then - we took a butcher knife and a flashlight and a rolling pin to bed with us and, oh, yes, I forgot - we also took the dog to bed with us, too. Every five minutes we'd sit up - and look at each other and say in a horrified whisper, "What was that?" . . . [W]e even scared the dog and he spent the night sleeping under the bed . . . .

Mom finally got Dad's letter of 25 October on Red Cross stationary on November 15. She wrote the next day.

Nov. 16
. . This morning I got up and went to six o'clock mass. O-h-h-h it was beautiful - the world I mean, at that time of the morning. It was still awfully dark, so I made Tuffy (the dog - remember?) go with me. [St. Aloysius was five blocks away]. Not that I was afraid or anything - you understand - but I took him along just for company. Ha! . . . All the leaves were heavy with frost and the light from the street lamps shown on them, making them look like a million jewels hiding in the grass. The air was so crisp and cold that I tried to blow smoke rings with my frozen breath . . .There were very few people [at mass] and there was a sacred beautiful silence that can only be found in a House of Worship. The altar glowed with candles and autumn flowers and the air was heavy with incense. Behind me the organ played in a soft whisper. Kneeling there I felt so happy and oh so very grateful to God - because it was yesterday that your letter came . . . That's why I went to six o'clock mass . . . because I wanted to tell God right away how oh so very thankful and grateful to Him I am because the love of my life is getting well again. You see, He knows how much I love you. . . .

Sometimes their letters took a month to reach the other. A letter Dad wrote on November 15 was passed by the Army censor and postmarked November 28. And that was the day Dad went back into action on a bombing run to Wewak. He didn't write about the October 12 crash until January 1944, when the skies were finally being cleared of Japanese planes between Port Morsby and Australia. I'm jumping ahead to tell that story.

Jan. 15, 1944
 . . Here is the little episode I wasn't able to tell you about some time back. . . We were off to bomb Rabaul, got over the target then everything happened at once. Before we knew it we were going down. We were pretty high and had a long way to drop, so if we lengthened our dive we would get out of the Japs' reach when we crashed. It was the most gruesomest feeling I ever had in my life. Knowing you're going to crash and you can't do anything about it. All I could do was pray and let happen what may. The water came closer and closer to us until we hit it. I could feel myself being thrown out of the ship, then everything went black. When I woke up, I was some place in the water with the fish. I finally reached the surface and got my breath back. I then made my way to the life raft. We started paddling to a small island about a mile away. After reaching the island we applied first aid to ourselves, ate what little food we could, so it would last longer, for we had to get well before we could move on. [As I recall from his telling it years later, on their way to bomb Rabaul one of the four engines conked out. The pilot asked for a vote whether to continue the bombing run or return to base. The men voted to go on and drop their bombs - returning to base with a full load of bombs was also dangerous. After dropping their load and turning around to head back to base at Port Moresby, a second engine stopped. Unfortunately, it was on the same side as the first dead engine. Hoping the Japanese didn't intercept his message, the navigator radioed their position to the Royal Australian Air Force as their pilot glided the plane as far as he could. They landed on a coral reef, which ripped the belly out of the plane. The crew was flung out and Dad came to underwater, which was actually about waist-deep. Disoriented and unable to swim, he pulled his Mae West (life vest) and popped to the surface. The man most hurt had a broken back.] That night about 7 p.m. a plane came diving overhead. I thought at first it was a Jap plane. But I'm glad I was wrong. . . The plane was a friendly and dropped us supplies. [A few of the men swam to a nearby island - a tiny one - and found the skeleton of  an Australian flyer sitting against a palm tree. That night as the men were trying to sleep, Dad felt something nibbling at the blood on his face. Rats had smelled blood from miles away and had swum to the island. The men stayed awake the rest of the night.] The following afternoon we were rescued by the Australians [a float plane] and brought to a hospital. I remained there for the following six weeks. . . . [The coral had deeply gashed him along his shin bone from knee to ankle. His face was torn open from his lower lip down his chin; its scar formed a deep line that forked at  his chin. When I was small, I'd run a finger down that scar. There may have been other injuries I didn't know of. Six weeks hospitalization for deep lacerations seems too long now, but the doctors must have been worried about infection. Penicillin was being used in the military by then, but it was still somewhat experimental.]

Dad's crashed B-24 on the coral reef. Appears the tide was out when the photo was taken, possibly by the plane that dropped supplies or the one that rescued them.

But in November, with only the late October letter from the hospital and not knowing how badly he was injured, Mom thought he would be coming home by Christmas to convalesce. That wasn't how it worked in those desperate times. He hadn't yet told her that the time spent on each mission was being tallied up, and he wouldn't come home until he reached a certain number of flying hours. For this bombing run on Rabaul he was granted 7 hours and 15 minutes. It had been a massive raid on that Japanese stronghold (a second plane and its crew had been lost), and heavy bombing continued throughout October and November while Dad was in the hospital, which drove out the Japanese. Dad never made a bombing run to Rabaul again. As he would say, They don't live there anymore."

Rabaul Caldera (volcano) today

When he started flying again, from 28 November until the middle of February 1944, he went up on a bombing run every other day, bombing targets such as Wewak, Cape Gloucester, Gasmata, Alexinhaten, Hansa Bay, Amele, Marove, Cape Hosken, Madang, Momote, Hollandia, But, Dagua, Wakde, Saway, and Biak. Over and over, they hit these Japanese bases that had once been colonial palm and rubber plantations and safe harbors for the Japanese navy and air force. Air power and naval power were chasing the Japanese back up the Pacific.

Dec. 15, 1943
. . Paul is home - really home I mean - he'll be here for Christmas, too. Honestly, I'm so happy. He came in Friday nite and no one knew about it. Then Saturday he came over and spent the day with Mother and Dad. Of course, I knew nothing of this. So Saturday nite after work I was running to catch my bus and I bumped into an old friend - and he said, "Sa-ay, when did Paul get in town? He certainly looked snappy in his uniform." I asked him when he had seen him and he said, "Friday nite." Boy, was I boiling. To think that he had been home two whole days and didn't even call up. . . Sooo-oo-o - Sunday morning I got up and went to an early mass before the folks got up. When I came home there sat Pop with a smug grin on his face. He said, "Know what?" And before I even thought, I said, "yes - Paul is home." Ho- you should have seen the startled expression on their faces. They weren't going to tell me, the rascals, until he walked in on me that day. Oh-h-h - did I ever feel like a heel. But anyway, around noon Junice called up and said that he and Denny [Mom's other older brother married to Junice] were on their way over. . . 

Denny Raney (1915-1991) and his namesake, Dennis Jack Raney, c.1946

. .She no sooner hung up when they were coming up the walk. When I saw him I had the awful urge to run and hide because all of a sudden I was overcome by an unusual shyness. Then he opened the door and with one swoop he had me in his arms. And - oh! I was so mad at myself. I swore up and down I wouldn't cry - but the minute I saw him - we-ell - I was sobbing on his shoulder. I really felt terrible until I peeked up and saw tears running down his cheeks, too. He's been on the North Atlantic, but he received his papers and now he'll be on the South Pacific. Wouldn't it be wonderful if you two ran into each other? . . . He's so terribly thin and he looks so tired. He made my heart ache when I looked at him.

It hardly seems a year ago Christmas that we were together. Remember Christmas dinner and you and Paul were so silly . . . and everyone was making so much noise you couldn't think straight. I couldn't anyway - I was rather dizzy from the wine. It will be the same this year - Noise! Noise! everywhere - everyone will have just a little too much wine - everything will be the same - only you won't be here. But I know every one of us will be thinking of you and knowing that it won't be so very long before you are with us again . . . .

On 13 December, Dad's 403rd Bombardment Squadron of the 43rd Bombardment Group was transferred from Port Moresby across Papua, New Guinea to Dobodura. A 15-airfield complex had been built. It was bombed by the Japanese as recently as October 1943.  And, yet, that same day he and his crew were in the air six hours on a bombing raid to Gasmata, New Britain.

Dec. 21, 1943
. . I bet you're getting tired waiting for me. I'll make it home one of these days. I wonder what it'll be like at home. They have been flying the pants off us lately. Boy, am I tired. I feel like I could sleep for a week. I only wish I could [he would have trouble sleeping the rest of his life.] Well, there's one thing for sure, I'd hate to be in Tojo's shoes, I don't think he's had any sleep for months. . . .

Grandma & Grandpa's house in winter

Dec. 26, 1943
. . What a mad house this was. You know what it was like a year ago - we-ell it was twice as bad this year because all the kids were one year older. [That was you Pat, Jack, Sandra, Chuck, Rich, and Jimmy. Nancy and Frank, too, rest their souls]. . . And after everyone has now gone to bed - and the house is quiet and peaceful - I've turned off the lights and turned the tree lights on. The tree is still in the same place - the swing is still in the same place - I'm still in the same corner of the swing. But where, my Darling - where are you? . . . You're stretched out on the swing with your head in my lap. And I'm running my fingers through your hair - and we're laughing and talking about the future - just as we did a year ago tonight. You're here, my Darling, if only in my thoughts . . . .

Mom's New Year's Telegram to Dad. It was received at Brisbane, Australia. Then mailed to New Guinea, I suppose.

Jan. 2, 1944
. . We tried to be so gay New Year's Eve. Two other girls from the office and I. We worked until twelve. But I don't think any of us minded very much . . . Both of their men were away, too, and so we sort of kept together. I had a quart of Port - a gift from Dennis [her brother Denny]. . .

. . and it was really funny what a quart of Port can do for you. Also, we had tickets for the midnight show at the Fox.[I was curious to know what the movie was, so looked up the Spokesman-Review for 31 Dec 1943. It was Thousands Cheer with Mickey Rooney and Judy Garland.] There were several parties we were invited to - but somehow we preferred being alone - it was much nicer that way. After the show - which ended a quarter after three, we went up to the Mandarin for noodles and chow mein. After a half-hour wait we were fortunate to get a booth. We finished drinking our wine, which had turned quite warm. . . We got home at 4:30, which is not bad for New Year's Eve . . . I fell over Tuffy (the dog - remember?) and now I'm invalided with a sprained ankle. Why does everything happen to me? . . . 

Mom and her future bridesmaids Monnie and Betty

 John Wayne made a USO appearance at Port Moresby, and probably up in Dobodura, where Dad would have seen him, but Dad made no mention of it in a letter. In later years he said the crowd of G.I.s was so large and Wayne so far away, he could barely make him out.

Feb. 9, 1944
[Mom's response to Dad's complaint that he hadn't received any letters for a while] . . I will try to write to you every other day from now on. The only time that I can write is when I come home from work at nite. It's about twelve-thirty then. First of all I must read the paper and catch up on all the scandal - then I round up a sandwich and a glass of milk . . .'cause I can't go to sleep if I don't eat something. . . Then I wash my face and brush my hair and wash out what needs to be - and by that time it's two o'clock and before I have half a letter written I doze off . . . .

Mom's Valentine sent to Dad early in 1944

March 4, 1944
. . Mary and Junice are working for the tomorrow of America. Two future presidents are on their way. That will bring me up to being an aunt - let me see - uh-huh - eleven times. Golly - "and may our tribe increase." I feel sorta left out of things. . . . [Junice would have Mary Jean and Mary would have John - may he rest in peace.]

 Dad was changing, sounding angry in his letters. He probably was drinking heavily on the days he wasn't flying, and that's when he'd write to Mom. He wrote some odd letters, using a thesaurus to substitute archaic words for common ones. He called her Valentine "quaint," which pleased her not at all. In his defense, he was not a reader as Mom was, so didn't understand the subtle meanings of words.  She wasn't writing as often. As she later told me, "I was writing to five servicemen overseas, one in a German POW camp." And she was tired, seldom getting a day off from work. And another man in uniform had entered her life . . .

Dad and his B-24 Crew. The photographer must have shown up unexpectedly - Dad still in work clothes far left, the rest of the crew sloppy. Some photos of crews in the 5th Air Force book (which must have been sent Dad after the war) show men naked from the waist up, sweltering in that jungle climate. The plane behind them is Joltin' Janie,which crashed into the sea after take off on Dec. 9, 1943.

March 5, 1944
. . Well, I believe you know as much about this war as I do, so there is no need to go into that subject, besides I dislike it immensely . . . I think I'll go on a toot when I get home. I'm going to get so tight that I'll squeak when I walk. What do you think of that? . . . 

On 12 March, his unit was transferred up the New Guinea coast to Nadzab (see map).

March 17, 1944
. . We've been completing our missions with little opposition for some time. If this keeps up, no telling how soon the Japs will bail. They're still a tough customer and hard to deal with . . . If the post-war loan is voted in for the overseas soldier . . . We could get a nice home, here's hoping. . . .
[As mentioned earlier, Dad was a tail gunner. The B-24 bomber was a long-distance bomber that flew sorties in groups.  P-38 fighter planes would accompany the sortie part of the way, but didn't have enough fuel to go the distance, and would have to turn back to base. It was then that Japanese zeros came at the bombers. I never asked how many times his plane was attacked. Still a child, I asked, "How many zeros did you shoot down?" He answered that he knew he shot down one, and perhaps two. Gunners on other ships were firing, too.]

April 24, 1944
. . It's a little fantastic . . . what [your letters] can do for a person here in the jungle, and in the blue battlefield . . . the thought of your last letter would boost my courage, then I would have more confidence in myself . . . I'm getting so lonesome for you and your letters, I'm really getting scared to fly. Just think, it'll be a year the 22nd of May that I've been in combat . . . My nerves are beginning to crack. But I can't quit; that would prolong my stay in this God forsaken land, and I want to get home to you, Darling, as soon as I can. I've got 46 missions over enemy targets, with 265 flying combat hours. The goal is 300 hours. I hope to finish in 7 more missions, then I'll be coming home. I was sent to Australia on furlough for my own good. I was sure glad to get away from combat for the 12 days that I was gone . . . I guess it will be May by the time this letter gets to you. Spokane in the springtime with its sweet fragrant smell of flowers everywhere. How I wish I were there to take in some beauty for a change . . . I'm lucky to hold the pen somewhat steady . . . .

She wrote an undated letter toward the end of May when the lilacs were in bloom
. . I'm so very happy you got a furlough to Australia. You needed a rest so terribly much.  I'm sure you feel much much better now, don't you? What did you do there? Did you go again to the races and boat riding and dancing? Sounds fun, huh. Bet that is what you really needed - fun, relaxation, and next to home there isn't a better place than Australia - or so I've heard. . . You should see our Victory garden. It's really funny - but nice. The beans and hollyhocks are growing together - and the pansies and onions - and larkspurs and peas. Dad and his artistic ideas. . . Each time you're up there, you're not up there alone with the enemy. He is up there with you. God will never leave you. Pray often and remember that this madness cannot last forever. There will be a turning point . . . You're strong, Al. You can face it. You've shown magnificent courage in [the] face of physical danger, that I know. Don't let this invisible danger threaten your strength. Fight it - and you'll overcome it. Believe me, Darling, you're not a weakling - you're brave and strong - you won't fail - I know you too well. So, carry on, Darling, and remember my prayers are behind you, fighting with you . . . .

Dad had hoped to come home when he reached 300 hours of combat flight time, but because there was a shortage of combat replacement personnel - Europe was the main focus now - he was held for four more missions, 340 hours on 55 missions.

Dad's compass, his silver bomber wings, a water-proof nickel match container, and his leather log book that fit in his pocket.

Dad's log book, showing target, date, flight time, accumulated hours, and mission number

May 30, 1944
. . Altho I haven't heard from you for some time, I feel it my duty to write and let your know how I'm getting along. . . We're pushing the Japs back as best we can. I'm sure they're beginning to understand that they're no longer an unbeatable race . . . Between the food, heat and flying conditions, I endeavor to keep in as good shape as possible, although getting "skinny in Guinea" is far from being perfect. Not long ago a few of us went boar hunting, found two, killed same. What a delicious dish they made. Not that we were versed in the art of cooking, but we get along . . .

Had a rather exciting mission the other day. While over the target, an engine was shot out of commission by ack, ack. These Japs are good in that respect. It wasn't my first experience of that kind. At times, I've found myself wishing in time of danger that you were near to give me confidence and support, that I might carry through, what was expected of me. . .

. . I've quit drinking. My improvements are astounding. I can recall the time when I'd felt better dead than alive. I don't know why a person gets to drinking over here, unless it's because of the dangers of war. I've been in a daze ever since my crack-up. It's about time I woke up. [He wrote that he hadn't gotten a letter since the one dated April 4.]

Dad's last 5 missions, from 27 May to 17 June were over the small island of Biak, on the western side of New Guinea, now belonging to Indonesia, a Japanese stronghold honeycombed with caves . In reading about the Battle for Biak, I realized the bombers were dropping bombs close to American forces, probably in the far north part of the island where the main airfield was. HERE

 He didn't write Mom that he was coming home or, if he did, the letter is lost. He didn't fly home, but came by ship (to California, I think).  He crossed the equator on 31 August 1944 on the U.S.Army Transport Cape Flattery.

Mom finally wrote on July 9, 1944. Although I would think he had left New Guinea before it arrived, there is no forwarding address on the envelope.
. . Quite a bit of time has elapsed since [I received your] last letter - Really too much time and I'm almost ashamed to write this. I've been down to California for awhile and time slipped through my fingers terribly fast. I went down to see Paul graduate. [He'd gone back to Merchant Marine School at Alameda for a few months of advanced studies to gain a promotion.] It was really an adventure for me because I have never traveled anywhere alone - but it was fun and I enjoyed myself very much. [If memory serves, she took a bus down and back. A sailor sat with her and fell asleep with his head resting on her shoulder.] But as for California - well, there really aren't any words to tell you my intense dislike of the place. It's much too cold and disagreeable for my liking. . . I was around Frisco, Oakland and Alameda. I really don't know which was the worse, the sand fleas or the cold weather. But, anyhow, I'm back in sunny ole' Spokane and nothing can make me budge . . . 

Again I am about to become an Aunt. Never let it be said that Mary Agnes isn't doing her part towards the future Americans of Tomorrow. Naturally everyone is excited in the family - they have gone so far as to lay bets with each other concerning the sex of the child. Mary wants a girl very much since she has two boys already. Dad bet her a new dress it would be a boy and she bet him a new hat that it's going to be a girl. Honestly, this family. . . Just sort of keep your fingers crossed that everything will turn out alright. That above all is the main thing . . . [It was a boy, John Charbonneau. Mary would get a girl on her eighth try, and afterward have another boy.]

Mary Agnes (Raney) Charbonneau (1921-2003) c1946

. .Our funny old Victory garden has sprouted up swell and all the Raneys are out patting themselves on the back. We're really nothing but an ole' bunch of farmers - which isn't surprising - that's all we were to begin with. . . [There are no additional letters until Dad came home.]

Because they're silk, the ribbons are shredding with age. The most important medals awarded Dad were the Purple Heart (inscribed with his name on back) for shedding blood for his country, and the Air Medal with two oak leaf clusters (blue and orange silk).

In August or early September, Mom and her future bridesmaids, Betty and Monnie, were transferred from Western Union in Spokane to Western Union in Seattle. They roomed at a lovely large Queen Anne home there. When Dad reached Spokane [stationed at Fort George Wright outside Spokane], Mom took time off to travel by train or bus back to Spokane to see him. She told me years later she'd tried to break off their engagement, realizing that Dad had changed and she hadn't really known him very well to begin with. But he broke down in tears and she lost her resolve. They set a wedding date for November 20th.

Dad soon after returning home

Back in Seattle at the end of September, she wrote:
. . H'lo Man O' my Heart - How can I write this letter - my heart won't be in it - I left it home with you - what a temptation it was not to turn and run back into your arms - But - I didn't, unfortunately. Right now it's five to three (in the morning, not afternoon) We three are writing letters to our "men" - those dear kids. They wouldn't leave me alone until I told them everything from the minute I saw you until I left you. . . I'm still up in the clouds - I have a funny feeling I'm going to stay up there a long long time.

Everything went very smoothly at the office - they were grand about it. I was prepared for the worst. But I'm still very much alive. [She must have left Seattle as soon as she got a phone call - maybe on her day off.] . . . Know what is on the radio now? It Had to Be You - that's so right. Know how it goes? "It had to be you - it had to be you - I wandered around and finally found - Somebody who - could make me be true - And even be glad - just to be sad - thinking of you - Some others I've seen - might never be mean, might never be cross - try to be boss - but they wouldn't do - Nobody else gives me a thrill - For all your faults I love you still - It had to be you - wonderful you - It had to be you." See how right that song is, Al. It always was - it always will be you. I love you - I love you. . . .

It appears he went over to see her in Seattle in early October, for she wrote October 7, 1944:
. . [H]ow terribly lost I feel without you - tonight without thinking my eyes went to the curb. I knew you wouldn't be there - and yet the disappointment at not finding you waiting there brought tears to my eyes. How much do I miss you? So very much . . . I can't quite believe that next month we'll be married. . . I just took my nightly shower - now I'll go jump in my bed and dream of you. Hey - you'd better be there in my dreams waiting for me or you'll be sorry - Yes, you will . . . .

One of a series of "glamor" photographs Dad took of Mom a few days before their marriage

And so, they were married on November 20, 1944. The month was beautiful until Mom's wedding day, when it poured down rain. Years later she mused that she should have known it was an omen. I wish I could say that they had a happy marriage . . .  I wrote a bio-fictional account of Mom's fortitude in her turbulent marriage with my mentally ill father in  A Devil Singing Small on Amazon (free on Kindle if you have Prime; also in paperback).

November 20, 1944

Afterword: Mom stayed by Dad's side for 50 years. He died a month shy of that anniversary. The day of Dad's graveside service in the autumn of 1994, my son Donovan drove her to Holy Cross Cemetery in Spokane. As they approached the cemetery gates, from the car radio came a rendition of "It Had to Be You." Need I say more. The original Dick Haymes and Helen Forrest rendition she listened to in 1944 is HERE (You don't have to sign up, despite what it says)

Dad's hat and Mom's veil