Sundays might be the best days to give shocking news to children especially when it was in the 1950's. In those times not much was happening on Sunday to clutter our little minds so we were able to give our parents our full attention.
We had gone to Mass as a family on this autumn day filled with blue skies, balmy breezes and fall colors. It was 1956 and our folks, along with my two sisters and I, decided to take a drive around town.
What the heck. I was only ten years old and unable to question my parents motives so I went along with the suggestion. It was after a short while that our blue and white Ford pulled over in front of Goeppinger Field, home of the high school football team.
Mother spoke first. "I wanted you kids to know that I was adopted". "You mean Grandma Dickerson isn't my real grandma" I asked? I was in a state of shock. Dad was next. "I'm adopted, too" he said. That means my beloved grandfather, Grandpa Joe, wasn't the real deal, either. The world came crashing down on me.
As you might imagine I began wondering if I was adopted but the folks knew this thought was coming and told us we were all theirs. Regardless, that day must have made a tremendous impact on me because I can remember it like it was this morning.
Over the years I've found out many stories about my parents natural mothers and fathers; some true and some fairy tales. I'd prefer not to go into my dad's story because it's just too bizarre. Let it be said that his birth mother had three husbands with so many children coming from her womb if you laid them around her they'd look like a litter of piglets. Dad was the last of her brood and she gave him up to an adoption agency in Davenport, Iowa. When he was three, in 1923, his natural uncle and wife drove to Davenport and picked him up from the Annie Wittenmeyer Home then drove back to Boone, Iowa. That was a great deal for me because a doctor from New York was on a train to Iowa to pick up my future dad.
Mother's story is much different. She was raised in northwest Iowa, a town called Fonda. Her birthdate was July 6, 1919, Her adopted parents were Otis and Anna Dickerson. Otis was a barber and mom was an only child. Grandpa Dickerson died in 1948 and Grandma came to live with us in Boone. That's what parents did in those days; move in with their children.
I do know Anna and Otis brought in a kid named Jesse who they raised. He took off during WWII and never contacted Grandma again.
She always wondered what happened to him but when she spoke of him was never sad or morose so he couldn't have been a son. Grandma died in July of 1960 and it wasn't thirty days after when this Jesse character showed up at the house looking for her. We gave him a meal and sent him on his way. I looked at him while he was in the living room, thought of grandma then went back to watching Tom Terrific on television.
There were so many stories about mom and her natural parents it was difficult to keep track of them. Remember this: back in the early part and middle of the 1900's things were better left unsaid, or so we were told. Mom never asked or knew about her natural born parents. Grandma Dickerson's sister, Aunt Loretta, lived in Storm Lake, Iowa and passed away in the 80's. Why I never asked her the real story is beyond me. I had small children at the time and wanted background informatio to see if there might be an inherited disease the kids could genetically carry. I have to think I was embarrassed to ask but why I cannot tell you?
Grandma's very best friend in Fonda was Margaret Barrett. I called her one evening in 1988 and explained who I was. As soon as I mentioned my name she started crying. Her husband, Jack, had died four days before. Common sense told me this might not be the appropriate time to go into our ancestry so I hung up. I never did call back.
Last year I received a phone call from a fella in Milwaukee, name of Dennis O'Brien. He was a member of Ancestry and had determined I was at least his half first cousin. His grandmother, he said, was my grandmother. She had given birth to a little girl, Mary Louise, in 1916 and another girl on July 6, 1919. That was my mother, he thought. Well, we had always been told that my mom's name at birth was Nellie McMahon. Rumors persisted that her natural mother worked as a cook on a railroad bridge gang and dropped my mom in the town of Fonda, put her on a doorstep, rang the doorbell, and ran off. That's what my mom always told us. She said that she was given up so young that a doctor had to clean afterbirth gunk out of her eyes. I don't know if this is true. Maybe that's what Grandma Dickerson told her. This next rumor is a real beauty. Supposedly, this McMahon lady had an affair with Otis Dickerson and Grandma agreed to take the baby if he gave up is drinking. That idea has been floated in the last five years.
Last week I received another call from Mr. O'Brien. He thought that my mother's name at birth was Eleanor Frederick and she was conceived at Camp Dodge just outside of Des Moines, Iowa in the closing stages of WWI. His grandmother, also Eleanor Frederick, worked at Camp Dodge. My son and I looked into shortened versions of the name Eleanor and up popped 'Nellie'. As for the moniker of McMahon: well, it was war time and this is where the trail ends. Eleanor Frederick was married to a John O'Brien but divorced him in 1914 but they still lived together. Her parents promised her a car if she got rid of the guy. She did but they still cohabitated. Eleanor Frederick, it seems, didn't have much class. Either that or she desperately wanted that car.
Could it be one of those come on moves from a stranger, "Hey, Baby, the war's about over. Let's celebrate with a roll in the hay". That is a distinct possibility. One thing I've learned over the years is my ancestors weren't blessed with Mother Teresa morals.
You might ask, why don't I get mom's adoption records? Well, mom was what was considered a 'notch baby'. For some reason children born between 1917 and 1926 had their records sealed permanently. Now that mom's gone there might be another avenue to pursue. Don't count on satisfaction on the 'notch' aspect. Since government is involved I know I'll be smashing my head into a wall looking for answers.
Do I care about this adoption kerfuffle? Not really. It'd be nice to know who my actual grandfather might be. Then again, maybe not. The last thing I need in the family is another ne'er do well.
In the final analysis, people aren't much different today than they were at the turn of the 19th century. Sex wasn't discovered with the advent of The Pill. McMasters and Johnson didn't liberate women from the boredom of no sex in life. It's been a part of the fabric of the world since Adam and Eve. And to that I say, "Thank God or I wouldn't be here".
