Chapter 7 - The College Years Continued: 1946 to 1949

As previously mentioned, these were very special years, because of the great memories and the friends from those days. After we graduated six of us (my suitemates the last two years) started a "Round Robin Letter" which circulated among us for about 40 years. After that computers and e-mails took over. We were scattered all over the U.S. but we all tried to reunite at the Alumnae Reunion at least every five years.

Corky decided not to return for her sophomore year, so I was planning to room with Florie Brussati (now DiMatteo). However, that summer Florie decided to transfer to Marymount College, Portland, where her younger sister was starting. She eventually married Dominic, a career naval helicopter pilot, and we have always stayed in touch with the DiMateos throughout all their moves. They had six children, four girls and two sons, and when Dee retired and they moved to Walnut Creek, we tried to play match-maker and introduce her two older daughters to our two oldest, David and Chris. It never worked.

Thus my roommate that sophomore year was Phyllis Hogenmiller, from Nebraska, and we occupied my same old room in Mead Hall. Her major was music—French horn. After graduation she married a soldier from Fort Leavenworth whom she had met on a blind date. They settled in the Washington, D.C. area, where she played in the Washington Symphony Orchestra for years. When PBS would present concerts from Kennedy Hall, I'd search the orchestra for her (French horns are easy to spot).

The last two years of college, Pat Blankinship (my over- the- transom buddy from freshman and sophomore years), Ferdie Cain and I moved over to third floor Berkmans Hall, the main college building with had administration offices on the first floor. There we shared a suite with Bettianne Neale, Marion Horne, and Ileana Lebron. If that sounds fancy, it was only two three-bed rooms with a bathroom in between. That third floor was reserved for juniors; our senior year we simply moved one floor directly above, still in front overlooking the main entrance.

Ferdie (given name was Ferdinand—after her father) was from Denver and a piano major. She eventually became her church organist and an accompanist for the Denver Opera chorus rehearsals. We often had spirited debates, pitting the Colorado Rockies against my Nevada Sierras. She met her future husband, Jerry Kline, when a bunch of Rockhurst College guys came from Kansas City to a formal dance (the nuns were very good at rounding up men for us). We had several formal dances every year, plus we wore formals for the monthly birthday dinners; we even had to dress nicely for Sunday evening dinners. (This was long before the days of Levi's and T-shirts.) Remember, the nuns were trying to make ladies out of us. We also had to take turns being the perfect hostess at the head of our assigned tables. Anyway, Jerry was courting her our senior year, and from our viewpoint looking out over the front entrance, we really incurred her ire when we aimed a spotlight (comprised of four or so flashlights) on them as they kissed goodnight. They married the summer after graduation and also had a large family, living mostly in the Denver area. Jerry was an engineer, also a contractor (I visited a beautiful home he built for them in Boulder, CO), and an inventor—a pop-top for aluminum cans which barely lost out to the ones we pull on today.

One time when I visited her, she bought what she thought would be a wonderful treat for me, expensive Blue Point oysters, from the Atlantic coast. I had always hated oysters—the big Pacific ones my folks fed me (I thought the dark spots were eyes staring at me), which were probably cheap seafood in my childhood. At Ferdie’s we formed an assembly line in the kitchen. One child patted the oysters dry, another dipped them in egg batter, another into fine bread crumbs, and I put them into the deep fat to fry. Surprise, surprise! They were wonderful! Ferdie has had tragedy in her life: a divorce and soon after Jerry suddenly died in his late fifties, two sons committed suicide. She no longer sends any greetings and I heard she is senile.

In contrast to Ferdie with her bubbly personality, I and Pat Blankinship (Pat B-1, I am Pat B-2) were the quiet, studious types. Pat B-1 was older, because she had to work a couple of years after high school to make the money for college. We still giggle today at her favorite phrase, delivered like a mother hen, "Now, you girls know I'm older and… ." She was always the sensible, steady one we silly girls sometimes needed. She had very curly, dark brown hair and mine was so straight. We often wished the twain would meet. After college Pat worked many, many years for the State of Kansas in child protective services, living in Wichita. She always kept the house where she was born in small Fredonia, Kansas, eventually retiring there with her beloved cats. She lives now in a senior retirement facility, but is quite deaf.

As chemistry majors, Marion Horne and I were both suite mates and lab partners. She ended up at St. Mary, because her father was an officer stationed at Fort Leavenworth her freshman year. Marion had vision impairment and wore glasses with very thick lenses. She dreamed of becoming a medical doctor and was very serious about her studies, which weren’t that easy for her. She wanted to become a Medical Mission Sister and entered that order immediately after graduation, hoping to become a doctor (they operated hospitals in India and there women could not be seen by male doctors). Her father, who had died by this time, had been a Catholic, but I don't think her widowed mother was. Anyway, Marion was not quite twenty-one, and whether it was a religious bias or mother wanted her at home with her, the mother got a court order and dragged Marion out of the convent. Marion has always had a mind of her own, and as soon as she was of age, she went back to the Medical Mission Sisters. She applied to the Women's Medical College of Philadelphia and was devastated when they turned her down because of her eyesight. Settling for second-best, she became a medical lab technician (as I did), eventually running the labs at their hospitals. She served in Appalachia, South America, India, and even volunteered in some of the refugee camps in Thailand.

After about fifteen years, she took a leave of absence from the order, citing dissatisfaction with the politics and stopped to visit me in Cupertino, exhausted after a long flight from India. I thought it would be nice to take her to at a small, quiet beach near Santa Cruz to relax. I hadn't been there in a while, and was leading Marion over the knoll when lo and behold, it had turned into a nudist beach--and I was taking a Catholic nun there! "Oh, wrong path," I shouted over the wind and backed her down to the parking lot. She did leave the Order, applied again to the Women's Medical College of Philadelphia and because of all her lab experience, was accepted on probation. She majored in pathology and I was so proud of her when she graduated and got her M.D. She never married, but did buy a home in Philadelphia, retaining close ties to the Medical Mission Sisters, whose Motherhouse is also there.

We have been traveling companions on several trips—Santa Barbara, Yosemite, Costa Rica and Panama. Now retired in Vermont, unfortunately she is loosing her short-term memory. Perhaps, that’s good for me, because she said she'd never forgive me for a trick I played (she played plenty on me in college). I had gone with Al to his WWII bomb group reunion in Washington, D.C. Since we had a roomy hotel room, I invited Marion to come for a couple of days. She did and afterward, I wrote in the Round Robin Letter, "Ask Marion what she was doing with a married man in a Washington, D.C. hotel room." She blushed easily and we delighted in getting her to turn red.

Wanting to be a gracious hostess, I asked what she wanted to do in D.C. "I really want to see the new Holocaust Museum," she replied. Well, that was waaay down on the bottom of my list, but I was glad we went. What a jolting eye-opener to the atrocities man can inflict upon mankind. (Incidentally, I had been worried about your father's well-being, and Marion watched him walk and is the one who tipped me off about checking out Parkinson's Disease.)

Marion never married and finally moved to Vermont where she lives with or in the same apartment building or condo with a favorite nephew, who looks after her. The last time I visited Mark and Pam in Massachusetts, her nephew brought her for lunch and we had a nice visit. I still try to keep in touch.

In our college days Bettianne, who was a math major (and later married a C.P.A.) always had to take it easy, because of a serious heart defect, but was always fun to be around. She was never expected to live past her early twenties. However, not too long after graduation, she had one of the first open-heart surgeries, replacing a defective valve. She was still alive at age 85 or so,, the mother of four adopted children. Thank the Lord!

When your father accepted his first professional job in the Madison, Wisconsin, State Crime Lab, I flew with baby David to join him after he found a place for us to live. This was my first flight on a commercial airline. Those were slow propeller planes in 1951, with many stops, and I stayed over a few days in Kansas City to visit Bettianne, also see favorite Sisters at St. Mary College and show off three-month old David. Bettianne worked during the day, so I also visited Corky and would have dinner ready when Bettianne came home. One day a florist delivered beautiful flowers for her from an admirer. "Oh, my goodness!" she exclaimed when arriving home, "I just met this Greg Gable and we had a first date last weekend." I felt privileged to be in on the first of this romance which resulted in a happy marriage lasting many years.

I remember Greg Gable especially for the time he tricked me. They visited us in Cupertino and we took care of a couple of the children while they attended a convention in San Francisco. At the close of the convention, I was to get a babysitter for our younger children, then drive to San Francisco to meet them for some sightseeing (your Dad had to work). I had exact directions and arrived safely at their hotel, but had told Greg that I would not drive around San Francisco—was afraid of all those hills. "Okay," he said, "If you will come to the hotel, I will take over the driving (in our big Biasotti station wagon). Getting back into our van, he jumped into the passenger seat. "I will navigate,” he said, “and you are going to conquer your fear of those hills." Thus, I had to drive and I did conquer that fear. Thank you, Greg. Bettianne and I were the only ones of our special six who attended our 60th class reunion in 2009 (I doubt if I’ll go again). She has not been answering my letters, so…???

Ileana Lebron was the sixth of our suite mates. She was from San Juan, Puerto Rico, the daughter of a postmaster. Ileana was a very joyous person, always laughing. Our building had a small kitchen and dining room where we could entertain and Ileana cooked us some delicious meals, introducing us to her native dishes. She also married a couple of years after graduation (I think someone she had met from the Kansas area) and had several children. Tragically, she died in a traffic accident only a few years later, although her husband and children survived.

Besides my former suitemates, I keep in close touch with Corky (maid of honor at our wedding) and Florie DiMatteo, whom I sometimes visit in Walnut Creek when down at Mary and Joel‘s.

Many of you probably think of nuns as strict and stern. In any classroom the instructor has to act like this, but I came to know the Sisters at St. Mary as delightful human beings. Many years later at an Alumnae Reunion banquet, Sr. Mary Clarence sat at our table. We kidded her, "Oh, Sister, when you were our freshman dorm supervisor, we were scared to death of you!"

She burst out laughing, "Oh, no! It was my first year as a professed nun, responsible for you, and I was even more scared of you!"

Many of these Sisters had been farm girls. Fields surrounding the college and Motherhouse supplied some of our food, and the very portly, Sr. Mary Earnestine, head of the English Department, had a secret. On Saturdays when she thought no one was around (but I was), she loved to tie up her habit and drive the tractor, her veil flying out behind her.

They also had scheduled evenings when they used the indoor college swimming pool. We were always anxious to see them in bathing suits, but we were never able to pull that off.

Because she was my advisor and I worked under her for four years, Sr. Agnes Marie was my favorite. One evening she sat me down and almost talked me into entering the convent. I thought of the simplicity, no fussing with hair—my long hair needed curlers every night—putting on makeup, worrying about clothes and being fashionable. Most importantly I had become a devout Catholic, although I looked into other religions as soon as I escaped my parent's supervision. Thoughts of the convent lasted one night. I changed my mind the next day.

Although I returned home each summer, other holiday vacation times were spent at Uncle Frank’s with whom Grandma Verschelden also lived (I slept on the living room sofa), or down on the farm and a couple times in Aunty B’s convent when she was stationed not too far away. Luci and Rennie’s tiny first home was in Topeka so I had fun visiting over there during the day. At least one Christmas vacation I remember working at a Topeka department store.

By the way, you may wonder how I got around. None of the college students owed cars (that I knew of) and if so, I don’t think they were allowed on campus. Greyhound had extensive bus lines everywhere and everyone used them--very safe and comfortable. Most cities of any size, including Leavenworth, also had good intercity bus systems.

I had visited Corky’s home in Kansas City many times. Her older brother Paul attended Kansas State University at Manhattan, Kansas, and once invited me to come for Homecoming Weekend. However, the St. Mary nuns felt responsible for me, so I had to have my folk’s permission and be properly chaperoned. Luckily, Mom had close cousins who were undertakers in Manhattan and it was arranged that I would stay with them. They were very nice to me and before the big dance Saturday night invited Paul to dinner. Both he and she were undertakers and lived in one part of the funeral home. I have no idea if we had hamburger or steak for dinner, but I still remember her beautiful and stunning table setting--lovely white linens, a red rose centerpiece and heavy, ornate silver--setting off all-black porcelain dishes! She told me the dishes had been somewhat of a gag wedding gift and they thought it such a good joke and so very appropriate that they kept them and added all the rest of the place settings.

I didn’t date very much, because I had few opportunities to meet fellows, plus I was quite shy then. I know Luci and Rennie set me up with single friends of theirs for a couple of New Year’s parties. One summer my good high school friend, Mary Beth, introduced me to a really nice fellow I dated most of that summer. I particularly remember going with him to an outdoor dance pavilion among the redwood trees and under the stars in Marin County. We danced to tunes of the “swing era” made famous by bands like Glenn Miller, Tommy Dorsey, and so on (real music compared to today). My mother was not well, almost a semi-invalid for years (in hindsight we are sure she had endometriosis) and he was so thoughtful he brought her flowers--maybe trying to impress me. After I returned to college that Fall, we wrote for a while, but long-distance romances don’t survive. In my junior year I met a fellow from Rockhurst College in K.C. who was much more interested in me than I was impressed with him. He wanted to make a trip to California and Yosemite that following summer to see me. I hope I didn’t break his heart (I’m sure he recovered), but I had to write and tell him not to come, that I was seriously dating someone else (Al).

Probably too soon came graduation and tearful goodbyes to all my college friends. My folks and brother Gene drove out from California (John was in a seminary studying to be a Dominican priest). Our Senior Prom was just prior to graduation. Since I was engaged and Al couldn’t come, my Prom date was my little brother (but not so little in stature any more) and I remember he wore with his dress suit a pink shirt--the very latest in men’s attire. Any color dress shirt goes today, but for 1949 that was far out!

Graduation took place in late May during the day and the weather was already hot and humid. Our heavy black serge gowns were miserable. I think my dear godfather, Uncle Joe and Aunt Mary Lou, also came from Portland and, of course, my Kansas relatives were there, plus Corky‘s family.

On our long drive back to California we visited Estes Park and ran into snow crossing the Rocky Mountains (after roasting in Kansas). We occupied ourselves during most of that long, boring drive (maybe had a radio but no audio tapes, DVDs, or tablets--see what you missed!) by writing down all the Burma Shave messages or see who could spot the most states’ license plates. Cars in those days had no air conditioning, so it was also a very hot ride.

After that long trip in the old 1940 blue Chevy we must have sighed in relief as we pulled into the driveway at 209 Alhambra Avenue, Vallejo, the grandparents’ house most of you remember. My folks had been able to buy it a couple years previously and I lived there until I married your father.

By now you know that my college years were very special. I have always been so grateful that I was given the opportunity to attend St. Mary’s and be blessed with these memories and friendships.

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