Life as We Lived It: Book One

By Patricia Burns

Patricia Pat Burns retired from CBS Inc. in 1995 after 30 years with that company. In retirement, she devotes her time to blogging, travel and in pursuit of her avocation, writing. She and her husband celebrated their 60rd wedding anniversary in October 2011. This book is a reflection of their first 44 year. She is currently working on a second book in this series which will share their many adventures in retirement.

She and her husband reside in Glendale California when they are not on the road, in the air or on the sea.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jul 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496911131

Patricia Burns

Patricia “Pat” Burns retired from CBS Inc. in 1995 after thirty years with that company. In retirement, she devotes her time to blogging, travel and in pursuit of her avocation, writing. She and her husband of more than sixty years have lived the American dream. From simple roots, they worked, struggled, raised a family and dared to reach for the brass ring. This is the second in a series of books that recaps their life as they lived it. Book 1 shared the first forty-four years of their life pilgrimage. Book 2 is a continuation of their adventures that includes bareboat sailing in the Caribbean, a visit in the Canadian Maritimes, travel to Brazil, a cruise from Spain to Portugal, a tour of China and the opening acts of their adventures into domestic travel by RV. Ken’s full-time retirement has just begun. The best is yet to come.

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CHAPTER I

THE BEGINNING

1951

Ken and I are relics of an era where romance consisted of getting to know someone, establishing rapport and, if that relationship withstood the trial of time, commitment for better or for worse. Sexual urges were resisted until the wedding night. In our youth, sex before marriage was considered wrong and age has not convinced me that it is not. Mind you, there were many who did not abide this constraint, but Ken and I had been drilled on the subject by our parents and we remained true to their teachings. This is a subject that is good for hours of ongoing conversation and whether or not one believes one way or another is irrelevant. It is what one does that is relevant. We each are responsible for our own value judgments. I was not about to waiver in my judgment because I knew that I alone was responsible for my actions and how I used my body. This all sounds so very trite by today’s standards but, in retrospect, neither Ken nor I have an apology for what we believe was right for us.

Ken and I met on a blind date in Battle Creek, Michigan in early 1951. I was working for the Western Union Telegraph Company and Ken was a Private in the US Army Medical Corps stationed at Percy Jones Army Hospital. (In those days, Western Union was not only a viable business, it was thriving.) I look back fondly on my training and work history with Western Union.

In response to a broken engagement by his then fiancée, Ken volunteered for the Army and shortly thereafter, the Korean War broke out. On the eve of his scheduled departure for duty in Korea, a last-minute telegram reassigned him to Percy Jones Army Hospital in Battle Creek, Michigan.

Battle Creek was my first job assignment after completing a six-week training course with Western Union. In those days, companies trained personnel who did not possess the skill or expertise for their work. There was no public training platform for Western Union operators and thus, Western Union operated a training facility to train and staff their operations. My family could not afford to send me to college. My sister-in-law happened upon an ad for applicants to train as Western Union operators that seemed an answer to my employment crisis. I applied, was tested and accepted to the school. Upon completion of my training, I was assigned to the Battle Creek office. I arrived there early in the morning, December 12, 1950. Unknown to me, a few weeks earlier, an Army inductee by the name of Ken Burns arrived at the same train station to begin his military assignment at Percy Jones Army Hospital.

Shortly after Ken arrived in Battle Creek, he, with a buddy, Jim Keelin, visited the local Western Union office to send a telegram. As young men are prone to do, Jim (and I suspect Ken though he never admitted it) flirted with the young girl who took their telegram at the counter. That girl, Dorothy (Dottie) Johnson, would later become my associate and friend. I am not clear whether Jim asked Dottie out at that time or later, but subsequently, it was through Dottie and Jim that I met Ken.

On a fateful Saturday in early spring Jim, who had a girlfriend back home, succumbed to loneliness and called Dottie and invited her to a movie. Dottie and I had previously agreed to double blind date with two Air Force soldiers after work. Dottie told Jim that she had prior plans that included me and thus, could not accept his invitation. Jim suggested that he arrange a double date with Ken, who Dottie remembered from their earlier visit to the office. The fly boys were unknowns, but Dottie had at least met Jim and Ken. She convinced me that we should opt for the Ken and Jim duo. I agreed, after all, one blind date was as good as another. Since neither Dottie nor I knew the fly boys beyond voices over the phone, we were ambivalent about them.

We arranged with our manager, Eleanor, to intervene on our behalf when the fly boys arrived to pick us up. I don’t think that was the first (or last) time Eleanor was asked to perform a role above her job description on our behalf. However, in spite of her expressed candid displeasure at our cavalier actions, she agreed. When Ken and I announced our engagement four months later, she beamed and bragged of her role as enabler. Our marriage has survived for sixty plus years with, I believe, as much happiness as any married couple living together that long should expect. Our marriage has been a roller coaster of happiness, unhappiness, success and failure but through it all, an adventure shared in love and devotion. Along the way two children, a daughter-in-law and two grandchildren complete our family unit and contribute to our sense of satisfaction and happiness.

I do not remember the movie that we attended on that first date. The theatre was across the street from the Western Union office and, after the movie, we walked the approximately 15 blocks from the theatre to Dottie’s apartment. Dottie’s roommate was out of town for the weekend and I had planned in advance to spend the night at her apartment. None of us had a car so walking, (the shanks mare of our day), was both exercise and transportation.

Ken was not yet 20 years old, tall, blonde, blue-eyed and thin. He was friendly, warm and outgoing with a ready smile and a twinkle in his eye. His demeanor suggested carefree adventure and curiosity. I was intrigued. At Dottie’s apartment the four of us enjoyed refreshments, chatted and shared stories from our respective backgrounds. By the end of the evening, I felt that I had known Ken a lifetime.

I learned that Ken was a second-generation native of California, born in Glendale and although his parents lived in Prescott, Arizona, his roots were in the Los Angeles area. I was awed by his tales of a life that included winters in Palm Springs, summers on a boat and cross-country travel at a young age, all beyond my own challenged imagination. His family lived in Prescott, Arizona, and spent their winters in Palm Desert, California. Ken’s dad was an active gold prospector and his interest in prospecting for gold had taken them to Prescott to live.

I was 17 at the time and I am not sure that I had either the wisdom or the intelligence to assimilate everything he told me. In retrospect, I may have been like the little boy who looked into a room full of manure and said, With all of that manure — there must be a donkey in there someplace. (Perhaps a bull would have been a better parody.) I was awed by his stories of travel and adventure. His lifestyle and activities were as alien to my own small town experiences as Orson Wells’ radio drama WAR OF THE WORLDS was to his listening audience in 1938. By the time the evening was over, my head was swimming with his many explorations and interests. I was awed by a life beyond anything I had ever dreamed. Perhaps naively, I also thought that his adventures and stories sounded like a lifestyle that included money.

In 1939, at the age of 8, Ken and his parents spent 5 months traveling throughout most of the then 48 States and Mexico. During their travel they attended both the World’s Fair in New York and San Francisco. My first trip outside the state of Indiana was my then domicile of Battle Creek. I had never met anyone who had done so much living.

He told me that his dad built houses in Palm Desert and his grandfather Burns had been a cement contractor in Glendale. Ken’s mother and aunt attended USC’s School of Music and his grandparents on his mother’s side had owned and farmed a section of land in Chatsworth, California. I was impressed and to my admittedly immature ears, he sounded anointed in riches’’ or as they might say in England like gentry".

At the conclusion of the evening, Ken promised to call me and in response to Dottie’s later inquiry as to how the date went, I was shyly optimistic. However, after a week without a call, I gleaned that he was not as interested as I thought. Finally, after two weeks, he called to invite me to a movie and, in spite of my best judgment, I accepted. At the conclusion of the movie, he walked me home. We talked about our family and found that we shared many common interests. We were both raised in homes with strong religious beliefs, interested in travel, had common political interests and shared a curiosity about the world around us. I was deeply curious about what made this strange Californian tick and perhaps he wondered if my Southern Indiana drawl suggested a hillbilly in rehabilitation.

After our movie and walk home, he invited me out again and soon it became a habit for him to meet me after work at 9 PM and walk home with me. After a reasonable time, I inquired why he had waited so long to ask me out a second time. He said that Jim, the buddy from our first date, had counseled him not to act too hasty and just play it cool. As the years have gone by, we have remained in contact with Jim and his wife, Ann. Through the years, I have frequently reminded Jim that his counsel did nothing to inflate my ego as a desirable girl about town.

Ken had very little spending money. He was sending money home to repay financial obligations that he had encumbered prior to joining the service and his spendable income was minimal. As our relationship grew, we spent more and more time with each other and on his payday, the first of each month, he paid for the movie, purchased popcorn and bought the hamburger that completed our evening. That was his big whoopee do for the month. Beyond that, I was the sole provider for our out-of-pocket expenses. My income was not sufficient for any big expenditures inasmuch as I was just starting my job and at the bottom of the totem pole insofar as pay scale. Little did I realize then that our courtship economy was a preview for our economic life expectancy!

Needless to say, we did a lot of walking, talking and very little entertainment that required money. During long walks in the park and our talks, I learned that Ken was on the rebound after a broken engagement.

I was impressed with his entrepreneurial approach to life. He worked hard. In addition to his regular Army duties, Ken sat pins at the bowling alley, tended bar in the Officers’ Club, ironed or pressed clothes for his buddies and did whatever was available to subsidize his meager income. It was obvious that he was a poor soldier boy and my early misconception of his wealth status was put to rest early on. But there was no denying that he was ambitious, willing to work and had a charming positive approach to life in general.

As the months passed, Ken was able to save enough money to buy a car. He purchased a 1937 Dodge 4-door sedan that used more oil than gas, but it ran. With the mobility provided by the car, we explored the area in and around Battle Creek (and found more places to park and make out than I thought existed.) In the meantime, my friend Dottie was dating another buddy of Ken’s and frequently double-dated with us. In late spring, I was sent to Greenville, Michigan to fill in for a vacationing employee for two weeks. As I was closing the office on my last day and preparing to catch my bus for Battle Creek, Ken walked through the door. He had come to drive me back to Battle Creek. On the drive from Greenville to Battle Creek we experienced the awe of the aurora borealis (Northern Lights) as we drove through the Michigan countryside. It was a mystical, beautiful and unforgettable experience shared with a special person who similarly appreciated the wonder of that magnificent sky.

In late June, as we entered the main entrance to my apartment, my landlady stopped us and told me that Eleanor, the night manager, had called and was waiting for me to call her. I looked at my watch and said, I think the office is closed. My landlady replied, She said she would wait for you to call. I surmised that it must be bad news and it was. My oldest brother, Floyd, who lived in Chicago, had been found dead in his apartment. He was only 47 years old and I was stunned. Eleanor assured me that she had called the manager and cleared time off for me. Further, she had obtained information on available travel out of town which she provided to Ken and the landlady. Together, they made reservations for my departure while I packed and within a few hours, I was on a bus to Southern Indiana.

The death of my brother left me with a grief that Ken had difficulty understanding, as did I. I had not been close to my brother but his sudden death came as a shock to me and my entire family. He died in his sleep and had been dead three days when his body was discovered. My brother left home when I was still very young and thus, I was never really close to him. He returned home after my mother was diagnosed with cancer and stayed with the family until my mother passed away. During that period I grew to know the brother that had previously been only a name.

As my mother was suffering her last hours, Floyd came into the dining room and sat down beside me with tears running down his cheek and said, Pat, you know Mom may not make it, don’t you? That was the first time that any member of my family had acknowledged to me the seriousness of my mother’s illness. I knew my mother’s illness was serious, because I freely eavesdropped when the family was in hushed conversations. I heard exchanges between other family members that alerted me to how seriously ill my mother really was. As I look back, I believe that they simply could not muster up the heart to tell me, a 13 year-old kid who turned 14 one week before my mother’s death, that my mother was dying. As the end drew nigh, the family must have concluded that I needed to be told and Floyd, as the oldest, was the designated messenger.

I am a person who must bear disappointments and personal crises alone. During the weeks after my brother’s death, I needed my own space. This created a snag in my relationship with Ken and his lack of understanding further complicated my own sense of loss and frustration. After a brief breakup, during which Ken went to his first Sergeant and asked for a transfer, our relationship got back on track. Shortly thereafter, Ken asked me to marry him. After I said yes, Ken went to his First Sergeant and asked him to withdraw his request for transfer. The Sergeant said, I never sent it in. The Sergeant was a career military man who had seen many such ups and downs by his underlings. Apparently, through the years he had learned not to act spontaneously to such requests.

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We were married in the Church of my youth, the Red Quarry Christian Church, located in a rural farm community outside the small town of French Lick, Indiana on October 7, 1951. Ken’s mother and sister came to Battle Creek from Prescott, Arizona for a few days with Ken before we departed for Southern Indiana with best man, Ray Tripp and bride’s maid, Dottie Johnson.

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My sisters, Thelma and Dorothy, arranged the wedding and reception and my sister-in-law Elsie, then pregnant with their youngest son, Steve, played the piano for the wedding. My brother, Trevor, an ordained minister in the Christian Church, married us before family and friends from the community where I grew up. My parents were instrumental in building the church and our entire family has always felt a close affiliation to that simple church on the Quarry.

We left immediately after the ceremony and reception to return to Battle Creek. We left Ray and Dottie off at our apartment where Dottie would spend the night and went on. We planned to drive on to Holland, Michigan for our honeymoon. However, my indoctrination into the economic uncertainty in marriage began on my honeymoon. Ken had underestimated how much money he would need for our wedding weekend and we were perilously close to broke by the time we arrived back in Battle Creek. I had the great sum of $20 in a savings account and thus, we spent our wedding night in the car. When the banks opened the next morning I went to the bank and withdrew all of my savings for our brief two-day honeymoon in Holland, Michigan. We returned to Battle Creek and spent the remainder of our honeymoon at our apartment. Although the absence of adequate funding for our adventures in life has remained an ongoing burden, our marriage has known the reality of many blessings as well. It is called making a go of it. My dad always told me, Patsy, if you get burned you will have to sit on the blister. I wasn’t about to sit on the blister on my honeymoon.

After our honeymoon, we settled into our apartment very near the hospital. Just before Christmas, we were startled by a banging on our front door. Ken opened it and was accosted by our landlord who was hysterically out of control and threatening. He accused Ken of driving into the back of the garage and causing the garage roof to collapse. Ken denied it but not until our next door neighbor, who was also a military policeman, interceded, could we get the landlord calmed down. Needless to say, the next day we went in search of an apartment and made arrangements to move the first of the month. Unknown to us, the landlord had a reputation for his fits of temper and Ken had been on the receiving end of one. We did not want to revisit that experience.

CHAPTER II

CALIFORNIA HERE WE COME

1952

After our whirlwind courtship and wedding, it was now time to work to overcome our poverty status. To say it has been a lifetime struggle, would be an understatement. During his military service, Ken always worked a second job and once we were married, we both threw ourselves into the task at hand, making money to survive. Ken continued to work at any available odd jobs at the hospital that were available and I accepted as much overtime at work as was offered. We lived frugally and saved our money. Ken delighted in his frequent trips to the bank to deposit money into our savings account and we were proud as our savings grew. That first year of our marriage was committed to a goal that we worked hard to achieve. Ken was anxious to show me California and have me meet his large family. That was our goal and we worked hard to reach it.

In early 1952, the Telegraphers Union (in which I was a member) called a strike. Rather than go on strike, I went to work for Oliver Aircraft, a war time subsidiary of the Oliver Corporation, a pre-war manufacturer of farm equipment that had contracted with the government to supply aircraft parts in support of the Korean War.

By the spring of 1952, we had saved enough money for a down payment on a new car to replace the