Chapter 9 - Engagement and Back Home

Near the end of the summer in Yosemite, Al and I climbed up on Summit Dome to watch the sunset. It was there that he told me that he loved me. The next Christmas, Mrs. Anderson, the mother of my dear friend, Jane, secured a job for me at the Vallejo Post Office, and with that money, I was able to go home for the holidays. On Christmas Eve, Al gifted me with an engagement ring.

Here, I'd like to share a funny story. Toward the end of my summer working in Yosemite, Mother brought Grandmother Verschelden, who was visiting California, up to see the Valley. I arranged a room for them in Yosemite and one evening took Al over to meet them. Grandma asked what he did, and I replied that he drove the oil truck and worked on the government road crew--I was a waitress, a good combination. Well, I was her wonderful granddaughter (the first of my generation to attend college), and she went back to Kansas, horrified about this. It wasn’t until after the following Christmas that I heard about it and told her. “Grandma, that was his summer job. He’s graduating this year from the University of California.”

I had left school early for the Post Office job, and my professors had told me, “Make sure you are back in time.” After Christmas, I boarded my train for Kansas City. That December, one of the worst blizzards in history hit the Rockies and Upper Plains. Our train, plus two others, became snowbound in Green River, WY. The City of San Francisco, which I had originally planned to take (but I wanted to get back to college as early as possible) was stuck fifteen miles west of Green River. They had to send sleds out there to get the elderly and disabled into town, where those generous townspeople welcomed them into their homes. Army helicopters dropped food supplies out to that train as they also did for us. Green River was a small town, and the citizens there were amazingly kind. There were many college kids on our trains, and we started a daily news sheet, interviewing different people, how the government was helping, and recruiting players for basketball and volleyball games in the high school gym. A fiddle player and a couple of other local musicians played for a dance in that gym every night. After about four, maybe five days, the tracks were cleared enough that my train moved on. In the meantime, I’d been able to telegraph the college about my being snowbound, and I was forgiven. It was one great big adventure!

After graduation from St. Mary’s (now a university and co-ed), I lived at home in Vallejo and fulfilled my year’s internship at Kaiser. Al came up every weekend, and we often went to San Francisco, other places, visited friends, and to the beach. He had saved his money from his service and, after the war, had purchased a big tan Oldsmobile sedan.

While I was doing my internship (we did every lab job, and this was before machines took over the routine CBCs and urinalyses), he was working on his Master’s Degree under Professor Kirk. Dr. Kirk had suggested he investigate the statistics of matching bullets to the rifling in guns that fired them. He was able to show that when they matched (sometimes bullet casings were too mangled to be definitive), there was an almost infinite impossibility of those casings ever matching other guns. His thesis was hailed as a great help in murder trials.

I was also planning a wedding for July 1, the next summer, 1950. Mother and I looked and looked at wedding dresses for that special one, which couldn’t be too expensive. Finally, we went to Oakland to shop, and at Goldman’s Department Store, I saw IT in the window. I prayed that it was in my size, because one didn’t order them from sample gowns in those days. Wonder of wonders! It was the size 10 I wore then, and fit my tall, skinny figure perfectly. It had a high neckline and a plain front panel with ruffles like a senorita’s gown extending from the sides into a train in the back.

Our wedding was at St. Vincent’s Catholic Church, known as the big red church up on the hill; Reverent Ward presiding (my favorite priest there). My bridesmaids were Corky, maid of honor, then Jane Anderson and Genevieve Gellinger (of whom I lost track long ago). Jane was about forty when she died of cancer. and Corky was a life-long friend. His brother Angelo was Al’s best man, along with my brother John and Al’s good friend, John Casserly. We made or had made the girls’ dresses of a lovely eyelet dotted-Swiss material, ballerina length, but I forget the colors. (Our wedding picture is black and white, because color photography was not known then.)

There were not many reasonable venues for receptions in Vallejo. We chose Terry’s Nightclub, but open afternoons. We were sure about the approximate number of guests attending. We had punch, coffee, a few small side dishes, and a nice cake. We had already paid for the reception, so I was very angry later when I learned that Terry’s manager charged more by counting the number of cups of coffee consumed. How many people put their cup down and get another? My folks didn’t have the cash with them, and so Al’s parents paid. By the time I heard about it, nothing could be done.

After the reception, we went to my house and I changed into a smart navy-blue suit with a cute pink hat decorated with roses. We spent our first night as man and wife at the Fairmont Hotel in Berkeley (I had often wished to see it). Then the next day off with the finery and into our hiking clothes. There were three on our honeymoon—Al, me, and Jenny (a mule carrying our meager equipment). We went back up the Merced River past Vernal and Nevada Falls as far as the high-country Merced Camp, while camping along the way. By the time we reached the Merced Camp, it had rained and we were soaking wet, so we checked in there for the night and had a most welcome hot shower.

Before the wedding, Al’s parents started turning part of the basement into an apartment for us. That’s what people did in Italy. I think they were very upset when Al informed them that we were going to rent our own apartment. Grandma B was already irked that Al had married this German girl instead of the beautiful Italian-American model he had dated for a long time. His friends told me she was absolutely no fun on a picnic, because her hair had to be perfect and the seams in her hose straight.

We moved into an apartment in the same building as his friends, John and Jean Casserly (with whom I still correspond). Al went back to U.C. to work on his Master’s, and I obtained a job at Peralta Hospital. I could walk there from our apartment. On weekends, Al worked as a party waiter at Angelo’s Restaurant, near the Golden Gate Fields racetrack out by the bay in Berkeley. The tips were very good for a party waiter and certainly welcome, as my salary wasn’t that much. Our apartment wasn’t too far from Lake Merritt, and we’d often walk down there on weekends and feed the ducks. Thus started a long and happy marriage.