Chapter 5 - College, Here I Come!

At the end of the summer of 1945, Mother and I took the train to Kansas. We arrived a week or so before college started, in order to visit the farm, also my Grandmother Verschelden and Uncle Frank in Topeka. This was the Golden Age of railroading and the first of many trips back and forth to school. That and subsequent trips were coach class and tiring, and even though the seats were roomy, comfortable, and reclined, it was difficult to sleep well. In those days the trip took three days and two nights. Today, it is about a two-day trip, and two years ago, I splurged on a compartment, glass-enclosed. No more two-tiered, curtained bunks along either side of a sleeper car as sixty-five years ago.

But, let’s get to Kansas. We detrained at St. Mary’s, Kansas, Mother’s hometown, then drove four miles out to the family farm, in an area called Sandy Hook. After the Kaw River repeatedly flooded their original log house, my great-grandparents Verschelden built the solid Kansas limestone two-story house in 1890 on a higher area. It has survived tornadoes (one tore off an added-on bathroom), over a hundred years of wear and tear, and still stands today. Samuel Alley, a Pottawatomie Indian, sold them the original acreage, and I have a copy of his original deed signed by Andrew Johnson, the President who succeeded Lincoln. By this time, my widowed Grandmother had moved to Topeka, 40 miles away, to live with Uncle Frank (Mother’s eldest brother). Of the five brothers, only Uncle Babe became a farmer, and he and his family occupied the old stone house. Many acres had been added, and on them he grew mostly corn and alfalfa. However, he was famous far and wide for his luscious watermelons grown on the rich “bottom land” near the Kaw River—this was silt from floods. At one side of the house, Aunt Anne had about a half acre of strawberries.

My introduction to Uncle Babe was an unsettling one. Aunt Ann was a sweet, motherly person, but Uncle Babe was a character, a loud, rough-hewn, boisterous person who soon discovered I was very naïve and that his rough language could make me blush, and he played this to the hilt. I found him coarse and crude, and tried to avoid him. However, on a subsequent visit (and I visited there many times) he took me aside, put his arm around me, and said, “Patsy, you know I’m only having fun teasing you, because we ain’t never had a high-falutin’ college girl in this family.” What that had to do with it, I don’t know, and I certainly wasn’t “high-falutin”. However, I came to love Uncle Babe, and many, many years later, I was grateful that I was able to visit him a few weeks before he died. “Babe” sounds like a misnomer for a tough man who was struck by lightning and lived (his straw hat with the hole burnt in it adorned the wall for years). However, he hated his given name, Alphonse, so the “Babe” of his early childhood stuck. Before he died, he had a gravestone made, and when my very proper Aunty B, the nun, later visited his grave with “’Babe’ Verschelden” chiseled on it, she was so upset she wanted to buy a new gravestone with proper titling.

Another vivid memory of that first day on the farm was the breakfast. As a California city girl, breakfast was fruit and oatmeal, or bacon, eggs, and toast. I came downstairs and gasped at a table laden like a Thanksgiving feast: strawberries, melons, platters of chops, grits, biscuits and gravy, a huge crock of scrambled eggs, fried potatoes, toast, and jams. This was the usual meal served to the farmhands, who had been in the fields since dawn and came in to eat about 7:30 or 8 AM.

After visiting the relatives, Mother and I arrived at St. Mary College (now University), outside of Leavenworth, Kansas, and in those days a women’s college. I was often kidded about Leavenworth. There is much more than a large federal penitentiary there. Most important to us girls was the famous Fort Leavenworth, illustrious for its officers’ training school, which attracted army officers from many countries in the world, especially the young, unmarried officers, whom our nuns recruited for college dances. There was also a large Veterans Hospital and facility across the highway from the college grounds, and we did a lot of community service there. This is in eastern Kansas, a mile from the Missouri River, which separates the two states, and about 35 miles northwest of Kansas City. It’s a beautiful area, and years later, when I would fly from “golden” (dried-out) California to class reunions in June, I would be struck by the beauty of these green, rolling hills (they have rain in the summer, plus terrifying lightning storms).—and tornadoes!

I am forever indebted to my Aunty B (for Bernadette), a Sister of Charity of Leavenworth, who pulled all kinds of strings so that I could attend college. I was the second eldest of my generation, and she had given up on my cousin Luci. All Luci wanted was to finish high school and marry her sweetheart, Rennie. My parents had little money; there were no full-ride scholarships in those days (I had received a $100 one from a women’s club), but close relatives of the nuns could get a courtesy scholarship, which helped, and I had a work scholarship. My major was chemistry, and I started out as a lab assistant—actually a glorified janitor in the chemistry labs, and later on, a lab assistant.

Secondly, I have to thank Aunty B. for my lifelong friend, Corrine Medved Sullivan. Since I was coming from California (actually had a classmate there from Fresno), Aunty, whose background was elementary education, had chosen my new roommate, “Corky,” one of her former students. Corky’s mother had died when she was young, and her aunt Annie and older sister, Maxine, were her substitute mothers. I came to know the whole family well, and spent many happy weekends at their home. Maxine worked as a legal secretary and was paying Corky’s tuition, but that bothered Corky. She was very artistic and worked at Hallmark (a very small company then) in the summers. She dropped out of college after her freshman year and went to work for them fulltime. We have always kept in touch. I talked her into coming home to California the summer after my junior year, hoping we could find jobs in Yosemite Valley. I now realize how lucky we were to do so. That was the summer I met your father, and Corky was my maid of honor at our wedding two years later. She eventually married Jerry Sullivan and had a large family. Jerry died of a brain tumor while several of the children were small and most still at home, but she made a wonderful, fun-loving home for them. One of her children (all who have done well career-wise) wrote an essay about her mother for a Mother’s Day contest sponsored by the Kansas City Star newspaper, and it won a trip to Europe for Corky. I still make it a point to visit her every time I get back to Kansas City.

That first year we had a room on the second floor in the old Mead Hall, next to the wire caged elevator. There was a glass transom over an inner, locked door, which connected the room behind us. Pat Blankinship, another life-long friend and future roommate, lived there with her roommate, Betty, and that transom was our own intercom. You might think how dull—a girl’s school, but those were four of the most wonderful years of my life. Actually, when it became co-ed years after I graduated, the girls resented the boys destroying the unique life they enjoyed.

One big advantage was no male distractions, because we were there to pursue an education and the Nuns and other instructors offered us the best available. The head of the chemistry department was Sr. Agnes Marie, who was so well respected that she was appointed to President Eisenhower’s education council. She was the one for whom I worked, and I came to know her well and loved her. One evening she almost talked me into becoming a nun (I changed my mind by next morning). She was also a gardener and I enjoyed helping her on Saturdays in the garden. However, she also became very annoyed with me, because I took several Home Ec sewing classes, instead of more math or science (I did graduate with a minor in biology/bacteriology). Because I did not have bus fare to go to Topeka, the farm, or Corky’s home in Kansas City very often, I spent most weekends on campus, and many of them happily sewing in the Home Ec rooms..

I have to mention one course—required—we still joke about: Social Etiquette, nicknamed Social Torture, taught by “Rosy V,” Sr. Rose Vincent). Sister was an old, wrinkled, no-nonsense nun, but who reportedly had been a popular Denver debutant many, many years before. We may have groaned about having to attend, but I am sure what she instilled has been invaluable all our lives. One of our under-classmates later served as an assistant to the White House social secretary. The Sisters were always trying to make ladies of us, and we dared not take the bus into Kansas City without wearing heels, hats and gloves. On the other hand, we gave them a bad time by sneaking off campus to go to Homers, the hamburger joint in Leavenworth (no hats and heels here), or—horrors! hitch-hiking (although I never did).

However, we had lots of fun and entertainment. I have to share one precious memory of Corky. She was a delight to be around, always very happy and with an infectious laugh which showed her cute dimples (good contrast to shy, serious Pat). Every night we had a certain time for lights out and bed check (see, this was ancient times). One of the Nuns had a bedroom on every floor, especially for nighttime emergencies, but she also came down the hall checking each room for lights out. They wore a heavy rosary dangling from their belted waist and one could hear that clacking sound coming. Unfortunately, our room was the first one on the floor, and one night Corky, who slept in the upper bunk, was a little slow getting into bed. As the door opened and Sister switched on the light, Corky quickly knelt on one of the ladder rungs half-way up to her bed, “Oh, Sister, I was just saying my prayers.”

Smoking was not allowed in the buildings, but out beyond the Front Circle was the rustic, open air Tekawitha Lodge for those who smoked. They would go out there, smoke and play bridge. We thought they were crazy in the cold, snowy wintertime.

This wasn’t entertainment, but must have been an amusing picture. he back of old Mead Hall, beyond which was the chapel, had spiral, wrought iron fire escapes on the outside. While not quite compulsory, it was strongly urged that we attend Mass every morning. Often I—and others—had stayed up late studying (after bed check you studied in the closet by flashlight and stuffed a towel under the door to seal light leaks). Therefore, we stayed in bed until the last minute, jumped up and put our black gown (required for chapel) over our pajamas, rolling up the legs. (Often a pant leg would later unfurl when someone went up the aisle to receive Communion. Snicker, snicker—we weren’t all angels). If we had put up our hair in pin curls, one could jam the black cap on over them, and dash off to chapel down those fire escapes with two minutes to spare. We must have looked like witches tearing down those spiral stairs with our black gowns streaming out behind!

Those stairs were also the viewing spot for a dazzling meteor shower from those stairs, sometime between 1945 and 1947. Shooting stars flared all over the sky, and I have never witnessed anything like that since.

We were also two floors above the kitchen for our dining halls. Every Friday afternoon the baker made luscious sweet rolls for Saturday breakfast. The kitchen also had one of those transoms over the entry door, so we boosted a smaller friend up and over the transom to filch rolls for a party spread after ‘lights out’. The thief was able to unlock the door from the inside to escape and enjoy the forbidden fruit with us. We did this once too often and on the final attempt found the transom nailed shut

Another prank got me in trouble, although several of us were in on it. One boring and rainy Sunday afternoon we borrowed a standing dress manikin from the Home Ec department, dressed it in my college gown so it resembled a nun’s habit, fashioned a headpiece like they wore, and put the dummy facing toward us, away from the door, on the open wire-caged elevator. We stayed out in the hallway and snickered as girls would get on the elevator and say the proper, “Good Afternoon, Sister.” Then we heard them laugh as they reached their floor and peered around to see a faceless dummy. We should have given up while the joke was good, because it ended abruptly when the Dean brought visiting dignitaries up on the elevator to our floor. We scattered fast, but my nametag was on that gown. Oh, woe was me!

This was a small college in those days, and although we had some movies, school plays, and other entertainment in our theater, the college bought a block of tickets to major attractions in Kansas City, enough so that each student could attend at least once if not twice a year, transportation provided. Seniors got first choice, then juniors and so on. Thus, one year I was able to not only attend a concert by my idol, Nelson Eddy, a movie star with a lovely baritone singing voice, but also meet him backstage and get his autograph. The college voice instructor happened to be our chaperone and had some kind of pull.

Every year, our drama and music departments staged the “Spring Fiesta” at a major venue in Kansas City. This was a huge undertaking, because it was usually an opera like “Des Cavalier,” or a big, musical variety show, complete with handsome costuming. Those partaking rehearsed for at least a couple of months; my roommate of my last two years, Ferdie, was a piano major and, as an accompanist, spent hours and hours in addition to her regular studies. All of us had a chance to attend the production in Kansas City, probably dress rehearsal.

Another highly anticipated event was the annual Surprise Christmas Party, put on by the Sisters for us. When and where was the “surprise.” It often included funny skits which they wrote, acted out, and the party ended with carol singing and good food. (Catholic nuns are real people, and many of ours were down-to-earth former farm girls.)

The many acres surrounding the college were lovely—still are, and include a small lake upon which we ice skated in the wintertime or rowed a boat in summer. Stately, Georgian-style buildings surround three sides of the grassy Front Circle, centered with a fountain. The lovely chapel lies to the south of Mead Hall, and beyond the chapel is the large, brick Motherhouse for the Sisters of Charity, who are a branch of Mother Seaton’s order. The front entry to the college in my day was our fondly remembered Brick Road, bordered by peonies, which were magnificent when in bloom in late May. I successfully brought a bouquet of these home on the train early in June one year. These grow and bloom beautifully in Kansas, but fail in my part of California.

At Christmastime and other holidays, I could not come home, so I would spend that time in Topeka. Grandma, Uncle Frank, and I would usually drive down to the farm for holiday dinners, although one Christmas the snowdrifts were so bad after we turned off the main highway towards the farm that we could go no further, couldn’t find a restaurant open, so we returned home for leftovers.

I did travel home each summer, and continued to work at Smith’s Book and Card Shop in Vallejo the next three summers, saving most of my money toward the next year’s college expenses.

That first trip was the start of my love affair with train travel. In those days, it took three days and two nights (or vice versa) and we had our choice of three different railroads from the Bay Area to Kansas City. The Santa Fe went to Southern California, then across Arizona, New Mexico, where I remember a long stop at Albuquerque with the Indians squatting on their blankets, selling trinkets. After that, the route crossed the Texas panhandle, up through southern Colorado to Kansas City. A couple of times, I took the Western Pacific, which went north, then through the beautiful Feather River Canyon and East. Going to college, I usually took the Southern Pacific line, directly east through the Sierras. The scenery up over Donner Summit was magnificent, especially in winter, then across barren Nevada. Somewhere around midnight, we would actually cross the Great Salt Lake, in those days on a causeway (today it skirts the southern shoreline), and I would try to wake up for this, especially lovely on a moonlit night. From a hundred miles away, one could see the glow of Salt Lake City and be forewarned. From there, after the Wasatch Mountains, the route curved up through Wyoming to get over the Rockies. Somewhere near Denver, there was a lookout point with a magnificent view out over the plains stretching to the east. The rest of the way to Kansas City was mile after mile of flat, endless wheat and cornfields. From Kansas City, there was good bus service to the college entrance. Then we had to lug our suitcase a half mile up the paved back entrance; easier than the curvy, uneven Brick Road (both slippery during the icy winters).

An exciting part of the railroad trip was eating in the diner, equipped with linen tablecloths, lovely china with patterns distinctive to each train, flowers on the table, and good food (I’ve never had French toast as good as that on Santa Fe’s “Super Chief”). On other trips at the end or beginning of the school year, I would meet kids heading to or from other colleges, and we played card games into the wee hours of the night. What a difference from today’s coaches with laptops, DVD movies in the club car, and E-readers.