Together Through Korea and Alzheimer's

By Joyce Sorensen

Sixteen-year-olds Dick and Joyce fall in love and manage to marry at nineteen despite a mother determined to split them.
When Dick is drafted and shipped to Korea, Joyce and their infant are forced to live with her manipulative mother. In letters from six thousand miles away, Dick poetically writes of his longing for Joyce and relates bizarre incidents which occur around him. Separated and existing in alien environments, their relationship shifts.
Late in his life, Alzheimer's attacks Dick but fails to destroy their emotional bond.
In an exquisite paean to love, Joyce Sorensen reveals the intimate relationship of a couple who overcome numerous threats to their lifelong devotion. Her poignant words escort the reader through emotions that linger long after the book is closed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joyce Sorensen
• Release date: Feb 14, 2016
• ISBN: 9781937083601

Joyce Sorensen

Joyce Sorensen earned her Master of Social Work at the University of Washington/Seattle and did post-graduate work at Antioch/Seattle. She retired from private practice in 1989. In 2013, following the death of her husband Dick, Joyce reread the poetic letters he sent to her from Korea in the 1950s and decided to share excerpts from them in the context of telling their love story that survived numerous obstacles. She is an avid member of two writer's critique groups, reads voraciously, and delights in her role as matriarch of her four-generation family. She can be reached at www.JoyceSorensen.com, [e-mail]

Book preview

___________________

My every atom aches for you. You console me in the dark hours and make my happy hours joyful. You are the champagne of my life. I will drink of you, at your lips, as long as I live.

___________________

— Dick to Joyce, 1–10–1954

June 21, 2013

He has not opened his eyes, nor has he spoken all day. I move into bed next to his beloved, familiar body, press my cheek to his, and cradle his head in my hand.

Too Young, sung by Nat King Cole—number one on the hit parade for five weeks in 1951, the year before we married—plays in the background. The lyrics perfectly describe us.

I whisper private words to my darling, words we say only to each other.

In wonder, I hear my sweet man’s breathing slow . . . and stop.

My emotions evolve, distinct and blurred, like the colors of the sunset that will eventually fade at the end of this long summer solstice day.

I am heartbroken for he will never return to me, and yet I am joyful since the bond of intimacy, begun so long ago, enveloped us in our last moments together.

The light has gone out in the sparkling brown eyes of the boy I met one soft summer day when we were barely sixteen.

CHAPTER 1

I won’t go steady.

On a sunny July afternoon in 1949, at barely sixteen, Dick and I laid eyes on each other for the first time, setting off a chain of events that would determine the course of our lives for the next sixty–four years.

Unlike teenage boys in Oregon who typically presented themselves in cords with Lord Jeff sweaters and brogue shoes, Dick wore scruffy work clothes and beat–up boots when we met.

Girls dressed in long, pencil–thin skirts with rolled–down bobby sox inside their carefully whitened Spaldings. My best girlfriend and I sprawled—to the extent our skirts allowed—on her couch that afternoon. Bored and restless, I moved to the window and glanced out to see three boys digging in the roadside trench where water lines would soon be laid.

Muriel, there are guys out there. Let’s check them out!

Nah. You go, Joyce.

"I know you’re practically engaged to Stan, but please come with me."

Okay. I guess. She dragged herself to her feet.

Carrying glasses of water, while sneaking glances at the boys, we crossed the lawn. They leaned on their shovels and watched us.

Would you like some ice water? I asked.

Boy, would we ever, one of the boys replied.

I think we all felt shy and a trifle embarrassed as we exchanged names. Tony had little to say, and I thought he looked like the Scandinavians I knew from Minnesota. Skip flashed a most engaging smile. Ah, but the third boy, Dick, could have been a movie star.

What are you doing? I inquired, as if I couldn’t tell by looking.

Dick winked at us. We’re building a beer line!

Tony had just moved from Denmark and may have been convinced by Dick and Skip that he aided in digging one of America’s wonders—beer on tap in homes. Feeling happy Dick included us in the conspiracy, and knowing it was all in good fun, we nodded to let him know we would keep the secret.

The boys put their shovels back to work, while we continued to talk and discovered we would all attend the brand new Willamette High School in the fall.

Thanks for the water.

Reluctantly we parted, waving and yelling, See you this fall!

Summer dragged until September when we started our new school. Since Muriel and I knew only the seven kids who transferred with us from Eugene High to attend Willamette High, we looked for the boys from summer. I carefully observed Dick, whose flashing brown eyes and playful grin I had not forgotten. I noticed he walked with confidence, even a swagger. More mature than most of the junior boys, he tipped his head and listened intently when we talked. While the rest of us kept our locker combinations secret, he left his unlocked and didn’t bother to return the library books that accumulated on the upper shelf. He didn’t take notes in classes, never appeared to study, turned in papers late, and aced tests.

Dick fascinated me, but to my disappointment, he turned out to be a girl magnet—a Casanova—who went out with lots of girls but settled on none. I determined not to get caught in his orbit.

I couldn’t help comparing Dick to the less–than–thrilling boys I dated, and could not get him out of my mind. A conversation from my childhood kept popping into my head: One day when I was five, Mother asked me to shell peas for dinner. Proud to help her, I paid close attention when she asked me, Have you ever thought about the boy you will marry?

Shocked by the question, I told her, No!

Somewhere a little boy is growing up who will be your husband.

I thought about how much I loved my daddy and wanted a husband just like him. Sometimes Mother changed her mind about things she told me, so I asked, How do you know?

Because God plans these things, she replied.

Except for the flaw of seldom seeing the inside of a church, Dick behaved in an exemplary manner and met Mother’s strict criteria for the man I would marry. In her eyes, however, his church attendance defect ruled him out as a suitable boyfriend for me. Although I had decided not to get caught in Dick’s casual dating program, I could not resist going out with him a few times during the fall of 1949. Knowing my parents would not allow me to date him, I stayed overnight with Muriel, whose parents were less rigid than mine. Embarrassed when I couldn’t manage to avoid Mother’s scrutiny, I manufactured a reason for turning Dick down, saying I had to babysit my little brother.

Dick dated other girls as he always had. With reluctance, I continued going out with Mother–approved boys, whose behavior did not measure up to Dick’s, in order to deflect her from noticing my involvement with him.

Despite knowing him only a few months, Dick captivated my thoughts and dreams, leading me to believe I might have found the boy God planned just for me. Yet, as we got to know each other better, I wondered if we had a chance.

Dick—Until I turned five, my mother and stepfather left me alone in the car outside the tavern some nights. I was afraid to go to sleep.

Joyce—When I was five, before the church was finished, Dad had services in a dance hall. I helped my folks clean on Sunday mornings. Even in winter, Dad opened all the windows in an effort to remove the smell of beer. That’s as close as I ever came to a tavern.

Dick—We didn’t go to church. If I had a friend who went, I sometimes got to Sunday school.

Joyce—I spent four hours in church on Sundays, went to prayer meeting on Wednesday nights, and attended special meetings put on by visiting evangelists and missionaries.

Dick—I lived with my parents some of the time and also with my grandmother. She was strict, but I knew she loved me. I lived with other relatives and even with some friends of my parents for a while.

Joyce—The possibility of living anywhere other than with my parents never entered my mind.

Dick—Except when I lived with Gram, nobody paid much attention to my comings and goings. I had no curfew and learned to make my own rules.

Joyce—My parents watched my every move, lest I stray into sin.

Dick—I moved around so much that I didn’t learn to read until third grade. I’d be in a school that taught phonics, and then I’d land in a town that didn’t.

Joyce—On my first day of school, I wanted to walk with the other kids, but Mother drove me. When we arrived, I jumped out of the car, eager to play with the kids on the swings.

Get back in. We haven’t prayed.

Dear Jesus, help Joycee be a good girl at school . . . 

She prayed a long time. I wanted to check if anyone saw us, but I feared going to hell if I opened my eyes during a prayer. Then I had to promise God I would be a good girl.

Dick—I got along with kids. Once, though, I got mad and slugged a boy in the stomach. He wasn’t at school the next few days, and I worried myself sick until he came back.

Joyce—My effort to be like other kids earned me C minuses in deportment.

Joycee is the preacher’s kid! a big boy sneered.

I am not! I said, and slugged him in the stomach as hard as I could.

Dick—Willamette is the eighteenth time I’ve started a school, although sometimes I moved back to schools I had attended before.

Joyce—Willamette is my fourth school.

In terms of world history, Dick and I experienced similar childhoods. We were born in 1933, as the Great Depression began to decline. We entered first grade in 1939, the year WWII started in Europe. During our third grade, the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. In the spring of 1945, when we were twelve years old and in seventh grade, the war finally ended.

My family moved from Minnesota to Eugene, Oregon in 1948. I have few records of Dick’s childhood, but an eighth–grade graduation picture indicates he lived in Eugene the spring of 1947.

During Christmas vacation of our junior year, I purchased a diary and documented the relationship of Dick and me, or lack thereof, every night for two years. My besottedness with him did not ebb despite the obstacle to our dating: my mother.

As editor and business manager of the yearbook, Dick and I worked long hours together, and were in several of the same classes. Almost magnetically aware of each other, our occasional dates resulted in intense meetings of two kids who longed for someone to fill their empty spaces. But soon after our encounters, in an inexplicable manner, he withdrew emotionally from me. I could make no sense of his motivation to detach himself, after we’d had such good times together. On January 17, 1950, I wrote in my diary, We date seriously for a while and then he goes out with someone else. This time it must truly be over.

Why did I tolerate his treachery? Helpless, I loved him.

In February, Dick started a moustache, which grew like dandelions in a lawn, making him the envy of the boys and the darling of the girls. I found him even more appealing with facial hair, adding to my perception of an almost palpable aura of sensuousness about him.

Dick didn’t bother to campaign for himself, and yet he functioned as an officer in our new school’s student body, junior class, and student council. He helped write the school’s constitution and played on three teams: baseball, football, and basketball. A Certificate of Merit and a Gold Key were awarded to him for artwork that was included in the State of Oregon Regional Exhibition. He also earned Top Boy Personality of the junior class on the basis of his leadership ability, friendliness and diplomacy.

I played a supporting role in various arenas, including drama that year. I struggled to find time to study, due to the heavy church load, working, and my parents’ rule of no studying on Sunday.

I perceived Dick as a peacock and myself as a little brown wren. Even so, I could not overcome my intense feelings for him, and despite his on–again, off–again behavior, I knew he liked me a lot.

********

North Korea crosses the 38th Parallel and invades South Korea with 135,000 men, initiating the Korean War—June, 1950

********

High school students in the United States went about the business of being teenagers that year, but the news from Korea, and how it would affect our boys as they registered for the draft at eighteen, cast a shadow over me.

Dick and I worked full–time that summer. A significant encounter occurred in August when he gave Muriel and me a ride. He asked for my phone number, and I had one, thank goodness, having convinced my parents to install a telephone by agreeing to pay half the monthly expense.

When Muriel told him of her engagement, Dick commented, I’m not getting married until after college. I won’t even go steady. After writing his comment in my diary, I forgot it. Had I only remembered, his erratic behavior toward me would have made sense.

********

First US Infantry unit arrives in Korea—July 1, 1950

US Infantry Is defeated at Osan, South Korea—July 5, 1950

********

The war could not be ignored. Our boys almost certainly would go.

Dick remembered my phone number and called. "Would you like to go see Harvey on Saturday night?"

I’m really sorry, but I can’t. I have to babysit my little brother.

How old is he?

Kenny is five. I was twelve when he was born and I’m a more like a second mother than a sister to him.

Living with my uncle and aunt, I don’t see my family much, Dick said.

I don’t mean to pry, but why do you live with them?

Dick paused. Well, I’m not supposed to talk about this. Willamette recruited me to play baseball, but I had to live in this school district to qualify. My folks lived in Eugene—although they have left Eugene now—so I moved out here.

I won’t say anything to anybody about that, Dick.

I know you won’t, he replied, moving our relationship up a notch in trust and understanding.

I saw him once more that summer, when we happened to be on the same city bus. He came and sat with me, saying, I’ll be glad when school starts.

That night I wrote, I like him a lot! What an understatement.

He was light years out of my league. Hope and despair played havoc with my emotions.

CHAPTER 2

I have to buy an orchid.

When our senior year in high school began in September, 1950, Dick and I resumed our roles as editor and business manager of the yearbook. Football, basketball, and baseball replaced Dick’s summer job. I worked and went to church. We had little free time.

********

US Marines and US Army land at Inchon. From there the troops go to Seoul and take it back from North Korea—September, 1950

84,478 US troops participate in the defense of Pusan Perimeter—September, 1950

********

Geography lessons we didn’t care to learn were brought to us in headlines. My feelings for Dick grew commensurately with my fear he might die in Korea.

Ernie, a boyfriend who came home to Eugene on furlough from the Navy, showed up at school to surprise me. I learned something new about Dick when he reacted to the competition by showering me with attention for the rest of the day and phoning me that evening.

"I can get my uncle’s car, if you’d like to see Hamlet."

I’d love to. Can you pick me up at Muriel’s?

Ah, sure.

I remember how everything changed that night, the first date by ourselves, and how our interlocked fingers fit as we sat in the darkened theater. Later we parked—an old–fashioned term for finding privacy in a car—alone for the first time. As would always be the case with us, conversation and romance occurred in almost equal measure.

Dick, do you ever think about a year from now, when we’re out on our own?

Not too much. But I’d like to think I’ll be in college. I guess Uncle Sam will have something to say about that. All the more reason to have fun while we can, he said, pulling me into his arms.

At school the next day, Dick walked around singing I Wanna Be Loved by You. He called me that night and the night after that. Hi, Joyce. There’s a party tomorrow night. We can go with Skip and Lois, if I can’t get Ed’s car. Do you want to go?

Gosh, Dick, I’d love to, but I have to stay home with my brother. Thank you for asking me, though.

I knew I couldn’t spend the night with Muriel again so soon without Mother asking why. I hated to lie to Dick and I definitely didn’t want to turn down a date with him.

********

US Forces occupy Pyongyang. War’s first airborne occupation fails to rescue any POWs or capture high–value enemy officials as intended—October, 1950

********

We heard on the news that US troops, believing the war would be over soon, started taking bets on what day the war would officially end.

********

China joins the Korean War—October, 1950

********

Dick invited me to see the new movie All about Eve. We arrived at the theater late, so we skipped the show and parked the car on a street near my home. On that dark, rainy night with the windows fogged over, we felt a new sense of intimacy.

Dick, it bothers me that I can’t get assignments finished on time to qualify for Honor Society. Gosh, you’re the president. I’m embarrassed.

Don’t worry about it. You do really well on tests.

It upsets me, though.

Well, it doesn’t bother me. I like you just the way you are.

I like you, too.

When he said nothing more, I commented, I really hoped the war would be over, but with China joining the North Koreans . . .

I know . . .  they’ve pushed the South Korean troops back across the 38th parallel.

Dick’s pattern of getting close to me, swerving away, and going out with another girl came into play again. Angry and hurt, I ignored him in every way our schedules would allow. I saw him drive by our house several times, but neither of us commented on it. At the end of October, I felt I could learn to be happy without him. According to my diary, I told him he is conceited because he is!

In early November, my connection to Dick suffered an even more serious setback. I learned he had a girlfriend, Loreta, whom he had known since they attended sixth grade together. With the support of her parents, who let him stay in their home, she invited Dick to her school, three hours away, for all major campus events.

Loreta had her own car and started driving down to pay surprise visits to Dick at our school. When that happened, I avoided speaking to him until absolutely necessary.

Why didn’t I give up on him and settle for the other boys I dated? My heart knew he was the one.

********

President Truman admits in press conference that he may be considering use of the atomic bomb. Battle of the Chosin

Reservoir leaves more than 4,000 battle casualties and uncounted cases of frostbite—November, 1950

********

Back in August, 1945, my father called me into his office to listen to the radio. We heard the announcer discuss the atomic bomb Little Boy, which had been dropped on Hiroshima. Three days later, Fat Man dropped on Nagasaki. Dad told me I was listening to history. The thought of another atomic bomb being dropped anywhere in the world terrified me.

December arrived and, as inevitably as the tide turns, Dick came back in full pursuit of me. The impetus arrived in the form of a dress I wore to a rehearsal of a play in which we had parts.

That night I wrote, He liked my dress very much. I thought no more about it, although it would turn out to have been a significant issue.

The repeating spiral of my turning Dick down when I couldn’t find a way around Mother’s scrutiny—and his habit of finding another girl to play with him—drove me to emotional exhaustion.

Only seventeen, I experienced Mother as a formidable opponent. I had to live at home at least until graduation, six months away.

Mother was a beautiful woman, tall and willowy, hazel–eyed, with exquisite manners and a pleasant demeanor except when crossed—then I tried to disappear. Pictures taken of her during college could be interchanged with flappers of her era, except for the fact she considered dancing a sin.

Mother’s specialties included cooking and baking. She made piecrust that melted in our mouths.

She crocheted complex, elegant patterns and turned the family home into a gallery of her craft, but she could not sew. When fabric was scarce during WWII, women made garments from colorful flour sacks. I was thrilled when Mother announced her decision to sew a dress for me. Like my friends, I wore hand–me–downs with hems that had been let down and taken up several times. When I put the dress on the first time, I had difficulty getting it over my head. It held together only until I went out to play after Sunday school, when one sleeve slid down my arm. Mom, my dress tore. I’m sorry. The dress disappeared, and she sewed no more.

Dirt and dust disappeared instantly in Mother’s home. Her motto, Cleanliness is next to Godliness, said it all. I learned not to get my clothes dirty or to make messes.

Mother never wavered in the belief she knew best for my father, my brothers, and me. Over time, her wisdom extended to our spouses, children, and grandchildren. We went to great lengths to avoid disagreeing with Mother. She had the energy and will to pursue conflict longer than anyone else in the family.

********

The US Navy evacuates 105,000 US and ROK forces. One third of 2nd Infantry Division is killed, wounded or missing in Battle of the Ch’ongch’on River—December, 1950

********

Russ, a friend from last year’s senior class, came to school to describe his experience in the war. In his Army uniform, he limped across the stage, using a cane for balance. Shocked, we remembered watching him on the football field only the year before.

In nine weeks, Dick would turn eighteen and register for the draft.

When we returned to school after the holidays at the beginning of 1951, Dick acted as if we were going together, meeting me at my locker and sitting so he could touch me in classes. On the phone we had long, serious talks. He wrote our initials, RGS JR, on my Spaldings.

Before basketball games, Dick turned to look at me when he went into the locker room, and he glanced up and found me at the start of the national anthem. It thrilled me to be singled out and connected to him. I wondered if I represented a good luck talisman to him.

On a Monday in January, he acted like he wanted to say something to me—but he didn’t. Later, in class, he talked to some of the girls, in my hearing, I have an invitation to a formal dance on Friday up in Salem with Loreta.

Feeling humiliated, I told someone near me, Last night, David and I went to a basketball game out in Elmira. I dated him sometimes in order to keep Mother from suspecting I had a boyfriend at school.

Did I have a boyfriend at school?

Dick continued to show up wherever I went, touching me and clearly wanting to talk, but the words did not come. We were both on edge. Tuesday morning he made a point of saying, I want to talk to you later.

When we were together again, I reminded him, Dick, you wanted to talk with me.

He squirmed and didn’t look at me. After a minute, he mumbled, I like you in blue.

I realized he wanted to tell me about Loreta but couldn’t. Grateful for small mercies, I comforted myself that he did not invite her to our school functions.

Dancing after the game that very night, Dick led me to the back, held me tight, and kissed me—risky behavior in 1951 when holding hands in the halls drew frowns from faculty.

Dick was always in sight watching me that week. According to my diary, he said, "You