Letters From Geo, Part 2

Background Information: George and Hilma got married on May 16, 1927, after the somewhat precarious courtship you read about in “Oceans of Love”. They were married in Chicago and spent (in Hilma’s words) a fabulous honeymoon at Lake Geneva and seeing the sights in the big city.

Hilma is pictured here in 1927 at Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. To my knowledge, there are no photos of their wedding, and this is the only one I’ve ever seen from their honeymoon. It’s from a book of memoirs that Hilma had written at different times in her life. After their marriage they lived in a “cute little apartment” in Chicago and Geo worked as a battery repairman in an auto shop.

Before they had been married a year, George suffered a ruptured appendix and was hospitalized for two months. In Hilma’s memoirs, she wrote that he was not expected to live. I can’t imagine how she must have felt, as a newlywed in the big city and expecting her first child in a few short months. She wrote that Geo had no sooner gotten out of the hospital when it was her turn to go in.

On June 1, 1928, their first daughter, aptly named June, was born. Several months later they moved back to Minnesota to stay with Geo’s family on their farm. Life on the Anderson farm was not pleasant for Hilma, due in no small part to a culture clash between Swedes and Danes. Eventually they moved to Crookston, Minnesota, where, in 1933, my mother, Joan, was born.

George and Hilma with their two daughters, in June of 1938. At this time, they were running the “Rest-A-Nite Tourist Camp” and Texaco station.

I’m not sure how long they had the tourist camp, but in 1942, George suffered a heart attack. It was his second since 1939, according to Hilma’s writings. Based on the postmarks on the letters I have, he was at the veterans’ hospital in Fargo, North Dakota for at least two months.

This is where “Letters from Geo, Part 2” actually begins.

The first letter I have was postmarked on September 15, 1942. In it, George writes about getting blood tests and not having the slightest idea how long he would be there. He also describes a show that some of the “inmates” of the hospital had been taken to the day before. It was a war bonds rally, complete with celebrity entertainment.

George wrote: “Yesterday they took a bunch of us that are up on our feet up town to the arena to the bond sale. We got [a] free special bus and free tickets to get in. There was two movie actors and one radio star there. It was Richard Marlen and Peggy Diggens or Dickens or something. The radio singer was Dotty Cart something, something like Cartwright, but I don’t think that was the name either.“

He went on to say that Ken Kennedy, a radio personality from station WDAY in Fargo, stole the show and was better than all the other actors. He also wrote that they heard “the Elaine or Delaine Sisters, the Ditto Sisters I think they call them,” adding that “some of the boys were rather insulted, the Fargo paper stated that the inmates of the Vets Hospital would be given tickets for the program.”

This news article, taken from the Fargo Forum, was included with the letter. The celebrities George saw were Peggy O’Malley Diggins, Richard Arlen, and Dottie Cordray. Whether he was being facetious about not knowing the correct names of the performers, or whether he was just that disinterested in the Hollywood scene, we’ll never know. 

Never having heard of any of these people, I resorted to Newspapers.com. The “Elaine or Delaine Sisters” turned out to be the “Lane Sisters”, who had appeared in the motion pictures “The Four Daughters” in 1939. The article on the right was published on Thursday, September 10, 1942, in advance of the show in Bismark.

Nearly 5,000 people were at the presentation George attended the next day. (I do think it’s too bad he didn’t get to see Laurel and Hardy, though.) Ken Kennedy, pictured above in 1939, apparently acted as M.C. for a variety of Fargo activities in the 30s and 40s.

In the next letter, postmarked two days later on September 17, George describes having some extensive dental work, which ultimately involved having no fewer than eleven teeth pulled. This is the first indication we have that Geo was not above a bit of exaggeration, doubtless for the benefit of his two young daughters. He writes that the tooth he had pulled that day was worse than the four from the day before. “The dentist put his foot on my chest and pulled with both hands, but couldn’t get it, so the nurse (about 200 lb) put her arms around Doc’s belly from behind, and pulled him, then it come and they both sat smack down on the floor, the doctor on top of the nurse.”

He finishes with “I got six more to pull. I was just upstairs to the kidney doctor and he gave me a going over. I’ve had 3 Doctors and Dentist work on me so far.”

By October 5, George was learning to get along without teeth, while waiting for his dentures to be made. “One day I forgot I was toothless,” he wrote, “and bought an ice cream cone, I had an awful time to get that down. Today for dinner we had soup of course and mashed potatoes & gravy and chicken and peas and ice cream and coffee.”

In a letter postmarked the next day, Geo was still thinking about his false teeth. “Guess I look pretty goofy without teeth,” he wrote. “I imagine I’ll get teeth about the middle of Nov. maybe. Some of the guys get along fine with theirs and other got an awful time to get used to them. One fellow used to take his out when he got to the table.”

In the same letter, George mentions a card party that was to take place the following day. “Tomorrow the Legion Auxiliary is coming out here for a card party. I wouldn’t dare to try to play with them tho. I can’t play good enough for that, and I feel that I must look awfully goofy without teeth, I can’t even talk plain.”

In the last letter I have that he sent from Fargo, North Dakota, postmarked October 10, 1942, George writes about more hospital entertainment. “Went down to the show last night, was real good. They put on real good shows here and they are free too, that’s where I have it over you. I took a paralyzed fellow along down. I never saw him at the show before. I think he appreciated getting away from his room for a little while. You could just see his face brighten up when I asked him if he wanted to go down.”

The description continues with a glimpse into a tenderheartedness that might otherwise have gone unnoticed by those of us who never knew him. “I guess I am pretty much chicken hearted, it hurts me to see these helpless fellows laying around here. I can’t help but be thankful that I am still on my feet.” In the next paragraph we find out a bit about his prognosis. “The Doctor told me my Xray showed up favorably and my heart action on the electric chair show[s] some improvement. Well that’s some encouragement.” (I’m still searching for a photo of a 1940s era heart monitor in use, but by George’s description we can imagine what it was like!)

George ends his letter by recommending a book for Hilma to read. “I’m reading a book ‘The folly of installment buying.’ It’s worth reading, you should ask for it at the library and read it. Can’t think of anything to write, only hope you’re getting [along] alright.

As Ever, Geo.”

Note: This does not conclude our “Letters From Geo” series. The next set of letters, dating from 1943 to 1944, describe George’s time away from home as a defense plant worker during the second world war. So stay tuned for Part 3!