Diggers rolled into the kitchen, opened the oven, removed her dinner, and chewed thoughtfully while she ate. She had her doubts if Dena would ever be able to find a man she would allow herself to love. Right now, the girl was still looking for that daddy she never had. Oh, Lord, thought Elizabeth Diggers, daddies—aren’t they a dangerous lot? If you love them too much they can ruin you for life, or if you hate their guts, it can mess you up. And in Dena’s case, they can mess you up even when they were never there.
Letters Home
San Francisco, California
June 1943
Dear Folks,
I am wishing you were here to see this place. Everything is up and down hills, and they have tons of red streetcars and real Chinese people. It is so funny to see them for the first time, they really do look like their pictures. I am sort of confused about what the difference is between Chinese and Japanese. Never thought I would see either one in person, although I hope when I do meet the Japs in person I can make you proud. We have several guys here from Missouri and some from Kansas. One I had met at a Boy Scout Jamboree once so it is like old home week here. They finally gave me a uniform that fits. They are not used to the corn-fed type, I guess. A couple of the fellows are going to take pictures to send to their folks and I will get one and send it to you. I am sending you some postcard pictures of the Golden Gate and Chinatown. The ocean here is the biggest lake I have ever seen. Ha-ha. We went to a nightclub on top of a hotel and oh boy what a view and I mean the girls here as well, very, very pretty but hard to meet. Too many of us swarming around, I guess. We saw Red Skelton and Esther Williams in person … very, very pretty … her, not him. All the guys in my outfit seem to be good guys except for my sergeant, but as he said to us he doesn’t like us one little bit either so it evens out, but I suspect he really is a pretty good old guy, though, and I wouldn’t mind having him with me when we do get into it for real.
I miss you and will write soon.
Your loving son,
P.F.C. Eugene Nordstrom
San Francisco, California
1943
Dear Folks,
Well, get ready for some big news. Mom, go sit down. Dad, get some smelling salts ready. Here is the big news. I have met the one!!! And I don’t mean maybe and am I in a tailspin. Boy hidy, are my spirits riding high. Have you recovered yet? I am sure you are wanting details so here is the skinny. Bemis, a buddy of mine, had a date with a girl named Faye and I tagged along to pick her up after work. She works at this big ritzy department store here. Bemis and I were standing outside waiting, having a few smokes, when I looked in the window and saw HER. WOW! She was standing behind the perfume counter and I was almost knocked off my rocker. What a beauty. Faye came out and when I asked her who that knockout was she said her name was Marion and that she was not married and did not have a steady, as far as she knew. Faye asked her if she would join us for a drink or something but she said no. Believe me, Mom, this was not a pickup. It took me three weeks just to get a date. This was ten for sure. All the guys are razzing me … saying old wheat check is in love. She gave me a picture of her and all I do all night at the barracks is moon over her picture. All the guys are jealous, you bet. Mom say a prayer for me and keep your fingers crossed. Boy, am I lucky. I am the first soldier she has gone out with and with so many wolves in uniform roaming around this town, I wonder what she saw in me?
Your loving son,
P.F.C. Eugene Nordstrom
P.S. Mom, you will be getting some perfume in the mail from me but SHE picked it out.
San Francisco, California
1943
Dear Folks,
It is 2 am here in the Barracks and I am writing from the big pink cloud I am riding on. I am one happy boy. I know you may think this is fast, but I am no hayseed about this. She is the real goods, the whole shebang, the best there is, THE ONE for me, I know for sure, but here’s the deal. We don’t know when we are being shipped out and I am having to work fast and I need all the help I can get. She says she needs to know more about me and where I came from and all that. I have told her about the two of you and I know she will love you, you two are my ace in the hole. I have told her all about Elmwood Springs and Missouri and how great it is and how much she will love it, but, here’s where I need the help. Mom, I can’t blow my own horn without sounding like a braggart and I knew she would not like that. She has very high standards, so, Mom, if you could help me out I sure would appreciate it, the United States Army would appreciate it because I am not sure what kind of soldier I will make if I don’t get her. I am sending you her address. Could you write her and say how happy you and Dad are that I have met her and that I have told you what a nice girl she is and how I never before had a girl that I loved like I do her and that I am a real nice person, from a real nice family and not just some wolf. Maybe you could mention how popular I was in high school and that I was captain of the basketball team and have my letters in baseball, football, and basketball—I think it might be funny if you sent her my report card, you could pretend it was a joke, but she is very smart and I think it might make a difference. Send the one from when I was a junior and made three A’s. Also any cute pictures of me when I was little. NOT THE BATHTUB ONE!!! You might want to say how proud you were when I became an Eagle Scout—no, scratch that—that’s too corny. She is a very sophisticated person and I don’t think that would impress her, and say that you are looking forward to meeting her. She does not have a family and I think this will mean a lot. I really need your help.
Regards, your loving son,
P.F.C. Eugene Nordstrom
P.S. Mom, would it be too much trouble to send her some of your cookies. Also tell her you liked the perfume a lot. She has elegant taste, don’t you think? One more thing, send a picture of you—any picture will do—so she can see what a beautiful mother I have. Please send this as fast as possible to
Miss Marion Chapman
c/o 1436 Grove Street
San Francisco, California
Three Telegrams
1943
MR. LODOR NORDSTROM SR.
DAD, WRITE AND TELL ME WHAT YOU SAID TO GET MOM TO MARRY YOU.
I NEED POINTERS. DON’T MAKE ANYTHING UP. I AM SERIOUS.
GENE
DEAR WOUNDED BUFFALO SON OF MINE,
THREE WORDS OF ADVICE. TELL THE TRUTH.
DAD
DEAR DAD,
TOOK YOUR ADVICE. I DID. SHE SAID YES. PICK YOURSELF UP OFF THE
FLOOR. PACK YOUR BAGS AND BE READY. WILL WIRE DATE.
GENE
Letter to Mr. and Mrs. Lodor Nordstrom, Sr.
1943
Dear Mother and Dad,
I am so sorry the way things turned out. I wanted so much for you to have been there with me so I could have introduced you to my bride in person. I wish we could have waited but as it was we only had five days with each other before I shipped out. I am sure Marion has written to you by this time and told you about the wedding. It was just a fast courthouse affair, but Bemis and Faye, my sergeant and a few buddies were there so we had some people with us but it was not the wedding I wished I could have given her so I promised her that when I got back we would do it all over again at home, in church, and I plan to get back, believe me, and with Marion waiting for me I know I will, but if for any reason something happens, if I don’t get back, I want you to know that the past weeks she has made your son the happiest guy in the world so please take care of her for me. Her folks are dead and she will need you so much. I know I can count on you and that you will welcome her with open arms that way you have always welcomed all my friends and after a while you might encourage her to try and find some nice guy who will love her. I depend on you to check him out thoroughly for me. I know anything happening is a long shot, but all the guys are making sure to talk about it just in case. I don’t know when I will be able to write to you again so I thought I would say a few things to each of you.
Mom, you are the best mom a guy co
uld have and I thank you for everything you ever did, especially for loving me even when I messed up the house like I did. Dad, you are my best buddy and you always will be and if I am one half the man you are, I will be OK. Off of serious things. I want you guys to be looking around town for a place for us. Maybe not too far from you. Maybe the old Darthsnider place is still for sale, check it out, will you? Pat that stupid flea-bitten old canine of mine for me. I guess I better sign off now. If I sound funny it is only because I am feeling scared and proud at the same time. I am scared because I don’t know where we are being sent but proud as punch that I am one of the guys that is going. Proud that I am standing up for my country.
Your loving son,
Eugene Lodor Nordstrom
One Telegram
Elmwood Springs, Missouri
1944
The regular Western Union messenger had been drafted in 1942, so at age twelve, Macky Warren had taken over his job. Quite a few boys applied but he got the job because there was only one uniform and he had been the one who came closest to fitting into it. Like all boys who had been too young to join up and fight, the idea of wearing a uniform of any kind appealed greatly. It made him feel proud and important to wear it.
Elmwood Springs was one of the few towns that had a lady telegraph operator. Bess Goodnight, whose sister, Ada Goodnight, was the postmistress, was a small woman with a big sense of humor and Macky liked working for her. He liked his job. It was fun, riding his bike all over town. But after the war had gone on for a time, it was not much fun anymore. Although he and Bess never said so, lately, every time the telegraph machine started clicking a message, they both felt a small pang of dread until Bess would nod at him that it was just a plain old telegram and not one from the War Department.
The telegraph office and Miss Alma’s Tea Room were the only two businesses that stayed open on Sunday, and after church Macky would head downtown to work. When lunch hour was over at Miss Alma’s, downtown was quiet and deserted until five o’clock that afternoon, when the movie theater would open up. Today, Macky was sitting at a card table working a picture puzzle of Mount Rushmore with Bess Goodnight and they only had one more piece left to finish up George Washington’s face. The missing piece was right under his nose, but apparently not exactly under it because they had tried about thirty different pieces and so far none fit. Bess was busy searching through the scattered pieces that were left when the clicking started. Bess went over and sat down and started to write as the clicking continued. Maybe because it was Sunday and there was no activity on the street, the clicking sounded particularly loud, almost angry, clacking away its message like it was mad at the world. Macky could tell by the frown that came on Bess’s face that the message coming in was not a good one. Then the clicking stopped abruptly. Bess looked at it. And then she slowly turned her chair around and placed the yellow paper in the large black Royal typewriter and began typing the message.
DEAR MR. AND MRS. LODOR NORDSTROM,
THE WAR DEPARTMENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA REGRETS TO
INFORM YOU THAT YOUR SON, P.F.C. EUGENE ARTHUR NORDSTROM, WAS
KILLED IN ACTION.…
After she finished typing the complete message, she pulled it out of the typewriter. Macky had already gone over and put his hat on and straightened his tie and stood waiting. Bess placed the telegram in an envelope and sealed it and handed it to him.
“Here, son, you’d better take it on over.”
She shook her head sadly, her eyes moist, and said, “I hate this old war.”
Macky looked at the address and knew who it was. He went outside and walked over to his bicycle leaning against the building and climbed on. He wanted to get on and just keep on riding and never come back. Gene Nordstrom had been a boyhood hero of his. A lifeguard at the pool, he had taught Macky how to swim. As he rode, people who had a son or husband overseas saw him and held their breaths until he went on by their house and on down the block. A telegram on Sunday always meant bad news. After that first rush of relief that the telegram had not been for them came the pang of sadness and pity for the family it was addressed to. When Macky pulled up at the Nordstroms’ house, he laid his bicycle down on the lawn and started up the stairs. Gerta Nordstrom was in the kitchen when he knocked. Her husband, Lodor, was in the backyard working on his victory vegetable garden like he did every Sunday afternoon. Gerta called out, “Just a minute …” She was drying her hands on her apron as she came down the hall. When she got close enough to see through the screen door who was standing there, she stopped in her tracks, unable to move another step, afraid to move. In that momentary terror, she thought maybe if she did not open the door, if she did not touch the telegram Macky had in his hand, that maybe the words contained in that small yellow envelope would not be true. She stood, motionless, still holding on to her apron.
Macky saw her and said, “Mrs. Nordstrom … I have a telegram for you.” People up and down the block who had seen him ride by quietly came out on their porches, one by one. The Swensons, their next-door neighbors, had already been outside and when Macky arrived, Mrs. Swenson had put both hands over her mouth. “Oh, no, not Gene—not that sweet boy.”
Her husband said nothing but put his paper down, and got up and walked down the front steps, headed next door. He had gone all the way through school with Lodor and he wanted to be there when the news came. In the meantime Macky stood at the front door not knowing what to do. He knocked softy again. “Telegram for you, Mrs. Nordstrom.”
Looking Through Windows
New York City
1976
Howard Kingsley and Dena’s lunches had become a weekly event and she always looked forward to them. They discussed theater and books and rarely talked about the news business anymore. But as the weeks went by she began to see a weariness that she had not seen before. He never said anything about what was happening at work, but one day as they were having their coffee, he said, “Dena, you know what’s wrong with the new bunch that’s taking over? There’s not an ounce of compassion in the whole lot. They don’t like people.”
He looked into his cup. “Oh, they may like a few people close to them, their families, but they don’t like people in general, people as a concept. They don’t have any loyalty except to themselves, and you can’t have compassion unless you have a certain loyalty to the human race.”
Dena nodded in agreement but felt like a fraud. Howard had just described her to a tee. She didn’t know if she particularly liked people, and as far as loyalty was concerned, she really did not know what it was. She had no idea what she could be loyal to, other than herself.
She went home that night and thought about what Howard had said and picked up the phone.
“Sookie, it’s Dena.”
“Dena!”
Sookie yelled at her husband, “Earle! It’s Dena! Dena, hold on, I’m going to take this in the bedroom.”
Dena heard Sookie tell Earle to hang up the phone when she picked up. Earle took the phone. “Dena, how are you?”
“Fine, Earle. How are you?”
Sookie came on the line, saying, “Hang up, Earle.”
“ ’Bye, Dena.”
“ ’Bye, Earle.”
“Dena, come on down here where it’s warm; we’re in the seventies today.”
“Wow. Well, it is pretty chilly here. How are you?”
“Wonderful. Just wonderful. Mother is in Europe on some religious art tour or something but we’re fine, how are you? Coming to Atlanta any time soon?”
“I don’t have anything planned at the moment. Sookie, the reason I’m calling … I want to ask you a question and I’m serious.”
“Is this another one of those who-am-I things?”
“No, just something I’m curious about. OK?”
“OK.”
“What does it feel like to be loyal?”
“What?”
“I know this sounds crazy but I’m not kidding. I really want to know.”
“
What does it feel like to be loyal?”
“Yes.”
Sookie tried her best to answer truthfully. “What does it feel like? Well, I never thought about it. I guess I don’t know what it would feel like not to be. But why are you asking me? You know how it feels.”
“No, I don’t. I don’t think I’ve ever been loyal to anything in my entire life.”
“There you go again with that dramatic temperament. Of course you have, silly.”
“I haven’t.”
“What about me? You’ve been loyal to me.”
“No, I haven’t, you’re the one who’s kept up with me. If you had not kept in touch with me I would have lost you a long time ago.”
“Well, I’m not going to believe that,” Sookie said, “even if it’s true. I’m just not going to believe it of you. Don’t forget, I know you. I know you better than you know yourself. And no matter how hard you try not to be, you are a wonderful person. Besides, everyone has to side with something or other. Everybody has to be willing to fight for something … I think.”
“What would you be willing to fight for, Sookie, right now, today?”
“Oh, my family, my children—Junior League.”
“What?”
“I’m kidding.”
“No, I’m serious, Sookie. Say if there was another Civil War; would you fight for the South?”
“Well, that’s not going to happen. There’s so many Yankees moving down here, you can’t throw a rock down the street without hitting three of them in the head. But let’s say if something terrible happened, I would. I can’t help it, I just would. It’s my home. But I feel the same way about my family and friends.”