Senior Trip and Graduation

(English translation of German is at the end of this post)

June, with graduation as its main event, was coming quickly. Final exams were pretty challenging, but nothing I couldn’t handle. Burnie and I had studied together for all four years of high school, so we used our most successful strategies to study together for all the exams. I always had the most trouble with the mathematics, so with his engineering brain, he was the perfect tutor for me. He likewise relied on me for my expertise in English and literature. We both passed all our final exams and then we were free to enjoy ourselves on Senior Picnic Day at Riverview Park.

Riverview Park was the most fun place in Iowa to go! The businessmen who owned it were trying to make it like Coney Island in New York. There were all sorts of rides and shows. My favorite since I was little was the carousel. The first time Dad took me on that ride I was in seventh grade. I wasn’t exactly a little kid, but that ride made me feel like one. With all the different wild animals, I felt like I was in an exotic jungle. They were all painted with crazy bright colors and decorated with colorful blankets, saddles, flowers, and fringe. My favorite was the tiger. His teeth were a brilliant white. That might sound scary, but he was really beautiful and exciting to ride!

Then there was the Jack Rabbit. As giant roller coasters went, it was spectacular. You could hear the people on it screaming in almost every corner of the park. We also loved going to Zindra’s Palmistry Temple, but we would just wait outside to hear about the fantastic futures that our friends were told they were going to have. Both Burnie’s folks and my mother forbade us to go in there. They said only God knows what is in front of us in our life. If we wanted a better future, we were expected to work for it. Zindra was a very exotic looking woman who wore very colorful and strangely-styled clothes. She also wore a lot of gold jewelry, but Burnie said he didn’t think it was real gold.

The Monkey Island was one place I could watch for hours. It was pretty good-sized and was surrounded by a wide moat. I guess that meant that monkeys couldn’t swim, because I never heard about them escaping. The monkeys played with each other all day long. I couldn’t understand how they seemed to never need a rest or a nap. They just played and played and played.

The last place we went before we ate the picnic lunch with our classmates was the Fun House. It had two giant clowns painted at the entrance. The banner said “A Laugh Every Second.” It was silly to look at the weird mirrors, the goofy tricks they had set up, and the ridiculous games we could play. Burnie pretended he got hurt when he was walking through the mirror maze; he’d fall down when he walked into one of the mirrors and howl like a banshee.

The bathing beach opened on Decoration Day at the end of May, so it had only been open for a few days when we went. After lunch with our classmates at the Pavilion, and another stop at Monkey Island, we went to the majestic bath house to change into our swimsuits. It almost felt like we were at Coney Island. Riverview had a sandy beach they had built and also had a large filtered swimming pool. I preferred to swim in the river and use the beach; I swam in filtered pools all the time.

“So,” Burnie inquired as we walked toward the shore of the river, “what did you find out from Ted Ashby about the mile swim? They are going to have it in the river, right?”

“Yes, he was so nice and very helpful,” I said. “He said anyone could enter and mailed me an entry form. I have it filled out, but I haven’t sent it back yet. The race isn’t until the third of July.”

“Did he think it was strange that you wanted to compete? Did he mention if any other women were going to enter?”

I was a bit offended, but did not want to let it show, so I controlled my tone, “Burnie, he met with me after the state meet and he wrote an article about me. He does not think I am strange. And no, he didn’t mention any other women. What other women would enter?”

Burnie shrugged, “I don’t know, I guess I thought there might be someone else besides you.”

“I don’t care if there is or there isn’t. I just want to see how long it takes me to swim that mile, and I am going to try to win.”

“Really, you think you might be able to win? That would be really nifty!”

“Well, Burnie, that’s more like it, and listen, I am going to have to figure out a way to practice and time myself. I have never done a mile before, at least not in a river. That’s over sixty laps in a twenty-five-yard pool like at the Y. But laps are really different than just a straight swim in the river. There is no turning at the end of every lap. I may need you to help me.”

“You’ve been swimming plenty in the river before, Mable,” Burnie said.

“Sure, I have, but only swimming from one side to the other side and back a couple of times. That sure wasn’t a mile. In this mile swim, there’s no stopping,” I explained.

Burnie was getting interested. “So how long do you think it’s going to take?”

I told him, “Mother said that back in the 1912 Olympics, it took the fella who won twenty minutes. I think I would like to try to do it in twenty-five or thirty minutes.”

He was excited now. “I’d be happy to help you practice. We’d have to find a stretch of the river where it would be good. Do you know where they are going to have the race?”

“No, but I guess I can ask Mr. Ashby. He might know.”

“Okay. Do that and then we can start after graduation. This is going to be fun!” Burnie exclaimed with glee.

We had a plan. Hopefully, it would help summer go slowly. I was not looking forward to being separated from Burnie in the fall.

Our North High graduation ceremony that next Sunday was inspirational, but at times, I felt sad, too. I missed Dad terribly, of course. The chorus sang our school alma mater beautifully. Students and parents were all hugging and crying afterwards. Mother invited Uncle Albert, Aunt Helen, and Grandma Von Dornum down to Des Moines for the festivities, which included a party at our house later Sunday afternoon. I was pleased to have them there when I walked across the stage to receive my diploma, and again when they announced all the college scholarships and I went on the stage for that. Mother was still beaming from ear to ear when she saw the list of senior accomplishments listed in the program and my two state backstroke records were there.

People who knew my dad also remembered my graduation. I received many cards, some with cash in them, from fellas Dad knew at the Water Works. There was also a twenty-five-dollar check from the construction company in Houston. That’s a lot of money. It was comforting and thoughtful, and it would definitely help enormously with my college expenses. I was determined to succeed at Iowa and to make Mother and Dad proud.

When we got home from the ceremonies, Mother had everything ready ahead of time. She had prepared delicious finger sandwiches, potato salad, fruit salad, lemonade, and a fabulous German Chocolate cake. That was my favorite. She had a surprise for me, too. There was a large, heavy box sitting on the chair that was at my place at the dining room table. As we sat down to eat, she told me I had to open it before we ate. I opened it right there on the chair. It was a brand new portable typewriter! The portable versions, with their own carrying case, were the newest thing in writing equipment. They were much lighter-weight than the old desk kind like we had at school. I don’t know where she got the money to buy it, but I guessed her secret stash in the sugar canister was empty.

I was feeling slightly guilty about her spending all that money on a gift for me because I knew it was for emergencies. I thanked her over and over and threw my arms around her for a giant hug. She hugged me back, but said, “Mable, surely you don’t think I bought that all by myself? Where would I get that much money?”

I turned toward Uncle Albert and Aunt Helen, saying, “You helped Mother get this for me? Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“No, it wasn’t us, Mable,” said Aunt Helen, shaking her head.

“Mother,” I asked, “Who helped you afford this?”

“It was Mr. Ashby, dear. Look at the card inside the cover. He wrote you a little note.”

There was an envelope taped to the inside of the lid. The letter inside was handwritten and it read, “Dear Miss Hall, Congratulations on your graduation. I also offer my congratulations for your successful senior year as editor of the Oracle and for your swimming achievements. This typewriter is a vote for your future success in the journalism department at the University of Iowa. I also know you will someday be an excellent sportswriter. Make sure to come and see me at the Tribune when you graduate.” He signed it, “Your friend and fan, Ted Ashby.”

Golly. This was unbelievable; I knew that his would be one of the first thank you notes I was going to write the next day.

I turned to see if Grandma was impressed with this fancy new typewriter, but she was not there. I asked, “Where’s Grandma?”

Mother answered. “She went upstairs, but she’ll be right back.”

Sure enough, down the stairs came Grandma. She had a large wrapped package in her arms, with two smaller packages on top of it. I ran to help her; it was a large load for a tiny woman like her. I was pretty sure what was in the large one; it was my velvet quilt!

Grandma turned away from me as I came to help and headed into the parlor with the gifts. She ordered, “Zuerst essen wir!”

So that is what we did; we ate first. The conversation over those sandwiches and salads was all about the graduation ceremony, along with some college advice, and which of my friends were also going to school or those who were going straight to jobs in Des Moines. We even ended up discussing how much of the corn and beans the farmers in Iowa may already have planted and how the crops were growing, which was of great interest to Uncle Albert, since many of his friends were still farming.

There is a saying. “You can take the boy out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the boy.” It seemed that even with Dad gone, and just Mother and me there to share with, Uncle Albert still needed to tell all the local farm news from Hardin County. Mother really was interested, because he brought news of many of her former Steamboat Rock friends and neighbors. We had moved to Des Moines only seven years ago, and she still had warm memories and connections to her hometown.

Mother listened intently and then added, “Be sure to tell all those ladies that I miss them, Albert.” I could tell she meant it.

Everyone seemed to be eating very slowly and deliberately. I decided it was supposed to be one of those moments that Mother had told me I should try to “savor.” Savoring it is trying to appreciate it while it was happening and enjoying the feeling that you get from it, for as long as possible.

What an amazing piece of advice my mother had given me; I decided to try savoring it, and it was miraculous. I looked around the table at all the members of my family. They were smiling and eating the delicious food my mother had lovingly prepared. I listened appreciatively as they recounted and praised my accomplishments, and shared silly stories of my younger years. Laughing their way through the simple meal, my family was celebrating me. I loved them as much as they loved me, and I savored it.

Eventually, someone mentioned the cake and all of us hurried to finish the food on our plates. There would be no cake until everyone was finished. Mother brought the cake out of the kitchen with great flourish and pageantry. Aunt Helen held the door open for her and Grandma’s crystal cake plate sparkled beneath all the German chocolate grandness.

I had ice cold milk with my cake, but all the adults had iced tea. Dad would have had milk, too. No one seemed to be in a hurry to finish the cake like they were with their food, and I remember considering the possibility that they were all in a conspiracy to postpone the moment when I opened my beautiful, long-awaited quilt. They were enjoying their cake and tea, but I suspected they were savoring my unspoken anticipation, also.

Finally, Grandma Von Dornum cued Mother. It was just a glance, but I caught it. She edged her eyes toward the parlor, indicating that it was time for us to finally move the party into the other room. I know she saw me watching her, because after she signaled Mother, she directed her attention very precisely at me. She smiled at me, as only a loving and thoughtful grandmother could smile at her only granddaughter. It warmed me. It felt beautiful, like a soothing wave of love washing over me.

“Let’s all move into the parlor, and we can discover what is in those lovely packages Bertha brought down the stairs,” suggested Mother.

I just wanted them to hurry, so I started offering to pull out their chairs so they could more easily stand up from the table.

“I’m fine, thank you, Mable. I can get up on my own,” Aunt Helen assured me. She half-laughed when she said it. They were tormenting me! I’m sure they meant it all in good fun, but I had waited half the school year to see that quilt. Time was up!

Grandma went into the parlor and took a place on the settee; it only seats two people. She motioned me to sit down next to her. I nearly fell over the coffee table trying to get there quickly. Aunt Helen, Mother, and Uncle Albert all sat across from us on the davenport.

Grandma handed me the biggest package first. She said, “Ich habe das für dich gemacht, Liebling Enkelin. Es ist für die Verwendung an der Universität. Sie sagen die Rume dort werden nachts Kalt.”

I wanted to rip off the paper, like a four-year-old at Christmas, but I restrained myself. I carefully untied the exquisite bow, removed the tape from the paper on the bottom of the box, and turned it back right-side-up. I removed the green and pink striped paper with care, folded it in quarters, and handed it to Grandma. She would never want to throw lovely paper like that away. We were a family who reused many things, including wrapping paper. She put it in her lap and patted it gently, like she was so happy to be able to use it again. She thanked me.

“Öffne es jetzt,” she urged me.

I opened the flaps on the box and pulled back the crisp white tissue paper. I think I must have gasped, or let out some other little noise, because Mother said, “What are you waiting for?”

I pulled out my quilt. My luxurious, glorious quilt. It was made of silk velvet. The quilt was a whirlwind of absolutely gorgeous colors; before my eyes were all the colors I had seen upstairs on the bed so many months ago. Some of the randomly shaped pieces were burgundy, gold, creamy white, emerald green, sable brown, gray, sapphire blue, teal; even the black pieces shimmered.

It was a crazy quilt, with no special geometric pattern. It was the most gorgeous thing I had ever owned. Even the thread she had done the featherstitching around the edges of each piece with was multicolored. Dyed like a rainbow, in no particular order, just like the quilt.

I pulled it to my face. It was so very soft; it felt like baby skin. The sheen on it reflected the afternoon sun and colored light landed on the wall at the end of the parlor. I hugged Grandma, tenderly, one of those gentle hugs like Dad used to give her.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I said, at least three or four times.

She replied, “Bitte,” which I knew meant ‘You’re welcome’, and then Grandma gently took the quilt away from me and replaced it with the smallest present. I gestured toward the medium-sized one, but she insisted, “Nein, Nein. Das kleine Geschenk, Kindlein.”

So, I untied another lovely bow and also folded the paper, giving it to her to pat, just like last time. What I unwrapped was a little purse, pieced in that same gorgeous silk velvet, just like my quilt. It was about six by eight inches, with a zipper on one of the long sides. No strap; it was a clutch purse. I unzipped it. The lining was gold satin fabric, the same as the backing on my quilt. I put it in my lap and smoothed it flat again.

“Es ist für jene fantastischen Tanze, die sie an der Universität von Iowa haben. Irgendein kluger Junge wird dich zu einen Tanz bitten,” she explained. Then Grandma smiled widely at me and added, “Er wird ein Glückspilz sein.”

“It’s beautiful, Grandma. I love you so much.” It didn’t seem like enough to say.

“Öffne das jetzt!” she commanded, declaring, “Keine anderes Mdchen an dieser großen Universität von Iowa wird so etwas haben.” She triumphantly placed the final present on my lap.

I was trying to savor this moment, but that was difficult. I had no idea what could be in this package, that could possibly be more special and unique than the two gifts she had given me already.

“Grandma, this is too many gifts. You worked hard on the quilt and that purse is just…just…wonderful. I love you so very much,” I blabbered.

Grandma was getting impatient for me to open it. She scolded me with, “Bitte höre auf zur reden und öffne das Geschenk von deiner Großmutter.”

Uncle Albert and Aunt Helen burst out laughing at the same time. Mother had her hand over her mouth, stifling what I was sure was a rather large chuckle. Mother told me, “She said you’d better open it right now!”

“Okay, here I go.”

I took off the bow and the paper but took no time to fold it this time. What I held in my lap appeared to be a piece of clothing, made of the same amazing velvet, also quilted. It was large, whatever it was!

“Hold it up, Mable,” my mother urged me. “Stand up and move over to the end of the table, so we can all see it better, please.”

It was so silky, it nearly slipped out of my hands. It’s very difficult to try to explain how it felt to hold it. Like holding a cloud? That’s close. I started to let it fall loosely out of my hands while hanging onto what seemed to be a collar. There was also a belt attached. It was a bathrobe; it was a crazy quilt, silken, rainbow-colored velvet, full-length bathrobe. It matched the purse and the quilt. The pieces were the same size and the same multi-colored embroidery floss had been used to feather stitch the pieces together. This robe, however, had a lining made of smooth black cotton. The contrast between the inside and the outside made it an extremely dramatic garment.

I was stunned at its beauty. I stammered, “Is this really for me, Grandma? For me?”

Grandma simply smiled at me and stood up. She was such a tiny woman, but she reached over and gave me a hug, while Mother stood up and wrapped my new robe over my shoulders. It was a moment I would treasure the rest of my life. Mother and Grandma were beaming. I was crying; that kind of love was incredible. So incredible.

TRANSLATION

“Zuerst essen wir.” “First we eat.”

“Ich habe das für dich gemacht, Liebling Enkelin. Es ist für die Verwendung an der Universität. Sie sagen die Rume dort werden nachts Kalt.” “I made this for you, darling granddaughter. It is for using at the university. They say the rooms there get cold at night.”

“Öffne es jetz.,” “Open it now.”

“Nein, Nein. Das kleine Geschenk, Kindlein.” “No, no. The little gift, child.”

“Es ist für jene fantastischen Tanze, die sie an der Universität von Iowa haben. Irgendein kluger Junge wird dich zu einen Tanz bitten,” she explained. Then Grandma smiled widely at me and added, “Er wird ein Glückspilz sein.” “It’s for those fancy dances they have at the university, Mable. Some smart boy will ask you to a dance,” she explained. Then Grandma smiled really big and added, “He’ll be a lucky boy.”

“Öffne das jetzt!” she commanded, declaring, “Keine anderes Mdchen an dieser großen Universität von Iowa wird so etwas haben!
”Now open this” she commanded, declaring, “No other girl at this big University of Iowa will have anything like this!”


“Bitte höre auf zur reden und öffne das Geschenk von deiner Großmutter.”
“Please stop all this talking and open the gift from your grandmother!”