Lillian Margaret: A Memoir - Chapter Four - Divorce, Marriage, Birth

The time arrived when both Lawrence and I felt we truly loved each other - we were compatible in every way, and were convinced our love and affection was deep enough to make a good marriage. As I really had no grounds for divorce, I persuaded Pat to initiate the proceedings, which he did reluctantly. Lawrence's divorce and mine became final about the same time. I resigned my position at Social Security and we were married in a private ceremony on St. Valentine's Day, February 14, 1944, at the Drexel Park Presbyterian Church. We found a lovely apartment just a block from beautiful Lake Michigan in the South Shore Drive area. We spent our honeymoon selecting our furnishings and getting "settled in."

My actions brought shock and disappointment to my family. They all loved and respected Pat, and he was fond and considerate of them. Lawrence, on the other hand, had not won any points with my parents. His attitude was the less he saw of relatives (his or mine) the better he liked them!

As time passed, I became almost totally alienated from my relatives and friends - I was his possession and he was rude and ugly to all who deprived him of my time and attention. He was even jealous and hurt when my love and affection was shared between he and Jon (Mr. Chips), our beautiful red-haired son, who was born at Gardiner General Army Hospital on September 9, 1944. I am sure that Lawrence loved the babe, in his own way, and was proud of being a father for the first time, but it was such a new experience he didn't know how to cope with it.

The adjustment of having a baby around so late in life was a difficult one for both of us. Formulas, breast feedings in the middle of the night, sterilizing bottles and the whole bit occupied most of my time. It was obvious that Lawrence resented playing second fiddle.

To add to this dilemma, a few weeks after the birth of our son, Lawrence was dealt a crushing blow when the Army announced they were cutting back all officers over 45 years of age with 25 to 30 years of service. Within a few months Lawrence would be eligible for promotion to Lt. Colonel - instead he was caught in a reduction in force and discharged from active duty.

The Army was his life - he was a soldier to the core, and he was physically and mentally fit to handle his job. The psychological affect as a result of Lawrence's release from the Army was devastating. It takes years to build a good Army man but only one document that reads: "Honorably Discharged" to strip him of his dignity, self-respect, and love for his country and his fellow man.

From then on we were on the move. Jon was only six weeks old when we left Chicago and headed on down to Lawrence's home near Marietta, Georgia. It was in deplorable condition. It had been rented to employees of the Bell Bomber Plant in Marietta. The home had been abused, neglected and the filth was abominable. Bugs of every description had taken over. Screens had been knocked out and doors were just barely hanging on by their rusty hinges.

House in Marietta

The refurbishing was begun immediately starting with Mr. Chips' room - then the kitchen, our bedroom and living room. The storage room was enlarged and made into a bachelor apartment. It was rented to a man who worked in Marietta. Lawrence did an excellent renovation job on the house.

Jon at 4 months

In his spare time he worked in his shop where he refinished furniture, designed and built end tables and corner racks. We purchased some Rhode Island Reds, and the few that Lawrence neutered grew as large as turkeys. What a feast we had when we roasted one of these capons. A Rhode Island Red is an excellent egg producer - fortunate for us as we depended on eggs to supplement our diet since meat was rationed and in very short supply. My good neighbor, Mrs. Covington, was not only helpful in orienting me into Southern culture, but taught me how to prepare many meatless casseroles - Southern style.

My first Spring in the South was awe inspiring. In February the Crocus, Jonquils and Narcissus made their appearance. Then in rapid succession blooms appeared on the Flowering Quince, Red Bud, Crabapple, Pear, Peach and Dogwood Trees, and the beautiful Azaleas. Fairyland was never like this! Many species of birds frequented our feeder and bath, but the bird I was anxious to spot each day was the Red Bird - as it would bring one good luck, or so the local gentry informed me. Taking the Christmas Tree down before the 31st of December, and eating black-eyed peas on New Years' Day were other good luck omens I became familiar with.

The strain of FDR's long period of service with the heavy problems of the depression and war years had undoubtedly taxed the president's strength greatly. The nation, was not prepared, however, for the startling news of his sudden death at Warm Springs, Georgia, on April 12, 1945. Harry S. Truman was sworn in immediately as the new President of the United States.

The American people accepted Harry S. Truman on faith - they knew little about him, and knew it would be difficult to fill Mr. Roosevelt's shoes. Mr. Truman pledged himself to carry on the programs of the New Deal, and he had the good will of the entire country as he took up the job that had been thrust upon him, the heaviest burden on his shoulders being the war.

With the surrender of Germany on May 7, 1945, the atomic bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki by American airmen in August 1945, and an ultimatum to Japan on August 14, 1945 spelling out "unconditional surrender or total destruction", a formal surrender occurred on the USS Missouri on September 2, 1945. The war was over!

As in 1918, participation of the United States had meant the difference between victory and defeat - it was American production that won the war. This was a mechanized war, and we could manufacture the machines of destruction faster than anyone else. However, the direct cost of the war to the American people was well over the 300-billion mark, and the total cost - past, present and future may never be calculated. Our armed forces suffered more than a million casualties - killed, wounded, missing and imprisoned. But even with this vast cost in lives and fortune, the United States was more fortunate than the other great powers involved in the war - our cities were not destroyed.

It was obvious that something was gnawing at Lawrence - he was irritable - he was drinking heavily and was physically abusive. One day, to my surprise, he announced the work around the place was too much for him and he was putting the house up for sale. Within a few weeks we were on our way in a Zimmer Trailer - our destination was Walkerton, Indiana, the home of his mother. She owned and operated a Tourist Home on Route 6 about 80 miles southeast of Chicago.

Once you met Grandma Rector (and she despised being called "Grandma") of Dutch descent, one could understand what made Lawrence tick. If she and Lawrence had any affection for one another it did not manifest itself during our stay. She held people at arm's length - family included.

Years ago, when Lawrence was still in his teens, her husband, John, of French-English descent, was killed at a railroad crossing in Walkerton. Almost immediately after that tragedy, Lawrence left home to join the Army. She was left to make her own livelihood - which she did with her Tourist Home business, but with bitterness in her heart that life had dealt her such a cruel blow.

My first encounter with Grandma Rector was not love at first sight - she resented having us under foot, in spite of the fact that I assisted with the housework and the laundry and some of the upstairs work. We fixed our own meals and spent the night in our trailer, but it was plain to see we were excess baggage. We had to stay indoors a good bit because of the miserably cold March weather, and the only one eager to go outdoors was Jon - this was his first encounter with ice and snow and he loved it!

Gulf Coast Trailer Park

Soon we left that frigid area and headed for New Orleans. There was little doubt that we had arrived during the rainy season - it rained in torrents the two weeks of our stay. We pressed on - this time to Panama City, Florida, where we found trailer space at the Gulf Coast Trailer Park on St. Andrews Bay, within sight of the Wainwright Ship Yards and the Navy Base.

Jon loved the water - it was a battle each time he had to come out, and to keep him from straying down to the Bay by himself, I put him in a big galvanized washtub filled with water just outside the trailer. He would play in it for hours sailing everything within reach.

Lawrence purchased a small cabin cruiser - primarily to take out fishing parties in the Bay. We went trolling one day and caught a beautiful mess of trout - what delicious eating! The fishing party venture didn't materialize as Lawrence soon discovered the maintenance of a boat is prohibitive.

Wading in St. Andrews Bay

Now Lawrence was at loose ends again with nothing to occupy his time. He rarely drew a sober breath and we quarreled almost constantly over his drinking and his obnoxious behavior. Our lines of communication had completely collapsed. Finally he decided to leave and return to Walkerton, Indiana. A month or so later he was back again threatening to do me harm if I didn't take him back. It was necessary to call the police one night and have him put under a peace bond. This was the last straw - the saturation point had been reached and I refused to be subjected to this mental and physical cruelty any longer.

Jon and I left Panama City by train headed for Chicago where we stayed with my Aunt Helen and Uncle Bill for a few weeks. An ad in the paper offering room and board with child care was the first step in becoming established in Chicago. Mrs. Jack O'Donnell, (Aunty Jo) was about my age - married to a traveling man, and the parents of an adopted daughter, Bobby Jo. This little girl was one year older than Jon.

Our room was small but adequate in this two-story house at 2409 N. Fullerton Avenue. I took part-time jobs until an opening presented itself in the Social Security office downtown, which was only about fifteen minutes on the "L" to the near north side.

Lawrence arrived on the scene once more - he rented a room a few blocks away. He was passive and resigned to the fact that there was no way to resolve our differences. Occasionally, he'd take us to Sunday dinner and then to the Lincoln Park Zoo - Jon thoroughly enjoyed both. At least once a month Jon and I would board a train and spend the weekend with my parents on their farm in Crown Point, Ind.

On Sunday, the Neff family, my brother and his family would join us for a picnic. His son, Steve, was five days' older than Jon, and both boys would follow in their grandfather's footsteps while he fed the pigs and chickens.

Due to Aunty Jo's health and marital problems, we left the north side and found a room in a private home on the southeast side of Chicago - one block from the Illinois Central station and a nursery school. We had no cooking privileges but we could fix a little breakfast and an evening snack in our room.

The bitterly cold winters with snow and ice on the ground until almost April convinced me it was time to move south. If I could twist father's arm to sellout and head on down to the land of sunshine we could all travel together. The selling job wouldn't be easy as my folks' roots were deeply planted in the middle west. The day came though when father decided to unload the Indiana farm - not because he wanted to go south, but it was his thinking the climate might be better for mother's health.

He purchased a one-bedroom Colonial Mobile Home - it was a beauty - completely furnished with light oak furniture, with kitchen appliances, cabinets galore, and beautiful draperies and blinds at the windows. It had a bathroom too - about the size of a broom closet - but nevertheless it was a bathroom with shower.

It was no easy task for the little Chevy Coupe to pull a 3000-lb. trailer - there were some frightening moments as we traveled along. When we reached Sand Mountain in Alabama, the Chevy was too light to pull the load, and halfway up the car stalled. Several transit truck drivers saw our plight and combining forces they actually pushed the mobile home to the top of the mountain. This incident was too much for mother - she became deathly ill with a migraine headache - regretting with every breath the day she agreed to the move.

We arrived in Atlanta on a very warm afternoon in May 1948, just at the rush hour, inching our way along the Atlanta streets and finally locating a trailer court. It was the Pine Grove Trailer Park, located at 2310 Stewart Avenue (on a bus line).

Aerial view of the Pine Grove Trailer Park

It appeared to be a new park built on high rolling ground, nestled among many beautiful Georgia Pines. The folks selected a site directly across a narrow drive from the Utility House, which had toilet and shower facilities as well as washers and dryers. Although the folks planned to move on down to Florida, they agreed to stay in Atlanta long enough for me to get settled.

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Editor's note: Look for Chapter Five next Wednesday the 26th.