CHAPTER 19

HANFORD

The seven years at Dunsmuir had been rich in mountain scenery, adventures in snow and hiking, picnics by the clear Sacramento, etc. They were years of growth for all of us. I got my teaching credential and supplemented our income through teaching full time at 4th and 5th grades. Bob was successful in making the Dunsmuir Church grow to the point where they could plan a new building.

When it came time to move it was quite traumatic for the boys. We had been sworn to secrecy by the District Superintendent who appointed us to Hanford, but while we were at Annual Conference and the boys were parceled out among friends, the word leaked out and they felt betrayed.

Hanford, the county seat of Kings County, was bigger. It was flat, rich farmland with a beauty all its own. And the parsonage was a definite improvement over what we had left behind. There was plenty to do to get established. It was a promotion for Bob. But we had been naive in our estimate of how the Methodist salary scale worked. We soon discovered that his predecessor, Harry Shaner, was getting more than Bob, though Bob was doing a much better job, and the Shaners had only one child to support. Besides, I was entering in to the church program and calling in a way Harry's wife had never done. So we decided to go up to Fresno to see the District Superintendent, Dr. Carl Stocking. When Bob asked about what seemed like an inequity, Dr. Stocking said, "Well we didn't want to give you too much of a raise at once." Then Bob pointed out that if we had stayed in Dunsmuir, I would have received a larger salary than he did. Then Carl said, "Oh, if we had known that we could have paid you more..." We learned a hard lesson.

However, because Bob wasn't looking out for his own welfare ahead of anything else, he was always very much appreciated. And it was fun through the years to serve church after church that felt grateful for our presence rather than wanting to ease us out of the picture.

Hanford opened new doors for us. The boys adapted quickly to their new school situations except for Charles who entered the 7th Grade and ran into a tight clique that had been together for many years. I didn't recognize this at first. They were the smartest kids in the school and they saw Charles as too smart, and competition was inevitable. In addition Charles got a paper route where the tough kids prevailed. A parent never knows all that goes on. From my perspective I was trying to encourage Charles to be strong, so when he would come home from school outraged by the persecution he was receiving, I would give him scant sympathy. I usually would say something like, "Charles, when you can't get along with people it's because you are part of the problem. If you'll act nice, they'll act nice..." This went on until toward the middle of the year. One day when Charles started in and I gave him the usual line, he burst into tears and said, "Mom, all day long I look forward to coming home because I hate school so much. If you yell at me I just can't stand it." I suddenly realized that there was more to it than I thought.

Later we learned from Larry Jaffa, one of his teachers, that Charles was right about what had been going on. Also, the principal, "Hoot" Gibson, had the philosophy that if any kids got into a fight, they would both be punished. He would not listen to either side but would assume equal blame. Of course this simply played into the hands of the tough kids who didn't care whether they were expelled or not. But painful as it was, Charles and the other boys had to learn what the world was like. And I think that after I became more understanding it was more bearable for him.

The boys were popular at the church. We lived next door and since there were no other immediate neighbors, the first summer was pretty boring except for wonderful afternoon swims at the Harold Griswolds' pool, four miles out of town and set in a walnut orchard. I organized a sort of summer‑school to keep the boys busy mornings. I got some typing books and set two to work at that while the others were to study other things. It worked fairly well. Feeling frustrated at the lack of neighbors for them to play with, I remember remarking to Bob at one point, "I can understand why Cain killed Abel ‑‑ it was probably because they had no one else to play with."

Taffy, the beautiful cocker spaniel that the Wrights had given us, provided a lot of fun. Bill had built her an elegant doghouse with the help of Bob Dewey before we left Dunsmuir, and later the boys put in "wall‑to‑wall" carpeting. The neighbors all told me that they would watch out of the windows to see our boys, on their rollerskates, being pulled around the block by Taffy. After the steep hills of Dunsmuir, the flat country terrain was ideal for rollerskating and bicycling. And Taffy would take them at unbelievable speeds, as one after another held on to the leash behind her. When she got tired she would simply lie down and the game was over.

Our vacations from Dunsmuir had been spent largely camping at State Parks and National Parks and now we had access to new places, particularly Sequoia National Park. The first Sunday we camped there, Dr. Stocking was preaching. He took off on the popular Loretta Young show about a woman who plays the psychologist's game of "Who are you?" The object was to answer the first three things that came into your head, like your name, or your occupation, etc. During the play Loretta Young comes to see that her most important identity is as "a child of God". Carl developed the theme well, and, after the service was over, the boys got into the car with me while we waited for Bob to pass the time of day with his district superintendent.

For the fun of it I turned to the boys and said, "Why don't we play that game? Remember, just what comes into your head first ‑‑ Charles, who are you?"

Charles: I'm Charles DeWolf. I'm in the 7th Grade. I play he clarinet.

So I went from one boy to the next, and each answered in a similar style until I came to David. "All right, David, and who are you..."

David (looking proud that he had gotten the point of the sermon, and in a good loud voice): I'm the Son of God..."

Of course we all laughed.

David managed to hold his own amazingly well considering that there was a natural tendency for his three older brothers to tease. One day they were teasing him about being adopted. "You don't even look like the rest of us," was the final taunt. I wasn't sure whether the teasing was getting him upset or not, so I sat down on the couch next to David, put my arm around his shoulder and said, "David, do you want me to prove to you that you're not adopted?"

He mumbled permission and I said, "Once upon a time there was a mother who had a little boy three years old, and a little boy two years old, and a little boy one year old ‑‑ now do you think she would adopt another little boy?" David giggled and seemed perfectly content with my answer.

Bill had established himself as an exceptionally fair‑minded youngster whose judgment was respected by his older brothers and his teachers and parents as well. Even as a little boy playing with Kirk Cravens in Dunsmuir, I remember Kirk's mother telling me about how Bill cured Kirk of cheating. She had watched the boys playing a card game and overheard Bill repeatedly, but quietly, telling Kirk to stop cheating. Finally Bill said, "Kirk, if you cheat one more time, I'm going home." And that is just what he did. He laid his cards down firmly and walked out. She was amused, but she also said that it had a profound effect on her son. When Bill was elected president of his class in the sixth grade, his teacher told me that he ought to enter the diplomatic service. He was not only smart, but exceptionally well‑balanced and able to perceive what the needs of the people around him were. The teacher said he considered that was what true leadership consisted of.

Tim had a hard act to follow because Charles's style was so special. Because he performed in a more low key way, sometimes his teachers underestimated him at first. But then they would be even more enthusiastic when they realized that he was just as smart in his own way. When Tim evidenced interest in the ukelele his Uncle Dick DeWolf was playing, we encouraged him to take guitar lessons. I don't know how much good the lessons did, but he was soon following his own inner perception of sound. Our young Junior Choir director, Donna Anderson, quickly recognized it when she asked Tim to conduct. "He knows where the music is going," she said. I would have liked him to play folk music or classical guitar, but I learned that he was off to follow his own drummer. He grew up with the Kingston Trio, The Limelighters and went way beyond me. He also developed a dead pan humor that was delightful but hard to quote.

At a meeting to plan a scout expedition, the scoutleader, Larry Jaffa, decided to crack down. He had warned the boys that if there were infractions at the meeting, they would not be allowed to go. Leonard and Lester Brothers were twins and classmates of Charles. When Charles and Tim came home, I learned that Charles and Leonard had broken the rules (I forget how) and were therefore ineligible. I was furious. Larry was notorious for lax discipline and I considered this a quixotic decision and probably somewhat unfair. Besides, it would create a lot of tension in both families, with one brother left home and one allowed to go. However, I swallowed my feelings. I had to learn not to go to bat for my children.

It was a three day outing in the Sierras and as luck would have it, the scouts who went camped in cold, unrelenting rain the whole time. I remember Tim and Leonard came home, looking like drowned rats, their sleeping bags soaked, their clothes and everything they owned smelling like smoke and stale bacon grease.

Meanwhile Leonard and Charles had spent a snug weekend, watching television and enjoying other comforts. Some punishment!

These were the years when we developed a family orchestra. We were never a great prize musically, but I think it at least taught Tim that the hardest part of putting any musical group together was to blend personalities. I would either play the piano or cello, Charles the clarinet or cello, Tim the flute or guitar, Bill, the clarinet or violin, David the cornet, French horn, or piano, and Bob the flute or guitar. I always felt that if I had been a better musician it would have been more successful, but it was fun.

The pressure to expand the church facilities forced us to think about moving so that an educational unit could be built where the parsonage stood. I suffered more over the discussion of where we should move to than almost anything I can remember. Some felt we should put the church heavily in debt and build or buy a grand house. Others thought that the Douty Street house, though old fashioned, was spacious and relatively inexpensive, $13,000. We favored the latter though it had obvious drawbacks like high ceilings, uneven floors and only one bathroom. But it had lots of charm and a grand big yard. And the church would be better off financially we felt. We were criticized because of our opinion, but if we had chosen the opposite side we would have been criticized too. Anyway, I always liked the house we lived in. I could walk to the high school more easily and that was where I was doing most of my substitute teaching.

The boys never complained about my teaching. I think they knew that I was doing it to help out. I was proud of them and they seemed to be proud of me. I soon learned to like high school teaching better than elementary. I liked the challenge of learning new things and trying to keep ahead of a class even though it was not my field. By hindsight I realize that I might have done better to hold out for full‑time teaching rather than the haphazard life of a substitute, but I was grateful for a job that I could leave behind me and focus on the homefront.

During these years I was grateful for all the special adults who had a place in our sons' lives, our friends like the Deweys, the Wrights and the Griswolds; special teachers like Wes Nichols; and above all our mothers. Maja and Bobby both made significant contributions, encouraging us and appreciating each boy in special ways. Maja gave us money to encourage their music lessons. Bobby often suggested a new book or a new piece of music. And it was always fun to visit in Berkeley. Aunt Alice was another significant person for the boys. She made me feel as if she loved them as much as her own grandchildren.

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