|
June 1923 marked a high point in my life. High
school graduation both elated and perplexed me. The coveted diploma
meant high school days were behind me. “What shall I do during future
years?” I asked myself.
While classmates with more affluent parents would be enrolling in some
college or university, my parents, with limited financial means, could
not afford to send me to a school of higher learning.
Factory work I found distasteful. Long hours at the local cannery plant
paid no more than thirty cents an hour, as I learned during previous
summer vacations. Summer months, I had little choice but to work there.
During fall and winter seasons, I worked at the beet sugar processing
plant, a twelve-hour shift, seven days a week, at thirty cents an hour.
I would eat breakfast, then report for work at seven o’clock. Twelve
hours later, at seven in the evening, after eating supper, I went to
bed, exhausted.
Mother called my attention to an advertisement in the local, daily newspaper.
“Prepare for a good-paying job,” the advertisement exhorted. “We will
place you in a part-time job to pay for your living expenses.”
Elated by prospects of an early release from factory work, I promptly
responded. I had saved sufficient money to pay tuition costs. A part-time
job would pay for room and board, as well as streetcar transportation.
Six months later, I completed secretarial training at The Business Institute
in Detroit. A factory office job paid $30 a week for a nine-hour day,
six days a week. Still dreaming of college, I continued to save part
of my weekly pay.
Sometime later, Father (a skilled carpenter) was offered a construction
foremanship in Florida, during the 1920s land boom, at double his local
pay. He planned to drive his 1915 Model T Ford touring car, and invited
me to join him.
Visions of white sandy beaches and swaying palm trees influenced my
decision. Within a week I quit my Detroit job and started on a 1500-mile
transcontinental journey. Fifteen days later, we arrived in Miami without
incident.
Father immediately went to work, and I soon found an office job paying
more than my Detroit job. After the 1926 hurricane, I was offered a
handsome salary as secretary for the construction superintendent of
the Phoenix Utility Company, which was building a power plant in the
Everglades, a short drive north of where I lived. My predecessor, alarmed
by the devastating storm, returned to his northern home.
Still wanting to attend college, I continued to save money. During the
autumn of 1927, with sufficient funds accumulated, I quit a good-paying
job and returned to Michigan, where I enrolled at Michigan Normal College
(now called Eastern Michigan University) in Ypsilanti.
When I resigned my job, the company offered me a substantial raise in
pay to relocate to Kansas City, Missouri, where another power plant
was being built. If I had been lured by a princely salary, the move
would have affected my later years, completely changing the course of
my destiny. I would probably have married someone else; and none of
my children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, or great-great-grandchildren
would have ever been born.
After college enrollment, I realized my savings would not enable me
to attend four full years. After classes started, I sought part-time
work, doing yard work for college professors who paid thirty cents an
hour, the going rate. My freshman year, I mowed lawns, trimmed hedges,
and hauled ashes from basements with coal-burning furnaces.
I lived in a two-room, light-housekeeping apartment costing $5 a week.
I prepared my own meals; groceries cost about $3 each week. Tuition
required $15 a term, or $60 for the entire year. I purchased secondhand
books.
The last month of my freshman year, I became acquainted with a senior
student who planned a June graduation. He reported college activities
for the Detroit Free Press, making
sufficient money to care for his college expenses.
After graduation, he graciously suggested I take his place. “Me?” I
remonstrated.
“You have been with me and know what is expected,” he assured me. “I
will put in a word for you with the State Editor.”
Much to my amazement, I was accepted. The following three years I worked
as a cub reporter. In time, I was asked to take charge of the school
publicity department. Between two jobs, I attended classes, working
long hours. Then something unexpected happened.
The last part of my sophomore year, I resolved to take time to attend
a college party given at Starkweather Hall, a campus student gathering
place. The evening festivities proved to be a milestone in my life.
Across a crowded room (as in the musical South
Pacific), I saw a stranger; and she appealed
to me as no one had done in the past. I did not leave until someone
told me who she was and how to get in touch with her.
A telephone call to the Kappa Delta Mu sorority house resulted in a
date with Rose Gulden; then still more dates, even during summer vacation
although I then worked at a job in Detroit. At the end of the summer,
she confided an upsetting situation. Her parents no longer could finance
her senior year. We came up with a solution.
On September 30, 1929, at the start of her last year in college, we
married, much in love with each other. She moved into my apartment,
preparing our meals and giving me more time to work so we could both
continue with our studies.
Christmas vacation, Rose stayed with her parents and I worked at the
Detroit Main Post Office for two weeks, sorting mail (a tedious task)
and helping to deliver packages. I was still working Christmas Eve,
and made more than $80. My pay envelope contained four ten-dollar gold
pieces as well as paper money and some change. I managed to hold onto
the gold pieces; and in later years, I gave one to each of our daughters.
When she graduated June 1930, her former high school offered a teaching
job. By the time I graduated during June 1931, the Depression had erupted
in earnest.
After graduation, I discovered teaching jobs were difficult to find.
I accepted a job with a rural graded school, located in a one-room schoolhouse,
at $95 a month, less than I made part-time while attending college.
Rose’s teaching position, eliminated by lack of funds, required her
to seek other employment. The only position available, another rural
graded school, paid $50 a month.
Together, we managed to keep our bills paid while building a lasting
marriage. She became the mother of our three daughters (Rosemary, Gretchen,
and Mary). We enjoyed a happy life together for 29 years, until she
succumbed to breast cancer on November 29, 1958, at age 49. According
to the song in South Pacific, I
should “never, never let her go,” but death decided otherwise. She’s
buried in the Alma Mausoleum (Alma, Michigan) where I, too, have a crypt.
If you have questions or comments about this Web page or site, e-mail: mary@vanmeer.com
© 2002 Leo VanMeer
Return To Top
|