CHAPTER 14

ELMHURST

On August 1st, 1948 the moving van took our stuff. But we had to transport Charles (3), Timmy (20 months) and Billy (3 months) a thousand miles by car in the summer heat to get from Benson, Arizona to East Oakland. Crossing the desert in hot weather with small children had become a scary experience to me, but miraculously the weather cooled off by the time we reached Needles. We had been paid in advance while we were in Benson so there was no "terminal pay"; the grocery store was a credit operation, so that bill had to be paid. In addition, we had a new car and a new baby, and we moved from a mostly‑furnished parsonage to a non‑furnished one. The result was that we were rich in family, but broke financially. We discovered that the cheap cafes, where we could afford to eat, often had no facilities for small children, but if they had booths we could manage.

At last we arrived in our new home. 1501 98th Avenue, East Oakland, was located on a corner, a short distance from the Elmhurst Presbyterian Church. The moving van would not be there until the next day, but we had lots to do with cleaning up. It took us until nearly 2 p.m. to take a lunch break. Clad in my oldest working jeans, I was pretty dishevelled by that time, but we bundled the kids in the car and went around the corner on East 14th Street to the nearest hole‑in‑the‑wall cafe. Leaving Bob and the boys in the car, I jumped out, stuck my head in the doorway and asked the waitress behind the counter, "Do you have booths?"

"Naw, but we got beer," she said. I was so tickled at this charming introduction to our new parish that I ran back to the car laughing to Bob that we just HAD to eat there. I've tried to pronounce "booths" more carefully ever since. They DID have booths and we tried to act very sober.

Next day Maja took the children while we went back to our empty house to greet the moving van. Betty DeWolf came to help us, and she was as astonished as we were to discover "our" kitchen already crowded with young women from the church. They were having a kaffee‑klatch and were there to "help" us unpack. And they did! They even unpacked things I had intended to store (like clothes Tim had outgrown that would be good for Bill). I was glad we didn't have any guilty secrets. Betty was outraged, and I had to soothe her feelings while acting appreciative of the good intentions of the church women. They had also brought food for a picnic lunch. At a couples' club party the next night, we were introduced, and I was called on to say a few words. After I thanked the women for their help, Bert Langdon, one of the husbands, muttered loudly, "Just nosy..." At which there was so much laughter that it was obvious there was some truth in his crack.

A large palm tree had to be removed from the front of the church. So on one of our first Saturdays, Bob went over to help the men dig it out. Somehow or other he got a bad wound from a mattock blow to his ankle. He was given a tetanus shot, and we thought that was the end of it. The following week he was to be formally installed at the church with all the dignitaries of the Presbytery present. By that time the horse serum used for the tetanus shot was taking effect, and he was barely able to stagger through the service. The next morning when we went to the doctor, he had to lean on my arm like a man of 90. He was suffering what seemed like lockjaw itself. And he was told NEVER to allow himself to be given horse serum in the future.

Elmhurst was a congregation composed largely of bus drivers, school custodians and other fairly humble professions. However, there were a few well educated members too. And as usual Bob was able to draw in more. In fact the church was growing by leaps and bounds in spite of problems of a disintegrating neighborhood. I didn't have much time for thinking of sociological or political problems those years ‑‑ I was too immersed in being a wife and mother and also taking my part in the church life. Many of the church meetings were held at our home, which meant bundling the children to bed after supper and making refreshments, in addition to making the house presentable. I didn't mind this because it seemed important, and I felt as if I was part of a partnership with my husband.

It did bother me somewhat that the custodian mentality tended to value you on the basis of whether your corners were dusted rather than what was in your head. I remember Mrs. Rhines, the chairman of our Board of Trustees, calling on me. She made a bee line for the kitchen, ran her finger over the top of the new stove and remarked how nice it was, "I hope you'll keep it that clean..." Then she turned and closed two of my gaping cupboard doors, "We CLOSE our cupboard doors." Thank heaven I thought it was funny! She was a character anyway. When her husband retired, she presented him with enough money to buy a house. She had saved it through the years out of her housekeeping money and had never divulged her secret. I thought how impossible such secrecy would have been in our family ‑‑ there were entirely too many crises where concealing funds that we could legitimately draw upon would have been practically criminal!

Mrs. Rhines taught me one thing. She was a stickler for paying the benevolences before any other obligation of the church. When I was worried for fear that they wouldn't be able to pay Bob's salary, I wasn't too keen on her point of view. But I came to see that she was right. We never had any trouble financially. Having felt relatively poor as a child in the First Presbyterian Church of Englewood, I had to learn to take a more responsible attitude toward how a church meets its challenges.

Through the ministerial association we met several Methodist couples. Dick and Elizabeth Stein ‑‑ (Dick shared a religious radio news program with Bob for a while), Bob and Leone Sanford whose two sons were near the age of ours, and Dodds and Millie Bunch. Dodds became interested in my collection of Christian art reproductions and offered to make slides of them if I would write the narration. This seemed tremendously innovative and technically advanced at the time, and we worked hard on the project. I was asked to teach six sessions on Christian Art in the International Religious Education program at Berkeley, and that seemed very important to me. I was able to use the slides we had made.

Looking back I realize that I was doing everything under a great deal of pressure, just trying to keep clean diapers on three (soon four) little boys (no Pampers!), plus music and reading and other activities for all of them. I couldn't admit that I wasn't able to do it all.

The manse had seemed big enough when we moved in. But after two years, four growing little boys in one bedroom was a tight fit. The church wanted to build an addition onto the house. But when there were a couple of dissenting votes, Bob began to look for greener pastures. He didn't like the idea of making the church put money into a house on our behalf. I'm sure he was concerned for me, and I was too immersed in surviving to be very objective. When he announced his decision to accept the church in Dunsmuir, there was general dismay. Bob underestimated how popular he was and how much he had done for the church. But the decision had been made. They gave us a wonderful send off. I'm sure neither one of us realized that we had irrevocably cut our ties with the Presbyterian Church.

The next thirteen years, seven at Dunsmuir (1950‑57) and six at Hanford (1957‑1963) were crucial years for raising our family. I have wanted to write about these years because I am very much aware that, in the context of the Women's Liberation Movement, I would be considered slightly crazy to have subordinated so many years to raising a family. What could or should I have done instead? This is the sort of question that is not dealt with satisfactorily.

In the first place, I enjoyed what I was doing. I felt very proud of my husband and proud of myself too. I never felt that I was relegated to a subservient position or questioned the importance of what I was doing. I didn't have fancy clothes. We certainly couldn't afford to "eat out". I had to economize in all sorts of ways to make ends meet on $2400 a year in Elmhurst moving upt to $3000 by the time we moved to Dunsmuir and $5100 at Hanford. By the time I started teaching in 1953 in Dunsmuir, we were both glad that I could add wome money to ease the strain.

But it still never occurred to me to question that our family came way ahead of my job in my priorities. To me part of growing up consists in the realization that our lives are limited, and we each have a responsibility to the next generation‑‑whether we fulfill that through parenting or other means. I find myself wondering about the whole principle of a career as an end in itself. Certainly money isn't satisfactory as a primary goal. And "careers" may sound glamorous and challenging, but I've never had an outside job that was remotely as challenging as raising a family.

I find the bottom line for me was put succinctly by Katherine Hepburn said, "You can't have it all." Women just have to choose. It will never by easy. But men have to choose too. I enjoyed the feeling that my job was a means and not an end in itself. The money helped but I didn't feel the pressure that some young couples do to live in a competitive upwardly mobile environment.

After 52 years of marriage, including raising our five sons, I can say that I have never had a single year without ample challenge, activity, and intellectual stimulation. I might reproach myself for what I've accomplished, but I don't think that is for us to judge. I'm not sure that what passes for "accomplishments" are all that important anyway.

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