First home

(1930 June)
You walked up a flight of stairs [to get to our Oakland Avenue apartment], turned to the right and there was our front (and only) door.  Straight ahead was the coat closet, to the right the bath and bedroom.  But on the right [sic] the living room, dinette, and beyond the small kitchen. Outside, opposite the front door, was a noisy street-car barn, on either side another apartment as close as the law allowed.  In the back, a small yard with a clothesline, always up. Across the hall I found agreeable neighbors, Peggy, getting a divorce, and her mother, always ready for a gossip.

Furnishing

(1930 June)
So, after picking out our furniture, choosing living room and dining room draperies to go with the Chinese rug, the place [on Oakland Avenue] began to look pretty good.

Transition

(1930 June)
I had just wound up a year of school teaching, finishing local and state reports.  Then Lorin came with the car and there was a great moving of all my possessions, clothes and books to my Fond du Lac home.  After a week or so, I was invited to the Kay home [in Milwaukee] to go apartment hunting.  I believe by the time I got there Vina [Lorin's step-mother] had already secured an apartment on the second floor of a two-story building on Oakland Avenue.

Antigo

(1930 June)
We washed up and went out to eat.  I am sure we had the best to be had, as Lorin was fond of his food.  The town was bleak and bare, its shops closed for the night.  So we took a little walk, leisurely, enjoyed the pretty yards and flowerbeds.  Families sat on porches watching us, strangers.  I was afraid to say how tired I was and tried to be good company.

Hotel

(1930 June)
It was about supper time as we came to the next town, spotted the only hotel, and decided to spend the night.  Was it Antiack?  It may well have been [but probably was Antigo].  Hotels in the northern part of the state do not present a very grand appearance. This one was poor and bare.  If there were carpets, they had been there a long, long time.  We stood alone in the entrance, rang a bell on the desk, and waited.  A man came from the back, sleeves rolled up, surprised we wanted a room.  After we checked in, he carried our cases up.

Another flat

(1930 June)
"If you want to stop at any of these places, let me know," he said as we whisked swiftly past lakes and lodges.  "Hell," he said, "there goes another tire."  He stopped the car to take off the tire.  A young officer came along on his motorcycle.  "Why are you stopping in the road?" he asked sternly.  "Officer, what could I do?"  And Lorin put his hand through the hole in the tire.  "OK.  OK.  But get it off the road."  "Yes sir."  And we got underway once more, with a few crude remarks about how Vina kept her car.

Wedding dess

(1930 June)
So we did [get the tire fixed], being a remarkable couple at an oil station.  I was wearing a pale blue silk dress, Lorin's favorite color -- "What other colors are there?"  It had a fitted bodice and full skirt made with gathered 7-inch sections.  The sleeves were short and puffed, the neck low and boat shaped.  My hat was of finest straw, poke bonnet effect, in matching blue and a little peak somewhere.  Lorin's beautiful dark simply-cut summer suit with gray tie did him credit.  No wonder people stared at us on the street.

First flat

(1930 June)
Somewhere on a country highway, the car started to bump.  Lorin smothered an oath, got out, took off his jacket, and remarked we had a flat.  It surprised me that he knew exactly what to do tho it wasn't his car, nor did he have one.  I was to find out as time went by he knew a great many things.  I have remarked his aversion to labor; this dislike showed plainly as he at last got the spare on and tossed the flat in the trunk.  "That's done," I said.  "Not quite.  We still have to get it fixed."

Honeymoon

(1930 June)
I am telling you, Lorin became a lawyer; after Ripon he went on to graduate from UW law school and married me.  After we were married in June on Flag Day [at Green Lake], we headed north in his stepmother's car, borrowed for the occasion.  Northern Wisconsin was our goal and the sooner the better, as both of us were dog tired.

Lorin's character

"1980 MEMOIRS" ENDS HERE.
"EARLY MARRIED LIFE" IS A SUPPLEMENT (also from 1980s)

(Married life)
If I hadn't been as big a fool in love as any schoolgirl (which indeed I was) I should have figured out Lorin's character while we were still at Ripon.  Basically, he was a person who liked creature comforts, loved his God and home, disliked physical labor and so chose to live by his wits.

Ghost writer

(1980 memoirs)
In the spring we were taking a walk and talking about some graduation exercises.  "What did you think of so-and-so's address?" Lorin wanted to know.  "Well," I said, "I thot it was very very good, especially for him.  I never thot he was capable of talking so well, let alone writing up a speech like that."  Then a teasing smile came over Lorin's face.  "He didn't."  "What?"  "I wrote it for him."  It was only then that I recalled the speaker a day or two ago running across the campus toward Merriman Hall shouting for "Kay!"  So he must have been fairly well known for this art.

Tutorial

Much later I asked Lorin about how it happened he seemed to be so capable along these lines [organizing parties] -- news to me -- and he said it was because of his home life.  His parents always had lovely parties, and he heard them talking about arrangements, etc.  A smart lad in many ways.

Always good

(1980 memoirs)
The fraternity brother explained:  "Kay?  Say, he may not go himself, but he sure knows how to get it ready.  He hires the hall, the band, arranges for the eats.  And everything is always good!"

Social director

(1980 memoirs)
Before I knew Lorin well, knew him just as a serious, solemn boy, I used to read published lists of officers etc. from the various dorms.  Merriman frequently had him as "Social Director" or some such title.  I asked one of the fellows about it one time -- how Lorin could fill that office when he was far from social, never had a date of any kind.

Know-how

(1980 memoirs)
Lorin had quite a bit of "know-how" about how many, many things should be done (I noticed especially years later when I heard him talking to contracters and carpenters building onto our house), yet he was not very good at manual skills.

wrong way

(1980 memoirs)
Then one spring day, or week-end, we were at a Merriman [fraternity] house party, on Green Lake I think it was.  People were doing this and that on the afternoon.  Seeing an idle row boat, he asked me if I'd like to go for a ride.  I said sure and got in.  He got in too, took the oars, pushed off, and started rowing backwards!  I was dumbfounded.  A couple of his pals on shore were highly amused!  I said, before thinking, "Don't you even know how to row?"  He was laughing too and soon started pulling the right way and we had a nice row.  I often think of little things like that.

Eagle scout

(1980 memoirs)
Lorin was an Eagle Scout and often referred to it, his camp on Silver Lake and all the rest.  One time he told me about how he and another boy rowed across the lake every day for mail and supplies.

Hopeles

(1980 memoirs)
Alfred, Lorin's father, took him to a country club, possibly Tripoli, put him in the hands of a teacher [to learn sports].  What happened exactly he would never say except only now and then in a scathing remark.  Yet we would love going to a UW football game and dance afterward.  And he would often tune into a game Saturday afternoon on the radio to hear as he was stamping.

No sport

(1980 memoirs)
As we were more and more together, I learned to understand what he was really like.  Now and then he would say someting desparaging about sports -- "spending your life chasing a little ball around."  I was dimly puzzled, having gone with a couple of football players a little.  Gradually I got to learn he was no good at outdoor games.

Leaving Ripon

(1980 memoirs)
I was a year ahead of Lorin but we both left Ripon together.  He then went to Wisconsin studying law and taking extra work to finish out his degree at Ripon.  [After doing graduate work in English at Madison for a year] I went up north to teach in a high school for two years, then got a job nearer Madison until school let out and we were married in June 1930.

Halloween

(1980 memoirs)
This [social whirl] went on for two years until in my Junior Year I started going with Lorin.  On Halloween, after a movie, I think, he asked me to marry him.  We got engaged first and became acquainted later.  From then on all we cared about was being together.  We went to parties, movies, walks, and wrote for the school paper, as far as I recall the only class we had together.

Frat party

(1980 memoirs)
[At Ripon] I went to house parties with various boys, all-day boat rides on a big boat, out-of-town frat parties-- realy a bash.  I still recall one where we all joined hands in a big circle, danced around, singing "Three Blind Mice" and other ditties -- the dance hall was dimly lit, balloons and streamers hung from the ceiling, the music was good and it was fun.

Keep on trucking

(1980 memoirs)
To this day I get more of a real thrill from riding in a truck than in any posh car.  I have ridden in the electrician's truck, oil truck, furniture truck, mover's van, plumber's, -- oh, I don't know -- carpenter's, house painter's -- etc.

Bus ride

(1980 memoirs)
One night when I said I'd go to the movie with Marvin, he called for me with his hotel bus!  I got up [on the driver's seat] with a boost from him and was highly amused!  He sort of took it for granted, though.  We may have done this again, but after that I think his boss caught on and fired him.

Bus driver

(1980 memoirs)
Then there was a nice boy, very dark, black hair, acne complection, white teeth who lived at a Ripon Hotel and drove a bus to the trains regularly.  This was a bus with long bench seats that were fastened to the sides facing each other.  Marvin rode up high outside as if it were a coach with horses.

Cemetery scene

(1980 memoirs)
Of course Harry [the drummer] and I had movie dates, etc.  Sometimes after a movie we'd go to Sanford Cemetery and sit on the tombstones and talk.  He might put his arm around me and say, "Well, I see you have on your cast-iron protector tonight."  I would giggle and say, "Yes."  So then pretty soon we'd walk home!  This went one for a while, and it wasn't too many weeks before we mutually went our separate ways.  Too little in common.

Harry the drummer

(1980 memoirs)
Before I leave off telling you about boys I knew at school, I'll have to tell you about one more, Harry.  He was a small person, a drummer in a school band that played in the gym at least once a week for after-supper dances.  I would walk back to school alone after supper and sit out quite a bit as he was busy.  Sometimes he'd get someone to play for him and we'd dance.  I never really cared for him very much, to tell the truth.