The Real Story of Dick and Jane

By Jane C. (Switzer) Morris and F. Richard (Dick) Morris

The authors assert that this book has been under construction from at least their respective retirement years, 1993-1994. Finally, they have set the publication year, 2020 CE. By this time it is assumed that they got it right. Lovers of good literature will enjoy the sixty-six-year epic, The Real Story of Dick and Jane. They have included the ghostwritten life story of Jane's father as well. Chapter Seven, Rolling Wheels. Ray Switzer's interesting autobiography will take the reader back into every decade of the 20th Century.

The iconic Dick and Jane series of first reading books for children (e.g. Fun with Dick and Jane) were published in the early 1950s, just about when the authors began their journey together. Now we will finally hear about all the fun they had.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Apr 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781098372125

Book preview

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Chapter 01: What Is All This?

For a very long time, we've thought about assembling our version of a comprehensive history for our families. We’ve taken and/or collected thousands of pictures with all kinds of equipment. At this point, we’ve assembled many pages of text detailing our careers and adventures, those of our children and what we know of our ancestors. Both our fathers were experienced photographers; David on the Morris side, semi-professional. And it appears that neither he nor Raymond on the Switzer side ever discarded a good or a bad photo. We have inherited it all.

Figure 1 Jane and Dick Morris c. 2005

This assembly is not very well organized. Back in 2002, we were somehow able to publish the memoirs of Dick’s mother, Helen Morris (aka Abretha Springtime). We even produced a sequel in 2007 as Helen, who was then in her nineties, continued to write her poetry and record her memories. Interested readers may check out A Breath of Springtime and More… From the Heart. Those books were self-published through Xlibris of Philadelphia. We see our own affairs as a bigger challenge. There are at least four core families with which to deal – Switzers, Morrises, Dempsters and Specketers. But now we plan to make a serious effort. This effort provides a little focus and higher purpose to daily activities. At this point, our children are well established and our grandchildren, regrettably, are no longer much in need of our expert services. At least, they don’t think so. In fact, they are more often the experts in today’s world.

But we do know a lot more about the family history than they do. This is highly interesting stuff (at least to us). If the Lord tells us one day Time’s up! we are thinking, well, if we haven’t organized all this cluttered mess, one of our heirs might come along, clean it up, and throw it out. And what a shame to spend eighty or ninety years on this planet and have our history forgotten! Much material is the stuff of verbal storytelling. As we planned this book, we reviewed other personal histories, and realized that we should lighten up. We take pride in integrity, but we are not trying to second-guess anyone’s recollections or be rigorous historians of fact. We’re trying to preserve the memory and legacy of dozens of fallible, lovable (or not), always interesting human beings. Just like us.

And it's not just ego. Really, why are we writing this? No one ever expressed this urge to write better than Anne Morrow, who married the aviator Charles Lindbergh. Back in the early 1930s, Charles and Anne together accepted a task to survey a great circle route being considered for air travel. They flew a monoplane with floats named Sirius from Maine to China. Anne was already a published author, and in 1935 she published a book about that adventure. Her reasons for writing it were inspiring:

What, then, is this collection of chapters? How to explain it? Why did I write it? There is, of course, always the personal satisfaction of writing down one's own experiences so that they may be saved, caught and pinned under glass, hoarded against the winter of forgetfulness. Time has been cheated a little, at least in one's own life, and a personal, trivial immortality of an old self assured. And there is another personal satisfaction: that of the people who like to recount their adventures, the diary-keepers, the story-tellers, the letter-writers, a strange race of people who feel half cheated of an experience unless it is retold. It does not really exist until it is put into words. Although a little doubting or dull, they could not see it until it is repeated. For, paradoxically enough, the more unreal an experience becomes—translated from real action into unreal words, dead symbols for life itself—the more vivid it grows. Not only does it seem more vivid, but its essential core becomes clearer.

(Lindbergh, Anne Morrow. North to the Orient. New York, Harcourt, Brace and Company, 1935.)

Maybe this explains our motivation… we're just trying to make sense of it all.

But really, back on November 25, 1953, the night before Thanksgiving, we had (for our little church in Collingdale) a big church wedding, and we had a purpose for that. We wanted to present our testimony; we wanted to live our lives with God as our Guide. When we had children, we wanted them to come to know Jesus as their Savior and to live lives bringing glory to God. We were not perfect (and neither are they) but we had devotions with them every night– starting out with the Pete & Penny Pray and Scripture Press devotionals, and also Little Talks With God. We had answers to our prayers in that when all three were small, they acknowledged Christ as their Savior. In their turn, Nancy Jane, Rick and Jimmy were all baptized at the First Baptist Church in Newtown Square. We are so thankful to have had a Bible-teaching church where they had good sound instruction in the Word. They made their decisions without conscious pressure from us (at least we like to think so) and decided on their own to be baptized.

We can see that some of this knowledge is now being passed on to the next generation. We have prayed that they make the right decisions regarding their own witness, their choice of their life’s companion, and the rearing of their own children. God bless our grandchildren, Katie, Wesley, Todd, and Alyssa as they build their own lives. In the fullness of time, we’ve welcomed Garry Andreano and Beth Mundorff into our family; Garry and Katie have produced our first great-grandchildren, Nora and Abel. Wesley and Beth greeted little Atticus Robert Morris in October 2019. God bless them all! There may be life partners maturing for the others, too, and we ask God’s blessing and protection for them.

Anyhow… in the months leading up to our Fiftieth Wedding Anniversary in 2003, we agreed that we should have a set of first-hand accounts of our courtship and wedding, way back in 1953. This project has grown into the perpetually unfinished symphony, even including a long chapter told by Ray Switzer, Jane's dad, about his life. And a worthy life it was, too. Raymond and Charlotte Switzer were the best parents (for both of us!) anyone could imagine.

We’d like to acknowledge our gratitude to a great many people who helped with this story, but upon reflection, we mostly did it ourselves. It has been self-published with the help of the good people at BookBaby*, Frank Yuchymiw and the production team. Thanks, however, are especially due to the next generations. Our children and grandchildren encouraged us to continue and reminded us of many adventures which were nearly forgotten. Alyssa tirelessly served as our editor and Todd expertly designed and prepared the cover. I had no idea how valuable such work can be. These latter two supplied professional talent and essential motivation to finally get it done. Thanks, kids… could never have finished without you!

Last thought. Jane contributed significantly to all parts of our story through her notes, drafts and journals. All of Chapter 3 is taken from her writings. But in 2007, we received the first indication of Alzheimer's Disease and after years of very slow decline, she has become unable to help shape this book’s final form. She can't bring her loving restraint on my exaggerations. So I, Dick, must accept responsibility for what our friends, relatives, descendants and other lovers of good literature will eventually find here. You might read excessive words, errors, hype, omissions and other missteps. Forgive me. I was born in the winter of 1932 and I've lived long into the winter of 2020. I'm lucky to have anything to say at all!

Dick (and Jane)Winter, 2020

***

•7905 N. Crescent Blvd. Pennsauken, NJ 08110

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Chapter 02: How It Began

We first met when I began, as a teen, to visit the youth programs at the First Baptist Church of Collingdale, PA. We met, not as if we were formally introduced, but just by being in the group and being aware of each other occasionally. She was a striking, lovely tall blonde, and I was, well, I was tall. She had grown up in that church. I soon found my social orientation mostly in that Baptist crowd. My mother, aunt and cousins attended there, and I played softball, ping pong, and hung out with the church youth.

Figure 2 Youth Banquet, 1st Baptist Church of Collingdale, PA 1947

Jane was always nearby; she kept score, cheered, and participated fully in all the activities. My cousin Jack Howarth and other friends came up with a plan.

Since I was usually the tallest boy around, and she was the tallest girl, we should be naturals together. Jane seemed interested but was confused about certain things. First, I had lost much of the vision in my right eye from an injury. Second, she had heard that a friend, Bob Wingate, had exploded a small bomb at the Morris home. (He blew off a couple of fingers in the front yard, but that was years later than my eye injury.) Third, my features display what I like to call a craggy, Lincolnesque appearance. Jane imagined that the eye damage and somewhat crooked, prominent nose resulted from the explosion. That bit of mystery may have intrigued her.

Anyway, in 1949 many of that crowd graduated from high school. That summer Jane prepared to go to West Chester State Teachers College (now West Chester University) and I looked for a job. With a lead from my father, I eventually wound up at the newspaper, the Philadelphia Inquirer. When possible, we continued to attend the church programs for the group. It was an active gang, ages 16, 17, 18, and a few older. Over the next couple of years, the Lord guided some of us into the military, most to college or work, and a few to serious romance and matrimony.

Jane started her sophomore year of college in September of 1950 while I continued to work various shifts at the Inquirer. March 11, 1951, was a significant day in my life. Our faithful pastor, Father Joe Sullivan, and our Sunday School teacher, Mrs. Kathryne Werntz, had worked for years on all of us teens to convince us of our need for a Savior. Christ came into my life that day and everything changed. I now saw my life, the world, and eternity from God’s point of view.

By this time our friends had been successful in arranging for us to pair up occasionally. Over the summer of 1951, we began dating regularly. This went on most of that year, while overseas, the Korean War began to take its toll and the military draft was revived. Things took a serious turn when I told her I had received a draft notice. She responded that if I was called up, she would cry for a week. But she need not have feared…the eye injury kept me classified 4-F and I was never inducted.

But I had begun to realize that I would do anything for this girl and also that I didn’t stand a chance unless I was serious about earning a college degree. Those various shifts at the Inquirer… it didn’t seem practical to work that kind of schedule while attending college. However, Drexel Institute of Technology (now Drexel University) offered a degree program in Industrial Administration through their Evening College. That seemed to fit. I went to an employment agency and found an office job, left the Inquirer, and signed up with Drexel. I eventually majored in Accounting. Because I had not taken an academic preparatory course in high school, I also needed to take some college prep courses. Twelve years later, in 1964 (with three small children clinging to my gown), I finally got my bachelor’s degree.

Anyhow – getting back to the narrative – in the early ‘50's Jane allowed me to court her almost every weekend. My grandmother’s brother, Uncle Gus Schneider, invited my mother Helen, grandmother, and I to spend a week at his home in Cape May, NJ. He worked for a seafood market right on one of the wharfs and rented a small adjoining cottage. Jane was invited, too, and somehow room was found for all of us. I had to sleep downstairs in the kitchen. Jane was safe upstairs with the ladies. Driving down to Cape May that Saturday in my old Plymouth, we had a long talk about our relationship. After a few visits to Cape May Point, with the wind and waves all around, we were sure of our love and began to plot our engagement. Jane was 21 years of age at that point, but she insisted that she would not marry anyone without her parents’ consent. I had to ask her parents for her hand, and that took some courage. But at that point, as mentioned earlier, I would have done anything.

Her parents did not seem fully convinced that all this was a good idea, but eventually, they gulped and accepted the inevitable. A ring would be selected and the engagement official when Jane graduated from West Chester in May of 1953. We would marry in June of 1954. But as May 1953 approached and arrived, we began to eye an earlier wedding. There was so much going on that trying to handle our separate responsibilities and intertwined social lives we rationalized that it would be a lot easier to be married. Jane was quickly hired to teach second grade in the Scenic Hills Elementary School, Springfield (Delaware Co.) School District. She was to start in September. Neither of us had much vacation time, so we wanted to schedule the ceremony over a holiday. Would it be Memorial Day 1954? Easter? How about Christmas, 1953? We finally settled on a candlelight ceremony on November 25, 1953, the evening before Thanksgiving. We would have four full days off. As these plans were arranged, Pastor Sullivan counseled us on the ramifications of married life.

Figure 3 Jane ready for WCSTC Junior Prom 1952

I was largely unconscious of how Jane and the families pulled together that wedding that first year she began teaching. (It has been questioned whether I was fully conscious at any time in 1953.) My family was delighted with Jane. Thank Heaven our mothers were already good friends at church, so her mom had some reason to be hopeful for my long-term prospects. Early in our relationship, one of my treasured memories is showing my father a photo of my new girlfriend, in which she wore an evening gown. We had had only a few dates at that point, but I told him, Here’s a picture of your future daughter-in-law! He was really impressed; all the more so when he met her in person. Before the ceremony Mom wrote a poem for us which reads, in part: I’m happy in this marriage; it’s what I would have planned.

Figure 4 Wedding Party: Joe Braun, Carol Dempster, Ray Switzer, Blakelyn Dempster, Jane, Dick, Jim Harshaw, Les Stouffer and David Morris

So at the appointed time, the great day arrived. I had to go into work that Wednesday morning. Around noon the boss, perhaps observing that I seemed a little unreliable, gave me the afternoon off. Good thing, too. I had asked our friends Jim Harshaw and Joe Braun, who were both seminary students, plus my fifteen-year-old brother David and another good friend to be the best man and attendants. The latter friend, Les Stouffer, was the only one with any kind of income and some experience with weddings so he helped coach the others. That afternoon I had to pick up the tuxedos and attend to many details. As per custom, my folks had all the guys down for supper. It was my favorite, beef stew.

At this point, my memory begins to blur. I was on a train moving out of the station. I recall giving my best man an envelope containing the pastor’s honorarium with the wrong amount in it. Fortunately, our families had seen that for once in our lives, we were not short of cash and we corrected that error on the spot. I always appreciated how generous our families were, and afterward tried to keep that in mind when other young people were starting out.

Anyhow, we were married at our church in Collingdale before a packed-out congregation. We were very active and well known there, where Jane had grown up in Sunday School and where I was saved. My father and brother were on their best behavior and everything seemed to go without a hitch. But only as this is written, and recalling several later weddings in which we were intimately involved, can I begin to appreciate all that happened that day. I remember the church was lit entirely by candlelight and Jane was radiant in her satin gown. On her father’s arm, she seemed to glow and float down the aisle, turning to hover there beside me – the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. It was a wonderful moment.

After the ceremony and photos came the reception at the church – all the punch and cake 200 people could eat. There are some 8-mm color movies of the reception but very few photographs. Eventually, the wedding party found its way back to Jane’s home and we began the transition from living separately to living together.

Some of our friends fancied themselves comedians and we suspected they might try to sabotage our carefully laid getaway plans. The plan was to drive part of the way to Washington, DC that first night. I had arranged to borrow my father’s almost-new DeSoto coupe; but I stashed my own old Plymouth in Switzer’s garage as a decoy, figuring they might find it. It seemed to work because when we made the switch and left in the DeSoto, there was no sign of funny business. It was pretty generous of my dad to lend us that car, which was equipped with an automatic shift. He had some physical handicaps, and it was inconvenient for him to use a manual shift car like the old Plymouth.

It was after 10:00 pm when we left the Switzer’s and drove to New Castle, Delaware, staying at the Dutch Village Motel. It was our first check-in (of many) together. The clerk offered the reservation slip and I asked if I should sign it for both of us. He sized us up and said, Yes, that’s how you’re traveling now! The second night was at the Ford Motor Court a few miles below Alexandria, Virginia.

The honeymoon did last just four full days. On Friday we dined at the Old Club in Alexandria, recommended by Jane’s Uncle John. A fine steak dinner including shrimp cocktail…fantastic!… served in style by a tall, distinguished black man. We hurried to see a first-run movie that evening, cutting short on dessert. About two decades later we dined at The Old Club again, this time with our younger son Jim. That same tall gentleman, now fringed with grey, was still working there. We introduced ourselves and expressed gratitude for his help in getting us started well. He was as gracious as before.

I didn’t have much experience with hotels and showers– I was raised in a large house with seven bedrooms and one lone bathtub. On that first night in Alexandria, I left the shower curtain outside the tub. Jane had finished and turned in when she discovered water running out the bathroom door and sloshing even under the bed! Most of it we sopped up using all the towels provided, swishing them back and forth under the bed to each other.

It must have been the following night after some touring around, that we had dinner at a local restaurant. On the way out we ran into an acquaintance of Jane’s, a young man leading a group from Young Life. Jane had been active in the Young Life organization at West Chester and knew a lot of people, but I wanted her all to myself on this trip. When we managed to break away, I hurried her out and forgot to pay the bill. I found the tab slip in my pocket when turning in. Well, it was unthinkable that we would begin a marriage with this felony on our conscience, so we quickly dressed, drove back, and settled accounts. As was mentioned before, that trip was the first experience we had in having plenty of money available. (It was at least my first!) But we noticed that every time we opened a wallet, at least a $5 bill flew out. Nowadays it would be a couple of $20s.

It was late November! We were not properly prepared for the cold. Jane was ready for winter with a good coat and gloves, but we had to buy me gloves and a scarf. My sharp, dressy overcoat had come from one of the first discount chains (Robert Hall) and was really drafty. Nevertheless, we went ahead with all we wanted to see in the greater Washington area. After all that excitement, we were probably run down and we both caught colds. Later, looking back at that first year together, we wondered how we lived through it. Jane somehow finished her first year of teaching and I continued working in an office and going to school at night, while we tried to understand what kind of life God wanted us