One Woman's Century: The Remarkable Story of Angela Marsh Peterson (1902-2000)

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Parkway Publishers, Inc. Boone, North Carolina

Copyright © 2005 by Kevin Todeschi All Rights Reserved available from: Parkway Publishers, Inc. P. O. Box 3678 Boone, NC 28607 www.parkwaypublishers.com Tel/Fax: 828-265-3993

Library o/Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data:

Peterson, Angela Marsh, 1902-2000. One woman's century: the remarkable story ofAngela Marsh Peterson, 1902-2000 / [edited by] Kevin J. Todeschi. p. cm. ISBN 1-887905-38-3 1. Peterson, Angela Marsh, 1902-2000.2. Teachers-United States-Biography. 3. Businesswomen-United States-Biography. 4. United States. Army Service Forces. Special Service Division.-Biography. 5. High Point (N.C.)-Biography. I. Todeschi, Kevin J. II. Title. CT275.P5847A32004 973.91 '092-dc22

2004016577

Cover Design by Aaron Burleson Editing, layout and book design by Julie Shissler

Angela Marsh Peterson (1902-2000) was an extraordinary individual who encountered nearly every experience available to atwentieth century woman: marriage, motherhood, divorce, the death of achild, being a businesswoman, teaching school. She watched Haley's comet with her mother in 1910 and heard about the tragedy of the Titanic. She experienced the Depression and both World Wars. The daughter of astate senator, she would grow to survive rape, anervous breakdown, and a crippling illness. In time she would serve in the military, organize a travel company, create one of the first senior citizen centers in the country, and found a museum. Her acts of helping others began as a child when she organized a fundraiser for the Red Cross during World War I. As a young woman and teacher, she began the first free lunch program for underprivileged children in the state of West Virginia. She also worked for a semester teaching the blind. After adivorce and World War II, she battled age discrimination at forty-six to become a Captain in the Army's Special Services division and serve as overseas Recreation Director in Korea. She would later serve in a similar capacity at military installations in both Texas and Turkey. After her stint in the army, she would become a businesswoman, tour leader and travel company owner in Turkey in the 1960s. While there, she wrote amonthly column on Turkish sites and history. Later she would become Dean of Freshmen Men at Ohio Wesleyan University-where she managed meetings and conventions during the summer session. In her seventies she once again taught school and gave public lectures. Throughout her life she was involved in theatre and the arts, and a doll collection that would expand to become a museum, which she founded at the age of eighty. Although her exploits and her life's activities were often chronicled in the paper, she died impoverished and crippled in a nursing home, retaining only the faculties of her mind. She used the time to recount her long life, her many occupations, her doll collection, her varied psychic experiences, and the people that had been important in her life. This is Angela's remarkable life story.

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Diana in her armor bright, had not your courage dear Proserpina in Pluto's night, lackedyour boundless cheer Aphrodite's beauty was a pale star to your brilliant sun And Venus'form compared to yours was like elephant to fawn... So go to bed, and rest my pet and I pray your dreams include me For how I wish I was closed in your arms instead of where I now be. from Gordon, one of Angela's suitors while he was on the road in South Carolina

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For over four-and-a-half years Angela Marsh Peterson was a central part of my life. We came together essentially because I was interested in writing and she was interested in telling her story-a story that had encountered several aborted attempts for more than a decade. We decided to work together on the project. Angela supplied me with the narrative, as well as a wealth of pictures, letters, anecdotes, and memorabilia. Although she was alone and crippled in a nursing home, up until the last three months of her life her mind remained clear and she possessed a remarkable memory. Frequently I had the opportunity to hear Angela tell a story from her past and would later come across a tape recording from more than ten years before that contained a nearly perfect word-for-word narrative of the same incident she had related to me. In addition to Angela's varied experiences and the many newspaper articles chronicling her life's events, Angela's archives included literally hundreds of letters written by her, her ex-husband Fred, and her sister Helen. For that reason, I decided to intersperse Angela's present-day narrative with letters and newspaper articles from the past. Using verbatim extracts from the letters and the newspaper clippings had not been part ofAngela's intent and she had not even looked at these things for decades. I remember in particular one love letter that her then-husband Fred had written to her on October 5, 1925 that is included in Part II. While reading a draft of that section, Angela was truly taken by surprise when she saw Fred's words from more than sixty years before. She was shocked by how the letter had affected her in the present, and asked me to take it out of the book. I challenged her, noting that Fred had saved her letters to him, just as she had saved many ofhis to her, "Perhaps these things have been saved all these years for a reason." Angela relented and the letter stayed. Angela's sister, Helen, had also saved many ofher letters, recounting Angela's travels while overseas. After both Fred and Helen had died, the letters were returned to Angela. Many ofthese letters became an invaluable part of chronicling Angela's story. Early on I decided to divide One Woman s Century into the five major parts of Angela's life. One of our only arguments came when I insisted that we needed to end her story with Part V, chronicling her experiences with the museum and the nursing home. Angela wanted to end the book either after her experiences in Turkey or with the museum, "I told you, I don't want to dwell much on the nursing home. Why can't we end the book right after Turkey? There's nothing exciting about the daily events in a nursing home. Nobody wants to read about an old woman dying in a nursing home!" But I insisted. Before her death, she managed to read the first draft of all but perhaps the last twenty pages of the manuscript. Angela was a proud woman and refused to show any signs of weakness or talk about any regrets. However, in her nearly one hundred years, she did have one regret that bothered her for much of her life. A nervous breakdown had resulted after a long health problem and being raped-an event that she had never told anyone. That breakdown caused her to leave her two young children in the care of her husband. Because ofher own problems, she essentially abandoned them emotionally. She often mentioned the impact of the whole situation, especially on her son, Eric.

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Years later, when she journeyed and lived overseas to work first in the Special Services and then later as a travel agent and tour guide, the distance between herself and her children widened further. Her son once told her, "Mom, you paid quite a price for your years away." Angela told me that she agreed. Her only regret was that she felt she had failed as a mother and that she had alienated Eric. During the time we were together, Angela and I grew very close. I tried to call her twice a week and I took the five-and-a-half-hour drive to see her every couple of months. Every Sunday and Wednesday night when I would call, Angela would be sitting in her bed with the phone on her lap, waiting for it to ring. I remember feeling especially guilty the two times I forgot to call her (even though I called her the very next day), for I imagined seeing her sitting there waiting, and waiting, all alone in her room. She told me that she looked forward to my visits and my phone calls, "More than anything." Although I was more than fifty years younger than she was, in time Angela joked with her friends that I was her "boyfriend." The last time I ever spoke with her, she told me, "I do love you, honey. Be a good boy," and then she told me goodnight. I told her I loved her too and I hung up the phone. I wish I had known then that it would be the last conversation we would ever have. A few days after her death, the local paper carried a front-page article about the woman I had come to know. It would be one of literally hundreds of articles about her life's experiences. Excerpt, High Point Enterprise; Tuesday, September 19, 2000: Woman Captured Magic in Miniature Angela Peterson created a fantasy world with dolls from her many travels. She said the dolls recreated the magic of eras long past and spoke truths their creators could no longer share. She was 91 when she donated her collection of more than 1,000 dolls to create the Angela Peterson Doll & Miniature Museum. Peterson died Friday at age 98. Born in Parkersburg, West Virginia, Peterson led a nomadic life of exploring and doll collecting. "She was strong-willed, and that helped her to do a lot of the more unusual things she did in her life," said Peterson's granddaughter, Karen. "She did a lot of things that weren't the norm or expected for women born in 1902." Peterson's adventurous career and passion for collecting dolls blossomed relatively late in life. She had been a housewife and mother until she divorced. She was in her late 40s when she became a recreation director for the U.S. Armed Forces. She was stationed in Waco, Texas, and Korea until the war escalated. In 1952, she went to Fort Worth. After that, she spent several years as a dean of freshmen at Ohio Wesleyan University. In 1960, she left for a six-month vacation in Europe and wound up staying in Turkey for nearly ten years ... In all, Peterson lived in eight states and she visited 44 countries. "She was a nomad. She just loved to roam," [daughter-in-law] Neville Peterson said.

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No one knows exactly why she was so fascinated by dolls and driven to find a venue to display them all for the world to see. She received what would be the first doll of her collection when she was 6 years old. The doll, Rosie, disappeared each Thanksgiving and reappeared each Christmas with a different wig and outfit. "I think that sparked her love of dolls and made her want to craft these wonderful outfits," said Susan Myers, director of the museum. Today, Rosie has an extensive wardrobe, and Peterson crafted elaborate miniature displays showcased at the museum. Her most prized possession is a large nativity scene with dolls from around the world. "They are a wonderful document of the lives, dress, customs of the Middle Ages and the Renaissance. We can create only from what we know, and Europeans knew nothing of Palestine or earlier eras. Dolls representing the time of Christ were dressed and housed as their makers were," Peterson wrote in an introduction to the collection. The nativity scene took her 34 years to complete. The most difficult component to acquire was the baby Jesus. Peterson said that shopkeepers in Italy were reluctant to sell her many members of the nativity, but none wanted to sell her the infant because "only Judas took money for Jesus." Eventually, a shop owner gave her a baby Jesus doll to stop her crying. "Later, she told Gary Smith where to put each and every doll and said never to move them," Charlotte Young, director of the High Point Convention and Visitor's Bureau, said of her predecessor. Smith, now in Long Beach, California, said, "She wanted everyone to share what she had felt about the collection. She had some story to tell about everyone of them ... "

Angela's final wish was to have the opportunity to share her remarkable life story with everyone. For that reason, it is presented here as One Woman s Century.

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oV've Of course, now I'm just an old woman dying in a nursing home, but I've had some wonderful experiences. To tell you this story, I could go back some thirty generations but that would bore you to death. Let's just say that my grandfather's family on my Mama's side was British and came to America toward the end of the 1600's, long before the Revolution. I have no records to substantiate the claim, but according to family legend our ancestor was a pampered illegitimate son ofthe crown who changed his name to Roberts, was married off and given a great deal of land along the Chesapeake Bay. He arrived in this country with a boatload of Catholics all escaping the Protestant royalty. George Fox, the founder of the Quaker faith, came to America at about the same time and brought his brother with him. The Quakers were one of the few groups that really pushed education. Though George never had any children himself, he more or less adopted his brother's children. This is important because my grandmother was a great grandniece of George Fox and had a pretty good education for a woman in those days. When Grandfather was about thirty, he lost his first wife to TB. At the time, the woman who would become my grandmother was a little Quaker gal offifteen living in Philadelphia. As the story goes, her own mother told her, "Elizabeth, we must go to the funeral and make an appearance." Elizabeth didn't want to go. She didn't know my grandfather or the woman who died (who was her second cousin), but her mother insisted. Well, she went and saw Grandfather, and he saw her, and about a year later they were married. From Grandfather's first marriage he had a little boy who was slightly crippled and walked with a limp but Grandmother just loved that little boy. She took over, raised him, and treated him as her own son. By disposition my grandfather was opposed to slavery, but what else could he do? He had a big plantation and couldn't possibly afford any help... he was just part of the system. After the wedding, Grandfather moved his new bride into this plantation on the bay, and almost immediately Grandmother started having babies. In all, that poor woman would have 16 births. To make matters worse, Grandmother's hip would go out during each pregnancy. Imagine! Times being what they were, she raised 10 of her own children to adulthood. On two occasions, twins were born dead. Another time twins were born and one lived and the other didn't. I believe another little girl died when she was five. My own mother was one of the children born to the two of them after they moved across the mountains. By the time a half-dozen or so children had come along, it became quite clear that the plantation needed its own classroom. Grandfather built a one-room building with a stove. The plantation had over fifty slaves and all these little black kids who couldn't read or write. Grandmother told the adults that they and their children were welcome to come for schooling and she would teach anyone who wanted to learn. In a very short while, Grandmother had her children and all of the children of the slaves in that little classroom. She also taught a lot of the slave women to read, which was wonderful for them when the Civil War broke out. Grandmother was very much criticized for what she was doing, but it didn't make any difference. She didn't believe in mistreating slaves. In fact, some ofthe slaves just loved working for my grandparents-many were

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heartbroken when they were disbanded because of the war. When you consider how some slaves had been treated at the time, Grandfather's slaves considered themselves lucky. They had all been treated well, had their own little quarters with two rooms, and a small patch of property to work on and call their own. During the Civil War, the Yankees took Grandfather's farm, the mansion and the plantation. The soldiers also took the cattle for themselves. The Yankees told all the slaves to leave and then burnt their little houses and all of the outbuildings so that they would have to go. Grandmother and Grandfather escaped to Philadelphia, taking what they could salvage. I don't know how long they were there but I do know at one point Grandfather fought at the battle ofAntietam and named one of his sons, James Antietam. When the war was finally over, my grandparents had almost nothing left. Soldiers from the North had taken over the mansion as their headquarters. During the war the soldiers had nearly wrecked the house and took everything of value, so after the war it just stood barren and empty. Sometime during the war, Grandfather heard about this place up in the mountains of West Virginia. A man had told him, "It's the queerest thing you've ever seen in your life... the water bums." Now to Grandfather this meant there must be oil coming up out ofthe ground and he decided that it just might be good for something. He figured the oil might have a medicinal value, like rubbing it on your leg for rheumatism, or maybe it could be refined and used for lamps, that sort of thing. So they moved to the Burning Springs ofWest Virginia-it wasn't even a village when he found it. It was rough and wild and brought with it the excitement of a brand new state. I hear tell that Pennsylvania has claimed the first commercial oil field. Well, Grandfather really had the first but he didn't have enough money to make it competitive. The funny thing is within a few years of moving to West Virginia, five of the liberated slaves crossed into the mountains and found them. They said, "Thank heavens we've found you, Colonel." But he said, "What can I do, I can't afford to pay you?" And they said, "Oh, you don't have to pay us. Just feed us and let us stay with you. We will work for you for nothing." One of these men, who called himself 'Nigger Jeff,' took over his oldjob as Grandfather's right hand man. Grandfather built him a little house right next to the big house and he stayed with them for as long as Grandfather lived. The others, such as Adelaide, the children's nurse, stayed as well. They were members of the family. When Grandfather died, he gave Jeff two of his carriage horses and a big, two-seater carriage and told Jeff to go down to Parkersburg and start a carriage service and Jeff did just that. I remember, when I was a little girl, we would come into Parkersburg on the train. Mama would say, "Now we don't want Jeff to see us because he'll want us to ride with him, and he won't charge us and he needs the money." But he often spotted us getting off the train and he'd say, "Laws Miss Kate, you tryin' to hide from Nigger Jeff?" I can remember how he'd help us into the carriage, "You'se a pretty little girl, you is," and then he'd take us over to Grandmother's and refused to take any money. My grandfather died the year before I was born and Grandmother lived until I was eighteen. I never saw her out of a wheelchair, but she was always a beautiful woman. She worried about her hair not being pinned up just right with its little curls. It was a wonderful treat to be around her. She died when she was eighty-four.

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When my Papa was a little boy, he just loved to learn. He wanted schooling so badly, but there was always work to be done on the farm. In all, he only got to go to school two winters of four months each when the heavy snows came, but Daddy and his brothers were all great readers. They would get anything they could find to read and pass it back and forth. Several of them became the most intellectual members of the whole family and Papa was one of them. It became quite natural that my Papa, Harvey, would teach school. He taught for a year or two and then heard that out West (in what was then not yet the state of Washington) they needed teachers and were paying double the salary-thirty dollars a month! Well, that sounded awfully good to him and his brother, Cal, so they took the train that had just gone through all the way to the west coast. They saw lots of Indians and loggers. They taught for two or three years and then Dad decided he could make a little extra money by opening a store. So he invested what he had and opened the first five-and-ten-cent store in the territory: nothing over a dime. Not only were there Indians and loggers who came in to buy something, but the pioneers would come and the settlers and they made quite a good business. People were just tickled to death that they could buy a little pan for a dime-nothing at all over ten cents. And then Uncle Cal had another idea. He said, "We're beginning to be quite a population out here, and there's no way to get news," so he started a newspaper. It became quite popular and was going strong even up to the time of his death. Now back home, Daddy had been dating this girl named Eliza. Although he liked her, he wasn't ready for marriage or anything. So this going out West became a good excuse to kind of break up in a nice way. After he moved, Daddy heard about Eliza from his family, and he kept in touch with her from time to time. Eliza's own family also wrote and would tell him that his girlfriend was just pinning away for him, "How could you just up and leave her?" "She's just so in love with you that she's making herself sick." "She's losing weight and getting down to nothing." "Harvey, how could you do this to this wonderful little girl?" Well for weeks and months this went on with everybody hounding Papa, until he finally came home, married her, and took her back to Washington. They found out later that it wasn't pining away for the love of him that was making her sick, the poor girl was half dead with tuberculosis. Eliza got pregnant right after being married and soon after giving birth to a baby girl, she just up and died. She was so far gone from the tuberculosis that the birth and the trauma of everything was more than she could handle. In the late 1800's and early 1900's, TB was rampant. Every family had two or three cases, and these poor souls just died like flies. So, there was my Papa, a young man with a dead wife and a little baby girl (Louise, my halfsister), located on the other side of the country from the rest of his family. He had no choice but to sell out and move back to West Virginia where he opened a little store in the town of Petroleum. In terms of my mama-Mama started teaching school when she was fifteen. There were no schools in Burning Springs and the children were just begging to learn. Mama, "Miss Kate" as everyone called her, was a big, developed girl-six feet tall and educated! She was given a school to teach. She taught for years and went from a oneroom school, to a boarding school, and so forth. 3

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Well by that time, the oil business my grandfather had managed was pretty shaky and there wasn't enough money to send the boys to college. So Mama decided that rather than getting married, she would help the family by paying for her brothers' education-that would be her contribution to society. She did just that, and eventually got her own college degree in 1891. Now for a woman, that was really something historic! She was a gal ahead of her time. She even became West Virginia's first woman school principal, which was just unheard of at the time. She was very well known in her day. I remember once when I was married, I had gone down to Main Street and was standing in front of a big department store window looking inside-that store had the nicest windows in town. While I was standing there, this well-dressed, elderly man gave me the eye so I hurried on down a block to do some business at the county bank. This guy followed me and when I came out of the bank he said, "Pardon me, would you by any earthly chance know a lady named Kate Roberts?" "Sure I do, she's my mother." "I knew it. She'll always be alive as long as you walk the streets." He said that she had obviously married and he wanted to know how many of us there were. It gave me an inkling ofhow important a person Mama was. Everybody who was anybody in West Virginia knew Miss Kate. Back then, Mama was very much considered to be an old maid by the time she and Papa married-and here she was all of 34. Everyone had given up all hopes of her having a family. She was too old according to the wisdom of the day. And yet, she was as smart as lightning. She was a wonderful speaker. In fact, some of the big national candidates asked Mama to speak at their conventions-and this is even before women got the vote. If she was living today, she could have been nominated to run as the first woman president. Politics and party were just drummed into us. Excerpt, Parkersburg Sentinel; Wednesday, November 11, 1925: West Virginia News at National Capital Out in the Fourth congressional subdivision, a great deal of mystery and howdydo is being made over the political future of the Marsh family. First, the old reliable rumor factory has it that Gov. Gore offered the job of prohibition director to State Senator Harvey W. Marsh. He declined it. Then it was offered to Mrs. Marsh and she declined it also. Such a thing as this doesn't happen often to one family, for seldom is there a family with two such capable politicians in it as the Harvey Marshes. Will Harvey Marsh enter the Republican primary as a candidate for the seat in the House of Representatives held by Congressman Woodyard? Senator Marsh was frequently mentioned as a possible congressional candidate before the 1924 primary but when interviewed on the subject he declared that his term in the state senate had two years more to run and that he believed a man should complete one job before asking for another. He now has completed his job of being state senator and will not be a candidate for reelection to the state law-making body...

Now my Mama and Papa met in the 1890's at this big teacher's convention that was happening in Cairo, West Virginia. They were having this big reception at one 1-

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ofthe boarding houses. Papa happened to be on one side ofthe front porch with all the other young blades looking at some of the women teachers that were there. As luck would have it, Mama just happened to be clear across on the other side of the porch. Papa said to one of his friends, "Who's that big, good-looking woman over there with the red hair?" The guy said, "That's Miss Kate Roberts. She's the only woman high school principal in the state." "A woman principal!" Papa was just fascinated, and so he said, "I'd like to meet her." So they managed to get together and talk and would correspond back and forth by mail after the convention. You see, Papa was down at Petroleum, which was a horseback ride of about five hours between him and Mama. He came to see her half a dozen times and they wrote steady. Mama used to laugh that he got so tired of the distance between them that on the sixth visit he brought the preacher on the back of his horse. Daddy decided that if he was going to marry Mama, he needed to be more thanjust a teacher or a store clerk. He couldn't stand to think ofMama having a degree and him just plugging along. He had been reading law so he naturally decided to go through law school. With all the reading he had done, it only took him a couple ofyears before he passed the bar examination. They were married in August 1900. Papa finished law school in 1902, the year I was born. We moved to Harrisville, West Virginia because his mother lived there and he had a couple of cousins and knew everybody else in town. I guess he did quite well as a lawyer. We bought this lovely little story-and-a-half cottage right on the edge of town: two bedrooms downstairs, dining room, and big living room. The lot sloped in the back. The road went out to the big Masonic cemetery. Some of my earliest memories are of that house. I was born around nine or nine-thirty on the ninth day of the ninth month of nineteen hundred and two. I was born into an age of progress and excitement. You could just feel it in the air. Up until that time, living conditions for most people hadn't changed much since way before the Civil War. People didn't have electricity, or phones, or cars. A horse and wagon was the ultimate in transportation-unless you were lucky enough to be near the train. But just after the tum of the century, there was a burst of activity in the United States. Cities were growing in places that had once been the backwoods. Soon, the telephone would arrive and so would the victrola. Passenger service would come to the railroad and they would build a streetcar in Parkersburg, and before too long the era of the automobile was upon us. Everyone says I was a beautiful baby, I don't know. I was healthy, active, and smart, but when I was eight months old I took sick and nearly died. They feared I had Scarlet Fever and they hoped and prayed I would be all right. In those days Scarlet fever often crippled children, killed them and so on. Some of them would come out of it but others weren't so lucky. Well, I took awfully sick. Mama and Papa were up day and night taking care of me. I'm telling you about this because this incident would mark and color the rest of my life. Although it seemed like I pulled through, I was never again able to take a step without pain. I was thirteen years old before I realized that wasn't normal. I just took it for granted that if you walked, you hurt. I thought everyone was like that. It 5

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was nothing unusual as far as I was concerned. I didn't like to run and skip and play. For a time I was considered lazy, "Angela's wonderful if you can just get her to do it, she'll do anything..." "Angela's so smart, but you just have to push her..." It was always that way. I was never good at sports. I lacked coordination in my legs. I wanted so desperately to be like the other kids. I'd play ball, and hide and seek, and croquet. I tried to be good at it, but I wasn't and it hurt. So after a very short time, I avoided playing with the others. I use to lie in bed and cry, with my legs folded up into my chest, and I'd say, "Mama, what makes them hurt so bad?" and she'd say, "Well honey, I think it's just growing pains. All children suffer from growing pains, some more than others, and you just happen to have a bad case of it." It never occurred to anybody to associate my pain or some of my actions to that illness as a baby. All the things I've done, and it never occurred to me not to do something because I was hurting. By anybody else's standards I might have been a cripple and an invalid. We didn't know it at the time, but years later they would discover that most of these children hadn't had Scarlet Fever at all... it was polio, which hadn't even been diagnosed. I would be thirty-two years old before I knew I had had polio.

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Two Helen was born soon after me, and then Elizabeth-Libby. Mother had us all as fast as she could. She said it was just like rabbits out of a hat because she wasn't young and she wanted to have a family. At first, 1 didn't know my half-sister Louise, at all. Her people just had fits about the idea of "that poor child having to live with a stepmother." She would visit once in a while and that was it, so 1 was considered the oldest child. But one day Mama put her foot down about Louise and said, "Now look, either that child comes and is a part of this family or you keep her for good." Well, Louise came and lived with us when we moved to Galipolis. She was a delight and a joy to everybody. Louise used to say that she never would have amounted to anything if it hadn't been for Mama. One ofthe earliest memories 1have as a child is ofDecoration Day,just before 1 was three. You know, people used to make quite a big deal out of it. The Civil War was not too far behind us and people were very patriotic. Our house was in the main part of Harrisville right near the foot of the hill on Cemetery Road. The house was a little story-and-a-half white-framed cottage with a big fence around the front yard to keep us children and the dog inside. 1heard the music up the road and people were coming in a parade with a band and ex-soldiers in uniform. 1 went out to the fence and watched them. Finally, when they passed by, 1 opened the gate and followed the marchers toward the Cemetery about a quarter mile beyond our house. Well, when the music started dying down, all at once 1 realized the parade was over and the people were going home. There 1 was all by myself and 1 didn't know where our house was. 1 didn't know quite what to do or were to go, so 1 wandered around a bit and still nobody paid any attention to me. I'd been there a good while and finally had to wet my pants. Well, 1 was embarrassed and 1 started to cry. There 1 was leaning against a tombstone with wet pants, crying, and a nice woman asked me whose little girl 1 was. "I don't know." "Well, who brought you?" "Nobody brought me. 1 came by myself to hear the music." "Well, what's your name?" "Angela." "What's your daddy's name?" "Papa." "What do other people call your Papa?" "Ummm, Mr. Marsh." "The lawyer?" "I don't know." "Does he have a mustache?" "Yes, ma'am." And so she took me home and 1 got a scolding. And they made me promise that I'd never leave again without telling them ahead of time or getting someone to take me. Another memory 1 have of that time is of Mrs. Halderman who lived across the way and took in boarders. People were closer back then. There was no such thing

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as strangers. There were two kinds ofpeople: people who were your friends and people that you knew. Mrs. Halderman had a "no-account husband" so she had to make the living. I loved to go over there and come home with a cookie. She liked talking to children so one day I told Mama I was going to go see her. Mama said, "Okay, but don't you dare ask if you can have a cookie, it's bad manners." Well, I went over there and ended up coming home with a big fistful ofcookies. Unfortunately, I unexpectedly bumped right into Mama. Mother said, "What did I tell you about asking for cookies?" And I said, "But Mama, I didn't ask her for a cookie, I just asked her did she have any... and she gave me some." For some reason, Mother thought this was clever. If I could make Mama laugh I was on the safe side. Another memory I have is of the first time I saw Mama cry-that was a sad day for all of us. It really started on account of the laundry. You can't imagine what laundry was like back then: everything white, everything cotton. Everything had to be washed and bleached and starched and ironed. Terrible job. It used to keep Mama and the maid busy all day. You didn't call anyone a maid-we had "a hired girl." Ours went home for lunch. That was quite common back in that period because everybody who was anybody had help. Mama and the hired girl had finished the washing and had done a lot of ironing. Many of the clothes were all hung up on the line in the basement under the kitchen. Lunchtime came, and Dad was at the head of the table and I was at his left and Mother was at his right. Everything was fine until I started sassing with dad about something. I don't remember what it was, but about three you get to feel your own oats, you know. He made me so mad that I picked up my glass of milk and threw it at him. The whole table froze with terror. My Papa yanked me up from my seat and took me into the kitchen and plopped me down in a big old hard chair and said, "Now, you sit there and don't you dare get down until I tell you that you can." And he went out and shut the door. Our kitchen had a board floor with little cracks in it. Well, I sat there for a little while and started smelling something. I looked down and saw smoke coming up through the floorboards. I was smart enough to know that wasn't normal and that there was a fire down there, but Papa had told me to sit. So I waited and waited until I began to choke. I was getting madder with Papa for making me be in the kitchen all by myself, and still trying to get up my courage to do something about it. Finally, I got up and partly opened the door and said, "Hey, serves you right. .. your old house is on fire." Then I ran and jumped back into the chair. With the door opened, they could see the smoke, so Mama got all us kids out to the hillside. We had a little volunteer fire department in the community and everybody came. The little fire wagon was pulled by half a dozen men. I can remember it coming down that hill and how exciting it seemed. I didn't know at the time that we'd watch that house bum to the ground. I'll never forget Mama there on the grass in her blue and white calico dress, lying with her arms up over her head crying. She seemed so old to me, although she was only thirty-seven or thirty-eight, but her crying nearly broke my heart. I lay down beside her and put my arms around her and tried my very

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best to make her feel better. I said that we would do something, that we would find a way. I remember patting her on the arm and trying to get her to stop crying, "Don't cry Mama... please don't cry." As long as I live, I will never forget that. .. that's the last thing I remember about living in Harrisville. During the years we grew up together, I had every disease that a child could have: measles, three-day measles, mumps, whooping cough, and all the rest of it. Usually it was my sister Helen that brought the sickness home, and then I was the one to catch it. However, the year I turned nine (the year my brother Bobby was born), most of the family came down with typhoid fever and I was lucky enough not to get it. Papa had taken us three little girls down to Parkersburg. We went on the boat, down the river to see the circus. Then we went out to Grandmother's for a little while and back the next day on the boat. A few days later, my sister Libby got sick, real sick. We had an amazingly good country doctor, and he said, "She has typhoid fever." A day later, Helen took sick, and Papa came down with it, as well. So, here we were, out in the country, with all the crops coming in, three desperately ill people, and Mom and the hired girl. So, of course, Louise's relatives pulled her. Her aunts and all, on her mother's side, came and got her immediately so she wouldn't be contaminated. She was fifteen. She could have helped, but I was left as the only helper. Mama said, "Angela, you can see the situation. Can you take care of Bob and help out a little bit?" And I said, "Sure, I can keep the baby." So, from then on (see, he was born in February and this was August), from then on, I took care of Bob, until he was walking, until they were all well. We worked like crazy. We had nine cows. What do you do with milking nine cows? And we were selling the butter and all. Mama needed some help, so I said, "Mama, I know how to work the separator. Couldn't I do that? Couldn't I help with that?" So I took care ofthe milk, nine cows, and a baby brother. I quickly ended my life as a child. It's interesting, I menstruated that same year. After I was nine, I became a woman from then on. Little Bob and I were so close. Oh dear, you can't imagine how, because he hardly knew Mama. She'd nurse him. I can see her now, stirring the big pots, and boiling disinfected sheets, and holding that baby, and then handing him back to me. We were as close as siblings could be right up until he got married. In terms of my being a woman, I always had the most terrible cramps when I menstruated. I lost a day or two of school every month. Another thing was that I was always constipated. Mother used all the little glycerin sticks and enemas and laxatives and everything. She was constantly fretting and worried and having me see the doctor about the problem with my bowels. All my life I was horribly constipated. It wasn't until I was pregnant with my second child that the gynecologist checked my bowels. I had too small of an opening. Finally, it was cured with a little surgery when I was thirty-two. Isn't it awful that nobody ever checked to find out ifthere wasn't something wrong in there? They just thought it was constipation. I suffered so with this and it made me very inhibited. I couldn't go too many places because I wouldn't be able to have the enema I needed to get through the day and so on. When I was just a child, a family tragedy nearly destroyed my father. We had moved to Galipolis, a little French town west of the Ohio. Papa went into a big law

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practice there and mother became very much in demand socially and at the church. It was in Galipolis, in 1910, that we saw Haley's Comet. I remember Mama made quite a fuss about the fact we were all going to see Haley's Comet. She had given this matter quite a bit ofthought and wanted it arranged for us to see it in the most advantageous place. Finally, it was decided that the grounds around the church would prove ideal. There was this rod iron fence out front of the Church property, and she lifted us up and put us on top of the fence. Not too many trees could block our view from this vantage point. She explained to all us kids what it was and how wonderful it would be for us to get to see it together. She even joked that if we lived long enough we could all see it again when we were older. In 1986 when it came around for the second time, I don't even think I peered out the window to look up at the sky. Somehow it just wasn't the same without Mama. Anyway, I was telling you about the tragedy. You see, it was five miles from Galipolis to Point Pleasant, West Virginia. The railroad went down the Virginia side, and if we ever needed to catch a train, you had to drive five miles up the road and take a ferry boat across to Point Pleasant. In real bad weather the roads were just horrible, making that five-mile journey just impassable. It was open country. Papa was always a jump ahead of everybody else, so he got the idea, "Why don't we build a streetcar to make the journey?" He interested some of the more progressive men in Galipolis and they founded a corporation to build a trolley line into Point Pleasant so you could cross on the ferryboat. The idea proved very popular, and the line was built. Opening day was to be quite a sensation. Papa contracted for this boat to ferry people across to the trolley-the landing was built on a bank right in the center of town. They were going to have fireworks and a band. It was the biggest thing that had ever happened to the town. There was excitement and dancing up and down the park as they all waited for the ferry to make its first docking. The boat was packed to capacity. Around dusk, the boat approached and the fireworks began. Everybody on board rushed to one side of the boat to see the fireworks. Unfortunately, the boat was upset by the weight and tipped on its side. People fell overboard. There were screams. Four or five people were drowned and a number of others were injured. It was a horrible tragedy... nobody's fault, but a horrible tragedy. It just broke Dad's heart. He even wanted to commit suicide. I heard Mama say years later, "It almost killed me watching your father suffer." Of course, it being a small town, people felt like Papa was responsible. My parents had to leave and the streetcar stayed, and that streetcar ended up making the town. So when I was six years old we moved to the farm and stayed there until I was ten. There was a great Beech tree in the front yard that gave the farm its name: the Lone Beech Farm. It was so enormous and so dense that even the rain wouldn't come under it. We had a sewing machine out there and chairs and we virtually lived out there under the tree. A family by the name of Frasier lived nearby. Papa told us they were very wild and drank and smoked. We weren't supposed to have anything to do with them. Papa said, "You can be pleasant, but don't fraternize." We weren't to encourage them in any way. During the first part of this century, my family lived under the very same conditions that George Washington had lived under over a hundred and fifty years ~o

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earlier. We had the same conveniences that were at Mount Vernon. Really, Mt. Vernon was ahead ofus because Washington's privy was a three-holer and was brick with a little fireplace in it. Ours was frame-built with just two-holes, one of the holes smaller for the kids. But we didn't know we were deprived. There was no such thing as television and no one to tell us they had something that we didn't. We didn't have toilet paper-we had the Sears and Roebuck catalog and that was it. It was a little softer than Wards if you crushed it in your hands. We always had catalogs and magazines in the outhouse. We had oil lamps and candles. Our life was identical to the eighteenth century. When I tell children today what it was like, they look at me like I came from Mars. You can't imagine the conveniences that are taken for granted today. One of the things I loved best was the bam and getting to play out there. One day, Papa came in and said, "Children, I want to tell you something. A big six-foot black snake has decided he wants to live in our bam. And we want him to live there because he eats the mice and the rats. He's not going to hurt you if you leave him alone. Just watch for him. Ifyou see him hanging from the rafters, that's fine. But ifhe's up in the hay, be careful because you might step on him and then he might bite you." We named him Joe and I'd go out and talk to him, and I remember once I found him in a horse stall and I scratched him under the chin and he really like that. He was a smart snake and could tell when you were talking to him. When I was about seven I was caught telling my first lie. Mrs. Buckner lived across from us and she liked me. I got permission to go and see her now and again. Her front room parlor had a music box and I'd get to sit there and listen to those four tunes while she attended to something in the kitchen. One day I was admiring an embroidered doily she had under a candy dish. I thought it was the prettiest thing I had ever seen. It had violets on it and all shaded silk embroidery floss. It was gorgeous. From then on, every time I was over there at Mrs. Buckner's the minute she'd leave the room I'd fly over to the table and lift the candy dish to look at that doily. Then I'd set the dish back before she returned. One time temptation got the best of me, and I took the doily and I put it in my blouse and went home with it. I figured Mrs. Buckner would never miss it. It was so pretty, I just had to have it. I kept it under my bed pillow and I'd get it out in the evening and hold it and look at it. It was just beautiful. Well, the day came when Mama changed the bed linens and she found it. "Angela, come here a minute, I found this under your pillow." Oh, I wasn't prepared to lie. I didn't know how. I fumbled around for an excuse. Mama said, "Is this Mrs. Buckner's?" "She gave it to me." "Why would she give it to you?" "Well, I thought it was pretty." "Now, Angela, you're telling me a story." Oh my goodness, I just rambled on and on. I couldn't even speak straight. Suddenly, Mama took me by the shoulder and the doily in the other hand and marched me across the road to Mrs. Buckner's. She just stood there and knocked. When the door opened, Mama said, "Mrs. Buckner, Angela has something to tell you... Angela?"

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Well I was weeping. I was so ashamed of myself. And I told Mrs. Buckner I was sorry. "Well, honey, it doesn't mean that much to me, you can sure have it." But Mama said, "Oh, no, she won't. She stole it and that makes her a thief... and she lied too. She has to suffer for it. Angela, you're a thief and a liar." And Mama said this in front of Mrs. Buckner whom I adored. I could have just died. On the way home, Mama said, "I don't have to tell the other girls, this will be between you and me, but Angela, you will remember this for as long as you live. It does not pay to lie or to steal." Believe me, it was a lesson well learned. I was never tempted again. Maybe a little white lie about whether somebody looked good in that dress or not but never a real lie. And Mrs. Buckner never mentioned it again. We kept on just as we had before... I really appreciated that. And, you know, Mama was right. I still remember that day ninety years later. Growing up, my family seemed a little different than other people we knew. Maybe it's just that we were very progressive. One summer Papa persuaded twelve people in the community to sign up for the telephone. We had twelve people on the party line and one ofthe women agreed to have the switchboard in her house. We used the telephone for the first time and it was wonderful. It hung on the wall in the hall. Our number was two long rings. You'd crank it around and around and the operator would come on the line and you'd tell her who you wanted to talk to. As soon as the phone would ring you'd fly to answer it, and so would all the eleven other subscribers. You'd have to listen for your particular ring. Ours was two longs, and there was a short and two shorts, a long and a short, a long, and so on. Everybody listened to everybody's ring of course and that's how the news got around that someone had gotten a phone call. One day after we got the phone, a blizzard was starting and Papa was stuck in Parkersburg. He called and told Mama to get water and wood and then to stay in the house and not to worry about the chickens or the cows. It wasn't safe outside. We were to stay in and do the best that we could. Papa didn't know how long he would be stuck. Mother was worried. We got in the wood and the water before the blizzard got really bad. The next morning at 6:00 a.m. there was a tremendous pounding at the door, which frightened Mama. She put on her robe and slippers and went to answer. It was Mr. Frasier from down the road and two of his teenage boys. He said, "I heard Mr. Marsh on the phone last night and I got to worrying about you and your girls. So I told the boys we were going to get up early and come and see that you had everything. Now I'm going to send the boys out to milk the cows whether your husband said so, or not. They've got to be milked. So you show me where your buckets are. We're going to get your fires going and the stove going good and hot in the kitchen. If there's anything else I can do, I'll be glad to do it." They set us up, and here we had snubbed them by never being really friendly or doing anything to make them like us. After that, Mother really brought it home how kindness and goodness didn't necessarily come with fancy manners. They had just about saved our lives because it was three days before Papa could get home. The Frasiers made sure we were taken care of and kept warm.

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Oh, the games we played back then. We didn't have playing cards, but we had Old Maid and Crazy Eights and all the table games you could imagine. In the winter evenings we'd play games, make up contests, or puzzles. You made doll furniture out of a cigar box. A rolled oats box made a nice doll bed if you cut it in half and put a cardboard bottom on it. We didn't have store bought things. We were taught to use our imagination. One Christmas when I was six, I got this beautiful doll that was fifteen inches tall. On the back of her neck impressed in porcelain was the name, "Mable." Well I didn't think that was any name for a doll, so I re-christened her, "Rosie." Rosie was my best and dearest friend for years. I slept with her. I loved her to pieces. She'd disappear about Thanksgiving, and come out in a brand new wig and dress at Christmas. That doll is still around, over at the museum. Growing up, I was different from the other kids, and I didn't want to be different. I worked hard to be like them, but when I would run or play or just do the things that children do with one another, it hurt. As a result, for a long time I was rather a shy, quiet child. I would sneak off with a book or with paper dolls, or my precious Rosie that I loved more than anything else in the world. You know, Christmas was a big time then. We didn't celebrate Santa Claus, we celebrated Christmas. We had a beautiful tree in the sitting room. We had some beautiful decorations. Every year, Mama would buy one box of decorations from Sears or Wards. There would be twelve beautiful glass ornaments, usually from Germany. They were spun glass and fragile: birds, little animals, and shiny balls. We treated them like gold. All year long we'd carefully unwrap our chewing gum and smooth out the foil it came in and put it in a box on the bookcase. Anything we had that was pretty foil we'd put in the box for Christmas. Then we'd make our own balls. A great big walnut with its outer shell made a pretty good size ball, and we'd carefully paste on the shiny paper and foil and decorate each one and brag about who had made the prettiest. We'd string popcorn and cranberries. Mama made a big star for the top-she was quite artistic. Every year the neighbor children came from miles around to see the Marsh tree. The last year we were there, Mama ordered a big shiny length of foil garland that went around the tree two times. We thought it was gorgeous. For Christmas, we always had turkey or ham to eat and Papa always went to town for some oranges. Oranges weren't common in those days, so it was a real treat. Some of the neighbor kids got an apple in their stocking but we got an orange. We also got celery, which was a real prize, as well. Mother would make a gelatin with bits of oranges, orange juice, apples and some chopped celery-it was out ofthis world and we only got it at Christmas-time. Some of the celery was used for the dressing in the turkey. You know, for years, I still had two of those German glass ornaments. My children used to point to them on the tree and tell their friends, "Those were on the tree when my mama was a little girl." When we moved to Parkersburg, there was a big hardware store down at the end oftown. At Christmas-time they'd put out a big supply oftoys. And each Christmas Eve, the owner would cut the price on all of these toys by half. One Christmas Eve, as soon as we had our supper, Papa took off to the store. We had already trimmed the tree that afternoon.

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What a surprise come Christmas morning! Libby and Helen and me each got a doll. That's when I got Eric. I knew he was expensive, this little baby boy doll. Papa said, "Now Angela, that's a lovely doll and I'm glad you appreciate it because it was very expensive and I can't get you another one. It was originally eight dollars... that's a week's wages for a lot of people, but I got him for half price." I took real good care of him. The next year, Papa said, "You remember, Angela, I can't get you a doll this year. Now after supper, Mama's rich sister, Aunt Lizzie, had come by-she had married a doctor. Aunt Lizzie caught me crying. She wanted to know what was wrong and Mama said, "Oh she's crying because her father said he wouldn't buy her a doll this year, she's getting too big for a doll anyway." Aunt Lizzie said, "Any little girl who loves a doll that much ought to have one." I said, "No, Daddy said I'm too big, so I guess I am." Well, right then Aunt Lizzie took me down to the hardware store and bought me the biggest doll she could find, with a big gray taffeta hat-and it wasn't even half price. She was called "Queen Louise." Right now, Queen Louise, Eric, and Rosie are all at the museum. Five years ago, I dressed Louise in what she's wearing now. Eric wears one of my son's suits from when he was a little boy, and Rosie was dressed for Easter when I was eight years old. Those dolls were my best friends. I didn't pay any attention to boys, just dolls. But in the fourth grade I had my first boyfriend. I had just changed schools and was very much concerned about whether or not I would be accepted. When you're the new kid you're often pestered or made the butt ofjokes or hazed, but this boy stuck up for me and saw to it that I was accepted. His name was Jimmy Townsend and he was just infatuated with me. He thought I was absolutely wonderful. I thought he was real nice, you know: sentimental, kind of chubby and tall. He was always looking after me and sharpening my pencils. He sharpened my pencils down every day until they wore out so fast that Papa said, "Please have him stop sharpening your pencils, I can't afford to keep up with him. Tell him not to sharpen your pencils so much!" Jimmy often took care of me because I was so shy and sensitive. My feelings were easily hurt. Often, I would go home crying and say something like, "Mama, Miss Spencer told me so and so today and that just hurt my feelings." "Mama, why would she say that to me? I didn't do anything." I would cry and feel so bad over some little incident, Mama wouldn't make me go back that afternoon. I was that touchy...that sensitive. But Jimmy made things a little better when I was at school. I remember my Mama crying for all "the poor souls" who had drowned on the Titanic the spring before I turned ten. She told us about it at supper and described how more people than we could imagine had gone down with the "biggest ship in the world." Another memory I have is the flood of 1913. The old Ohio River would flood ever so often but in '13 it went on a rampage. Papa took us to the bank by St. Mary's Girl's School to see it-all of us children bundled up in heavy wraps and coats. Normally the river was about one mile wide up there, but believe it or not, as we stood on the bank, we could no longer see any land. It was so wide and so deep it had

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completely covered as far as our eyes could see. I never will forget that. It made me afraid of water. Streetcars were put out of commission and rowboats were going all up and down the streets trying to salvage things. It woke the people up to the terrible costs of floods so that later they took time to build up the floodwalls. But in 1913, the flood just ruined everything. All the stores were flooded, food was ruined, and nothing came into the town for weeks. I remember Cox's store had a supply of soup beans that hadn't been unloaded from the rail yard. So he advertised in the paper, "If you're hungry and needy, come out and we'll give you a pound of beans." Mama got a pound a couple of times. Years later whenever I saw girls from Parkersburg, we'd get together and talk about all the beans we had eaten during the flood. By the time I was in the seventh grade and Papa had moved us to Dudley Avenue, I was a well-developed girl with a nice figure and began to be something of a beauty according to everybody there. I didn't think there was anything pretty about me. But the boys liked me and it began to be like bees around the honey pot. It was some kind of sex appeal I just didn't understand. I was as tall at fifteen as I was at twentyfive. I had peaches and cream skin and no freckles, in spite of my red hair. In those days Marlene Dietrich was considered to have the most beautiful legs and people use to say, "She'd better not come to Parkersburg because she'll have a rival." "Angela's legs are prettier than hers." It made me kind of embarrassed. Now, this may sound unusual, but I've always been a little psychic-I think we all are, but there came a time when I became very much aware of something that I couldn't explain. I never tried to explain it or talk to anybody about it because I knew they would look at me like, "What's the matter with her... something wrong in the head." So I kept quiet, but I started to have these experiences, which were very different. I couldn't make it happen, but every once in a while I would hear a voice in my head which would say something or tell me something, and the funny thing was that this voice was always right. I started to call this voice "IT," Capital 1-T. I kept this whole thing to myself. I didn't even tell Mama. But it didn't take me long to realize that when IT said something, that would be just the way things would occur. For example, IT might say, "Don't play with that child." IT very rarely said why, just don't play with her. Then I found out later this girl was light-fingered. She stole from all of the neighbor kids, and out of the kids' desks that sat next to her in class. I remember I had a teacher there at McKinley School and IT said, "Try and get in another class. If you can, get in another class." Well, I couldn't. And for one reason or another that woman didn't like me... made my life miserable. She said that I was naughty and did this or that I was disrupting the class. Really, it was the boy behind me, but I wasn't going to snitch on him. I knew when I was going to make a good grade and I knew when I was going to make a bad grade... didn't seem to matter how much I studied. That's the way it went all through grade school. One of the most vivid experiences I remember about this psychic business had to do with my Aunt Madge. She had gotten very sick and was sent on a train to a hospital in Baltimore. Now when someone was sent like that to a big hospital it was clear they were in pretty bad shape. I found out later she had cancer ofthe breasts. One day the phone rang and I stood near the door of my bedroom and listened to see if I could tell what was going on. Even before I could hear the voices in the house, I knew

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Aunt Madge had died. Suddenly I saw Aunt Madge's hand appear in the doorway-I knew her hand and the pretty ring she always wore. Believe it or not, but that ghostly hand took the doorknob and just closed the door in front of my face. Apparently, Aunt Madge didn't like the idea of my eavesdropping on the conversation. I'll tell you, that was a very shocking experience to a nine-year-old. At the time, I didn't know the word psychic and I didn't know I was different from others, but Ijust knew things. I knew it was going to rain the day before it would. I would say, "I think it's going to rain tomorrow so I think we should do so and so today." They would look at me kind of funny and laugh, "How do you know?" and I would say, "I just kind of feel it in my bones." Or, I might say, "I think Aunt Lizzie's going to come and visit us this week," and Mama would say, "How do you know, did you see a letter?" and she would look at me kind of queerly. Mother always knew I was different, and a hundred years ago women weren't supposed to be different, so I learned fairly early not to say that sort ofthing. I remember when we got older and we moved to Parkersburg, mother thought we would all be going to Nash School because of where the house was located-school boundaries and all. There were really two fine grade schools: the Nash which was the oldest and most aristocratic, and the McKinley which was newer and out in the suburbs. I told Mama and Papa, "I don't think I'm going to the Nash School." "Don't you want to go?" "Well, yes, I don't know anything about it, but Ijust don't think we are going to get to go there." "Why do you say that?" "I don't know." Well, it turned out we were right on the borderline and we all got assigned to the McKinley. About the same time, IT said, "You've always been quiet and reserved, it's time to assert yourself." Suddenly, I started going through some kind ofmetamorphosis. When I got into high school I began to act like a leader. I found myself becoming popular. People listened to me, "What do you think, Angela?" "Shall we do this?" "What's your vote on that?" and so forth. Even at home I asserted myself, much to everyone's surprise. I'd say, "No, I'm not going to wash the dishes for Helen, I did it last night. It's her tum." They'd look at me like I was out of this world. Then Helen would take her tum. If it was my tum to mow the lawn I mowed it, but don't try and put it off on me if it wasn't my tum. I became more grown up. I guess that's why the situation happened with Reverend Scott. You see, one day a group of us teenagers were planning a party in the St. Andrew's Church basement. It was just enormous. There was a big meeting room where they sold chicken dinners and everything. Kids were allowed to go down there and play. It was big enough where there was a small stage with a curtain. We used to act out things and we'd have a good time. I think I was fourteen. I was always in mixed groups with other kids. They could come to the house and sit in the swing and talk or we'd play tennis or something. Never allowed to date until the age of sixteen. Ladies just didn't. There was a whole group of us there at the Church-an awful nice group ofkids-and we all ran together. Kids today, they say they

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have nothing to do. Everything in the world is available for them and the money to buy it with. We didn't have anything. No place to go, nothing. We used the Church for our recreation, which was right across from the high school. Every Friday and Saturday it served as a club for young people. We had a player piano and the boys would roll up the carpets. My little brother Bob got a nickel for every roll he pedaled. So he would pedal like crazy and last a long time because of all the money he was making. Often we'd have twenty kids together, and I would say, "Oh, let's have a taffy pull," or something. That's the way we grew up. There wasn't any other way. In this group was one ofmy best friends, Lawrence. He was Reverend Scott's son. Although dates weren't allowed, Lawrence and I were always together in the group. He was my special friend and a really nice boy. One day we were all together in the Church basement planning this party and talking about getting some kind of equipment and it came up that so and so had just what we needed. "Angela, you run up and call her to see if we can borrow it." So I ran up the back steps, through the Sunday school room, and tapped on the reverend's office door. "Come in." There was a fireplace and a couch against a wall. The reverend was lying on his couch. Opposite the door was a big desk with a door into the sanctuary. The phone was at the far end of the desk. I said, "Reverend Scott, can I use the phone?" He asked me something about what we were doing and then, "Sure, help yourself." I passed by him on the way to the phone, which put my back to him. When I went to get the telephone he was behind me. I called this woman and made the arrangements. At some point I heard the door close, but I didn't pay it any attention. When I was finished with the conversation I just hung up. I didn't tum to look back at the reverend; I just went toward the door. Suddenly, he grabbed hold of my hand and jerked me around and there he was standing with his pants open and down and his thing hanging out. Well, what does a kid say? I had never seen a naked man. It was the first time I had ever seen a penis, and there it was standing out straight and firm. I was scared and finally managed to speak, "What are you doing?" "Well, come on now, I've got to see if Lawrence is getting a good time out of you. I've got to find out how good you are." "What do you mean?" He jerked me toward the couch and pushed me down, got down next to me and tried to pull me on top of him. "Let me go!" "No one has to find out." "Let me go!" He tried to kiss me. "I'll scream!" "No one can hear you from the office, Angela." He started to put his lips all over my face, and I just pulled away as hard as I could. I finally jerked loose of his hand. "I'll kill you," I somehow managed to say.

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He smirked, "Oh, no, you won't. I'm the most popular minister in town. Everybody loves me and you're a damn brat who walks around like a smart-alecky little tramp. No one will ever believe a word you say. You better keep your mouth shut because you'll only ruin your own reputation. Now get out of here." I turned and ran as fast as I could. It would be the first time (but not the last) someone would try to force themselves on me. Reverend Scott lived to be ninety-seven-years-old. He was always popular, and always seen as such a dear by his congregation, but I used to watch him and the way he acted around some ofthe other women-I could almost tell who he was sleeping with. For him to get up there and preach to us, well from then on it just made me very doubtful about this business of religion.

TVtvee Mother had the most gorgeous hair-a heavenly shade ofauburn. All ofus girls had that hair but I had more than the others. Mama used to say, "Angela, you could grow hair for a living." Mother's grew so long and thick and I remember she would sit on a kitchen chair and brush it and it dragged on the floor for five or six inches. Papa loved it so she never cut it. She had to do it up in two knots-one up on top of her head and one down lower on her neck. She had to have her hats made special because her hair made her head so big. I can remember how she used to tell me if I was a good little girl, I could brush her hair. That was a real treat. Daddy had moved us to the house on 2210 Dudley Avenue. The maid could go up and down the steps from the kitchen so she didn't have to go through the front ofthe house. The upstairs had a four-bedroom layout and a bathroom. I can remember the boarded, paneled wood up to the wainscot and then wallpaper above that. To use the commode in the bathroom you'd reach up and pull a big handle for flushing. The tank was up by the ceiling. The bathtub was up on some legs. The whole house seemed very modem. You know, I had a replica ofthat house made for the doll museum. I was once offered $12,000 for that dollhouse. It was beautiful. By this time, I was in my teens. The war was raging in Europe. We were quite upset about the possibility of getting into war. I was a very emotional child. I decided that I just hated the Germans for what they were doing, but Mama said, "You can hate what people do but you don't hate people." I remember she pointed out a mean old woman in the church and whispered, "You're ugly when you hate people, Angela, and you don't want to be ugly." But still, I couldn't get the war out of my mind. I worried about all those people-the children, the mothers that were being killed, the boys that were being murdered, and "Oh, what can I do? What can I do?" You know. And then I got to thinking. We've got this side yard and we've got this big house, and we're so lucky. And we're all full of talent. Libby is pretty and she can dance. At least she thought she could. And Helen can imitate anybody. She's a wonderful mimic. We all enjoyed her doing this at home, you see? We had to entertain each other. And I thought, here I could be the master of ceremonies. And maybe get Mama's victrola, and we could put on a show and make some money for the war effort. Well, that's the idea I had in mind and the only question was how was I going to pull this off? Now down 23rd Street-actually our house was on that comer-were two boys that were Eagle Scouts. And they had a big tent to go camping every summer. It was a great big tent! And I hadn't seen it out all summer. So I decided to go over there and ask them about it. Now I knew them but not well. They were grown up as far as I was concerned. I marched over there and asked why I hadn't seen the tent, and they said, "Well, there's a war on, and we felt like we needed to get jobs to help the war. If things keep up like they are, we're going to have to be in the war before too long and we thought we'd..." I interrupted and said, "What are you going to do with the tent?" After a moment, "It's just sitting up in the attic." "Could I borrow it for a little show we're putting on?"

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"Well yes." It seemed like the Marshes might be planning something interesting. "How are you going to get it up?" "I'll find someone." "We'll help you." And they put up the tent for me. Then there was Chester Stevens, who was about nine years old. He lived across the street and down two houses. Well Chester could playa Ukulele very well and so I asked him ifhe'd like to be in the show. So he said sure. I told him to get some good tunes, "Get something new." And I began to think that Mama might not let us use her good new victrola, so I asked him, "Do you have a music box?" "Yah." I said, "Do you play it much?" "We never play it any more, we got a victrola." "Would your mother let us use it?" So his mother loaned me their music box and my Mama let me have a table to put it on. Then I got to thinking, we had all this grass, and Libby wasn't gonna be able to dance in the grass, so I said, "Mama that old rug you've got up in the attic, the one that isn't very good, could I borrow that? I want to put that out in the tent." So Mama loaned me the rug and that was our stage. There was a man down the street laying a cement foundation. So I asked him if I could have twenty-six blocks to layout the stage-just to use for the show. He could have them back. So I got Helen and Libby and me to go get them, two at a time. It was beginning to look pretty good in there, but there was nothing to sit on. I went down to the church and went to Reverend Scott. (He had never messed with me again. In fact, he kind of seemed real hesitant around me.) I said, "Reverend Scott, in that room downstairs, there's stored twenty-five or thirty straight-back folding chairs. I've never seen them used the whole time I've been coming here. What do you use them for?" "Well," he says, "Sometimes we have a big service and need them." "Can I borrow twenty-five?" "What do you want them for?" "I have an idea I can make a little money for the war effort." "Well," he said, "Okay, yes. How are you going to get them home?" (We were almost three blocks away.) "I can carry them one or two at a time." "No need to do that, we'll help you." So he carried two, and his wife carried two, and his son, and in several trips we got them all. Now, Louise was good with printing letters and she made me a big sign. She was also the one who took the money at the door. It was three cents for children and five cents for adults. This big sign said, "Program for War Relief." I was not quite fourteen at the time. When the program was all in place, I thought it would last a week or two. Opening day arrived, and the show started. Once in awhile a woman would put in a dime (or even a quarter!) Well the neighbors thought this show was real cute so the papers wrote it up and mentioned it in the Sunday paper. And then some of the 20

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other neighbor kids wanted to be in it. Well one little girl wanted to sing, and none of us Marsh kids could carry a tune. So I said, "All I have is this music box." She brought her mother's victrola and a couple of records and sang a couple of numbers. She did pretty well for a kid. A couple of boys were wrestlers, and they wanted to be in the show too. I said, well you just can't wrestle, you've got to have costumes or something, so their mother fixed them up a couple of costumes, and suddenly the show had a short little wrestling match as part of it. After about a week-and-a-half we had a thirty-minute show, and we were featuring two shows every afternoon. The first show was always filled and the second would fill up with people coming home from work. Instead of lasting a week, the show went on and on all summer long and it just kept getting better and better. When the end of the summer finally came, the kids had to go back to school and some of the people began wanting to get their stuffback. When the program was over once and for all, I turned in over $200.00 to the Red Cross for their War Relief! That was a lot of money in those days-especially for a show that had only cost a few cents for admittance and no one involved with it had been over fourteen. It sounds kind of simple but growing up I wouldn't have missed dinner for anything in the world. It was a wonderful occasion. Mother would come up with fun things to do every meal. One ofmy favorites was we couldn't speak at the table except in rhyme-and we used to play that game a lot. You couldn't just say, "Pass the butter," you had to make it rhyme. If you didn't make it rhyme, no one heard you. Sometimes Mother would say, "No, that doesn't go," and you'd have to try something else. Just things like, "If I promise I won't tease, would you pass the butter please?" Noone ever thought of leaving the table until the table was cleared and dessert was brought in. It was a fun time together. We could all rhyme in school because it was so often drummed into us. As kids we also had this "learning game" that we played with Mama. Sometimes, Mama would say, "A week from today we will all discuss the coming election, today's styles, West Virginia roadways," or some such subject. Oh, how we'd all study for a week to be able to participate in the discussion! It was quite an exciting thing for us. By the time I graduated, I was fourth in my class of eighty-seven students and I had so much written about me in the school annual that it took nearly a whole page. I had compiled the class prophecy about what would happen to all the students and I was a member of the student council. I was cofounder of the drama club, President of the history club, belonged to the debating club, and so forth. Believe me, no matter what happened in high school, I knew about it. Sometimes Mr. Stewart, the principal, would call me in his office just to see what was going on. I wasn't a nosy-guss, it was just that I was so popular, everybody let me know what was happening in every department. You know, I was the only girl on the school's debate team. When it came time to put the team together, I went right on into the office and asked to be part of it. "I want to be on the debate team." "We're sorry, Miss Marsh, there's only boys on the team." "Why?"

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"Well, that's just the way debate is." "Can't girls think and speak as well as boys?" "I suppose, but it just hasn't been done before." "I'm willing to give it a try... I'd like to be on the team." They didn't know what else to say, so I was the only girl in the city on a high school debating team. In fact, one of the first proposal's I ever had was because of debate. A young man had just taken the job of coaching our team. I think it was his first job out of college. After the second or third class period, he asked ifhe could walk me home: "You know how they feel about a teacher who falls in love with a student. And I'm just starting out." He wanted to be realistic about the whole thing. "Oh, Miss Marsh, you don't know how I feel. By the time you get out of High School, I will be pretty well established as a teacher. Will you wait for me?" He said he was crazy about me. We had a number of conversations like that. I thought he was a nice young man, but I wasn't ready to get serious. Actually, we never had a date except for him walking me home nights after debate club. In spite ofPapa's objections, during my sophomore year I took a year off and became a teacher to first, second and third graders in the western part ofthe state. I had gotten my teaching certificate without anybody knowing about it-except for my Uncle Frank. There were sixty-two students in my class. It was a long ways from home and I was only fifteen-my parents only went along with the idea on account ofthe fact that I had my sister Louise to help watch out for me. She was teaching a class, as well. Other than being away from home, the only thing that stands out about that experience was I had three boys in my third grade class who were older than me! After teaching for a year, I returned to school to finish my own education. By the time I was a junior, another teacher, Howard Quick approached me. He was about forty or forty-five and a bachelor. He was nuts about me and said that I was his only love, but I just couldn't take any of them seriously. Immediately after graduation, I got ajob at the telephone company. My job was to send out the bills for both business and home phones and to collect the money. I didn't care for it much, because I hated math but it was a goodjob to have at $18 a week. I lived at home and saved about $15 a week toward my college fund. I knew that there couldn't be any college money coming from the family. Dad had lost practically everything we had when all the banks failed during World War I. At the time, Parkersburg had two hundred resident phones. I wasn't there two months until I knew every number. I could reel each one off as if it were tucked away in my mind. When my boss found out, he couldn't believe it. So he began quizzing me from A to Z, first this one, then that one. But he couldn't stump me. I knew every one of them. You know, that gave me quite a reputation with the girls there at the switchboard-if they didn't know something they'd get hold of me and I helped out. When summer ended and it came time to go to college, I wanted to go to Ohio Wesleyan more than anything. I managed to get a scholarship, and I had saved some money from the telephone company, but Ijust didn't have enough to live in the dormitory. I really wanted to, but it was just out of the question. So I got a room with a nice German family named Diependorfer within a block of the main campus. There were three of us college girls living with the family. 22

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When we got there, Mrs. D. said, "You three girls look like you got some good sense and responsibility. You've got your rule books and you know what you're supposed to do and what you're not supposed to do. I'm leaving it up to you. If any complaints come in about you, out you go right then. I just won't be bothered with it. However, if you can obey the rules, and you want to be out a little later than curfew, or you want to go out more nights in a week than you're supposed to, we'll I'm not going to say anything as long as your grades are up and nobody complains." After that, I really got a buzz of attention. We made our grades and oh boy, did I have the boyfriends. My roommate, Judy, wanted to go everywhere I went and I could usually find some pledge to take her along. The boys just flocked to me. It wasn't just the freshmen. The football boys were crazy about me, as well-juniors and seniors. There was this one fellow, Hap Jordan, who was six-foot-four and a tackle on the football team. He was well-built and good looking but he wasn't too smart. Well, Hap thought I was "it." One Sunday we were out all day with Judy and another guy and we went for a two or three mile walk in the country. My feet started to hurt more than usual. "Let's not go any further, my feet hurt. Let's go back." Well we started to go back and I just couldn't keep up with them, "Don't go so fast." Hap said, "Do they really hurt you?" "Yes." Well, Hap picked me up like you would a child and carried me on his shoulder all the way back to town. I was kicking and hitting his back and squawking, "Let me down. Everybody is looking at me." He said, "You're the one attracting all the attention, now be quiet." And he carried me the whole way. You know, all this was way before integration. We really didn't have any Blacks on campus except four or five young men who were all from Africa. One of them was a great big man, with nice features and a deep, dark, blue-black skin. He was in one of my classes and he was very smart. We'd spend some time just standing and talking after class. It turned out his father was King of this little country on the west coast ofAfrica. So he was royalty and he carried himself like he was. Then one day we were walking and he said, "Miss Marsh, I know I shouldn't say this and it may surprise you, but I've watched you and I think you are superior to any other woman in this college. I am going home when school lets out next spring, and I'm supposed to bring back a bride from the United States." He smiled, "Now, they expect me to bring back a Black bride but you are the only woman I would want to take back. Would you be willing to be my wife? You will never have to lift a finger to do anything. They'll kiss your hand and bow to you. Someday you will be Queen of my country." We talked quite a bit but I just couldn't see myself moving to Africa. I've thought of that many times over the years, how I could have been a queen. I often thought years later when I was doing all my traveling that I would have like to have gone to visit him. It was while I was away at school that Papa was busy campaigning with a group of Senators and businessmen to move the state capitol from Charleston to Parkersburg. By this time, Papa had become a state senator himself, representing Parkersburg, West 23

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Virginia. Because ofthe progressive nature ofParkersburg, this idea about moving the capital was often suggested and Papa led the charge to make it happen. Unfortunately, politics got in the way, adding to yet another defeat in my father's life. Excerpt, letter from Katherine (Mrs. Harvey) Marsh; April 7, 1923: Ruffner Hotel, Charleston Dearest Angela: As you probably know, the Capitol fight is lost; voted on Thursday, lost 16 to 12. They took a rotten and unfair advantage and maneuvered the thing to have it voted on when two of our strongest supporters were away-the Wheeling and the Sutton senators. If they would have gotten in, the vote would have stood 16 to 14. As it was, two who had pledged us were plain bought and everybody knows it. It was well known last week that the senate would vote: Parkersburg 16, Charleston 14. Dad made the Parkersburg speech, and Clyde Johnson, a Charleston man, spoke for this place. Your father made aperfectly wonderful speech, and everybody regardless of what side they took praised it enthusiastically. Thank God old Dad's as resilient as aspiral spring. Parkersburg put up aperfectly splendid fight and refused to do a single mean or dirty thing. Honor is intact... Iwas over at "The House" today in the rain to lobby for a bill we women want. I am writing a paper on the Child Welfare bills to be read before the Federal Clubs Convention the 26th. I am pretty busy. Since I began writing, Dad dictated two letters he wants me to write immediately, so I will have to cut this short. I get up in the mornings about 7:30 and get Rob off to school. I give him a quarter to get his breakfast and a half dollar to buy his dinner at a little restaurant out by the school house, and seven cents to ride one way. Dad goes into the Senate Hall and Committee by 10 o'clock. Write soon, honey. Hoping you get settled comfortably in your new quarters. Aworld of love, Mother

One ofthe things I liked best about college was getting together with the other students. On our way home every evening after we finished classes all the freshmen would go into the bakery. I never wanted for anything. "Oh here, Miss Marsh, here Angela, let me get that for you." A roll and a coke or a roll and coffee. By the time Christmas came around, I had been invited to all the fraternity parties-we didn't have sororities then. In college I had a number of dates, but I wasn't real serious about any of them. I only had one bad experience with a boy that whole year. This boy had been eyeing me at the fraternity house for months and I knew it. He began asking for a date. I remember, IT said, "Be cautious." But this boy was persistent and he had a car and he asked if I'd go for a ride with him. His father was the preacher of the biggest Methodist Church in Columbus and he was studying to be a minister. So one Spring Sunday afternoon, I finally agreed to go. We went for a drive, just he and I. We drove and drove, and then drove some more. It was getting late so I finally said, "It's getting dark, let's tum around and go home." Suddenly, he pulled off into a wooded area and boy did I have to fight him off. He tore my good sweater clean across. He tore my brassiere. He never got my pants off but he tore my petticoat and my dress. Finally, he threw me out and cursed me. That whole school year, he was the only boy who got ugly. I finally got back home 24

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when it was getting pretty late. Nobody saw me but Judy, and I was a physical wreck. She was so mad at this guy that she wanted to go down and kill him. I liked boys because they were people. If they behaved like people and not males, I liked them. But ifthey began to make noise like males, thinking about nothing but the sex thing... well, I was out of there. I used to think, if I ever have a daughter, don't let her be a beauty-let her be nice looking, but don't let her be the prettiest one in the crowd. There are all kinds of ways to be propositioned. Between the ages of fifteen and sixty, I think I heard them all. It got to be kind of a routine. Once the sex discussion was over, most of these guys were fairly decent males and we could be friends. A few got rude or ugly or furious, even insulted, but I simply learned all the many ways to say "No!" On one occasion when I was still at college, I met this young woman at some school function. She was about twenty-five. She offered to come take me for a ride sometime. Later, the Dean of Women got wind of it and said, "Are you going out with her, she's older than you?" I said, "Sure, I have no reason not to." About a week later, the same thing. The second time I was warned not to go. Nobody would say why. I couldn't put my finger on it. She seemed pleasant and was nice looking and everything. Well, we were riding along and she pulled off the road... and honey, she was a lesbian. She started slobbering all over me and I had to put up such a fight it was like fighting off a man. I never saw her again after that. One ofthe courses I took that year at Ohio Wesleyan was "The Turkish Nation and the Religion of Islam." The professor had been a young missionary in Turkey. It was a wonderful subject and Ijust ate it up. It never even occurred to me at twenty that I would use that information to great advantage forty years later. Can you imagine how this helped me when I lived in Turkey? Once in a while I'd be talking to a Turk who got a little snooty about who I was or what I thought I knew about the Early Church, and I'd say, "Have you read the Bible from cover to cover?" "No... Have you read the Koran?" "Why, of course. I've read every word and studied it thoroughly... so when I say this and so, you can believe me." Believe me, it helped. Unfortunately, after that first year of school, there was no money for another scholarship. Funds were closed out, and Dad didn't have any money to assist me either. When my scholarship ran out, I took some college summer courses in Fairmont, West Virginia. Excerpt from The Columns, Fairmont Normal School Summer newspaper, vol. 3, no. 3; August 13, 1924: Angela Marsh Wins Song Contest The words of aschool song titled "Fairmont" were judged the best of the lyrics submitted by Summer School students. Although the choice was not unanimous, the majority of the judges voted their convictions, which decreed that "Fairmont" was the first choice. Ascholarship in the form of atuition fee for next summer school is given by The Columns. Surely Miss Marsh is to be congratulated in her success.

25

Fairmont Fairmont, Fairmont, sing it loud and long! Fairmont, Fairmont, shout it good and strong! Our voices ring both far and near, We laud the school we hold most dear, And of our rivals show no fear. Loyal students shout and cheer Fairmont, Fairmont, sing it loud and long! Fairmont, Fairmont, shout it good and strong! We come for work, we come for play, We hail from near and far away; Once we're here we always stay And grow more loyal every day. Angela Marsh

After my summer courses at Fairmont, I decided to get ajob with my teacher's certificate, which I had gotten back when I was fifteen. Back then some teachers had only finished the eighth grade. Way out in the eastern panhandle of the state, up in the mountains, I got a job teaching fifth and sixth grades. At the time, West Virginia was the biggest apple growing state in the nation. It had mountains and villages, lots of trees and plenty of cold weather. Quite a number of immigrants came through to pick the apples. I got a room with a Methodist preacher's family. He had a wife and a little girl, and another woman living there who taught first and second grades. This other woman lived in the guest room. I had some fifty students in the two grades, many of them bused in from the farms. During the first few days in my new job it became clear that a couple of the boys seemed intent on running me off. They were a lot of trouble. I said, "Now boys, as long as you're going to be here, you might as well learn something, and I'll be nice to you. But I'm not going to take any nonsense. You might as well understand this right now." Come about the third day, one of those boys got real smart with me, and I cracked him with a ruler. It was hard work. Some ofthose kids were like little animals. They didn't have any idea how to behave. All they knew about was running through the woods. Most were from illiterate families or broken families, all very poor. I really wanted those kids to learn something. For one thing, they needed to know a little bit about personal hygiene and sanitation. All these kids and they didn't know anything about brushing their teethhorrible, yellow looking teeth that had never been brushed in their lives. These kids didn't even have toothbrushes. I told them, "You go home and tell your parents you need a toothbrush. I'll make sure that the little country store has them." Two or three of them came back to me and said, "Mama says we don't have any money for a toothbrush." I knew that for some of those kids, their Dad was drinking up more in one night than the cost of a toothbrush, but I didn't say anything; I went and bought the toothbrushes myself. It wasn't long before every kid in that room had a toothbrush. They couldn't afford toothpaste, so I told them just to mix together a little salt and soda. It makes a good toothpaste. I taught them about the importance of taking baths and washing

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up, that sort of stuff as much as trying to teach them to read and write. The other teachers-the "old timers"-couldn't believe the tum around in my class. Those kids were well-behaved, attentive, and eager to learn. All it took was a little discipline, a little love, and a little caring-that's all anybody needs. It was a wonderful year in many ways, but the winter was freezing. My room was a small bedroom behind the guest room. It had a northern exposure, a window that rattled, and no heat whatsoever. I would get up in the morning and pull the ice out of the big bowl I washed with. But it wasn't myself I was worried about, I kept thinking about those poor immigrant kids. I knew their houses weren't any better heated than mine. All they had in their lunch pails were things like cold biscuits with a slab of bologna, some cornbread and a piece of bacon, or maybe cold fried mush and a little apple butter on the side. I thought, no wonder these kids aren't learning-they needed more food. It was a rich community, and I got to thinking, why couldn't we furnish something for them. I went to the head of the local store and said that I thought the town had a real problem, because these kids were undernourished. He said, "If you had the food, where'd you fix it?" "There's a basement under my classroom and a big wide hall in the back. The furnace is down there in one comer and a long shelf sits under the window. If I could get a gas hot plate down there on the shelf, I could make a pot of soup." Looking kind of suspiciously, "Why would you want to do that?" "Because there's nobody else to make it. .. I know how to cook." Well, he took it to some people in the community and they began sending donations. I started making a great pot of soup five days a week for both my classes. I would have all kinds of vegetables and some meat from time to time and each kid brought in their own bowl and spoon. We had a pan sitting under the stove where every child would wash their bowI and keep it clean. I had the first free lunch ever served in West Virginia, and you know what, their grades did come up. I've always been that way. If there was a need, and nobody else to do it, I would do it myself. I was very, very proud of helping those children. As a result, my Uncle Frank got wind of it and tried to promote it in other schools. He was head of the State Board of Education and worked at encouraging other communities to get behind the proj ect. Not only was it very chilly outside, but all year long I had a cold and it stayed with me. When I came home that spring I was really run down. It turned out the doctor said I had tuberculosis. I spent most ofthe summer in the big porch swing in the sun with special food and what have you. By the fall, the county elected a new superintendent of schools who heard about what I had done. He asked me to be Assistant County Superintendent. Imagine, I was only twenty-one and had quite a title. We'd travel out into the schools and pass on ideas about teaching, or the lunch program, especially in the outlying schools. I was very happy. Around this time there was this forty-year-old guy named Fritz that really like me. He was homely, bowlegged, and baldheaded, but I liked being around him. He was fun, and he was just wild about me. I called him Tarzan, because of his size, and he called me Toadie-I don't remember why. He had the reputation of being quite a womanizer but he was always nice to me and never once propositioned me. I remember he got rid of his old Franklin car and bought a brand new car just to have one that he said was worthy of me. He told me he was ready to tum over 27

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a new leaf, and he wanted to get married. He took me to all the nice places and even had a talk with Papa and told him that he would protect me. He brought me home from work every night. He treated me like I was made of spun glass and came straight out of heaven. He brought me a little present every day! He was a man like none I had ever met before. Looking back now, I think Fritz loved me more than anyone I have ever known...he never did marry after I turned him down. I remember at Christmas, he talked to Mom and Dad to get their permission-he wanted to give me something because he knew I was going back to school. He gave me a big, gorgeous wardrobe trunk. Every single drawer was filled with lovely, appropriate, tasteful clothing. Lord, I was thrilled with that! It was the nicest gift I ever received from anyone. I'm sure Fritz realized we would never marry. After I married Fred and came home for a visit, he stopped me on the street to ask ifFred was good to me. He told me, if Fred wasn't he would take care of me... I'm certain he would have. I never saw him again after that, although on a few occasions I could have sworn he had been watching me. Years later, Fred told me that Fritz came to see him and said how he cared for me and wanted me to be happy and that he would be watching. Although the School Superintendent had been nice at first, all at once something happened and he turned on me. For some reason he objected to my having dates. He told me I couldn't see this person or that person. He told me it wasn't good for me to be going to the movies three nights a week, and so forth. He seemed really bothered by my relationship with Fritz. No matter what I did, the superintendent didn't like it. I told him that he couldn't criticize me if I was doing the job but he didn't see it that way. I just ignored his criticism, but one day he called my father.

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"Mr. Marsh, I want you to come down here and bring your daughter. I have something very important I need to show you." On my desk was a little glass covered dish that I kept stamps in, on Sunday afternoon when Papa and I got there, he took us into my office and told Papa to look in the dish. Instead of stamps, it had two condoms in it. I had no more idea what they were than anything. I said, "What are they?" Papa said, "Don't touch them." The superintendent said, "Now you know, Mr. Marsh, why I have to get rid of her?" He started to lay me out in front of Papa, but Papa interrupted, ".. .1 wouldn't have her stay here for another hour with you." We came to find out later that his son had just gotten out of the penitentiary and needed a job. He wanted to have my job back so he could give it to his son. Which he did-and he got away with it! I was just crushed. Nobody ever found out except for me, and Mama and Papa. I just decided to go back to school at Fairmont because I didn't have enough money for Wesleyan.

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After graduation at Fairmont, I accepted ajob up in Mannington, West Virginia teaching the seventh and eight grades writing, spelling, and art. I got a room at Gertie's Boarding House. There were sixteen of us-mostly women, only three men. I was the youngest, and the next youngest was Fred Peterson, who was a nice looking Swedish boy just out of college. As soon as I got there, Fred Peterson and one of the other men wanted dates. I said, "Let me get my feet on the ground and at least get unpacked." I didn't date anybody for about three or four weeks until I had school under control. Finally, I began to date Fred. There just weren't that many young men around so I no longer had the series of dates that I usually had. Now Fred wasn't great looking, but he was nice looking. He also seemed to be popular with the women-partly because there was such a shortage of men. We'd go for a walk in the evening or go to the movies. We'd go to two movies a week and the other evenings we'd take a walk. That was about the extent of our social life. Teaching school was fun. At least the kids liked me. We teachers had to take turns being out on the playground. I remember one day it was my tum to be out but it was ugly and misting and my windows opened up onto the playground. I raised my window so that the kids could see me watching-I didn't want to go outside in the drizzle. Just underneath the window I saw a new boy and he was talking to one of the boys in my homeroom: "Tell me about the teachers ... What about Miss so and so?" "Well, she's this and that. .." Finally, he asked, "How about Miss Marsh?" "Well, Miss Marsh is young, but she's good. You can't put anything over on her. I'll tell you this-don't try to do anything you shouldn't do before recess in the mornings because she's always a bearcat in the mornings." I had to laugh about that because my metabolism doesn't get going very early. I knew what he said was true. If I was going to be cranky, I'd be cranky before recess. My other love growing up was really drama. I always had a flair for plays, I was very much in demand. While I was in school I was practically in every play they had in town. My dream was to save my money from teaching for a couple ofyears and then go to New York for drama school. It didn't cost me much to live in Mannington. I had good enough clothes and didn't need to buy more. Fred was paying for my social life. I was socking away money and building up a nice little nest egg. I thought, in another year I'll have enough put away to go to New York for a six months course in drama and see how I do. Then I began to get letters from Mama. Libby was just out ofhigh school and desperately wanted to go to drama school. Everyone was sure she'd be a great star, Mama said, because she was so cute and pretty and had such a great sense of humor. I told Mama that I was the one planning to go to drama school. Mother wanted to know why I was being so selfish. Libby was the one with the looks and the great talent, and oh, "Angela, you'll just be wasting your money. When Libby makes good in the theatre, she'll pay you back." I said, "If I let Libby have my money then I can't go." Mother let me know that I would certainly be a pretty sorry sister if I didn't give her my money. So finally, I gave it to her. I remember having a good cry that night. That's another reason I married Fred: I knew that I'd never get to go to drama school. 30

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Well, of course Libby went and once she got there she met up with this fellow named, Dick Campbell, a millionaire. He and his folks owned 50,000 acres of timber. They began seeing each other. And Dick gave her the choice to stay in New York and pursue her career or to get married. Well, I think she realized she didn't have a great deal of talent. So they were married. In all, I think Libby had three lines in one play on Broadway that folded right after it opened. I never saw a penny ofmy money again and I never got to New York to study drama. Everybody I knew was getting married. By this time people were beginning to raise their eyebrows and say to Mama, "Your daughter's not married yet?" I had every kind of a boyfriend. Even the governor had wanted to marry me. He and Papa knew each other. I had met him in Mannington and got to know him, so one day Governor Gore came out to the house and wanted to know if it would be okay with Papa if he paid his respects to me. I think he was about forty-two or forty-three at the time and quite handsome. I was always an attraction to older men for some reason. Papa said, "Yes, if you want to, I certainly couldn't object to it." On one occasion, I went to Washington to stay with some friends of mine, a husband and wife. We had an awfully good time-sawall the museums and went to some parties. I remember that on the way there, the train was practically full. There was this one big, old, important looking man who looked pleasant enough, so I sat next to him. Well, before we even got to Washington, he propositioned me. Here I was about nineteen and he wanted me to go back to the hotel with him. It made me so mad, I couldn't see straight. After my time in Washington, on the trip home I decided I'd at least find somebody nicer to proposition me. So coming back, I decided to sit down with this nice-looking man in his forties. You know how you get to talking-at least I always do. Mama used to say, "You oughtn't to talk to them." And I'd say, "What can they do in a bus station or on a train? They can't do very much, and you don't have to say yes to them, and you learn some things, maybe." Well, anyhow, we got to talking, and he said, "I have a daughter almost your age, I think." She was fifteen. I said, "Well, she's not quite my age, you know." We got talking quite a bit. Toward the end of the trip, he said, "Could I write to you? I'd like to write to you." His wife was dead, and so I said, "Yes." He was fun. He cracked jokes and told me his name was Harvey and gave me his address. I gave him mine. We wrote back and forth for about a year. He came to see me once. Took me to dinner and the theater. It was after our date that he proposed. He said he wanted to marry me and take me to the Windward Islands for a honeymoon. All along I had considered him just a friend. His letters had never shown "I love you" or anything, but my turning him down ended our relationship. I never heard from him again. I've often wondered what happened to Harvey. I also had my share of young men interested in me. When we lived at 2210, there was a streetcar that went by the front of our house. The boy that drove the streetcar had been on that run for a long time. In fact, he watched me grow up from the age of twelve more or less. He was eight or nine years older than me, but still a boy. I think his name was Billy, and he got to know my schedule pretty well over the years. We'd say, "Good morning," and "How are you?" and small talk and this sort of thing. I'd sit in the first row so I could talk to him while he drove. After high school I'd use the 3~

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streetcar pretty regularly. It was five cents. I remember when it went to seven cents we just about died because it was so expensive. When I got a job, Billy and I worked out this arrangement. He knew how I hated to get moving in the morning, so he'd 'ting, ting, ting' the bell when he drove by the house on the morning run. His ringing the bell was my signal to get ready. He'd go up to his stops for another four blocks. He'd wait with the streetcar a few blocks away until he could see me standing out front of the house, and then he'd tum the streetcar around and come back to get me. As much as I hated getting up, it was sure a help in the morning. I had everything all laid out and ready to put on and I could be ready to go in five minutes. He never asked me out; we were just friendly with one another. It's funny, because years later I heard from one of the local government officials that the streetcar had wanted to move Billy to a bigger run and give him a larger salary because he did such an excellent job, but Billy wouldn't move. He said, "No, thank you. I'd just as soon stay where I'm at." They asked him several times because so many people were complimenting his work and each time he would simply decline. Finally, they got to asking why he didn't want to leave the run, and he answered, "Because I want to be where Ms. Marsh is." Two times a day, sometimes even three times a day, he saw me get on and off that streetcar. He kept that job until I married Fred and left home. Here he had a crush on me and I didn't even know it. When I was younger, they used to say that a girl who had three legitimate marriage proposals was considered very popular. If you only had one, well you better take it. I thought of that the other night when I was lying here in bed. I tried to remember how many I had had where they actually meant it. It was over a hundred. I've got two men right now in the nursing home who are after me. One of them can hardly keep his hands off of me, and here his wife is laying there across the hall on the verge of dying. After a while, all the dating I was doing made me start to feel bad. All these men saying they loved me and I didn't love any of them. I couldn't help but feel that there was someone just for me, but here I was twenty-two and had met all these nice men, but I still hadn't met him. I was expected to marry and I began to give up hope that I would ever find "the one." I kept hearing that many of these men would make a good husband. Finally, Fred proposed to me. I thought, well, I'm not really in love with Fred but he's a wonderful boy and I like spending time with him. I liked Fred better than the others, and I thought it was time to get married, and so I said yes, but he would have to get final approval from Papa. We were down at my parents' for the holidays. Mama and I had seen to it that Papa had a good dinner and afterwards the two of us went into the library so that the men could be alone. We watched from the other room. Papa was sitting in the living room reading his Life magazine, and finally, Fred worked up the nerve. Fred said, "Mr. Marsh, I want to ask you something?" Papa put his finger on the magazine where he was reading and peered up over the top of his glasses, "Yes? What is it?" So Fred stumbled about and said, "Well, you know Angela and I've been going together for quite awhile now... since September." "Yes?" 32

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"Well, 1 asked her to marry me, and she said she would but I'd have to talk to you first. Sir, I'd like your permission to marry your daughter, if you would give it." Papa said, "I know quite a bit about you, Fred. 1 know where you went to school, some of the things you've done. Let me ask you one question, young man." Fred took a big breath and mother and 1 took a big breath and wondered what it would be. Papa asked, "What are your politics?" Fred said, "Oh, Mr. Marsh, 1hope it agrees with you but our family has always been good Republicans." Papa replied, "Very good, Fred, you have my blessing. Go ahead with your plans. You can have her." Mama and 1 had to laugh about that. "Thank you sir, thank you sir." Later, Papa told me, "Fred Peterson is a fine young man. 1 think he'll make a good husband." "About time," Mama said. And so 1 married Fred Peterson. 1 didn't know then that it would be one of the biggest mistakes of my life.

33

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Four My grandparents were Quakers and Catholics, but pioneering West Virginia only had Methodists and Baptists, so my parents chose the lesser of two evils and became Methodists. To this day, I can hardly make myself pray in public. Any kind of big religious demonstration just makes me shudder. I remember I had been told, "Go into your closet and pray alone." Funny thing, though, I do like a formal Catholic service. I love the procession down the aisle with the priest and the cross and the fancy robes of the choir. I like the formal songs better than these paddy-footed things that everybody sings today. It might sound unusual but even though I don't care much for religion, God has always been a friend of mine. Whenever I couldn't talk to someone else, I'd talk to God. I tell you, there were many occasions during my marriage to Fred Peterson when I'd have a conversation with God. From time to time I felt bewildered because Ijust couldn't believe how my life was turning out. The things I couldn't say to anybody else, I'd say to God. Isn't that funny? I love talking to God, but I don't like the Bible one bit. Reading that book just irritates me. I've found that I can love the Lord better by not reading that stuff. When I was twenty-two and having a lot of dates, Mama said to me, "You're not serious about any ofthem, are you, Angela?" And I said, "No, I wish I was but I'm not." I had some guy asking me just about once a month to marry me: a congressman, a governor, even two of my teachers. I liked them all but I didn't want to marry them. Was I ever in love with Fred? Well, all my girlfriends were getting married. Louise was married at twenty-two. Everyone I knew was getting married. I was always a bridesmaid and never a bride. So I jumped in and married him. We were both virgins when we were married; it was pretty common in those days. Fred didn't know anything about sex or lovemaking and I wasn't very good at helping him. I met Fred in Mannington, West Virginia. He was well built and smart and pleasant looking. He treated me like a lady. People liked Fred once they got to know him but he wasn't terribly popular. We went to two movies a week. We also went out for walks in spite of my dreaded feet. We did all of our courtin' "on the hoof." By Thanksgiving I liked him pretty well. When I went home to Mama and Papa's for Thanksgiving, he came to see me. He also came about four days after Christmas. And so I started thinking, here I was twenty-two. Fred's got a good job; he's smart; he was raised well. I wanted somebody to love me so badly-not for the sex thing, just to love me. My family wasn't affectionate and he wasn't so outwardly affectionate but I thought that was just because he was restrained. So when Fred asked me, I said yes. Fred thought he was in love with me... he wasn't. In terms ofreally being in love, I never kidded myself. We didn't have an awful lot of money to spend but we had a nice wedding. We had a great big row of peonies in the yard. We got some hothouse peonies for the bridesmaids to carry. That day set all kinds of records for heat on the fourth of June. Of course, there was no air conditioning at the time. The thing I remember most about that ceremony is seeing Louise's husband, Zeke, standing up at the altar on the other side ofFred. He was about an inch taller than Fred, about six foot two and slender with sharp features. I could see his profile and the sharp cut of his nose. The sweat was just falling off the end of his nose like water coming out of a spigot.

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After the service, when we got to Fred's parents' house their hometown paper said, "Fred Peterson Returns with Southern Bride." Imagine, and here I was from West Virginia. Moving in with Fred's family, I had an awful lot of adjustments to make. In addition to Fred's mother and dad, there was Grandfather Ericksen. He was a dear old man, with a big fat stomach and a beard, but he spoke Swedish and hardly any English at all. Out there everybody was Swedish and they only spoke in English when they had to. Even the schoolteachers taught in Swedish until you got to High School. The Church was the same way. For me, it was just like going to the moon. Although they could all speak English, for the most part everybody in that household chose to speak only in Swedish. One evening Mother Peterson announced, "From now on we are going to speak English in this house so that Angela can understand us and doesn't think we're talking about her." Granddad just blew his stack. He wasn't going to do that for anybody. It's not that they weren't nice to me, they were wonderful, but things were just so very different than the way in which I had been brought up. It was like coming into another world. For one thing, Mother Peterson was just a slave in that household. Many times I watched her cook one vegetable three or four different ways just to please everyone. She stood behind her husband's chair during meals and waited on him hand and foot. Constantly serving, running back and forth between the table and the kitchen: making his toast warmer, putting more butter on it, giving him a different kind ofjelly. Finally, when everyone was finished to their satisfaction, she took a small plate ofher own and sat down at a little shelf near the big black cookstove and ate in the kitchen. She'd sit there and eat her bite alone and get the leftovers after everyone else had finished. They saw nothing wrong with that; they'd always done it that way. After about a month of that, I took my plate and went and sat in the kitchen next to Mrs. Peterson. They said, "What are you doing?" I said, "Well, if Mother Peterson isn't good enough to sit with you all, then I'm not either." There was a big argument and a big scene but Mother Peterson never ate in the kitchen by herself again. Still, they treated that poor woman like a servant. They never once even offered to help her carry something. Each day she'd carry a big heavy bucket in each hand out to the pigs. It never occurred to any of the men to empty a slop jar for Mrs. Peterson. The house was old and it just didn't have all the modem conveniences. There was one bathroom downstairs and the bedrooms were upstairs. Each of the bedrooms had their own slop jar. Fred used it, mostly for urine but occasionally for bowel action. It never occurred to him to empty it. She'd come through the bedrooms and empty all the men's slop jars. She was the servant of the house and it just wasn't expected for a man to do anything for a woman. On one occasion after me and Fred had been married for about fifteen years, Mother Peterson said to me, "You know, Angela, I don't say too much, but I love you as much as I do Fred." That was the greatest compliment she could have ever given me. Fred's mother simply worshipped him. She had given birth to three children. Two other sons had died before Fred had ever been born. One died a few weeks after birth and the other died from the croup when he was just an infant. Mother Peterson told me that she couldn't nurse him herself and that little child threw up everything

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that was in his stomach. They didn't have anything but cow's milk and he couldn't hold it down. A couple of times she said to me, "You know, Angela, I think that poor child just starved to death." She would hide her face in her apron and cry. When Fred came along, he was so frail they weren't sure he was going to make it either. He was a tiny, little, runt of a thing. They tied him with big safety pins to the pillow so he couldn't smother himself. It was a day and night job for someone to look after him. But he survived, and grew, and by the time he was a year old he had caught up with his size. The fact that the Petersons finally had a child that lived made him something of a little king in his own home. The family simply worshipped him-Mother Peterson especially. Anything he wanted, it was given to him. He never picked up a piece of clothing or a toy in his life: he threw it on the floor, left it on a chair, or dropped it on the bed. He never had any sense of order about keeping things in their place. Every day, Mother Peterson would come into his room and pick everything up and put everything away. Even when he was a grown man, she waited on him. Well, I wasn't about to be his servant. After we were married and we got a house of our own, I soon learned that if I didn't do it, it wasn't going to get done. I liked a clean house so I started to get after him, "Someday we'll have children, and I don't want to have to wait on a child hand and foot. Fred, you've got to learn to start taking care of yourself." He said, "I never had to before. That's a woman's job." He was chauvinistic before there was even a word for it. After we had been married for about a year and a half, I got up one morning and looked around that pretty little bedroom of ours. There was a sock hanging around the candlestick. His pants were draped over the mantel. There were a couple of pairs ofunderwear on the floor. A dirty shirt was hanging off one end ofthe dresser. A towel had been wadded up in the middle of the rug. And that was just the start of it. I had had enough. I called Mother and said, "Mama, is Papa coming out this way anytime today?" She said, "Yes, he'll be working out with some of his men. Why?" "Ask him if he'd pick me up. I'd like to come in to see you... I'm kind of lonesome out here today." "Okay, do you think you'll be ready in a couple of hours?" "Yes. I'll be ready." I went downstairs and got a box of tacks and a hammer. I came back and nailed every garment that was out ofplace, right where Fred had left it. I nailed maybe forty pieces in all and I figured this is the end of our marriage. I was so mad that I didn't care. I nailed the tacks clean through so you had to take the edge of a knife to pry them lose. When Papa came, I ran out of the house and got into his car. I never said anything about what I had done either. When we got home I said, "Mama, would it be okay if Fred and I stayed for supper?" "Of course, we'd love to have you." So I called Fred at work and told him not to go out to the house, but to come over to Mama and Papa's. When we were having supper, I said, "Mama, isn't there a circle meeting at church tonight? Are you going to go?"

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She said, "I hadn't planned to." "Well, since I'm here and we both got on a decent dress, let's go." "Oh, that would be wonderful." "Fred can go home, and I'll come back here and stay the night. Is that okay with you, Fred?" "Sure." So Fred went on home and I went to the circle meeting with Mama and then I spent the night. The next evening, after work, Fred came and picked me up and didn't say a thing. The whole ride home and there wasn't a word. We walked up the stairs to our bedroom, and I was waiting for the explosion. I was expecting him to throw me out of the house. Imagine my shock when we walked into the room and everything was clean and tidy. Not one thing was out of place! My first thought was that the angels themselves must have come and intervened-that's how unlikely it seemed to me that Fred Peterson would have picked anything up. Fred didn't say a word. For the rest of our lives together, he didn't say a word about it. Not one mention about nailing the clothes to the furniture, the wall, the mantel, or the floor. But you know what, from that day on he picked up after himself. Fred and I got married in June and by the middle of September I was so homesick that I thought I would die. So I said, "Please, Fred, let me go home for a visit." I knew I'd made a mistake. Married life wasn't for me. I'd married the wrong man because I had never met the right one. I was totally and utterly depressed. I thought, "I can't believe this is it for the rest of my life. I'll go home and talk to Mama, get her perspective, and then I would see." At about that same time, Dad Peterson hurt his back by falling off a load of com he was bringing in to be shucked. Since Fred had to go help him out on the farm, I got to go back home and visit with Mama and Papa. I remember thinking on the train home about what I was going to do. Fred was good to me; he was nice. It would be a mistake to think that I had no feelings for Fred, but I didn't love him any more than I loved the kitchen table. I decided I'd go home and not come back again. I wanted to make a clean break before I had a baby, and then I'd be stuck forever. That was my plan but I kept it to myself. The whole time I was with Mama and Papa in West Virginia, Fred was in Osco, Illinois, sending out letters and resumes in order to find himself a job. He was convinced that I would be happiest when we had our own place away from his folks. In a one-month period, he wrote over a hundred letters, mostly to business colleges, looking for a position. Letters went out to California, New York, New Jersey, Florida, Georgia, other parts of Illinois, Wisconsin, Oklahoma, Minnesota, and Connecticut. In the end, the only positive response came from Chicago, but neither Fred nor I had any desire to make that move. Fred became more anxious about his inability to find work, and I became more convinced that I wanted to remain in Parkersburg. While I was away, Fred wrote me daily. Excerpt, letter from Fred S. Peterson; October 5, 1925: Saturday-Dear Wife: This is-my twentieth letter this fall to the girl I love the most of all. I positively never knew that I could miss anyone a hundredth as much as I miss you. I simply 40

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have one big continuous, tremendous ache for you, my sweetheart and my only love. If I were to hug you now, I fear every rib would be crushed in your body. It has been 31 ,206 minutes since I last kissed mywoman-520 1/2 hours-ages ago. I feel like poor old Rip Van Winkle must have felt, all out of the swim of things. Even the radio makes me more lonesome. I just tuned in and heard, "Dear Heart, How I Miss You Tonight." The singer did not put half the feeling I could have put into that song. Oh, how I wish I could report that I had immediate worthwhile work with a glowing future. (I could then feel I had a better right to express my true and sincere love for you.) I suppose it is a wise course to await the decision from New Britain. I am following up my wire with a letter. The job pays about $185 per month year round. It is the only job I am applying for that I really want. I may not get it, but here's hoping and praying I do. I do not expect answers from Charlotte, La Crosse, St. Paul, or Trenton. New Britain and Los Angeles are two of my best prospects. Our cash balance is like ice on the streets of the Fourth of July... I can't help repeating: I dearly love you and should anything happen to you or our love, there would seem to be very little left to live for. All my plans for the future center and revolve around you and making you happy and contented. It is late and I must retire with the one hope that I will see you soon. Your Lovelorn and Lonely, Fred P.S. When will you return? Please come soon.

I had been home about five weeks, staying with my parents. One day I stopped into the Imperial Ice Cream Parlor. I had been out shopping and just wanted to take a little break and so I sat down in the booth (the booths had very high seat backs which were impossible to see over). While I was sitting there, two boys I knew came in and took the booth just before mine, not seeing me next to them. After a minute, the two boys, Hubert and Wesley, began talking about me. I strained to listen. "I knew she'd come back. I told you that at the wedding. I took a good look at him and a good look at her and then I bet you that it wasn't going to last. Pay up." "She's just visiting. She'll be going back to him." "Listen, Hubert, she's here to stay. You owe me." Well they argued back and forth about who owed who. Finally, they decided to give it another six weeks. IfI didn't go back to Fred by then, the bet was over. I became furious. Those two had made a bet that it wasn't going to last. I decided right then and there that I wasn't going to give in that easily. I was going back to Fred; in the end it would be a mistake. A few weeks later, I did go back and I was miserable. I missed Parkersburg and Mama and Papa so badly. I tried to explain how I felt, but a letter from Mama made it quite clear what she thought of the whole situation. There seemed to be no getting out of it. Excerpt, letter from Katherine (Mrs. Harvey) Marsh; November 6, 1925: Dearest Angela: Libby went back to Cameron on Wednesday. Oh, but I was lonesome! I had hardly gotten used to your being gone again when she came and went. Such is life when one's children grow up.

KevLVvJ. TodesGV1L There is nothing of interest to write. I am simply troubled because you are fretting over things. Cut it out. Things are bound to come all right. And there are worse things then simply staying when you want to go. Make the best of it, honey, and don't belittle your own chances at happiness by discontent, either silent or expressed. Fred's all right. Keep whole faith in him and hope big things...

Papa began setting up a situation for Fred. He was of the opinion that Parkersburg had all kinds of opportunities. He suggested that the two of us move back to Parkersburg for good. The town was booming and Papa told Fred he would help him find a good job. Papa made a good case of it and Fred agreed to the move. I was elated. We came home where I knew everybody and I had all of my friends. Papa was to hire Fred in his office until Fred could get a good job in one of the schools. We moved to Parkersburg after Christmas that year. It was Papa who suggested that Fred was too smart and too active to simply teach school. Papa thought Fred would make a better businessman. So Papa offered Fred a spare room in his own office-one that had been used as a storeroom. Papa told him that he'd help him get started because he knew everybody. Well, this sounded awfully good to Fred. So now he had an office. But what kind of business should he be in? Papa suggested that since Fred was so good with figures, maybe he ought to look into mortgage financing. He also suggested a little real estate on the side. Although it might take a little while to get established, Papa thought Fred could make a go of it. Everyone liked my Papa. Ifhe said that Fred was a fine young man, then there was no doubt that Fred was a fine young man. So business started coming in. Now Dad had purchased about 300 acres on the edge of Parkersburg, and he planned to develop it into large lots and individual tracts of land. There was an old run down house that belonged to the original deed of property. It had been built in 1774. Since it was about 150 years old and thoroughly run down, nobody wanted it. It was too big. The roofwas still good and the ceiling beams were solid. The foundation was good as well. I had loved that house for as long as I could remember and I wanted it, even though Fred wasn't as impressed as I. You see, years before the Revolution, the Governor of Virginia had hired a young surveyor to go over the mountains and survey the western portion of Virginia (now West Virginia). The surveyor's name was George Washington-he was only nineteen at the time. Washington returned with rave reports about the beauty of the area, so the Governor sent a wealthy landowner, name ofTracewell, to the area to act as local governor. Tracewell was allowed to pick any section of the land he wanted as his own. Remains ofthat tract surrounding the house were what Papa had bought. When the house had been built before the Revolution, it was considered the finest home west of the mountains. I had heard about and loved that home since childhood. Although it was in serious need of repair to even make it livable, I just had to have it. Because ofmy pleading, Dad let us have that house and three acres of ground for $2,500, and I was in glory. Of course, we couldn't move in until we cleaned it up. The bedbugs were all over the walls. In fact, we literally took a big scraper that they used to scrape paint with and came down the walls scraping the bedbugs off the kitchen. It hadn't had a family in it for almost half a century. The chimneys were good, but of course all the windows needed to be replaced and the walls needed new paint. 42

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The house was very solid-the inside walls were twenty-four inches thick, solid brick. There were days when you couldn't sit down in the summertime without a sweater because once the house cooled off it stayed cool. I never worked any harder in my life than I did all that summer getting it set up. I called it the "Gray Lady," because the brick had been painted gray. It was the size of a mansion, sixty feet across its front. At one time, it was one of the finest homes in all the Alleghenies. The entrance to the home was centered behind an enormous tree-the walkway to the door came toward the tree and then made a circle around it. It was quite beautiful. How I loved that house, but living there with Fred seemed very lonely. One day, after we had moved in, one of Fred's cousins had the most wonderful idea. The house was too big for Fred and me alone. His cousin, Anna, was a fabulous cook. She was single, restless, and wanted to get away from home. She suggested that she come and the two of us could make a tea room out of a part of the house "the Gray Lady Tearoom." Fred didn't object, so I had the whole thing planned out. All Anna had to do was move in and be the cook. I felt sure that it would be a great success. I was well known in the area, Dad was well known, and everybody in town knew about the house. Many people had begun getting excited about this old house being restored. So Fred and I took what little money we had and got the place fixed up for a tea room. We had twelve breakfast sets and tables and chairs and enough silverware so that we could have twelve tables. Anna sent some things and Mama gave me some big skillets. It was quite a production. There was even an article in the paper about what was going to be occurring at the Gray Lady Tea Room. Everything was ready. My big disappointment came when Anna wrote and said that she'd changed her mind. Her father didn't want her to come so she decided to forget the whole thing. Fred and I had used our last nickel to set the place up and now it wasn't going to happen after all. We were so poor and I was so disappointed. We were short of money, so to make ends meet we ate an awful lot of meals at Mother and Dad's. There was also a butcher shop on the way from the house to the town. I'd stop in and buy ten cents of hamburger and say, "Do you have any bones on the floor for dogs?" The butcher would say, "Let's see," and then he'd sweep me up some bones and some scraps for the dog. We didn't have a dog. I'd come home with those bones, scrub them up, throw out what wasn't any good, and make soup out of the rest of it. Although the house had electricity, we didn't use it except for absolute necessities. We had coal oil lamps and big beautiful fireplaces, which we often cooked on. We had an ice box but we couldn't afford the ice. Nobody ever knew just how poorly offwe were those first few months after Anna turned us down. In all, we would live in that house for four years. After about two years, my half-sister Louise took ill and was advised to go south and rest. The doctors were worried that she would succumb to tuberculosis and die. They advised against any kind of strenuous activity. The problem was that she had a little baby boy, Cecil Marsh, to take care of. He was the most precious child I had ever seen: big blue eyes, hair the color of butter, and as smart as lightning. The doctors were afraid that the stress of a young child would due Louise in. So, I said to Louise, "You let me keep Cecil, we'll take care of him," and that's how Cecil came to live with us for a year. 43

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I just loved having Cecil around. One day, I was out front with him planting daffodils while he was playing with his little bucket and spade. He said to me, "Could I get some ba-new-er and help?" "Yes, you can get some manure." So he walked around to the side ofthe yard and got a pailful ofmanure-there were horses on the property adjoining ours-and he brought it back to me. He dumped it down where I was planting and went back for another bucket. When we were all finished, he said, "You know, Aunt Ann, if it wasn't for the horses there wouldn't be any ba-new-er, would there?" "No, Cec." "If there wasn't ba-new-er we couldn't plant flowers. And then we wouldn't have pretty blooms, would we?" I said, "That's right, Cecil." I was really pleased with him. One night at the dinner table, just like any child, he was trying to test my patience. I was so tired that I finally scolded him. Fred thought I was being too hard and so he said quietly out of the side of his mouth, "Ann, ignore...just ignore." So I ignored. Later that evening we were all in the front room. In front of the fireplace was an enormous piece of granite where Cecil would play on his knees with a little car, or truck, or something. He was running the little automobile up and over the hearth, and saying, "Ignore, just ignore-ignore, ignore, ignore." It was a brand new word to him and Fred and I had to laugh. I tell you, it was a sad day when Louise returned home cured to fetch him. I felt my heart get tom out when she headed down the walkway holding Cecil by the hand. I would always feel close to that child. Years later, during World War II, Louise nearly had a fit when Cecil got out of the Navy and came to see me first for a week in Washington before he headed home to West Virginia to see his mother and family. She tried to make him feel guilty with, "If you like her better than you do me..." but she got over it. But you know, I don't think I ever got over Cecil. About that same time, an interesting thing happened with a photograph Mama had once taken when I was about ten years old. Even when we had all grown up and married and moved out, Mama kept this little subscription to a child's magazine. She figured it would help her keep up with her grandkids whenever they came to visit. One issue, this magazine had an article and a contest. They said they'd been publishing for twenty years or something: "We get these beautiful baby pictures and these beautiful toddlers, and we've all been wondering here what these beautiful infants look like when they start to grow up and become real people. Any of you who have a snapshot ofyour child, pick out a good picture of one ofyour children between the ages of eight and twelve and send it to us. We plan to publish a selection of those pictures." So Mama had some time to herself, she didn't make as many speeches as she once had and all the kids were grown-up. She got out this big pile of old photographs and started going through the pictures. Nearly everything was a group with several of the kids, but she kept looking. Finally, she came across an old picture of me and she decided to send it in to them. They wrote back and they wanted to publish it. In fact, they wanted to use it as one ofthe features and asked Mama to describe the coloring of everything in detail so they could tint the picture to be a color photograph. So mother 44

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wrote back all the details: coal black eyebrows, green eyes, my complexion, hair and so on. A couple of months later, that picture became the cover of the magazine. When I was married to Fred, Mama called one day about coming to supper and said, "I got a little something for you. I think it will please you." After dinner, she opened up this big pocketbook she had, took out the magazine and said, "Do you remember this picture?" and she told me the story. I was pleased with it, and Fred thought it was good, so I had some copies ofthe colored picture made and gave one to each of my sisters: Louise, Helen, and Libby, and never thought anything about it. That had to be around 1926. Now what's interesting about this story is that around 1995, I was going through a box of my photographs and came across my copy of that colored picture which had been taken when I was ten. I made a duplicate for a friend of mine who makes dolls. I wanted her to make a doll based on the photograph for my granddaughter, Karen. Soon after the doll was made and delivered, this friend went to a big doll and antique show in Western Virginia with another woman. My friend was totally surprised by something they found. Each of these exhibitors got eight foot displays filled with their antiques and their dolls. Sitting up on one ofthe shelves was this enormous, old tea can with a colored 8 x 10 decoupage photograph on one the side of the can. It was the same photograph of me when I was ten! My friend likely had a stroke. I had only given that picture to my three sisters and here it was on an old tea can almost seventy years later. Someone had either made a print off of the magazine, or one of the original pictures had ended up in their possession. My friend wanted to buy it but the dealer was asking $200; so my friend simply took a photograph instead. Even though I had only been ten at the time, it was probably one of the best pictures ever taken of me. It was during our last two years at the Gray Lady that Fred finally started becoming a little more successful in his business. We were no longer starving to death. We were on our feet and I decided that we needed to have a garden. Now in the back of the house there was about twenty feet until you came to a big stone wall that was as high as my ears. Stone steps led up to the top of the wall, which was actually an embankment that surrounded a garden. You see the garden was actually higher than the house. And the garden itselfwas a good acre or more. I wanted to do so much with that garden and just didn't have enough strength to pull it all off. I put perennials at the top of the wall so you could see them from the house. I worked like a dog and didn't know fiddle-dee-dee about gardening in those days, and Fred didn't want to know anything about gardening. Here Fred had been raised on a farm and hated it. He didn't want anything to do with working out in the yard. He used to say, "Angela, I'd like to live in an apartment building so high up it would be against the law to have a window box for fear it would fall off and kill somebody." I planted that entire garden myself and got a pretty good crop out of it. I got so much food that I had to can it. Mama had extra jars she gave me and the woman at the store had extra jars she gave me too because she knew Fred and I really couldn't afford the expense. My sister Louise gave me some. That summer and fall I put up almost 300 quarts of the things I had raised! I was proud of that accomplishment. I cleaned up the cellar and put the jars against the wall-they all looked so pretty and colorful lined up. We had a bushel of peaches; I cut and dried them. I strung beans on 45

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long pieces oftwine and dried them. I was busy from morning till night working in the house-getting everything ready for the winter. We had to learn to make things do. You know, people just don't understand today. They're so wasteful. Back then we had to save a nickel here, a dime there, two dollars set aside when we could get it. It all adds up and that's the way we finally got ahead. Here in my room at the nursing home, Rachel will use at least two rolls of paper towels a week! I have seen her jerk four or five sections of paper towels just to chop one onion on and then throw all that paper in the wastebasket. She doesn't take too kindly to my pointing it out to her either. "Well, what's the difference?" I said, "Rachel, the difference is that you're working for me, instead of my working for you. This all adds up." "You're the stingiest thing. I've never seen anything like it." "I maybe use one roll in five or six weeks. They're useful to pick up a spill but you don't have to use half a dozen sections to chop one onion." But she just didn't understand. Maybe she can't comprehend what it was like to make ends meet. It's awfully hard to paint a picture of how people had to live the first part of this century, right up until after the Second World War. People either made do or they had to go without. There was no such thing as a credit card. Well, back at the Gray Lady something suddenly came up. You know, things have had a way of happening unexpectedly to me all of my life. Usually, I ended up doing things that weren't done quite the same way by other people. One day, my Uncle Frank called Papa and asked about me. He said, "We need a good teacher. Do you suppose Angela would be willing to take the job for awhile? I heard she and Fred could sure use the money." Uncle Frank wanted me to go out to the eastern panhandle of the state and teach in a state school for the blind. Well, I didn't know any Braille. I didn't even know a blind person. I hadn't even been trained for teaching high school. I didn't have a degree. All I had was my teaching certificate and the school wanted someone with a master's degree. But Fred and I still needed the money, and the salary sounded wonderful, and Uncle Frank recommended me. It was a government job. It sounded so good to both of us that I accepted. I went out to the school. Apparently, the teacher who I was replacing had quit a month or so before Christmas. It was kind of scary to take a job in such a big institution. It was a large state-run school: blind kids on one side ofthe campus and deaf on the other side. I was very nervous, but both Papa and Uncle Frank said, "Now don't pretend that you don't know anything, just act like you're an expert and the school's lucky to get you." So I started my job

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as a teacher in a high school for the blind. It was one of the toughest jobs I ever had. I taught them English and history and geography. I had never before imagined what it would be to teach geography to a group of teenagers who had never even seen sky or land or mountains or rivers or trees, or anything. It was a challenge. One ofthe surprises that greeted me was a bit ofAmerican history right there in my classroom. I had one boy who was a McCoy and another who was a Hatfield. The two of them were good friends. The little Hatfield boy had his eyes shot out by one of the McCoys when he was only six years old. Now, he was about seventeen. Most of my kids had been blind all of their lives. There was another boy in there who really impressed me. He had been able to see for a few years as a child before going completely blind. Now, he could hold a piece of cloth or paper to his face and he could tell if it was red or green or blue or yellow or black. He could only tell the major colors, not something like pink. The girls wanted to look pretty and they knew how to fix their hair so it would be becoming. None of them wore just a straight bob. They each had a different hairdo that they had worked out for themselves. Some of them were very becoming. Just being with those kids was an education in itself. Until you've been with children like that with special needs, you just don't know what they can do. I ended up being a pretty good teacher of English and history but physical geography remained a real challenge to me. I couldn't help but wonder how I could teach them. I struggled along with the class and all the kids would laugh and say, "Don't worry, Mrs. Peterson, nobody has ever been able to teach us geography. We just kind of go along with the class." Well, that wasn't good enough for me. I went home for the Christmas holidays, and the more I thought about it, the more I decided I needed to do something. Here I was getting this good salary and I didn't think I was really earning it. I went and talked to the superintendent of the school and he didn't have a solution, but finally I had an idea. I had seen a big map of the United States for sale in a catalog. It was about twelve feet long and every state was in proportion, and the map itselfwas literally one big puzzle. The map also had contours for some of the bigger rivers and mountains. Every state was a piece ofthe puzzle. Although the map was a couple ofhundred dollars (which wasn't cheap in the '20s) I convinced the superintendent that we needed to have it, "I can at least teach the kids the shape of the country and each of the states." He finally agreed. And so I said, "Another thing we can do is to build an enormous sand box in the back of the classroom." "What?" "We'll get a big sand pile, and have the children build mountains and rivers and some of the layout of the land. Couldn't that teach them something?" He was silent. "It wouldn't cost anything. We could get some local carpenters to build the box, and we'll go down to the river and get some sand." The superintendent was delighted with my idea. We had an enormous sand box built, and a local construction company donated some really fine sand for us to use. In the evening, after classes I'd go into the room and moisten the sand and make mountains and hills and rivers and valleys. I'd pat it down real good so that

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the next morning the kids could come in and gently feel what these things were like. They were thrilled to death with this approach. Using this, as well as that big map of the United States, I made quite a reputation out there and the kids learned a lot. After they'd gotten use to the contours, I got little trees and all kinds of things I could find that would help them touch and feel. At graduation time they wanted me to come back the next year but I wasn't feeling well enough to really think about it. About a week before I was supposed to come home, I became very ill. I had horrible stomachaches and cramps. At first I thought it was just my period but it wasn't. The pain became almost more than I could endure. Finally, the doctors had to sedate me and put me in a bunk on the B & 0 train back to Parkersburg. An ambulance met the train and I was taken straight to the hospital. It turned out I had appendicitis. It was very bad and a miracle that it hadn't ruptured. The doctors said it was elongated and had grown like a vine around my female organs. I was a long time getting over that operation. I have a scar that runs from my navel clear down almost between my legs. It's been wrinkled and puckered and ugly for the last seventy years. After that operation, it was too late to plant the garden-Fred hadn't stepped one foot out there the whole time I had been gone. Even if it hadn't have been too late in the season, I was just too weak to take care of it. I couldn't do anything I wanted that summer. I could embroider and read and stuff, but I couldn't work out in the garden or the yard. And it was still so lonely alone in that big house with Fred home only in the evening. It was later that summer I began to want a baby so badly that I finally became pregnant with Eric.

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FLve Everything about my pregnancy with Eric was rough. I had easy births and horrible pregnancies. I would have had a dozen kids if it was just about birthing them. I experienced nine months ofjust misery and terror and only ended up being in labor for about four hours. I had morning sickness all day long for seven months. Except for my belly, I got to be as thin as a rail. I put on a great deal of weight in the stomach. I got so huge that I couldn't pull myselfup out of a chair. I was only three months along when Fred's barber asked him when I was due. At the time, Mama and Papa were in Charleston for some business and Papa came home to Parkersburg to visit. When he got back to Charleston, Mama said, "How's Angela? How's her pregnancy?" He said, "Well, she's huge. She's enormous and thin as a rail. She looks like an apple stuck on a knitting needle." And it was true. The whole thing was just awful. Having a baby didn't do anything for my feet, either-walking became completely unbearable. During those years I was pregnant and having two babies, my feet kept getting worse and worse and I still didn't know this was all due to polio. Oh, God, how they hurt! No one could seem to do anything for me. In fact, when I was a teenager living at home, Papa took me to a couple of specialists in Cleveland and Philadelphia who didn't even want to touch them. They were afraid I would end up a cripple. So I just kept living with the pain, and it kept growing worse until I dreaded having to walk. My toes and my ankles started curving in so close that I couldn't put my entire foot on the floor. My arches were so high you could literally slide a saucer dish under them-the toes were curled down so far that the end ofmy nails touched the floor. The only way I could walk across the room to check on the baby was by putting on spike heels to keep the back part of my foot elevated. I just suffered. But before that even, when I was still pregnant, I was stricken with something that affects less than one woman in a million during pregnancy. I remember being very scared. I woke up in the middle of the night and couldn't see a thing. I heard Fred moving around with the lights off and I said, "Fred, what are you fussing around for in the dark?" "Dark?" He seemed flabbergasted. "It's morning... I'm getting ready for work!" I was stone blind. I couldn't see a thing. I couldn't see my hand in front of my face. It was as if someone had pulled a curtain down over my eyes. It frightened me horribly. We went to see a specialist and found out that on rare occasions, women had been known to lose their eyesight during pregnancy. "You'll have the blindness the whole time you carry this child." There I was in that great big house, two miles from town with no close neighbors. I finally understood just what those blind children had to endure. I was blind during the rest of my pregnancy. Well, we had no choice but to bring the bed down and put it up in the living room. We got a woman in once in a while to wait on me. My hip had gone out and I couldn't walk. Every possible thing that could happen to a pregnant woman happened to me. The doctor told me once that he thought I must have a medical book I was reading because every time I came in I had a different symptom. The problems were one on top of another until Fred, and Papa, and the doctor decided we just had to move.

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Dad and Fred thought it would be better for me back in town. In those days, it was common for tramps to come through looking for a handout. There was many a day when I'd fix a meal for one or two tramps. But with the blindness and my difficulty getting around, everybody was worried about my being alone. Ijust hated leaving the Gray Lady-Lord, how I loved that house, but what could I do? Papa and Fred insisted and I was helpless to do much of anything. Sometimes, I've thought that ifI could have been able to stay in the Gray Lady, my life would have been very different. I resented it bitterly all the men folk making me move. But move we did. Fred finally found a six room house-three bedrooms-back in town and we moved just before Eric was born. All the rooms were small. You could have just about put the whole second floor of that house into the living room of the Gray Lady. You can't imagine what it was like having to have someone else do your packing because you're blind, being unable to walk much because your feet are in such pain, and having to throw up every thirty minutes. To put icing on the cake, Eric was late. He was supposed to be born the first week in March. Instead, he came a month later, on AprilS, 1929. It wouldn't be until Eric was about 15 months old that I was even able to get our new house all fixed up. As it turned out, I was two weeks in the hospital having the baby-that's the way they did things in those days. But after Eric was born it all seemed worthwhile. I thought my son was beautiful. He was a gorgeous, healthy and precious child. And to make my happiness complete, slowly, a few weeks after the baby was born, my sight came back. It was a blessing, because all at once I found myself in the position of having to help my son. Like many babies, Eric had colic but it was a very bad case. He screamed and cried for about three or four months, and then as soon as he'd eat, he'd throw up. He was so thin that you could see the seams ofhis skull. I didn't know it at the time, but the doctor had told Fred that the baby wasn't going to live. Eric was starving to death. It wasn't until years later when Eric had his own grandson, Steve, that we even discovered what the problem had been after all. Apparently, some children are born without a proper opening between their stomach and their intestines so food can't pass through it properly. The condition is hereditary. Of course, a child would starve in a situation like that. Several babies in Fred's family had died from that condition. When Steve was three weeks old, surgery was performed and the proper opening was made. But when Eric was a baby, we just didn't know. Meanwhile, Fred's parents were real excited about the possibility of seeing their first grandchild. I had named him after Fred's grandfather Ericksen, which made me the fair-haired daughter-in-law. His family was just begging us to come and visit. I asked the doctor about taking the baby and he told me to go ahead and go. He felt it couldn't hurt to take him, and it might even help. So the three of us packed up and went off on a little vacation together. Luckily, Fred's folks had this big farm and they decided to put together a formula by mixing some of the cow's milk. That first day Eric drank the formula and kept it all down. He did the same the next day and the next. Very quickly he started getting cuter and fatter and more energetic, until he started eating like a pig. He had been so hungry before, it seemed like he was making up for lost time. Well, we stayed with Fred's folks about six weeks-all the while Eric getting bigger. Looking back, it 50

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wasn't the milk that made Eric well, it was the two day journey on rough roads and his own convulsions that must have corrected the condition. But, at the time, we thought it was the specific formula. How could we have known any better? When it came time to head for home, Fred located a farm in Parkersburg with the same kind of cows his parents had for Eric's formula. We didn't want to mess with success. After that, Eric just grew like a sponge. He was a pure delight, and boy was that kid smart. He always knew what he wanted and he knew how to get it. A couple ofyears passed. There we were a family ofthree doing better all the time. Then one day I got a call from my sister, Helen. She had married and was living in Providence, Rhode Island, and thought that a visit would be just what I needed. She called one day and said, "Angela, why don't you come up and bring Eric and stay a month? It's too big of a trip to stay only a week." Fred's business was picking up and we were doing fairly well financially. So Fred said it was okay, and it wasn't too long before two-and-a-halfyear old Eric and I were off. Eric was such a cute little boy that people just couldn't take their eyes off of him. He had red curly hair and was just a bubbly little child. He just stopped everyone there on the train. The porter carried him all up and down the aisle. Everyone in the car knew him. When Helen picked us up it was in a big red roadster and between that red car and Eric's red hair we drew quite a crowd. I was there for a nice quiet visit and a month-long rest. However, we hadn't been in Providence two days when I saw this ad in the paper that caused me to take notice. The Jordan Marsh department store was giving a class in interior decorating. "Oh, Helen, wouldn't it be lovely to take that?" "I'll keep the baby if you want to go." So I called Fred and we talked about it. "Fred, it's such a bargain. We're in the business of real estate and I need to do something." Fred thought the idea was fine. He'd buy used houses and I could fix them up. I ended up staying in Providence for three months taking those classes and learning quite a bit about interior decorating. I came home all set to begin a new career and I wasn't home two months when I got pregnant again with Angela. I found out on account of my eyes. I woke up one morning and couldn't see very well. Fred took me to the doctor. "How long have you been pregnant?" he said. "I'm not pregnant!" "Oh, yes you are." And it was true. The blindness wasn't as bad-this time I could distinguish daylight from dark but I still didn't have enough eyesight to really see anything. The second pregnancy was difficult but it was easier than the first. Angela Helen was born when Eric was just a little over three. She was a beautiful little girl and Fred and I were quite pleased to have one of each. It was a good thing because the doctor suggested we quit after two. He didn't want to take the chance of my being permanently blind. I'd been in the hospital two or three days with Angie when there was a panic in the market, resulting in every bank in the United States suddenly closing. The Depression had started. Rather than staying the obligatory two weeks in the hospital, I insisted on getting out early because I was suddenly very concerned about money. The

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day the banks closed, Fred had $12 in his pocket and I had about $1. Here we had been prosperous for a little over a year and then suddenly it was very hard going. I didn't know it at the time but it would be five years before I got any new clothes. Everybody went hungry during the Depression. At first, we helped supplement our food by using several hundred acres of farmland that Papa owned, but that didn't last long because before the Depression was over Papa would lose the property. Fred and I lost everything, as well. When I had gone into the hospital with Angie, Fred and I owned five houses that we were renting out. But with the Depression there was nobody who could pay rent and so within the first year we lost all five. About a year and half later, we even lost our own house. Thankfully, a business acquaintance of Fred's had a big house for rent that nobody could afford-it had been empty for eighteen months or so-and he let us stay there if we took care of the place. It became our home for the next two years. There wasn't a family in this country that didn't experience hard times during the Depression. Young people today don't know what it was like because they didn't go through it but it affected everybody. You had to take care of what you had because there just wasn't anything more to get. People would work just to have a place to sleep and food to eat but few families could afford to take them in because they were having difficulties feeding their own. You just can't imagine. One young woman named Lorraine begged for Fred and I take her in. She wanted to work and help take care of the children in exchange for room and board. She was a nice pretty girl and ended up staying with us for over a year. I couldn't pay her anything, except for room and board but I did make her a dress once and she seemed to enjoy being a part of the family. We were so hard up during that time that I started taking in washing and ironing. I was determined that Fred wasn't going to close his office. Everybody was closing their offices and many ofthem were going hungry. The time finally came when Fred decided he had no choice but to close the business too but I just knew enough to know that the Depression wasn't going to last forever. "Angela, we don't have enough money to pay the rent." "Well, what are we you going to do, Fred?" "I guess I can start calling on houses door-to-door." "That doesn't make any sense. What good would that do? Nobody door-todoor is going to have any money either. You've got to keep the office." "We don't have the money." I said, "Fred, I'll get you the money." So he moved into a smaller office and I took in washings. I had a good washing machine back then. In those days you didn't have an automatic wringer, you had to wring the clothes out with a hand crank-there was no such thing as a dryer. You carried the basket of wet clothes up the stairs to be hung. So I started working and took in washing enough to pay his rent on that smaller office. I'd do a whole load for a dollar-everything that could fit in a great big clothes basket. As time passed, my feet got worse and worse. There were days when I was doing all that wash and carrying all those clothes and trying to tend to the children and I thought I was going to die. I was in horrible pain but I kept working. Mostly, I kept my pain to myself because Fred had enough to worry about. A couple of years passed and Fred started doing a little better but the day came when I just couldn't take 52

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the pain anymore. I was nearly a cripple when Fred took me to a new specialist over in Huntington. He put my feet in his lap, looked at them, examined all the bones, and finally nodded. "When did you have polio, Mrs. Peterson?" "I never had polio." He said, "Don't tell me that, you had polio... you don't have to be ashamed of it." We traced it back to that terrible fever I had when I was eight months old. Here it was more than thirty years later! The doctor recommended an experimental surgery. He said, "It won't take long but it will be severe." During the operation, they broke my arches and made them as flat as they could without tearing up the feet. They had to cut and splice the tendons all the way up to the back of my knees. The operation was even more severe than the doctor had originally thought. They had to put both of my legs in casts up to my knees. When I came to, I just wanted to die. They had operated on both feet and accidentally pulled all the ankle bones out of place so the ankles had to be reset as well. The tendons in the back of my leg had shrunk so they pulled them down and lengthened them six and a half inches. To make them stay in place, the doctor had pulled my feet back so far that lying on my back in the bed, I could see the soles ofmy feet. You can't imagine the constant pain and I had to lie that way looking at my feet for eighteen months! I nearly went crazy. Before the operation I weighed 170 pounds, eighteen months later I would weigh 111. It hurt so bad that I had a hard time talking to people. Even now, it's just too awful to even talk about it. I was two months in the hospital and then laid up at home for nearly a year-and-a-half. Excerpt, letter from Angela Peterson to her husband, Fred, during her hospital stay; July 13, 1935: Huntington Dear Fred: This is far worse than having a baby. Ifeel like I'm going crazy. It is just agony and there's nothing anyone can do. I've never closed my eyes in sleep since you left. I know what it means when someone says their nerves are cracked. My day is spent crying or being shot up with hypodermics and pills. And still I can't sleep. I can feel the pain from the cutting and the stretching, and in the last 24 hours my legs have swollen so much that I don't think I can take anymore. They say it will be at least three more days until I have any relief. To make matters worse, it's 102 degrees and the room doesn't even have a fan. Oh, Fred, I'm so blue I could die. I miss you and the kids. Write me and tell me about Eric and Angela. Greet everyone for me. If you can, send me a little money to buy a fan ...

Every two months they'd change my casts and scrape the dead skin off my legs. It was pure hell. That was the most agonizing time ofmy life and it was awful on everybody. I had to use a bedpan every time I went to the potty. We had to hire help because I couldn't do anything. Thankfully, Fred's business was improving at the same time and it continued to improve over the next year and a half.. 53

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For example, a time came when I could pay Lorraine $1.50 a week. Later, it got to be $3.00 a week, then $4.00 a week, and finally $5.00 a week. And $5.00 a week was as much as any maid got in those days. When Lorraine finally left, I helped her get a good job downtown in a hotel. A bed was put for me down in the living room and Fred stayed upstairs in the master bedroom. You see, even the thought of sex was just out of the question. I couldn't move and they gave me dope several times a day just to help me get through the pain. It was just horrible my being unable to care for the children like most mothers. I couldn't go out in the yard and play with them, I couldn't play hide and go seek, I couldn't run and jump with them or play ball. Sure, I could read to them and color but children love to be active and I just missed out on that part of their growing up completely. But what else could I do? I was nearly a cripple. Angela was just three and Eric had just started kindergarten. I really couldn't tend Angela, which left her in the care ofLorraine. Lorraine was a nice girl but not very educated. She spoke in slang, and before too long Angie was speaking just like her. So I decided to send Angie to the little preschool that a neighbor lady ran across the street. The woman was a nice teacher. Although she was a little concerned at first that my daughter was too young, Angie was bright and the woman decided to try her. Oh, Angela Helen was such a cute little girl. Every once in a while, her teacher would call me and tell me something that she had done. One day, they were all sitting around the teacher on cushions and the teacher asked them to go around the circle and say, "Miss Burtrell, when I grow up I want to be a ," and finish the sentence. Well, they went around the circle, which had been arranged alphabetically. The first little girl said, "Miss Burtrell, when I grow up I want to be a Mama." A little boy said, "Miss Burtrell, I want to be a policeman." And so it went. "Miss Burtrell, I want to be a carpenter." ".. .1 want to be a truck driver." " .. .1 want to be a teacher." " .. .1 want to be a grocer," and so forth. She said every one of them started out exactly the same way, "Miss Burtrell, I want to be a ," and then whatever it was. Well, here Angela was sitting down with the "P's," so when it came her tum, she stood up, waited to make certain that her audience was listening and when everyone was looking at her she was ready. "My dear madam, when I grow up I intend to be a fine lady." And then she sat back down. That was at three-and-a-half! You know, Angie was so cute. After she was born, her father didn't know that he had another child. It's sad but I never heard Fred say "my son." It was always, "your boy" or "Eric" or "the kid," but it was never "my son is doing this ..." It just broke my heart. And here Eric was so advanced, both intellectually and in maturity, that everyone else noticed but Fred. That boy was so trusted that the school made him the traffic guard at the main intersection when he was only in eighth grade. He controlled school traffic and helped all the other kids cross. At the end of the semester, Eric was chosen out of all the other traffic guards among all the other schools as the outstanding traffic guard of the year! He never had an accident or even a near-accident or a problem of any kind and he got to go to Washington, D.C. as a result of it and his picture was in the paper and so forth. The headline read, "Twelve Year Old Elected Traffic Guard 54

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of the Year." And then in the body of the article it said, "Little Eric Peterson, twelve year old son of Fred Peterson, was sent to Washington..." It was only at that point that Fred said, "Yes, that's my son." But Eric was never like Angela Helen to him. IfAngie wanted something, she got it. When she was seven years old, she wanted a new dress-which was considered a luxury. So she asked me, "What are we going to have for dinner tonight, Mama?" I said, "Well, honey, we're going to have so and so." "Oh," she thought for a moment, "Papa doesn't like that especially. I looked in the freezer and saw that we have so and so, let's have that tonight instead." "WhY,honey?" "Well, after dinner I want to get on Papa's lap and love him a little bit and tell him I want a new dress and ifhe's had a really good dinner, he'll probably give it to me." Wasn't she a crafty little thing? But Angie also had a spiritual quality that was hard to define. She seemed like an old, old soul from the very beginning. She liked to help in the kitchen and she liked to read. She seemed perfectly happy doing whatever was available or needed to be done at the time. Now Eric had a bad temper but it was like mine. It was quick and then it was over. At first, he talked about wanting to be a biochemist but the thought of being shut up in a laboratory just didn't sit with him. He felt like he wanted to be around other people so he decided to become a doctor. Both my kids had lots of friends but the whole time I was sick, they never had anyone come over to the house. Now one thing I need to say is that when I was in that cast for eighteen months, I just felt like I was degenerating from the pain. Nothing would stop it. You couldn't take enough dope to stop it. You could ease it a little bit but it was never gone. At night they'd give me a heavy dose of medication to put me out-it's a wonder I didn't develop a chronic drug problem. The family tried to keep me content there in my bed in the living room. They'd bring me a couple of dolls, or an article they thought I'd like, or a magazine they felt I'd be especially interested in. Somebody brought me some horoscope magazines that I liked. I was brought flowers, all kinds of things that might take my mind off of the constant pain. It was a horrible, horrible year-and-a-half. No one will ever know what it was like unless they go through a similar experience. I don't think anyone I ever knew suffered as much physical pain as I did. Later, during World War II, I felt like I could really sympathize with some of those soldiers who had been all beat up and wounded in the war and were laid out in their hospital beds. An awful lot of people wanted to come see me but I didn't want company, I was in too much agony. I was delighted that they liked me and wanted me, but I didn't even want the family to come much. The telephone was there by me and sometimes I didn't even answer when it would ring. I very much wanted to be left to myself. I wasn't good for anything. I wasn't good for the kids, I wasn't good for my husband, and I wasn't good for myself. For that reason, I don't blame Fred for what happened. Here I was laid up for almost two years and I couldn't sleep with him or be a wife to him, and Fred was far more sexual than I was. He had always wanted sex twice a day, once when he got up and then again when we went to bed. He was never rough and never ugly but I just 55

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didn't care for it like he did, and when I became sick, well, what else could Fred do? It wasn't long before I found out Fred was seeing another woman.

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sLx. So much of our life together was just surface stuff. Fred wanted me to dress up and look pretty and he wanted me to keep the house looking nice. That sort ofthing. Those years took an awful lot out of me. I had a husband, two children, a house of my own, and I was still canning upwards of 700 quarts a year when I wasn't sick. I was an excellent cook, and Fred liked us to have a lot of dinner parties. I was involved in the local theatre group and I was trying my hand at interior decorating, but underneath it all, I was becoming more and more disillusioned. We were such different personalities. Fred was as quiet and reticent as I was outgoing and eager to make friends. He was also very possessive in an opposite way, which seemed very peculiar to me. Although I wasn't the prettiest girl around, it seemed as though I had something that men wanted. Oftentimes, when we went to a dance, there would be a proposition and Fred loved it. About eight of us couples would go regularly to the dances. Fred had two left feet and let me do all the dancing. He seemed to enjoy watching other men make eyes toward me. He would lean back and beam, "I've got her and you haven't." He'd take me out on the floor on the first and the last dances and in between he wanted all the other men to dance with me. He bought me better clothes than I would have bought myself. He got some kind of enjoyment out of other men wanting me. There was one doctor, Doc Roweno, who was a terrific dancer. We were about the same height and fit well together. When we'd get on the floor for a waltz, everybody would leave the floor and we'd do a solo. Nobody told them to, the others just wanted to watch. Fred was so proud that I was in the center of it all. Funny thing was, if we went to some party and I didn't get the amount of attention he thought I should have he would bawl me out. He never said "Why did you flirt with that man?" he'd say, "Why didn't you?" It got so I had to put on a big show every time we went out because that's what he wanted. As soon as we got to be a little prosperous, I became his trophy to show off. If some man would pat my hand, I'd say "Fred, aren't you jealous?" and he'd say "No, I'm not." I know how hard you are to get. .. you're not going to go off with anybody else. It just makes me feel good to know I've got something that no one else has." I remember once after we had been married for quite a long time, Fred was a little perturbed with me for not having been more social with some of the men while we were at the dance. I said, "Fred, I was the debutante ten years ago, I can't be the belle of the ball forever." He disagreed, "Well, of course you can. There's no reason why you can't be at center stage." The dancing and the showing-off went on hiatus when I was laid up with my feet. I couldn't have danced any more than flown to the moon. Fred and the housekeeper took care of everything. I had my magazines, my dolls, and the children on occasion, and enough dope to keep me sane. It was right in the middle ofmy recuperation when Fred came in one evening and said, "I just bought you a new house, Angela." There I was all laid out under the front window-my legs in torment. I said, "Oh, my Lord, Fred, when do we move?" He said, "We've got to move right away."

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"How am I gonna move, Fred?" "Well you did it once, you can do it again. This is too good a bargain to pass up." It may be hard to believe but I hadn't been upstairs in my own home for over a year and I didn't even know how to tell people how to start packing and such. In order to help, Fred drew me a plan of the new house and all the rooms. On paper, I placed all the furniture in all the rooms, to give everyone a sense of where to put everything. I was taken to my new home in an ambulance. It ended up that we would live in that house for as long as we were still a family. Just as before, my bed was set up in the living room. I was carried through the entire first floor on a stretcher so that I could see how everything was laid out. I was there about six or seven weeks and then they told me I could begin exercising to start walking again. In fact, the doctor recommended dancing and horseback riding for my feet and legs. Fred took me to Charleston to another specialist just to see how I was coming along. I remember going in at 10:00 a.m. feeling just as good as ever. The doctor put me up on the table and said that the check-up would be painful so he wanted to put me out. I went under and the next thing I remember was leaving my body. I watched goings-on in that examining room from the ceiling. The doctor and his nurses started to panic. Apparently, my heart had suddenly stopped beating, and I had died. Even though he couldn't hear me, I begged the doctor to bring me back for the sake of the children. About five minutes passed. Everyone in the room was frantic. The doctor was just getting ready to open up my chest and massage my heart when I felt pulled back into my body and my heart started beating on its own. I never told Fred about what had happened. It was long before anyone was talking about "Near Death Experiences." I just kept it to myself and tried to focus on getting myself able to walk again. You should have seen my legs and feet at the time. I put on stockings and they bagged like balloons. Right after the cast came off, my ankles were bigger than my calves. It was about one month before I could even stand and lean on a chair and maneuver myself into the kitchen. It was tough going. Five or six steps were enough to do me in. It wasn't until spring, several months later, that I was able to start riding. For a long while, my legs were too weak to mount the horse, so I had to be lifted into place. Fred never rode. He hated anything that had to do with a farm. But the children rode. We had a big horse show every year there in Parkersburg. For three years, Angie opened the show and Eric rode right behind her. I've got a picture of Angie on her pony when she was three. When all these health problems started to surface: the feet operation, being in traction, I had a back brace for awhile, and I was feeling sick nearly all of the time. Well, Fred just started to feel like he was being shorted on the sex thing. I guess it was during the time I was still recuperating that he started going to a "Medical Masseuse." Of course, I found out later she was much more than that. Her name was Lucille, but everyone in town called her "Tootsie," Tootsie Tarkington. In a small town, everybody's business is everybody else's business, as well. It wasn't long before everyone in town started to suspect what was going on, so the word finally got back to me that Fred was seeing her.

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Well, I was too sick to care and I thought, well at least he's being taken care of and he's not running off with one woman after another and bringing home some disease. So I didn't say anything to him or to anybody else, but it sure wasn't a nice thing to think about while I was laying there in my bed all by myself. Of course, as soon as the casts came off, Fred wanted to be the eager expressive husband but I was still in awful shape and had no desire for such a thing. I wasn't getting better very quickly. In time, I healed enough to put up with the sex, if only to keep Fred happy. Never once during this time did I ever throw Tootsie in Fred's face or even accuse him of what was going on. I just felt like there'd be a better chance for us if I pretended not to know what the whole town knew and that, in time, it would wear itself out. I was wrong. When I hadjust started walking again, this friend ofMama's, Helen O'Brien, asked me if I'd help them decorate a big brick house that she and her husband had bought. She didn't know where to start, or what to do with it. She gave me complete freedom to pick out all of the furniture. That was my first real experience with interior decorating. Of course, the store I bought the furniture from gave my name out as a decorator and I got quite a good little business going for a little while. But in spite of the decorating and the fact that I was able to walk again, the rest of my life seemed like it was going from bad to worse. I was miserable and it wouldn't be long before I nearly lost my mind. Fred just kept right on with his relationship with Tootsie. Maybe I could have understood and forgiven him ifhe had quit cheating and come back and behaved himself but he had her now and he had me, and he wasn't about to let up on either. He'd come in from seeing her at 2:00 a.m. in the morning, wash up a little bit and get into bed with me. Sunday morning-after a good hard night of lovemaking-he'd go to church as the superintendent of Sunday school and raise his hand over the pulpit "in the name God... Amen." I thought it was just plain blasphemous. You see, Fred was President of the Church Board. In fact, I had entertained that board group every year. At Christmas, I'd have all twelve board members and their wives over to the house for a big Swedish dinner and boy did they look forward to that; they thought it was wonderful. Fred was a Lutheran and although he had offered to become a Methodist like my family (since we were living in Parkersburg), it became very clear to me that you couldn't make a Methodist out of a Lutheran. I became a Lutheran instead so our family could go to church together. The time came when Fred and I were on the commission to help find a new minister after the old one had received a new assignment. Well, we heard several preach a sermon and this one German fellow became the favorite among the church board. Personally, I didn't care for him. He seemed way too stem in his preaching but he was the same age as most ofthe congregation, and had a wife and family, so he was chosen. Of course, I was nice to him after that but I just wouldn't have chosen him. After he became minister, he was in and out of our home-our houses weren't too far away. Even though my legs were getting better, I was sick off and on with one thing or another. The one good thing about being sick was it gave me an excuse not to go to church so often-sometimes the minister would stop by the house now and again to check in on me. The straw that broke the camel's back occurred one day when I was home with the flu. I just wasn't feeling well. I did as best as I could and kept going

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but when I couldn't take it any longer I went upstairs to the bedroom to lie down. I remember that the maid was getting ready to leave, she had the afternoon off. "Mrs. Peterson, do you want me to stay?" "No, you go on home. You don't need to stay here. The children will be home after a while. I'll be fine. I'll just lay here in bed." She was dressed and had her coat on and was ready to go downstairs when the doorbell rang. It was the minister. She let him in and told him that Mrs. Peterson wasn't well, "She's in bed with the flu." He said, "Do you suppose she would object if I went up to see her for just a few minutes?" She called up the stairs and said it was him and asked if I'd like to see him for a minute and I said that would be fine. She must have taken his coat and hat and put them away. He came up to see me just as she left for the afternoon. He came into the bedroom. "I heard you were sick. I just came to see how you were. Anybody else home?" "No, it's the maid's day off, and the kids will be awhile coming home from school." Well, we talked for a little while, just pleasantries, and then he sat down on the edge of the bed. After a few minutes, he started touching me. I didn't know what to do, and here I was sick, as well. He became more aggressive, and I tried to fight him off. "You know I'm going to get the best ofyou. I'm stronger than you are. Don't make me hurt you!" There was nothing I could do to get him off. I couldn't believe it. Our minister raped me there in my own bedroom. Afterwards, he said it was my fault because I was such a flirt. I was always dressing to attract attention. He told me that Fred would never believe me anyway. He said that if I ever opened my mouth, he'd destroy my reputation. He even threatened to kill me if I told anybody. Is it any wonder I never cared much for preachers? Of course, I never did tell a soul. No one knew about the rape, not even Fred or my children, until now. But honey, something inside me clicked that day. I started to get sicker. I dropped out of the church. I withdrew more into myself. I got worse and worse. Everybody around me just thought I was going through the blues. I knew better, Ijust couldn't take it anymore. Between my marriage, my health, my disillusionment with my life, and then the rape, I just about lost it. Although there was never an official document, for a time I think I became a mental case. Finally, IT kept telling me that I had to get away. The pain and the agony of the surgery, and the long, long months of being a cripple, and the moving, all got to be too much for me. When I was raped, that just about did me in. I was as ready to die then as I am now. Looking back, I realize I had a nervous breakdown. I just wasn't good for anybody. Fred took me to the doctor because of how I felt and the diagnosis wasn't good. The doctor said I had the flu, that my nerves where shot, and that I was anemic. Physically and emotionally I was in very poor shape. The doctor said, "She's just going to have to get away, Fred, or she's not going to make it." He thought I wasn't going to get any better unless I was sent away to recuperate. He was afraid that if I continued rOo

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to deteriorate, there was even a chance I might die, especially with the winter coming. He told Fred that he thought I should be sent to Florida for the winter and that Fred should take care of the kids. Of course, it was just agony leaving the kids. It was just awful. I hadn't been much of a mother to them while I was recuperating but still it was horrible. I didn't want to do it, but they were both in school and Fred was a good father and I was at the end of my rope. All I had wanted was to be like every other mother and raise my own children. It was awfully hard to go. I think my sister, Louise, understood because she had been forced to leave Cecil Marsh. I didn't have a choice. I got a few clothes together and made all the arrangements I could. Since Fred didn't want me to be traveling at night, I took a three-day bus ride with stops in major cities along the way. I got a hotel room each night and would get a good sleep before having to get up for the next leg of the journey. Always some man would sit next to me and start asking questions. "No, I wasn't well." "I'm traveling South." "Yes, I was married." "No, my husband wasn't accompanying me at this time." And then they'd make a pass, tell me how they didn't want me to be lonely without my husband and how I should spend the night with them. I think I was happiest when I was sitting all by myself. All I could think about was the children. They were on my mind constantly. I even sent them postcards on my way down. There were so many things I loved about Florida but it was very difficult being away from the children. At first, Fred had thought I should go to Palm Beach but it was so much more expensive. I ended up in Miami. I told the young bus driver on the last leg of my trip that I was looking for a little place to spend the winter. He said, "One of the other drivers and his wife have a nice little house and rent out rooms, they're even walking distance from downtown." So he got me in touch with this guy and I went out to see them and rented a room. Of course, it didn't have a private bath but it was a nice little cottage. The woman's mother lived with them too. I was there all winter long. Fred had been doing well when I left. In fact, the whole country was finally out of the Depression. When it came time for me to go, he paid my way down and agreed to give me $12.50 or so a week to live on. Well, even in Miami in those days, that wasn't much, but I figured I could manage somehow. The people were nice, the bed was comfortable. The bathroom joined my bedroom and the master bedroom on the other side. We made some kind of arrangements as to when we'd be using it. It was about six to eight blocks to a nice little restaurant but there was a small grocery store very nearby. I had no place to keep any food except for a portion of one dresser drawer where I put crackers and stuff. It was sort of like it is here in the nursing home-hit and miss and take what you can get and be thankful for it. I only had enough money to take the jitney (it was like a streetcar) for 15 cents to the beach. Everybody else on the jitney were people like me who didn't have a lot of money, so I got to know some of them. I soon found out I couldn't stay in the sun or I would blister. I did get acquainted with a number of people I could talk to, but I sure missed the children and I knew that they missed me. I had no phone, so our only way to stay

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in touch was through the mail; letters between us were frequent. There were times when I'd write something down every day. Excerpt, letter from Angela Marsh Peterson; November 14, 1938: Miami, Florida Dearest Daughter and Son: I have seen so much that you would enjoy. Oh, how the sun is down here! People are now planting their gardens for fresh vegetables that people back in Parkersburg will be enjoying all winter. When AuntAdelaide cooks you fresh green beans or has tomatoes and lettuce this winter, you can think, "Maybe these things were grown close to where Mother is." Do you know that down here there are none of the trees that we have at home? There are no maples, oaks, walnuts, or poplars. Here everything seems to be a palm, a pine, or afew pecans. There are many kinds of palms. Just twenty miles from here in nearly any direction there is nothing but jungles and swamps. In these jungles and swamps there are all kinds of wild animals and alligators. In the back yard where I live, there are three coconut palms. They grow all over. When they are ripe, they fallout of the tree with abang and you can pick them up, and open them, and eat them. There are also orange, and lemon, and grapefruit groves, which are just beautiful. There are flowers everywhere. Bigger and brighter than anything you children have ever seen. Last Tuesday I took a sight-seeing tour over to Palm Beach and West Palm Beach. You never have seen anything so wonderful as the homes of the very rich here. Look at a picture of the loveliest fairy castle, and then imagine it a dozen times grander. Miami is such a big city and so spread out. I spent part of one afternoon in Bayfront Park, which runs along between the Boulevard and the bay. There are long bridges and causeways from Miami to Miami Beach where you have to go to swim. You can see all of the islands, which form Miami Beach from this beautiful park. The bay is dotted with all kinds of boats-sailboats, fishing boats, yachts, coast guard cruisers, vessels, going to Havana. Eric, you would just love it here! There are dozens of curio shops selling things that you only find in this part of the country. They have hundreds of things made of coral and shells. I'm going to get you two kids a little present in one of these stores. I walked two blocks to the grocery store this morning to buy two eggs for my breakfast. (Two eggs cost a dime.) I found a nice little white stucco church across from the store, which I plan to attend next Sunday. Have you been keeping your things picked up and your rooms tidy? You both must help Daddy all you can. You call Grandma Marsh up, Angela, and give her the news. I will write her soon. I am dreadfully lonesome for both you and Eric. Please write soon. Mother, sending her love

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Excerpt, letter from Eric Peterson; November 27, 1938: Dear Mother: I miss you alot. I wish I might have gone with you. I am gitting along fine in school. I hope you are gitting fine days in Miami. We are over at grandmother's house. We had a fine Thanksgiving. We missed you alot. I am going to miss you at my birthday party. I hope you will not think of not liking us. Angela wished you could come home. Please write me a note soon. Yours truly, Eric

I found out later that Fred hadn't exactly communicated to everyone what was going on and his mother was very worried. Excerpt, letter from Mother Peterson to her son; November 14, 1938: Dear Fred: We are so sorrow that Angela is not well. It must be so lonesome for you and the children. Where has she gone to? Is she in the hospital? Please tell me? I get the feeling you don't want me to know everything. Please tell your old mother because I just feel awful about it. Please tell me how the children are getting along. I do wish we were closer so that I could help you. I dreamt about you last night Fred and I could see you so plainly that when I woke up I wished it had been true ... Please let me know about Angela. I know you have your hands full, but it worries me that I don't know anything. With love, Mother

After I had been there awhile, I got acquainted with a woman in the cottage next door. She was always working on a sewing machine and we waved back and forth. I went over one day and introduced myself. She had a lot ofmagazines that she let me borrow and read. I told her about my situation. I told her all I could do is write letters to my children but I really hadn't done anything of interest to write them about. She said, "You know, the community center has dances every Friday night. They have dances for singles. It's decent, they watch it pretty close. They don't let people pick up one another to take home. They encourage mixing. Why don't you go?" "Oh, I love dancing and it's good for my legs and feet, but I don't have a dress I could wear... and I don't have any money for a dress." "We'll figure out something." A few days later she called me up and took me out to a big discount store. It was run down and dirty but we went in it and we found an ugly silk dress for $3.00. She said, "Now I'll take this and make it over." She had talent enough to make that into a really nice dress. I had been in Florida about two months when I went to the community center dance. Women were let in free and men paid. You signed your name when you checked in. They were real nice. One of the guys who worked there said, "Why don't you sit here? You don't know anybody, and if someone asks you to dance you can look over and I'll nod 03

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whether or not the fella's a good egg. Most of the people are nice but there's a few we wish wouldn't come-they pay and they come and at least on the surface they behave themselves so we can't eject them." He added, "You don't have to dance if you don't want to but if you do dance we'd like you to circulate. Don't dance with just one person all evening." Well, it was nice. They had a good band and most of the men were good dancers. I enjoyed going to the community center. There were times I went several nights a week. There was little else I could afford to do. I didn't have much money. I didn't have money to go to a show. The family I stayed with got the paper, so I'd pick it up and read it when they were through. It was an interesting time for me, kind of a happy time and a sad time. I sure missed the children but I was grateful to be away from some ofthe pressures I had with Fred. I did spend some time going to the beach. As long as I didn't go during the middle of the day, I didn't bum myself too badly. Every time I went to the beach, it seemed like I attracted a crowd. I guess some of the folks thought I told a good story. Occasionally, some of the boys would ask me to have some dinner with them, and I would. Sometimes they'd make a pass at me and I'd say no, but we usually ended up just being friendly. After we got through that initial stage where I told them I didn't play that way with them or anybody else, they'd realize I wasn't making time with anybody so their manhood remained intact and we could be friends. I also got acquainted with a group offive girls who all came down from New York together. Betty, one of the girls, wanted to get ajob down there in Miami and stay; she didn't want to go back to New York. Nice girl. She was a good bit younger than I was but we really hit it off. My nerves started to improve. Other than missing the children, my only problem was a financial one. Although Fred sent me money to support myself, it wasn't always regular and there were many days I spent worrying about how I was going to pay for this or that. Excerpt, letter from Angela Marsh Peterson; November 22, 1938: Dear Fred: I just received your letter and check and am going to get something to eat. I wish you'd send me some money each week at the same time, and then I'd know what to depend on. My room is $35 a month. If I eat regular and proper foods, it will cost seventy-five cents to a dollar per day, including modest tips, which you must give. Movies have been out of the question, as a matinee is twenty cents-forty cents for an evening show! I may go back to the Southern Cafeteria for dinner. It is the nicest place near here. Last time I had ham, mashed potatoes and gravy, hard rolls and butter, afruit salad and coffee for 43 cents plus a nickel for a tip. They have a cold plate which looked good to me: liverwurst, potato salad, tomatoes and peppers on lettuce, rye bread and butter, coffee and lemon pie for 48 cents. It's a big meal, but you get awfully hungry down here. I do hope I get another letter from the children soon. I do miss you all and am fighting blues with all my might. Hug the kids for me and give them and you my love. Angela

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Excerpt, letter from Angela Marsh Peterson; December 9, 1938: Dear Fred: This is my fourth letter home in four days. I really should write Adelaide instead of you. Somehow, I'm just not in the humor. I have expected the check for some days now. I am down to less than $2.00 and my rent is due. I have no plans for tomorrow. It is chilly tonight so I'm afraid the beach will be out tomorrow, and I'm too near broke to do anything that costs money. If I just knew when and how much money you were going to send, I'd be able to manage. Adelaide wrote that you were worried about my health. You mustn't. I'm no worse than at home, and not too much better as of yet. I just feel dreadful and depressed tonight. Oh, how I miss the children. Do let me know what I can expect to do for them for Christmas. It is only two weeks away now. Do tell me something. The stores are full of things, but I've had no money so I haven't even looked. I know Eric really wants achemistry set. Boxing gloves might be another idea. And what about the bicycle fund you and I had discussed some time ago? Ithink it would be nice to start my baby girl on a hobby of collecting dolls from foreign lands. I have three put away at home that are good types for a collection. Since Bess and her husband are going back to the Philippines, maybe you could ask her to pick up several Oriental or Polynesian dolls that we could pass to Angie at Christmas or on her birthdays. In a few years she could really have a good start on a collection. If you get her a nice doll, she must be taught that these dolls are not to play with, but to look at and learn from. Tell me if it will be okay to call you collect on Christmas about noon. Station to station will be less than $2.00. Will you all be there? I won't phone unless you say to. I got Eric's letter-bless him. It was so sweet I nearly cried. Being here is a lot harder that you'd imagine. Do write me regular and often. It helps with the loneliness. Please don't let the children forget me. I am so interested in what you all are doing. Surely, I'll hear from you tomorrow. Can you let me know when and how to expect some money? I don't want to be a burden, but right now I never know what to expect. I feel so blue tonight. Love, Angela

The longer I was in Florida, the more I liked it. I also got involved in local politics, which gave me something to do with my time. One day, after I'd been there about six months, I was reading in the paper that there was this big Republican rally being held on the second floor of a drugstore over in town. Everybody was invited to come, but the charge was $1.00. I decided if I ate a little less for a few days, I could set aside that dollar and go to the rally as something interesting to do-so that's what I did. It was packed. There were a lot ofpeople there; most ofthem were older than me. As I walked through the crowd several of them went out of their way to say how nice it was to see a young face. Basically, the perception was that a Republican had to be old but I told them my family had always been good Republicans. They made a real fuss over me. This one old man came up to me-I found out later he was only sixty-three (imagine my thinking that was old!), but he seemed awfully old to me

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then. He talked and found out that I was interested in what the party was doing and he invited me to come again: "We meet every month... and if something interesting local comes up, we meet twice a month. We always put a notice in the paper." "Oh, thank you, but I don't know if I'll be able to afford to keep coming." He paused and then said, "I'm inviting you to come as my guest. .. would you come as my guest? I would love to have you sit by me and we could talk." Well, I didn't go for a time or two but the next time I went he was there. "We missed you." In fact, a lot of people told me that they had missed me, and they made a big fuss over me. About the third or fourth time I came, they had me get up in front of the group and explain why I was a Republican. I said, "I was raised one. Why is anyone a Methodist or anything... it's in your family. I was raised to be a Republican right along with being raised to be a Christian, or a good girl." They all thought that was funny. And then they had a state-wide Republican convention up in Orlando and they made me a delegate with all expenses paid. That was fun. By that time, I had also started collecting an occasional doll. I had never bought one but they had been given to me. During my being laid up for eighteen months, friends and family had given me a doll now and again. So during the convention I was window shopping and saw this beautiful baby doll. It was really pretty and was ten or twelve dollars. Of course, there was no way I could afford it but I sure admired it. This old gentleman I knew from the convention came by and saw me looking and said, "Do you like all these dolls?" I said, "Actually, I'm kind of particular when it comes to dolls but I sure like this one." I pointed to the one I had been admiring. He agreed it was pretty too and we let it go at that. That night when I was in my hotel room, one of the people from the hotel came up with a package. It was from him. He had bought me the doll and sent a note saying that he hoped I enjoyed it. That doll is still in my collection over at the museum. At about the same time, my friend Betty and I met this guy from the beach who seemed to like both of us. He had this car and he'd take the both of us over the airport and we'd park and watch the planes come in on the water... biplanes. After about six months, my nerves were much improved. I knew I was feeling better but as soon as I'd start thinking about going back to Fred, I'd start to shake and feel bad all over again. To my relief, Fred (who was busy at home with Tootsie) encouraged me to stay longer. Betty had gotten a job so the two of us decided to room together. We got this small place that had a nice living room, a bedroom, and a little place for a guest bedroom out back on the screened in porch-I took the guest bedroom as my bedroom. The place wasn't too far from the beach, so a number of the people we had met down at the beach started using our place as a kind of headquarters. I began to cook a little bit and make candy and such for some of the friends coming by. I still looked forward to the mails, hoping to receive word from Eric and Angela Helen.

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Excerpt, letter from Eric Peterson; February 23, 1939: Dear Mother: I hope you are feeling good. I miss you. Daddy gave me a typewriter, I like it alot. I am in a play at school. We have a new housekeeper, Miss Helen. She is a good cook, but we miss your cooking alot. I like her. She even plays games with us. Daddy keeps good watch over us, but we hope you can come home soon. Don't fall in love with anybody. Daddy he still loves you, and I still love you. Your son, Eric

Excerpt, letter from Angie Peterson; February 23,1939: Dear Mother: I am having a fine time in school in arithmetic and spelling and English. I miss you alot. I just got home from Sunday School now and am going to eat. Daddy said I was bad today and Eric was too. We are not good girls and boys. Daddy is now sorting out some of his papers. Love from, Angela P.S. Daddy says that now I am a good girl.

Honey, I hate to admit it and maybe we better leave this out of the book but when I was living with Betty, I got to thinking about this sex thing and wondering why Fred liked it so much better than I did. Maybe I ended up justifying what I did, but I started to wonder whether or not other men knew something that Fred didn't. I told Betty, "If I find out what Fred's doing wrong, maybe I can show him when we get back together." I finally had the opportunity with this nice man that Betty and I had often spoken with at the beach. One day I worked up the nerve and invited him back to the house. Let me tell you it was the biggest waste of time. He knew even less about the bedroom than Fred did. I felt a little guilty after that but I reminded myself about Tootsie and just decided to forget about it. It hadn't been at all memorable and there was no use beating myselfup. Besides, part of me wanted to believe that I had tried it to help my relationship with Fred. My original agreement with Fred was that I would spend the winter in Miami. Well, as winter turned to spring, the more I thought about Fred and being back home, the more blue I became. Although I loved the children immensely, I couldn't go back. I just couldn't do it. Over and over again, I thought, "Oh God, I just can't. I can't!" There seemed to be no other solution-I decided to kill myself. I was going to take the jitney over to a beach, which was fairly deserted in the afternoon. The area was known for its strong current and I thought I'd just get into the water and get pulled out to sea. I wrote a letter to the kids not telling them what I was doing but telling them how much I loved them and how much I missed them. I thought my death would look like an accidental drowning.

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When everything was in order for the planned day, I walked down Main Street and was waiting for the jitney to take me about 3:30 p.m. over to that beach. I had some time to waste, so as I was walking I looked up and saw a sign in the second floor window that said "Astrology Lessons." I had about a half-hour so I decided to walk up and see what that was all about. I entered a big room with about thirty chairs in it and a man sitting behind a desk. He looked up at me and smiled. "Come right in... Tell me about yourself." He took down my birth date, time, and place, and seemed most eager to talk to me. He started doing my chart and invited me to come and join the class, which met weekly. He insisted that I come and be with these other people who were interested in astrology. I said that I would think about it if I was still in the area and so forth. He kept talking and talking and got me so caught up in the conversation that before I knew it I had missed the 3:30 jitney that was to have taken me over to the beach. His name was Mr. Doane and I really believe he saved my life. He told me astrology really could do a lot for me and that he was certain he could help me. I ended up joining the group and talking lessons in astrology. A few meetings later, he stated that when I had first walked into that room, he had looked up and seen me completely surrounded in black. "Angela, I just knew whatever I did, I had to keep you here for a while. I would have tied you down to a chair if I'd have had to." At about the same time, I started getting pressure from my family to get back to Parkersburg but I just couldn't do it. God, how I loved those children, but the longer I was in Florida, the less I wanted to come home. Finally, Fred and I agreed that if I stayed in Miami through the summer, he would send Angie down to visit me. I started thinking that he should send both Angie and Eric and let them stay with me for a while. I also wanted to see Fred apart from our old surroundings-I wanted to see if there was anything between us and I felt being in a new environment might give us a whole new perspective on our problems. I literally begged Fred to come down for a visit with the kids. It was the one thing I could think of that might help our situation. But the longer I was away, the less my own family understood what I was doing. Excerpt, letter from Angela Marsh Peterson; March 29, 1939: Dear Fred: I don't want to put any pressure on you that is unfair, but I do want to have both children here with me this summer. I also want to see you on neutral ground away from our family and friends and the old environment. So much has happened to us both this winter that I want to get together and evaluate where we are. Everyone in his or her own way is putting the screws to me from back home. I am enclosing a letter from Helen as a sample. Fred, please don't discuss what is going on between us with anyone. This is our problem. I refuse to be stampeded in any direction. Fred, school is out April 28th. Couldn't you plan to take two weeks and bring the kids? Don't they want to see me? Oh, Fred, I do want us all to be here. I want to see you and the kids more than anything, but no matter what you decide, I'll abide by it. My rent was due today. The week you didn't send the money put me way behind again. I feel harassed by everyone, Ann

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Excerpt, letter from Helen White to her sister Angela Marsh Peterson; March 22, 1939: Dear Ann: Sorry not to have answered your nice letter sooner, but I guess you know that I've been out of the running for some time now... Last Sunday was Harvey's birthday, so Saturday I took him and your two children to a Wild West movie and for ice cream and candy afterwards. They all seemed to have a nice time and I enjoyed it, too. Your kids are awfully polite and dear. Little Angie said she guessed her mother did not love her so very much or she wouldn't stay away so long. She asked me if I thought it would do any good to write you and to say that she loved you "very, very much and would be a very, very good girl" if you would only come home now. I told her I'd try. Ann, just a little advice which you won't like I'm afraid, and won't listen to, but since no one else will tell you, Iwould never forgive myself if I didn't. You had better come home and come home right away. Instead of waiting for Fred to bring the kids down to you, why not come here for them? You belong here with your family...

In spite of my requests, Fred just couldn't see his way to make the trip to Florida. Excerpt, letter from Angela Marsh Peterson; April 10, 1939: Dear Fred: I am bitterly disappointed over your being unable to come and visit. I want to see you. However, if you can't come now because of business concerns, you can't. After Angie has been here for the summer, maybe you can come then. I don't dare write you about my feelings. I often think that now things are just the way you prefer them. You have never even hinted about your feelings. The thought of my returning to Parkersburg is more than I can stand. I'd be happy if I knew I'd never see the town again. I do miss the children terribly, and wish you would let them come stay with me. I am worried most about Eric. I love him so, and yet I feel he will be lost to me forever after so long a separation at his age. I know he is growing and developing and branching out so that after a year I'll never be able to fill in the gaps I missed or understand or be close to him again. If I could just see him for a little while. Fred, please don't let your family turn him against me. I know they wouldn't do it deliberately, but he is so sensitive and smart that he will pick up on their attitude unconsciously and it will color him all of his life. I can't bear the thought of his ever resenting me. Aletter from mother made me feel like a monster: "Where was my conscience and ideals?" "What happened to my heart?" "Did I ever plan on seeing my children again?" Fred, I just can't do any different. I just can't. Nobody will ever understand why I'm doing what I'm doing. I'm not being selfish, I'm just doing what I must...

When school was out, Fred put Angie on the train to come down and see me. He sent Eric out to Illinois for a little while to be with his folks. Angie was only six at the time. Since the cottage I shared with Betty wasn't big enough for another bed, it was agreed that I would move out and Betty would get another one of her friends to start

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rooming with her. I secured a little apartment over the garage of a woman's house that was right across the street from the family I had first lived with when I came down. So I got all set for Angie to come. Fred put her on the B&O in Parkersburg and she got off in Washington and was met by someone from the railroad who took her to lunch and combed her hair and put her on the down train to Miami. The engineer called her "the little princess." She got in about 2:00 p.m. that next afternoon. I was just ecstatic to see her. She ran up and put her arms around me. I told her how much I had missed her and asked if she had enjoyed the trip down. She said, "Mama, it was wonderful being on the train. Everybody was so nice to me. They all wanted to give me candy or chewing gum, but I told them I wasn't allowed to take it from strangers, but it was about dinner time and ifthey'd like to take me to the dining car I thought that would be fine." She was so very poised. Since Angie got there during the Republican convention and there was going to be a huge reception at one of the beach houses, I got permission ahead of time to bring her along. Well somehow the news leaked out that this six-year-old was going to the convention so when I picked Angie up at the train, a reporter was there to snap her picture. He got her coming down the stairs waving, just like a candidate herself. The next day her picture was in the paper so when we went to the convention Angie was more of a hit than the presidential candidate. He and his wife were standing in the receiving line and yet everyone was making a fuss over the little girl that had been in the paper. Finally, the candidate invited Angie to come stand in line with them and greet the guests as they went by. She stood between the candidate and his wife. Oh bless her heart, she received guests all afternoon. Excerpt, letter from Angela Marsh Peterson; May 7, 1939: Dear Fred: Angela arrived in fine shape. There was an official of the R.R. there to meet her. Everyone who got off the train bid her good-bye and told me how good and sweet she was. A photographer was along and he took her picture. He turned out to be a Miami Herald Reporter who had been alerted by the Chamber of Commerce of her coming. Angie was terribly thrilled with the reaction to her. When we got home, she said, "Mother, I don't think Shirley Temple would have had a bigger fuss made if she had come to Miami ..." Angie tells me you are very much in love and that she likes the woman alol. She wanted to know if it made me feel sad. I didn't know what to say. Is that why the family all urges me to return home pronto? Please be frank with me, Fred. We have to be honest with each other. I have not found someone else. If I had, I would have told you... Ann

Excerpt, letter from Harvey Marsh; June 2, 1939: Dear Ann: ... 1do not pretend to know your mind and can only guess at all you have gone through, but I do feel as though the best solution for all would be for you to come home. Everyone would just accept the fact that you had been away to recuperate. There will be no comments that you need to pay attention to. You can resume

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your old place in your home and your community. Come home with Angie when her vacation is over. If Angie comes home without you, then I am afraid that the cat will be out of the bag. How would you like me or me and Fred to come down and bring you two home? Come home to Fred before it is too late. We can visit the farm, lie in the sun, and remodel houses together. Believe me, your best future is here. What do you say?

Excerpt, letter from Harvey Marsh; August 15, 1939: Dear Ann: How time does slip by. I just noticed that your card was dated July 14th, a month ago. Yesterday was our 36th wedding anniversary. Bob, Pauline, and the baby were here, and we all went to Louise's in the afternoon. We took some grub and had our dinner there. Helen, Gordon, and little Harvey went along, and Fred arrived before we left. Fred talked to me about your desire to have him put off bringing Angie home. He said he couldn't wait to take the time for fear business would pick up. Why don't you bundle up your things, take a bus with Angie for some point further north, say Asheville, North Carolina, and have Fred meet you there and arrange to come home? Get out of that hot hole before the rest of the summer. Ann, I'm sure that you, Fred, and all concerned, will be far better off if you come home now. Forget about "What might have been." Shake yourself off. Do not continue to postpone bringing these matters to a focus. Long separations are bad for both parties. Loads of love to you and Angie. I wish I could see you both. Dad

Angie stayed with me all that summer and anybody that knew me got to know Angela Helen. I guess it was really Angie's visit that filled me with thoughts of going back home. She was so loving and so sweet that I couldn't imagine being away from her again. But the more I thought about going back to Parkersburg, the more I rejected the idea. Since I didn't want to be away from my children again, toward summer's end I broached the subject with Fred, once more, about having Eric and Angela come to live with me. Unfortunately, Fred just couldn't see his way clear to my way of thinking. Excerpt, letter from Angela Marsh Peterson; August 15, 1939: Dear Fred: Your "special delivery" letter arrived this afternoon. To say I was upset puts it mildly. I shan't be long-drawn out or try to be tactful. For once, I am not waiting on you to set the pace. Let me suggest for a change, and you follow. You know me well enough to know I want the best for all of us. With finances the way they are, don't you think it would be cheaper and easier on you if I got a cottage here this winter and cared for the children? Don't you think they'd be better off with me than with a housekeeper, especially when you are trying to make ends meet? Let's be honest, Fred. I'm not coming back just yet. Both children would be immensely benefited by a winter here with me. And I'm convinced that Eric needs me dreadfully for the next year. The children both need me right now, but especially Eric.

KevLVvJ. TodesGV1L Fred, if you do this it will also help financially. You can give up the housekeeper, and rent out our place. It would leave you free of worry over them and a household. I do want to see you, and Iwant you to see me. If you can't make it to Miami, let's meet halfway in Asheville, North Carolina, on September 2nd, and we can all visit over the Labor Day weekend. Bus fare to Asheville round trip is $18.50 for me and half for Angie. I could bring Eric back to Miami with me. I am going to go ahead and make plans on the basis that you will send both children to me for the winter. I shall start figuring a budget. I shall begin looking for a house in a good school district. I shall plan to make atrip to Asheville, September 2nd. I'll be by the neighbor's phone on Monday evening, August 21, from ten to eleven. If you want, you can call me station-to-station. It is listed under Breig - 2 -7909. You can tell me what you decide so I can make plans. I am sure I am right in this, Fred. The children need to be with me for awhile, Eric in particular. For my health, I need to be with them. For financial reasons, it would help you. You can come down for Christmas and we could be together as a family, and make plans from there...

Excerpt, letter from Angela Marsh Peterson; August 17, 1939: Dear Fred: I'll try to be a little more intelligent than I was in my last letter. I've thought of nothing but our problems for so long. I am terribly concerned about your health and finances. Both of us are so constituted that mental illness affects us unduly. We must get an emotional balance soon or we'll be permanently undone. At least, I know I will. If we can get ourselves straightened out then your business will automatically pick up and right itself. I am sure of that... You know the astrologer, Mr. Doane, Itold you about? In looking at your chart he said that things were not going to be so well for you for awhile but in 1940 you would experience quite achange and all for the better. There are good days coming if you can just hang on. He also told me a lot about what to expect in regards to the children's growth and development. and their abilities. He said that Eric would make good in business but that his greatest success would be in medicine or chemistry. Angie has dancing feet and could study dancing, but should also be pushed toward the study of painting and color. He said so much about them, Iwon't try to write it here but will tell you when I see you. He is amazing and I have never found him wrong when he makes a statement. Fred, he also pointed out and showed me why Eric needs me so very much this coming year, just as I thought. His mental and emotional states are in a critical stage, like I told you. Another year from Eric and I will have lost him forever. Surely I can care for my son better than anyone you could hire. Angie misses you terribly, but she loves it here. She says, "Mama, I think you need me to help you more than Daddy needs me, because you are sick." Mr. Doane says he'd be pleased to meet you when you come. I asked if he'd give us time for an interview and help us go over our problems. He said he'd be happy to if you were agreeable-he just never intrudes himself or his opinion unless it is requested. I agree with you, the children need to be together. But they should be here with me while you get your emotional and financial health in order. Please stop and

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think how my plan is best for all concerned this coming year... I want to enter Angie in art school here, and Eric could bring his bike provided he'd pledge to obey certain restrictions for his own safety. This is my side of it, to be sure. But I also think it will be best for the children. Their health will be better here, away from the cold winters. The schools are very fine in Miami. Eric and Angie will develop more evenly emotionally with me, for the present. I feel I can't go North without it costing me too much in strength. Having them here with me will give me an emotional outlet I need, and also give me a spur to keep going. On your side, it will make for atough, lonesome winter. I know that. But you do have your friends, your church, and your work. You will be relieved of many worries and responsibilities in regard to them and it will release your time and energy for your work. It should also save you money. I'm acting on the assumption that you will agree to my plan. I'm starting tomorrow to seriously house hunt. Mrs. Tarrison told me she thought Icould take anice apartment in the Northeast section of town (our best section) for $30 per month. This means everything to me, Fred. Almost my very life. Please let me see you, have the children for awhile, and get myself on firm ground. I could have never gotten through the summer without Angie. Please call me Monday night, station-to-station. Do let me know what I am to do. I know this is best for all of us, and perhaps Eric most of all. Right now, he's the one that I am most worried about. .. I began this letter just past 8:00 p.m. and it is now midnight. I'll go to bed and leave the matter with you and God. Ann

Excerpt, letter from Harvey Marsh; August 26, 1939: Dear Ann: I understand that Fred left Thursday night for Illinois to get Eric and then from there to Miami to get Angie. For some reason, he decided not to tell me his plans, perhaps because he is uncertain as to the outcome. Now is the time for you to assert yourself, come home, and take charge of your home and your children. Ann I feel sure you would do this whether or not you wanted to if you knew what I fear is in store for Fred and the children. I cannot go into details, but rumors are that a certain baby-faced woman in town is using every while known to the female sex to take Fred in. Poor Fred is in just the situation to be taken in by something like this. Please Ann, greet him with all the warmth you can command and announce, without waiting to be urged, that you are coming home. All your old friends and acquaintances will receive you with open arms. I feel sure that you and Fred, with a little diplomacy on the part of each, WILL live very happily together. If it should turn out that you cannot, you will have at least averted a disaster for Fred and the kids, and the little ones surely deserve first consideration in a matter of this kind. If you have found someone else, he will follow, but for the kids' sake COME HOME NOW. Please do not divulge this to anyone. I hope you will not tell Fred, he might not like it. Ann, no matter what happens, I will stick with you, but oh how happy we would all be to see you rolling in with the others. It would be like living Armistice Day all over again. Love, Dad

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When the summer was over, Fred came down to pick Angie up. Although he had Eric with him, he had no intention of letting the children stay with me. I was so anxious about the situation that I went to the doctor to get his opinion. I'd been going to a doctor down there for check-ups and when summer was over he looked me over and said I was still very anemic and still very nervous and he recommended I stay in Miami for awhile longer. I discussed the situation with Fred, even pleaded for the children to be able to stay with me, but he wouldn't hear of it. It was decided that I would stay on for awhile longer while Fred and the kids journeyed back to Parkersburg. Things continued as they had just before Angie's summer visit. Everyone from back home kept pressuring me to return. That, plus the fact that I was missing the children more with each passing day, made the situation almost unbearable. Excerpt, letter from Mrs. Harvey Marsh; October 14, 1939: Dearest Angela: I have been busy with Church and the big Federation meeting of Republican Women's clubs all claiming my attention. The Federation meeting closes today after a $1.35 luncheon with Mrs. Robb Taft and Walter Hallenian. The town is full of women from every part of the state. know the children miss you. They both look well. They were spending the day drawing pictures and coloring. I guess the housekeeper has been, thus far, satisfactory. I do pray that she will show judgment and wise handling of the children. They are now at the most impressionable ages, and should have wise and gentle leading. Fred seems to have unlimited patience, and tries to keep them with him at all times. Eric has gotten ahold of a nice collection of interesting stamps, from various countries. Angie just curls her lips and says that her dolls are far nicer for a hobby. Eric just looks disgusted and goes on displaying his collection ... ... 1

Excerpt, letter from Harvey Marsh; January 1, 1940: Dear Ann: Thought I would begin the year by writing a letter that I have put off for months. Fred, the kids, and his mother, were at our place for alittle while this evening. Mr. and Mrs. Peterson, Harold, and his wife are at Fred's. They are leaving in the morning. Angela, I was at Williamstown on business with Fred several nights ago. He expressed himself about you to me in away and in atone of voice and manner I have never heard him use before. Fred wants you-wants you to come home badly. He says he knows you can be very happy together. Said how very much he wanted to slip off and go down to see you, but just could not spare the money at this time. Ann, if you could know the situation here as I know it, you would lose no time in telling Fred that you are coming home and just as soon as you can reasonably get ready. Fred's conduct has been so far above that of the average man that one cannot help but admire him. He has gone out of his way to hold a friendly place with all the groups with which you used to associate, so that you would have your old place when you wanted it. You are all wrong about anyone "panning you." All the family takes great pains to put you in the right light, and there is no one here who would not rejoice to

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see you back. They are expecting you. This cannot always last. The children want you pitifully. I do not say need, though that would be awfully true, but they want you until it makes my heart ache. Fred has no idea that I am writing this letter. It is not prompted by anyone and I think you know that I would not be writing it except under the greatest conviction that I am right. Iwould give alii have to know that you would write Fred at once and say that as soon as it could be arranged you will be coming home, that you wanted to be with him and the children. Be boss of your other self for once, complete boss and say to yourself, "I am doing this." I have had to flail the very Devil out of my other self many a time. I know you are enough of your Dad's daughter to do this. Believe it or not, I want you here myself. I want you here, for you are the child after my own heart. Iwant you here, here with your children who will promise you everything, and with your husband who, I am sure, is anxious to and will show you every kindness you could desire. Now Ann, to the practical side. I happen to know that Fred is hard up financially. He is borrowing or will have to borrow in order to keep sending you money. A run of slow business. I know that this is all that has kept him from going down to see you. I will ask you not to do me any harm by quoting anything I have said to anyone. Enough for now. You have all my love and good wishes for the New Year. I am, your, Dad

Excerpt, letters from Eric and Angie Peterson; January 25, 1940: Dear Mother: I feel fine, I hope you do. When are you going to come home? We miss you a lot. We hope you are all right. When are you coming? Good night to the finest mother anybody could have. Love, with lots of it, Your son, Eric Daddy has not been feeling good the last few weeks. P.S. He will not tell me why. Dear Mother, I love you very much. I am a good girl today. Eric is a good boy. Daddy is good too. I wrote a poem for you. The world is full of flowers. The world is full of bees. The world is full of singing birds. The world is full of trees. You are a good mother. Love from, Angela Helen Peterson

The pressure kept building from everyone until Fred finally threatened to divorce me for abandonment, leaving me without any money, no way to support myself, and no claim to the children. It seemed as though I had no other choice.

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Excerpt, letter from Harvey Marsh; February 26, 1940: I did not mean to put off writing you. So many things have turned up unexpectedly. This will be short, just to get a few things off without delay by Air Mail. Don't sign any papers or accept service of summons, if you should get any. Not under any circumstances. You have a perfect right to come home and walk into your own home without asking anyone's leave. Fred cannot get a divorce without your consent-if he should try-if you should oppose it, and if you do not, I will, unless certain things are settled. You have been away from home with his full knowledge and consent. This does not constitute desertion. You may come home at any time without any arrangement about sex relations. No court would compel awoman to stay with aman in this way if she was sick or her health would be endangered thereby, and this would be no grounds for divorce. You must come home. You are doing the wrong thing for yourself in every way by staying away longer. If a divorce is the only solution, then it can be had later. I am about to sell the Butcher Farm. If I do, and it has not already been arranged, I am coming down to get you. If I had the money, I would be on my way now. Now, please read this over and destroy it, or be sure to keep it to yourself, but stiffen up and come home. Lots of love, Dad

And so, having no other choice, I left Miami and headed back to Parkersburg, West Virginia. I dreaded everything about my return except seeing the children.

seveV'v The kids had sure grown while I had been gone. My whole time in Florida they had both been such a draw for me. I loved being with the kids again, they were so wonderful. Angie was adorable and Eric and I were such great pals. We'd do things together. Many a day he'd say, "Come on Mama, let's just you and I go for a drive." My children were a pure delight. It's hard for me to understand when I hear today how parents hate their children or how children hate their parents. I just can't conceive of it. My parents were the most wonderful people in the world and I think my kids felt the same way about me. We were friends as well as part of the same family. They would always come to me with their concerns or their questions. When I got back, the Depression was over. Fred was making good money. (Although he hadn't increased the money he sent to Florida because he was spending his money on Tootsie.) When I got home, I heard from a lot of people that they had found out about Tootsie, which didn't make it very nice for me. But there were so many things to attend to, I couldn't worry about it. In addition to making time with the children and my folks, the house needed much attention. It suddenly appeared so shabby. We hadn't bought any new furniture since before the Depression and I had never fixed up the house because I had been sick at the time. When I got back to Parkersburg, I decided to decorate the house as my proj ect. We completely redid the living room, the master bedroom and the kids' bedrooms. We also redid the guest room. Eric and I worked together to redo his room. We built dresser drawers under his bed and a big cabinet over his bed. He was real proud of that room when we were finished. I got new drapes and carpet in part of the house. At Fred's suggestion, I also put out my dolls in bookcases on either side of the mantle and over by the staircase. He seemed proud of my collection. People would come over to the house and Fred would say, "Did you see Angela's dolls? She's got a pretty good collection, doesn't she?" Down in the basement I had shelves from floor to ceiling for canning. We finished the basement and made another living room. Eric begged to have a little science room for experiments and stuff down in that basement. We made a little laboratory for him down there-he didn't like sports, but he liked science. He wanted to be a doctor. He had tested as a genius on his IQ tests. He loved chemistry. There were many a days when I didn't see him but I could smell his experiments down in that basement. For several months, the redecorating project kept my mind busy and as a result the whole house became transformed. But as soon as I had returned from Florida, I just knew our marriage wasn't going to last. Fred was still keeping time with Tootsie. He'd come in so late at night that it would wake me up. Finally, I suggested he move into the guest room. He thought that was a great idea. We never mentioned anything about Tootsie to one another but we both knew it. After I came back, Fred and I never went to a few of the restaurants we had gone before, so I assumed those were the places he was taking Tootsie. When the house was all fixed up, I had to think about something else to do to stay busy. I started speaking with Mama for the Republicans. I also started taking a college course in hotel management and graduated with my certificate of completion after two years. I kept up my studies of astrology. I kept busy with theatre and became head of the Parkersburg 77

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Players. I did a weekly radio program with the Parkersburg Players where we'd read from a scene from a play every Wednesday night. I stayed busy and got back to my life as it was, but I wasn't happy. Excerpt, Parkersburg Sentinel; Sunday, June 18, 1944: Parkersburg Players Will Repeat Play the Evening of June 20-21 Following the outstanding success of the recent performances of "The Importance of Being Earnest" the Parkersburg Players have received so many requests to repeat the play that they have decided to cooperate with the members of Circle NO.1 of the Saint Andrews Methodist Episcopal church and again present the brilliant comedy situations of Oscar Wilde's most famous work to the Parkersburg public... In a recent meeting of the Parkersburg Players, officers to serve during the coming year were elected. Angela Marsh Peterson was named president. She will appear in the role of Lady Bracknell in "The Importance of Being Earnest" on Thursday and Friday evening at the Saint Andrew's church ...

Excerpt, letter from Cecil Marsh Gabriel; November 20, 1944: Dear Aunt Ann and Family: We are now out in the Pacific. As oceans and waves and that kind of stuff goes, I like it better in the Atlantic. We had a rough trip when we first left Norfolk, and finally had to put in to Ft. Pierce, Florida, to ride out the hurricane. From there we went to Key West for afew days, and then on down to the Canal. Talk about dirty places, Colon is the essence-it really gave the boys an idea of how nice it is in the U.S. and proved there were places worse than the port at Norfolk. We are now in a nice little port, or I should say big port, and won't really go across for a month or so. This last month in particular has been very enjoyable, and makes you sort of believe in the old adage, "join the Navy and see the world." We've got a fine crew and officers, and we all think a fine ship, which really helps in enjoying yourself. Oh yes, I got your Christmas package, and naturally couldn't wait till then to open it-thanks for all the stuff. The mint candy has been eaten and enjoyed by all, but I'm saving the fruit cake till Thanksgiving. I wanted to get you another doll in Panama, but I happened to be the unfortunate one who was Officer of the Deck, so I couldn't leave the ship... Wish I could write more often, but you know how it goesMy love to all of you, Cecil

Fred was pretty good with real estate. He knew the housing market. One day after I'd returned home, Fred saw this house go up for sale, and he really wanted to buy it. An old couple had lived in it all their lives. It was a good deal and in fairly good shape. Fred was kind ofhesitant to get it, but one morning' IT' told me, "Borrow some money, buy that house, and fix it up." So we did just that. During the last part of our marriage, Fred bought twelve houses and gave them to me to fix up, redecorate and

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remodel. He hired two guys to do most ofthe labor, and I did all the planning. I'd look around the house and decide what to do and how to do it. Sometimes I'd have a wall tom out or moved, fix up the place and so forth. I made some very attractive properties, inside and out. I always put in a good modem kitchen and a good bath. The first house we redid, we made double after Fred sold it. So I started doing two or three houses at a time. Between the time I came back from Miami and 1945 when we parted, I remodeled twelve houses. We doubled our money on eleven of them and made a nice profit on the twelfth. On occasion people were actually fighting over buying the same house. Of course, Fred kept all the money, I never saw a cent. I never had a dollar. Fred couldn't stand to think of the independence I might have with a dollar in my hand. There were many occasions when it was embarrassing not to have a dollar to buy a Coca-Cola or something. Fred would want to know, "Where did that nickel go I gave you yesterday?" Every Friday I had to ask for a quarter to pay the paper boy. I never had any money for shopping. Fred bought me everything I needed. For some reason, he didn't want me to have my own money. When I did my grocery shopping, I'd go down and pick out the groceries and leave them there all bagged up with the bill for Fred to go by and pay for on his way home from work. He told the grocer he didn't like me carrying any of the sacks. He'd come and pick them up and pay for them. Sometimes some of the women would want to get together for lunch after shopping but I never had any money. Can you imagine how embarrassing it was to never have any money? When I had been teaching, I turned my money over to him. Whenever I got paid for speaking on the dolls or a political speech, Fred got the money. Fred got all the money on the houses. When my cousin Ted died and left me $4,000, I turned that over to Fred, as well. I never had a cent. That was the way it had to be or there was a fight because Fred said he would buy me anything I needed, and he did. I never needed for anything but it was Fred who got it for me. Finally, I figured out a way to have some money of my own. I told one of the men at the grocery store that I never had any money, "Couldn't you tack $2.00 or $3.00 onto the grocery bill once in a while for me to be able to have a little treat with the girls? I get so tired of having to ask my husband for money." He looked at me sympathetically, "I've wondered about this business of you not having to carry a bag of groceries. You look healthy enough to carry ten pounds of groceries to me... Does your husband look at everything in the sack and price it when he gets home?" "No, he'll let me buy anything I want, he just doesn't want me to have any money of my own." "Fine, I'll fix it on the bill every week so that you can have a couple of dollars." I just couldn't be my own person with Fred controlling everything. Now, I haven't said much about this, but there was a time when being around Fred just made me feel sick. Do you think people can be allergic to other people? I've heard that you can. When I'd go to bed with him-why, it was like having a snake crawl up beside you and there were times when it could be so painful. Well, by this time, a lot of the people in town had come to discover about Fred and his relationship with Tootsie. I could see the look in their eyes when I'd see them pass by. You know, "Poor thing, how can she take it?" For years I put up with it

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because of the kids. Everyone at church knew, as well. Back then, you didn't have a choice. Angela knew. Eric knew. It turns out they had known for two or three years what was going on with Tootsie. Even before I left, Eric had fought some nasty battles with some kids at school because of it. But they never told me that they knew until years later when they explained how they had suffered and not known what they could do about it. I guess they thought I was quite a hero to put up with it. Bless their hearts. It came down to the fact that I didn't want to be married to Fred. I felt badly and thought it was my fault because I had known that I hadn't loved him when I married him. I had wanted someone to love me so badly but it didn't excuse my conscious. I knew I should have never married him. In his own way, Fred was a good husband. He gave me things that many husbands didn't give their wives. He was proud of me, and he pushed me, and he was proud of all my accomplishments. It just tickled him to death to have my picture in the paper about something. Oh, it was a complicated time in my life. I wanted to get away so badly, but I put it off and I put it off, partly for Fred's mother's sake. She just worshipped both of us and I didn't want to hurt her. She was getting old and I thought our divorce would kill her. Divorce in those days was still a scandal. His mother loved me so-bless her dear old soul. She told me, "I love you just as much as I love Fred," and Fred had been her whole life. Her health was going down, and I thought how it would just break her heart if I got a divorce. And then of course, Mama was going downhill. Her mind was going. She had aplastic anemia. People loved her so much. They'd put on the radio, "Mrs. Marsh needs blood." They'd come, fifty, a hundred of 'em-black, white, people from all over just to give her blood and keep her going. But the illness affected her brain. She kept on regressing back in time until she was a baby in diapers when she died. The last few months of her life, she didn't have one drop ofher own blood in her body. It had just ceased making blood. Papa knew how things were with Fred but he thought I should stick things out. At first, he used to say, "Plenty of men have women on the side, Angela, that's just the way men are." One day the doctor told me, "Now look, on the surface you want everyone to think everything's fine but it's not. You've got to do something because whatever is going on is dragging you down and it will end up killing you. I don't know what the cure is for you but I think you might. You need to figure out what's best for you." Finally, I told Fred that I was tired ofthis business with Tootsie. I told him, it was either her or me. I couldn't go on this way anymore. He said it looked as though I was doing all right. Fred didn't make any bones about what was going on either, "A man's just got to have it, Angela." It went on for awhile longer but finally I had had enough. It was an awful decision to get divorced but I just couldn't stay. When the kids were a little older, I brought up the idea of a divorce to Fred. At first he was cold. He wanted to know where I would go if I divorced him because I'd have to move away. His business was in town and he couldn't move. He said, "You'll lose all your friends." "Well, I'll make new friends somewhere else." But soon he took a different tactic. He didn't want to get a divorce. He was afraid of what it would do to his relationship with Tootsie. He said, "Oh, no Angela. I don't want a divorce!" He said that while I'd been sick in Miami, Tootsie had asked him to get married. He told her he couldn't but, "If Angela ever leaves me, then I'll ~o

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marry you." Since I returned home, Tootsie had told him that ifhe ever got divorced and didn't marry her, she'd sue him for breach of promise. Maybe she really did love Fred, but I think she just used him. Because Mama was sick and going downhill, I talked to my dad about leaving. Papa had helped Fred get his start and get on his feet, and he liked Fred as a businessman but he didn't think much of him as a husband. He saw how unhappy I was. Finally, he said, "You were never sick before you were married, Angela, and it seems like you've been sick the whole time you've been married... it's been one thing or another." So I finally separated from Fred. It wasn't published and there wasn't anything being said. Fred still hadn't told his parents what was happening to us. I took a month off and went to see Helen in Columbia, South Carolina. While there, she took me to the veteran's hospital where there was an opening. The head of recreation, Elizabeth Raines, met with me and a couple of other people. They invited me to put in an application. I thought, why not? Excerpt, copy of letter from Fred Peterson, to his parents; May 19, 1945: Note: Ann-here is a copy of what I told my folks to save from repeating myself. This is all they know about us, so keep writing them as usual. Dear Folks: Wrote you about ten days ago but never mailed the letter because I described a land deal which was never made. We were going to buy a $25,000 farm in Belpre to sell in acreage and lots, however, when I checked the frontage on the Main Street and the acreage both were much less than represented ... Ann had the flu, but when she was well enough she headed back to Columbia, South Carolina to recuperate. She should be there a couple of months. Eric is now 16 and has a driver's license. He has been doing rather good work in school lately, and has become quite slim. He is going to work this summer, but I am going to watch what kind of job he takes. He is in good health but I don't want him to overdo himself-he is a good worker. Eric was selected to go to Boys State this year for aweek's educational and recreational program sponsored by the American Legion, but due to the war the program was called off. Boys from allover the state were selected, and of course they were disappointed. He was also selected as a member of the Masque and Gavel Society because of his ability to speak on his feet. He is still working at the grocery store because the 65 and 70 cents an hour money beckons to him. When the time comes, he may work as a flunky in the Viscose plant if he can get into their laboratory. Angela Helen is doing better in school and is taking dancing lessons again. She has sure grown tall and good looking. She is in the office now, helping out, but she is anxious for me to go with her and look at a white dress she has found ... Love to all. I wish I could be there to help the church celebrate its 75th anniversary. Fred

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Excerpt, letter from Cecil Marsh Gabriel; May 22, 1945: Dear Aunt Ann: I just received another letter from you, so I'd better get busy answering. We really hit the jackpot for mail yesterday. The ship got five bags, and my share of it was 25 letters. Most of it was mailed around January and February, but some was from March and April, and even one from May. I also got one mom mailed last November. Most of it was mail that had missed us at Leyte, and practically all the rest was mail we missed at Okinawa. It would sure be nice to get it as it's written, a letter or two at a time, when we really need it, but of course that can't be helped ... I've been looking for dolls out here for you. The only ones I had a chance to see in Honolulu were just the kind you get in the ten cent stores at home. Okinawa was pretty rough as far as getting any sleep was concerned, and we had Jap suicides hitting us all around, but I never worried and was never unhappy or scared or anything for some dumb reason. I hope my reactions are the same for every invasion I hit. Right now we are getting repairs and resting up, with movies practically every night, afull night's sleep, and enough work to keep things interesting. I am enjoying myself. I always figured you might as well enjoy what you have to do...

Excerpt, letter from Fred Peterson; May 24, 1945: Dear Ann: I don't know what you had in mind when you wrote "there were so many things I wanted to say to you but couldn't before I left and now, I doubt if I'll ever say them." I haven't done anything about selling the house, and it will be some weeks before I can do some of the work around the place before I can show it. I guess I'm not really in a hurry about it, anyway. Eric and I are really doing a good job of keeping the house clean. Twentythree hours of the day the kitchen is immaculate, the dishes are put away, the floor is scrubbed, the garbage out, the milk bottles on the back porch, the bathroom is clean, and the whole house is in order-just the way you taught us...

We had to think up grounds for divorce. I didn't want to use the adultery thing with Tootsie because I didn't want to ruin his business and, after all, this was 1945. We finally used my health as the issue. Of course, I got all the blame because I had been the flirty one and the fun one or the sick one. I was to blame in the minds of everyone who really didn't know us. Excerpt, letter from Fred Peterson; June 2, 1945: Dearest An n: For whatever reason, the enclosed card is an inadequate anniversary greeting. I will not try to convey my feelings as June 4, 1945 approaches. For five minutes I will allow my mind and my memory to race unchecked and wish you well on our Twentieth Wedding Anniversary and let it go at that. I wish you greater happiness in the years ahead of you. So period, paragraph ... This divorce business never seemed real but after you called the other night there appeared a ring of finality that the matter had lacked previously.

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After the phone call, the children were questioning me about when you were coming home, so I finally told them what was being done. They both took it better than I had expected. It never even fazed Eric. He said it didn't surprise him, but it seemed funny to secure a divorce after 20 years of married life. However, he guessed we knew what we were doing. He told me he could understand you better than I or anyone else could because being your son he was much like you. He talked most sensibly and had an understanding of life and life's problems that I marveled at. At first, Angie took it pretty well, and then she started to cry. Eric told her if she was going to "bawl" to go to her room, which she did. After talking with Eric, Iwent toAngie's room. She was better, somewhat calm and collected, and full of questions. Some of which, I answered as fully as I could. I have not written my folks about the divorce. I am still too confused to plan coherently for the future and let them know my plans. Going through "matrimonial bankruptcy" is tough and adjustments are hard for me to make. The thought that we have failed dismally at something most important is ever present. Living in our home is aconstant 24 hour reminder that will not go away. I keep seeing you where you ain't, so to speak. I guess 20 years is a long time. Well, it is interesting to me that our private war and the World War are coming to an end at the same time...

Just when I was getting ready to settle into a new life in South Carolina, Mother's health called me back to Parkersburg. She was sick and dying. Louise had spent two months taking care of her, Helen had spent two months taken care of her, and Libby had put in her two months; they wrote and said it was my tum. She was pretty bad. To see someone as beautiful and dignified as she was going down to nothing was just awful. She was bedridden and not really cognizant of too much. I was sitting there one afternoon by her bedside. She knew I was there, and she was lying almost unconscious. I was reading a magazine and all at once she rose up in her bed. "Dh, Angela, look, look.. .isn't that wonderful!" She was pointing over to the comer of the room where there was only wallpaper. I looked up and didn't see anything. I said, "What is it?" Mother said, "It's Moria and little Virginia.. .isn't that wonderful." Moria was her older sister that had died after moving to California and Virginia was her little sister who had died at the age offive. "Dh, how wonderful it is to see you! What? Dh, Angela, they say they've come to get me. No, I'm not going today.. .! don't want to go today. Dh, but I'm glad to see you. I'm glad you came!" She just lay down and went back to sleep. Can you imagine what a shock that was to me? Funny thing was I had written to an astrologer up in Cleveland, Ernest Palmer, and asked about Mama. I had been offered the job at the veteran's hospital and I told him about it, but I didn't want to stay in South Carolina if Mama was going to need me. So I asked him if Mama would still be around. He said to go ahead and accept the position. He wrote, "Your Mother will probably die around September 7 so you

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go ahead and accept it." Amazingly, the seventh had been the day Mama had seen Moria and Virginia. After the experience, she was unconscious most of the time and two days later they took her to the hospital to die. She didn't know anyone or anything from them on. They all told me to go back to South Carolina and take the job because it wouldn't make any difference to Mama. 1 went in to see Mama one last time before 1 left but she didn't recognize me or know me. 1 left the next day to go to Columbia and five days later Mama died. The veterans' hospital wouldn't let me go back for the funeral but 1 thought about Mama that whole day. A few days later 1 heard from Fred that my marriage was finally over. Excerpt, letter from Fred Peterson; September 18, 1945: Dear Ann: Never again must it, or can it be, "Dearest Ann." Sometime before 3:55 p.m. this afternoon the judge made you a"free" woman and I am no longer your husband and, by the same token, you are no longer my wife. Ajudge's signature, some papers signed, costs paid, and out of the jumble come Ann and I free, with me feeling very confused. Free for what!!! Where you or I land may not matter much. I'm sorry you feel you never loved me. It's my loss-and we are both paying for it now. I only wish you the very best. Eric will be fine and will succeed. You and I may have made a mess of our lives, but I expect great things from him. He knows his way around. I believe a year at Greenbrier will do him more good than to finish at High School. If I can give him a good education that is one thing no one can take away from him and something he cannot loose. Angie is smart enough to succeed too. I just hope neither of them have to go through what we did. My feeling is one of discouragement. There is so much to do and so many things to plan, and it just seems like I have too little energy and ambition to get it all done. I guess 100 years from now, none of this will make any difference. Don't tear into me again as you did in your last letter. Of course, what you said is true, but the truth hurts. I'd better build you up, and you'd better build me up, for though we are exes, there is no one who thinks as much of you as I do. Just because we messed up the past, let's not disturb the future. Your ex-husband, Fred

The court let the children decide where they wanted to live. Eric was sixteen and old enough to make his own decisions. He said, "I choose to be my own man. 1 choose to live with Dad and visit Mother whenever 1 please." Angela wasn't quite thirteen; she came to me to talk about her decision. She said, "Mama, 1 don't know what to do. 1 want to come with you, wherever you go. No matter where it is, 1want to be there. But Mama, we all know Daddy. He won't be able to make it on his own. We all know about the other woman. And you know how much he loves me. 1 think the best help 1 could be for both of you is to keep Daddy straight, and 1 can do that better if1go live with him. He won't bring that woman over to the house with me in it." When we finally got divorced, Fred just cut me off. He didn't want to get divorced. He wanted to stay married and keep Tootsie on the side. When it came time 2?4

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for the settlement, I wanted out so badly that I would have gone along with anything. I didn't ask for alimony. I didn't give a damn about any of our property. I just wanted out. Here I had made quite a bit of money during our marriage with teaching, decorating, and remodeling the houses but I always gave the money to Fred. Fred wasn't looking out for my interests either. He told the lawyer that I was too sickly to be on my own and that I would never survive. He told the lawyer that I didn't even know how to balance a checkbook, "How is she going to make it on her own? I gave her everything." He said he'd give it two years and then I'd either be back to him or be dead, "She's always sick anymore. She won't live another two years. If she's alive two years from now, you can bet she'll come crawling back. She won't be able to make it out in the world. I will pay her two hundred dollars a month for two years, period." Fred was so sure I'd be back. I was so grateful to have the opportunity to get out that I signed. I wanted out so damn bad. Had it come down to it, I think I would have left without a dime. It was wonderful to be free and finally on my own. I could be myself and make new friends. I pitched in to my new job and I just loved it. I didn't go back and I didn't die within two years either. Funny thing, here I had been the sick one all along and it ended up that I would outlive Fred by more than thirty years.

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Both my kids went to college when they were fifteen. Fred helped some with their expenses but not much. After the divorce, I struggled to put Angie and Eric through school. Fred would pay for clothes and textbooks and gas but I paid the tuition and board. Of course, Eric was studying to be a doctor and I remember once how badly he needed a microscope. Oh, how I had to scratch and save to get that for him. But somehow I managed. After twenty years, I finally had my freedom. No matter how challenging things were financially, I figured that somehow God and my own determination would see me through. When I first moved to South Carolina to work at the veterans' hospital, I rented this room in a big, beautiful old boarding house with large trees on a comer where several roads junctioned together; they called it "Five Points." One of those roads led to the hospital. My room had its own entrance separate from the rest of the house. It was an ugly room but it was comfortable and the furnishings in the house were quite beautiful. That first summer went pretty well. Angie came down to spend time with me when school let out. The boarding house had a big common area for all the tenants and Angie and I would read and talk in that big room and she'd go with me to the hospital on most days to volunteer. She loved it there and the boys loved her. Angie was there the whole time I was getting acquainted with the men. My boss, Elizabeth Raines, kept a close eye on both of us and seemed to approve of the way we were getting along with the vets. Although I didn't feel completely comfortable around Elizabeth at first, she seemed to like me and so I did my best to like her in return. This was a new veterans' hospital and everybody seemed to appreciate the work we were doing. Only a couple of men there were from the First World War. The majority was simply young boys waiting to be well enough to return home. World War II was coming to a close. A few of the residents knew they'd never go home; they'd be in that hospital for the rest oftheir lives. But most of them were looking forward to getting well, to going home, and to moving on with this, that or the other. I did an awful lot of things in that hospital to make their stay pleasant. We had plenty of activities: card games and bingo and discussions there in the lounge. I coordinated all kinds of events that they'd never even done before. The local colleges and high schools had a "Queen ofthe May" party so I said, "Why don't we have a King of the May?" At first, some of the administration kind of "pooh poohed" the idea but you know the men loved it. Each ofthe wards nominated a man. We had a whole month of campaigning. The candidates all made signs. We had speeches and decorations and a great big party planned and so forth. It even made the city papers. When it finally came time for voting it was a real surprise. All of these good-looking young men had participated and you know who won? Johnny Parker-a little old vet, stuck in a wheelchair from World War I. He was completely crippled and needed lifting from chair to bed. He was as thin as a rail but as smart as anyone could be. Everybody loved Johnny Parker. He was almost a daily fixture there in the lounge-just everybody knew Johnny. He was the one that called bingo, and he was the one that everyone wanted to play cards with. When my little Angie would visit,

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he'd kiss her on the cheek and say, "She's my little sweetheart, you know?" So Johnny became King of the May. We had this huge party. It was a wonderful time. That whole summer my boss Elizabeth seemed to get a thrill out of how popular I was becoming with the men. She friendlied right up to me and even invited me to be her roommate. She had a nice big apartment with two bedrooms, a living room and a kitchen. I couldn't even cook where I was-I could make coffee but that was it. Having a kitchen again sounded pretty attractive. Elizabeth's charm made the idea sound all the more appealing: "We could share the rent and it would be cheaper than that one little room you have... Wouldn't you like to live with me, just the two of us?" She added, "We'd have fun." She seemed affluent, engaging. She had a smile that was contagious. So, when the summer came to an end and Angie went back home to Fred, I moved in with Elizabeth. After that first summer in South Carolina, my education really began. Growing up with my parents in conservative West Virginia and then being with Fred for twenty years, I still didn't know everything I thought I knew. Here I had experiences that other women didn't have and I thought I was pretty wise. But goings-on in South Carolina provided me with a round of schooling I could never have imagined. You see it was there at the veterans' hospital when I first discovered people could be downright evil to the core. Some people are born evil and it turned out Elizabeth was one of them. She was the most self-serving individual I have ever met. She could be totally charming-butter would just melt in her mouth-but she didn't think about anyone but herself. She didn't seem to have any conscience at all. She had two little children, a boy and a girl, that she just left with anybody to take care of or to keep. I know half the time she wasn't even sure where they were or who was taking care of them. She was always leaving the house late at night, as well. Five or six nights a week the phone would ring about nine-thirty or ten; she'd leave the apartment and not come back until about two in the morning. I had been living with her for about three weeks when she told me what was going on and offered me this real nice addition to my income. Turns out she wanted to get me involved in her little business. In addition to being my boss at the hospital, she had a part time job as a call girl for two of the biggest hotels in the city. She told me matter-of-factly, "I'm real choosy. I just don't go with anybody. If I don't like them, I don't bother. If I do go with them, I make them take precautions." She added proudly, "I'm the top one of all the girls they call. You know, Angela, I could get you in at the hotel. You and I appeal to different types of men. I've watched you at the hospital; classy men really go for you. I can get you all the work you want." She'd get a call about five nights a week for some big shots in town on business and she'd come back with $50 or $100. It was good money for her and the hotel got a cut. She continued, "Angela, I can get you all kinds of business, every night. You'll be able to make this kind of money too." She saw no problem with what she was doing. Imagine! She was my boss and my roommate and I couldn't just tell her to go to hell so I went on about my business at the hospital and told her that I just wasn't interested in this part-time opportunity. My focusing on my job proved to be fine with Elizabeth because she started taking off more and more time so she could go about this other

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business of hers. I soon found out she also had a married man on the side. She was mistress to a guy named Bill who was head of the City Recreation Department in Columbia. Now the amazing thing about this is the guy's wife even knew ofthe situation. One day I was speaking to Bill's wife and she said: "Oh, I like Liz, we can do things together. The other women he had I didn't like and I just couldn't be nice to them but Liz is different." So the three of them jollied around in a group together. Can you believe it? Later, I found out that it wasn't just this married guy Elizabeth was doing time with; she was also taking care of some of the vets there in the hospital. Honestly, I don't know how she managed to work them all in. I would later discover that Elizabeth was a nymphomaniac and had to have sex several times a day. I wasn't aware ofher problem all at once but it came to me gradually. She'd tell me, "Go and tell so-and-so I want to see him." So I would go tell so-and-so in all innocence and he would come to her office. She'd lock the door and then she'd be about this business of hers. She had over a half dozen like that. It was just horrible. Some of these young veterans were no more than boys! Even though I didn't know the whole story at first, I was just horrified by what I did know. I tried to make the best of everything but I was just suffering on the inside over this situation with Elizabeth. I wanted to quit but Ijust couldn't because of the kids. No one knows how ashamed I was. I needed the work, in part to send them money, and I didn't have any other job prospects. I had been a housewife for twenty years and didn't know what else to do. In the end, I just kept my peace and managed as best I could. I had to work with that woman and treat her like my boss. As the months passed, Elizabeth started giving me more and more of her duties. I guess she just couldn't keep up with everything, or maybe she felt if she kept pushing me she'd eventually get me into the business. Whatever the reason, after about four or five months I was pretty much the director of the hospital. She had the money and the title but I had the responsibility and all of the work. When it came time for Christmas, I wanted to give the boys a big to-do but I wasn't sure how to pull it off. I had always loved Christmas and wanted to make it special for them. It meant so much to me to make a hit with everything. And to do something a little bit different for the men than they might have been used to-you know bingo, tiddlywinks, and cards. The hospital put me in charge of Christmas and I was so worried. I didn't know what to do for them. I remember one night Elizabeth was out on the town and I was left alone in our apartment. I didn't think I could get a new job. I also didn't feel like I could move out because she was still my boss and I didn't want her to think I was mad. I was also worrying about what to do for the vets for Christmas. For several nights I had been worrying about everything. The night Elizabeth was gone; I was lying in my bedroom depressed over the whole situation. Suddenly, there in the dark I felt someone sit down at the foot ofmy bed. I was startled and frightened so I shot up in bed and found myself looking straight at Mama. I couldn't believe what my eyes were showing me. She said, "What is it, Honey? What's bothering you?" "Oh Mama!" I was startled but very happy to see her. She spoke to me like it was normal.

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"You know, the most important thing is giving these boys a good Christmasthey'll be missing their families." She asked if I had any helpers. "Well, some of the boys can sew; other could help out if I asked them to." She suggested that I do this great big Christmas window for everyone to see and she described what it might look like. We talked for a little while longer, and when she was done she smiled and said, "If you ever need me again, just let me know." Suddenly, Mama was gone. It was an incredible surprise but I never questioned whether or not it had been real. I followed Mama's advice and we created a big beautiful Christmas window in front of the hospital's recreation building. This was also a major stop for the city bus. I decided to design some themes for the windows. I called it "Escape into Egypt." All the figures were life-size silhouettes. It became such an attraction that everyone would get offthe bus at the stop just to see the window. It drew quite a crowd and was written up in the city paper: "Take the bus and see it!" Excerpt, The Statesman-Columbia, S.C.; Sunday, December 15, 1946: Groups Plan Merry Christmas Party for Veterans Hospital A number of civic and patriotic organizations here are busily preparing to make this Christmas a merry one for patients at the Veterans hospital. A Christmas pageant, "The Coming of Our Lord," will be produced in the auditorium of the hospital recreation building at 6:30 p.m. December 22. Hospital patients and personnel as well as the general public are invited to attend. In addition, there are to be Christmas parties and gifts for the patients, carol songs for the bed patients in the wards and special devotional services planned by the chaplain. The outside decorations on the buildings and grounds are most attractive. The recreation building, which is "home" for the patients, is the center of interest. The shrubbery on either side of the entrance is lighted, forming a frame for the large lighted silhouette of the Wise Men that adorns the upper portico and which can be seen from Garners Ferry road. The decorations were designed and built by hospital personnel. The Christmas pageant tells the story by song and Scripture of the longing of the world for a Saviour and then of His arrival and visitation by the shepherds and Wise Men ... Mrs. Angela Peterson is directing the production and Miss Anna Q. Sanders is the organist.

Time passed and in spite of the situation with Elizabeth, I had such a good job and I liked the boys. I really cared about how they were doing. We had fifteen wards in that hospital. I tried to cover five, six, or even seven wards a day. Some of the men didn't need much: write a letter, read a letter, spend a few moments just joking around. It was very rewarding for me. You know, I did some nice things for those boys. Unfortunately, even though I was enjoying my work, everything wasn't perfect by a long shot. After the first of the year, the hospital started having just an awful problem with alcohol. Many of the boys were getting drunk. Someone was selling it to them. Of course there was this big investigation and everybody was questioned. Where was

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it coming from? How was it getting in to the hospital? In spite of the investigation, the problem continued. Finally, they posted guards at the gate that inspected everyone as they went in. They checked anybody who had any kind of a bundle or a sack or an automobile. But still they couldn't discover who was bringing in the liquor. Well, it turns out they weren't checking about six top officials there at the hospital, including the director, Elizabeth Raines, because they were above suspicion. It wasn't too long before I discovered the culprit in the act. One morning I caught Elizabeth packing her car at home with a case of liquor. She was bringing in a case in the back of her trunk about every other day. Elizabeth was just pouring liquor into those boys and making money on the side. Well, I didn't dare tell and she knew it. The Major, who was her boss, just worshipped the work she was doing. The more I found out about Elizabeth, the more she seemed to confide in me and yet somehow she grew to dislike me at the same time. She really started pushing this business of my working with her for the hotel but I refused. One day at work she told me, "You know Angela, I've just got to have it. I go crazy if I don't get it. I can't work without it. I can trust you. You go get that young boy, so and so, he's so good looking. Tell him I want to see him about something." That day I understood what had been going on all along. She was sick and I couldn't stand it any longer. I found this little apartment and I moved out. It was small and compact; we used to call them "railroad apartments." It was furnished and it wasn't too bad. I stayed there for as long as I remained in South Carolina. I proved more and more popular with the veterans but Elizabeth and some ofthe other women started getting upset with me. In fact, the other women volunteers seemed to go out of their way to keep me an outsider. Several of them complained that I was making them look bad. The situation led to one of the worst bawling outs I had ever had. I had been there about a year when the Major called me into his office. He said, "Mrs. Peterson, do you like your job?" I said, "Oh yes, I just love it. I think I'm doing pretty well with the boys too." "You know you're still on probation, don't you?" "Well, yes." "Are you planning to last through it, or do you want to be fired?" "On what cause?" "There's plenty of cause. You're upsetting the rest of the staff. You're going to have to cut back to three wards a day if you want to keep your job." Apparently the other women in the entertainment area were complaining that I was visiting too many wards in a day. I was making the rest of them look bad. You're only supposed to do three wards and there were days when I was doing five or six. I said, "Of course I can do five or six wards a day, I'm here eight hours or more." "Don't you take your breaks like everyone else?" "I don't need a break, I'm here to work." "Well, you're making trouble with some ofthe staff, so you better slow down to just three wards. Understand?" By that time I was sure it had been Elizabeth who had gotten me into trouble. She no longer liked me. She'd ask me to go find one of the boys and I'd come back

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and say I couldn't find him or he was with so and so and I couldn't get him very easily without being kind of conspicuous. I used any kind of excuse I could think of-I mean these were nice boys. That same year I had a complete hysterectomy. The doctor said I had a chain oftumors running all around my female organs. Thankfully it wasn't malignant. I had stitches from my navel all the way to the top of my female parts. My first day back to work, Elizabeth had me push all the wheelchairs up to the second floor theater, which caused me to burst my stitches and I had to be sewn back up. About the same time, I was having a conversation with one of the women volunteers and for some reason the conversation led in a direction where I said, "My grandfather was with Lee back in the war." "Oh!" the woman was pleasantly surprised, "We all thought you were a Yankee. How wonderful! Why didn't you tell us before?" I said I hadn't even thought about it. It didn't seem to me that this was anything to be especially proud or ashamed of. I told how he'd lost his plantation, his slaves, everything he owned on the eastern shore ofMaryland. After that, the invitations from these other women just started pouring in: "Come to my house for Sunday dinner," "Come meet my brother, he's a doctor," and so forth. I never accepted. I was real friendly at work, but Ijust couldn't be bothered with people like that. Turns out some of them hadn't liked me because they thought I was a Yankee. Imagine! After about a year and a half, the end finally came. It was on account of a Fourth of July party we'd planned to do for the men. It was a big to-do with a real nice picnic outside. We'd made all the arrangements for the kitchens. We had a hundred and fifty veterans to take care of and the only workers scheduled were me, Elizabeth, and two black men who worked for the hospital. One of the black men didn't show up and the other said that his friend had drunk too much the night before and was "in sorry-ass shape." "We'll manage somehow." Elizabeth didn't show up either. So it left me and one man to take care of everyone. We could have managed too, except a big black rain cloud came up and just started pouring. The boys who could walk started pushing those with wheelchairs. I worried about the tables so me and this one guy started moving them in; he carried one end and I the other. Once, I slipped and just twisted my ankle, arm and shoulder awfully bad but I kept moving tables. The pain got to be so excruciating that I thought I was going to die but I kept working. It seemed like it took forever and my arm was just throbbing, but eventually we got everything inside. The next day I saw one of the doctors at the veterans' hospital and he said I had just twisted the arm, and not to use it anymore than I had to. Well, I did the best I could but I still had to work. The pain just kept getting worse and worse until after ten days I couldn't take it any longer. The doctor there at the hospital didn't seem to be very concerned so I went to a doctor in town. When he saw me, he was horrified. "My God! Your arm's pulled clear out of the socket, and three or four of the connecting tendons have been broken... it's just hanging on, Mrs. Pete." He wanted me to have surgery immediately. The arm was beyond repair and the nerves were all disconnected. I couldn't believe it when he told me that he wanted to amputate.

"You're not going to take my arm off!" "It will just disintegrate and shrivel. There's no way to save it." "It won't shrivel tomorrow and at least it fills a sleeve." I refused to have the amputation, and insisted there had to be someone who could help me. Luckily, it turned out I had read about this new procedure being done in Richmond where some of the muscles and nerves could be reconnected. I insisted that the VA hospital contact the doctor in Richmond to perform the surgery. After all, I had been injured at work. Finally, the hospital relented and the surgeon came down from Richmond. I had the surgery and worked at therapy for two months. The arm never did heal properly but it was usable and it was still attached. Funny thing about the surgery was that when I was wheeled out of the operating room, my face was covered with a sheet. Word spread all over that veterans' hospital that I hadn't made it through the surgery! When I finally returned to work, two months had passed. One of the vets came up to me laughing: "We heard you had died." All day long people came up and said, "I thought you were dead and here you are," and so forth. I was glad to see some of the boys, but I had had it with the hospital. I hadn't wasted my time while in recuperation either. Instead, I had been filling out job applications and looking for different prospects. One day on the bulletin board, I noticed a letter from Washington, DC recruiting someone for entertainment duty overseas in Korea. It was a one-year duty with additional pay because it was a dangerous assignment in Special Services. I applied for that job as Recreation Director. I thought, "Oh boy, I'd get to travel, I need more money. Both of the kids are in school and they need expensive things. Eric needs that microscope and Angie needs new clothes." The pay was good. I filled out an application and submitted it immediately. They wrote back a time or two with more paperwork to fill out, which I completed. Finally, I got a rejection notice from them stating that I was too old! They didn't hire anybody who was older than thirty-two in Special Services recreation and when you got to be thirty-six they let you go. I wrote back and sent them a picture and said, "Although I'm forty-six, don't you think I can do the same job as a younger woman? I can pass for thirty-two in looks but with my added years experience I would be especially helpful to the boys away from home." Finally, I phoned one of the offices, "What do you mean, too old? I'm really not too old for anything!" "You're forty-six. We only hire women up to thirty-two. We just can't hire you... the rules are the rules." Oh, I hate those damn rules that don't make any sense! That just made me so mad and here I wanted to go so badly. I asked why there was an age limit and they stated it was because the boys liked younger women. You know, I found out later that when the Red Cross was taking care ofArmy recreation, in quite a number of places they were basically running a 'Cat House.' The government booted out the Red Cross and started taking care of Special Services themselves. It was years before overseas recreation was cleaned up the way it should have been.

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Excerpt, letter from Benjamin Sternberg, Director, Laurel St., USO; May 24, 1947: It isn't very often that I go to the trouble to write unsolicited recommendations for anyone, but I have known Mrs. Peterson since USO came into Columbia. I've never met anyone so devoted to the tasks set out for her and more sensitive to the problems of those for whom she is working. There is no doubt in my mind that if you accept Mrs. Peterson you will have a gem ...

Anyway, I wanted that overseas job. I had always wanted to travel. I wanted to have more money for my kids. So I wrote a friend of Papa's, Senator Kitchner (even though he was a Democrat), and asked for help getting the job. I had never met him but he was the Senator from West Virginia and he knew Papa. I told him that the whole business amounted to age discrimination. I wanted the job and I would make an excellent recreation director. Turned out the Senator called my Papa, and Papa called me, very upset. "Go overseas!" Papa hollered. "Have you lost your mind?" But I wanted to go and I looked a lot younger than forty-six. I decided to go up to Washington in person. I saw Kitchner and a couple of other Congressmen. It was quite unusual for a woman to do something like that at the time but I felt like it was something I had to do. I told them I wanted to go and that age shouldn't be a consideration, "I'm as healthy as I've ever been." Between my initial application, my phone calls, some letters of recommendation, and my visit to Washington, several months passed before I finally heard from the head ofthe Entertainment and Recreation Branch of the Special Services: Excerpt, letter from Department of the Army, Major Thomas R. Ireland; April 6, 1948: Dear Mrs. Peterson: You have been selected by the Office, Chief of Special Services as Assistant Service Club Director SP-6 in the Army Recreational Service for duty in the Pacific (Korea) Command at the base salary of $2644.80 plus 25% overseas differential, total salary $3306.00 per annum. Your appointment will become effective with your entrance into travel status as specified in notification from the port authorities. The Adjutant General has been requested to issue travel orders, via water inviting you, upon call of the port authorities, to report for departure after 12 April 1948. As soon as space is available you will be directed by the port authorities to report to a Port of Embarkation designated by them for shipment overseas. Do not proceed to the port until notified. Upon receipt of travel orders, it is requested that you complete personal arrangements, handle the shipment of your luggage as directed in the orders and hold yourself in readiness for request to proceed in uniform to a Port of Embarkation and then to your overseas destination. If you have not completed the required inoculations, it is requested that you so inform the authorities when you reach the Port of Embarkation. You will also request, at that time, that you be issued an Identification Card, WD AGO Form 65. You must have the identification card and inoculations before you will be allowed to embark for overseas.

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Your file of pertinent papers is being forwarded to the Special Services office in the overseas command. If for any reason you anticipate that you will not be able to report as directed, notify this office immediately. Sincerely yours, Thomas R. Ireland, Major, SpS Chief, Entertainment & Recreation Branch

In the end, everyone approved of me and my qualifications. There was no reason why I couldn't have that job. I remember, I took my physical to get into the military and you know how useless my arm was but they never found out. I'd pick it up and put it over here and pick it up and put it over there. They never noticed it. All the examining doctor told me was that my blood pressure was too low, but he never noticed my useless arm. So I went down the stairs and ran back up the five floors to his office, which made my blood pressure register just fine. All the time in the military, my arm was useless. Thank God the uniforms buttoned in the front-I also had my bras made to button in the front. I couldn't lift anything but I camouflaged enough to get by. Well I told the hospital that I was leaving and they were just sick about it, especially Elizabeth. She said, "Oh, Angela, you do deserve a better job but you should have the head job here!" And the boys were just devastated. My only regret leaving was because of them. Excerpt, Petition from VA Hospital Veterans: Having learned of the transfer to a higher position in the Recreational Department of one of our most efficient directors, Mrs. Angela Peterson, we, the undersigned patients of this hospital regret the loss of her as one of our directors and we desire that she carry this message of appreciation with her. We also wish to state that whoever is fortunate enough to secure her services will find her most efficient, most lovable and the most cooperative worker. Her character is beyond reproach and her personality wonderful. We all love her very much. Signed, Wm Foy, Robert L. Osborne, F McGraw, FS. Geddings, Eddie R. Sizamore, "King" Kilroy Horton, James M. Shirley, Carl W. Foxer, W.E. Byers, W.J. Taylor, M. Gillmore, E. Tasvary, Maurice D. Singleton, M.A. Holmer, George J. Graham, H.W. Richardson, J.B. Coleman, M.A. Murphy, W.C. Snowden, Alvin H. Donnrow, William J. Beaty, W.O. Swindle, Fred Mathis, Millard Rodensen, A.L. Brunrow, H.J. Kincaid, Harold J. Nelson, John A. Rice, H.E. Young, Roy Sightsany, Johanass Sonycult, TM. Allen, Verlig L. Rogers, Hubert Hoffman, Johnny Parker, NicholasAkhouri, Ralph L. Lowden, H.L. Simpson, A.J. Newcomb, FD. Carter, B.L. Blanks, M.C. Jenkins, B.F Pruitt, O.W. Connor, FL. Grayson, Vernon H. Isenhawr, Geo. H. Sheehaw, Jr., Joseph C. Harrell, John E. Fox, L.G. Roff, L. Burkhalter, Thomas D. Howell, H.B. Johnson, Jack Davis, L.C. Fowke, TB. Campbell, William H. Painter, Ollie C. Rouse, Sanford A. Turner, V.L. Hendrix, Maurice E. Cannan, Allen E. Inglett, E.W. Foxwater, Claude E. Scruggs, James W. Inabinet, Carl D. Jones, William Raines, C.C. Mitchem, Jr., H.J. Hamilton, J.B. Goodwin, James

KevLVvJ. TodesGV1L Fleming, W.J. Nickles, W.J. Hill, A.L. Hamid, M.C. Jackson, Stephen J. Wilson, John T. Duggan, WilliamA. Bemens, Claud Weize, J.C. Bryan, James Maines, D.C. Baker, Harry Hayden, James L. Ballard, G.E. Smith, W.W. Church, S.W. Simpson, N.B. Whittle, John L. Trotter, William C. Tumlin, John Hunter, H.A. Fleming, O.T. Green, H.P. Drummond, Charles M. Ohifer, Jr., Thomas H. Millwood, Sam E. Gannley, Jr., Robert F. Goodwin, James W. Wilson, W. B. Catoe, C.A. Roberts, W.R. Jameson, James D. Miller, Ben L. Holloman, Julius Thomas, Joe William Keener, H.T. Kincaid, James B. Cox, Loron Hadje, James B. Allen, Coke E. Harmon, John P. Matthews, Linwood M. McElveen, William N. Gardner

So I went to Korea to be Recreation Director at one of the military bases. It was 1948. I didn't know it then but I would be the only white woman within sixty miles. It turned out that I was also the oldest woman ever shipped over to Korea. I was forty-six years old.

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When Fred and I were divorced, he was so sure I'd be back in three or four years because he didn't think that I could possibly make it on my own. Of course, when he heard I was leaving for Korea as a Captain in the army, he decided maybe I was going to make it after all. He finally married Tootsie. It had taken him three years to get around to it. Parkersburg Sentinel; Wednesday, April 21, 1948: Parkersburg, West Virginia Angela Marsh Peterson Accepts Assignment in Asiatic Korea Daughter of Attorney Harvey Marsh to Brave Tense Situation in Korea for Year's Service In the face of threats of war and the tense situation now existing in Korea, Mrs. Angela Marsh Peterson, one of Parkersburg's most prominently known women, daughter of Attorney Harvey H. Marsh, has accepted an assignment as assistant service club director with the Army Special Service in that far off Asiatic peninsula south of Manchuria and is now in Parkersburg awaiting her sailing orders. She will sail from San Francisco and will be first stationed in Seoul the Korean capital for a month's training program. Mrs. Peterson has accepted a year's duty in Korea, her assignment having been months in the making because of the rigid requirements and the numerous details to be worked out. For the past two years Mrs. Peterson has been connected with the Department of Veterans Administration hospital in Columbia, South Carolina and it was the outstanding success and excellence of her work there that brought her under the eye of the Army Special Services heads who contacted her as early as the first of January, this year. Mrs. Peterson says that her various interviews with the heads of this newly created service that is neither Army or civil service yet closely allied with both have left her with no illusions as to the dangers she is running into but that she has been given assurance that her department will be evacuated as quickly as possible should the necessity arrive. She will be housed in her own billet with privileges of an officer, will wear a uniform, a blue one, and will have a multiplicity of duties, all of which she is looking forward with the true courage of the American woman. Mrs. Peterson has already been alerted for duty and before her sailing orders come she is spending the interval here with her father, Attorney Marsh, her mother is deceased, and with her daughter Miss Angela Peterson, who will be graduated from Parkersburg High School this spring. She is also having visits with her son, Eric Peterson, student in the pre-medical department of West Virginia University, Morgantown, where he has another year before he graduates. Mrs. Peterson since girlhood has been active in the affairs of Parkersburg, her home city, and was always prominently identified with Little Theater and other dramatic happenings. She had adramatic program on WPAR in the early days of that station and her versatile activities extend also to the field of Republican politics. There are probably a number of boys from the Parkersburg area detailed in Korea and Mrs. Peterson is inviting their mothers or other close relatives to contact her if they so desire and she will be glad to take any messages for them and will make every effort to deliver them. While in Parkersburg she is making her headquarters at the Blennerhassett hotel and can be contacted there.

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I was issued two uniforms. They were awful cheap little things so I took some ofthe money I had saved up from my job at the VA hospital and had anew dress uniform made. Boy, did I look sharp! I got my orders to go to Chicago and meet another girl there before heading to San Francisco. She was married to a soldier stationed in Korea. Both of us were greener than grass. We were allowed two metal, traveling suitcases. When they were full they weighed about seventy pounds. I put everything I could think of into them, both summer and winter, even though I'd be spending much of my time in uniform. Just to be on the safe side, I had purchased a half dozen uniforms instead oftwo. There was no telling what laundry would be like in Korea. On the train to San Francisco we were the only ones in uniform, but when we got to the ship everybody blended in. In addition to the crew, the ship was loaded with two-hundred-and-seventy-five men and forty-one women. I guess it was because of my age but the Colonel put me in charge of all the other women. The only thing I was worried about was getting seasick. I'd never been on the ocean and I knew I got train-sick if I wasn't where I could look out. I also got carsick at night if I was in the back seat. On a bus, I always tried to get up in the front three or four rows so I could look straight ahead instead of sideways. I took the seasick medicine just to be on the safe side. We'd barely gotten out of port when we were hit by a terrible storm. We were tossed so badly by that storm that I thought I was going to die from seasickness. I managed to crawI up on deck so I could look out. I told the boys to just let me stay up topside. "If I can just stay here boys, I won't be as sick." I had on my raincoat and everything. They said, "It's too dangerous." The ship was tossing and turning in the wind and the waves. But I wouldn't back down. I knew myself well enough to know that this was the best place for me. When they saw I was not going to move, they brought a rope and tied me to a post. Everyone had orders to stay in their rooms. It just wasn't safe to go anywhere. You just can't imagine what it was like. You couldn't go into the lounge or anything; the wind and the waves were knocking the boat around so badly that furniture could literally fly into you and hit you. The jostling of the ship wrecked the medicine room. Great giant cases were tossed from side to side, crashing into one another and breaking. We couldn't eat for two meals and then we only had cold soup because they couldn't cook under such conditions. I'm not kidding you when I say that men and women were sick all over that ship. It was like trying to walk up a wall with all the pitching and carrying on. The ship was tossed so badly that water came down the stacks into the engine room. All the crew was on alert because the boat was taking water from the top-it was very frightening. I stood there tied to that post on top ofthe deck for a long while. I couldn't tell you how long for sure-twelve, maybe fifteen hours. The situation lasted way into the night. As I could stand there and look out and see the waves, I didn't feel as bad. About twenty-four hours after the storm had started, everything started to calm down. The rest of the trip was uneventful, except for clean up and the fact that some of our supplies and some of the ship's equipment had been destroyed. ~oo

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Finally, we came into the harbor for Seoul at Inchon. At the time, the Pacific Ocean at Inchon had the highest tide of anyplace in the world-forty-two feet! All of the ships had to drop anchor way out, hardly in site of land, or ifthey came in they had to stay until the next floodtide because they were grounded. We came in and anchored about a-mile-and-a-half out and that's where we dropped anchor. You couldn't even see the city from where we were. They told us all to put on slacks. It was the first time I'd ever even worn slacks in my life! I had never had a pair before because they were just coming in. I can't say I liked them but they were part of our regulation equipment. We all put on our slacks, went down a swinging ladder, and took this little putt-putt motorboat toward the shore. The whole thing was quite exciting for all ofus. I knew it was the beginning of a whole new life for me. My first surprise in Korea was the bathrooms. They had a hole in the floor that you were supposed to hit. They were definitely built for pointers and not for sitters. None of us had ever seen an oriental toilet before. They were different but clean. Over the next week, the girls were sent two-by-two to different bases throughout Korea. Although we had only known each other since San Francisco, there were many good-byes. Forty of us from the other side of the world all being placed at bases where it was assumed we could do the best good. I remember my own interview with the female captain once I had arrived in Seoul. "Why did you come?" she asked me. I looked her square in the face, "I came for two reasons, and one is my children. I need the money to help put them through college. This is almost double the salary I was making back in the States. I also came because all my best work has been helping boys and young men. I really seem to be effective with them." She nodded with understanding. I felt comfortable with her so I continued, "I've always been happiest when I'm doing something for others as well as myself. I worked in a veterans' hospital. I taught school. I've worked with the blind. I've raised a family and my children are growing up and really don't need me any more. I figured there are young men here who miss their families. Maybe my being older will help me to be a mother figure to some of them. If I can be a help to them, plus perhaps have an opportunity to see and learn more about this country for myself, then I've made a good decision by coming." She invited me to lunch where our conversation continued. "I like your attitude," she began. "There is one base here that desperately needs just what you're talking about. I wouldn't dream of sending one of the younger girls... it would be too much for them. The truth is, I don't know who to send, but if you really want to be of service this could be the place for you. There are easier assignments, and I wouldn't blame you a bit if you decided to quit after a month, but this place needs something special. The pay ought to be four times the wages of any other base but it's not. .. pay's the same." Intrigue got the best of me and I wanted to hear more. "Chinhae is a small base-about fifty officers and four hundred and fifty enlisted men. It's on the extreme southern point of Korea. It's as far away from any active military conflict as you can get and yet it's been the most troublesome spot we have. It's extremely isolated, about sixty miles from Pusan. You have to go by

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tramp steamer. It's a supply ship, which runs twice a week. The only road is almost impassable. Perhaps because of the isolation, morale there is at rock bottom. This is where we really need you the most. You would be going by yourself-I have no one else to send. You don't have to take it if you'd rather have a different assignment but would you be willing to try?" I didn't know what to say. "Take a day or two to think it over. I think you can do it. If it doesn't work out, nobody will blame you. Ifit does work out, you'll be an answer to a prayer. Either way, you'll be at the top of the list for having tried. When we returned to the hotel, I asked a couple of people if they had ever heard of the base, their response was, "It's pure hell." The whole thing sounded frightening, but after two days of soul-searching it simply came down to doing what I had said about being helpful or shying away and taking some easier task. I returned to the Captain: "I don't know if I'm strong enough to see it through but I'm willing to try." I took the Pusan Express; it was a dirty train that left at five in the morning and arrived at seven at night. The restroom-ifyou could call it that-was located at one end of the train. It was simply an enclosed car with a big hole in the floor. The hole was big enough that you could have fallen through. You did your business right there on the train tracks. It was filthy. I spent a lot of my time looking out the window at the beautiful countryside through which we were traveling and the lush tropical forests. When I arrived in Pusan, I met with some of the men who had just left the base at Chinhae. It turns out that I had been sent to the most dangerous base in Korea. During World War II, the base had belonged to the Japanese, but afterwards the Americans had taken it over. Everyone kept saying how isolated the place was. Many of the men seemed concerned for my welfare because of what I was about to encounter. They told me to go to the PX in Pusan and load up on soap and supplies, which were not easily procured, where I was going. After a day, I was put on the tramp steamer for Chinhae. I wish you could see what I saw that day when we arrived. Everything appeared wonderfully interesting. I can still see it so clear. It was a great big, beautiful bay with only a small entrance at one end. The entire Japanese fleet could have hidden in that bay and no one could have found it. According to local legend, Adam and Eve had started on a little island not too far off the coast ofChinhae. In more recent history, there had been an uprising of a number of Korean women. Apparently the women were sick and tired of how they had been treated by the men and so they declared themselves independent. Several hundred ofthem went offand took control ofthe Chejedo Island. No men were allowed. However, once a year for one month, men were permitted back onto the island. During that time, the men were used for mating and for heavy labor, but when the month was up, they had to go. I was met by several officers from the base who immediately seemed disappointed that I wasn't younger. I didn't look bad at forty-six but I could still see disappointment in their eyes. I found out that I was the only Caucasian woman on the base. I was given a house at the end of a big field. It turns out they had hired a young Korean girl about fifteen, named Kim, who would be staying with me and helping me. ~02

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Kim was just wonderful. Shortly after we had been put together, I remember one day Kim had done something very well and I reached out to hug her. Immediately she pulled back and started crying, "Oh, no, no, no. No beat." She fell to her knees and started crying. I got down on my knees, as well. "Kim, don't cry. I'm not going to beat you. I just want to hug you, to thank you." She had already worked for other Americans and had apparently been trained as to what to expect. I felt just horrible. After I settled in to my quarters, I went to see the Colonel: "What are you doing at Chinhae?" "I plan to do whatever needs to be done, to the best of my ability, sir." He nodded. "I guess you've heard that we got a rotten bunch here." I told him that I had heard morale was bad. "Don't know the meaning of the word." He brushed aside what I had said. "You go back to your quarters and rest for a day or two. Let me figure out what we're going to do with you." I returned back to my suitcases and waited. The Colonel had meals sent up to me. He didn't want me eating with the officers or the enlisted men. I had a couple of books to read so that's what I did. I was there a week and nobody came to see me, except with the meals. Everybody had been given orders to leave me alone. I had nothing to do. You can't imagine how it felt to have come all that way to be of assistance and to just be discarded. I was depressed and wondered why I had been sent after all. However, one night I had an experience that was worth my isolation. I was standing on my little front porch, afraid to venture beyond the steps, just standing there thinking. The night air was pleasant. The moonlight was beautiful. All of a sudden I thought I heard music. I strained to listen and I knew it was music. It grew closer and louder. I could hear men's voices but as the music came closer I realized it wasn't an American tune I was hearing, I was listening to Korean. The voices blended together beautiful. Surprised, to hear Korean on an American base, I strained to see who was doing the singing. It's hard to explain, but this is just the way it happened. The music remained the same but all at once I began to see the forms of about fifty Korean soldiers slowly materialize on the road in front of my house. They were marching, dressed in their white uniforms, completely oblivious to me or the house in which I was standing. When I realized I was seeing the ghosts of these Korean sailors marching down to the waterfront, I caught my breath. I can't explain how, but somehow having that experience made me feel better about coming to Chinhae in the first place. About two days later, I was sent for. I was taken around the base and shown the area. The base was located right on the edge of the Chinhae town, home to about fifty thousand Koreans. The service club was located just within the base's perimeter and was an enormous building that had once served as some kind of storehouse. It was old and it was dirty. It had two rooms, one of which was vacant and the other filled with musical instruments. The building was extremely high, with thirteen-foot windows. From the outside it even appeared that the place could have been two stories. The whole building needed a serious cleaning and a paint job. I took a deep breath because I knew this was where I would be working.

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The Colonel noticed my expression and he said, "Mrs. Peterson, you give the orders and we'll try to take care of whatever you need." "Well first of all, I need some paint." He said it might take a day or two but the PX would take care of me. You know, I drove that old boy at the PX crazy. He claimed I always wanted something that they couldn't deliver. I tried to get a pool table for the men but that was out of the question. I had to settle for a Ping-Pong table instead. I also managed to get a piano, and a desk and a chair for myself. The military does everything their own way, in their own timing. Here I was the only woman on the base and the PX had twenty-four breast pumps in stock! That's the military for you. He did have a couple of nice bolts of material I took for myself to make a dress. It wasn't too long before we were turning that service club around. I spread the word that nobody could come in to see me no matter who they were or what their rank was unless they were willing to take an hour and help paint. My statement must have intrigued them because most of the boys came, bless their hearts, and even the Colonel himself. Everyone took turns with a brush or with cleaning rags. One of the men was quite a sketch artist. I arranged to have a bunch of four-foot tan panels brought down from the PX for him to paint Korean scenes and symbols on. I figured we needed something decorative to cover up a portion of those enormous windows. Even though I had a captain's rating, I decided against wearing a uniform because I thought it would create a barrier with the enlisted men. When I arrived, morale was just awful. Nobody saluted anybody. Part of the problem was the fact that most ofthe enlisted men were older than the officers. I'd been around the military long enough to know that just wasn't right and it wasn't good for morale. We got the piano out of the storage building and put it up. It sounded just horrible so the Colonel sent out word and had a piano tuner flown in. He got a couple of couches. I don't know where that man found everything. When we were done, you'd be surprised; it was a pretty good room. I suggested that we form a council to decide what all we should do. Ten boys were on the council. They picked them, I didn't. They had picked out nine of them amongst themselves and then the Colonel decided to give me Shuster, the problem soldier ofthe whole base. He was lazy, stubborn, disobedient, and drank way too much. He was unkempt, homely, even his hair was never combed. They promoted him to Sergeant just to get rid of him. Funny thing about Shuster, he never again drank once he came to work with me. In the military, every base has the same number ofjobs. But on the larger bases there are ten thousand men to perform the same duties that might have to be pulled off by a few hundred somewhere on a smaller base. Generally the smaller bases have the most work. Our base was quite small which contributed to this problem ofmorale. But I asked the boys to begin trying to follow some of the regulations-together we could create a base that we'd all be proud of. By the time I had been there two months they were beginning to salute. I had Shuster to fill me in on everything I needed to know about the base and its history. In spite of Shuster's reputation, he knew a great deal about what was going on. He also knew quite a number of the locals. He had a talent for knowing what people could be expected to do before they did it. He also knew where to find 1-04

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just about anything or where to go to make something happen. I used to think that Shuster became the pattern for Radar on "Mash." It wasn't too long before Ijust loved Shuster. He never left the club. I used to say, "Shuster, it's your day off, why don't you go somewhere?" He'd say, "Where would I go, Mrs. Pete? Everything that happens, happens here with you." Shuster always kept me posted on what was going on and who had had too many beers so we could look out for him. I adored that boy. I think I may have been the only one in his world who ever felt that way. He didn't have much of a life back home. He joined the military to get away. But I sure liked him and I bragged on him because I thought he was smart. I also depended on him, which was good for him. It built up his ego. It was good having him around because another one of my responsibilities was putting out a base paper every two weeks. There wasn't always something to write about but we gave it a good try. If nothing else, it helped to keep everyone on the base connected. I got acquainted with a number of the locals because of an incident that occurred regarding cigarettes. Back then, just about everybody smoked. As the GI's would come by the club, they'd smoke a cigarette and just toss their butts out of one of the windows. There were always little Korean boys hanging around, no more than four, five, or six, scurrying to pick up any ofthe butts that were thrown out ofthe club. I asked Shuster what the kids were doing with them. "Oh, they sell 'em." From that time on, I told the men to start throwing their butts out of two windows. We put a big box outside ofeach ofthese windows so these little kids wouldn't have to work so hard. After that, our soldiers started smoking half a cigarette-so that these little kids would be able to get more tobacco. It turns out these kids were from a big orphanage in town. One day, I insisted on getting over there to see them. It was quite an unusual request for an American woman but the orphanage showed me around. The dormitories that these boys slept on were nothing more than a board. Suddenly, the whole town got interested about this woman from the Army visiting the orphanage. As a result, the Mayor ofthe city invited the Colonel, the Major, and some of the other officers and me to dinner. The Colonel told me, "Let me give you a good tip, you better wear pants." So I wore my jacket and pants. We were all put together in this room with our hosts and given places to sit on the floor. They brought everything and sat it before us. The Colonel had said ahead of time, "Don't ask what's in any of the recipes and don't refuse anything. Just eat anything they give you and say you like it." We must have had every good course that they have in Korea. I knew at the time that certain types of dog are considered a great delicacy but I listened to the Colonel and didn't ask any questions. I sat cross-legged on the floor, poor crippled legs and all, for three or four hours. It was a good thing I hadn't worn a skirt. Everything that was served was on a separate plate. We'd eat a course off of one plate and then we got another plate and ate that. Each person also had their own bottle of sake and a little cup. The procedure was to eat a course and then to drink a toast. There were about fifteen courses, so this went on for four hours. I have to tell you, I was pretty well stewed by the time the meal was over. Of course, I couldn't get

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up after having sat on my crippled legs for so long. It wasn't just me, either. Nearly every American there needed to be lifted up. It's a meal I'll never forget! After the service club had been repainted and repaired, it came time for the grand opening. The Colonel was excited with our plans for a big to-do. He sent word to Seoul to invite the head of all of recreation, her assistant, and a couple of Colonels. The morale changes that had occurred since my arrival were cause for some of the brass to notice. They all decided to fly down for the party. More than one of the men was talking about how they hoped the Lieutenant would be back in time to make the celebration. The Lieutenant was the only First Lieutenant on the base and very popular with the men. He had gone TDY about a month before I had arrived there. Because the party was to be quite an occasion, they sent word to him requesting that he return for the opening. I got word the day of the party that the Lieutenant was coming that afternoon. We had refreshments at the club and then all the officers came to see my house. At the house, we had some drinks. At the time, u.S. regulations allowed four quarts of whiskey for each of us every month. There was quite a bit of camaraderie between all of us. The Colonel was proud of the accomplishment, he said, "Now that you've got the place going, don't make any plans to leave this base." After we had returned to the club and were in the midst of the party, the First Lieutenant arrived. He walked in and immediately starting drawing a crowd. The instant I saw him, I just fell for him. He was the best looking man on the base. I later found out he was thirty-two to my forty-six. Oh, he was good-Iooking...and charming! It was no wonder that he was the most popular man around. He walked over to introduce himself and I could tell that he liked me. "Captain Peterson? I'm Lieutenant Mark Fowser." "Call me Mrs. Pete." He nodded. It wasn't too long before the Colonel could see that the two of us had hit it off. Since my arrival, the Colonel had been concerned for my safety with so many men. He once told me, "The United States Military can make damn good officers but I've never yet seen them make a gentleman." The Colonel was speaking first-hand. He was a good man but he wasn't a gentleman. In the summertime it was hotter than Billybe-damned down there on the southern tip ofKorea. No such thing as air conditioning. I remember one night I was invited to the Colonel's house for dinner. I rang the bell and it was answered by the Major who was joining us, as well. "Where's the Colonel?" "Oh, he's here somewhere." So we went in and I sat down at the table. Finally, the Colonel came in from the side door and was standing there wearing nothing but his undershorts. He didn't have on anything else! I got up, laid my napkin beside my plate, and left the house. The Major came running after me wanting to know what the matter was. "I don't eat my dinner with half-naked men. I was raised by certain standards and that was one of them. I don't care ifhe's God Almighty, I'm not going to do it." The Major said, "But what can I do?" "I don't care what you do, but I'm not sitting in there with him like that."

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So he went and told the Colonel and the Colonel came back out wearing pants and a shirt. He never tried to eat in his undershorts while I was around again. Anyway, the night of the grand opening, the Colonel approached Lieutenant Fowser and me, all the while appearing very pleased with himself. He said, "I've got it. The Lieutenant here is always looking for a job-all he does is fly. Often he doesn't have anything to do and he's bored stiff. From now on he's to take care ofyou, Captain Peterson. He'll be responsible for your well-being and for seeing that you get the things you need." The Lieutenant was quick to respond, "It will be my pleasure." So the night of the grand opening, by orders of the Colonel, we were put together. I was lucky. In all of Korea, I was the only woman who had her own Jeep. When I left the base, my driver and I sat in the front seat and the Lieutenant sat in the back seat with a gun. The driver also had a gun on his hip. They taught me to put my head and arms down around my knees when we were being fired upon. Then you were supposed to roll out of the Jeep and put yourself into a ditch. The base was supposed to be one of the most dangerous places in Korea. During my stay in the country, I was shot at three times. Except for personal leave, I never went off the base without the two of them. The party turned out to be quite a success. Everybody who came was wonderstruck with what we had managed to accomplish. Since the next big event I had planned wasn't until the Fourth of July, the Colonel ordered me to take three days off. I felt like there was still a lot of work at the Recreation Center but what could I do-it was orders, so I went. Every three days a boat made the journey to Pusan so I took the boat over to Pusan. The next morning I was having breakfast at the Officer's Club and looked up and saw the Major from my own base. He was coming to my table. "Have you heard what happened?" "No." "All thirty-one ofthe engineers got hold of some liquor and threw themselves a party. It must have been some really bad stuff-the doctor doesn't know if they're going to make it. They're pretty bad off. I was sent for medical supplies." I jumped up from my table. I knew the next boat wasn't due to arrive for at least two days. "How'd you get here?" "I took the Jeep." "I thought the road wasn't passable." "Well, I made it." "Don't you dare leave without me!" He said it would be three or four hours before he got everything that he needed. I rushed back and got all my things together. Afterwards, we were on our way back to the base. They called it a road but it wasn't. It had long been washed out. The only use it could possibly serve was as a trail for cattle. It wasn't easy getting back to Chinhae. Repeatedly we got stuck. He'd push and I'd steer. Frequently, he had to get out of the Jeep, cut some brush and put it under the back tires. Once we were so stuck that we both said a little prayer to get loose so we could get back and help the engineers. It was sixty-two miles between the base and Pusan-the trip took us over four hours.

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Well, when we made it back we were both exhausted, the Major said, "You go straight to bed. You're not going anywhere near those men until you've at least had a rest. I won't allow it." I rested until the morning and then hurried over to the infirmary. On the way I ran into the Colonel. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be on leave!" "This is home and I thought you could use my help, sir." When I got to the infirmary, I heard the low down on what had happened. Apparently, one ofthe engineers had come across a five-gallon jug ofwhat he thought was good whiskey and he decided to share it with the others-turns out the jug had contained methyl alcohol. On almost any base you go, the engineers are kind of a cliquish bunch. Fewer of the engineers had come to the Service Club than any other group but they still managed to put together their own party. The results had been disastrous. Five of the men had died from alcohol poisoning and five more were on the verge of death. Three of them were blind-although the doctor didn't know if it would be permanent. Everybody else was awfully sick. Well, we just had one trained doctor on that base and he was certainly overwhelmed by what was going on. The beds were soiled. The men were covered with vomit. The sick room was putrid. One at a time, I went through and cleaned up each of those boys and changed their linens. It was quite an ordeal but I managed to pull it off. I also pulled together some decent food for them to eat and to keep down. Some of the men were still crazy with agony. For nearly a week, I attended to them and served as their nurse. That whole episode was awfully hard on me but I'm sure I helped saved the lives of a half dozen of those boys. When it was all over with, five of the engineers had died; several of the men remained blind and had to be sent home. I stayed in bed for a day after that, even though preparations for the Fourth of July were way behind schedule. I didn't want to cancel any of the festivities. I told the Colonel that especially because of what had happened we needed the celebration to boost morale. Even though we only had a few days left, somehow everything got ready in time. The day of the celebration, a stand had been set up for the Lieutenant, the Colonel and the Major and the other officers to inspect the troops as they marched by. I was attending to some last minute details on food and happened to arrive a few minutes late. We stopped the Jeep a ways off from the stand and watched. The boys came marching down to the platform and marched on by the stand and saluted the officers as they passed. I'll never forget what happened next. One by one, as the boys came to my Jeep, they came to a complete stop, stood at attention, and saluted me. That was really something. Later, I received a citation for my work with the engineers but it didn't mean near as much to me as that Fourth of July salute. From then on, both officers and enlisted men saluted me. Excerpt, letter from Doctor Earl B. Rubell, Lieutenant and Surgeon; 1948: Lt. Minton and I wish to thank you and express our appreciation to you for the service rendered to us and to the patients during the recent medical emergency caused by the mass methyl alcohol poisoning of 31 members of this Battalion.

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In times of stress or danger the mental attitude is almost as important as the physical condition in determining how well an individual will react. We believe that your presence and the services you rendered patients in the form of feeding, cigarettes, bed baths, etc., were important factors in raising their morale and enhancing their recovery...

Excerpt, letter from Irene Ehrich, Command Hostess for Korea, Army Special Services; July 16, 1948: We can never tell you how much we enjoyed our visit with you. It was such a great satisfaction to see what a wonderful thing you have done with the club and we loved every minute of our stay. Nearly every day some officer comes into our office and tells us what a fine club you have built in Chinhae and what a grand person you are...

In addition to working in the club and being with the boys, my time with Mark was just wonderful. My year in Korea was one of the toughest years of my life but Mark made it all worthwhile. We got along tremendously. We joked and kidded. He was so good looking, I just loved him. I remember once we went into town to see the market-they were famous for their big market. And as soon as we got there, people started coming up to me to touch my gray hair. Whenever I went into town, I always drew a crowd. People wanted to touch me. They were just fascinated by my hair. It also seemed like they were looking at my bosoms. I told Mark I didn't like it. "Well, they're not trying to frighten you or hurt you. They're doing it for luck. They think of you as some kind of an angel because of your young body and your old hair." After that, every time I went into town they all wanted to touch me. They thought there was something special about me. But I rarely went into town. When you're on a base, your whole life is right there. I had no time to make contact with the outside world. But we still had such fun. The club closed at nine-thirty and I had to have a Jeep take me home. The houses were down the main road just a bit. The Lieutenant would come and take me back to my place. I never knew when I got out of the club at nine-thirty, whether there would be one or twenty officers at my house. Of course, it was just a little place-when I ran out of seats, people had to sit there on the floor. It was a good thing I never had to cook. I had this big refrigerator and the only things in it were water and liquor. Every morning Kim and some of her friends would come and fill the ice trays and stack them in the freezer. Nobody ever had too much to drink and nobody ever got out of line. They'd all come down and have a drink or two. The Lieutenant use to say, "I'll take care of her. She's a drink and a half girl and that's all she gets." He really did look after me. Once Mark wanted me to see this place a little further inland. He said it was beautiful and he thought I'd like to see it. "Tell the Colonel that you'd like to take a day and I'll take you over." So the two of us went. Mark drove and I sat next to him. It was about forty miles away and supposed to be real interesting for a small town. On the way there he said, "Angela, I am in love with you." Oh, how I could have loved him if it had been suitable. At the time he was fifteen years younger than I.

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"Mark, as much as I love you. I am too old for you." He disagreed but I explained how he was young and would want children. Still, he insisted that he loved me and I admitted that I loved him too. From that time on, whenever we were together we sometimes talked about the possibility of getting married. He often said, "Angela, I will always love you." I was very much in love with him but Ijust couldn't see past the age difference. I remember when we parted, he pleaded that we should get married. But Ijust couldn't do it, "No, you're young. You'll want to go dancing and I'll be tired and I'll want to stay home. I'll get more wrinkles and you won't want to be taking care of an old woman. Mark, I love you ... but I can't." We parted dear, dear friends. At the end of '48, the Communists moved in on South Korea so the U.S. ordered an evacuation. Mark and I came back on the same ship. He was sent to a base in Texas and I returned home. His parting words to me were, "Angela, you'll never be so old that you won't be beautiful." About a month later, I got offered this job, which was also in Texas. I let him know I was coming. He said, "Let me meet you in St. Louis, and I'll drive you down." I said fine. After I got to Texas, he came up to see me once I but made it clear I really didn't want to see him anymore, it just hurt too much. After that, I didn't see him again for ten years. Years later, when I was at the university in Ohio, I was in my office when the phone rang. I said, "Hello?" "Angela! How are you?" "Well, fine, who is this?" He said, "You don't recognize my voice?" I said, "No." He said, "Well I'm down in the main building of the campus here. I'd like to come up and see you." I said, "Well, I don't mind seeing you but I don't know whether I need to powder up and look pretty now or what. Who is this?" "Just look yourself." He hung up. I didn't know who it was but I brushed my hair and powdered my face. There was a knock on the door, and I nearly couldn't believe it when I opened the door, "Mark!" He didn't say anything. He just put his arms around me and we both cried. I said, "How'd you find me?" "My base is in northern Pennsylvania." He was a major at the time. He had married and had two little boys. He was moderately happy. He said, "There was never anybody like you; you are the one that I always think of and always remember." Mark said, "There was a boy who wanted to do one of the jobs in the offices on the base. I asked him, 'Where did you go to school?'" He said, "I only had one year-freshman year-and I want to go back and finish. It was a wonderful year and Mrs. Pete just made the school what it was." "Mrs. Pete?!" I told him that I was sorry I had gotten so old. He said, "Age comes from within, you'll never be old as long as you live." He told me that I had always been the love of his life. It was too bad there had been fifteen years between us. It's kind of funny I was so concerned about this age thing. I really did love him and here I've

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probably outlived him. I never thought about him much after that. I'm the type that has to move on. I never look back. You know, honey, this is kind ofmelancholy for me, looking back on all this. Nobody in their right mind lives to be 100. Marietta, Ohio Times; Saturday, March 12, 1949: Parkersburg Woman to Talk on Experiences in Korea Angela Marsh Peterson, who recently returned from the Orient where she served in Korea, will describe her experiences to members of the First Methodist Church at a meeting of the Youth Fellowship Group at the church at 7:30 p.m. The public is invited. Mrs. Peterson was sent by the army to a small post in Chinhae in southern Korea, about 60 miles from the port of Pusan, after a brief stay in Seoul, the capital. At Chinhae, she transformed a bare, barn-like storeroom into a service club for more than 400 G.I.'s. During most of her stay in Chinhae, and until the time of her evacuation, Mrs. Peterson was the only American woman in that area. When asked, "Was that good?" Mrs. Peterson replied that it was both good and bad. "I received many favors and courtesies because of being alone, but I certainly grew lonesome for a little 'woman talk' and was always wondering what would happen if I got sick." She said. Mrs. Peterson received much of the training for her work in Parkersburg, her home, where she was an active leader in social projects and church circles, especially Youth Groups throughout the city. She was also a leader in many clubs in Parkersburg, and for sometime conducted a 30-minute program over WPAR, as well as being director of the Little Theatre group. At present, she is considering openings with Army Special Services in Alaska and Germany, but says she'd rather stay in the United States for a while, and preferably locate in Texas.

TeV'v I haven't thought about it much over the years. It wasn't very important to me and it didn't seem to have a lasting influence over the years but when I came back from Korea I was offered ajob as recreation director for a veterans' hospital in Temple Texas. I had been home only a month when the call came so I took it. It was one of the biggest air bases in the country down there and the hospital was pretty much reserved for airmen who had been horribly mangled. I was there only eight months. It wasn't anything unusual except for the fact that I met more gay people at that base than I'd ever met in my life. There were gays and lesbians, with so and so sleeping with so and so. I started to wonder if I was the only one on the hospital staff who wasn't a homosexual. I had a real nice girl there working as my assistant and about half way through my stay she gave me an invitation to her "wedding"-she and this other woman were being married. Of course I went, after all she was a nice woman and she was working for me. I didn't do anything spectacular for the men there. I didn't really stay long enough to meet all of them or to discover what they especially needed. After about eight months, people from the city ofWaco came down to interview me and offered me a job as recreation director for the entire city. Well, it sounded like such a wonderful opportunity. The more I heard, the more I decided that I just had to take it. I liked Waco, I had visited a time or two-it's just an hour and a half north of Temple-so I was tickled to death to have this new job. The city already had a director of recreation but his entire focus had been on sports. He was a full-blooded Cherokee Indian and had put together just a wonderful assortment of sports activities but there was just nothing else at all in terms of recreation. The Board of Directors of the city got together with me and this Indian fellow and told him, "John, from now on, you'll be sports director ofthe city and Mrs. Peterson will be recreation director. You'll have two different sets ofresponsibilities." So, that was fine and there wasn't any competition between the two of us. I looked the city over for what was going on. Of course, the sports program and the swimming program were just wonderful. There were quite a number ofadequate playgrounds for the children but really nothing else for anybody if they didn't swim or play baseball. I think I added another couple of playgrounds while I was there but mostly I spent the first six months just getting to know the lay of the land and the people I was working with. It took six months for me to realize what Waco needed most of all. It was something that had never even been thought of and I had certainly never heard of it in any other city. You see, Waco had a big university. It's a town people liked. It's such a shame that Koresh fellow has shaded the name of what was such a beautiful place. Anyway, over the years, many of the professors had retired there in the city. There were a lot of rich farmers in the surrounding communities and naturally when they retired they moved to the city ofWaco. There were also quite a number of industries whose retirees had stayed within the city. In my estimation, Waco had far more retirees than any other city of its size at that period oftime but the city had nothing for all ofthese old people. The only activity of any kind was one Baptist church where there was a birthday party once a month for women who had turned sixty or older. It was such a tacky little thing-I

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went to it two or three times just to see what was going on. They served ice cream and cake and all the birthday ladies got a handkerchief as their present. About forty ladies came each month. "Welcome dear ladies," and "How nice you're here," and "Happy birthday to you." It was one of the sorriest things you'd ever want to see. I remember watching and thinking that Mama would have been bored out of her mind. Much to my surprise, just when I was trying to come up with a plan, the owner of the city newspaper called me. She was a woman, went by Mrs. Foster, and was just as excited about my being there in Waco as anybody. It's funny, I got to know her real well over the phone, but as many years as I was there we never met in person. She was always going off somewhere or having an engagement of some kind. She was a widow and she turned out to be real helpful. Mrs. Foster called me and said, "Mrs. Peterson, I think you're doing a wonderful job here. The playgrounds are better than ever and the children seem so enthusiastic. I've heard some of the plans you've been thinking about and Ijust want you to know that anything you need from the paper, you can have. I have a young woman who's a great reporter and I've told her that whenever you want something, you get it. If you want an announcement or an ad in the paper of any kind, don't hesitate to call because the paper is now at your disposal." Can you imagine what publicity like that meant to somebody trying to do a good job? I wanted desperately to do something for these old people. It was years before anybody came up with the term "Senior Citizen." At the time, they were just old people. I put a notice in the paper to the effect that I was trying to pull together some kind of activities for older people. After all, all kinds of other groups and people got together for social activities. Why couldn't old people, as well? I asked for people to contact me if they wanted to get involved. The ad was put on the front page of the paper. You wouldn't believe the avalanche of calls, letters, and enthusiasm that one notice received. One woman called me and said, "Mrs. Peterson, ifyou didn't mean what was stated in that ad, then you've done a very bad thing. My mother has run a fever for three days because she's so excited that there's going to be something for her to do." People wrote letters, I received several hundred phone calls from old people and the children of old people just trying to follow up for their parents. You wouldn't believe how thrilled everyone was with the prospect ofsomething like this. I knew I had enough backing, the question was where could we begin meeting, and what could we do? Each day the paper had another article about "Mrs. Peterson needs such and such," "Mrs. Peterson is looking for so and so," etc. There was an old park that had originally been on the edge of town but was now in the center oftown because the city had grown so much. On this park was a five or six room stucco bungalow. It was an enormous place that was just sitting there. It belonged to a wealthy Jewish family who owned the largest department store in town. I kept my eye on that place because I knew that it was just sitting vacant. Although the man who had built it was dead, his son was still alive; so I made an appointment to see him. He seemed very open to meeting with me. "Mrs. Peterson, everyone in town is talking about what you're trying to do. I think it's wonderful."

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"Really, an idea is all I have. We're starting from scratch on this-we're still looking for a place where we can meet. Wherever it is, I think the place will be swamped." I showed him a number ofthe clippings from the paper, as well as some of the letters I had received. "I've looked at everything in town that might be available. The only thing I can think of is that little cottage over in the park... apparently it's been vacant for quite some time. Now, whose is that? It would be just perfect." "I own that property!" Of course, I knew it. The amazing thing is he gave it to me. He said, "I'm not sure exactly how to work this out and I don't want to give it just to the city, otherwise they'll do something with it I don't want. I'm going to give it to you to use for the city. I'll have my lawyer set it up, and you can use it however you please as long as it's for the old people." Boy, did that make news in the newspaper! All of a sudden everybody was trying to out-do him. I completely furnished the place with beautiful furniture: leftovers from every place and furniture stores that had an extra piece of something. A woman's club got together and volunteered to make beautiful drapes for all the windows. I had one partition inside the front of the building removed so that there was an enormous room just inside. It ran the whole front of the building and could seat about 150 people. It was used as a meeting place or dance floor and had a fireplace on one end. I didn't have carpet put down in the front room on account of the dances. There was a room off to the side with another lovely fireplace that served as the dining hall. The building also had furnace heat. At one end of the building we had a men's smoking room and at the other end we had a women's quilting room. We had a big kitchen, two baths, and a back bedroom where somebody could go lie down if they felt tired or ill. We also had a conference room for smaller meetings. Everyone was so enthusiastic about what we were doing; it was just wonderful. The men got together and built a horseshoe ring for themselves and a croquet ground for the women. It took us about six months to get all the furniture together and all the flowers planted. The place was surrounded by beautiful trees. It was just lovely. We called it the Louey Migel Center for Old People, named for one of Waco's most prominent citizens from the early 1900's. Papa was so interested in the work I was doing for the old people that he decided to come to Waco and take part in the opening ceremony. I was so excited about him coming and being a part of the program. It just thrilled me to think I'd have the chance to introduce him as my father, "Senator Marsh." He'd come for the ceremony and then stay with me for a few days and we'd have a nice long visit. Boy, was I looking forward to that. I came in the office one morning and there were six or seven people waiting to see me. My secretary handed me a bundle of mail and said, "Call up the telegram office, there's a telegram waiting for you to pick up." I was delighted, "Oh, that's Papa saying when he'll be arriving!" I got the telegram announcing that Papa had died. I was just stunned. Papa was dead, and here I had this big opening ceremony happening in three or four days. Thankfully, Angie was around to help me. She was going to school at the time and made all the arrangements for the two of us to return home for the funeral.

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We flew to Parkersburg and still made it back in time for the opening ceremony. I still wish that Papa could have made it. I'm sure he would have enjoyed himself. Excerpt, National Recreation Magazine; June 1952 Their Own Center Surveying the field of possible activities as social director for the recreation department of Waco, Texas, upon assuming her job in early 1950, Angela Peterson came to the conclusion that what was most needed was acenter for the older people of the community-the lonely ones with little or no incentive or interest in life... Mrs. Peterson and her capable aides had the idea of providing, for those of advanced years, aplace of their own where they could talk together of other days, play together, and work together on projects which appealed to them ... The Waco newspaper cooperated fully from the beginning and gave such excellent publicity to the project that the entire community became interested. Enthusiastic support resulted in the fact that the board of directors of the Louey Migel Center for Old People now consists of leading businessmen, doctors, professors from Baylor University, local ministers, society and club women ... Everything was asked for-furniture, cooking equipment, light fixtures, radios, rugs, draperies, books, office equipment, tools, sewing machines, and so on, and the response to this call was truly wonderful. The center is beautiful now. The interior painting, largely done by young cadets from James Connally AFB, the flying field just out of Waco, matches the draperies-gift of the Business and Professional Women's Club. Membership of the center cuts across cultural and economic lines. The financially secure widow or retired businessman is just as lonely and has just as much idle time as the man or woman living on old age assistance... The opening or dedication of the Louey Migel Center for Old People, on July 18, 1951, was a memorable event. Opening ceremonies drew over 500 visitors despite the heat-103 degrees... Upon being asked what she had in mind for activities for elderly people, Mrs. Peterson answered, "Visiting, reading, card and table games, listening to the radio or television, group singing, lectures, birthday parties, tours and outings, shows, crafts, active outdoor games such as shuffleboard, horseshoe pitching, quoits, bowling; dancing, devotions, camera clubs, quilting parties and, most of all, the sharing with others of the special skills which all of them have..." What has been done with loving-kindness in this city, can be done anywhere-if good leadership is available... Writing a month or more after the center opened, Mrs. Peterson said: "The success of the center is amazing-and touching. We have averaged better than fifty members daily, and at our old-fashioned fiddle jam session last Thursday night, the 350 who attended had to move into the yard, as they overran the building. It is Christmas everyday, for gifts continue to arrive. The women are busy with plans for a full bazaar and a Santa workshop. They are beginning to spot good voices, as we sing, and plan a mixed chorus of 'over sixties' to serve the community and entertain themselves."

The place was packed. I had it opened every day from 10:00 a.m. until supper time, except on Friday and Saturday nights when we had something going on those two nights. One night was a dance night and the other night was something special such as a lecture. The whole town was excited about that thing. Every store on Main Street

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had some kind of a window display that featured the center or highlighted clothing or some kind of advertising for old people. The publicity had caused the place to just snowball. Everybody wanted to have a program there or to be part ofthe entertainment or bring their band. 1 couldn't even use all of the people who wanted to be a part of it. My only problem was transportation and getting around the city. You have no idea how handicapping it was not to have a car. Buses and streetcars don't always take you where you want to go. And walking was such a challenge for me. There was a woman there about ten years older than me, and her husband was about ten years older than her, and she really wanted to be a part of this whole happening. By the time 1met them, he was senile. His mind was just gone. She couldn't leave him too much, but one day she said, "Angela, 1 want to help you all 1 can, but 1can't leave him alone. Let me be your chauffeur. Just don't hesitate any time you need to go anywhere. Don't call a taxi, call me. He loves to get out and ride, and 1 could sure use the company. We'll put him in the back seat in his pajamas. He'll sit there and just look out the window for hours. He may talk at us, but we really don't even have to listen, just say 'yes, yes' every so often. I'll take you anywhere you want to go." She was a blessing to me. You might be surprised, but 1 found out old people are just like everybody else-they just have some years on them. We had a dance every Friday night. Some nights it was a special square dance; some nights we'd have ballroom dancing. Some of these people were beautiful dancers. Every night of the dance, the place was just packed. We had all the good orchestras and all the beginning orchestras-we never were short on music. Saturday nights were lectures or programs or something. We'd have entertainers such as a group of young men who did all kinds of acrobatics on an enormous trampoline. Another unusual program was the football team from Baylor University-you see, Angie was going to Baylor at the time. The football boys came over and said, "Let us have a program at the center. What can we do?" Some of the boys wanted to meet older people. 1 remember many of them didn't have a grandmother and one didn't even have a mother. Several of them said something like, "I'd like to meet some nice older person." 1told them to think of something that would entertain the group. Finally they decided, "How about bringing the bears?" They had two little bear cubs that were mascots for the team. Oh, the old people just loved that. These little bears were so used to having the boys around that they just scampered around the room looking inquisitively at all the people. Another time, 1 had one man who could throw a rock over a hundred and fifty feet and hit any object at a distance. We had that outside. That was a big success. Every weekend we had something entertaining like that or a lecture. We didn't offer religious programs, because that wasn't our purpose. Early on, 1had told some ofmy volunteers, "Now we can have some ofthese religious programs, but if we have one preacher in town we need to have them all." 1 said, "I think all of you go to church, and if you don't, you should. This isn't a church place. We're not going to do anything against religion, but we're not out to save souls here... we're out to show some of these old people a good time."

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-L3 52

Once we had a wedding there on the grounds. The age of the wedding party totaled 400 years! It was a big formal wedding and just everybody came. Everyday there was something going on at the center. The women made quilts or sewed. The men sat around and played cards, or dominoes, or simply talked. There were games to play and discussion groups. One day a week, hair stylists came to do hair. We'd have covered dish dinners from time to time. People would come by and bring their lunch, or walk over to a nice little lunch counter that was a couple of blocks away. It was a place where the old people could just get out and be together and socialize. Lots oftimes middle-aged people would bring their parents by and drop them off for the afternoon, just to give them something to do. The city even rerouted the bus service to give the older people easy access to the center. I gave lectures myself, showed them how to embroider, went to all the dances-I must have danced with every old man in the city.

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You know, I did an awful lot of good in Waco. The center was such an outstanding place that I received national recognition and was given the title of"Woman ofthe Year" in Waco. The whole state ofTexas started doing newspaper articles on our work. Before I knew it, the center was written up in recreation magazines all over the country. You have to remember, all this activity with the old people was just part of my job as city recreation director. I still had the activities for the children, the young people, and everybody else. It was while hosting a regular dance at one ofthe hotels that I suddenly realized what needed to be done next. Girls would come in, two or three of them together and say, "Mrs. Peterson, we're just going to sit right over here. If anyone wants a partner, we'd love to dance but we don't have a date." I told them, "Girls, at least separate. No fellow is ever going to come over and ask one girl to dance with two or three others looking lonesome." I said, "Separate and sit and look lonesome by yourself." I got to thinking and realized there wasn't anything available for older single girls between twenty-three, or so, and forty. And here they wanted to dance so badly. So I asked some ofmy key helpers, "IfI had a dance only for single girls, do you think any girls would come?" Well, we got the paper on it and had a notice, which advertised we were having a dance for "all belles and no beaus." We had a square dance. Four sets of eight girls showed up. One woman danced the male role and the other danced the female. They had the best time. This thing kept up and before too long each of the four groups had decided on a particular costume: eight of them were dressed alike here, and eight the same over there. We met in a gymnasium. Well it grew into thirty or forty couples and pretty soon the girls were being invited all over the state to give exhibition dances. It just made a world of difference for those girls who had been sitting home on Friday nights. An article about the group appeared in the national Square Dance magazine. I got letters from all over the country from people wanting to start the same thing in their own communities.

Excerpt, letter from South Bend, Indiana; June 13,1951: Dear Mrs. Peterson: I was intrigued by the article "All Members Taking Men's Parts Must Wear Pants!" which appeared in the March issue of American Squares. There is adefinite interest in forming such a group here and I would appreciate any information you could send me...

At about that same time, I started getting involved again with the local air base. There was a little base not too far from town-the James Connally Air Force base, just outside of Waco. They had would-be pilots from Germany and France and the United States all being trained. I went out to the base just to see what was going on and had the opportunity to meet with the Colonel. They took me to the enlisted men's club, they took me to the NCO club, they took me to the officer's club, and I was lunched and treated all the way along.

ALL lSeLLes (i{V'vd. No lSe(i{Us, FvLd.(i{tj NLgli1t ALL-woVVleV'v Squ(i{ve D(i{V'vc,e CLub, W(i{C,O, TeX(i{s

AV'vgeL(i{ PetevsoV'v Ls LV'v tli1e sec,oV'vd. YOW, fLftli1 fVOVVl Left Finally, I asked the Colonel, "Doesn't this base exist to train the cadets?" He answered kind of hesitantly, "Yes." "Well, there's not a dam thing for the cadets to do. They haven't a club to go into, they're not welcome at any of these other places. What do they do for fun?" "Mostly go into town to drink." "Well, why can't you do something else for them?" "Like what?" "I'll do something for them." Now this was all extra-in my spare time. So I went to the biggest hotel in town and I said, "What does the ballroom do except sit there and collect dust when you're not having any kind of special event?" "It just sits." "What's your quietest night?" "Thursday night." I said, "How about giving it to me?" Of course, everybody in town knew me on account of the newspaper and my work with the old people, and this all-woman's Square Dance club. So they asked me, "What do you want to do?" I told them what I had in mind. "I can get the orchestras. It won't cost you anything except for lights and maybe a little clean-up. So the hotel gave me the ballroom, and every Thursday night I had a dance for the cadets. I went to the churches and the universities and I said, "I'll be there at every dance and I'll supervise the girls. We ~0

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need some nice girls to come and dance with these cadets. I promise you, we won't have any birth influx here in the city of Waco on account of these dances." That was a big success. One day when I was at Connally Air Force Base planning with the Colonel about what else we could do for the cadets, he introduced me to someone. The Colonel said, "Mrs. Peterson, this is Chaplain Roberts. I'll give him to you to work so you can get some things started-the Chaplain isn't overworked." Well, I talked to the Chaplain two or three times in the Colonel's office. It was hotter than hell that summer, a hundred and ten, a hundred and seven every day, and of course no air conditioning. One day the Chaplain says to me, "Why don't we go for a little ride with all the windows down before we get started-it will give us a chance to cool off a little bit." "Oh, that sounds good to me." We went out for a ride, and it really was much pleasanter riding with the windows down. We had gone for about a half hour when he swung off of the main road onto a dirt road. He kept driving for a little while and all at once we just pulled over and stopped. Well, I knew what was coming next. He said, "Now ifjust you get out here and look down toward the creek, you'll have an awful pretty view." I was trying to be just as nice and polite as I could be so I got out and walked down for a little ways and saw the creek. It was a pretty view. It occurred to me that he must have definitely brought other women there before. I came back and the car doors were opened on all sides. He was standing next to the car, took me by my shoulders and shoved me into the back seat. "Take your pants off." He was going to rape me. Here we were way off from town and I hadn't seen another car in quite some time. It was getting toward dark. I tried to be reasonable, "Please, let's cut this out. You're a chaplain and I'm a middle-aged woman, been married with children grown, I'm just not interested at all." He wouldn't take no for an answer. He shoved me back down and started pulling off my clothes and then started pulling off his clothes, not listening to a thing I was saying and I wasn't able to fight him off. I thought to myself, "I'm not going to take this again. I'm not! But what to do, what to do?" I was flat on my back. He had taken my slacks down and my panties were off. There I lay and he had all his pants off. It was just horribly frightening. "What to do, what to do?" And finally, it just kind of came to me out of the blue and I looked at him and I started laughing. I was laughing and laughing so loud until finally he stopped groping me. "What's the matter with you? What are you laughing at?" He had his knees right between my legs and was trying to lie on top of me. I laughed and pointed, "I can't help it. You've got the ugliest and measliest peter I've ever seen!" Well, you never saw a penis go down so fast. "What do you mean, what do you mean?" "I mean exactly what I said. I've never seen an uglier penis.. .! don't want that thing, get it out of here and get me home!" ~20

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Well, he couldn't do anything after that. I was so furious. Imagine my saying something like that? How many peters had I ever even seen? Not many; 'course he didn't know that. He jerked me back up on my feet and took me home. We never said two words between us the whole way. Finally, when he pulled up in front of my apartment, he said, "Get out!" I got out and went inside, but I was mad. Damn his soul to hell! I wanted to kill him. Thankfully, we had a good Methodist minister there in town. He was a big, fat man, but he was a good minister. I really liked him. He had a good sense of humor and a good sense ofjustice. When I first got to Waco I went to church regularly every Sunday morning, but after I got involved in all these programs and dances and wouldn't get to bed until after 1:00 a.m., I stopped going so regular. I just couldn't get up and go to church. Once I had bumped into him on the street, "Don't I know you from somewhere?" he joked. "Reverend," I said, "I'm sorry I haven't made it to church, but I'm trying to do the Lord's work. The Lord's work for me is to take care of these people who need some kind of pleasure or strength or happiness just to keep on with their lives. Much of it comes on weekends, I just can't get up for church." I added, "I've talked it over with the Lord, and He says I'm doing the right thing. As long as the Lord says it's okay, I'm not worried." He put his arm around me, "Since you and the Lord are on such good speaking terms, whether or not you ever make it to church again, you'll always be one of my honeys. I have no objection whatsoever." The next day I made an appointment to see him and I told him what had happened with the chaplain. He was horrified. I said, "What do I do? He's a big shot over on the base. He's a Major. He's a Chaplain. The Colonel thinks he's pretty nice. I just don't know what to do." "I'll tell you what we're going to do," he was angry. "Get your bag and your hat, I'm going to take you over to see the Colonel right now and we'll both talk to him." We told the Colonel about it. The Colonel seemed shocked and promised to do something immediately. I said, "He's not going to stop because you scold him. All of these secretaries on the base, how many of them do you think he's already had? He just happened to pick the wrong one this time. He oughtn't to be in here where he has access to all these nice girls. This kind of thing gives the army a bad name." I found out later, they simply moved him to another base. That was how they took care of him. It made me so angry. But I still had work to do for those boys at the base. Some of them were so lonesome. They had come from overseas and were just dying to meet somebody. Many ofthem told me how much they missed their parents or a good home cooked meal and I got to thinking about how lonely some of the boys had been in the base at Korea. I decided I needed to do something besides the dancing. I lived in a great big mansion with two apartments downstairs and two apartments upstairs. My apartment was downstairs and very nice but it wasn't very big. Eleven people was the maximum number of guests I could have at anyone time. I let it be known that I would take any eleven boys that wanted to come over on Sunday

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and have brunch with me. It would be at ten-thirty in the morning, and I would just be able to take the first eleven that came. That first Sunday, more than fifty boys were lined up at my apartment. I took the first eleven and told the others they'd have to come back the next Sunday. They were the best boys. So well behaved, just busting at the seams to make it nice for me. I had brunch for eleven boys every Sunday from then on for over two and a half years. Of course, that was all on my own time and money. Some of those boys tried to come every week, but I always took the first eleven so there ended up being quite a bit of rotating. It was at one ofthe dances for the cadets that Angie met Jim Nichols, the boy she married. Jim kept coming from the base and Angie would come down with some of her friends from the university to dance with these boys. I never had any problem with any of the kids. Finally, Carswell Air Force Base came to get me. They said, "You belong to the military. You've been in the military. We need you on the base." They said they had a terrible need for me at Carswell and that lowed it to my country. They were having a problem with morale and the boys didn't have much to do. The base kept asking for me until finally I decided I was needed more in Carswell than in Waco. After several years Waco was pretty well underway, and it would just be so much repetition to keep these things going. I figured just about anybody could do that. It was sad to leave Waco but there wasn't much more I could do. I'm not a repetitionist. Waco was just devastated. They gave me all kinds of parties to see me off. I never did get back to Waco but I've often wondered if they still have something going on for the seniors. Excerpt, letter from Louey Migel Center participants; 1952: ... For us, the Older People, Angela Peterson has opened doors, which had long since appeared to be closed forever. She has made us feel important, not only to ourselves but to each other and to the community, and-best of all-important to her. Her efforts have provided for us a beautiful Center where we meet daily and enjoy ourselves, either in our own way or in delightful affairs of entertainment, which she provides. Here we forget that we are old and renew our youth in this pleasant place, which she has given us. For all that she has done and is doing daily, the Older People of the Louey Migel Center sincerely express deepest gratitude and appreciation. We give her our thanks, our love, and our heartfelt prayers for a long life of happiness and success. May God, our Father, ever bless her for the wonderful work she has done for us, and may she fully realize that in all our hearts she is forever enshrined for her nobility, her kindness, her understanding. We would remind her of these impressive words: 'Inasmuch as ye did it unto one of the least of these, ye did it unto me' ...

The Waco Citizen; Thursday, September 4, 1952: Old Folks Center Doomed! Mrs. Angela Peterson Holds Key to Success of Recreation Project - Got Better Job The resignation of Mrs. Angela Peterson from the Recreation Department of the City of Waco will be a distinct loss to the city as well as the people of the Louey Migel Center. Her ability has made her an authority in adult circles as well as professional circles throughout the United States. In the past three years, she has planned a party aday and during the holiday season many groups used her party ideas. Mrs. Peterson goes to Carswell Air Base as Director of the Service Club, with top qualifications since she has done much of this sort of work before. She will also be missed in the square dance club in Waco, which has been invited to perform in many cities...

sLeveV'v I returned to military service at Carswell Air Force Base. It was a bigger town. It was the chance to do some new things. It was a little more money. Besides, I liked the military. As service club director it was my job to play hostess to service base functions. Once I was even hostess for Elvis Presley who was just a rising, young gyrating star. I don't remember much about it, except for the fact that it was him. There were so many other things in my life to attend to and my only real outside interest got to be collecting the dolls. At the time, I didn't have the slightest idea that one day I'd start a museum with them. I got lots of dolls when I was down in Texas. I wasn't out looking for them, or shopping, or leafing through magazines for them either, they just somehow ended up falling into my lap. I never bought a doll that I didn't like, and I never sold one once it was mine. I began to get quite a bit of notoriety for them and when people discovered I liked dolls, once in awhile they'd send me one. The Fort Worth Press; ca. 1953: Doll Collection Features World Wide Figures At one time during World War II world wide figures such as Hitler, Churchill, Stalin, Mussolini, and Chiang Kai Shek all stood side by side with no trouble at all between them. In fact, they're still standing side by side. And still no trouble! They're all dolls in acollection of approximately 450 owned by Mrs. Angela Peterson, service club director. Mrs. Peterson has been collecting dolls for years and estimates that her collection is worth about $1600. Her dolls are all sizes and shapes, and represent about 37 different countries. In her collection there are 75 miniatures, all under three inches. The smallest ones are a pair of dressed fleas who stand one sixteenth of an inch high. There costumes are complete, and the female flea even carries a parasol. But by no means are these fleas the most valuable. The most prized doll is a300-year-old Chinese "Doctor Doll" who has her hand placed above her stomach and to one side, while the other hand holds up her head. "My lady with the pain," as Mrs. Peterson describes her doll, "has been having appendicitis pains for 300 years." Another valuable doll is a Saint taken from a Mexican church altar. It shows the careful craftsmanship and detail in its design. Many of the dolls were sent or given to Mrs. Peterson by men in the service. The friends she has made, in the various places her work has taken her, have lasted a long time. Lots of men visit far off places, think of her, and send her a doll. This method has helped build up part of her collection. "Dolls intrigue me," she said. "They stimulate the imagination. The details and costumes are representative of a nation. Lots of dolls are made doing something. This too, depicts a country." Mrs. Peterson's dolls are from all over the world. About the only place she hasn't any dolls from are from the lowlands of Europe and the continent ofAustralia. Soon she even expects to get dolls from there so that her collection will be complete and world-wide in representation. "A doll's value is determined by its workmanship and craftsmanship in details," she explained. "If they represent a nation, it's the authenticity of costume."

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Dolls are also made of every conceivable material. Cloth, wood, metal, ceramic, paper, and others. However, many are made with ceramic bases. Portrait dolls of actual personalities who once made history are her favorites. These extend from great Americans to world wide figures. One of the more unique dolls is one of Schumman Heink, famous opera singer. Her dress is part of acurtain that hung at one time at the Metropolitan Opera house in New York City where she used to sing.

Carswell was much like the other bases I had been on. It was nice but nothing outstanding in terms ofthe job itself. I did have an interesting experience, however. At the time, the military troops were still segregated, blacks and whites. There was a black woman on the base, name of Ma McInnis who was recreation director for the black men and I worked with the white men. Ma McInnis also served as my assistant. She was a heavy-set woman with an infectious laugh. I really liked her. She helped me get settled. She had been there about twelve years longer with several other recreation directors before me. She knew the layout very well. One ofher greatest joys was complaining about my predecessors. "They were all awful. I couldn't do anything I wanted to do and they didn't do anything." "You needn't worry now, I plan to keep us both busy." So that's the way we started out. I was given the head enlisted man to work with. He was a very interesting fellow. He had a white mother and a black father, and just beautiful features and Latincolored skin. He said, "I can pass for black or white, but the whites were so cruel to my parents that I long decided I'd rather be with the blacks than the whites." We really liked one another. Although things were just fine at first, as time passed, Ma McInnis started being a little short with me. When I was around, she'd tell people, "Oh, it's just wonderful having Mrs. Peterson here, we get along and she's really got some great ideas." Of course, behind my back, she was complaining that she should have been given the job instead of me, and so forth. The Parkersburg Sentinel; Wednesday, July 21, 1954: Director of Service Clubs Mrs. Angela Peterson, director of service clubs at Carswell Air Force Base, Ft. Worth, Tex., was a recent guest of her sister, Mrs. Gordon White, at Belmont. Mrs. Peterson, the former Angela Marsh of Parkersburg, and daughter of the late Senator and Mrs. Harvey Marsh, has spent the past 10 years in recreational and special services work for the United States Government with the exception of three years spent at Waco, Tex., where she was recreational director for that city. While there, she conceived and brought into being the Louey Migel Center for old folks which, when she left, was recognized as one of the finest centers in the fast expanding program of geriatric recreation throughout the county. Mrs. Peterson's theories regarding recreation for the aged are quite different from accepted patterns. However, her theories were tested in the Louey Migel Center and found highly practical and extremely popular as proved by the oldsters who flocked to the center. As a result, national notice was taken of her techniques and

KevLVvJ. TodesGV1L she was placed on the program of the National Recreational Association Congress as the expert in this field. Prior to herwork at Waco, Mrs. Peterson spent some time in Chinhae, Korea, as the service club director with the 1st Field Artillery stationed at this isolated army post. Although many months before the outbreak of the Korean War, there were constant "alerts" and sabotage in this southern tip of Korea before she was evacuated in December of 1948, the last white woman to leave the area. While in Korea, Mrs. Peterson carried away with her an abiding affection and respect for these people of an ancient race and civilization. At Carswell Air Force Base, Mrs. Peterson has charge of all social recreation for the enlisted personnel, a fascinating job but one requiring tireless energy and much understanding. Carswell is the home base of the giant B-36 and one of the important installations of the Strategic Air Command. It was at this base in April that MGM filmed its forth-coming release, "Strategic Air Command" starring Jimmy Stewart and JuneAllison, "Both of whom," said Mrs. Peterson, "are charming people to work with." In her "spare" time, she is besieged by the airmen to act as chaperone or just as acompanion for the many activities that youth can always find. "It leaves me with stacked up blouses to iron," said Mrs. "Pete", as she is affectionately known to all on base, "and adusty apartment, but they are so enthusiastically earnest in wanting me along that Icannot refuse them." It is also afine compliment to the youthful spirit and understanding which she gives her airmen. Mrs. Peterson is a hobby enthusiast. First among her hobbies is people and anything which helps understanding of them and their problems and making them happier and better adjusted. For fun she has studied palmistry and many a lonesome soldier shyly waylays Mrs. "Pete" to have his fortune told or to find out about that girl back home. She enjoys traveling and believes that to know people on their home grounds is to understand them better. She has spent some time in China, Okinawa, Japan, Canada, Mexico and has visited most of the 48 states. From all her travels she has brought back many lovely dolls to add to her outstanding collection of nearly 500 dolls representing 47 different countries. Although a business woman with a crowded schedule, Mrs. Peterson considers cooking as another one of her hobbies and while in Waco, in eight months she prepared and served over 830 full meals in her apartment to lonely air cadets stationed on the base there. "Surely,' she said, "That is little enough when our sons stand prepared to give so much."

While I was in Texas, both Angie and Eric got married. Angie got married to Jim-one of the boys she had met at one of my dances and Eric married his high school sweetheart, Neville. On account of Fred's wife, Tootsie, I stayed away during both of their weddings. Eric had a big church wedding and Neville's parents took care of all of the arrangements. I don't know that Eric missed me too much. At the time, grooms didn't get to say much about their weddings but Tootsie had made it clear to Fred that she didn't want me on the invitation list. For Angie's wedding, I got a letter from Fred asking me not to come. He told me that Tootsie had said she'd give Angela a beautiful wedding if Fred kept "that Mrs. Peterson back in Carswell where she belongs," but if I came she wasn't going to do anything. Angie would have to get married in the courthouse.

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Angie really wanted a nice wedding, and as much as I loved her, I didn't want to cause a problem. I talked to her and told her I really wanted her to have a beautiful wedding, "If I come, you'll just have to go down to the justice of the peace. Neither one of us want that for you." Angela said, "Oh, Mama, I do want a nice wedding for Jim and I so bad but I don't want to miss you!" "I love you, honey and I want you to be happy. I think Jim will make a wonderful husband. Just send me lots of pictures and I'll stay home and I'll think about the two of you." The wedding was beautiful. Tootsie had been true to her word and put together a really wonderful wedding. Some said it was the nicest wedding the town ever had. She even made Angie's wedding dress ... it was gorgeous. I did think about the two of them all that day and Angie managed to send me some beautiful pictures. You know, many times I've thought I could have done better if I'd have been more a fighter. But I'm not a fighter. I don't like to fight and I don't like causing disruption. I've always operated with the premise that I'd rather be hurt than to hurt somebody else. So I missed both ofmy children's weddings and they both married such wonderful people. Even to this day, I love Neville and Jim. Neville is such a thoughtful woman and Jim is the best son-in-law you could ever ask for. He still checks up on me from time to time. He turned out to be the best father you ever saw.

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Excerpt, The Fort Worth Press; Thursday, January 13, 1955: From Korea to Carswell, There's Always Mrs. Pete White-Haired and Pretty To soldiers in the world's far corners, and now to Carswell's airmen, the lady with the white hair is known simply as Mrs. Pete. She's the lady the boy away from home comes to when he's lonely, or wants help, or just someone to talk with. And since late 1952, when she was named director of servicemen's clubs at the air base, the white-haired lady has comforted and helped thousands of boys. From Parkersburg, W. Va., where she was known as "a cross between the voice of experience and Elsa Maxwell," Mrs. Pete now makes her home at 3261 Sondra Dr. in Arlington Heights. But her smiling face is familiar in Korea, where she spent a year near Pusan, alone with some 500 men. When war flamed through the small land, she was the last white woman evacuated. Nights of nearwar, sabotage and death still haunt her memories. She paused, pouring coffee. "Some of the things that happened over there never got printed. It was terrible..." Then, remembering more pleasant things, her smile flashed, "I have been in recreation work almost thirty years now." Her hobby is people... In Waco several years ago she set up the Louey Migel Center for old folks, which now is recognized as one of the finest in the country. Washington took note of her unique methods for helping aged, sometimes homeless persons live happier, more useful lives. Mrs. Pete was named to the National Recreational Association Congress as an expert in this field. At Carswell, she is responsible for entertaining as many as 20,000 men a month. To help her, she has one woman and two shifts of airmen, three of whom act as bouncers at night. "But as yet, we haven't bounced anybody," she admits. Mrs. Pete also finds time to collect dolls, has more than 500 from 47 countries, cooks a meal that would make agourmet's mouth water, and corresponds regularly with 21 boys in service. Her son Eric, 25, is an Air Force doctor; her daughter Angela, 23, is married to an Air Force lieutenant. They are far away now, but the boys who flock to her for advice every day are like her own; she calls them all "son ..." Next time you see a white-haired lady in a trim blue uniform bustling down the street, it may be Mrs. Angela Peterson. But just call her Mrs. Pete.

The Fort Worth Press; Tuesday, March 22, 1955: Services for Carswell Enlisted Men Outlined Members of the group work and recreation division of the Community Council have been given an outline on ways the community can be of service to enlisted men at Carswell Air Force Base. Mrs. Angela Peterson, one of two trained workers paid to handle the entire recreation program, said that "home" on the base is "quite foreign" to the average enlisted man's accustomed home. "He sleeps in barracks and eats in the mess hall so that the Service Club becomes the only 'home' he has," she declared. Mrs. Peterson pointed out that volunteers are important in the program carried out at Carswell and that there are many things individuals and groups can do. She lists some of the ways the community can help as follows:

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1. Help get tickets to opera and symphony performances or to road shows or home talent plays. 2. Provide personnel for an information booth that would give information on train and bus schedules, help arrange leave schedules and counsel on leisure time activities. 3. Plan tours and outings for men. 4. Invite young boys into homes where there are boys their own age, or a little older, for dinner on the weekends. 5. Invite the men who are Masons to Masonic lodge meetings. 6. Keep the cookie jar filled with homemade cookies. 7. Contribute records, particularly classical ones, prizes for games and quiz shows and mystery stories in pocket book size. Mrs. Peterson said groups or individuals also can plan and direct a once-amonth party, find places to take the Negro boys, provide programs such as book reviews and floor shows and write articles for the weekly paper, keep scrapbooks and make posters. "A community leader well-versed in world affairs could lead a discussion group in current events two evenings each month," she said. Mrs. Peterson said that many men are sending younger brothers or sisters through college while others help support their parents or send extra money home. "These are the boys who need recreation off the base as well."

With the exception of a little problem I had with Ma McInnis, things were going along pretty well until I got into trouble with the Colonel over a situation involving a foreign Ambassador. You see, a lot of the men had served in Korea and one day I read in the paper that the Ambassador from Korea was going to be in Dallas giving a program of some kind. I got to thinking, "Wouldn't it be wonderful if the Ambassador got time to come over here to Carswell to speak to some of these boys who served his country?" After all, Fort Worth is just a short distance from Dallas, so I decided to

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write in care of the Embassy in Washington. I sent a nice letter to the Ambassador and told him that I had served in Korea, as well. I told him where I had been and so forth, and stated that the boys here would love to meet him ifhe could manage it. Well, he wrote back and said he'd be delighted to rearrange his schedule and get a chance to come to Carswell and shake hands with some of the boys. When the Colonel found out about it, he was livid. "You can't just write an Ambassador and invite him to the base! You've got to go through channels!" "Well, I've already invited him. He's coming." The Colonel was very upset, "Now we'll have to make all kinds of arrangements. He's a big shot, we can't just have him show up at the base!" I disagreed, "I don't want any red carpet. He's coming to the service club just to meet the men." "We can't just do nothing." "That's what he wants. He wants to meet with the boys without being treated like a big shot." I showed him the Ambassador's letter. He didn't want formality, he just wanted to meet the boys. For about two weeks there, I was convinced I was going to lose my job over not having gone through the proper channels. Anyway, the point of the story is that the Ambassador did come. We had a beautiful reception at the service club and nice refreshments. The boys were real pleased to meet him. I guess I should tell you about another happening that occurred during my time at Carswell because ofmy stint in Korea. Back in 1948 I had met a seventeen- year-old Korean boy named Bok Mon Her. He had come to the base looking for Americans to learn English from and he just started following me around. Finally, I put him to work there in the service club and some of the G.1. 's started calling him "Herman Bok" and the name stuck. I guess he kind of adopted me. Herman was real smart and learned to speak English pretty well by the time we were evacuated. Over the next few years, I heard from Herman from time to time. He managed to continue learning to read and write English because his dream was to come to the United States. It was while I was at Carswell that I found a sponsor for Herman to come over. Unfortunately, before Herman arrived, his sponsor was killed in the Waco tornado of' 53. The papers made quite a to-do about it and finally another sponsor was found. Herman's wish came true. Excerpt, Fort Worth Press; Thursday, September 10, 1953: Korean Man Happy He's Entering School in U.S. Her Mon Bok is facing winter without a coat or a sweater but he's happy. He has only two pairs of trousers and three shirts to his name but life looks bright and easy. The 23-year-old Korean has been in more confusing situations before-like when the Communists accused him of being an American spy and the Americans arrested him for being a Red. His dreams of getting a college education in the United States have been disrupted by wars in his native land and tornadoes in Texas. But now Bok feels he's got life by the tail. ~30

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He'll enter Baylor University this week-five years after he met an American woman who taught him his first words of English. That woman is Mrs. Angela Peterson, director of service clubs at Carswell Air Force Base. Mrs. Peterson met Bok in Korea in 1948 when she was the director of the service club there. The youth hiked 65 miles to see her. He wanted to learn to speak English. After Mrs. Peterson returned to this country, she continued to correspond with Bok. He wanted to enter a college here and she started out to help him, but war broke in Korea. Bok was taken into custody in Seoul when the Communists occupied the city. They found apicture of Mrs. Peterson in his possessions and the would-be collegian was forced to go into hiding. When the Americans captured the city, they arrested Bok for being aCommunist. After some intensive questioning, he was released and became an interpreter for U.S. forces. Meanwhile he was still trying to get to America. Mrs. Peterson could not sponsor him because she is not a property owner. But she found a patron in Dr. Keith James of Baylor University. The papers were signed and things looked rosy until the May 11 tornado hit Waco. Dr. and Mrs. James were killed. Another Waco man, George Berry Graves, then agreed to sponsor Bok. So the young Korean arrived here last week. Wednesday he was visiting Mrs. Peterson ...

Herman always called me "Mother Peterson." Even after he graduated and moved to Chicago, I heard from him from time to time. He married, had a couple of children, and always sent me birthday and Mother's Day cards. Unfortunately, I lost track of him after moving to High Point. I've thought about him on occasion-he'd be over seventy now. He was such a nice boy. I did many of the same things at Carswell as I did elsewhere. We had a lot of dances. I arranged for two buses of college girls to come in for dances pretty regularly. I tell you, we ended up having an awful lot of weddings because of those dances. The boys were just thrilled with getting to meet some nice girls. I worked pretty hard at Carswell. There were times when 30,000 men a month come into Carswell from all the other Air Force bases to see what they were doing, and about two or three thousand a month visited the service club. I was there day and night, being friendly and making things nice for them. Even though I had worked as hard before, a time came when I felt like I was going downhill at Carswell and losing an awful lot ofweight. I went to several doctors and there was nothing they could find. When I had first arrived I weighed about a hundred and forty-I was down to right around one hundred. I had gotten so thin that my uniform skirts had to be pinned to my brassiere to keep them from falling down off my hips. Even the Protestant chaplain got to be concerned: "Mrs. Peterson, we can't lose you." He said, "If we lose you, the base will have to hire another chaplain. You may not realize this but you take at least the work of one chaplain off of me. The boys come in and they're blue or they're homesick and you really have a way of talking to them." I agreed, "Well, they often tell me something they wouldn't tell anybody else. I enjoy listening to them. It takes time but I'm here to help them." The Chaplain called another doctor, "I'm worried about her, I'm afraid she's going to die if someone doesn't discover what the problem is."

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After another examination, the doctor said, "She's exhausted. She's bored with her job. She needs something new. My recommendation is to give her six months break to go to the beach, play cards, dance, or whatever. Six months away from the base is what she needs. Medicine can't do any good. She needs a change of scenery." I asked, "Could I go to South America? I have a cousin in South America whose been begging me to come visit since she and her husband moved there five years ago. I'd love to see Peru." "That would be fine, any change of scenery." I really wanted to get to South America to see my cousin but money was in short supply. I couldn't afford the going rates but I was determined to get there. Finally, it ended up that I hopped a tramp steamer that was headed for South America. If you want to do a thing badly enough, there's always a way to do it. All you have to do is figure out what that way is. So I went. I went for six months and had the best time and gained all my weight back. When I finally came back to the states, I stopped by to see Eric and his wife Neville. Oh, I just love Neville. Anyway, they had their baby Kirsten, and we all had a real nice visit. Eric insisted I needed to do something different. "Mom, you've finally got your health back. If you stay at Carswell, after a year you'll end up right where you were!" So I went back to the base before giving my notice. You had to work six weeks in order to quit after a long leave like that. Ma McInnis met me when I returned. "You're not planning to stay longer than six weeks, are you?" "No, I'm planning to leave. My son Eric thinks I should do something else." She kind of grinned at me. "Do you know why you were so sick?" "No, I don't. It was a nice job in many ways. I don't know why it affected me more than anything else I've done. I have worked harder at other places." "I know why you were sick." "Why?" "Do you know anything about voodoo?" "Well, I've read a little. Why?" "I decided I didn't want you here. After all these years, I deserve your job. I had gotten rid ofall the others, and they were just getting ready to give me the job when you came along. You were good, so that pretty much cut me out as long as you were going to be here. I had to get rid of you. If you'd have stayed, you'd have died." I knew for a fact she had made a trip to New Orleans every time she had three or four days vacation. There was some woman down there who was supposed to be the most powerful voodoo person in Louisiana. I knew that if I stayed I would either make myself sick again, or have some kind of curse placed on me, so I gave my notice and left Carswell. Much to my surprise, I next wound up as Dean of Freshmen Men at Ohio Wesleyan University-the very same school I had only been able to attend for a year more than thirty years before.

TweLve After I retired from Carswell, I went to stay with Eric and Neville for a short while. Eric had finished his internship at twenty-three. He looked so young that people told him he would never get a practice going because he still looked like a kid, so he joined the army as a doctor. He was in Kansas City at the air base there when I went to visit. I was just crazy about their little daughter, Kirsten, and wanted to love her up a bit, plus it gave me some time to think about my next job. While I was there, Eric said to me, "Mama, why don't you do something easier? You don't want to have to be up and down and running all the time. Why don't you think about being the matron in a real good fraternity? You're just there and take care of a few boys, act as hostess once in awhile at a party, and you'd still be able to have your own life. It's much like the work you've been doing, only it would be a lot easier on you, and you'd have fewer boys to take care of." At the same time, somebody else told me they were looking for house mothers at Ohio Wesleyan. So I wrote to Ohio Wesleyan and asked if they were looking for anybody, and the Dean wrote back and wanted to meet me for an interview. I was going up to Ohio to my sister Helen's for Easter anyway, so I agreed to the interview. When I arrived at the college I was interviewed by the Dean. I told him about my travels and he showed me around the campus. His name was Bill and he was only thirty-two. We talked and had a good chat, and then he took me to meet his wife, Marion. They were a real nice couple. Anyhow, he told me, "We have two house mother vacancies at the fraternities. One of them will take a pretty strong woman to hold it together. They're the richest boys and like to go their own way. There are also more boys at the house. The second house is easier. The boys are more conservative but it's not as much money. I want you to think about which one you want." He excused himself and went to talk to the President of the University, apparently to tell him that he had offered me one of the jobs. He came back after about fifteen minutes and said, "I've spoken with the President. We talked about your background and the fact that you were a former student here. We've got the perfect job for you." I said, "You've already told me about two I could choose from!" He said, "There's a third opportunity. We've just built some new freshman dormitories. They're gorgeous. We need a new resident Dean ofFreshman Men. Would you like to be Dean of Freshmen men?" "What?" "You remember when you were a Freshman here? You had a Dean ofFreshmen women who was a man, didn't you?" I said, "Yes, I remember how we'd hear his floppy bedroom slippers out in the hall warning us he was coming to check up on something..." I ended up taking the job and became Dean ofFreshmen Men at Ohio Wesleyan University. I was there for about seven or eight years. It was one of the nicest jobs I ever had. It was a beautiful, decent, moral, American college. It was considered the Yale of that part of the country-the best University over the mountains. They only took the top kids from any high school. ~33

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It really wasn't the most exciting job I ever had but it was a beautiful place. The Dean also gave me an apartment there on campus which would have cost $200 a month back in town. I had my choice of which of the two buildings to live in, but I chose the one which had the office right in the apartment (the other one had no office and I would have had to walk back and forth between the administration building). By this time, my feet were starting to hurt again and I wanted to keep my walking to a minimum. My apartment was right in the dormitory with the boys. It had a beautiful bedroom and kitchen and a lovely living room. I also had good storage spaces and closets. I took that apartment and fixed it up. I put a bookcase in my office with about a hundred dolls in it. The boys were very much interested in the collection and it made a good conversation piece. I was starting to worry about the terrible time I was having with my feet again. All that the surgery had hoped to accomplish seemed to be coming to an end. There were days when my feet started to hurt as bad as they had back when I had been pregnant with Angie. I didn't want to end up in a wheelchair but I sure didn't want to have to go through another surgery either. I tried to keep my mind off of the problem with my feet and focus on the boys. There wasn't too much out ofthe ordinary working with the boys. A lot ofthe freshmen were just back from Korea and they held things pretty well together. You'd be surprised what a couple of years in the military can do compared to some boy just out of high school. I taught a course in counseling, which put me on the educational faculty. I helped two or three of the boys get out of trouble. Each of those boys got a girl pregnant. I straightened one ofthose situations out so that the kids had the blessings of their parents and could get together. That worked out real well, and the kids were happy. Another boy had a one night stand and the girl got pregnant. I tried to talk her out of an abortion, we had the option of adoption and the boy offered to marry her, but

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she went ahead and had the abortion anyway. I helped them with their classes when I could. We had a lovely Christmas reception every year for the faculty. There were about 500 freshman boys. So I stayed busy. I remember that I got great news from Angie and Jim that first September. They were so happy together. Excerpt, letter from Angie Helen Nichols; September 13, 1956: Dear Mom: Last week Jim had to take another field trip and they were gone most of the week. The move is going as scheduled. We will leave as early as possible Saturday morning so I have loads to do and still haven't finished packing yet. One of the reasons for my delay in writing was I wanted to have some definite news for you. One April 23, 1957 at 10:30 p.m. (per Dr. Smith) you are going to be agrandmother! The doctor says everything is fine and it is okay for me to make the trip. Jim is so tickled he's about to pop. He was announcing to one and all way before I was even sure. He hopes it will be twins (God forbid). So far Ifeel pretty good. No morning sickness. Iwish there was a John in our car... I'm afraid I may have to go to the bathroom every 50 miles or so. I imagine you're pretty well settled by now. Neville told me they were painting your rooms when she and Eric visited. Must be nice... Love, Angie

So many ofthe boys told me that I was their favorite part of Ohio Wesleyan. I would get flowers and cards and little notes taped to my door. The boys' parents would also come to visit and I'd set their fears at ease. After all, for many of the boys who hadn't been in the service, this was their first time away from home. Each June, some of the boys would write me that they would never forget me. I really had a special relationship with them. In addition to my work with the freshmen, I kept up quite a bit of correspondence with their parents. Excerpt, letter from parent; November 19, 1958: Dear Mother Pete: After arriving home, and upon reflection, I can truthfully say that the highlight of my trip to Ohio Wesleyan was meeting a kind, sweet, charming, sympathetic, and intelligent Dean of Freshman Men by the name of Angela Peterson. Please accept my sincere thanks for your interest and help in working out Sam's problems. It is a shame that my boy allowed his morale and enthusiasm to be shattered because he did not receive a pledge to a Fraternity. I guess in his youthful world and scheme of things, failure to receive a pledge gives him a feeling of not belonging and otherwise relegates him to an inferior status. Basically, he is a good boy, and he deserves all the help that I can give him. Your suggestions coupled with your interest in Sam will, I'm sure, be of great help to him in getting readjusted ... I am looking forward to visiting Wesleyan again in the not too distant future, at which time I hope to have the pleasure of enjoying more of your warm and friendly hospitality. Thanks again for your many kindnesses. P.S. Please feel free to phone me collect, or write me at any time. ~35

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Excerpt, letter from parent; September 29, 1959: Dear Mrs. Pete: Our Barney will be eighteen this Thursday, October 1st, and I am wondering if you observe the boys' birthdays in any special way? It was my first thought to have a birthday cake sent to the residence hall, but I hesitated to do so for fear it might be embarrassing to Barney if this should be the unusual. If there should be any customary observance, please do me the favor of using your own good judgment, and if any expense is involved don't hesitate to write me. It was a relief to know that Barney liked you so much to confide in you. We expect to visit Ohio Wesleyan on Parent's Day...

Excerpt, letter from parent; September 13, 1960: Dear Mrs. Peterson: We want to thank you so much for all the attention and the suggestions you gave us while we were visiting the College. We are simply delighted with the entire set-up and most especially with you. Bob is indeed most fortunate. We're very happy for him because we believe, and we know that time will tell, that he's worthy of the breaks he gets. You will find him most willing and cooperative, for at home we've lost our right arm, but you may consider him a bit too much on the serious side. This is our doing because we never permitted him to take any extra advantages for granted. Now we realize that we bent him in that direction too strongly and are hoping that with his serious frame of mind, a little bit of levity will find its way in. In short, we know he'll work hard but we're hoping he'll have fun, too. Never have the possibilities for this combination been so nearly possible, for never before have we met so many wonderful people under one roof. We were impressed most pleasantly with each and everyone of you. Thanks again for being you, because without you at the helm, Residence Hall #2 could never exude so much warmth and contentment...

Excerpt, letter from parent; April 25, 1961: Dear Mrs. Pete: When I received your kind letter, I couldn't help but think how lucky the University was in having you. I needn't tell you how concerned I was about Eli's health, but somehow, now, I feel much better knowing that you are there. Here's hoping that he holds up for the next few weeks until June, then, when he gets home, he can recuperate more fully. I am glad you liked the cookies. Believe me, it was a pleasure to send them to you. After meeting various members of the faculty, I could not help but feel very much impressed. They appear to be adedicated group of men and women. My only hope is that Eli will do well enough so he can remain to benefit from the education and training that Ohio Wesleyan has to offer young people. Thank you again for taking care of Eli ...

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When I was at Wesleyan, they didn't have summer school. The university had to do something to keep the place going when classes weren't in session. To keep some ofthe support staff on, they had all kinds of conventions and meetings scheduled throughout the summer. The woman who had been working with the meetings was getting ready to retire, so Dean Zerman asked me what my plans were for the summer. I told him I planned to go visit my sister. He asked me how I'd like to have Miss Soand-So's job for the summer. "We have all kinds of groups scheduled. Some are only for a dozen people but others are for four or five hundred. I need someone to run the whole thing. Angela, why don't you do it?" I enjoyed staying busy and the job sounded interesting, "Sure, I think I could do that." You know, every once in a while I did something that ended up being real smart. When I had been a student at Ohio Wesleyan, I took a course in Turkey and the Islamic religion because it seemed interesting. Now forty years later didn't that come in handy when I went to Turkey? Along the same lines, when I was married to Fred and trying to find something to learn, I took a two year course in hotel management. I just thought it would be interesting. Suddenly, I found myself managing a whole campus of activities and programs. These organizations would come in for conventions and short courses. My job was to see that they were housed, to see that they were fed, to see that they had everything they needed for their courses and their lectures, and to keep the place running like clock work. Turned out I sometimes had ten or twelve meetings going on at the same time. Every one of them insisted on having something different. All wanted different menus at different times and we needed to schedule the lecture halls at times that wouldn't conflict. On one occasion, I remember working with about 1700 people in eleven different programs all running concurrently. It was just like running a big hotel. It was much harder work than I had imagined but it was fascinating-all these organizations and lectures and meetings. The thing that bothered me most about working all that summer was my poor feet. I just dreaded having to walk through the girl's dormitory. It was four stories of steps and just caused me all kinds of pain. It was just awful, and I didn't know what I could do about it. I sure couldn't go through another surgery again! I hadn't stayed home or quit because of them yet, so I just kept right along with everything. I knew they were going to hurt but I also knew what I had to do to get the job done. I remember the Dean told me I shouldn't have any problems with the groups except for the last one, "It's a religious group. They call themselves 'Tartars.' There are 700 of them and they're so religious they just get in your hair. They can be very demanding, very critical, but don't worry, they'll be praying for you." I said, "I think I can manage." The superintendent ofthis Tartar group was from Akron. Her name was Marie and she was the nicest woman. She was a big woman-weighed over 200 pounds-and was as friendly a person you'd ever want to meet. Marie came down early to coordinate all ofthe arrangements and she told me what a wonderful program they were planning on having.

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"It's going to be a wonderful camp, Mrs. Peterson! Our main speaker will be a woman from Oklahoma City whose husband is a Methodist minister. Her name is Genevieve Parkhurst. Oh, she's a great healer and psychic! You'd really like her." I told my sister, Helen, about the program, and she said, "If it's that good, I'm going to come up." That first day I asked Marie whether Genevieve had arrived. "Do you think she'd mind taking me for a healing appointment?" "I think she'd be happy to, ifshe could find the time. As soon as she's checked into her room, I'll ask her about it." Well, later that day I had my appointment all set up. Right after lunch I met her in the little sitting room which we had set off from the dining area. I went into the small lounge next to the main dining room and waited for her. I didn't know what to expect. I was wearing these low, flat, blue slippers because they were the most comfortable things I could find for my feet. She came in and sat down next to me and told me to take offmy shoes and stockings. I gave her a little history about the surgery I had. She said, "Do you know anything about this at all?" "No, but I've been interested in healing because of some of the things I've read." She asked, "Is this a condition you were born with?" "No, it came on me when I was eight months old." She nodded her head approvingly. "I never tamper with God. If you're born with a condition, I believe it's a burden you're given in order to learn something from. However, since you weren't born with it, let's see what we can do." She took my feet up into her lap. She prayed for a long while and then asked me directly, "Do you think God can heal you?" I said, "Oh yes. I have absolute faith that God can work miracles." I need to say that I've never told this story to another person since it happened. We talked about thirty or forty minutes. Finally, she prayed and said that she was placing my feet in God's hands. She stayed with me and prayed for about a half an hour. She was quiet for awhile and got up, placing my feet back in her chair. Finally she said, "Honey, I need to go and get ready for the meeting. I want you to stay here and sit for as long as you can. Afterwards, you can put on your stockings and shoes." She added, "It's all up to you. It's a matter of faith. Now, your feet will hurt. You've spent a whole lifetime like this. So, don't expect to go out of here dancing. Don't expect a miracle today or tomorrow, but if you have faith and stick with it, they'll gradually get better." When the time came, I hated to put my feet back down on the floor because I knew they would hurt, like always. But when I got up, I was overwhelmed to see that they didn't hurt at all. For the first time ever, my feet didn't hurt! I still can't talk about that experience without crying. That was one ofthe most spectacular experiences in my life. I couldn't believe what had happened. I walked out of the sitting room and headed down the dining hall corridor-nearly a block in length-with no pain whatsoever. I went into the administrative offices where Helen and Marie were waiting for me. When I went in, tears were running down their faces. They could see that there had been a

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miracle for I was literally walking on air. The three of us wept together. Until I was in my eighties, my feet would never hurt again. If it hadn't have been for Genevieve Parkhurst, I would have never made it to Turkey. Friday, the last afternoon ofthe convention, it was announced that they wanted everyone who had been healed to come out and testify. Marie told me, "You had the most spectacular healing of all of them, Angela, won't you testify?" I said, "Marie, if I get up to testify, I know what will happen, I'll just break down and start to cry. I can't mention it without crying. It just meant too much to me." She had a plan. "Angela, I'll sit up front about three rows from the stage and I'll cry for you while you give your testimony." So I went ahead and gave my testimony and told what had happened. And I did it just beautifully. I looked out to the third row and there was Marie, sobbing so much that the whole top of her bosom was wet with tears. She looked like she had cried two gallons. After the testimony that evening an interesting thing happened. I came down to their final supper to see them all off and got a plate to go through the line. Everybody came through the door and hugged me and kissed me and thanked me for giving such a wonderful testimonial and so forth. All of a sudden, as I was walking from the line, my feet started hurting more than they had ever hurt before. Suddenly it felt like they were on fire, and I thought, "Oh, God, how am I going to manage now that I've told everyone about the healing?" Both feet were burning. I hurried over to sit down at a table and since no one could see me I took off my shoes. The left one especially was just blood red and it felt like the sole had been slashed with a knife. Nothing was bleeding but they were blood red. Finally, the pain began to diminish so it was just about gone an hour later when I got up from the table.

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After that evening, I had a red scar on the underside of my left foot that is still there forty years later but the pain was gone once and for all. The Lord healed my feet that day. Now, knowing how I feel about religion, what made that work? You see, I don't think miracles have anything to do with what religion you are. I could have just as easily been a Buddhist or a Muslim. What's important is the faith you have in God. Of course, I've never spoken like that here in the nursing home. Everybody here is a fundamentalist. It's their way or no way. You're going to hell if you don't believe just like they do. You know, I think a lot of religious people, whether they're Christian or Jewish or Islamic or whatever, are going to be in for a great big surprise when they die and see, just like God said, He's no respecter of persons. Anyway, that miracle the second year I was at Wesleyan made it possible for me to travel all over Turkey a number of years later. I journeyed through all kinds of terrain in all kinds of shoes. I climbed mountains and all. There wasn't anything extra exciting about Wesleyan, but there was something to do every day. I went to Helen's and Louise's for a number of my vacations. After five years, the school would give you a sabbatical for up to a year; so I and this other teacher, Lorraine, decided to go to Europe. The year before we left, we were both stingy with our money in order to save up. I had a little over $500 and she had almost $500. We needed to find the cheapest way of getting there that we could, so I wrote to two or three shipping companies and found a big Jewish transfer ship that was leaving in December. There were two cabins left, so we took them. We got our tests and our shots and we were off. We went to New York and got passage on the transfer ship. The rest of the people on that ship were so kind to us. I talked to one of the Rabbis who wanted to know why we had come with them. I said, "Honestly, it was because ofcost but I'm awfully glad we came because I've always wanted to know more about the Jewish people." He was real pleased, so he took us to some ofthe classes they were having on the ship where they taught Jewish folk dances. And of course, since we were with the Rabbi everybody was just lovely to us. I asked him where their chapel was on the boat. He said that although they weren't supposed to take us, he took me back and showed me the Temple, the Altar and the scrolls behind the altar. It was all very interesting. When it came time for Lorraine and I to get off in Gibraltar (it was a special stop just for the two of us at 5:00 a.m.) do you know that half of the people on that boat got up at 5:00 o'clock in the morning just to sing farewell songs to us in Hebrew? They waved us good-bye and wished us well. Now I would never travel as cheaply as we did if I didn't have to, but we sure saw a lot ofthings that most people don't have the opportunity to see. My sister Libby was married to a millionaire and they went to Europe and didn't see half as much as we did. They stayed with tourists the whole time. They went to the finest hotels in the largest cities and ate American food with the rest ofAmericans. And they had a guide to take them to the common places. They never took a taxi or a bus or anything. Here they had been to all the major cities throughout Europe and didn't really learn a thing about any of them.

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When 1 finally came home and was describing my trips to Libby, she'd say things like, "Where was that?" and "Well, how did you see that?" and so forth. 1 said, "I just put one foot in front of the other and took myself there." Five hundred dollars wasn't a whole lot, even then. We had Fodor's book, Europe on $5.00 a Day. And boy, did we read it like a Bible. That $5.00 a day was to give you hotel and breakfast-it gave us everything. 1 never knew how tight 1 could be until 1 got there. We each had taken hundreds of plastic sacks with us and a large jar of instant coffee. At the time, when you rode a bus in France or Spain, they didn't stop for meals-everybody packed their own lunches. We didn't know that, so the first time we got on for a day's ride we had no lunch and the people began taking out their chicken and their sandwiches and so forth and we didn't have a thing. One of the women turned to me and said, "Aren't you two going to eat your lunch?" 1 said, "We didn't know, we thought we would stop and get lunch somewhere." The woman was just horrified for us. "Oh no! Oh dear!" She had everybody on the bus bring us something to eat or drink. 1 liked Europe, 1 really did. But more than anyplace else, Turkey was my favorite. 1just fell in love with it. We had come to Turkey for a short little visit of a week or two and 1 ended up staying for years. When we got to Turkey, 1 think 1 knew 1 had finally come home.

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TViLvteeVl My traveling companion Lorraine was a good kid. At thirty-two, she was almost thirty years younger than I. What we had in common was the fact that we had both scrimped and saved to take our trip. In so many other ways we were very different. I was social and outgoing. She was shy and reticent. A good looking woman properly dressed can get quite a bit of attention and Lorraine was sure eager to meet fellows and get married and so forth, but she never attracted anybody. I just couldn't understand it. She was nice looking and dressed well, but wherever we went the locals just seemed to cling to me and I kept pushing them off onto Lorraine because I liked her and she wanted somebody so badly. Here I was nearly sixty and they were still interested in me. Personally, I didn't care if Joe Bloke liked me or not. I was in Europe to see the sights, not to find a date. Although Lorraine and I were on a budget, that never seemed to interfere with us having a good time. Nobody could squeeze the eagle on a dollar until it looked like a stork like we could. Over in Europe, when you have breakfast, you get something to drink and a basket of hot bread and rolls. We'd eat all the crumbly ones and take the rest of the bread and butter and put it in the plastic bags we had brought from the states. Ifwe wanted to see a fancy restaurant we had read about, we'd go at lunch and order a salad or something. We couldn't afford to go for dinner. For evening, we'd simply go by the market and pick up some cold meat to have with the bread and butter we'd save from our breakfast. We'd have fruit and instant coffee made with hot water right out of our hotel room faucet. Lorraine and I got by on very little. We traveled for months and got by on $500.00 apiece! After Gibraltar, we went up into Spain and stayed for two or three weeks. We went to Madrid, Seville-all the major sites. We saw a gorgeous mosque with hundreds of pillars. We went into an antique store where they had a Bible from the eleventh or twelfth century. They were selling pages out of that Bible, so I bought a page with big, beautiful, ornate lettering where the chapter began. I was just thrilled to have it. Eventually, I had that framed and gave it to Neville and Eric. We took a local bus and went down across to France. We didn't make it to Paris but we traveled along the coast and saw the Mediterranean. We were there in January so it was cold. We went across to Italy and saw Genoa, Florence, Venice and Rome. I bought quite a few dolls in Florence. One day, we were on the lesser side of the river and I got to asking about antique stores in the area. We found this cute little antique store where I bought the centerpiece for the creche that's now in the museum. I bought about six or eight dolls there. We didn't care much for Rome so we hurried onto Naples and just loved it. I found seven more dolls in Naples. Some of the dolls I kept with me, others I shipped back to the United States. We came back into Sorrento to the city square. On one side ofthe square was a church, on another side was a hotel, and on a third was an antique store, so, you know where I went. You see I had a separate amount for "doll money" over and above the $500.00. After Sorrento, we went back up to Naples and then took the ship across to Turkey. When I got to Turkey, there just wasn't any doubt in my mind that I had been there before. I think I must have come to the awareness of reincarnation way back when I was about nine. I didn't really hear the word until I was in my twenties and had read

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an article somewhere about Edgar Cayce. But long before that I figured out there was much more going on in life than most people had a clue about. I would spend hours alone with myself trying to answer questions that Mama didn't think a nine-year-old should be asking, like: "Who taught God what He knows?" "Did God have any parents?" "Doesn't it seem like with all the problems in the world, God made an awful lot of mistakes?" "Why do our bodies have to go through school, grow up, get old, suffer, die, and then simply get buried to be food for the worms?" "Mama, that doesn't make any sense-why would God have a plan like that?" Mama would talk about heaven and being an angel and so forth but that just made me feel worse. I didn't want to be an angel. I wanted to do something when I died. These questions, plus the fact I just knew there was something I was supposed to be doing with my life, kept me awake at night as a kid and nearly drove my Mama crazy. I kept wondering about God and she kept wondering about me. But when I finally got to Turkey, I just knew I had lived there before. I just knew it. It was a homecoming for me. Funny thing, I had planned to go and spend a couple of weeks with this military couple that I'd known in the states, Iris and John Louton, but I ended up staying for several years. Iris and I had been good friends back in Waco-I met John through the Air Force base and then later I met his wife. We kept in touch even after the military had sent John to Turkey. They hated it. Hated it. At the time of their transfer I had told her, "Oh, Iris, if I could go anyplace I'd choose, I'd rather go to Turkey than anywhere else in the world." I tried to tell her, "Everything's happening in Turkey. Get a little hep with some of your history," and so on. But she didn't like it. Anyhow, after they left the states we kept in touch and once in awhile I'd write, "If you have anything that I could do there, let me know because I'd come in an instant!" When Lorraine and I planned our trip overseas, Iris wrote me, "If you go to Europe, and you don't come down to see me in Turkey, there goes our friendship." I told her I'd have Lorraine with me but Iris insisted, "Bring her along." So we switched plans a little bit and canceled Greece so that we could go to Turkey during the last part of our trip. There are three ways to come to Turkey: you drive across Europe, you fly, or you come by ship. We arrived by ship. Coming up through the Straights with the Dardenielles on one side and Asia on the other was a real thrill. Our port of call was Istanbul-the only city in the world to be built on two continents, Europe and Asia. It is a land riddled with historical ruins, the ghosts of fallen kings and emperors, and the lost civilizations of great empires. These things I knew from history but I don't think I could have ever imagined the incredible journey that lay ahead of me. The sights and sounds filled me with the strangest sense of coming home, of remembering history, of being taken back to my studies more than forty years previously, and even before that. For me, Turkey really was confirmation and proof that I had lived before. Lorraine enjoyed all that we saw, as well, but for her the images were just fascinating scenes of things she hadn't ever witnessed. She did not have the same sense of returning home. One ofthe first things we saw as we came into port was an enormous freighter emptying its cargo right onto men's backs. Each man took his position depending upon the amount of load he could carry-just like a truck has weight loads back in the United

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States. Apparently, the Turks didn't consider a load too heavy unless the man fell down. These people who can carry great loads are called "hummals" or load-bearers, and they're really amazing to watch. A year later I saw an elderly man carry a full-size u.S. refrigerator all by himself on his back up three flights of steps to my apartment. How they did it? I don't know. At the shipyard, some ofthese men were getting two large crates loaded onto their backs straight from the ship. These loads are so heavy that the men can barely stand with their heads bending down to just above their knees. It turns out, every year they had an exhibition of these hummals to see how much they could carry. As Lorraine and I came onto the dock, we also saw a couple of Orthodox priests (with black beards and black robes) blessing all the people as they passed by. I felt like I had been officially welcomed. We had a couple of days in port to see the sights of Istanbul before we took a taxi to Ankara to meet John and Iris. Both of us really enjoyed our time there in the city. A couple of days later, we got the taxi and took the ride to Ankara. I have to say that Iris and John were just tickled to death to see us. When I saw Iris, I had my suitcase in one hand and my tote bag in the other. Lorraine and I had been traveling nonstop for months. Although the Loutons had been in Turkey about a year and a half, Iris still wasn't happy about it. She told us, "John has been in the service long enough that he shouldn't have been sent to a place like this." I said, "Oh, Iris, I think Turkey is the jumping offplace for the world. You've got ruins and four or five countries to see. There's everything here." We got to Ankara about 10:00 p.m. at night and John and Iris took us out to their apartment. I thought it might be good to spend a day or so with Iris before we got around to seeing the city but the very next morning Iris said, "I know you're tired but I want to get you up and get breakfast, Captain so-and-so's coming to see you." And I said, "What?" Turned out she had lined up a job prospect for me. A couple of weeks earlier, Iris had been at some function or other for the officers' wives. Apparently, they wanted her to take part in a committee but she told them, "I can't, I'm getting company." Well, ifyou've ever been in the service, you know how exciting having "new blood" can be. Everybody wants to know about things stateside, and the new hairdos, and what to wear, and the length of skirts, and so forth. Iris told them she had known me in the states. She let them know that I was from the military, had directed several service clubs, and been to Korea and whatnot. They were just thrilled, "Oh we must meet her. We must have her here." That's how it went. You don't really need a telephone, or tele-anything in the military. The word just gets around pretty fast. It spread like wildfire that I was going to be visiting. It turns out that the wife of the head of personnel was at that party. She went home and told her husband about this new woman coming in from the states. They were very excited about my arrival because the service club at Ankara needed a new director. There had been a problem and the director had been asked to leave. I later found out that this girl they had fired from the service club was homely and short with a thin, wispy mustache but she could sing like an angel. She had fallen in love with a Turkish Captain and planned to marry him. Unfortunately, he had been engaged since the age of two to the girl he was supposed to marry. It was an arranged

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family thing but it made no difference to my predecessor; she was certain she was going to get him. She just about cracked up when this Turkish fellow went off with the other girl. She was so far out of it mentally that the military told her she had to go home. This whole incident occurred while John F. Kennedy was president. At the same time, due to some kind of budget problem the President had put a hiring freeze on shipping any more non-essential military personnel off to foreign locations. If someone's duty was up, that person was simply sent home and wasn't replaced. The government didn't want to bear the expense of sending any more personnel to another country. So here was this service club responsible for 25,000 American troops that couldn't get a replacement for its director. The choices were they either had to close the club, wait two years until the freeze was over, or hire someone locally to take over. Suddenly, an American shows up with background in military service clubs that they could hire as a local. The head of personnel told me they couldn't have done better if they'd advertised the job in the United States. He wanted to hire me on the spot. I told him, "Yes, I'm interested. But I'm on vacation. I've got a couple ofkids back home. Give me two weeks to think about it, wire home, and so forth." In those two weeks, Iris took Lorraine and I all over Ankara. Amazingly, at the same time another service club in the area had heard about me and came to see me. Up to that time everything in Ankara was Air Force and then suddenly the U.S. government had built a brand new Army military establishment, which they called "Site 23" because it was just twenty-three miles from Ankara. Of course, gossip was traveling all over the place and the sergeant from Site 23 came to talk to me as well, "I want you to come out and look at it. Everything is brand new. Doesn't even have the doors open yet." He said he'd never seen anything as lovely and that it was better than the officers' club was. There was no one to run it because of the freeze.

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The sergeant took me out to see it. It was gorgeous but the drawback was that I'd be stuck twenty-three miles from town. I was very "duty called" and yet I wanted to stay where I could have contact with my friends. It was quite a temptation. They had such a beautiful service club. While I was still thinking about which position to accept, both Site 23 and the Ankara Service Club sent word back to the Pentagon that they wanted to hire me. I decided to go wherever the military said. Three days later the word came back from the Pentagon that since I had first been offered the job in Ankara, I should take the job with the Air Force. I decided to take it. Lorraine and I had traveled all over Europe since December and then suddenly I was offered this job out ofthe blue. I stayed in Turkey and Lorraine went back to the United States. I got my Captain's rating and I began work within two weeks of my arrival. It was exciting to suddenly have a new, totally unexpected life, even though I think Angie and Eric must have thought I was crazy. My work was cut out for me but I enjoyed it. One disadvantage about the Air Force was that they really didn't have an established base in Ankara. Everything was separated and laid out over an area of about ten to twenty blocks. One big old office building had been turned over to personnel. The service club had its own building. Every department had a building somewhere in town but not necessarily right next door. As a result, there were two Turkish bus services taking the staff to the various locations and the Air Force had established its own bus service. I found out pretty quickly that the service club director before me didn't have the proper experience or know-how to be directing a club. The types of programs she offered the boys were pretty minimal. Lots of times she had advertised something for a whole month and then had to cancel it due to lack of interest. Even the simplest things seemed to escape her. Never once had she offered a bingo party. Nearly every weekend she'd offer a service club tour to some part of the country and a few people might sign up but attendance was so pitiful that she never once had a quota. The whole time she'd been there not one of her tours had actually happened, so you know people just stopped signing up because they knew the program would end up being canceled anyway. About the only thing she did have was a monthly recital program where she'd sing to the officers. Everyone told me that she really had a lovely voice. Since the Colonel had stated everything was ready for the new service club director to just step in, you can imagine my surprise when I found out what was really going on. Although the club had a huge five-story building, my predecessor had only been using the first two floors. I went through that building and pretty well got the layout just by looking around the place. Down on the first floor there was a big long table, which I thought would just be ideal for refreshments. There was a nice pool table on the second floor and some chairs sitting around and some magazines. There was a big bulletin board hanging across from the director's office which simply held schedules of all the programs that everyone else knew would be canceled. I tell you, there was just nothing going on and nothing for the service people to do with their time. The third floor had tables and chairs that could be used if there was going to be some kind of party or food and refreshments, and the fourth floor had a really nice photography laboratory that had never even been used. There was also a plastics studio

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where you could have classes making plastic boxes and so forth as plastic was just becoming popular. After I toured the service club, the Colonel came to see me, "Mrs. Peterson if you need anything just let me know. I think you'll find that the previous director had things pretty well arranged." "Colonel, they tell me that most of her programs never actually took place..." "Well, but she had a very nice schedule of tours to the area." "I understand that never once did any of her tours actually happen." "But I got all these program flyers sent to me...?" "Colonel, they never happened. She never even had one tour." Because ofthe way the base was set up, he was clear across town and had just assumed everything he read about was taking place. He really liked the idea of doing tours. I got to talking and said, "Colonel, personally I'd appreciate it ifyou didn't make me have a tour right away. There's so much that needs to be done in the service club to begin with. Let me work for two or three months and get a little better acquainted with Turkey before we start offering tours again. I don't feel comfortable doing tours when I don't know anything about the area." He said, "We were so happy that she was offering all these tours because we wanted the boys to see something of the real people rather than just one another around the base and the 'kapoji' Ganitor) or the housemaid. We put up with all kinds of things, her problems with her boyfriend and so forth because I thought she was having all of these tours." "Never one, Colonel. .." "I think real tours need to start happening immediately." "Colonel, please, I have never been on a tour, in my life. I don't know anything about an official tour. I don't know anything about them. I don't even know where to go. Let me get settled and then we'll worry about the tours. Ifwe're going to do it, then I want to do it right. Give me two or three months to get the club started and get some people coming, so that I have someone to recruit." He sat there and shook his head. "You do need a couple ofweeks to get things organized and get some kind of activities started but Mrs. Peterson, I really want a tour to happen by the end ofthe month. The boys don't see anything but a base. They don't know any ofthe nice people out here 'in the wilderness'-the native Turks. I want them to experience some of the area and the real people. Just find some simple place and take them. Advertise it and so on. See how it goes and if nobody signs up for it, then you can get better acquainted with the country for a couple of months." He smiled at me and seemed sincere, "I'm not asking for any more than the best you can do." So we shook hands on that and I got busy with my new job. I didn't have any idea where to take a tour so I asked Iris and she was the one who said, "If I were you, I'd take them over to Izmir by plane and then take a bus to the Mediterranean. At least they'd get a nice view of the Sea." I asked her, "What else is there to do there?" And she said, "Well, not much." I didn't know where anything was and Iris didn't care. I was green as a gooseberry on that first tour. After picking Izmir, I decided my biggest challenge was going to be advertising, so what to do, what to do? It came to me that since so many ofthe service ~50

AV\.tgeL(i{ PetevsoV\.t (i{V\.td. eV\.ttouv(i{ge, F(i{tc,vrpuv, sL~vL, CV1vLstVVt(i{s D(i{tj, -L3b4 people were spending a part of each day on one ofthe buses, I could make posters about a tour and have a poster put on each bus. I could also make posters and put them in the entryway to all the other office buildings on the base. I put an ad in the GI paper and in the English section of the Turkish paper. Other than getting things organized in the service club, most of my work that first two weeks was for the tour. You can imagine my frustration when the deadline for registration finally arrived the Thursday before departure and we didn't have enough people signed up to make the tour pay for itself. I called the Colonel and expressed my disappointment. "Colonel, we need to cancel. I think you know I really tried to get this tour to happen but I only have eight people signed up. I feel badly because some ofthem even told me that they were signing up in spite of the fact that the program wasn't going to happen.. .! needed fourteen people to get this tour to go, and I just didn't get them." There was a pause on his end ofthe line before he finally spoke, "We're going to have the tour anyway. Ifyou had eight people that had enough faith in you to sign up, then we're not going to let them down. Where is it you're planning to take them?" "I'm going to take them to Izmir because it's down by the beach and if there wasn't that much else to see, at least the group would see the Mediterranean and we've got a good hotel. There's also supposed to be a nice theatre there. I figured some of the locals could briefme on any historical sites once we arrived. But Colonel, without fourteen people we don't have enough money to cover the cost of the trip." "Mrs. Peterson, I've got an old cigar box in the bottom of my desk for emergencies. I would say this is an emergency. I want you to go ahead and take those eight people to Izmir and give them the best possible time you can give them. Don't worry about the money." So I took the tour. We left Friday morning and we came back Sunday afternoon. We had beautiful weather the whole time. It was March so the water was cold but the sun was out and we had a chance to lie on the beach. I took them to the city square and the best restaurant in town for dinner. We saw what ruins we could and had a really nice time together. Well, when it was over, this group came back just singing my praises, telling everybody what a nice trip they had had and how it was one of the

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grandest tours they'd ever been on and so forth. The group wanted to know where I'd be going next because they didn't want to miss out. "Give me two months to make some plans, because I don't even know anyplace else to be going at this point." They were real eager to go again with me as their leader. They'd never had such a good time in their lives and "Why didn't the other girl have these?" You know, it wasn't until I got to Turkey that I discovered I had a real talent for leading tours. My first tour I had eight people and within eight months, I'd have ninety-three on a program. I'm a born tour leader. There were people who would go with me twenty times to the same place! I was told things like, "You always have something interesting to say," and "There's always something new and different on your tours." I think my tours were so popular because I really did my homework. I read an awful lot about Turkey. It came in real handy too when I started writing a regular column on Turkish sites for the Nevar Neyok travel magazine. After that first trip, I always made a site visit before I took a tour somewhere. I felt sure I'd been to Turkey because so much of the information just seemed to come naturally to me. I read archaeology books and history books, and books on the early Church. In those years I was in Turkey, I ended up visiting sixty-one oftheir sixty-four provinces at least once. I couldn't get to the others because at the time there was no road to take a tour group to that section of the mountains. In addition to Turkey, I also led tours to fifteen other countries. People said that I was a natural at leading a tour. Well because of all this traveling, in time I got to know quite a number ofthe Turks in government. I knew several of their congressmen and senators, or whatever you call them, over there, and several of the president's council. Eventually, all these people would come and ask me a question about an ancient site or about one of their country's provinces: "Mrs. Peterson, tell me about so-and-so." They'd say things like, "You know more about Turkey than any Turk. So and so may be an authority on forests, so and so's an authority on roads, but you know about everything here." So I'd tell them about a site or answer a question they might have and later I'd see my words quoted in the paper but the paper would usually quote my words as coming from the Turkish congressman and not some Mrs. Peterson from the United States. Still, I just loved Turkey and for the most part I got to see the whole country. Excerpt from Nevar Neyok in Turkey Tourism Guide; Angela Peterson's regular column focusing on Turkish sites and history; July 31, 1965: Editor's Note: Angela Peterson is an expert in Turkish travel. Before coming to Turkey in 1962 she served in various fields in her home country-as high school teacher, public relations director, recreation director, radio personality and manager of a community theater... Pergamum Pergamum was a comparatively new city in the early days of Christianity, not more than 500 years old while its neighbors, Smyrna, Ephesus, Manisa, were 2500 years old or older. But what a roistering youngster Pergamum was. Antioch and Alexandria had no more to offer. War spoils were garrisoned here, which made it rich, and being rich citizens had leisure in which to enjoy the "good life."

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The magnificent library held over 200,000 scrolls; the theatre had revolving stages; the Hippodrome stage was moveable and built over a stream so that great water shows and battles with crocodiles and hippopotami could be produced. While great temples to all the major gods vied for attention, the temple of Zeus, so great in size and beauty, was the most sumptuous. Known allover the Roman world was the Asclepion where the wise and learned from everywhere congregated for study and discussion ...

As service club director, one of the first things I did in addition to the tour was to help organize an honest to goodness American football game. At the time, I heard it was the first American football game played in the Middle East. I don't know for certain but that's what I was told. Anyway, our team was made up of boys from the base and the other team included the servicemen from a German base. I told the Colonel we needed to make it just as real as back home and he told me, "Do whatever needs to be done." Colonel Maryland was like that. I wanted to have cheerleaders so I went to the local university and recruited about twenty girls, which I promised to chaperone. I had each ofthe girls wear a blouse and a full stadium skirt. I got some little horns and some tambourines to help with the cheers. The fact that we were going to have girls there impressed the servicemen who wouldn't have bothered with the game otherwise, so by the time ofthe event the whole stadium was filled. It passed for a pretty good game-almost as good as a real football game back home. The nice thing about that program was that it helped acquaint me with some of the locals who would come in handy later on in my work. I really got involved in my job at that base. After a couple of months I had tours going nearly every weekend in addition to a full program line-up all week at the club. I had a good bit of help. I had a secretary who was just brilliant, Suheyla (I always called her "Sue"). She had a Master's Degree from the University of New Delhi. Her only problem was that she was a little stubborn. Like so many Turks, she hated the idea oftrying something new. I'd often hear her say something like, "But we don't do it that way." The Turks had their own way of doing things and didn't often see a reason to change. In order to change her attitude, I started taking Sue with me on a number of those tour programs, which helped us both quite a bit. I also had a sergeant who was wonderful at keeping track ofwhat was going on where and what needed to be tidied up and so forth. There were three master sergeants that worked for me in the evenings to keep the programs running, or over the weekend when I'd be out traveling somewhere. The colonel was very nice and very supportive and so was my immediate supervisor-a young first Lieutenant who didn't know much about service clubs but admitted that he didn't know and helped out however he could. I tell you, for about four or five months it was a wonderful job. After that first tour to Izmir, it became clear to me that I needed a local Turk who could acquaint me with hotels and transportation and so forth. I could only take a military bus fifty miles from the base, so beyond that we needed to hire Turkish transportation. In 1962, there were thirteen travel agencies in Ankara and not a one of them led tours or arranged tours; all they really did was act as brokers for tickets. They sold airline tickets and train tickets and ship tickets and tickets for the bus, but no tours. There wasn't any kind of organized tour anywhere in the country. I sent a letter to each of these agencies telling them I was looking for help for the service club ~53

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and that I needed to hire a local travel company to make some of the arrangements with what we were planning. Didn't I become popular all at once? "Yes, we'd be happy to help out," and "Yes, most of our staff speaks English," and "Yes, we've been all over the country and would be happy to work with you," and "Yes, it would be our pleasure to show you what you need to know," and so forth. I decided to personally interview each one of them. Many ofthe agents brought translators in with them because their English wasn't quite up to snuff. And each of them told me pretty much the same thing, "Captain Peterson, I know all about Turkey and tours to our country. I'm just what you're looking for." The last person I saw was a Turk named Cemal (pronounced "Jamal") Bey. He was a short man, nice looking smooth face, and dark hair. He came in without a translator. First thing he did was smile at me and say, "It looks like I'm the end of the line." "Yes." He was completely up front from the very start. "Let me tell you something. I don't know the first thing about a Turkish tour. I've had no experience with them. I don't even know anybody who's ever been on a tour. I'm sure some of the others have told you they know everything about tours, but Captain Peterson, it's just not our culture. The Turks don't tour. I've been to Europe a couple of times but that's it. But I tell you what. I would love to work with you and learn from you. My only request would be that if I take care of the local arrangements, the bus, the hotel, and so forth, you take me on the tours. I want to learn everything I can about what you do. After each program I want to come back to your office first thing the next morning and you sit me down and tell me everything I did well and everything you need me to change. That's how I'd like to work with you." I hired Cemal on the spot. It turned out Cemal was right; they never really had tours in Turkey until I went there. The only place a Turk ever went was to Mecca or Istanbul and that was it. Ten miles out of every city were some ofthe most marvelous ruins you could find and nobody ever bothered to go see them. There were ruins from the Ottoman Empire, ruins from the Hittites, etc. Well, after that first program we did, Cemal was just thrilled. Most of our tours were over the weekend but there were several over the Holidays such at Easter and so forth, that lasted a week. Over the years, there were a couple of sites I went to more than sixty times. Whenever I wasn't with a tour group somewhere, I was off scouting some other place. Excerpt, letter from Angela Peterson to her sister, Helen, Mrs. Gordon White; 19 June, 1962: Dear Sis: I have 10 minutes until the bus so Ican get this started. Today, Cemal is taking me to a metal worker to see about making new clamps for my bus signs advertising the tours. When we're finished, every American will see my posters. After that, I'll get in astaff car and go meet the C.O. out at Site 23 as he wants to talk about some more club programs for his army men. Ialso have to prepare atalk since Iwas told yesterday that I need to give the orientation talk tonight to incoming personnel and their families (60-70) Lieutenant Rorke had to leave until Saturday. I

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may not even have time for lunch today. If it wasn't for the fact that the Kapoji always brings me a cup of coffee at my desk, I might not have time for anything ... I'm frequently amazed how little the Turks have done to advertise their country. Ephesus is supposed to be one of the most interesting and beautiful sites and there isn't even a travel folder on it! I'm going to have to start putting together my own folders ... By the way, I've enclosed asample of the cheap mesh hose I need. The ones with the seam up the back. I last bought 4 pairs at the dime store in Parkersburg for 89 cents and they are just now gone. I can't get anything here but sheers and all the chairs at the club are rough and shag them. When you go to town would you buy me four pairs, size ten, 32 or 33-inch length and send air mail? I really need them for work... Later I forgot to tell you. I had a real adventure a couple of weeks ago. I managed to get a staff car and an interpreter, Nejot, and we went looking for new places for one-day tours. I vaguely recalled reading about prehistoric caves near Gudiel, seventy miles from here. Well, Ifound them. When we got to town and I asked about the caves through Nejot, the natives said, "10 minute walk from end of road-down one hill, up one hilL" Well, we walked over dirt and brush for more than three kilometers and then came to a 1500-foot precipice, which was their "hilL" I only hesitated a moment, gathered my skirts and then followed after the guide. The first 300 feet of descent was nothing but sheer rock, loose shale and dirt, and almost straight down. I was hanging onto the rocks with my bare hands. I said a prayer on the way down and continued. After the first 300 feet, the rock had niches that had been carved into it approximately 5,000 years ago, which made the descent easier. The last hundred feet or so, we slipped and slid to the bottom of the rocks where there was a small river. We followed the rocks around to the other side and came to a c1iff-a 350 foot climb which I knew was their "up one hilL" We walked around the place and I was very impressed. The cliff dwellings made our Mesa Verde seem miniature in comparison. They were magnificent! Ican't describe what it was like to look at them. We walked all over the place and then headed back the way we had come. When I got back to the river again and looked up to where we had to climb, I thought I might die right then and there. I didn't think I could make it, but I did! It gave me a wonderful feeling as I rubbed my bruises and charlyhorses to know I'm the only American woman here to see these caves, and also the only one, I truly believe, who could have scaled that precipice. I may get permission to take men there on aprogram. Iwould never take awoman. I'll call it a"TourforToughies." You should be quite proud of your sixty-year-old sister. Must go to bed now. I'm expecting a rough day tomorrow. Tell Gordon I said hello. Write again soon. I send my love to all, Angela P.S. Sis, why don't you save myoid letters in ashoebox for me? Iseem to write you more fully than Angie or Eric, and these letters might be useful sometime.

In the 1960's, there were already many Americans in Turkey, which made it easier for me in some ways, but there were adjustments to be made nonetheless. For instance, you always had to have your own drain plugs for the bathtub or the sink. It's the Islamic religion. Mohammed had once said, "You never bathe except in running ~55

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water." Of course, it has to do with a desert culture and was stated as a preventative from bathing in contaminated water. But even in the 1960's, there were no plugs in the bathroom. There was no plug in the sink or the tub. There was no plug anywhere. If you wanted a plug, you had to bring your own. The Turks didn't bathe in standing water-it had to be running. They'd get in the tub and they'd have a little bath pan and they'd fill it and then splash it all over themselves, take soap and lather up, and then throw more water on themselves to rinse off. Of course, now they're getting to the point where they can take showers and have running water in the process but at the time it was quite different. It also didn't make any difference whether you ate at the fanciest restaurant in one of the big hotels in Istanbul or you had a meal in your own kitchen, when you drank water you always sprinkled a few drops out onto the floor or the ground for the earth. I can't say it was bad luck not to but it was considered bad manners if you didn't. You got so you'd do it even when alone in your own home. I took me awhile to get the lay of the land, but for the most part I adjusted pretty quickly. I remember once I was out and purchased some really pretty material for a dress. When I was over there, the seamstress would hold whatever material you had selected up to you and cut it out-they had never heard of a pattern. So I had this dress made and I was planning to wear it on a scouting trip. Right away, I noticed that people were watching me kind of peculiarly. Some were even laughing. I had planned on calling on the head of the city but everywhere I went people were snickering. No one would tell me what was going on until I asked my driver. He said, "I don't know where you got this dress, but this is the material we use all over Turkey for towels in the Turkish baths. Mrs. Pete, you're wearing a towel!" Of course, I had to change before I went to see the governor. Years later, I remember hearing this one little story about a touring group from another agency. The group had been riding all day long on a bus until finally coming to a stop in a little town. The group was met by the town's mayor and a little band. The mayor made a speech and so forth, and asked the group if he could be of any assistance. Well, finally, one of the Americans said that all they really wanted to do was to use the restroom. So this whole tour group was ushered into the city to the Mayor's office-the only place that they had an American toilet in the city. Everyone in the group went up that flight of stairs and waited to take turns because there was only one. And the whole time the group was taking turns using the restroom, well, the band played on. The mayor and the city wanted to offer them the very best. The Turks were like that, very accepting and treated you like you were one ofthem. Even though the Turks weren't used to tours, they loved having tourists. One time I was on a bus next to an old lady. She came in and just sat down beside me. She was struggling with this big bundle, until she finally passed it to me and said, "Hold this for me." So I took it and saw two sets of feet coming out of that bag. Turns out it had two chickens in it with their feet tied together. Each was wrapped up in this bundle so that only their head, feet, and tails were sticking out. The rest of each chicken was wrapped up in a newspaper inside the bag. I must have held onto that bundle for thirty or forty minutes until the old woman got off at her stop. I really loved working at the Ankara Service Club under Colonel Maryland. After a couple of months, the c.o. at the Army base's Site 23 came to get me on my day off and talked to me about arranging some activities for his men. We worked

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together on a joint picnic for July 4th and so forth. In some ways, it reminded me of the work I had done in Waco when I had been working with the city and the small base at the same time. Here I was doing work for the Ankara Service Club and a little bit of consultation for Site 23 on the side. TUSLOG Paper (Turkey - U.S. Log); Friday, July 27, 1962: Touring Topics-Black Sea, September 1-3 Sightseeing, swimming, fishing, boat rides, are all being offered during this three-day bus tour to the Black Sea (Akcakoca). The tour is being scheduled by the Ankara Base Service Club for Saturday, Sunday, and Monday, September 1-3. This tour is designed to bring you in touch with the way of village life and customs of Turkey. Accommodations will be clean and adequate but not to the standards of the Tuseon Hotels. The novelty of staying in a Turkish home as a paying guest is something not everyone can have. Price of the tour is 200 TL. per person and includes: Bus transportation; pension accommodation; meals; tips to porters and waiters; tour conductor; swimming and fishing fees; boat ride on the Black Sea; dancing; and sightseeing. Those planning to make this tour should take warm sweaters, walking shoes, bathing suits, and fishing tackle. Reservations must be in before 5 p.m. on Wednesday, August 29. Aminimum of 50 TL. is required at the time the reservation is made.

I started my job at the service club the first week in March and I was definitely planning to re-enlist at the end of the year. The tour of duty for the woman I had replaced was officially up in December about two weeks before Christmas. For several months, I knew I would simply re-enlist and stay on the base and then all at once changes started happening. What had been such a wonderful job suddenly went straight downhill. It was just awful. Excerpt, letter from Angela to her sister, Helen White; 29 July, 1962: Dear Sis: I'm enclosing our most recent ad for the program to the Black Sea. We're expecting to have a full tour as it's a wonderful time of year to visit. I haven't written in some time as there has been nothing but bad news. Lieutenant Rorke has been transferred and as of mid-August, Colonel Maryland has been transferred as well. I don't know why the military has to make changes whenever things seem to be running smoothly. Iris warned me that mismanagement has become the norm in the Air Force... You know my airman Kenny? The one who helps me at the club? Well, he's awaiting court-martial. Monday night he went to the N.C.O. Club and got drunk. They got him in a card game and took all of his pay. Apparently, he still owed some money and he got frantic. He came back to my office, broke in, and robbed the safe where I hold the tour deposits. Somehow, he broke open the strong box and got $4000 Turkish Lira (about $440 U.S.the exchange is around 9 to 1). There's a lot more to this story, but I can't write some of the details. Tuesday morning, Cemal came to my office for final arrangements on the Izmir tour, which leaves Thursday. Kenny was due in that morning, as well, but he never showed up. I worried he might be sick. Anyway, when I opened the safe to get the ~57-

KevLVvJ. TodesGV1L deposits for Cemal, that's when I knew the money had been robbed. The strong box had been pried open with a pair of scissors and apparently Kenny had jabbed his hands because there was blood allover everything. Every cent was gone. All that was left was a hand-scrawled note, "Sorry Kenny." I simply went to pieces. Sue called O.S.I. and they came: fingerprints, photos, and whatnot. Since it was known that only two knew the combination (myself and Kenny), Iwas informed that I was as much a suspect as Kenny until he was brought in or confessed. I was told that I could not accompany the Izmir trip nor was I to leave town. Finally, Kenny turned himself in on Thursday evening, but the trip had already gone on without me... To make matters worse, this morning I met Lt. Rorke's replacement-a Negro, Master Sergeant, who wants us to call him Dabney. I was all set to put aside what happened with Kenny and my depression over both the Colonel and the Lieutenant leaving, but Dabney has his own way of doing things. He said, his job is to tell me what programs to have and how to run aclub. I told him I really didn't need anyone to tell me how to create a program or how to run one, what I needed was help in carrying out some of our activities. Oh no! His job was not to help do anything. He is my supervisor. He said that I should be on duty at 8:00 a.m. "like everyone else"-I usually get here by 9:00. He also said he "specs me to be at the club until 10 at night, six nights a week." Helen, I get paid for 40 hours! You tell me how one person can endure such a schedule? To top it off, during our meeting, Dabney said he was going through the Lieutenant's files and came across the fact that" an Air Force stove and icebox" were in my possession in my apartment. I told him that Lt. Rorke had loaned them to me to use because we could not get authorization to ship my furniture from the states and that my housing allowance was so low that I couldn't afford to rent a furnished apartment. I said that the Lieutenant had even helped me move them into my apartment and he set them up himself. Dabney announced that my "little arrangement" was out, "they are to be returned to this base by 0800 hours on 1st August and not a minute later." I said, "But what willi do?" He said, "I don't give a g__ damn what you do, just see to it that they are in on time." He added, "I want everyone around here to know who's running the show from now on." I don't know where it will go from here. I like my job and could do agood job if they'd give me the chance. Sue says she'll help me go apartment hunting this afternoon ... Sis, I send my love and ask that you pray for me, Angela

They pulled Colonel Maryland in August and sent him to Germany because the brass thought "he was too good for Turkey." I spoke with the new Colonel on the phone for a few moments after he had arrived and got settled but it became very clear to me that the service club was the least of his priorities for starters and he had absolutely no use for women in the military. The conversation was very brusque and very brief. It was obvious that he would be no help in my relationship with Dabney, Lieutenant Rorke's replacement. Honestly, I was all set to get along with Dabney but he had his own agenda. In fact, he made life hard on all of us. He was put in charge of all the non-military departments and was instantly hateful and mean to everyone but that wasn't the worst of it. During one of our first meetings while he was sitting down in my office next to me, I was telling him about some of our plans, and goings on in the club, and so forth.

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And all at once he started putting his hands all over me. He literally started feeling up my skirt, and tickled my breasts, and I had to just push him away and told him to stop it. He just laughed and acted like the whole thing had been my idea in the first place. It became very clear to me what kind of supervision he had in mind and I set him straight from the very beginning, "I don't play like that." If our relationship started out bad, it went completely downhill after that. After a couple of months, many of the girls in his departments just started to quit. I don't know if he was inappropriate with them or not but regardless he was so nasty and harsh that a number of people decided being around him just wasn't worth it. He didn't know anything about running a service club, or travels, or tours, or anything. He had no idea. He was just there, filling space and making us all miserable. He seemed to clamp down on me especially hard until I didn't know how much longer I could take it. Excerpt, letter from Angela Peterson to her sister, Helen White; 6 Sept., 1962: Dear Sis: Was so glad to hear news of the Camp Revival. I was thrilled they asked about me and happy to have an update on Marie Richards and all of the speakers. I don't want to comment on all the interesting things you wrote but keep the news coming. I read and reread every letter... Today, Dabney said I'm not supposed to go on the tours any longer as I'm not needed on them once they're planned. I was just stunned. Already we have 45 signed up for the Black Sea, which is alii could take, and awaiting list for the trip to Goreme. I was supposed to do Bursa in October and Athens for Thanksgiving, and once news got around about Dabney, the first thing everyone wants to know before signing up is whether or not I'm going. At the end of this month, I'm supposed to fly to Troy as guest of the Turkish Ambassador. They're trying to promote tours to the area. Nice! I hope I can still go. I got awonderful letter from Angie. She really enjoyed your visit. Bless her! I know she and Jim are having a hard time financially. Said you two talked all night. Oh, I wish I could have been there! Tell me about how Angie's kids are growing. At that age, they change very fast. Let me know about how big Elizabeth Ann is now, and of the developing personalities of Karen and Erica. I do miss them ... Vice President Johnson and Lady Bird were here in Turkey at the Embassy for a visit. Oh Lord! The fuss and expense. They are said to be the world's nastiest and most demanding VIP's when they travel. The locals even swept the entire road from the airport into town for 15 miles if you can believe! I didn't go to the Embassy to see them-invitations were only issued to Ambassadors and Generals. Still, what an expense...

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Excerpt, letter from Angela Peterson to her sister, Helen White; 3 October, 1962: Dear Sis: ... Dabney changed my days off, and said from now on I'm supposed to work Saturday and Sunday and to take another day off during the week when nothing is going on at the club. There was a problem on the Bursa tour that he wouldn't let me accompany, one of the women had a heart attack-some of the participants said I was really needed to help care for the situation, but, of course, I wasn't there. Dabney has also decided that I am to accept NO invitations to speak or attend afunction of any kind without clearing it through him. When I got invited to Troy, he said, "Why didn't they ask me? I'm your boss." I'm not aquitter, but he's driving me in that direction. Sis, you're right-nothing is worth losing your Light and strength over. This job is tearing me up. Dabney makes it impossible. If something doesn't open up elsewhere, at one of the hotels, or Site 23, or one of the agencies, I don't think I'll re-enlist. I'll come home for Christmas...

Excerpt, letter from Angela Peterson to her sister, Helen White; 17 October, 1962: ... I'm sending another box of dolls for you to store for me. Please put them in the attic with the others. It's not good for them to be in boxes, but I guess it's the best I can arrange for now. It's going to sound extravagant, but I bought myself the most beautiful mink coat you've ever seen. I just love it. The shop owner said that he's sold all kinds of coats on account of my tours, so he gave me a really good price. If I come home for Christmas, it's definitely coming with me. Speaking of Christmas, I'm having a number of garnet rings made for all of the girls. Kathy is probably the only one who will appreciate it now, but the others will later. The stones vary in size and shape but each is beautiful! All week it has made me feel good to think of them. The girls could hardly get anything nicer. The jeweler, Oktay, says I have an instinct for fine things. He told me I picked out the very best stones in his shop. Even here, they are far from cheap but I'll bet stateside they're worth six times what I'm paying for them. I may not ever be in aposition again to give such nice gifts. I ordered a ring for myself with beautiful pigeon blood rubies ...

Excerpt, letter from Angela Peterson to her sister, Helen White; 3 November, 1962: Dear Sis: I've finally made up my mind to resign. I'm working on my letter now and will give it to Dabney on December 1 to be effective December 15. Cemal has offered to get me avery special round-trip rate on Pan Am (about 1/4th). It's cheaper than a regular one-way. I could come home for about 45 days, be there for Christmas, see the kids and the grandkids, and be able to take care of my income tax. I hope my coming wouldn't interrupt your plans. Sue said she would take care of my apartment and look after things while I'm gone. I could go to Angie and Jim's for Christmas, then yours right after, and see Eric and Neville before coming back. I've got several possibilities in the works. It's still just a dream at the moment, but we'll see...

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If nothing works out, Cousin Helen is begging me to come back to South America for several months. I do want to stay here. I love Turkey, but not enough to take this S__ t! Even now, Sue is out looking for another job and several of my regular staff have just quit. Please pray that I'm guided to do the right thing ... Write again soon! Love, Angela P.S. If the American Astrology Digest for 1963 is out, would you send it to me?

Excerpt, letter from Iris Louton to Mrs. Gordon White; December 7, 1962: Dear Helen: Perhaps "Mrs. White" would be more appropriate but it would seem very unnatural to me, as I have heard Angela speak so often and so affectionately of you that it feels as if I know you. Angela will be leaving soon so that she can be with loved ones for the Holidays. She has had a rough time here and I think she is concerned that her family won't understand her problems. I am writing this without her knowledge. I think her concern is due to the fact that she is generally able to bring about and maintain a congenial atmosphere wherever she might work. She has not been able to do that here, nor has anyone else involved in the situation. Angela has worked against terrific odds. Regardless of all she has told you, it is impossible to describe the situation or for you to imagine the ugly, ugly things she has been forced to endure. I am writing just to let you know that I am very concerned about her, and I hope her family tries to understand what has been going on. Angela gave me your address a while back in case of illness. I would appreciate it if you would keep my address and let me know how Angela fares while she's on that side of the world. I have known Angela since 1949 and feel as close as a sister; therefore I hope you won't mind my familiarity. My best to you and yours, Iris Louton

I resigned from my position at the Ankara Service Club. As much as I loved Turkey, I just couldn't remain any longer. I had sought work at Site 23 but they had finally been able to hire a service club director. No other position was available with any of the hotels or the local travel agencies but several of them had mentioned "future possibilities." Cemal Bey was looking into possibilities, as well. I returned to the United States in December of 1962. I was happy to be coming home and seeing the kids and my family. I was worried about leaving but felt certain something would work out that would enable me to return. Sue moved into my apartment and promised to watch after it. After all, Turkey had such a hold on me; I just knew somehow I had to come back.

FouvteeV'v I was in the states for a couple of months, not really certain when I would have the opportunity to return to Turkey. I tried every way I knew to set up a position for myself but without success. I was certain I was going back "IT" even told me I would be returning. I just couldn't figure our how. While I was home, I gave quite a number oftalks on Turkey and showed some of my collection. Cemal wanted me to come back to Turkey so badly and I wanted to go back. When I had left, he told me, "You'll come back. You belong here." Through his agency, he got me a round-trip ticket from Turkey to the United States without a return date on it and I came home for Christmas. I really had a wonderful time with the kids, Eric and Neville, andAngie and Jim, and all the grandchildren. I loved seeing Helen and Gordon and their family. I was ushered from one place to the next and treated like some foreign dignitary but I wanted to go back. Although it had only been a year, I truly considered Turkey "my home." I was so happy there. Except for my children, it was the most wonderful part of my life. Excerpt, The Parkersburg News; Sunday, February 24, 1963: Mrs. Peterson Has Antiques Dating Back Many Centuries The Antique Study Group is an informal organization of young married women from Marietta and Devola who are all interested in learning more about antiques. The enthusiastic group meets once a month at the homes of the members. At their recent meeting held in the home of Mrs. Charles Ballard of Montgomery St., Marietta, they were fortunate in having a program with antiques, which dated back many centuries. Mrs. Angela Peterson, aformer resident of Parkersburg, spoke to the women and displayed several pieces of antique jewelry, which she had acquired on her travels and visits through South America, Europe, and the Middle East. One of the most interesting pieces was a ring set with nine, cut pigeon blood rubies about 3,000 years old. These stones, she explained, were found by a young man while working in his father's fields in Turkey when his plow uncovered the grave of a young Hittite girl. "In the slim white bones of her small hand was a gold cup containing the rubies which had lain buried since about 1100 B.C.," Mrs. Peterson said, adding the stones in the ring she showed totaled over 30 carats. Another item displayed was a vase about 2,000 years old from the Hittite period, a gift to Mrs. Peterson from a Turkish family. "The vase was found at Bogozkoy, the later capital of the Hittite Empire," Mrs. Peterson said. Bogozkoy, only recently discovered, was once a huge city surrounded by walls over 30 feet thick and five miles around. Much admired by the members of the club were adozen extremely old crosses from Mrs. Peterson's large collection. Some of those displayed were from India, Spain, and Italy, as well as Turkey. The oldest cross was from the valley of Goreme in Turkey and is about 1000 years old. Injecting a touch of humor, Mrs. Peterson showed afew samples of "genuine fakes" which are often palmed off to the unwary. "Though beautiful and seemingly quite ancient," Mrs. Peterson laughed, "They are guaranteed to be at least five years old." All the items in Mrs. Peterson's extensive collection have been authenticated by the archeologist of the Hittite Museum in Ankara, Turkey.

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I need to be up front and say that once I was stateside the kids didn't want me to go back to Turkey. To begin with, they were suspicious of a foreign country. Also, neither Angie nor Eric liked the idea of my working with anyone overseas besides the United States government. At different times, they all had something to say about it: "You don't even speak the language, Mother." "You don't have much money." "You're a different religion-a different a nationality." "You're all alone over there." "Please Mom, find something you can do in the United States." And to each of my children, I said, "Dh, but I want to go back so badly! Dh, please kids, ifI can find a way, let me go back." I was writing every government agency and tourist bureau I could think of. I wrote both the American and Turkish Embassies and everywhere it was the same. "Yes, we know you and your work," and "Dh, how we'd love to find a position for you," and "We hope you're able to return to Turkey," and so forth, but no one had the money, the budget, or the position available. I really became depressed about the whole thing. Excerpt, letter from John F. Miller, representative, TUSAN Tourism Bureau; February 12, 1963: Dear Mrs. Peterson: Thank you for your letter of January 29. I am sorry to say that the hotel school position has not developed as yet and so we will be unable to hire you. We are working on another contact and should anything develop and there be a spot for you, I will let you know. The plan is to send tours allover Europe, but as you know it will be a long and slow process. It is quite frustrating at times. There are so many unnecessary formalities that delay action. We had hoped to expand our hotels and motels this year but guess we will wait and see how the season goes. Ankara is still recovering from the terrible plane crash. My driver and I had just pulled away from the area five minutes before. I am sorry that I can't send you better news at this time but will be on the lookout for anything that I think you will enjoy and I hope that it will not be too long before you are back in Ankara. With best regards, John Miller

Excerpt, letter from Angela Peterson to John Miller, TUSAN; 18 February, 1963: Dear Mr. Miller: When your letter came this morning I could have wept. I want so terribly to return to Turkey and right now I don't see how Iwill manage it. I had wanted to work with you and TUSAN because I felt we could accomplish a great deal. I sincerely feel that the tourist business is vital to the Turkish economy. Without adequate hotels and management, visitors will not come. I would rather work for you and TUSAN than have an Air Force job... As much as I desire to live in Turkey, I still have no regrets about quitting the service club position, which became a nightmare after Dabney's arrival. When news of the plane crash overAnkara came in on the radio Iwas horrified. We got so few details here as no one is much interested in something as far away as Turkey. Thank God you were five minutes away from it... Never before have I been homesick but I really am for Ankara. Seeing everyone here and all the Christmas parties was grand but now that I've made

KevLVvJ. TodesGV1L the rounds I want just one thing-to be able to return. Strange what a fascination the country holds for me. I know you will help me if you can. In the meantime, my very best to you. Sincerely, Angela Peterson

I needed to do something. I didn't know what kind of a job I could find in the United States at the age of sixty. I was running out of money. I didn't have enough dolls to start the doll museum. I seemed lost as to what I could do. A return to Turkey seemed like the only rational, logical answer, but how? I was writing to anyone I could think of. I even thought about the possibility of working at a Turkish agency and attempting to live off of the commissions from my tours. Although it would have enabled me to return, I was concerned about whether or not I would have regular income to survive. In desperation, I asked Eric for his help. Somehow, someway, I needed to get back there. Excerpt, letter from Eric M. Peterson, M.D.; March 24, 1963: Dear Mother: I received your letter this morning Air Mail-Special Delivery. And I have come to the office this afternoon in order to try to find some answer to the problem both for you and for us... Obviously, both Angie and I wish you to have a home and be as comfortable as possible. We have discussed this on the occasions we have been together, and we have discussed it in letter and by the telephone. You too have been making some plans for your retirement, and you know my feeling regarding the doll museum if a great deal of investigation proves to your satisfaction that it is realistic. This, however, is in the future. Apparently, the immediate situation is what to do now. From your letter, Igather that you do not feel that you can proceed with the doll museum at this time and want to return to Turkey. Further, that to return to Turkey is not a self-supporting venture and some financial assistance will be needed, approximately $35 monthly. It is unfortunate that in our discussion we did not go beyond the desirability of our talks regarding the doll museum to the more practical aspect of your general financial resources. I have never wished to pry, feeling that if you had wished me to know, you would have told me. Now the situation seems to have changed to some extent. Before I can promise you monthly assistance, I would like to have some clearer picture of your resources and your monthly budget. For example, to maintain the cost of an overseas apartment in your absence of some months may be good financial judgment, and to buy a mink coat may be good financial judgment, and to buy dolls and jewelry may be good financial judgment under some circumstances, and as long as you are responsible it is your prerogative, but it is no longer entirely so if others become partially responsible. I do not want to sound critical, but you cannot eat a mink coat. Mother, please do not think me insensitive to your needs, or think that I do not wish to help you. Angie, Jim, Neville, and I all wish to do what we can do... Our situation (yours, Father's, Angie's and mine) created some profound and deep emotional scars. Iam not complaining or advertising. It is only now that Ican honestly say that for the first time in my entire life I am happy and contented ... I am sure that everyone believes that I am rich. I am not poor any longer, but 1Jo4

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I am certainly not rich. By my former standards I make a lot of money but as of two nights ago I am even further in debt. I am not complaining, just stating afact. Afew of us borrowed a great deal of money and, as you know, are building a six-story office building ... Clyde and I have also taken over the management of the local TB hospital which is costing us time withheld from our practice... it is something we enjoy doing as a community service, although the community does not know it. Mother, I do indeed wish to help. Please know that if $35 a month is needed, I am not asking for an accounting and I am glad to help, truly. But I am not willing to forever postpone some more definite plan or decision ... It may be that going to Turkey is best, temporarily, but I have the feeling that this is going to be more of the grasshopper and the squirrel fable. Sooner or later you must decide what is to be done. If it amounts to awaiting Social Security age, then perhaps Turkey is the thing. But none of us wish to have you go from one job crisis to another... In retrospect it is impossible for me to get a letter this morning and come up with an answer this afternoon to asituation which you have been aware of for years ... I truly hope that you will make a decision that is the proper one and I certainly do not know what that is. We will help, as you requested ... As ever, Eric

At about the same time, when I had exhausted all of my Turkish contacts, I got a letter from Cemal Bey. Cemal told me that I just had to return, he said, "It would mean as much to the country as it means to me. You know how to take care of people. You know how to take care of tours. You're a pioneer; you showed us what to do." He also stated, "I have the business know-how. I have the physical facility. I have credit with the banks, but I don't have any knowledge. Now, if you provide me with the knowledge to use all the things I have at my disposal, to me that seems like a pretty good partnership. You have every bit as much to offer as I have. Would you come

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back and be my business partner?" He said that I didn't need to worry about money, he would provide me a salary until the agency could support me. That's when it really hit the fan with the kids, I was planning to go back and work with a Turk-not even a job for the United States government. Nonetheless, I returned to Turkey. It was hard work, but it was wonderful. Eric and Neville helped out as they promised, to get me started. Cemal also gave me a basic salary. I did okay unless I tried to convert some of my Turkish Lira into dollars. At the time, the banks took 25% over and above the exchange rate. Cemal and I sat up American Community Tours, that's what it was called, ACT Tours. We basically planned tours for Americans and other foreigners who were living in Turkey; most Turks didn't see the need to travel. As Cemal had promised, we became partners. At the time, a foreigner couldn't own a majority interest in a Turkish business, so Cemal owned 51 % of the agency to my 49%. But in every sense of the word, we were equals. Cemal Bey was such a nice man. A genuinely nice man. He was younger than I. I was sixty when I went to Turkey and he was in his forties. Although we went on many trips together, he never propositioned me; he always treated me like a lady. He had a beautiful wife named Inge. Ijust loved both of them. The funny thing about Cemal was that oftentimes he had no common sense. Here he had traveled all over Europe but still had no idea how to look for a good hotel. I remember once I was out scouting for a tour to Antalya and Cemal had recommended a particular hotel to me-it would be the last time I trusted him blindly about a hotel. I got there and the place was enormous and might have been beautiful if it hadn't been so filthy. I was sitting in the dining room having dinner and the whole time I was watching two rats playing and scurrying behind the curtains. I complained to the clerk and told him about the rats. I said that my room was dirty, the linens on my bed had obviously been used, and I didn't even have a mirror in the room. His only reply was, "Well, at least you have a balcony." In the early 1960's, they didn't expect a woman to be traveling alone. No decent woman would be found in a hotel alone. If she had to travel, she'd travel with her husband to a friend's or to family members, or to someone's home but never to a hotel. It just wasn't done, and here I started doing more traveling than I could have possibly imagined. Every weekend I was somewhere, either leading a tour or scouting out a trip for a future destination; all in a country that had occasional bouts with its own stability. Excerpt, letter from Angela Peterson to her sister, Helen White; Sunday, 23 June 1963: Dear Sis: I have not written a single personal letter this month. So much is happening and I'm so busy all day, every day, I hardly have time to change clothes. Since 1 June I have traveled 3,525 miles not counting the miles sightseeing at various places! That's a lot of miles, especially when most are in Turkish buses... After the short-lived Revolution, everyone is tense. Snipers had been shooting into the windows of officers' homes all day until not a window remained. It was a miracle that no families were shot. .. Afterwards, we had martial law for several days and were forbidden to go out of Ankara. We also had to be off the streets by 11 :00

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p.m. and no more than twenty people were to be gathered in one place at anyone time. Cemal Bey and I were pretty worried as it killed all tours and we'd be out of business within amonth. However, the travel ban has lifted as well as social meetings for more than twenty. Curfew has been extended to midnight. .. There was a mass military funeral for those who died defending the city. The parade was over a mile long, I'd say. It came up Ataturk Blvd. after ceremonies at Ataturk's Memorial. Flags at half-mast, several military bands with dirges and funeral marches, honor guards of all branches of the service, and at least two blocks of flowers. Hundreds and hundreds of wreaths of flowers-a most impressive sight. Behind the flowers came the caskets drawn by small tanks... Ithink all those involved in the revolution are to be executed ...

When I was in Turkey, Ankara was one of the fastest growing cities in the world. In thirty years it had grown from thirty thousand to over one million. Land was so precious within the city that single residences were banned. Apartment buildings five and six stories tall were everywhere. So much was happening in the country. On the one hand it seemed like the people were on the verge of growth, expansion, and ushering themselves into a whole new world, and on the other there were occasional uprisings, military struggles and thousands ofpeople who seemed like they were right out of another century. In spite of the country's growth, twenty miles out of the city in any direction was just like going back to biblical times. In the midst ofthis, ACT Tours began a rather aggressive travel schedule. From time to time, I'd send Eric, Angie, and my sister, Helen, an itinerary for my travels and suggested that they get a map of the Middle East so they could trace my journeys. My first year back, 1963, proved to be extremely busy for me. Tour Leaflet; American Community Tours-ACT Tours: Programs for second half of 1963 DATE July 4-7 July 12-14 July 20-21 August 2-4 August 16-18 August 24-25 Aug 30 - Sep 2 September 14-15 September 20-22 September 28-29 October 5-6 October 11-13 October 19-20 October 26-27 November 1-3 November 8-11 November 20-24 December 7,8, 14, 15 Ch ristmas 1963

TOUR Izmir, Ephesus, Kusadasi, Priene, Miletos, Didimos Black Sea - Akcakoca, Eregli Lake Aband Black Sea Erzurum, Agri, Mt. Ararat Black Sea - Akcakoca, Eregli Izmir Fair, 6 of 7 Churches of Revelations Troy, Canakkale, Gallipoli Goreme Eskisehir, Kutahya, Seyitgazi Kayseri, KuItepe Bursa, Eskisehir Goreme Konya, Karaman Beirut, Jerusalem Crete, Rhodes Athens Konya Dervish Festivalone bus each day India-2 weeks

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Excerpt, letter from Angela Peterson to her sister, Helen White; 7 September 1963: Dear Sis: I haven't written in nearly a month as I knew you were traveling about and I've been so awfully busy and wanting to let a few things straighten out... The entire government is pushing tourism now and big plans are afoot. Cemal Bey is now convinced by me that it is the one agency that gets the lead now that will come up on top and he had to decide if he wants to gamble on advertising, etc., and be the leader, or be content to jog along. We are going all out! All the airlines are interested and so is the government. I've done a few small, but revolutionary things already...

Excerpt, letter from Angela Peterson to her sister, Helen White; 23 November 1963: My Lord! One of my GI friends just came by to tell me of Kennedy's assassination! Sue says the barracks are wild with grief and desire for revenge. The bulletins declare thirty days mourning here for all Americans. No movies, no music at any club, no parties or official functions, no acceptances for any parties or functions given by any other Embassies, etc... 1am horribly shocked! As much as I wanted his defeat in the election, I didn't want such an awful thing as this. I pity his wife and children and it is a dreadful blow to National prestige... Do write me details and send some papers. All the news here is sketchy so I have no facts ...There is more to write but I am so upset over news of Kennedy that I can't think of it...

Excerpt, letter from Angela Peterson to her sister, Helen White; 24 December 1963: Dear Sis: ... Here I really miss NO music, and no decorations. I have not even heard one Christmas Carol. Outdoor decorations are frowned upon, and no one had been allowed to light a tree even in their homes until the evening of the 23rd due to the mourning of President Kennedy...

With all my reading and research, by the time I was in business with Cemal, I knew Turkey better than most Turks. I saw many places that the average Turk hadn't even heard about. Have you ever read any of the books by Frieda Stark? I just loved them. She was an English woman who really got around. In one of her books she had been to the old southeastern part of Turkey by Lake Van-that whole area. It was rough and wild. Nobody went there at the time. It was straight up and down mountains. I remember the guide I had with me that day didn't want me to go down there. But I reasoned, "If Frieda Stark got down there and back, then I ought to be able to do the same." The guide tried to talk me out of it, but I insisted. Finally, he said it was plain and clear that I was "a powerful, deter-mint woman." So, when I'm powerful, determint, I get to where I want to get.

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Once I had a driver who was particular obstinate and couldn't believe that an American women knew Turkish directions better than he did. We were on a trip going out on one of our weekend tours and I tried to tell him, "We need to go this way." Well, he wouldn't hear of it, "No, I always go this way... I know the roads." He took off on his own and sure enough, we got lost. It wasn't too long before I knew we were lost, everything looked unfamiliar to me. Finally, the driver saw a Turk standing at the side of a road with a big pet bear, so the driver got out to talk to him about directions. I got out as well. The bear seemed nice enough and the man told me I could go ahead and pet him, so I scratched the bear's head and told him what a nice bear he was. I spent quite a bit of time with that bear while my driver was talking. You could tell the bear was a friendly creature just by looking at him. He put his paws around your feet and just snuggled up to you. He seemed so grateful that I was scratching him. The whole experience with that bear was actually worth getting lost. About two years later, I was on another bus and we were driving along and came up to this same Turk and his bear. I had the driver stop and I got down off the bus. As soon as the bear saw me, he perked right up and came over to put his head against me to be scratched as if to say, "Oh, you're my friend." I patted him and talked to him; the bear had remembered me after all that time.

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The Stars and Stripes Sunday Magazine; Sunday, March 22, 1964: Furlough Facts Aventure in Turkish-American friendship and touristic enterprise isAmerican Community Tours (ACT) of Ankara. Mrs. Angela Peterson, a recreation and travel specialist... is attempting to smooth out many of the rough spots of travel in Turkey where tourism is still in the development stage. Before a tour goes out under the ACT name, American advisers scout the trip, inspecting hotel rooms, kitchens and water supply, carefully screening vehicles and drivers to be chartered for the tour and checking road conditions as well as planning the round of sightseeing. For parties of 25 or more ACT offers a two-week tour of Turkey including Ankara, Goereme, Kayseri, the archeological finds at Kultepe (an ancient Hittite capital), Istanbul, Izmir, Akhisar, Manisa, Sardis, Pergamum and Ephesus. The price all-inclusive within the country is $250...

Most often, I got my news about the family and things stateside from Helen. The whole time I was in Turkey, Helen probably averaged about two to three letters a month. Angie and Eric stayed very busy with their own lives and their families but I heard from them from time to time. Excerpt, letter from Eric M. Peterson, M.D.; May 3, 1964: Dear Mother: This writing finds us well and recovering from winter, which as usual has been never ending. Kirsten is now in the fourth grade and continues to do very well, she has become a very nice young lady suddenly, and it makes me feel quite old. To boot, what is left of my hair is graying-an occurrence previously devoutly wished for, for its commercial value but in reality now not enjoyed. Having gained an additional fatty 20 pounds, I have proceeded to starve them off and should be able to get into my bathing suit once again this summer. Neville says she feels the best in years; I feel good but not that good... We had a letter from Angie this week and all seems well there, she says that no one is ill for a change...

I had been back to Turkey for over a year when Eric sent news that shook me to the core. I would have never believed that his cable would have affected me so. I guess the news was so unexpected that it brought me to tears: Fred Peterson had died! Cable June 24, 1964, from Eric Peterson: After brief illness father died of acute leukemia June 23 at University Hospital Columbus Funeral June 25 Parkersburg

Immediately, I wired Eric and Angie back to tell them that I was shocked and grieved. I was half a world away and couldn't believe that Fred was dead. Although I was twenty years and thousands of miles away from my role as Mrs. Fred Peterson, I still felt as though somehow I had suffered a tremendous loss. I couldn't help myself; I just had to cry. I think I cried myself to sleep that night.

FLfteeV'v Excerpt, letter from Angie (Mrs. James 0.) Nichols; Tuesday, June 30, 1964: Dear Mother: I returned home Sunday night. Dad's funeral was Friday morning... He was very lucky that it didn't drag out for several more months. It could have. Acute Leukemia is the most rapid kind and from what Eric said not pleasant. He was in St. Joe's a couple of days and then driven by ambulance to Columbus. He was under Dr. Doan's care, who had Eric in his service... Iflew over to see him in May. Eric met me there too. He improved remarkably well even while we were there and there was even some hope for a remission. This failed to happen. He was actually critically ill only one day and he died very peacefully in the morning. He died too young, but since he had to, better now than after a couple of terrible months of suffering ...

Excerpt, letter from Angela Peterson to her sister, Helen; Tuesday, 30 June, 1964: Dear Sis: By now you are returned from Bob's and heard the sad news of Fred's death. Eric's wire last Wednesday came as an awful shock. On the surface there had been no emotion for years, so I was surprised by the great depth of grief that welled up inside me. I guess you can't share twenty years and bear two children with a man and just wash it all away by willing ... He was much too young to die...

After Fred's death, I came to a surprising realization that explained why I had never remarried. In some unusual way I felt married to Fred for as long as he had lived. At the age of twenty-two, I had taken a vow "until death do us part" and I guess part of me just couldn't see breaking it. I had been married in front of an altar with a cross up over my head and that was it. By the time Fred died in 1964, I was sixtyone and just wasn't very much interested in getting married again. The closest I ever came was in Korea. If Mark Fowser had been the right age for me, I think I would have married him. As soon as I had returned to Turkey, I became even more devoted to the travel business than when I had been working for the service club. Most of my participants were foreigners; the Turks just didn't travel. For the first year, Cemal and I went together on many ofthe tours. He was such a gentleman, he never made me feel uncomfortable or like he was making a pass at me. Inge, his wife, was one of the most beautiful, elegant women I had ever met. I truly enjoyed the company of both of them. In order to have a domestic tour to some location in Turkey, I had to take a scouting trip first to see if the road was safe; I had to check out the suitable hotels that were available, and so forth. Even with all of my research I still had occasional difficulties. Some ofthe places were just horrible. I remember one instance when I was leading a tour and we happened to be staying at a nice spot on the Mediterranean-there

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were ruins that had been built by the Emperor Hadrian. One night, one ofthe women on the tour came knocking at my room: "Mrs. Peterson, I'm being eaten up by bedbugs." I couldn't believe it. There were even bloodstains on the sheets where they'd been biting her. I went down to the front desk immediately and got the woman another room and complained because I had been assured that all the beds would be nice and clean. The clerk behind the desk insisted, "All of our beds are clean; we change them once a week!" It didn't matter how many people had been in the room during that week. Sometimes I was as busy training the hotel staff as I was leading the tour. Over the next couple of years, I took tours all over Turkey: Istanbul, Bursa, Isnik, Isparta, Alanya, East Turkey, Trabzon, Ismir, and Eskishir. I also led tours to Jordon, Greece, Israel, Iraq, Egypt, Ethiopia, India, Nepal, and Athens. They also wanted me to go to Russia but I didn't want to go. At the time, I found out that any money made off of tourists in Russia went to help fund the KGB and I just couldn't see contributing to that. Most of my tours had anywhere from twenty to forty people and the whole time their lives were in my hands. Horrible roads, bad drivers, questionable food, unsuitable hotels, etc. The whole trip is work and much of it is tense. Not only do you have to make certain that everyone is safe but you also have to make sure that they are having a good time. It was a lot of work and I enjoyed much of it but I never had a week to myself. I never had a vacation. Unfortunately, even Cemal Bey thought that my "work" was the hours I spent in the office. Anytime I was out on a tour, he thought it was a vacation. It was not a vacation! For a single woman in a foreign country, I had many adventures. Some ofthe tours stand out because of the adventures along the way. On one occasion, we had an experience with the police in Syria during a bus trip from Ankara to Jerusalem. The trip was over 4,000 kilometers; it was a killer! Even though we had a comfortable bus, it was even harder than I had imagined or told the participants beforehand. You can't conceive what traffic was like in the big cities: carts, cars, bicycles, trucks, donkeys, camels, men loaded as heavy animals and bent double. No system, no order, no regulations. Our driver was Sadik Bey, the best I ever had but even with Sadik we were just creeping along. As we were driving through Syria, three ofmy male tourists seated at the back of the bus saw this young boy about seven or eight run out and hit the side of the bus with his fist and start screaming. He then threw himself down on the road next to the bus and started crying. Sadik brought the bus to a halt. A crowd gathered around us and all at once the police were present. The boy insisted that the bus had hit him. The boy's father showed up and demanded to be given payment to take care ofhis son's injuries. A doctor was called to inspect the child. Everyone got in the act. It became very clear to me that the boy and his father were looking for money. I had several passengers who had seen the whole thing. Two of my participants who were army majors argued against giving any money. Sadik was pulled into the police station and questioned at great length. I was questioned at length through an interpreter: "What were a group of Americans doing on a Turkish bus?" (The Syrians hate the Turks.) "Where were we going?" "Did we know each other before the trip?" so on and so on. We sat on that bus for three hours. Finally, it came down to the money or we were never going

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anywhere. Sadik signed many papers for the police and I passed out bribes all over the place (including $100 to the boy's father). When the money had changed hands, we were free to continue on our way to Damascus. During my years of travel, I saw many things that I could never even have imagined from Parkersburg, West Virginia. I remember on the trip to Africa, we were in Nairobi National Park and Uganda and saw so much game that we eventually became bored. Just imagine! We saw literally thousands of hippos and crocs. We saw every kind of deer family by the hundreds, dozens and dozens ofgiraffe, zebras (I rode a tame one), warthogs, ostriches, etc. We visited the Great Rift Valley and saw a lake that was home to over one million pink flamingos! We camped in tents and the first night two hippos roamed the camp and lizards scurried all over the tents. A couple of the small iguanas found their way into one or two ofthe participants' beds. The second night an elephant came to the camp. The whole while we were there, monkeys were busy in trees and you could usually hear the lions roaring. It was quite a trip! Egypt was another tour I really enjoyed outside of Turkey. Cairo itself was disappointing; I'm not really sure what I expected, but the museum was out of this world. Treasures from King Tut's Tomb are simply beyond comprehension. They covered one huge wing of the museum. The first night, we saw the Sound and Light program at the Sphinx and Pyramids. Magnificent! The old girl was utterly lovely in the lights with her Mona Lisa smile. We rode camels out to the Giza plateau and then we climbed up inside the Great Pyramid to the King's Chamber. I cannot begin to describe the feeling. Crossing the Nile at Luxor to the tombs of the Kings, Queens, and Nobles and seeing them is something one can never forget. Seti's tomb is down over 300 steps! There are steps now but once it was just a very steep incline. Every inch of the tunnel carved and painted. Same in each tomb. The temple at Karnak was bigger than anything else I had ever seen, if only for sheer size and magnificence. I'm so glad I had the opportunity to see it all. Excerpt from Angela Peterson's annual Christmas letter; December 15, 1964: Dear Everybody, Family and Friends: Here it is Christmas in a few days and I have not bought a gift or a card; not because I have forgotten you but because funds have been so limited and free time almost as non-existent. Since some of you have not heard from me since last Christmas, I'd better go back twelve months... In January, I was in Adana for a week to check the area and try to locate a Crusader castle that a tour group could climb and was worth seeing ... ln February, I was the guest of SAS on an inaugural flight to Stockholm. Was gone three weeks, visiting friends in Stockholm and Gothenberg and spending five days in Denmark. Icounted up yesterday how many days I've spent out of Ankara this year-131! When I'm in town, I work in the office from 9:00 to 6:00 with no lunch break. When I get home I do my own cooking. Here housekeeping is also a bit of achallenge since I have no appliances and there are no supermarkets plus the fact that I no longer have PX privileges and must live entirely on the local economy. In addition to the many repeat tours I described last year, I got permission to take a tour to East Turkey which has been a "forbidden zone" to tourists. I went out

KevLVvJ. TodesGV1L to scout with an interpreter lastApril and was gone fifteen days. What an adventure! In only three restaurants was there another woman. Crowds gathered as soon as I arrived-friendly but curious. I rode local buses and, again, usually the only woman. A small mud village on the eastern border affords the best view of Mt. Ararat and I wanted to stay the night there if possible so the tour could see sunset and sunrise on the Mount. The only hotel was one filthy room with six cots and already five were occupied by men who had not bothered so much as to remove their coats. I took one look at the fine huge mustaches and said, "There is safety in numbers" and rolled in. The next day I rode around Mt. Ararat and up to Kars on a series of trucks as there were no buses going in this wild country. I shall never forget that ride. Next to Fujiama, on a clear day Ararat is the most magnificent mountain I have ever seen ... I have been to Lebanon, Syria, and Jordan. For the first time, we also went to Petra, "the rose red city." Words can't describe it. It is a dream world, silent and watchful hidden behind the mile long canyon too narrow for a car and hundreds of feet deep... I also took my first visit to Israel as the guest of EI AI airlines for eight days. I was wined and dined and stayed at the most wonderful deluxe hotels. Also, spent one night in a Kibbutz which was interesting. Iwent to the Red Sea and visited King Solomon's mines; was at Beersheba; Askkelon; Jaffa; Tel Aviv; Caesaria; Haifa; Acre; Nazareth; Cana; Tiberius; Capernum and much, much more... I leave for India the 18th. We'll see Bagdad, Babylon, Teheran, Delhi, Christmas Eve at the Taj Mahal, Bombay, Ellora and Ajunta Caverns, Banares, and have New Years in Katmandu, Nepal. All this is fun, and I love it, but it is work. I send you all my greetings and best wishes. I think of you all often and wish I were nearer. Then my job would be perfect. Don't forget me and keep me in your prayers. My love to you, Angela

While I was traveling, I thought a great deal about my eventual retirement. My plan was to open a museum displaying my dolls and my artifacts. Although I heard most often from Helen, I also got word from one or both of the children from time to time. Excerpt, letter from Eric M. Peterson, M.D.; December 19, 1964: Dear Mother: The Christmas Season is upon us, six more days. Neville has things well in hand. I see she has put up the tree...Today is the first time I have had a minute in months, it seems. I hope the New Year brings less activity and work. In fact, I would like to take the month of July off and go camping, but this is unlikely since we are planning on adopting a baby-probably not until spring. Kirsten and Neville are almost beside themselves with anticipation ... We now have a third man in the firm and look forward to making him a full partner soon. We seem to be very lucky to be so compatible. My practice is still growing, but now so are my business expenses. Our operation is now big business, but we get to keep little more of it. There are many benefits beginning to show, however, greater stability of expenses payments, etc. We employ four full-time women and have several more part-time now. We have all the latest business and

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medical equipment. It is a far cry from my initial office. Still, my biggest problem is finding some free time. With the phone ringing here all the time, it seems we must get away from town for a rest. .. We are by this time recovering from the sudden events of Father's death last summer. He had all the advantages of good medical care at Ohio State under Dr. Doan-my former teacher, but it was not to be. He never once complained of his illness or his impending death although he knew he had leukemia. He did leave things in a real mess. Angie and I are powerless to do much about it, and time will only tell what happens. He wrote a kind of stop gap will just before going into the hospital which became his legal will. You might be interested to learn that he had been working on a real will for quite sometime in which he left a small percentage of everythingbusiness, stock, and all-to you. This was only an expression of his sentiments, however, and is not valid ... With love, Eric, Neville, and Kirsten

Excerpt, letter from Angela Peterson to her sister, Helen; 5 January, 1965: Dear Sis: ... 1am dead serious about my museum and know I can have a good one. My items from Turkey will attract the educated but the dolls will have the popular appeal. I want a real show place. We both know that our collections combined can be a traffic stopper far more than either alone. I am sentimental about my dolls and would hate to see them scattered. If you are considering selling your dolls then put a fair price on them and give me first refusal. I don't want to see your collection broken up either... It was good to get back after sixteen hard days in India. Taking a group anywhere can be difficult but on this trip to India I had more problems than anticipated. They didn't really bother the others, but Iwas in afrantic over things like the woman who left her wallet (and $370) under her pillow in the last city; the man who got violently ill; the two roommates who suddenly would no longer speak with one another and wanted to be separated; the girl who forgot her suitcase in her room; the day we had five less plane seats than the number of people in our group, etc. and etc. There were highlights, as well, such as an elephant ride for everyone; the demonstration of a Yogi; seeing a real cremation on the banks of the Ganges; seeing the Shah and Queen of Iran and having them wave to us; an interview with the Dalai Lama's personal assistant for Nepal, the Taj turned out to be the most beautiful man-made object on earth, etc. and etc. I returned exhausted but got everyone there and back in one piece, and all of them raving about the trip. I have been praying that if it is possible and good for me that God send the right man across my path. I want to find someone while we still have time to enjoy a few active years together, and store shared memories before we are old and fireside sitters. Do you think I am foolish or selfish? I feel a bit silly at my age, but mentally and physically I am twenty years younger than the calendar says. Will you join with me in praying for this ...?

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Excerpt, letter from Eric M. Peterson, M.D.; February 23, 1965: Dear Mother: On February 20, 1965 we adopted ason-he is now amonth old, born January 22. Atiny thing, he weighed 5 1/2 pounds but appears healthy and vigorous... Kirsten seems to be very pleased with the baby and Neville is just beside herself. Yesterday when Icame home the living room was crowded with females all looking and cooing. Strange what the appearance of a baby can do. We are calling him Marsh. Things are going well with the baby. We'll send some photos soon ...

You may not believe this story coming from an old woman in a wheelchair, but I'm going to tell you anyway because it was one of the most memorable tours I ever had. There was this big travel company I worked with which had offices in three or four countries. It was a good agency and understood the needs ofAmerican travelers. They helped plan arrangements for itineraries and took care ofthe local guides and so forth. In the Lebanon office, there was this man I got to know quite well because of the number of trips I led into his country. His name was George and he was a native of Lebanon. George was terribly pockmarked but still good-looking. He had a nice build and treated me just wonderfully. George would be our guide as the tour traveled to some ofthe sites in Iran and Iraq. On this particular part ofthe tour we always went in limousines, not in buses, and I always rode in the limousine up front with George. When George was finished with our group, we'd be turned over to another member of the agency, Sammy, who took us into Damascus and Syria. Sammy was in his thirties. He was heavy-set and dressed well. Sammy took care of us until we got down to Jordan, where we were turned over to Jimell. Jimell was young; he was thirty-five or so and a very handsome young man. He didn't speak too much English but he knew his territory and he sure knocked himself out to take care of our group. All three of them were excellent guides. Every time I led this particular tour, I had those three guides. I got to wondering if they were asking for me or I was asking for them. I expect I made nearly a dozen trips down there because that was one of our most popular destinations. By the second or third trip, I began to suspect that George kind of liked me. He treated me as much as a date as any beau I had ever had. I'djoke with the group, "Here's my boyfriend, George." One of the most memorable tours I had started out pretty much the same as the others. I had George for the first two or three days. The last evening before the next leg of our journey, we were having dinner as a group. We went into the restaurant and there were a number of tables set up for the group to eat together but there was no room for George and myself to be with the group. We had to go off and eat by ourselves at a table for two set on the other side of the room. I kind of suspected that George had arranged it but I didn't mind. He was a nice man and I enjoyed his company. As soon as we were together, George started pouring his heart out to me. He had known me for two or three years and thought I was wonderful. He wasn't happy with his wife and he wanted to get divorced from her. He said he thought often about the possibility of marrying me and one day coming to America. He'd be happy to be my husband. Together, we could lead groups ofpeople all throughout the Middle East. Well, I put him off gently. I told him how much I really liked him and thought of him

but it just didn't set right with me that he was a married man. He assured me that he and his wife didn't even sleep together anymore and that it wasn't a real marriage. He stated that they might as well not even live in the same house but only did so because it was cheaper. I put him off gently. I didn't want to ruin our working relationship. I told him I wasn't going back to America just yet and that I would still be bringing tours. We could continue to see one another and be friends. The next day we went over the border and met Sammy, and George and I parted until our next tour. Sammy started taking us around and I noticed immediately that Sammy's attitude toward me was a little different than it had been in the past. I didn't think too much about it because I was still upset about George's proposal. I sure didn't want anything to affect our relationship with one another. Even though I didn't feel quite like myself, we continued on the tour with Sammy and went to all the outlying places before finally coming into Damascus. When we got there, Sammy said, "Mrs. Pete, could you arrange to have the evening free from your group? I'd like to arrange to show you something while you're here." We had nothing special planned that night so I asked the group about it and it was, "Of course, Angela, go ahead," and I went off with Sammy. He took me over to a part of Damascus that we didn't normally see. It had beautiful homes-not historical sites, it was all fairly new. We stopped in front of this gorgeous, three-story mansion and got out of the car. Sammy took me in and I had me sit in the living room on a beautiful love seat. The room was filled with elegant furniture. When I was seated, Sammy fell to his knees and put his head down toward my knees like he was going to pray. With tears in his eyes he told me how much he had loved me since we had met. He said that ever since that day he had dreamed that ifhe had a nice home, like I would have had in the United States, and ifhe had a good position, I might agree to be his wife. He told me that he had enough money to start his own travel company, but chose to remain with the agency because it was more lucrative. He told me that this mansion was the home he had bought for us. He had been getting the place ready for a couple of years. I had to let him down gently, as well. I must admit that I was kind of thankful to be off to see Jimell a couple of days later, away from the two proposals. Well after a short time together, Jimell wanted me to see something out on the edge of the desert so he and I drove off in a car together. He embraced me and kissed me and said, "You know I love you. I'm always there for you. I just live until you get here for the next tour." We had a long talk and it was well after midnight by the time I got back. Let me tell you, honey, that was quite a trip. Every word is true! All of it happened on the same tour. There must have been something in my stars, or something I ate. I don't know what it was but it never happened again. After that, the three of them still took me on tours and, thankfully, it didn't seem to affect our relationship. For each of them, I think a big part of their desire to marry me was a desire to get to the United States. Still, it was quite an adventure for a sixty-year-old woman. I also had a couple of adventures with Turkish men, which were not so delightful. On one occasion, I was with my interpreter, Ed, scouting possible locations for tours in Eastern Turkey. The weather was awful. It was cold, windy, and

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the snow was nearly blinding. The snow was becoming a blizzard and the road slick and unfortunately there was no place to stop. We traveled over the mountains with a driver and his friend. Ed was in the front with the driver and I was in the back with his friend. We were the only car on the road. As we were driving along, I became more and more uncomfortable because the driver kept leering at me in his rear-view mirror. He had wild eyes and a demonic expression on his face and every once in awhile he'd begin to sing in a crazy, tuneless way and then laugh and slap his leg. Finally, the driver began to pull over to the side of the road. He told Ed to change places with his friend because he wanted his friend to help decide where they were. The car came to a stop. As Ed got out, the driver's friend jumped into the front seat and the driver pushed the gas pedal and the two tried to take offbefore Ed could get back into the car. I screamed for the driver to stop. Somehow Ed managed to grab hold of the passenger door, run along side the car, open it and jumped in the back with me. He was yelling at the two men in Turkish. Finally, after about ten minutes of argument between them, the driver pulled off to the side of the road and made Ed and I get out. Ed and I did as we were commanded. Ed whispered to me that he didn't know whether the two men had guns or knives or both. With the wind blowing and the snow falling, the car sped away leaving us deserted. Using his hands, Ed quickly began digging out a large hole in one of the drifts by the side of the road. He told me he was going to try to make a shelter and that while he was working if I saw a light coming down the road to jump out and go to the middle of the road so they could see I was a woman. Ed worked as fast as he could. It was freezing. After about an hour, Ed had cleared a hole almost big enough to climb into when I saw a light flash around the curve. I got out in the middle of the street and hollered for Ed, who followed. It was a huge ten-ton truck loaded with asphalt that stopped. We got in and Ed explained what we were doing in the middle of a blizzard at almost midnight. The driver looked at me sympathetically and told Ed, "Tell the lady not to fear. I've driven this mountain for twenty-three years in all kinds of weather." He was the best driver I ever saw. However, instead of getting to Trabzon by 8:30 p.m. as has been our plan, we didn't arrive until 6: 15 a.m. the next morning. I'll tell you, it was days before I got over the fright and fatigue of that experience. I have no doubt that God sent that truck the night of the blizzard. The owner ofthe hotel in Trabzon was a friend ofmine named Hamseh and a very nice man. He had all his teeth capped gold, showing his wealth and making him feel quite handsome. He had taken a shine to me and was relieved to see us stumble in that morning. After telling a quick version of our story, he ushered me into the only room with a private bath. He really took care of us both during that stay. Every time I turned around he was there with hot tea or Turkish coffee or a bar of U.S. soap (black market). I remember Ed telling me he had never seen such service. Before we left, Hamseh took me out to the side of his hotel and showed me the beautiful valley which lay below us. He told me that he planned to built the finest hotel in all of Trabzon, there on the side of that mountain. He said that it wasn't right for a woman of my standing to be traveling alone in his country. He wanted me to marry him and come and run his hotel. I thanked him profusely but I just couldn't see myself settling down there on the side of the mountain.

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The little bit of theatrical training I've had also came in handy a time or two. On one trip, I was heading down a steep mountainside in a truck with a middleaged driver I had hired locally. There had been one Crusaders' castle at the top of the mountain that we just had to see. On the way down, in the back of the truck we had piled my twenty-some tour participants who were all hanging on for their lives. I was alone in the cab with the driver because he said he couldn't shift gears with three people in the cab. As we were coming down the mountain road, I was very much aware of the fact that a steep drop, down into the canyon, was just about six inches beyond the edge of the road. All of sudden as we were driving, the driver put his hand over on my leg. I reached down and lifted it off. The driver simply put it back and smiled, "I will have the sex with you." "I don't think so." "It's okay. I have a little cabin nearby. We will tell the group I need to show you something. It take ten minute only." I kind of grimaced and repeated myself, "I don't think so." He became agitated, "Listen lady, this is old truck. I don't need. You have the sex with me, or I jump out and you and all your friends go over cliff with truck. I no kidding you." I looked in his eyes and felt like he was serious. All at once I had an idea. I reached over and patted the top ofhis hand, "You seem like a very nice man and I do like you. I do tours here all the time; maybe the next time we can get together. You see, I have a very bad case of Syphilis and I don't have any protection with me. Unless you have some protection, we'll just have to wait. I would hate to make you sick. You seem like such a nice man." Let me tell you, he pulled his hand away and drove down the rest of the mountain without saying another word. I didn't really have a boyfriend when I was in Turkey but I did have a male companion that I was with quite a bit of time. His name was Winfield Lowe. Win was with a branch of the government over there and made pretty good money. He was about my age and a bachelor. He was a nice man, tall and slender, and the women just chased him to death. Win came with me on all the tours in Turkey he could manage. Whenever he was on the bus, I'd kind of lean toward him or sit next to him because he was single. Oftentimes the group might be walking in couples, so Win would walk with me. He had a beautiful apartment and entertained quite frequently. One time, he asked me, "I'm having a big party on such and such a date, would you act as my hostess?" I said, "Oh, I'd love to, Win." I remember there was a certain dress I had that he liked and he asked me to wear it. He came and got me and we had a very nice evening. It was a good party. He sat at one end of the table and I sat at the other. I think there were twelve or so people that night. Afterwards, it came time to go home and Win took me up to my door and thanked me. He put his arm around me and gave me just a little kiss on my cheek. He said, "I'd like to say something and I hope you don't misunderstand it." He continued, "I like to entertain. Everybody goes in couples in our society and I always feel like I need to find somebody. Of course, it seems like over here all the single women are looking for husbands. I got a good job, I'm single, I have a nice

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place, and a lot of these women think I'm just what they're looking for. I've learned the hard way. Many times I've started a friendship with a woman and she wants to marry me. I don't want to bother with a woman that's looking for a husband. I don't want to get married. Angela, would you be my hostess from now on... ?" I said, "Oh, yes, Win, I'd love to." I told him, "Win, in this job I'm always getting tickets to the theatre or the opera and I can't go out by myself. I'd like you to accompany me to some ofthe events I have to go to. You won't have to do anything but hold my hand or put your arm around me if it's cold or kiss my cheek goodnight. He smiled and said, "That suits me fine." So we worked out a perfect arrangement together. Years later, when we were both back in the states, Win was back in Washington, DC and whenever I went through he always said, "Save a night for me" and we'd both put on our best clothes and he'd take me to some of the finest restaurants in the city. When I was in Turkey, I was always so busy and my life was so hectic that I rarely had a psychic experience. If one did happen, I would have some kind of a premonition and "IT" would say something like it was going to be a hard trip, or a lovely tour, or something nice would happen. Once, when I was planning to go on a picnic with friends in another town-it was a Sunday-I called at the last minute and begged off saying I wasn't well enough to go. That wasn't true but IT had told me not to go. Turns out their car ran off the side of the road and down over a mountain. Now nobody was killed but still it was quite an accident. My family never was comfortable discussing this psychic business, even when one of them would have an experience themselves. Eric told me once that he'd always laughed at my "IT says," but he then realized he was quite psychic himself in diagnosis. Often he "knew" what was wrong even before touching the patient and if the symptoms belied him, he just knew what he was treating for and was always right. Even when Eric was an intern he became a kind oflegend. Of course, everyone thought he was some kind of a "wiz doctor" and not that he was psychic. Some of his friends told me that whenever they got a case they couldn't agree on or often even diagnose they'd ask the interns in and Eric would give his diagnosis and it was always correct. I know he made a fine M.D. Anyway, in Turkey I was too busy to do much of anything except read my astrology magazine. Those first tours were killers. I was up every morning before I figured anybody else would be up. I never went to bed until the last one was in. I would have a 112-hour week and was expected to be back in the office at nine a.m. Monday morning. Well, that was mostly after Sahop came into the company. Everywhere I went in Turkey, I managed to buy or have taken several slides. I thought they might be good to have for lectures when I got back to the states. By the time I left Turkey, I had several thousand slides which sure came in handy later on. I haven't mentioned this situation with Sahop before because it's too long a story and too complicated and I get too upset, but I need to tell you in brief. My ultimate reason for leaving the country had to do with him. There's no doubt in my mind that Sahop and I had known each other in a previous life-in that life I had been a Hittite man and Sahop had been a Greek. He came over to the other side of the Aegean Sea while I was patrolling the eastern seaboard. We met and fought and I killed him. So in the present, Sahop didn't know why but he hated me and was jealous of me from

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the very first. I think that Sahop must have been the most bitter enemy I've ever had in this life or any other. Cemal had taken me to a big reception of some kind for this budding travel business that the country was beginning to experience. It was a government thing-I had woken them up about travel and pretty soon everybody wanted to have a piece of it. At the party, I saw this big man sitting in a chair with his enormous wife. We made eye contact a couple of times and so I smiled. Although he was very heavy, he was handsome and beautifully tailored; I found out later that all of his clothes came from England. When I had the chance, I asked Cemal, "Who's that big, good-looking man over there sitting with his wife?" Cemal was immediately alarmed, "Stay away from him! Don't have anything to do with him, Mrs. Pete. He is to the country ofTurkey what the Mafia is to Italy. Stay very wary of that one." After Cemal had warned me and was off speaking to someone else, Sahop got up, came over, and introduced himself. He took me by the arm and walked me over to sit down with him and his wife. I was pleasant but obviously a little concerned. He spent twenty minutes telling me how wonderful I was, how charming, how attractive, how intelligent-everything you can think of. His English was perfect. The whole time his wife just sat there glaring at me because she didn't understand a word of English. After twenty minutes, Cemal came and got me and pulled me aside. "What are you doing?" "Well, I couldn't help it, he just came and..." "Don't speak with him again! He is not a good man," Cemal warned me, "He is up to something." That was my first contact with Sahop. Oftentimes, after that, it just seemed like I somehow ended up bumping into Sahop. I'd be sitting in a restaurant, alone or with a group and he'd often come in and pull up a chair and invite himselfto the table. IfI was at the theatre, I might look across and see Sahop and he'd get up at intermission and come over to speak with me. This went on for several months. I didn't know what he was up to. I don't know how he got to Cemal Bey or how he threatened him or whether he offered him money. I'm not exactly sure how it happened but one Monday morning I came into the office and Sahop was sitting there. Cemallooked at me nervously and said, "Meet our new partner." I tried to ask Cemal when we were alone several times what had happened and all he would say was, "It really just had to be, Mrs. Pete. I didn't want it but you know how powerful he is." So Sahop became "our partner" and everything about my life in Turkey went downhill after that.

sLx.teeV'v The first thing that Sahop did was to move us into a brand new apartment building office. For a few minutes, I was excited to see the new location ofACT Tours. There was a great big enormous room in the front and I thought, "Oh, how wonderful, that will be Cemal and my office." A little further inside, the next room made a good size office, as well. Way in the back of the apartment was a tiny room, much like a pantry. Sahop pointed to it and told me, "This is your office." From the first, it was clear to me that he was trying to move me out. I complained to Cemal but he said, "Well let's just work with it for now and we'll get it changed later on." You could tell he was just kowtowing to Sahop. After Sahop came along, Cemal was never the same. Excerpt, letter from Angela Peterson to her sister; Helen; 9 April, 1965: Dear Sis: ...Sahop resents our local tours, says they don't make enough money. He wants us to convert only to international tours outside of Turkey. Said he was interested in one thing only and that was making money fast and he had no use for anyone who didn't help him do it. I said, "Fine, but what about our reputation for service and high standards." He answered, "To hell with them. Such fancy ideas cost money and there are plenty of suckers if we can just crack the foreign market." It's clear he would sell his own mother for $1.00...

Once we arrived at our new location, it was obvious that both Cemal and I worked for Sahop and were now "his employees." Sahop took over everything. I tried to manage as best I could and continue as though nothing had changed but a happening in July alarmed me to the core. I continued writing Helen weekly and Eric and Angela with regularity. On occasion, I wondered why Helen hadn't answered a particular question raised in one of my letters or commented on something that I had mentioned to her. It wasn't until a couple of my checks to Helen never cleared that I knew something was happening to some of my letters. You see, the whole time I was in Turkey I maintained a checking account in the u.s. and would send Helen money to pay for things like my storage unit which held my furniture or to reimburse her for some of the things she mailed me from the u.s. When a couple of my checks never cleared, I finally wrote and asked why she hadn't cashed them. Imagine my shock when Helen stated that the checks had never been received and that she had been wondering why I wasn't responding to her letters! When I got to work the next day, I asked our little office boy, Apte, what he had done with all the letters I had given him to mail. I usually gave him the letters and postage as he went daily to the post office, and it saved me the eight-block trip before 9:00 a.m. or after 6:00. p.m. Sahop had instructed me not to leave the office during the day without his permission-in fact, I had to start bringing my lunch to work. Finally, after my grilling him, Apte broke down. He said that Sahop had demandedthat all ofmy letters were to be taken directly to Sahop. Apte lived in mortal terror of Sahop. The boy said that Sahop usually kept my letters for two or three days and then gave them back to be mailed. But there were many times when Sahop never 1J?2

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gave them back. I knew Sahop was evil and not to be trusted but I never dreamed he would stoop so low. He already had his secretary (and stool pigeon) open and read all of my mail that came to the office. When Cemal came, I asked him what he knew about Sahop stealing my mail. He acted stunned and said it wasn't right and we could speak with Sahop together. Toward noon Sahop came back and when he was confronted him all 275 pounds were quivering with fury. He was so red I thought he might be on the verge of a stroke. He said he had a "right" to know everything that went out of his office. I said, "Not personal mail that used personal stamps." Later, I found out that Sahop had really screamed and cursed at Apte for telling me and said that Apte was never to answer another question of mine even if it was simply to know the time of day. From that day on, I instructed Helen and everybody else stateside to send all my mail to a friend a mine in Turkey; I sent all of my outgoing mail through her, as well. Excerpt from Nevar Neyok in Turkey Tourism Guide; Angela Peterson's regular column focusing on Turkish sites and history; July 17, 1965: Editor's Note: Angela Peterson is a pioneer in Turkish tourism. She has been instrumental in organizing some of the most creative tours in this part of the world... How rapidly conditions change in Turkey! Hundreds of miles of pavement have been laid and road signs put up; decent rest stops dot the highway. Hotels, ranging from adequate to deluxe are rapidly being built and a hotel training school gives the basics in service and management. The lovely beaches are being developed, historical sites are being cleaned up and enough restoration made to preserve them. Guides are slowly being trained in the larger cities; information centers have been opened allover Europe and the Americas; and this year some attractive publicity has gone out. Travel 1965 is a far cry from travel 1962. Now one can go in safety and comfort anywhere in Turkey. There is much to be done yet but the country is meeting the challenge, and the Tourism Ministry is working with a definite plan. Individual cities and towns are doing their part. Everywhere a welcome awaits the tourist because the Turks are friendly, and hospitality to the stranger is a part of their code. I came to Turkey to stay two weeks and have been here three-and-a-halfyears ...

Excerpt, letter from Angela Peterson to her sister, Helen; 28 July, 1965: ...When I leave here I'll come home and settle down to being an old lady with my museum and pension. However, while I'm well enough and active enough as a thirty-year-old and have as much knowledge needed here, it seems a shame to waste it... The years ahead alone do not enthuse me, but where do you find a suitable man? They must be a certain age and that age is all taken or they are unspeakable. In the service over in Turkey, very few are even fifty. At Site 23, the oldest man is the Catholic Chaplain. He is 53 and 41/2 years older than the next oldest. That seems to be typical here. Of five generals I know, only two are in their early fifties; the others are in their forties. All married besides. Same with the other travel agencies and the

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Excerpt, letter from Angela Peterson to her sister, Helen; 11 November (Armistice Day), 1965: Dear Sis: It was in March that Cemal Bey took Sahop for a"partner." His money allowed us to move from our tiny two-room location to a large five-room suite on one of the city's main streets. That is about the only positive thing that has happened. In the old place we were all happy, respected each other, worked hard and laughed a lot. Now, personnel come and go so fast that we can't even keep track of names. After one week, anybody who starts working here can't stand Sahop. He treats everyone like dirt, stamping and cursing at us in fits of rage-even poor Cemal. He has a secretary whose chief function is to listen to our phone conversations and to open and read our mail. She reports everything we do, everyone we contact, and everyone who comes to see us. I've put up with it all because the fine reputation ACT Tours has had up to this point has been my doing. I've been hoping it would get better, but it has not. I now feel if this is to continue, I'll probably quit and come home in early 1966... Sahop just came and started yelling and pounding the desk. Yesterday, he announced that if we were not here at least five minutes before 9:00 a.m. so we were working at 9:00, we were going to be docked aday's pay. I asked whose watch we'd go by as there is no time service here and every clock is different. Also, there is never any mention of overtime for 10 to 30 hours over in aweek. He was mostly upset at the office girl, who comes in five minutes late every morning. Because of the bus schedule, it would either be five minutes late or 35 minutes early. Nice man! Nice boss!

Finally, I just couldn't take the abuse from Sahop any more. To make matters worse, the reputation I had helped to create for ACT Tours was being totally destroyed by Sahop's greed and inexperience. I decided I didn't have any other choice but to leave. I thought about returning to the United States but a new company called Midas Tours was begging me to come and work with them. By taking the job, I would have the opportunity to stay in Turkey. The downside was that the company was brand new. Not only would it be like starting over but my financial situation would be extremely tenuous since all the company's funds had been invested in start-up costs. My income would be totally dependent upon the revenues from tours begun by a new travel agency. The prospects were not great, but I wanted to give it a try. After the first of the year, I decided to start working for Midas Tours. Excerpt, letter from Angela Peterson to her sister, Helen; 1 February, 1966: ... Midas Tours has written me acontract which I took to the lawyer last night. It is in Turkish, so I need him to look it over. If it is what it should be, then I am okay. If Midas gives me the time and money I need to produce, I have no doubt I can make a go of it. .. I've heard Sahop often say no one has ever quit him in years. He always fires them. When they go in to quit, he yells, "Quit hell! You're fired." He then tells

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everyone he had to fire the person. I was determined he wouldn't do that to me. I wrote my resignation and then took it to a notary. Several days later I told Sahop I was leaving. He was all ready to shout, "You're fired" when he learned I'd sent it to a notary. He was so angry, he could have killed me. He told me to get out now, and not wait for my two weeks. Sahop kept asking me, "Are you going home? You are going back to the United States, right?" etc. More than anything, he wants me out of Turkey...

When I returned to pick up my final check, Sahop demanded that I first sign a paper stating that I would never work in Turkey in any job that could be construed as competition to ACT Tours. It made me furious; I picked up all four copies of the paper and walked out. I went to see a lawyer who said, "Never sign that if you plan to stay or want to return to Turkey." I found out later that Sahop had such a tantrum after I left that he had had a minor heart attack and was in the hospital recovering for a week. I started working at Midas immediately. Setting up the new office, planning all the advertising and publicity, planning tours and securing buses, planes, hotels, etc., kept me busy, but it was awhile before I was making a salary. After I started at Midas, Sahop went to the police and tried to get them to revoke my work permit and order me to leave. The police told MustafBey (my new boss) that they just started laughing, which made Sahop extremely angry. After that, I began hearing rumors that Sahop was threatening to "get me." I even wrote Helen that if I was in "an accident," or died suddenly, she would know that he had made good on his threat. Excerpt from Nevar Neyok in Turkey Tourism Guide; Angela Peterson's regular column focusing on Turkish sites and history; April 9, 1966: Saint Paul Though Tarsus was agreat city no city compared to Jerusalem. Its history, its sanctity set it apart. The emotions of this precious, developing youth standing before the Temple must have been all encompassing. Here was the majestic symbol of the god to the service of whom he planned to dedicate his life. Agreat sense of mission must have overwhelmed him as he identified with the edifice before him. How fortunate was he to be a student of Gamaliel, the greatest Hebrew scholar of his day. How young Saul drank in all that was expounded of the Law and the long history of the Jews. Alone in Jerusalem, not attractive physically, and little interested in sports or the usual diversions of his peers, resentment began to dominate spurring to awful action the bigotry and hidebound narrowness that surrounded him in this Holy City. Because of his lack of acceptance and realizing that he was only one of thousands of ambitious students, anonentity, his ego rebelled, demanding recognition. Because of his brilliant mind he was able to gather round him a group of young religious fanatics seeking outlets for their zeal in sadistic persecutions ...

Events over the next few months went quickly. Because the number oftravel agencies catering to foreign tourists had grown tremendously during my time in Turkey, getting Midas offthe ground was extremely challenging. In order to help with publicity, Midas agreed to pay for travel expenses for my sister, Helen, and her daughter, Kathy, 1J?5

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to come to Turkey and accompany some of our tours. You see, Helen was a fairly successful newspaper journalist and it was thought that a travel journey written by an American and published in u.s. newspapers would generate some clients. In the spring of 1966, Helen and Kathy arrived and became part of my life in Turkey. They were with me from the middle of March to the first part of July. We had a wonderful time! Helen got to see me doing the job I loved and the two of us got to visit and be even closer than ever. I shared my excitement about Turkey, many of the destinations, and some of the most interesting ruins in history. Even though money was short (and my salary not what I had been used to), Midas was very kind to Helen and had great hopes for the articles. Our conversations, however, were not always of a positive nature. Immediately after her arrival, Helen began to hear firsthand some of the rumblings of Sahop's threats-the stories caused her to worry. She also shared with me some of the rumors that were being circulated about Eric and Neville. Actually, I became more worried about the rumors Helen was telling me than I was about Sahop. Excerpt from Nevar Neyok in Turkey Tourism Guide; Angela Peterson's regular column focusing on Turkish sites and history; April 23, 1966: The land of present day Turkey was the field in which the seeds of the New Testament were sown. Over mountain, swamp, and stony ground traveled St. Paul ... How successful he was is testified to by the fact that Asia Minor was the center of Christian faith during most of the first millennia of our era. When I was last in the States, a minister's wife said to me, "My husband and I have just returned from the Holy Land, including Egypt." Icongratulated her on her grand tour and asked what Biblical cities in Turkey they visited. "Turkey! Why would a Christian go to Turkey?" She flatly refused to believe me when I tried to tell her that the Church's early activity centered here, or of the books of the New Testament written on Turkish soil. To us who live in Turkey and are familiar with places and names, such ignorance is appalling. Yet, in spite of all the books, most of the Christian world does not realize how much of the Church heritage comes from Turkey... Roman roads in the first century were the best the world has ever known until the coming of the automobile and were more extensive in their network then we can imagine. They were so finely engineered that the major highways of Turkey today follow, almost exactly, the roads over which the Roman legions marched, the rich caravans traveled, the pilgrims to the pagan temples followed, and over which St. Paul with his companions also advanced ... Until about forty years ago, travel in this part of the world was easier for St. Paul than for one at any time since. It was all one world belonging to Rome and so no border formalities or customs duties were necessary. Roman money was good everywhere so there was no confusion over rates of exchange. Greek, not Latin, was the universal language and nearly every person was as fluent in it as in his provincial dialect. Good roads took you to where you wished to go and all the great highways were policed, so one traveled in comparative safety. Inns dotted the landscape a day's journey apart (which was normally around 15 miles) where there was shelter and water for man and beast. ..

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Every one ofmy sisters, Helen included, was convinced that Eric had cheated on Neville. Apparently, the rumors had all started because of little Marsh's adoption over a year earlier. You see, Neville had had two or three miscarriages and couldn't have another child. She wanted another child but Eric had often voiced his negative opinion about adoption. My sisters felt as selfish and stubborn as Eric came across; if he got another child then it had to be his own. They said, "There's no way Eric would adopt someone else's baby. You know Eric is self-willed and butt-headed. You know that child has to be his. You know it!" They were all convinced that Eric had fathered a child with another woman. I just couldn't believe that Eric had fooled around with anybody. Eric and Neville had fallen in love in high school and never even dated another person. I don't think Eric or Neville ever even looked at anybody else. Ofall the couples I have known, I would suspect Eric or Neville of cheating least of all. At the same time, Helen made me start to wonder. After all, doctors are doctors and they have all the chances in the world to fool around. Knowing Eric, I also had a hard time conceiving of him adopting somebody's else's kid. When July arrived, I kind of wanted to return to the States with Helen and Kathy so that I could speak with Eric myself. Later that year when I did return to the U.S., I stayed for a while at Eric and Neville's in Illinois; the same place where Eric had first opened his practice when Kirsten was just a baby. Eric told me, "When I decided to adopt, I decided right then and there to treat the child just like my own. Although it's not biological, Marsh is my son. The funny thing about my family is that none of us can carry a tune; can't even recognize a tune. While I was visiting, I heard little Marsh sing. His voice was absolutely beautiful! I knew right then and there that Eric was telling the truth. The baby couldn't be Eric's because that child could sing. Anyway, while I was still in Turkey, my finances continued to decline. I also grew extremely homesick for all ofmy family. With her departure, Helen became very much concerned for both my financial and physical well-being. Excerpt, letter from Angela Peterson to her sister, Helen; 12 July, 1966: ...Got you r letter from Rome yesterday and was so pleased to hear. Sorta glad that you are lonesome for me, too, as I'd not like to think I was the only one. Have missed you both so much ...

Excerpt, letter from Angie (Mrs. James 0.) Nichols; August 30, 1966: Dear Mother: Sorry I've been so long writing but I can't remember when I've had a more hectic summer... We had a nice but short visit with Aunt Helen and Uncle Gordon. She sure enjoyed her visit with you. She was telling me about your troubles and I'm so sorry. Being so far away there is very little I can do. I wrote Eric telling him about your situation but I assume he is still on vacation, as they usually take it in August. I am enclosing a small check which I wish could be more but we are broke at the

KevLVvJ. TodesGV1L moment. This summer has been costly to us. Everything seems to go up faster than Jim's pay. I talked Jim into taking a vacation this year and we just returned from a two week trip through New England. If this seems to contradict the last paragraph, the entire trip was accomplished on $150 for five people. We used our camper, I did the cooking, and the most expensive thing we did was take the kids through the Catskill Game Farm. We also went through the Vanderbilt Museum, Hyde Park, and Calvin Coolidge's home. As these all belong to the government, it only costs a $1.00 and they were all very interesting... Mother, it makes me sick that I can't help you more but I have no advice to give as I know too little about Turkey or the travel business. Please let us hear from you as we are much concerned. Love, Angie

Excerpt, letter from Eric M. Peterson, M.D.; September 4, 1966: When we got home from our vacation, I had a letter from Angie stating that the wolf was at your door. I have enclosed a check for $200. Angie did not indicate the extent of your financial problems or your plans or alternatives. Please write the details... We are planning alot of work this winter plus house building-so this weekend we are once again camping in a park near Moline while Clyde tends the office. He will have his turn shortly...

I decided that all of the difficulties I was having might be telling me that my stay in Turkey was over. However, I still loved the country and wanted to have some objective advice as to what course of action I was supposed to take. Money was becoming more and more of a problem. I was still paying for storage for my furniture in the u.S. (in dollars) and every time I changed a Turkish check into u.S. currency I was losing twenty-five cents on the dollar. It was partly out of homesickness, partly out of fear, and partly because of my financial situation that I wrote Myrna Johnson, a friend of Helen's. Myrna was quite a reputable psychic. She didn't like publicity and she didn't want to be known, but many ofthe police forces in Pennsylvania and Ohio had worked with her. She'd find people for them and tell them whether the victim was dead or alive and so forth. I briefly told Myrna some ofmy problems and concerns. A short time later I received a warning from her: "Get out of Turkey as quickly as you can! Even now, plans are being made to kill you." If I stayed in Turkey, I would be dead before the end of the year. Myrna told me that there were "wicked and evil" men who were plotting against me. It was really because of her warning that I made my final decision. It's funny but at the same time I got a job offer from the u.S. army to be service club director at a small base in Germany. I turned it down; at long last it was time to be back home with my family. Excerpt, letter from Angela Peterson to her sister, Helen; 18 October, 1966: ... Myrna seemed almost in a panic for me to get out of Turkey NOWl ... She got the feeling some danger lurked right at my door. That settles it, I'll come home

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as soon as I can pack, sell, and leave... ln a way, it seems as though a load has been lifted off of my mind. I have much to take care of, pack, and sort, but I plan to be out by the end of the month, if possible... I'm glad to be coming home as I need to see my children ...

Let me tell you, the most difficult thing about coming back was going from a position in which I was respected and where my opinion was often sought out and returning to the u.s. where I was just nobody. During my time in Turkey I had met seven heads of state: the Shah of Iran, King Hussein, the presidents of Iraq, Turkey, Egypt, Lebanon and even Prince Philip of the United Kingdom. I had been told more than once, "You are the best known American in the Middle East." I was considered to know more about Turkey than any Turk. When I was traveling, if someone recognized me I would be moved up to first class on a train or on a plane, "Oh, no Mrs. Peterson, you must sit here. My boss would give me the devil if he found out I had left you back there." I often had the best service in some of the nicest hotels. Wherever I went, people just wanted to cater to me. How things have changed. People now look at me and all they can see is an old woman in a nursing home who doesn't seem to know much of anything. Even now, I still get homesick when I think of Turkey. Honey, I wonder if anyone over there is still alive who would remember me?

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seveV'vteeV'v I had already started taking Social Security back in 1963 and got a reduced amount. I hadn't known what else to do at the time; the kids hadn't wanted me to return to Turkey and there hadn't been the prospect of a government job. When I got back from Turkey, I decided I should probably retire for real. After a brief stay with Eric and Neville, I moved to Dayton in order to be close to my sisters. Shortly thereafter, I was asked to start giving lectures on Turkey. I was also asked to lecture on the dolls. I started getting fifty dollars a night for speaking, two or three days a week. That was good money back then. After word of some of my lectures had gotten around, the Dayton school system asked me if I would give four classes on the Middle East at each of the city's thirteen high schools. They wanted me to take jewelry and dolls and clothing and, of course, the slides, into each school because nobody really knew anything about the Middle East. At the same time, the Catholic University asked me if I would show slides and give a talk for them. That led into a full-fledged class on Turkey and the Middle East that students got college credit for. All my classes and talks kept me quite busy in Dayton. Excerpt, Dayton Leisure; Spring 1967: Mementos of Long Visit to Turkey Mrs. Angela Peterson of Grand Ave. went to Turkey early in 1962 with the intention of staying there two weeks. As it turned out, she remained there nearly five years. She looks back on the half decade as a"fabulous experience.'" And she has several trunks filled with mementos of that exciting period in her life. The souvenirs are not the run-of-the-market type that one usually brings back from foreign places. Among the items are asmall Turkish earth-mother that may be 8,000 years old, Phoenician-made "tear bottles" used by the Romans (containers that were buried with the dead, holding tears from the eyes of the bereaved), and small stone tablets carrying messages chiseled by the inhabitants of the ancient Turkish city of Hatusis, perhaps a thousand years before the birth of Christ. Not all of the several hundred pieces of artifacts, jewelry and pottery are from Turkey. Some come from other Near East countries, Africa, Greece, and India. The story of how Mrs. Peterson became an American expatriate in Turkey, and of how she subsequently built up her treasure collections begins rather innocuously with a typical American-style "grand tour" of Europe. Having completed an assignment as counselor at Ohio Wesleyan University, Mrs. Peterson in 1961 took a trip to Europe. At its conclusion, and at the insistence of an Air Force couple who were good friends of hers, Mrs. Peterson agreed to make a two-week side visit to the Turkish capital of Ankara, to which the military couple recently had been transferred. On her arrival in Turkey, Mrs. Peterson was astounded when she heard the Air Force wife declare: "You've got a job here." The Air Force service club for enlisted men in Ankara had unexpectedly lost its director. Mrs. Peterson's background in counseling and recreational work made her anatural for the position and, because she immediately "fell in love with the country," she agreed to fill the post for the nine months remaining in the former director's tour of duty. One of her functions at the club was to arrange guided tours for American military personnel and this brought her into contact with Cemal Bey, who heads an Ankara travel agency. The two hit it off well professionally.

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When Mrs. Peterson's stint at the Air Force club ended she returned to the United States, only to be followed a short time later by a message from Cemal Bey. Return to Turkey and help him run a tourist business was its content. Within two months, Mrs. Peterson was back in Turkey ready to begin acareer as the "only American in the travel business in Turkey." Mrs. Peterson served as hostess on countless tours and when new territory was to be covered she scouted the points of visit in advance. Most of her customers wereAmerican. Among the others were five diplomatic core ambassadors who took the same tour at the same time. The tours extended into all corners of Turkey, and some well beyond its borders. In all, the job took Mrs. Peterson to 15 countries. For Mrs. Peterson, a lover of artifacts and jewelry, particularly of the ancient variety, the travel presented an opportunity to build up her collection. "These things fascinated me to death," she explains. Some of the items were gifts; others were purchased. One incentive, but not a primary one, for buying the treasures stemmed from the fact that Mrs. Peterson's salary from the Cemal Bey agency was in Turkish lira, a currency difficult to convert into American money because of the monetary imbalance between the two countries. Converting lira into objects of art was a convenient alternative. After holding her Turkish job a great deal longer than she had originally planned, Mrs. Peterson recently returned to the United States with a determination this time of living here permanently. But she admits, "They (her overseas friends) better not tempt me too much. I still have itchy feet."

After I made the rounds with my lectures on the Middle East, the Dayton School system hired me to teach Sophomore English. I just loved working with those kids and they liked me. They seemed fascinated by the stories I could tell. When I had a break from my classes, I went to Parkersburg for a little visit. I wanted to see Parkersburg because so many people I knew were still there. This was in 1967, four years after Fred had died. There was this wonderful hotel that had been a grand hotel during the Civil War. Of course it had been run down over the course of a hundred years and they were in the process of trying to remodel it. They had known Papa and they knew me. They made a real nice suite there and rented it to me for almost nothing during my stay. I had the opportunity to see just about everybody from my past. It was quite a nice visit. Dils Brothers-Parkersburg's big department store-asked me to bring a display of some of my things from Turkey, "We'll give you the front third of the window displays on the second floor. You can make any kind of display you want." Excerpt, The Parkersburg News; Sunday October 15, 1967: Celebrating Dils 67th Anniversary-Discover a World of Values See Angela Peterson displaying mementos of her travels ... Mrs. Peterson, the former Angela Marsh of Parkersburg, will be on Oils third floor this week with her collection of objects d'art from her travels in 4 out of 5 continents. You will see a cross made from Lebanese cedar, Phoenician glass, talismans and charms from the middle and Far East. These items are displayed for your interest only, they are not for sale.

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Excerpt, The Parkersburg Sentinel; Friday, October 20, 1967: Colorful Display Includes Handwork From 21 Nations Colorful! Exotic! Unusual! Diversified! These are a few of the words which inadequately describe the jewelry and handcraft, ancient and modern, being displayed by Mrs. Angela Peterson (the former Angela Marsh of Parkersburg) at Oils Brothers Store this week. Asmall carved warrior from Kenya, Africa, watches over several small statues, icons, and carvings from Russia, Greece and other countries of the Mid and Near East. ABuddhist prayer wheel from Tibet rests near acarved softly tinted horsehide letter holder from Mexico, and bright beggars beads from India share space with an array of necklaces, chains and medallions from many lands. Mrs. Peterson said she brought items from 21 nations for the display from her present home in Dayton, Ohio. The stories associated with the articles bring the history of the lands to life... Her travels have taken her to many nations...China, Spain, France, Italy, England, Denmark, Greece, Mexico, Peru, Canada, Egypt, Ethiopia, Kenya, Turkey, Syria, Jordan, Lebanon, Israel, India, Nepal, and Iran.

It made quite a hit in Parkersburg. It was in the papers and everything. I had some wonderful jewelry and antiques, and that sort of thing. Of course, while I was there, I just had to ask about Tootsie. Apparently, years before, Fred had taken in a young man about eighteen years old to help out in the office. Over the years he moved up from errand boy and driving the car to almost a partner there in Fred's business. He knew everything about the business. When Fred died, this young man told Tootsie, "Now that Fred's gone, I know more about his business than anybody. If you make me a partner, I can help you and together we can make the business grow even larger." Tootsie wouldn't have anything to do with it. She said, "No, I know all about the business. It's my business and it's my husband's business, so it's not going to be any of your business." So she fired him. After that, Fred's business just went downhill. She lost the business and her home. Fred had built her a brand new house because she didn't want to sleep in the same room where I had been. The business went bankrupt and shut down. All this had happened while I was in Turkey. When I returned, she was making a living by operating a boarding house and renting rooms to college girls. Apparently, she had taken to drinking as well. A few of the girls told me that they had never seen her sober. One night Tootsie told the girls, "Now don't call me in the morning, I'm going to sleep in. I've laid out everything for your breakfast." Around noon, Tootsie door was still shut and no one had seen her. Around two-thirty it was still shut and one of the girls said, "Maybe she's sick or something." A couple of them went into her room and found her dead. She had killed herself by taking an overdose of pills and then drinking. Several people that knew us both said that Tootsie was so upset about my coming back and being such a success, "All the to-do in the paper about you at Dils, she just couldn't take it." They said, "Angela, you killed her." I have felt bad about that all these years. She was buried on the right side ofFred. There is still a vacant grave on the left side of Fred, but I'm not going to take it. Tootsie's got the rights to him now. I've got my own little plot picked out for me in High Point, North Carolina.

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I returned to teaching in Dayton. Integration was in full swing, but the school didn't have any problems. All the kids seemed really eager to learn. Unfortunately, that next fall one of the Black kids shot and killed the coach during practice in front of a hundred and fifty people. He had tried out for the team and the coach had told him, "Yes, you're big and you're strong but you don't know any football. You're not good enough for the team." The last practice game ofthe season, with all these people watching, the coach was shot dead on the field. It was terrible. After that, the whole school system feared racial problems. We had armed policemen parading the hallways all day long. As soon as the class bell rang, you were supposed to come in and lock your door. And you were told NEVER to leave your desk because you had a panic button there that you could push. And I was one of these teachers that really liked to walk around the room and interact with the students. I had an integrated class and I never had any problems. I loved all my kids. But the school had its rules. Finally, I told them, "I can't teach like this, I'm not going to teach like this." I quit my job in Dayton and moved to Marietta, Ohio. I decided on Marietta because Louise was in Parkersburg twelve miles south and Helen was in Lowell, Ohio, twelve miles north; I would be halfway in between them. When I got to Marietta, I agreed to substitute in the first to sixth grades. After about six months, the school superintendent told me, "I've had more absences since you've been teaching here. The teachers aren't worried about being sick with you available." I finally became "permanent substitute" for the grade school right near my house. It was so close to where I lived that from the school windows on the second floor I could see into my living room. I was teaching at the school. I was still giving two or three lectures a week. I had time to visit Louise and Helen. I had friends all over West Virginia and Ohio. I was so happy in my home in Marietta. I was renting this IOO-year-old house. It was close to the college there and the landlord had been renting it out to college students. He had let it go downhill. It needed paint and wallpaper, new cement in places, repairs in the basement, one of the stairs needed to be repaired. It was in bad shape but it was just what I had wanted. The rooms were exactly what I needed. There was a lovely bedroom and bath downstairs for me and some nice guest rooms upstairs. Ijust loved the arrangement of that house. I made a deal with the landlord. I'd make a list of all the things that needed to be fixed and I'd rent it from him. I wanted to live in that house until I died. I made a list offifteen or twenty things that needed to be done. The worse part about that house was that it had no clothes or wardrobe closets. I had him open up the stairs under the second floor landing to fix a nice coat closet there on the first floor. I drew up a plan for him about how he could make a closet in each of the upstairs bedrooms without too much trouble. I showed him what needed to be done in the kitchen and so forth. I lived for quite a number of months while the landlord made what repairs he could. Finally he told me, he couldn't afford to continue. He'd have to sell the place, "Mrs. Peterson, I'd like to do these things but I just can't afford it. I just can't do it." It was right then and there that I decided I wanted to buy that house for myself. With that in mind, I went through the house and checked everything thoroughly. It was in good condition. I knew enough about buildings from my time with Fred to know that the price the landlord was asking was a bargain. I wrote to Eric and told

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him, "I'd love to have my own place again, and this is a nice house." There was even a nice place to display my dolls. 1 told him 1 could make a nice three-room basement apartment in the back which came out at street level. 1 could rent that out. 1 told Eric, "I can make a down payment and 1 can manage the monthly payment based on my social security and renting out the apartment but 1need someone to co-sign the loan." The bank had said 1 wouldn't be able to qualify by myself. To my disappointment, Eric said 1was too old to be taking care of a house all by myself. He wouldn't co-sign. He said, "I don't care how good of shape it's in, there will be maintenance work that you won't be able to do and I'm too far away to be able to help you. Mother, it's an old house. Whether it's the roof, the water heater, the stove or whatever, a couple of months won't go by where you do not have to repair or replace something." He added, "Mom, if1lived in the same town, or 1knew someone in town who could help you, I'd do it in an instant. You don't realize the financial burden that comes with a house.. .! just can't do it for your sake." 1 didn't ask Jim and Angie because they were even worse off than 1was. So, 1 moved out of that house-I had been there about six months. 1 moved a few blocks away and continued to give talks, teach school and carry out my life in Marietta until 1 moved to High Point. Excerpt, Kettering, Ohio Adult School Course Descriptions; Classes for Adults: Fall Term Description of Classes, 1970 Class #109 - Turkey: This 1a-week course is designed to give you an overall picture of a fascinating, little known nation by a fellow American who has traveled every section of it many times in her five years of residency. In entertaining fashion she will present through lectures, pictures, artifacts, the geography and its historical importance as a land bridge through the ages; its history that traces back to 6,000 B.C. and includes Hittite, Hellenistic, Roman, Christian, Turk, as well as many other races and conquerors; the early Christians and Saint Paul's journeys; the Byzantines, Crusades and coming of the Seljuks; the mighty Ottoman Empire and its decay; the Revolution led by Ataturk, and the founding of the Republic. All liberally sprinkled with anecdotes of Mrs. Peterson's adventures; customs of the country; its foods and lodgings; status of women; education; religion; what to expect in travel there. Mrs. Angela Peterson, Room 103, Tuesdays.

While 1 was living in Marietta and down visiting at Louise's, she had taken in a cute little black kitten that had just been thrown out in front of her house. She told me, "I'd love to keep it, Angela, this is a precious little thing, but my big Tom just won't tolerate another cat in the house." Louise pleaded, "Why don't you take it, Angela?" Well, I've always liked cats. When the children were little 1 always had a cat or two or a dog or two for them to play with. 1 replied, "Oh Louise, 1 travel so much and everything and 1 have no one to take care of it while I'm away. You can't just shut it up in the house and 1 can't just take it to a veterinarians, that's expensive and it's not always a good place." She put the kitten in my hand-he was absolutely black down to the end of his nose. 1 named him 'Black Cat' in Turkish. 1 got to thinking about the woman who lived behind me in Marietta.

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She had a cat and her husband was an invalid. And I was wondering if I went away would she take it for a week or two, so I called her from Louise's and she said, "I'd love to watch it." So I took that little black cat home. He was cute and smart and as black as coal. We got along perfectly. He'd get up on my desk and sleep on top of the typewriter. One day, I was sitting across the room watching television and he was on the typewriter. He was on the cover and for some reason he must have moved in his sleep and he slipped right off of the cover and fell with a 'bang' to the floor. He didn't like that a bit. His dignity was insulted. He got back up on the desk. He moved himselfbetween the desk and the typewriter stand and he braced his feet and by God that little cat pushed the typewriter off of the desk and onto the floor. He sat down, began licking his paws and seemed quite satisfied with the situation. Oh, I just adored him. In 1971, when school was out, I decided to be going back to Turkey for two or three months. And I got to thinking about that little cat, and I said, "Oh, dear, I knew something like this would happen." And what to do; what to do? Well, as it so happened, I taught sixth grade because that's my favorite grade. I had a wonderful time teaching there in Marietta. I had a final party for my sixth grade class-they were one of the nicest classes I ever had. I asked a couple of the parents to come and help me with forty-five kids. Those kids were thrilled to death to be coming over, plus they knew I had this cute little black cat. Well, when the kids start coming, that cat just loved the audience and started strutting his stuff all over the apartment. This one girl-her father was a dentist and they lived out on the edge oftown-she was just crazy about him and held onto that cat during the whole party. I got to talking to the girl's mother who was one of the helpers at the party. I told her I was leaving for a few months and didn't know what to do with Black Cat. Right away, the mother said, "Oh let us have him. We'djust love him." So I gave Black Cat to them. When I came back from Turkey, the little girl and her family were so crazy about that cat I didn't have the heart to ask for him back. I did get another cat after my trip to Turkey was over. I'd been home two or three months and one day I opened the front door to come in, carrying a bag ofgroceries in my hand. I nearly stepped on this big fat cat sitting between my legs who ran in when I opened the door. Well, he walked in and looked all around and went upstairs and checked my place out. He finally jumped up on the sofa in the living room and lay down. He looked like somebody's cat-he was well fed and big. So I petted him a little bit and put him back outside. Well, for the next six weeks, every time I'd open the door, front or back, that cat would run in. He was determined that I was going to be his person. It was obvious he belonged to someone so I watched the papers looking for a lost and found ad for him. I'd give him a little something to eat and then put him out as soon as he ate it but he'd be back as soon as I opened the door. One day, there was this knock at the door and a woman was standing there, "Someone told me that you had a cat that just wandered in. We've lost our cat and we're hoping you've found it." "Well, yes, he's here in the kitchen." When we walked in and that cat saw her, he crouched down on his paws and snarled, "SSSSSSSSSSSS," before pouncing off and running up the stairs. He ran up under one of the beds and hid.

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That poor woman almost cried. She told me that he was part of a litter that she had taken from her neighbors before they moved off to California. She said, as soon as he was old enough, he'd run out whenever the door was open and be gone for two or three days. She said it got to the point where the neighbors were always calling her and saying they'd seen the cat over at so-and-so's, because they knew she'd been looking for him. I told her that he wouldn't leave my property. She said, "Well, he must not have liked losing his brothers and sisters and he blames us. He just hates us; since he's picked you as his person, you can have him." So, I kept him. I didn't have a name for him but I knew his sex. I'd pet him and say, "You're a nice little Thomas cat; you're a pretty little Thomas cat." So Thomas became his name. If you called him anything but Thomas: Tom, Kitty, whatever it was, he'd just keep his head down and pretend to be asleep. He'd only answer to "Thomas." He was very aristocratic. He knew how to talk to me. I never had any problem understanding what he wanted or where he wanted to go.

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Anyway, back to my trip to Turkey. When I returned to Turkey in '71, I discovered that Cemal had moved his office to Istanbul. He was just barely getting by. Sahop had ruined the company and had nearly bankrupted Cemal. The news was that Sahop's wife had been found dead of peculiar circumstances and shortly thereafter Sahop had been shot in the back and killed. The case had never been solved. Cemal didn't want to talk about it but he sure seemed happy to see me. Excerpt, The Parkersburg News; Sunday, June 27,1971: Former Area Resident Is Traveling in the Middle East Mrs. Fred Peterson of Dayton, the former Angela Marsh of Parkersburg, embarked recently for atrip through Turkey and the Middle East. Mrs. Peterson who has spent many years in Turkey traveling the country from border to border, returned to refresh her memories and up-date her knowledge of the area. "Since I teach special courses on the Middle East and give lectures on it, I thought I should return," she said, adding that, besides, she felt Turkey was her second home. Turkey, like other countries has felt the rising tide of lawlessness in the past few years. Concerning this, Mrs. Peterson wrote: "Everyone, Turkish and American, is delighted with the martial law. Here they don't play around. A thief, any thief, is given six to 30 years, pronto. No paroles. There are no breaking and enterings now. The streets are as safe as your own living room, day or night." Mrs. Peterson plans to return to the United States in the fall.

Excerpt, The Star-Republican; Thursday, February 3, 1972: Blanchester, Clinton County Ohio Holy Land Slides Lectures at Goshen Church Get on the magic carpet and take a trip with Angela Peterson as she tells of her adventures in a foreign country and her tours to the Holy Land. Mrs. Peterson will give artifact and slide supported lectures in the United Methodist Church in Goshen, on the evenings of February 13, 14, and 15, beginning at 7:30 p.m. At 8:30 there will be a twenty minute intermission for questions, after which the lecture will continue. Tickets are $1.00 for the series and may be obtained by calling 827-0628. Tickets will be available at the general WSCS meeting at Grace United Methodist Church Thursday night (tonight). Ten years ago Mrs. Peterson was making a leisurely tour of southern Europe... her week's visit extended into more than five years...To gain perspective and background she lived as anative among these people, studying their culture and customs, listening to their traditions and tales, collecting costumes and antiques. (In Turkey, only articles pre-dating the birth of Christ are considered antique.) Mrs. Peterson is uniquely qualified to tell of the region of the world from whence the Bible, both Old and New Testaments, came. Many are surprised to learn how much of the Bible lies outside of today's concept of the boundaries of Bible lands and that a trip to the Holy Land covers only a small fragment of the territory so important to Christianity...She has numerous artifacts and more than 2,000 color slides of these lands. Since returning to the States, Mrs. Peterson has conducted many artifact and slide-supported lectures in colleges, high schools, church groups, and many others...

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Life went on pretty much the same there in Ohio. I made my last trip to Turkey in 1976. I remember because Angie hadn't been feeling very well. I told her, "Honey, I don't think I should go with you being sick. I should come and help you and Jim with the kids." And she insisted, "Oh, Mama, you go on. You've got all your reservations and your plans made and everything. Just go ahead and have a good time; I'll be all right." So I went ahead and made the trip. I guess one of the highlights for me on that trip was that even though I was nearly seventy-four at the time, I still managed to climb up the side of a 9,500-foot mountain. I also managed to see Cemal briefly. I felt badly for him because he seemed to have given up. He was still only in his sixties and had opened another office but his heart just wasn't in it. He was worn out and tired and didn't look at all like his old self. We went out to some old ruins together to look around but most of the time I was by myself or with some of my friends. The amazing thing was that in some of the villages I had been in so many times before, I was recognized. A few ofthe people came running out to show me their kids. A couple of times they dropped to their knees and kissed my hand. Things were a little different in Turkey by 1976, however, the locals had started to hate Americans because of our politics, but I didn't have any of that. The whole trip was a wonderful experience. I had a really good time until I received the shock of my life in a letter from the States. About a month before my three months were up, I got a letter from Angie's husband, Jim. He wrote, "Mother Pete, Angie didn't want me to worry you or to write this letter, so I'm doing it without her knowledge. At this rate she won't be here when you get back. I thought you better know. Angie is dying." I found out later that she knew even before I had left that she had melanoma cancer. She wouldn't let anybody tell me. She wanted me to have my trip to Turkey and enjoy myself. She literally talked me into going on that trip. The news came as a horrible shock. I was at a friend's house and had just come back from an extended excursion to some ofthe ruins. I wasn't feeling very well myself when I got the letter. Immediately, a friend of mine who was head of Middle East airlines changed my reservations so that within a day or two I was on my way home. I headed straight for Angie's. I walked into her house and found her in bed. Angie was very surprised. She said, "Mother, what are you doing here?" I said, "Well, Angie, I just got to thinking. Once in a while something kind of clicks. I hadn't heard from you and I got to worrying. I figured either you were sick or maybe you and Jim had had a fight, or something. I was ready to come home anyway. Thank God I did come home!" She insisted on getting up out of bed. I stayed with them for almost a week. I heard all kinds of conversations between her and the girls, and her and Jim, before I decided to leave so that they could all say their private good-byes. Angie had such courage. She never once cried. She'd tell her daughters, "Now girls, I'm going to die, and I don't want you to feel bad because I think I'll go to Heaven, and I want you girls to meet me there someday. I don't want you to grieve because it would be just awful to have a mother who was bedridden and couldn't play with their daughters like some girls have. Do what you can to help your father."

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"I want your father to marry again. He loves a home; he loves a wife; he loves you children. I want you to encourage him to marry again. You each promise me that you'll go to college-I want you to do that for me." She had everybody prepared. She was the bravest one and she was one of the greatest people I've ever known. You look at any ofAngie's pictures at any age, and you can see that she's got the wisest eyes. I remember once, Edna Edmundson, who was a great astrologer and psychic, stopped in Parkersburg on her way up North from New Orleans. I met her at the train and brought her out to the house. Angie came running out when we arrived and Edna looked up at her, "Is this your daughter?" Angie was only six or seven at the time. "Yes, Edna. That's my daughter, Angie." Edna just shook her head in wonderment, "God must have loved you terribly to entrust you with such a great soul. She's as close to an angel as you can get." You know, it just took the heart out ofme when Angie died. It's not natural for a child to go before the parent. She faded very fast and was dead within three weeks of my coming home. Excerpt, The Marietta Times; Thursday, September 30, 1976: Deaths and Funerals: Mrs. James O. Nichols Angela Helen Nichols, 43, of Mechanicsburg, Pa., formerly of Parkersburg, died Tuesday night after several months of illness. She was born in Parkersburg November 1, 1932, a daughter of the late Fred Peterson and Angela Peterson of Marietta. A graduate of Parkersburg High School, she attended Baylor University of Waco, Tex., and Wittenberg College of Springfield. She was a graduate of the Southern Methodist University of Dallas, Texas. In 1955, she was married to James O. Nichols, who survives. She was active in the Women's Club of Mechanicsburg, the Lutheran Church and the local4-H club. Other survivors include three daughters, Karen, Erica and Betsy; one brother, Dr. Eric Peterson of Moline, III. Services will be conducted at 10:30 a.m. Saturday at the Lutheran Church in Mechanicsburg. Friends may call at the Myers Funeral Home in Mechanicsburg.

After Angie's death, I was convinced it was my time to settle down and start getting old. As much as I liked Marietta, I knew the time was fast approaching when I needed to find a retirement home. I wanted to make the move while I was still alert enough to make my own decisions and take part in the world around me. During the winter of 1977-1978, I wrote to sixty-seven retirement homes. After hearing back from them, I eliminated all but six. Those six were in the states of Georgia, Ohio, Florida, and North Carolina, and I took the time to visit each one. Finally, I settled on the one in High Point, North Carolina. In the end, I decided on the Wesleyan Arms Retirement Center because there seemed to be so many advantages. The waiting list was less than a year; in some places it was nine or more. Everything was one-story. Each home was a cottage resident where individuals could do their own cooking, although there was a cafeteria on the grounds if you wanted it. There was also a beautiful church in the center of some treed acres; and best of all I could afford it because they would take my doll collection as collateral.

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They gave me my cottage and I gave them the doll collection, provided they housed it and paid the insurance, and let me maintain lifetime control over the dolls; then at my death it would be theirs to do with as they pleased. I had been collecting dolls for years, so my collection was quite impressive. In fact, the Parkersburg doll club was my original club. We had a little doll club even before there was a national doll organization. All the costumes are antique. I never dress an antique doll in any material less than fifty years old. For example, my dolls which make up the wedding party display were dressed more than fifty years ago, so you know that the material on those dolls is over a hundred years old. All ofthe houses were built by hand, long before there were such things as these doll house kits. After I was divorced from Fred, an old retired Methodist minister friend of mine built the Parsonage in the doll village. He said he'd build it and I could paint it. I decided it would look better with bricks, so I cut out about two thousand tiny bricks to glue to that house. Eric supplied me with tongue depressors for the roof. The dining room wallpaper is rice paper from Korea and the panels on the walls are miniature tapestries that were hand-made in Japan. The floor is from a very old piece ofmaterial that came from a sultan's fancy robe. I think that's one of the most interesting houses at the museum, probably because I put so much of my own work into it. Wesleyan Arms vacated a large room at the church for my collection until we could get the museum set up. After several delays and living in a hotel room long after my cottage was supposed to have been ready, I finally got settled in my own place. It was quite attractive inside and out. There was beautiful shrubbery around the front and a small flower garden beside the nice front porch. I also made a little vegetable garden out back. Although all of the retirement units were the same, my Turkish rugs and many artifacts from abroad gave my home a quality all its own. Thomas Cat and I settled down for retirement in High Point, North Carolina. I was happy with my new home and eager to take part in all the activities that the community had to offer. I didn't have the slightest idea that my life was about to begin a slow and steady decline.

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sLgViteeVl Honey, it's been more than a week since I've tried to speak into this microphone. I pick it up most every day and look at it and try to use it but I just don't have energy enough to put anything on tape. I want to do it so badly but I feel so awful. Today is one of those days when it seems like everything has gone wrong. Everybody that I need to help me at all has disappointed me in some way or another. I had an appointment yesterday to see the Mayor about the dolls, but they phoned me early and said that the Mayor had been called out of town on an emergency. There's no hope of going down to the museum. They practically kicked me out the last time I was there and told me, "Everything is all fine; it was all settled long ago and you have no part in it and mustn't ask for any help." So if the Mayor and the museum and all those people who used to be my friends don't want to help me, there's not much I can do. Sometimes, I think all that's left for me to do is to give up. I had heard that nursing homes could be bad but you can't imagine what it's like until you're a resident yourself. The tragedy is that where I'm at is supposed to be the second best place in the state. Medicare is paying hundreds of dollars per person per day for hundreds of thousands of nursing home residents and let me tell you it's not the patients who are benefiting from all that money. It's the owners, the businesspeople, and the administrators. Much of the staff is untrained and under qualified-making minimum wage for a job that really requires specialized training and education. You can't even expect the most basic essentials around here. The way they bathe me is almost criminal. A bath consists of a washrag that's been wetted and then wrung out as dry as possible. A staff person pushes that rag up the right arm and shoulder across your chest and then down over the other arm as if the washrag was a piece of sandpaper. That's pretty much the extent of my daily bath. They never wash your underarms. They never go under your breasts. They never get inside your legs. Sometimes they don't even wash your arms. They focus all their time and energy on scrubbing down every little finger until it hurts-as if that's the only place they're not afraid to touch. This is not very nice for a lady to say but they're worried about my privates. They've been neglected for so long that they're bleeding; they're sore. The nurse comes in every morning and slops some kind of gook on them. Now how did they get that way? They weren't that way when I came here? It's because ofthe care you get. What can I do? It doesn't matter who you ask for something, the answer is always the same, "It's not my job-it's not my responsibility." "No, I'm not supposed to do that, you'll have to ask so and so." And everybody is always fighting or mad with everyone else. The attendants are afraid to go to the kitchen to ask for something for me. The nurses hardly speak to the attendants because somehow the attendants are beneath them. The cleaning people are in their own little world and I never see any office people. To make matters worse, I think my doctor's losing his mind. He's got to be over seventy-five and his memory is as bad as Louise's when she was ninety. They had me on oxygen for awhile and he came in to check on me to see how I was doing. "Sometimes the oxygen causes your throat to dry. Have you been having problems with a cough?" 203

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I told him, "No, I haven't been coughing." It wasn't ten minutes later when he said, "I'll write you a prescription for that cough." "I don't have a cough!" I swear to you before he left, he said, "You look good. Your teeth look good. The sore on your chest is looking better. Don't worry, we'll take care of that cough. Can I get you anything else?" I just looked up and said, "Yes, get me a doctor that knows what he's doing!" I tell you I'd be better off if my doctor was one of these women out drooling in the hallway. When I came in here, the director was a really nice man. We were good friends. He was black and one of the kindest people I've ever known. When he left, there was a great deal of turnover in this place. Now the new director has spent thousands of dollars putting up borders and wallpaper and carpets. Why can't they do something for a patient? Nothing is done for the patients. We're the last people here that are thought of. Every time the inspectors come here they get to see some ofthe great improvements in the facilities, but nothing has been changed for the residents. The dead couldn't sleep in this place either. Let me give you an idea of what a morning is like around here. Early on, the girl comes in and pretends to sweep the floor. I think she does it on spite because most mornings she picks up my wastebasket and drops it as hard as she can. About 7:30 a.m. she comes in, opens and slams the door and knocks the wastebasket all over the place just to make certain I'm awake. One day, I was sitting in my wheelchair and decided to see how high you had to raise up that trashcan to make the noise she was making every morning-you had to raise it up nearly three feet off the floor! After all that racket with the wastebasket, the girl comes back with a broom and a dirt catcher. How she makes that thing click and bang the whole time she's sweeping is beyond me. The noise of the sweeping goes on for about seven or eight minutes. She doesn't care how thorough she is either, just twirling the broom around in most places knocking against the furniture until she's ready to move on to the next room. The point ofher exercise seems to be how much noise she can make; not how tidy the room is being cleaned. I've watched a pat of butter sit there in the comer on the floor for three or four days. To top it all, she refuses to pick up anything if it's on the floor. I have slippers that cost $18 a pair. She says, "It isn't myjob to pick up anything... it's my job to sweep it out." I've lost seven or eight pair of slippers since I've been here simply because they've been swept into the trash. She shoves everything out of place and doesn't put it back. Here I am with one crippled arm and unable to walk. How am I supposed to put anything back? And that's just a daily encounter with one staff person. I could go on and on. Most of the other residents are out of it and don't know how they're being treated here but unfortunately I still have my mind. Sometimes, I think the staff hates me for it. One of the nursing home inspectors was here a while ago and asked me how things were going. I told her, "They've finally cut me down to size." She asked, "What's the biggest trouble?" I said, "Well, I couldn't pick a 'biggest' one because there are so many problems. My own problem is my health is declining so fast because I've never 204

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had a full night's sleep since I've been here." So we talked about that and she sent word off that I was not to be awakened until after 10:00 a.m. and not to bother with the breakfast. I told her it's just not worth it. All I get is six ounces of weak orange juice. It's labeled orange juice so that's what I know it is, otherwise I'd never know it by drinking it; and two strips of bacon. True to form, the next morning I didn't get a breakfast tray but all the other commotion still happened. Nobody paid the least bit of attention to the note on my door or on my chart. Eight or ten people still coming in to clean the room, move stuff around, clang the door, give me some medicine, and what not. She came in a week later and asked how things were and I told her it's not any different, "It's not any worse but it's sure not any better. They all come at the same time, bang on the door, and do their regular schedule. Nobody pays any attention to the note on the door; all they've done is to stop bringing my breakfast." She just about had a fit. She spread the word that nobody, for absolutely any reason was to come in here. My morning attendant had his own fit over those instructions. One of his favorite things is to come in here at 7:00 a.m., jerk me up out of bed, slam some medicine down in front of me and insist, "Take your medicine, now!" "Can't I wait until I have something in my stomach?" "No, I'll stand here until you take it! It's the law!" Well, after the new instructions came down he stood there and argued with her in front of me. He was supposed to give me the eye drops and he was supposed to give me the medicine and he was supposed to attend to this and that. She forbade him to bother me any further in the morning. I think that may have put an end to his plans, at least for awhile. I'm not going to talk much about the nursing home because I don't have much good to say. I have been robbed and taken by more people since I came here, than anywhere else in my life. Don't put some of this in the book because I have to live here until I die and God knows they're rotten enough to me now. You can't say some of the things that I've witnessed and keep on living. I just couldn't take it if it got any worse. All my life, wherever I've been, I've been looking for the job I was supposed to be doing. Since coming to the nursing home, I've been stumped. What is it I'm supposed to do here? I'll tell you what I'd like to do, I'd like to see some changes made in the nursing home industry. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that all these nursing homes and all this health care has been put together for businesspeople and banks and corporations. Why do you think so many people are interested in retirement communities and nursing homes? To help the old people or to make some money? And unfortunately, money is being made at the expense of these poor old people. One of these days someone from 60 Minutes ought to come in here undercover for about six weeks. Have one of their news people pretend to be a patient with no family, no visitors, and confined to their bed. That would show the country the quality of care that people in nursing homes are really getting. It's just criminal what they're doing to some of these old people. And most of these poor folks are so out of their minds they don't even know what's being done to them.

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Look at all the ten to twelve nursing homes in this city alone and look at all the old people being left alone, robbed, abused; it's awful. I could sit here and tell you some of the problems for days and not scratch the surface. Once they jerked me around so badly and threw me to the floor that I reported it but the head boss came around and told me never to report anybody again. "It hurts the girls' feelings. They're nice girls." I said, "Well, if one of them throws me on the floor again, what do I do?" "Well, just forgive them and understand that they might have had a bad night." Where are you going to go with something like that? They abuse you in every possible way. They are never supposed to leave you alone in the bathroom-especially someone who can't stand. But believe me, more often than not I'm sitting in the bathroom all by myself for forty minutes just waiting for someone to remember me. You can sit there and push the button until you're blue in the face and they won't come until they feel good and ready, and then it's with, "Whadda you want?" I've come to the frustrating conclusion that there's only one way out of here and that's in a box. If I were only younger, I could do something about fixing the problem with these damn nursing homes. Sometimes I think, we'll maybe that's why I'm here and still have my mind-but honey, what can I do? I'm all crippled up. No one wants to hear what I've got to say. No one wants to believe what really goes on-I wouldn't have believed what goes on, until I experienced it firsthand. Maybe it's a good thing that most of the old people in here have lost their minds-you can't take it if you realize things shouldn't be this way. But I don't know what to do. Why would the good Lord send me here with a good mind when I can't do a thing to fix the problem? I just don't know. When I moved to High Point, I was only seventy-seven. I was looking forward to being a part ofthe community and the church. I loved being in the retirement center-I had my own little place and a really nice garden-but ever since I had to come to the nursing home in '95, I've been treated like a thing, not a person. I came here for a totally different life. I told a reporter friend of mine about what's going on here. Patients getting the wrong medicine-I check my own medicine every time they give it to me and more than a dozen times they've given me the wrong pills and I've handed them back, "These aren't mine." They just shrug their shoulders. What about most of these poor old people who can't think for themselves? Some of them are even starving to death because there not getting the proper nutrients-the food here's just pulverized with cooking until it's not fit to give a dog. I told my friend that he ought to have a reporter come in and pretend to be one of the patients, "If you pretend to be a resident and pretend that you don't have any family, you'll get quite a story. I assure you." He was quick to brush aside my suggestion: "Angela, I wouldn't dare print that story. There's the doctors, the insurance people, there's the businesses that own the nursing homes, and then there's the government. This is one ofthe biggest money making industries in the United States." He said, "There are billions and billions of dollars at stake in this business and every one of them would be out to get me. I wouldn't dare do the story."

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You don't have to believe this, but the woman across the hall from me died from starvation. When she came in here more than a year ago, she was so big and fat that she couldn't get in a wheelchair. By the time she died she was a frail sixty-five pounds. If you go out in the hallway, you'll see that only a few of the residents are heavy-and they're the ones whose families bring them things to eat. Most of those poor old people sitting in the hall are emaciated. Just take a look around-drool running down their face, eyes staring off into nowhere. I tell you, it's just criminal. For Sunday dinner I had one slice ofham on my plate. At first, I was so tickled. It's my favorite piece of meat. When I turned the ham over it was moldy on the one side. I just put the lid back on the plate and pushed the tray aside. The whole United States is absolutely rotten with these nursing homes. If you don't have any money, you're just put here to die. Maybe the more expensive places are a little better than this. I've had my lawyer try to get me into one but nobody wants an old crippled woman on welfare-there's no profit in it. When I got sick and was put in here, the government took my retirement home, all the money I had, and gave me an "allowance" of thirty dollars per month. What can I do with that? Honey, all I have left is my mind and sometimes I wonder if I'd be better off without it. But I don't know. I sure hope I don't end up like my sister, Louise. God knows she should have died a long time before she did. She always said that she wanted to live to be a hundred and she made it but it was just her body not her mind. Back in '96 when I got the call that she had died, I cried for her but I was truly grateful that she had finally been released. I guess there are some things far worse than death and Louise's state of mind was one ofthem-lying there like a vegetable, not even aware of the fact that she was still alive. I couldn't make it to her funeral. I didn't have the money and I didn't have the strength, not to mention the fact that I didn't have anyone who would have taken me. I wanted to go so badly and see her children and grandchildren but there just wasn't any hope of that. I've been forgetful about names and places for a long time but most people are and some people are never good at it so I haven't worried about that too much. For ten or eleven years before she died, Louise was foggy about remembering anything. When she was about ninety, she couldn't even remember where the bathroom was. When she was old and visiting me at my house before I came to the nursing home, several times I caught her going out the back door and down the porch steps as she was looking for the toilet. At night a couple of times, she came into my room and climbed into bed with me because she thought it was her bed. I was just terrified to leave her alone. I didn't know what she might do alone by herself in the kitchen that would end up hurting her. When she was visiting, I often remember talking to God, "Oh Lord, please don't let me be like that." So far my mind is still pretty good; it's my body that's given out on me. This morning my brother Bob called me-I hadn't heard from him since Christmas. He never says too much, but bless his heart. His voice was weak, he was sick, and he called to say that he figured he'd be the next one to go. He thought that maybe Louise had terrified all of us about our own memories. His knees are so bad that he has to walk with two canes. He's also having trouble with his kidneys. Bob said, "I'm not in very good shape, Angela. My memory's just like Louise's was. I go from one room to the next and can't remember what I went in for, whether

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it's a magazine or a pipe. I can't remember. That's the thing that worries me the most; my mind is going." It likely broke my heart when he said that he and his wife were putting themselves into a nursing home. He's eighty-five years old and just can't take care of himself anymore. You know, old age is a sadness that doesn't really impact you until you're looking at it right in the face. I told him, "Well so far I feel pretty lucky, but I have noticed a thing or two that really bothers me. I found an article I wrote back in 1984 about the dolls and I was reading it and I was amazed at how much I had forgotten since then. I couldn't remember some of the years I got certain dolls, or the people who had given them to me, or the places I had bought them, and so forth. I couldn't have written that article today to save my life." When you get old, your memory slips away and you don't even realize it until it's gone. I've sat here for the last twenty minutes trying to figure out what I told you three weeks ago. It's funny, I can recall with clarity what happened with Fred, or Angie, or Eric, sixty years ago, but ask me something about last month and I have to struggle with myself to remember. If I repeat myself, just skip over this part. You know, I'm trying my best, honey ... When I came to High Point, I was still going strong. After Angie died, I decided it was time to retire, to settle down, and to maybe even write a book about my life. I contacted every retirement center that I knew about or could find east of the Mississippi. I got back brochures from most ofthem and boiled it down to six. The best home had a ten-year waiting list. Some were too expensive. Finally, it came down to this retirement center run by the church. I liked the climate in North Carolina. I liked the seasons. I like to see the flowers come out and the leaves tum brown. It's not too cold. It's not too hot. That's how I settled on High Point. Boy did they just eat me up and treat me like royalty when I made my decision. When the time came to pay for it, I expected to give a down payment and then pay over time like you would buy a house. In turned out you had to pay cash on the dollar, every penny before you even thought of moving in. "I don't have that much money!" "We're sorry, but the whole amount has to be paid up front." I was at a loss. "The only thing I have even worth that much is my doll collection." "What doll collection?" Well, I told them what I had and I said that I had some nice ones but that it would take me two to three years to sell the pieces and get what they were worth. It ended up that we bargained. I can't say I was unhappy with the deal. It seemed like a fair bargain at the time. I would give them most of my dolls and they would give me the house. I said I had to keep a cabinet of the dolls for my granddaughter, Karen-I'd be too lonesome without some of them. It was also agreed that the dolls wouldn't just be sitting around in boxes; at some point, they would be put out somewhere where people could see them. They also agreed that I would have control over the dolls and their placement for as long as I lived. You see, I had often taken them out to talks, to schools and to churches and so forth.

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In the end, I was very pleased. It took two years for us to find a place for the dolls and get them unpacked. The only drawback was that after I moved here, I never got around to writing a word on my book because the doll museum took up all of my time. Back in '96 those dolls were valued at over a quarter million dollars. When I first came to High Point, my best friend was Reverend Clyde Parker, the minister of the church that also ran the retirement center. He was the one most excited about the dolls. He said, "Angela, you've got to get them out and on display. The dolls are just too nice to shut up and leave ... you've got to put them out where people can see them." I said, "You can't put them out where people can steal them. You'd have to have them enclosed somehow." "We'll make a museum." I said, "There's no place for a museum. There's just no place." Reverend Parker said, "I'll find one." A week or two later he came up and put his arm around me and said, "Come on over here to the church." The church is in the center of an enormous building with wings on each side of the sanctuary-used for classrooms and so forth. He took me into one of the wings and said, "This room, if I had all of the partitions pulled out, could you make it into a museum?" I thought for a moment, "Yes, I believe I could." That's really how the museum got started. Excerpt, Angela Peterson Annual Christmas Letter; Christmas 1981: Dear All of You: My most exciting news is that at last we have found a place for my dolls. They are building a large display case to be permanently placed in the church for my antique creche dolls. It should be lovely. I have been kept busy for weeks refurbishing them, as all need something after storage. When the project is done for Christmas, I'll start getting out and fixing up my other dolls and dollhouses. All that will keep me busy for most of 1982. Miniature Collectors Magazine is doing an article this month on a shadow box I have just completed. It too, has taken a lot of hours... I am well settled in my place and all is quite attractive inside and out. There is shrubbery around the front and asmall flower garden beside the nice front porch. I've a little vegetable garden in back and also a rear porch. Inside, my Turkish rugs and many artifacts from abroad give an air of distinction that makes my house different from the others, though all have the same plan. I've made many pleasant friends here the retirement center but I've also been lucky to make friends in the city. I'm often called on to make talks to various clubs, etc... My good companion, Thomas Cat, and I wish you a grand Christmas and a wonderful 1982. Now, how was your year? Love, Angela

Clyde spent thousands of dollars changing that room to my specifications so the dolls would be enclosed behind glass partitions. The whole area was completely renovated. It took me over a year to get the room and the display cases in shape. By the time you figure my move from Marietta, Ohio, to High Point, getting my new house in order, finally finding a place for the dolls and renovating it, and then all the

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time it took to refurbish the dolls and so forth, the dolls had been in storage for about three years. Although Clyde thought it would be straightforward enough, we had a very hard time finding volunteers from the church who wanted to work in the doll museum. As a result, I ended up having to do most of the work myself. Here I was eighty years old and nearly killing myself to get the museum in order. I worked most days all though 1982 and I think that was what caused my health to deteriorate so rapidly. I kept some of my favorite dolls at home, and bought a few more while the museum was underway. I was saving some of the dolls for my granddaughter Karen, who is very much interested in dolls. I'd say the small collection I set aside for her was worth at least $40,000. Excerpt, Angela Peterson Annual Christmas Letter; Christmas 1982: Dear All of You: My 1982 has been a busy and a fruitful year. With the dedication of my beautiful creche on the Sunday before Christmas, 1981, and the attendant fanfare, it began the "Year of the Dolls" for me. High Point and Winston-Salem carried articles and pictures, and Greensboro had a colored picture and an article in the front page. Channel eight also carried quite a nice interview on Christmas Day on the six o'clock news. The Miniature Collector Magazine used my shadow box of antique dressmaker's models for their feature article, and the big Doll and Miniature Show in Charlotte had it in center spot in their show. Since June, I've spent four days a week working on the doll museum at the church. With the dolls and a 20' by 60' vegetable garden and a 14' by 18' flower garden, I've hardly had time to put away any produce. Next year I'll have to cut down ... I arranged a reunion of our immediate family in June. Louise, Helen and Gordon, Libby, and Dick, Bob and Pauline were all here for three days. It's hard to believe, but it was the first time in 53 years that we were all together at the same time! Everybody loved it. You could hear our laughter three apartments away as we reminisced ... The miniature Club had a big birthday party for me-I guess having a club member turn eighty was quite an event for them since most of the members are young enough to be my grandchildren ...

The last time all of us were together-Louise, Libby, Helen, Bob and me-was in 1982. Helen was in such bad shape. She had emphysema-she couldn't even go out to the car without dragging a can of oxygen but as sick as she was she was still smoking. She said, "I don't care if I am killing myself, I need a cigarette!" She had just had a spell in the hospital and meanwhile Libby was having some problems with her heart. I was having problems ofmy own and my hip was in constant pain so I knew we were all starting to fall apart. I wrote to each of them and I said, "Look, we are all going to be very sorry ifwe don't get together soon. Now come!" I set a date and they all came. It's a good thing we got together, because Helen died of cancer six months later. To tell the truth, 1983 and the twelve months that followed was not one ofmy favorite times. There were some wonderful happenings but overall the year was quite 2~O

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a challenge. If I've learned one thing in my nearly one hundred years, it's this: You didn't come here to have a good time. You can have a good time but that's incidental. It's not the point of being in the earth. My hip had been in pain for quite some time and I had tried to ignore it in order to keep up with the work I was doing but I couldn't ignore it forever. My walking had become so painful that I was nearly living on pain pills. Finally, I resolved to see an arthritic specialist who took x-rays and exclaimed, "I don't see how in the name of God you walked in here!" The x-rays showed that the right hip was perfect but where the left hip should have been was a large, ragged, black spot. No wonder each step was torture. It turned out that arthritis had destroyed my entire hip. I had a full hip replacement on March 4th of that year. It made me feel very humble to see all of the friends who came to visit me or sent cards while I was in the hospital. Poor Thomas Cat kept house all alone for 2 ~ months with a neighbor coming in twice a day to care for him while I was being operated on and recovering. I know he was just sick with worry, wondering what had happened to me. My neighbor told me that he looked out the window all day long waiting for me to come home. It didn't take me long to recuperate after the operation. Unfortunately, when I got home I got the sad news that my sister Helen had suffered a stroke. She couldn't speak and her right side was paralyzed. Eric had been terribly ill as well and had almost died. I was frantic. Because ofmy surgery I couldn't go to either ofthem. I couldn't do much more than lie in bed and suffer for them. Thankfully, Eric made recovery almost daily but at the same time Helen continued to grow worse. Further tests revealed that she had an inoperable brain tumor. She lingered for several months, just wasting away before dying at eighty pounds. When she died, I was just sick that I wouldn't get to go to the funeral. To my surprise, Reverend Clyde Parker ordered his personal plane and pilot to fly me up to Ohio, wait for the funeral, and return me the very same day. It was truly a miracle that I was able to go and it would be the last time that all the children of Harvey and Kate Marsh were together. That summer, over the Fourth ofJuly weekend, Eric and his family (including my precious great grandson) came for three wonderful days. A little more than a week later, Eric and his son, Marsh, set sail with a friend in Eric's magnificent sixty-three foot sailboat to cross the Atlantic and then sail to the Mediterranean. Although late with their plans because of Eric's illness, they made the journey in nineteen days! It was a fine record (although I was anxious and worried the whole time they were making the crossing) and Neville joined them in Gibraltar. No one will ever know the frustration I went through that year getting the doll museum set up and ready to open. Between the board of directors at the church, all kinds of red tape, insurance and security questions, very little volunteer help, and my time in the hospital, it was quite an ordeal. However, it all seemed worthwhile the day the museum finally opened: Sunday, November 20, 1983. Even though it was one ofthe rainiest days ofthe year, over 300 people showed up and were extravagant with their praise. The High Point newspaper carried a full front-page story and numerous large color pictures about the dolls. People were excited to see the collection and both Clyde and I were ecstatic that the dolls were finally on display.

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Excerpt, High Point Enterprise; Sunday, November 20, 1983: Peterson Doll Museum Opens Today Angela Peterson has spent most of her life being different. At 45 she enlisted in the Army and served a tour of duty to Korea. At 50 she established the nation's first senior citizen's recreation center at Waco, Texas. At 60 she started a travel agency in Turkey, where she understood neither the language nor the religion. At 70 she became a substitute teacher in Marietta, Ohio, and taught full time until she was 75. "I've retired four times already," quipped the personable, bright-eyed Mrs. Peterson as she worked on her latest project. .. The Angela Peterson Doll and Miniature Museum, which opens today... "The name is their idea, not mine," she insisted modestly... she is currently training and hoping to enlist more volunteers, enough so that each one will have to serve only a month. And what is her next project? "I'd like to write a book," she said, her blue eyes sparkling. "But I'll have to wait awhile-too many people would have to die first." When asked if she had considered actually retiring this time, she replied, "Goodness no, I'd be bored to tears. I don't know how people do that. I guess I'm just not standard ... thank God."

You can't imagine how devastated I was when Clyde died just two months later. On January 30, 1984, he was flying his plane when it crashed. It was sudden, totally unexpected, and truly changed my relationship to the museum, the church, and retirement center. Almost immediately, we changed our letterhead at the museum to read, "In Loving Memory of Dr. Clyde A. Parker." He was only fifty-three, my best friend and my greatest supporter in High Point. He was a true advocate for the dolls. If Clyde hadn't died, things might have ended up very differently for me. Even now, I miss his company. Excerpt, Angela Peterson Annual Christmas Letter, Christmas 1984: Dear Everyone: Isay, "Ha, Ha!" to the idea that we all take it easy in retirement. My days have never been fuller. I just don't get paid for working. Last winter was quite cold here, but spring was early and beautiful. We were planting peas, etc., late in February. There were very few days this summer over ninety, but it was unusually humid. Plenty of rain until September... The reason for the weather report is that I've afairly large flower garden and vegetable garden. They both take time and work and every plant bore a bumper crop. I canned over 100 jars and completely filled afifteen-foot freezer. I am writing this in mid-November and only today canned my last batch of pickles. As some of you know, a number of deaths marred my year. I'm still grieving over the passing of Clyde Parker, my beloved pastor and friend. His close friend and assistant, who was also dear to me, suffered a severe heart attack in July. A young couple in town who were like my own brought me sorrow when she died in June. Several of my friends at the retirement center have died, and letters from West Virginia told me of the passing of several old friends. At my age, you expect

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the passing of peers-even though it isn't easy-but the death of the young is truly hard to bear. To my horror, my beautiful Thomas Cat developed leukemia. It was an anxious battle for many weeks, but finally the veterinarian was able to win a break and the leukemia arrested. For how long, we don't know. I've done no traveling this year but have truly enjoyed several guests. Eric and Neville spent a wonderful week with me in early March and have hinted that they may come again for Christmas. I hope that they do. September brought my sister, Louise, for a grand week, and early October saw a dear couple from West Virginia. In late October, afriend of mine from California, who I hadn't seen in forty-six years, arrived for a visit. My brother, Bob, and his wife, Pauline, came for a happy weekend, as well. .. Just let me know when you plan to come. I've attended two big miniature shows in Charlotte and Raleigh this year. I took only four dolls to a doll show and came home with three first prizes and a third prize. Nice! The Doll Museum goes along. It takes a lot of my time. A number of magazines have interviewed me. "Dolls," a fine national magazine will have an article in their summer issue. "Nut Shell News," which is miniatures best national magazine, is doing an article, as well. Clubs and Churches continue to ask for me as a speaker. All this is good for the museum ... For agal in her 83 rd year, I do all right. I keep busy and seem to be in excellent health, except for my back, which is in constant pain. Somehow hard work and lots of pain pills allow me to "rise above it." I just grab my cane and away I go. I intend to have a Merry Christmas and I hope you do, too. With love, Angela

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I didn't sleep a wink last night. My legs ached until I thought I would go crazy. I took a pain pill when I went to bed at 9:00 p.m. By twelve-thirty I still hadn't gone to sleep so I took another pain pill. My legs hurt so badly and jerked so and carried on until I got more dope and I thought, "Surely I'll go to sleep now!" But I didn't. At 4:00 o'clock I took another pill. I never went to sleep at all. By the time the sun came up, I tried to sleep then but there was too much traffic and commotion out in the hallway. I picked up the tape recorder three or four times today but honey I simply couldn't hold it. By this time I should have had drops in my eyes twice and I haven't had any today. They didn't get around to it. They were "too busy." I'm almost blind in my left eye and those drops are very important to my sight. Some days I only get them one time, some days I get them all four times-but that's a rarity. Most often I get them two times, once in awhile three. They let me have them whenever it's handy for them. Now today I haven't had a one. They mess up medication around here all the time and it just makes me shudder to realize what they're doing to some of these poor old people who can no longer read or think, and are just taking whatever's handed to them without looking at it. I know some of these poor old women have taken the wrong medication and are just dying off. See they can't do it to me because I won't take it unless I can see it. But if they don't bring it to me, I just don't get it. All these other old people just take whatever they stick in their mouths. Unless they have a family member come in and monitor it, these poor people are just putting their lives at risk. I guess the most difficult thing about being in a nursing home is the fact that I use to be somebody. In Turkey, there were many occasions when I was treated like a queen, "What would please you, Mrs. Peterson?" "Anything you need, Mrs. Peterson?" All my life I was treated like I was a special event, until I came here. When I was little, some of the other girls would say, "Oh, Angela, can I hold your hand?" When I was in Turkey, some of the men who had heard about me would drop to their knee, kiss my hand, and bow their forehead on it. Now most of the staff resent the fact that I'm even alive. I've tried to make friends, I really have, but they've made it quite clear that I'm "a patient." I don't think anyone who works here ever stops to think that all of these old people used to be someone, used to have people who cared, used to have a life of their own. Today when the girl was doing my hair, I let out an awful yell and screamed and she said, "I don't know what's wrong, Mrs. Peterson. I didn't hurt you. I was just doing my job." I just sat quiet and let her keep pulling my hair. When I die, I don't expect I'll have six hairs left to bury. I told you, I don't want to dwell much on the nursing home. Why can't we end the book right after Turkey? There's nothing exciting about the daily events here. Nobody wants to read about being in a nursing home. When I first came here, the room across the hall and down one was empty. The woman had just died or something. I had been here about two weeks when they put another old woman in there across the hall. I didn't know her too well, she had

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Alzheimer's and wouldn't return my acknowledgement when I nodded. She came into my doorway one day and said, "Someone told me you had things in your bathroom and I want to see them." I said, "Oh no, honey, you can't go in there. It's just a bathroom." I kind of moved toward her to point out where her room was across the hallway and she grabbed my hurt arm and jerked it so hard until I thought I would scream. I said, "No, you can't come in." "Oh yes, I will; I certainly will!" With my arm being of no earthly account, I couldn't shake her loose and then she yelled out, "I'd like to claw your damn eyes out!" She took her hands out and started clawing at me. I finally pulled loose and got away. She screamed, "I'll get you!" She kicked me between the thigh and the knee as hard as she could and I started screaming for help. "Help, help, come quick!" Finally, after about three or four minutes of shrieking, two nurses came down. "What is it? What's all this racket about?" I said, "Get her away from me, she's going to kill me!" It took three of them to pull her off. My legs were sore for two weeks after that and my poor broken arm was sore everywhere. That whole episode taught me right away that these Alzheimer's patients can still hurt you ifthey've set their minds to it. Since then, I've seen her a couple oftimes in the hallway and she'll raise her fist at me and shake it, like she wants to beat me up. Now, they're not even supposed to remember that sort ofthing. It's just horrible being in a nursing home and not feeling safe. They never try to corral anybody around here. There's an old man here with severe Alzheimer's and they just let him run loose all over the place. According to the staff, "He has his rights." One day, he just walked in and stood there looking at me. Immediately, I started pushing the call button but he had enough of a mind to say, "Push the button all you want, they won't come." I told him, "I would like you to leave." He had been in my room three or four times before. He always waits until the late night shift to do his wandering because they're the least interested in what's going on in a patient's room. You could die in here and no one would come until breakfast. I told him again, "You have to get out. I've got my nightgown on." "I've seen nightgowns before." Finally, I said, "Look, what are you trying to do? I don't want you in here. I want to go to bed and have my privacy." He reached over to grab the bathroom door as though that's where he was headed instead of leaving the room. I said, "No, that's the bathroom. Go out the other door." "I'lljust use it." He went in there and urinated all over my floor and all over the toilet seat. When he came out, his pants were open and everything was hanging out. "You need to button up those pants and get out of here." That night he finally left and true to form, the attendants never did answer the call button. The next morning, however, they wanted to know why I had urinated all over the bathroom floor. Imagine! I think this place is going to harass me until I lose my mind.

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Another time that same man came into my room when I was lying in bed. He said, "I want to get into that bed." He pointed toward me. "Well, this is my bed." "That's fine with me, it would be nice to get into bed with you." He moved toward me and was determined that he was going to get into bed with me. I got up out of that bed as best I could, used my cane, and hobbled out to the hallway to yell for someone. Finally, they came. One of them stood for a moment talking to this man before taking him back to his room and the other one stayed with me. She never even asked if I was okay. She just shrugged her shoulders as if to say that there was nothing they could do. "Can't I lock my door?" "No, you can't lock your door. It's against the rules." I said, "Can't you lock him up in his room at night?" "No, we have to let him walk around. He has his rights, Mrs. Peterson." "Well, what about my rights?" I hadn't seen him for about six weeks and then he came in the other night. He was in here about ten minutes, messing around with my desk, shoving my letters into the wastebasket and pulling my books out of the case out onto the floor. He threw some food off ofmy tray and started around the bed. I reached over on the counter and grabbed a knife. "Look here, this is a sharp, sharp knife. If you come one step closer to me, I'll kill you. Now, get out of here or I'm going to kill you!" He said, "No, you're too nice. You're too nice." I said, "The hell I won't, now get out of here!" I guess I kind of scared him because he hasn't been back. The scary thing is if I hadn't had that knife, there's no telling what would have happened to me. I can't keep the knife out where any of the attendants can see it, because they would take it away in an instant. "It's against the rules." At some point, these nursing homes have got to understand that you can't have the same set of rules for patients with all kinds of different needs. I need physical care, I don't need mental help and most of the poor old folks here are just the opposite. The other day a young doctor was in here and told me, "Mrs. Peterson, we're going to start giving you some medication for your depression." I think I must have surprised him. I leaned forward in my bed, looked him straight in the eyes and said, "And what are you going to do about the things that are making me depressed?" He was just quiet. Not one word out of him. I don't think he knew what to say. He finally left and I didn't end up getting any new medication. God, how I hate this place! Excerpt, Angela Peterson Annual Christmas Letter; Christmas 1985: Dear Kinfolk and Friends: 1985 has been arather uneventful year-some bad, some good. The bad part is named Arthritis. All my internal workings are fine. Ever since last January my right ankle has acted up and been swollen and painful. By now, I've learned to live with constant pain in my back. Either you give into the pain, or you ignore it and go about your business. I've decided that I will not be chair-bound, so I carryon.

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Since my left hip has been replaced, that leg has been fine. Unfortunately my right leg has bothered me and twinged with pain all year. At one point the pain was so bad that the doctor had to give me a shot of cortisone. Many nights, Iwasn't able to sleep without a heavy dose of sleeping pills. Finally, in August I saw my orthopedic surgeon. After x-rays, he said, "Your right leg is rotten with arthritis, and there's not a thing we can do about it. Watch your diet, rest, take your pain pills, and learn to endure." Cheerful news, to be sure. Thankfully, a new drug in the last two weeks has helped a lot. Enough bad news! The doll museum moves along fine. Attendance is up. Last year, we had 2,500 visitors from twenty-two states and nine countries. In March, I made the director of city tourism, Gary Smith, aware of what we had at the museum. Up to that point, the only attraction the city had was furniture. He was impressed and wants to make the museum even bigger and afocal point for visitors to the city. Since that time, he's given us great support. Articles in local papers and national magazines keep me busy... Next year, I am giving up one concession to my age. I am giving up my big vegetable garden and just plant a small patch in the back. This year I had bountiful crops of peas, onions, beets, beans, tomatoes, okra, lima beans, squash, zucchini, cucumbers, corn, peppers, and greens. They all had to be harvested, eaten, canned, or frozen. I love caring for the plants, but I can do without the acute pain in my back and my leg which all the work causes. Thankfully, I have a dear friend, Becky, who does help me with my big flower garden ... My precious Thomas Cat seems well but has slowed down and sleeps a lot. He is eight this month. A monthly shot at the vet's and a pill each day keep his leukemia arrested. He is such a dear. I would sure grieve to lose him ... The high point of my year was a flight to Dallas to visit my granddaughter Kirsten for two weeks, her husband, Steve, and my two adorable great grandsons, now 3% and 1%years old. I loved every minute of it. I also spent a day with an old friend from my Waco days whom I had not seen since 1952, and a couple of days in Ft. Worth with Irene Boothe who moved there from D.C. a year ago...

For the next few years, the focal point of my life remained the museum. Excellent publicity, both locally and nationally, kept pushing attendance up until it became quite clear that we needed a bigger space for the dolls. The city of High Point started listing the museum in all of their brochures, which made the church a bit more cooperative to work with. We finally got permission to get a sign out near the street and I started working on a comprehensive history ofthe entire collection. A collection that really began with Rosie-the doll I had gotten for Christmas way back when I was six. You know, even today Rosie is a big attraction down there. She's the museum's logo and has been put on the head of its stationery. With the city pushing for a bigger space and attendance demanding a bigger space, it was finally decided to move the museum to the new Administration Building being built for the retirement center. The good news was that it would allow us to have a little more room to spread out the collection. The bad news was that it was located on the second floor, which made the task ofpacking and moving several thousand fragile items all the more difficult. To make matters worse, we couldn't get much help. Although the project was to have closed the museum only for the month ofMarch, we didn't open again until July 10. It took them forever to get the cases ready for the dolls and the miniatures so there were quite a number of days when I could do nothing but fret and fume.

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At the same time I was doing all the work moving the museum, my arthritis kept taking its toll. I started using a four-legged cane to ease the pressure on my spine and a wheelchair became a necessity for trips that required walking such as a jaunt to the mall. A few months after the museum move was complete, I had cataract surgery on both eyes. I kept busy with family and friends in spite of any health challenges. Angie's daughter, Karen, came to visit and we had a wonderful time. Angie's other two daughters, Betsy and Erica, were both fine, as well. Betsy was married that year and Erica was expecting her first. Although I still missed Angie, I was happy that she continued to live through them. After we moved the museum, it became even more of a full time job. Administration tasks became ongoing and once it became nationally known, attendance skyrocketed. After that much ofmy time was spent with visitors. Seems like just about everybody wanted me to leave my desk and take them through the museum personally. I enjoyed and loved meeting such interesting people but it sure hindered my taking care of all of my duties and answering the mail. In 1987, I had several challenges. In June of that year, I nearly bled to death from a suddenly ruptured blood vessel in my colon. But I think the death ofmy beloved Thomas Cat, in September, was the worst. I dearly loved him. He had been my little companion for a decade. He was there when I got home to greet me and to love me. He was there to put me to bed. He was there to tell me when he was hungry. He was a part ofmy everyday life. He even slept with me. Fred Peterson didn't take up as much space in the bed as Thomas did-Thomas would stretch all out, pushing me over to the edge. When he thought it was time for me to get up, he'd get up and lie on me and take tiny nibbles on my chin. Then he'd look at me and blink and just wait for me to move. Thomas was as close to a person as you could be and still be a cat. You know, it's funny, I still dream about him sometimes, and boy, am I glad to see him! Angela Peterson Annual Christmas Letter; Christmas 1988: To All, Greetings! Do the years spin past for you as they do for me? Seems like last week I was writing my 1987 annual letter. These past twelve months have had their highs and lows. The big sixteen-inch snow in January which shut down the city gave me a chance to get caught up on neglected chores. Then granddaughters Karen and Betsy drove down from Pennsylvania for several days to be with me. The doll museum had kept me very busy since Thanksgiving and Christmas times. Then I came down with the flu for several days. I was up in time to help two days in the booth for High Point at the huge annual craft and tourism fair in Charlotte. That was fun. Coming down again with flu in March was no fun as this time it was severe. On the 29 th I dragged to Winston-Salem for my second cataract operation. This surgeon put me in the hospital for thirty-six hours after and required me to wear a patch day and night for three weeks. April, even with anuisance patch on my eyes, was quite amonth. Sister Louise was here a week and we did a flea market, the theater, etc. The day after she left my dear brother-in-law and his wife, Harold and Virginia Peterson, arrived. That was great! and abusy time winding up with avisit to our superb zoo nearAsheboro. Took

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my wheelchair I now must use for any lengthy standing or walking. Connie Hart, a friend from Denver, came to visit and attend a big Regional Miniature Convention in Greensboro. I had never been able to afford one but son-in-law Jim sent a hundred dollars which paid the registration. Then Connie insisted I stay at the hotel as her guest rather than commute. This April of pleasure wore me out. Then got ready for the family reunion mid-June! It had been in the works for a year. It was wonderful to have all of us together for a week-twelve adults and four great grandsons all under six years. I think they enjoyed it, too. They will never know what the week meant to me. For fear they would cancel, I didn't tell them Iwas due for abdominal surgery the day after they were to leave until they were here. The surgery went well. I was home in eight days. Just what happened next I can't understand. I simply fell apart. July and August were a total loss. I could hardly get out of bed. I had no energy, no will to do. I trembled so I could not even hold a pen to sign a check. At times I could hardly get food to my mouth. Severe dizzy spells kept me in fear of falling, and with no appetite, I was a wreck and didn't care. It was one of the worst periods of my life both physically and emotionally. I had seen some cracks for quite a while and told the doctor who paid no attention. This period had one lovely event. The convention Board insisted I attend the banquet, at least for the State Tourism Convention, as the museum had been featured and they wanted to introduce me. So Iwent. So many were introduced and I kept getting more and more weary, when the chairman said lovely things about the speaker of the evening-and introduced me. She said later she knew I'd refuse if they had asked me and she had heard me "speak off the top of my head" before and knew I could do it. I did the best I could on no notice for fifteen minutes. Believe it or not, I got a standing ovation when I sat down. Guess it surprised them so that an eighty-five year old woman in a wheelchair could get up, much less talk. Early September our Miniature Club had a big show and sale of over forty dealers from many states. My dear friend, Dawn Weaver, insisted I go to the lovely party for dealers and sponsors the night before the show. I went, as it fell on my birthday, I thought I had told no one. Suddenly the mike announced, "The oldest person here is eighty-six today, and we love her." I was touched and don't know who remembered. Much attention and mini gifts came as I was wheeled to the center of the room. For three years these periodic dizzy spells have been increasing in frequency and intensity until I was having them several times a day and at times passing out completely. Then they began to pay attention, and the tests began to the tune of hundreds of dollars. All negative. Finally, mid-November, the pathologist said Itested twenty years younger than my age, but he could not find the cause of my trouble. "You must learn to live with it." So I guess I'll be staggering about and occasionally conking out the rest of my life. Well, I guess I could have worse wrong with me. Thanksgiving is over. Such a grand time! Sister Louise and son Cecil Marsh came Tuesday evening and left Friday late morning. It was a great holiday. Eric called, and Karen. Nothing has been done for Christmas. I'm not up to shopping, and staggering doctor bills leave nothing to shop with. No one will be coming so I shan't bake, or fuss, or decorate. In a day I start decorating the museum. All the little houses are festive with trees, etc. The Chamber of Commerce is sponsoring and paying for an Open House Sunday the eleventh of December. So, I'm putting up a big tree as well as the one

KevLVvJ. TodesGV1L in the doll nursery. I plan to go to the Open House at the City Museum as I have a special invitation to it as well as one at the Tourism and Convention Center. I'll also go to the retirement center's Christmas dinner. That is a lot for me. If you have read all this, then I know you are tired. Next year, I'll try to stay well enough to keep up with letters and not bore you with another long epistle. On this beautiful, sunny day I wish you a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

Excerpt, article on the Angela Peterson Doll Museum Nativity Scene, by Angela Peterson, ca. 1988: ... Since so few, even avid doll collectors, know anything much about religious dolls, or figures, let me give a brief background regarding them. Back in 1223, St. Francis of Assisi created the first real Nativity Scene. He used living persons. Priests in their churches, lords in their castle chapels began to make statues or figures for celebrating the Birth, as they could stand during the long Christmas season whereas live figures could not. .. These dolls were never cheap. Real people were the models for each, and so they are actually portraits. They vary in beauty and workmanship depending on the skill of the artist who made them and the model he used. The greatest artists of the day made creche figures, but it is hard to know who made what, as it was considered bad taste to sign them as they were made to the glory of God and not their creators ... The beauty of the wooden and often terra cotta heads, hands, and feet is in sharp contrast to the bodies. Though there are many exceptions, most bodies were made using wire bent like ahairpin-one for the body, each arm, each leg-then wrapped round and round with course hemp twine to shape them. That made them flexible enough to put them in any position. Today the wire is so brittle, the hemp is so rotten, they are rigid in their old age ... [In the collection] the lady in the red satin with the jewel on her forehead is the oldest figure. She has been dated circa 1450-1500. The rest of the dolls date from late 1500's to early 1800's...

About six years after the doll museum had opened, I noticed that I was really slowing down. Ijust didn't have any energy left over to do the things I thought I should be doing. The dizzy spells still bothered me on and off again and I remember having to lay down on the bed to rest in order to get enough strength for my next "must do." To manage my affairs at the house and operate the museum took all the energy I had. There was nothing left for even writing a letter, let alone starting on the book. After I turned eighty-nine, I suffered a mild stroke but pulled out of it with only minimal damage. That same year, I fell three days before a big Open House at the museum and suffered a mild concussion. No broken bones but I was sore in every muscle. It took every act of will I had to able to stand and great over 500 guests at the celebration. I tell you, it's just awful to have the desire to want to still get up and do something but not have the energy to see it through. The church had planned to sell the doll collection after my death but when I turned ninety the dolls had become such a tourist attraction that the city of High Point decided they wanted to have the museum. They worked out a deal with the church to move it to a much larger space at the comer ofMain and Green Streets-one block from 220

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the center oftown. I told them that I didn't think there were enough dolls to make a really big tourist attraction. And then my Granddaughter Karen had an idea. "Grandmother, why don't you loan the dolls you've been saving for me to the museum? It's going to have your name on it. It will be right downtown, in the center of High Point. Why don't you loan the city the dolls you've been saving for me so that there will be enough for the museum?" Plus I had about thirty dolls of my own that had been given to me since moving to High Point. Everything was put in the museum. It's one of the only museums in the United States completely made by one person. Everything in there is mine. It shows my taste. It shows the home I lived in at 2210 Dudley Avenue when I was a child. They left it up to me to do all the planning for the move. Ninety-years-old and I was still working! Even with all of my health problems, I guess they thought I was indestructible. I did the brainwork, thinking through the moving and placement of all the dolls, but I let everyone else do the physical work. I just couldn't do it any more. The museum has a gallery and several large rooms and I laid out the placement of each and every object. There are over 1,500 dolls and hundreds of small objects, tiny furnishings, miniatures, and twelve dollhouses. It has the replica of our family home. Each continent also has a room to itself, with appropriate decorations, and each is different in planning and concept. The dollhouses are arranged into a village. One section carries all the things of interest to children. I had some very beautiful costumes from different countries dressed on mannequins and placed in the proper rooms to show visitors that the people in these countries really wear the clothes that the dolls have on. Opening day was set for February 7, 1992. When the new museum finally opened it turned out to be quite an affair, with the Governor, the Mayor, Congressman Coble, and plenty of newspaper and radio coverage. Even Eric and Neville came. It was a very nice event but it left me exhausted. Here I was expected to be the grand dame ofthe affair and I hardly had the energy left to keep my head up. Still, I was glad the dolls finally had a real home. It's where they are, even now. Plaque over entryway to the Angela Peterson Doll and Miniature Museum, Main Gallery: "I never bought a doll I didn't like and I never sold a doll after it was mine. They have taught me much and are my friends. I hope they will be yours too." Angela Marsh Peterson

Karen wanted to loan her dolls to the museum as long as I was alive. The plan was, when I died, her dolls would be returned to her. Well, the problem is, the museum doesn't claim to remember anything about the loan of Karen's dolls. I can't get anyone from the Board to work with me, the city's not interested in returning my calls, lawyers in town aren't interested. Everybody's just waiting for me to die so the city can keep $40,000 worth of dolls that really belong to Karen. And Karen is such a quiet, gentle thing, I'm afraid the city's going to get away with it. About 150 of those dolls are hers.

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After I got really sick and ended up here in the nursing home, the government came in and took every cent I had. I get thirty dollars a month to live on. After about a year ofjust sitting in the nursing home, I decided I was going to make one last trip. I really wanted to go to Virginia Beach. I had heard about Edgar Cayce for so long and really wanted to go there. I managed to set aside my government allowance until I was able to go. You wouldn't believe the opposition I went through around here but I was bound and determined. Wheelchair and all, I finally made it to Virginia Beach. I was there for four days of adventure. It was wonderful! I've always been interested in the unusual, the metaphysical, the psychic, reincarnation, and so forth. Speaking ofthe unusual, that reminds me of a story I haven't told you. You're never going to believe it but it really happened. Do you remember back in 1964 or 1965, when I was in Turkey? Well about the same time, my sister Libby wrote a book. She sent me a copy while I was in Turkey and signed it, "To my dear sister." The book was called Swing OldAdam, by Elizabeth Marsh Campbell. It was about the mountain people of Appalachia. You know, she had spent twenty years in the mountains with her husband when his lumber company was sawing out 50,000 acres of timber. Libby really enjoyed being with these people and the book was really their story. "Swing old Adam" is part of a square dance call. After a year or two, June Pells' daughter came over to Turkey because her husband had got a government job. Some family friends told her to look me up when she got over there. She had me come to dinner one night. We got to talking about Libby's book for some reason and she said, "I'm so sorry it went right out of print. It sold out right away and I didn't get one. I wanted to read it so badly and I never got a copy." I told her I had one. She said, "Could I borrow yours?" I said, "I'll loan it to you, but you've got to bring it back to me because I can't get another copy." Of course she said she would but she never did. Her husband was transferred a few months later and I never did get my book back. When I came back from Turkey, I asked Libby if I could get another copy but she was down to her last one, so I was out. More than thirty years passed and I was up in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania with Karen. We were driving in her car when she said, "Gran, I need to get something from the store but instead of driving back into town, do you mind if we stop into a secondhand shop up ahead. They might have what I need." I told her I didn't mind, so she wheeled me in and I sat and went to look at a row of second-hand books while Karen went to get what she needed. I looked them over and nearly caught my breath when I saw there was a copy of Swing Old Adam by Elizabeth Marsh Campbell. I opened it and nearly fell out of my chair when I saw what it said: "To my dear sister." It was unbelievable-I was staring at my copy of that book! The same copy I had loaned in Turkey more than thirty years earlier. I screamed out to Karen and we bought that book the very next minute. Now how did that happen? How on earth did that book get from Turkey to Harrisburg, Pennsylvania? I'll never know. It just fascinated me! I really am interested in psychic things and reincarnation. Of course you have to keep it pretty quiet around here. I guess I had been in High Point about six years when one day at a luncheon with some women friends I mentioned something about reincarnation. The women were completely shocked. They even called a special 222

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meeting of the prayer group over at the church "to help save" my soul. They told me that they thought I was worth trying to save. I took it as a compliment but sometimes people are so close-minded and so convinced about things that they know absolutely nothing about.

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I've never talked much about reincarnation down here because people criticize. I don't see how anyone can be a so-called Christian and not believe in reincarnation. There are so many inequalities and injustices and cruelties that don't make any sense in the presence of an all-loving God unless you take into consideration the laws of reincarnation. I want to talk a little bit about the experiences I've had. You know, when that psychic friend of Helen's had warned me to get out of Turkey, she told me that Sahop and I had been involved in a battle when I was a Hittite and he was a Greek. It was strange but two nights ago here in the nursing home I had a very vivid dream of every detail of that battle: the colors, the terrain, the faces of the people. Even though it had happened so long ago, it appeared as though I could just reach out and touch it: Sahop was head of a small military unit and I had my own group of soldiers and we went out to get him. We surprised him and perhaps because of the surprise we were able to conquer his unit even though they had more men. Somehow, somewhere, Sahop swore he would repay me for that ambush. There are so many people who are a part of my life now that I know from before. In an earlier life in America sometime around the Revolution, I remember being married to Eric and settling in a Virginia Colony. I remember being with Brian-you know, the young man from the University that comes to visit me every week or so. As soon as I met Brian, I recognized him instantly. My good friend Becky and I have been sisters before. I know I had a lifetime or two in Europe, but they don't come to mind so easily because I know they're not really relevant to the present. People talk about reincarnation and they all claim to have been an Egyptian princess or something. Not many claim to have been a servant or a milkmaid and there are so many more milkmaids than there are princesses. I tell you, most of the lives I remember were not as a princess. There have been some real challenges in my past. Turkey, Egypt, Jerusalem, and Perul can remember flashes from those lives. I also remember being a nun somewhere around Philadelphia. I remember being Jewish at the time of Christ. I remembering hearing about this man Jesus but I never saw him. From that time I can clearly see myself drawing water at a well. I can also picture myself doing some kind of work in the temple in Jerusalem. I don't really know what women were allowed to do in the Jewish temple but I know I was there. Another time I've seen myself sitting atop a stone wall built along the Nile. I had on some religious garments and I was dangling my feet into the water when suddenly a water moccasin came out of the reeds and bit me. I died pretty quickly. I also had an experience once where I remembered being married to Fred in a Japanese life when he had my feet bound. Clyde Parker and I knew each other in another life and we both knew it. I'd been in High Point about a month when I met him. I went to church and was going out the receiving line. We shook hands and we both knew then that we had known each other before. After we got a little better acquainted, I asked him, "Clyde, did you recognize me?" He said, "The first time, as soon as I touched your hand." Clyde really liked to talk to me. I think the beginning of the end came for me when he was killed in that plane crash. 224

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Past lives are such an interesting topic. I remember one life I had in Peru. I didn't know the city at the time but later when I visited Peru with my cousin, I recognized the city immediately-it was Lima. In the image, I was a young woman, maybe fourteen or fifteen, coming down out of the mountains to the city. I was very pretty with extremely long, beautiful hair. It was coal black hair. I was standing looking over this cliff and there was a sheer drop off of about 500 feet into the valley below. I was alone and I knew I was going to die. I was very distressed-I didn't have a name for what was wrong with me but it was something like tuberculosis. In that life, I remember deciding to offer myself as the annual sacrifice so that someone else could live. Apparently the religion called for an annual sacrifice of a beautiful young virgin, who had to be perfect. I didn't tell anyone that I knew I was sick, otherwise I wouldn't have been considered worthy enough for the sacrifice. I remember in this life when I went down to Peru on the tramp steamer, there were twelve of us including cousin Helen and her husband who was the head ofEsso down there. As we were journeying along the river, I turned to the Captain and said, "We've just passed the boundary of Colombia and we're in Peru now." He eyed me kind of curiously, "Well, yes, how did you know?" When we got to Lima, Helen found us a taxi driver who spoke English. We wanted to see some ruins so the taxi driver agreed to take us-it was about an hour's drive. I sat up in front with him and we talked a bit. When we were approaching a steep bank, I told the driver to stop because I wanted to get out. As we looked over the bank, I told the driver where the city had been. It had been a big city of about fifty or sixty thousand. I started pointing where everything was among the ruins. I'd already told him that I'd never been to Peru and didn't really know anything about it and here he was supposed to be our guide. And I started pointing, "And that was the Temple ofthe Sun and over there was the Temple ofthe Moon." As I was talking, he began to look quite spooky and he even crossed himself. I could see the sheer face of the mountain where I had stood before with my long black hair. I could see the cave where I had gone for a month before the sacrifice for purification. In the back of the cave there was a sheer wall and there was a huge disk on the wall. At a certain time of year the sun came through a small peephole in the door and struck the disk on the wall. Another reason I know there's reincarnation is because I've spent an awful lot of time looking for my other half. Every man I met, maybe we'd go out to dinner and the show, we'd sit and talk and I'd look at him and think, "No, it's not him." I've been all over the world looking for that one man. You might think I'm crazy, and maybe at my age I've lost all my wits but several years ago I was taken to a doctor, a specialist for one thing or another. I had never been to him before but as I was sitting in the waiting room in my wheelchair I saw him pass through his office and I thought, "That man looks familiar to me." I had to wait forty-five minutes until they said, "Dr. So and So will see you now." I was wheeled into his front office and he reached out and touched my shoulder. You may not understand this but when he touched me, I thought I was going to pass out and die. He was the one I had been looking and waiting for! Here I was a ninetyyear-old woman and he in his forties and I just knew that here was my other half. If something like that's not proof of reincarnation, then I don't know what is. Just as 225

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soon as I touched him I felt something indescribable. I got the feeling, "Where have you been? I've been loving you and looking for you for a hundred years." It was such a shock to me. I had no more thought of it than I had of meeting someone out here in the hallway. He reacted in such a way that I knew he felt something too. As he was talking I suddenly remembered an experience with him from the past. Back in Rome or Egypt, he had me in his arms and was holding me and he leaned over and rubbed his face against mine and kissed me. I knew it was him and I remember him being a pretty good husband back then. Meanwhile, the doctor was still talking to me and saying all kinds ofniceties and it took nearly all of the strength I could muster to get control of myself. I thought, "Oh my God, I'm making an ass of myself," because I couldn't even talk. Finally, I had my wits about me and we had a very nice conversation and started discussing some ofmy travels. Toward the end ofthe examination, he showed an interest in seeing some of the artifacts and pieces I had collected from around the world and so I said, "If you're interested, I'd love to have you over to see my collection." Well, he jumped at the idea and we made plans and he came over to the house one evening. I still lived in the senior citizen cottages at the time. He came in and I showed him around and he was charming and really seemed to appreciate my things. I had a lot of foreign pieces and valuable artifacts-unfortunately, when they moved me into the nursing home, all my treasures were scattered so I have nothing left to show for my travels. We talked about our lives and our families. He told me he had a girlfriend. He was divorced and seeing this woman who wanted to get married. He wasn't sure if he wanted to take that step again. I talked about the museum. We had a lovely evening and I finally felt like I had to bring up the subject. I deliberately brought it around-yes, he believed in reincarnation and yes he was interested. And I told him how interested I was in Cayce. He didn't know anything about Cayce, so I talked about that. He was sitting on the sofa and I was in the chair when finally I got up the nerve to ask, "Doctor, do you feel like you've known me before?" "Yes, absolutely! I felt like I needed to reach out to you the moment I saw you." "I felt the same way." "I wonder how we knew each other?" he asked. God, how I wanted to scream out that we'd been married more than a dozen times before but I couldn't find the nerve. Here I was nearly fifty years older than he was-we'd missed the boat entirely in this life. When he left that night, he wrapped his arm around me and gave me a big hug. He said, "Angela, we've got to get together again. We speak the same language." Well, right after that I was in the hospital for my shoulder. I ended up being there for a couple of months. My friend, the Doctor, said he was real concerned for me. In fact, he's the one who got the surgeon for me. He said, "The one you've got is lousy, let me get this good friend ofmine-he does my family. I think you'll like him ... I'll tell him you're a special friend of mine." Anyway, I was in the hospital and my Doctor friend had to leave town for several weeks. Before he left, he came to the hospital to see me. He brought his 220

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girlfriend and this enormous tray offlowers and plants and greenery. It was the most gorgeous thing. It looked like he had bought the whole florist shop-I almost fainted with surprise! He set the flowers down and said, "Now this will keep you company until I get back." While this was going on, his girlfriend was watching. From the instant she saw me she looked sour. She spoke a little but it was obvious she didn't like being there. He sat down on the edge of my bed and spoke for a little while. Then he said, "I've got to go." He reached over, hugged me, and gave me a kiss. He didn't see her, but I saw his girlfriend's face over his shoulder-pure hatred. She looked like she could kill me. When he walked out of the room, I cried. I knew he was connected to me somehow and I also knew that I would never see him again. She took care ofthat. She must have jumped after him like I don't know what because he never came back. A psychic told me that in one of our lives together his present girlfriend ended up being a servant in our house, and more than anything she wanted his attention. At the time, my Doctor friend and I were both in our forties and had been married for awhile. His present girlfriend was seventeen or eighteen. She tried repeatedly to seduce him. She would do stuff like take her clothes off and come across him (as if by surprise) naked in the hall. She was young and looking to hook into something so she ended up being his mistress. She mocked him for seeing me in the present, just as she mocked him for being married to me in the past. You know, I'm too old for a relationship with anyone but I sure wish we could have stayed friends. The psychic told me that we had been together in seventeen lives and of those seventeen, fifteen had been romantic ties. One of the reasons we were so stimulated by each other is that we were both spiritual teachers in a temple and had taken a vow of chastity. I know he felt the same way about me. He called me "darling." I guess I must have some of my old self in me. There's an old man here right now that's so stuck on me he can barely keep his pants up. Why? What is it about me pushing a hundred that any man would want? You know, to hear me say this makes me sound so egotistical and stupid but it's the truth. Honey, I'm glad I can tell you these things and you won't think I'm crazy. Growing up, no one in my family wanted to hear about "IT," my psychic experiences, reincarnation, astrology, or what not. Personally, I didn't get anything out of going to church and my family wasn't interested in the things that I wanted to talk about. If it hadn't been for my relationship with God, I don't know what I would have done. I don't know how to tell you how different my inner life has been. Maybe everybody has an inner life but I don't know. I don't think my sisters had the same thoughts as I did. I sure don't think of myself as being any better than anybody else. All my life, I've tried to do what would be most helpful for others. If I had the choice between a couple ofjobs, I'd judge the jobs based on which one was most helpful to the most people. It wasn't always the best paying job but I figured if it helped the most people, then it would help me too. I try hard to be good and love the Lord. My relationship with God has always seemed different. Even as a child I just couldn't see the sense of getting down on my knees and saying some prayer by rote. I'd do it because it's what Mama wanted and all my sisters were doing it but I'd think, "Isn't that stupid, why would God bother to

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listen to all this clap-trap from three girls anyway? Why don't we tell him something we're thinking or something we really need?" After my formal prayers, I'd get in bed and talk to God. "Oh, God, I saw so and so today. She really needs some help. There's nothing I can do about it, but can't you do something to help?" All my life, I had a personal relationship like that. After I got married to Fred, I always tried to have a kitchen with a window to look out right back over the sink. Dishwashing never was too much of a choir for me because I could look out the window, good weather or bad, and have a nice conversation with God. I talked to Him like a friend who came in and sat down at the kitchen table. He and I have always understood each other. I never had any problem with that relationship. You know, I don't want anybody to get a bad idea about Fred, he was a smart man, and we did have a lot of fun together. Fred was so good to me in so many ways but he never carried a basket of clothes or took the garbage out. Honey, it's three 0' clock Saturday afternoon and I don't feel like doing this any more but I'm going to try and get it done. When you feel so bad it shows in what you have to say. I started to go through this box of old letters. I just can't do it. Whenever I look inside, these letters just break my heart. I can't bring myself to throw them away either. Maybe one day some ofthe children will read these things and learn how much I was loved at one time. You wouldn't know it to look at me now. Excerpt, High Point Enterprise; September 1996: Party marks Peterson's 94th birthday Oh, you beautiful doll. Angela Peterson, High Point's best-known and best-loved collector of dolls was honored with a 94 th birthday party Monday afternoon in the Convention and Visitor's Bureau. The iced sheet cake was special because Suzanne Anthony of the Furniture Discovery Center added a doll to the top. This wasn't just any doll. "Sure looks like Rosie," Peterson said. Sure enough, Anthony had made the doll to resemble the "real" Rosie, the first doll Peterson collected. Today, Peterson's extensive doll collection numbers about 2,000 from allover the world ... "She (Rosie) was my favorite." Peterson said of the doll now on display in the museum. "I just loved her. I put her to bed beside me and I got up very early every day so I could dress her before I went to school. "Rosie started the whole thing." Some special friends of Peterson's came by to help her celebrate her birthday. They included Mayor Smothers, to whom Peterson commented, "I am going downhill." Smothers would have none of that. "Oh Angela, you've been telling me that for ten years," Smothers replied ... She gave a list of friends she would like invited to the party to Charlotte Young, executive director of the Convention and Visitor's Bureau, and Young planned the event. "She (Peterson) loves a party," Young said.

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There's a girl that comes in to wait on the old woman down the hall from me. You know, you don't get any help unless you personally hire somebody to do the work. She comes by to talk to me sometimes. She heard that I was looking for somebody to do my laundry. The girl that had been doing it quit. She said, "Well, Mrs. Peterson, let me do it. I do the woman I come to help. I do her laundry for her and I can do yours." So we made the arrangements about her getting it once a week and what I would be paying and so forth. So she took it that first week and did a nice job. It had been a big load too since I hadn't had anybody to do it in a couple of weeks. The next week it wasn't so big. I told her, I only have one robe in there and four or five of my favorite nightgowns and a few pairs of my panties. Well, she took it and the week passed and she didn't bring it back and she didn't bring it back. Finally, I called and said, "When can I expect to have my laundry?" She said, "I'll get it in to you. I don't want to bring it by when you're not there." After another week had passed I was getting desperate-I was getting down to one nightgown. I finally stopped her out in the hall when she went by to see the old woman. I said, "When are you going to come by and bring my clothes and get my dirty laundry?" The bag was getting kind of full. "Dh, I don't want to come in your room unless you're here. I'd hate for something to be missing and end up being responsible." I said, "Well do come. I will be out only one afternoon all week." Two more days passed and I never saw her. Finally, she came to pick up the laundry yesterday and was getting ready to go and I said, "Did you bring back that load from a couple of weeks ago?" "What do you mean?" I said, "Well, you had that small washing and you never returned it. I thought you must have been busy or something or didn't realize I needed it. The money's been laying here in an envelope in my drawer waiting to pay you." "Dh," she said, "I brought it in about ten days ago... It was in a big pink sack and I just laid the sack with all of your clothes on your bed." I said, "I never saw a pink sack. I've never seen a pink sack since I've been here." "Dh," she said, "Surely, it's in the closet." "It's not in the closet, I know what's in the closet. There's the fancy yellow hanger just dangling all by itselfwhich I always put my robe on." I asked her, "Could you count the robes I have in my closet?" She agreed and said, "You've got twenty-one." "I had twenty-four the other day!" Several of my birthday nightgowns, which are much nicer than I could have ever bought for myself, one good robe and five or six pairs ofpanties were stolen. They're gone. Nobody pays any attention to it. "It's just too bad, isn't it? It's such a shame." They've told everyone I'm a mental case-all over town-and they've warned them, "You can't trust a thing she says or does." They've told the police, the museum, all the people I know in town. I have been robbed here so many times that I've lost

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count and no one believes me. In the last six months I've had four of my best robes stolen by the attendants. Just the other day I lost one that had cost over $50! They stole some of my books out of the bookcase-you can see for yourself the spaces on the bookshelfwhere the books used to be. I felt so bad about losing those books. I'd rather lose all of my robes than lose any of those books. It's just criminal what they do to the old people in here. I'd like to help them put together the requirements for a job here at the nursing home. First ofall, you've got to be a big thief-talented enough so you won't get caught. Secondly, you've got to know how to diaper an old woman so that it sags to one side and eventually falls off. If you're in prison there's a chance of pardon but there's no way out of here except in a box. The only way I'll be able to leave is to die. Excerpt, High Point Enterprise, June 28: Police Report-Larceny Angela Marsh Peterson who lives in Nursing Home, told police someone broke into a locked drawer and stole two platinum diamond rings valued at $5,000. The theft occurred between 6 p.m. June 26 and the early morning hours of June 27 ...

I had $165 set aside in my checking account to get some Christmas gifts for Eric, Neville, and Karen. I made some phone calls to order things through the mail. The company called the front office just to verify the order. They were told, "Take her off the mailing list. She's crazy and unable to pay for anything." Here I've been a customer for twenty-five years and I can't even get a catalog anymore. To top it all off, yesterday this old man came in. I was sitting in the wheelchair over by the desk. I had my back more or less to the door. I'd gotten my medicine and was just getting ready to wheel around and push the button to have the girl help me get back into bed, when he opened the door and walked in. I said, "Who is it?" I didn't get a sound so I wheeled around and looked at him. Always, the first thing I do when I see one of those horrible blank faces is reach for the button and call for help-which, of course, only comes when they end up feeling like it. He saw what I was trying to do so he pushed himselfin front ofthe wheelchair, grabbed the button and threw it off of the bed where I couldn't get to it. He said, "Don't you touch that and don't you try to get it either." He was kind ofugly. He stayed in my room for twenty minutes going through all my things and just talking ugly to me. I wheeled out into the hall and saw two of the staff down the hallway unloading laundry. I called out, "Will you come and help me? Please come and help me!" They just looked at me, turned around, and went into one of the patients' rooms. I stayed out in that hallway for the rest of the time calling for help with no one coming. He was going through my stuff... it was just terrible. He took the vase of flowers that was on the mantle and pulled them all out of the vase. He slammed the container back on the mantle and looked for something else to bother. He pulled my makeup all off of the counter before coming around to one side of the curtain jerking and jerking on it, trying to pull it down. 230

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"I'm going to take these down," he yelled, "you don't need them. I'm going to take them down, that's what I'm going to do." He kept jerking and jerking, I thought for sure he was going to pull the line down. Finally, when they wouldn't come he threw the cord against the wall. Well, Brian had left me one of those cute air fresheners in the shape of an artificial cherry pie, so this man picked that up and started moving it toward his mouth. "You can't eat that... " "Why can't I eat it? I can eat it if I want to, can't I?" He tried to take a bite out of it but it wouldn't bite so he threw it down. He opened my white wardrobe closet and began going through it. He said, "There's nothing in here I want, open the other one... the one you keep locked." He jerked on the lock and kept jerking but it wouldn't come open. I thought he would pull it clean out of the wall but it didn't open. "Where's the key? I want you to give me the key!" I lied, "I don't have the key... it's locked up." "I'll get in there, you can bet on it. You got stuff in there that you think is nice and I'm going to get it." Finally, when all the jerking led to nothing, he gave up, "I'll go get a key and come back. All the keys lock the same closet doors so I'll come back and help myself. Don't you worry, I'll help myself. Don't you worry, I'll help myself." Finally, he seemed to tire a little bit, so he sat down in my pink chair, right where I had a lot of stuff sitting. He picked up a box that I had received a little robe in as a present. He started tearing the box to shreds and asking, "What's this? What did you get in this?" He picked up a couple of candlesticks I was going to give away as a present and he picked those up and put them in his pocket. "You don't need this stuff." Meanwhile, I'm out in the hallway watching him all the time, still asking for help. What do you do? There he was devastating my whole room and there wasn't a thing I could do about it. I've complained about it before. "Well, what do you want us to do, Mrs. Peterson? The residents have a perfect right to walk up and down the hallways." I'm so sick of it, I could just die. What about my rights? Finally, I yelled at the top of my lungs for someone to come help me. The two black women at the end of the hall decided to come: "What are you yelling about, for pity sakes?" "Take that beast out of my room. There's a man in my room." "Well, why didn't you tell us?" They got him out and one of the other staff came around: "Do you need to lie down for a little while?" Can you imagine how ready to sleep I was after that? It was awful. Just awful. I've had just a horrible night. I've just got to get out of here, honey, I've just got to but the only way I'm ever going to get out is to die. Everyday there's something horrible like that. When they brought my tray there wasn't one bite of anything I could eat. There was some kind of meat on the plate I thought I might eat but I took a bite and couldn't even chew it. It was so tough I had to take it out ofmy mouth and put it down

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on the side ofthe tray. There was nothing else I could eat on the plate and so I'm going to bed hungry. If it wasn't for those Ensure shakes they give me, I think I would have starved long ago. I tell you, they're consistent here-they try doing something wretched and haphazard every single day. No one would believe the story if you made something like this up. It's criminal-people going without, children not being able to be sent off to college-all so that the family can afford to keep grandma in a nursing home because she's "getting such good care." It's a blessing I can't have a baseball bat here and that I'm not strong enough to use it. Something has got to be done about taking care of old people. I now know what people go through in one of these places. My hope is maybe just maybe telling these things will help someone. If I were younger, I would be doing something about it. You know I've never been one just to sit still. I don't feel a bit good tonight. I just defy you to do anything in this place. When I had my bath today, a big old 25D-pound woman was pushing down on my leg so hard I could hardly stand it. Finally, I begged her, "Please, don't push so hard!" "That the way we do it!" She seemed real pleased to have the opportunity to tell me something: "You know, everyone here hates you and we're just waiting for you to die." I said, "What are you talking about?" "The reason everyone hates you is because you don't give the girls any extra money for their salary." "Well, the government's supposed to pay you a salary from what they pay for my being here." "No, that's just rent for your room. You've been here all ofthis time and never once given any of the girls a dime. No wonder they all hate you." I think they're trying to make me lose my mind. That's the worst thing, what they're doing to my mind. They hate me and they're trying to push me down even further. They don't like me because I still have my mind and I'm not drooling like one of these women in the lobby. Excerpt, note from Angela Peterson; January 9, 1997: Dear Honey The lunch tray just came and nothing fit to eat-pile of boiled potatoes, unseasoned soup beans, and a pile of spinach cooked to a mush. Hope they'll have something for supper. Oh dear! Jay just called and said that he had talked to the nursing home I liked, but they refuse to take Medicare patients and charge $1,950 a month. No hope. I've been to five plus and no one has any single rooms left. .. could not have my desk, bookcases, chairs. Right now I am so low I need a ladder to get up and touch bottom. No fight left. You are my one bright spot. Love, Angela

They say I'm always complaining and negative. Well, who in their right mind wouldn't be? They served me what they called a "chicken dinner" last night. 232

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A toothpick would have cut it as easy as the flatware they gave me to use. It's just horrible. Half the time I can't even take the lid off the glass of iced tea they give me. I asked the attendant, "Would you wait a minute and help me ... ?" He interrupted, "I don't have time," and left the room. It's like they rush in and out ofhere as though they're afraid ofdoing something for you. Sometimes it takes me a good five or ten minutes to open these Ensure shakes and then my hands are sore from the arthritis. They can't think of any different way to fix a vegetable around here either. All you get is green beans and mashed potatoes. I've had mashed potatoes twice a day for nearly two years now-that's a hell of a lot of mashed potatoes. Yesterday they forgot to bring my tray at lunchtime. When it didn't come I rang the bell. I waited so long I fell asleep by the time the girl finally came. "Yes?" she asked. "I didn't get my lunch!" "Oh, we're so sorry. The girl must have forgot." So I pointed my finger at her and said, "Look, the government pays for me to get three meals here, every day. I may not like what's being served, and I may complain about it, but by god I want the satisfaction of throwing it out!" She didn't know what to say but I got my tray about ten minutes later. Honey, please try to get me out of here. I'll clean kitchens or scrub toilets if I have to but please get me out of here. I don't know how much longer I can take it. I just lay here in bed and pray to die.

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Today is the first day I feel good enough to talk to you, but my voice has been so weak that I'm surprised you can understand my voice. I want to scratch my head but don't have the energy to lift my arm to scratch it. I have no business being on this earth... I can't control anything anymore. Nobody knows how much effort it is to even go to the bathroom. I can't see or have any of the things that are truly important to me anymore: Eric, my brother Bob, the dolls. Nobody comes to see me except for Bill Pearson-you know, his wife is two doors down from me. He checks in to see me twice each day-once when he comes to feed his wife breakfast and once when he comes to feed her dinner. We have a nice conversation once in awhile but that's about the extent of what I have to look forward to. I really don't know what I would do without Bill. Excerpt, High Point Enterprise, Tom Blount Column; Monday, January 17, 2000: Peterson's Still Pitching The package-in the proverbial plain brown wrapper-arrived at the High Point Enterprise over the New Year's weekend. It came (at the same time federal officials were warning Americans to be wary of such packages) from someone Ididn't know. Not to worry. This package didn't contain a bomb. It did, however, explode-with information I was happy to see. The letter atop the package's contents was from Kevin J. Todeschi of Virginia Beach. It began with, "I am a writer with nine books in print and credits related to various additional scripts and articles." At that point I expected to read that Todeschi wanted to write a column for the Enterprise. We receive more than one such request every week. Todeschi got quickly to his point in the letter's second paragraph. "Over the last four years, I have developed a strong friendship with one of High Point's most remarkable citizens, Angela Marsh Peterson, founder of the Peterson Doll Museum" (now located in the same building as the Furniture Discovery Center at the corner of S. Main Street and W. Green Drive). "I have worked together with Angela to compile her life story." He then struck a chord by noting that Peterson "is becoming depressed and despondent over her condition, infrequency of visitors and lack of mental stimulation." I immediately felt guilty because I hadn't visited with or even phoned Peterson in more than a year. (I did call her Friday morning.) Todeschi reminded me that Peterson is a resident of Nursing Home with no family in North Carolina's Piedmont Triad region, that his twice-aweek phone calls are highlights in her life, and that her dream still is to see "her book" in print. Mutual friend Bill Pearson for three years visited Peterson until he died of an apparent heart attack Nov. 4, 1999. Often, Pearson was the only outsider for weeks to talk with Peterson. Pearson's wife Chesley also was a resident at Evergreen for several years before her death on Nov. 27, 1999. Todeschi asked that the Enterprise tell readers at least one more time about Peterson, 97 ... Over the years, the Enterprise has printed dozens of articles about Peterson and the doll museum.

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As Todeschi wrote in his letter, "Angela has led both a fascinating and extremely challenging life ... She has literally encountered nearly every experience that could occur in the life of a 20th century woman ... (who) recalls events from the age of 3 with as much clarity as one might remember their dinner from the night before." In his letter, the author summarized Peterson's life. "As a teen-ager, she put together a fund-raiser for war relief for World War I ... She has experienced motherhood, divorce, rape, the loss of achild, international travel, the armed services, serving as a university dean, living abroad, being the most 'well known American in the Middle East,' meeting seven kings and heads of state, and opening a museum at the age of 81." ... Peterson had at least a half-dozen false starts with authors for "her book," but apparently hit the jackpot with Todeschi. On the dedication page of the book, Todeschi wrote, "For Angela who touched my heart ..." From what little I've been able to read so far, it appears Todeschi has let Peterson tell her life story extremely well. As one who knows Angela, reading, one almost can hear her reciting the words. For example ... "Papa told me, 'Fred Peterson is a fine young man. I think he'll make a good husband.' "'About time,' Mama said. "And so I married Fred Peterson. I didn't know then that it would be one of the biggest mistakes of my life." Angela Peterson still is telling it as she sees it. Another quote from the book, near its end: "My body tells me I am old, and I can feel it from my toes to the top of my head. My heart is good and my blood pressure, yet I can't lift a gallon of water or do much more than sign my name. Stuck in a wheelchair and even with a good mind I just sit here like a vegetable. But inside, I don't feel any older. My thoughts don't feel old. Sometimes I get so discouraged, I could just die..." Before she does, give her a call. She would love to hear from you. And look forward to her book. It's a good read ...

I was sitting here this morning thinking that one of the things I really miss is my garden. Before I got put in this nursing home, I used to have one of the biggest gardens over there at the retirement center. From about March through November my garden was covered with flowers. People would drive down my side street just to see it. Many of the residents wanted to grow themselves a garden after seeing mine. My good friend Becky helped me pick out the flowers that would be ideal for this climate. We got to be really good friends. In some respects, Becky sort oftook the place of Angie. She's the same age as Angie. I couldn't survive without Becky. She is my best friend now. She does all of the things that a daughter would do. She does everything that Angie would have done ifAngie were still alive. You know Angie's husband Jim is still attentive to me, even though Angie's been dead for twenty years. He's been married to a real nice woman named Nancy for the last seven years. He couldn't find anybody for the longest time. He once told me, "I just couldn't find anybody who looked good after Angie." But he found Nancy and I'm happy for both of them. Jim is also the best father you ever saw. He took Nancy to each one ofhis girl's homes and introduced them and took them to dinner and had Nancy stay with each of 235

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them for a couple of days in order to get to know them. He even brought Nancy down here to see me and asked if I approved. He said, "She's going to be in the family and you're as much a part of my family as you could possibly be. I want everyone to be happy." Nancy fits in just beautifully. You know, sometimes when I'm feeling low I pretend Angie is still alive up there in Pennsylvania. I miss her. I wish you could have known her. She was too good for this world. She was much nicer than I could ever hope to be. She was so smart. She only had one day in the first grade and then they put her right into the second. I remember how she was always so concerned with the welfare of the other kids. They had just started busing some poor children in to her school. Many ofthese children had tom clothes, no handkerchiefs even with their noses runny, smudged faces. Angie kept telling me how badly she felt about some ofthese kids, "Momma, they just don't have anything. I have a lot of dresses. Could I take one of the girls one of my dresses?" I said, "No, honey. That wouldn't be fair to the other girls who don't have dresses. You couldn't give one a dress and not the others because then all the other girls would have their feelings hurt. You just don't have enough clothes to give one to everybody. Just be as nice to every one of them as you can." One day, Angie came home and told me, "Momma, there's this one girl. She's smart and she's pretty, and she's so poor. Oh, Momma, you don't know how poor she is and nobody pays her any attention at all but if she had something nice on, I think they would. Momma, could I bring her home for lunch someday so you could see her?" I thought, "Oh dear." But I said, "All right, if you want to. Ask your teacher if it's all right if she walks home with you during the lunch break. You can tell her it's okay with your mother." Well, Angie came home that next week with this young girl. She was a pretty little child and a bright girl, too. She was shy and reticent and the poor thing was just filthy. She didn't have a petticoat, just a dress and one pair of underpants. Angie said, "Momma, if we hurry and eat our lunch-I want her to get a good lunch because she needs some food-but if we hurry, do you suppose we could go upstairs and give her a bath?" So Angie and this little six-year-old child went upstairs for a bath. We gave her a quick bath and I finally got out a dress from Angie's clothes and helped her dress. I helped her comb her hair. When she was all fixed up, she looked every bit as cute as Angie did. She was a pretty little thing. They were both late getting back to school but I called the school and told them what had happened. You know that one lunch made all the difference in the world for that little girl. She started coming out of her shell right out after that. Angie was always doing those kinds of things. Others might look and think, "Oh, that's too bad," but Angie got right in there and actually did something about it. Both my kids were special. Eric was always so smart. I remember when the government started nationwide testing while Eric was in the second grade. Every other year, every student in the country had to take one of those tests-right through High School. Whenever Eric took the test, he made 'genius' every time. He had that chemistry laboratory down in the basement ever since he was ten years old. As soon 230

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as he'd get home from school, he'd be down there doing his experiments. When he went into High School, he had already completed every page of the chemistry book's experiments. It was in High School that he met Neville-when he was a sophomore-and they've been together ever since. I remember one night, I was upstairs in bed but lying awake waiting for Eric to come home around 11 :00 p.m. Only a mother would understand but sometimes you just can't sleep until you know all your kids are home and safe in their own beds. Eric came up the steps and I called out to him. He came into my room and I could see the look on his face just glowing in the moonlight that came through the window. I said, "Honey, what happened tonight? You look so happy." He said, "Momma, I had a very important evening." He had been at this little soda place right next to the high school. "I went into the club and I saw this girl in a booth with two other girls. There was nobody hanging on the booth talking to them so I went over. I had noticed her ever since she came to school but every other boy at school was asking her out and I figured she wouldn't pay any attention to me with all these other boys interested in her. I never took her for a coke or asked her for a date, even though I wanted to. When I saw her sitting there without any other fellas around her, I figured now's my chance." So he asked if he could sit with them, and they agreed. Eric told me that night, "Momma, I'll never look at another girl. Neville's the one I'm going to marry." And he married her. I think the two of them are truly soul mates. Eric retired at fifty. He was ashamed of being a doctor. He told me, "Mom, I'm a good doctor. I'm a fine doctor but I'm ashamed to have M.D. after my name. The medical association is just rotten. I've tried to make changes even locally, but I just can't. Many times I've tried to tell my peers, 'Look, most of the people that come to us have little money and very little hope of getting more money but they're sick, and it's our job to do what we can for them. We can't take more money then they've got. We can't keep charging these prices.' Mom, too many doctors are taking advantage of their clients and I'm just damned ashamed to be one of them." Eric and Neville retired in a city with a small population. He stays busy with his sailing in the Gulf from time to time. Eric is crazy about the water, you know. He also has a nationally famous collection of antique woodworking tools. He injured his back about ten years ago and can't go sailing as often as he'd like. He has lots of fruit trees and vegetables: five kinds ofpears, South American fruit trees in his greenhouse. He built a sixty-foot square glass greenhouse enclosure for his fruit trees. He's just wonderful with his hands. He's a farmer now and sells fruits and vegetables. I think Fred would die ifhe could see what his son the doctor is doing. You remember how contrary Fred was about yard work? The one thing that bothers me about Eric is that Eric never says the word "love." I say, "I love you Eric, tell Neville that I love her too," and all he says is, "I'll tell her." He doesn't mention the word love at all. I wish I could put my arms around Eric and tell him that I'm sorry for what happened back when he was a boy. I wish Fred had let the kids come live with me in Florida. I don't know whether Fred and I could have stayed together but I sure think that all ofour lives would have been very different. I wish I would have been a better mother I think Eric wishes the same thing too.

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Excerpt, Angela Peterson Doll and Miniature Museum brochure: See the World in Dolls! The Angela Peterson Doll and Miniature Museum is one of the most extensive collections of this type in the United States. This exquisite museum opened February 1992 and features over 1600 dolls, miniatures, and artifacts from America and 53 foreign countries. During her lifetime, Mrs. Peterson traveled, lived and worked in 44 countries and acquired dolls over a50-year period. Many of the doll costumes, shadow boxes, and doll houses were made by her. Mrs. Peterson quotes: "Dolls have always been a nice background hobby for me. I never bought a doll I didn't like and never sold a doll after it was mine. The dolls have taught me much and are my friends." The Main Gallery features awide variety of dolls of different styles and periods. Here you will find large cases filled with antique dolls of china, wood, bisque, wax, papier-mache, and tin dating to the 1800's. Also there are many modern dolls including Princess Diana complete in her long wedding dress. Other cases display pilgrims, witches, Eskimos, Amish dolls, a doll made of seaweed and much more. Also in the Main Gallery you will find an extensive display of paper dolls, a pioneer family with their covered wagon, and several vintage log cabins. A large Dutch Barn displays many animals. And here you will see a 3 ft. Shirley Temple, and four of Mrs. Peterson's childhood dolls dating back to 1909... The replica of Mrs. Peterson's home is agiant 3-story brick dollhouse with 14 furnished rooms, built to one inch to one foot scale. This exquisite house is exact in every detail to her childhood home in West Virginia, and features miniature dolls representing the entire family. The china, silver, and pictures on the wall are exact copies. An electric pulley separates each floor for viewing ... Mrs. Peterson's large foreign collection is divided into four rooms. The Middle East Room contains many dolls acquired from Turkey... The Africa/South America Room displays dolls from Kenya, AdisAbaba, Peru, Cuba, and acomplete doll village from Mexico. In the Europe Room, you will find dolls from Russia, Scandinavia, Great Britain, Spain, and other countries. The beautiful Orient Room features a large fan mural displaying dolls from Japan, China, Okinawa, Korea, and Thailand ... Angela's Village is a complete Doll House Village of a dozen houses, some dating to the turn of the century. Many are lighted and filled with rare furniture and miniatures. The revolving 2-story Princess House is filled with rare plastic furniture and is viewed from three sides. The General Store features over 500 items for sale. An Arizona House accurately displays life in the Southwest. Other houses include the Parson's House, South Carolina Negro Cabin, Ladies Emporium, a church and a restaurant, and an old 1895 house containing a silver service from Mexico... The Creche Room exhibits the oldest and most valuable dolls in Mrs. Peterson's collection. The large ten-by-seven foot nativity scene is one of the finest in the country, and includes a Crucifixion Scene with its own lighting. Mrs. Peterson spent thirty-four years searching for these fifty rare Creche dolls on three continents. The creche figures are made of wood or terra cotta and are portraits of real people dating back to 1490. Another large display case houses two Madonna and baby Jesus dolls from Italy which are over 300 years old. Alarge rock grotto shows Joseph, Mary, and the baby crafted in wax and finely dressed ...

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After the museum was taken over by the city, my health just kept deteriorating. I sure hated leaving my cottage, but what could I do? I couldn't take care of myself any longer. I couldn't walk. My shoulder was so sore, I couldn't lift a bag of groceries. I was still having the dizzy spells. There was no hope of my getting any better. They tried to be nice about it-I'm one of the few residents here with a single room-but I sure miss myoid place. The government came in and took my cottage and in exchange I get to live in this place. It's been nearly five years of pure hell. They ought to find a way to close all these damn nursing homes. I need to tell you about my ordeal this morning. I call it the "chair episode." I was sitting in my wheelchair waiting for the tray. Anytime anybody wants to come in, they just open the door and help themselves. Nobody bothers to knock. Four of five ofthe patients here want to come in and talk and you can't get keep them out. You can't forbid them to come in, "They have their rights," and so forth. Anyway, one of the residents opened the door. She looked nice. She stood there for a moment staring in my room. Finally, I said, "Are you looking for somebody?" She said, "No." I said, "This is my room. I wasn't expecting any company." "I know you weren't." She walked over by the foot of my bed and didn't say anything, I got a little nervous so I pushed the call button-a lot of good it does, nobody ever comes until they get around to it. I've sat and waited an hour and ten minutes after I've pushed that damn button. What good is it? A number of times residents have come in here to look through my things, open my closet, or use my bathroom. There's not a thing I can do about it. She said, "I've admired that pretty pink chair of yours over there." She pointed to it. I said, "Yes, that's a nice Victorian chair. I brought it from my house." She nodded, "I've been wanting to piss in that chair ever since I saw it and I'm going to do it today." She picked up a little embroidered cushion I had on it and threw it on the floor, picked up the pad I had placed on the seat to keep the cushion clean and threw that on the floor. All at once she pulled her dress up as high as she could get it, squatted on that chair and proceeded to wet a great big mess clear through the whole cushion until it was running down all over the floor. She finished her business and got up and started to walk out. Well, what do you do? How do you combat something like that? I maneuvered my chair over by the door and hollered for somebody to come quickly. I didn't want her to leave until somebody had come. Finally, one of the attendants came by. "What are you screaming about?" I told her. She didn't believe me. "Mrs. Peterson, that didn't happen." "Of course it did, do you think I sat there and peed in the chair myself?" The woman looked and could see that I was telling the truth. She grabbed the resident by her arm and said, "Come on!" The woman screamed out, "No, I want her to go with me. I like her." She reached out and grabbed me and started pulling on my sore arm. "No, I want her to go with me. She's my friend."

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No one came to clean up the chair either. Here I am stuck in a wheelchair and I had to reach down and clean up that mess as best I could and rinse out that chair cushion in my vanity sink. I used a washcloth to wipe up all the water and then stood it up on its end to dry. Here I'm ninety-seven-years-old and having to clean up some other woman's urine because they can't be bothered. Tonight, the routine here is the same: Make sure I haven't wet myself. Check my diaper. Make sure my feet are covered so that they're warm. That's the extent ofmy evening activities. If I could just write a letter, or make a talk, or dress a doll, there'd be something worth living for but all I can do is lie here. I can lie on one side and then tum over on the other. That's all my life is anymore. You have no idea how awful it is to be so crippled. You can't see. You can't write. You can't read. At least I can talk but honey I don't really have much to say. Up to this time, I've always done what God asked me to do. I've always loved working with people. People have been my hobby. I always felt like I could do more good with people then I could behind a desk. I wish God would tell me what I came into the nursing home for. Maybe then I could do a better job. Ijust don't know what He wants me to do. The only good thing about being here is I get to see Brian. I'll be just sick when he graduates and moves home. The other night he came and picked me up-wheelchair and all-and took me to the university welcome for the new students. Brian sang a solo for them and accompanied himself on the piano. Brian is very popular and had talked to a lot of the other students about me so they gave me a big welcome as well. Note posted in hallway of nursing home and mailed to the Angela Peterson Doll and Miniature Museum's mailing list; August 2000: 98th Birthday Party for Mrs. Angela Peterson Thursday, September 8 3-4:30 at the Party Room R.S.V.P. I meant to tell you that some unusual experiences have been happening to me lately. The first time it happened I saw my sister, Helen. At first I just felt her presence and then I heard her call my name. I even saw her for a moment. She faded in and out but I could see her just as plainly as I see you. I hadn't seen her in twenty years, but it was Helen. Later, I saw Mama and Angie. They just looked up and smiled at me, and then they were gone. I wouldn't dare tell anyone here in the nursing home-they'd think that I was crazy. I also saw another woman in here the other day in a pale white dress. She just appeared and disappeared a few times. I don't know what she wanted. She never said anything. But the biggest surprise came later. You will never believe who I saw. I saw Fred Peterson! He wanted me to go with him. He is the father of my children but I just don't know. I just don't know. I thought about it for awhile and then I decided. There's no way I'm going with Fred Peterson. They'll have to send someone else. I guess it's getting close to the time.

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I don't know if all ofthis is what you need. I'm trying my best. I do love you, honey ... I feel awfully tired and need to say goodnight now. I'll try to talk to you again later. Take care of yourself. I love you ...

AfteVWClrd Angela and I were never again able to have another conversation. Over the next couple of weeks she faded in and out of consciousness and went downhill very quickly. The last time I tried to speak to her was eleven days before her death. No longer able to hold the phone or sit up in bed, one ofthe nursing home attendants held the phone to her ear as I spoke. I told her how much I cared for her and I thanked her for being such a special influence in my life. I reminded her that her birthday was coming and that I had mailed a present (a new doll) to her for the celebration. I told her that I would be returning to High Point in a couple of weeks and that I was looking forward to seeing her. Angela made no response to anything I said. When the attendant got back on the phone she stated that the whole time I had been speaking, Angela had tried to move her mouth in response but nothing would come out. It was clear that she heard and knew me but no longer had the strength to respond. Angela died six days after her ninety-eighth birthday. At her funeral I was surprised by how few people were in attendance. Eric and Neville were there and so was her granddaughter Karen and a couple of greatgrandchildren. There were a couple ofattendants from the nursing home, several people from the museum, some representatives from the city, Becky and her husband, and so forth. However, in all less than thirty people had come for the occasion. It seemed very sad to me that a woman who had encountered so many experiences and whose life had spanned almost the entire twentieth century would have so little recognition at her passing. I couldn't help but think that most ofthe people she had been important to were probably dead themselves: Lawrence Scott, Cecil Marsh Gabriel, Sergeant Shuster, Iris Louton, Herman Bok, Lieutenant Mark Fowser, Reverend Clyde Parker, certainly the seniors at the Louey Migel Center, and others. I figured that most of the boys she had worked with in Korea would be in their sixties and seventies, and few probably realized that she was still alive. I wondered if any of her freshmen from Ohio Wesleyan-now in their fifties and sixties themselves-would remember Mrs. Pete? As I stood there listening to the service, I remember smiling when one of Angela's conversations came back to me. At the time she had made me promise to tell her whole story. "Some of it's not very flattering, but don't you let anyone talk you into censoring part of it out!" Angela was not one to be censored. I was invited to lunch that day with Angela's son and granddaughter and some ofthe museum staff. We reminisced with stories about a woman who was strong, eccentric, stubborn, giving-someone who was "a powerful, deter-mint woman." She had made mistakes but she also had an incredible drive that prompted her to keep moving regardless ofher life situation. She had been somewhat reckless with money and her own future but she had pulled together an incredible collection of dolls-an entire museum full of them. She was also vulnerable. She had often been alone, and lonely. She had been Angela Marsh, Mrs. Fred Peterson, Mrs. Pete, Angela Peterson, and finally just Angela. She had been a schoolgirl, a teacher, a fighter for the underprivileged, a member of special services for the military, a champion of recreation for people of all ages, 242

a collector, a travel enthusiast, a tour leader extraordinaire, a dean and housemother, but most of all she had been my friend. At lunch that day, as I sat hearing the stories about her life I knew it was the friend I would miss most of all. Obituary, High Point Enterprise; Sunday, September 17, 2000: Mrs. Angela Marsh Peterson, 98, formerly of 1718-B N. Centennial St. died Sept. 15,2000. She was born Sept. 9,1902, in Parkersburg, W.Va., adaughter of Harvey and Katherine Roberts Marsh. She had been a resident of High Point for several years and was a member of Jamestown United Methodist Church. She attended Ohio Wesleyan College and was agraduate of Teachers College in Fairmont, W.Va. She was founder of the Angela Peterson Doll and Miniature Museum in High Point. She had taught school from the first grade to college graduates. She organized the first senior citizens recreational center in the United States and served as the military recreational director in Korea with the 7th Division. She traveled to Turkey for 10 years and had visited 42 other countries. She was married to Fred S. Peterson, who preceded her in death. Surviving are one son, Eric Marsh Peterson; four granddaughters, Karen, Erica, Betsey and Kirsten; and one grandson, Marsh. Graveside service will be 11 a.m. Tuesday at Lebanon United Methodist Church Cemetery by the Rev. Nelson Silver. Memorials may be made to the Angela Peterson Doll and Miniature Doll Museum, 101 W. Green Drive, High Point, N.C. Cumby Family Funeral Service, High Point, is in charge of arrangements.

Angela would be delighted that she finally got to tell her story. "When I die, I hope to leave my children a life-well lived rather than a bank account. " Angela Marsh Peterson, ca. 1957

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