Changing the Sheets: A Kentucky Memoir

By Deanna O'Daniel

Deanna O’Daniel, Ph.D, Author of Kiss Your Elbow – A Kentucky Memoir, offers two more books in the series, Changing the Sheets – A Kentucky Memoir and Opening a New Window – A Kentucky Memoir. She is a metaphysical/spiritual counselor, grandmother and mother of two, and resides in Louisville, KY

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 19, 2020
• ISBN: 9781728351087

Deanna O'Daniel

Deanna O’Daniel’s Changing the Sheets speaks for women in the turbulent times of our country as they advocated for racial equality, the end of the Vietnam War, and began a tsunami wave of feminism. The author speaks to these issues as she lived through them: raising children, teaching, and attempting to be a model wife. Her story resonates with readers who see her move into self-sufficiency. This book is a welcome testament of a difficult struggle. ­— Mary Popham, Back Home in Landing Run Deanna O’Daniel’s writing instantly draws in the reader. I loved Kiss Your Elbow- A Kentucky Memoir, Deanna’s memoir about growing up in a family of 13. I’m delighted that she has continued sharing stories of her life as a member of the Silent Generation. Like her first book, Deanna’s two new books contain humor and descriptions that bring the reader right into each scene and adventure. Life as a 1960s/70s housewife is the focus of Changing the Sheets - A Kentucky Memoir. The next book, Opening a New Window - A Kentucky Memoir is about her life as a naïve divorcee. — Nancy Gall-Clayton, Playwright Deanna O’Daniel’s new book is the embodiment of Americana. She has an amazing ability to capture the time, place and feel of life in 1960’s, 70’s Louisville Kentucky. Her wit and humor abound as she relates her life experience as a free-willed, strong minded woman in an era when those qualities often went unappreciated. Her stories flow with ease as she allows us to share the journeys of a life well lived. — Jerry Deaton, Author, filmmaker, playwright “Deanna captures those moments of self-realization, and nostalgic and not-so-nostalgic place, with a knowing literary net. Again, she pulls away time’s curtain for those of us who inhabited that era. For her younger readers, she reflects with wonderful scenes that reveal what life was like for women. This was in a not-so-distant era—a time when many a woman was reminded as to where her ‘place’ was to be; whether in the world or in the bedroom.” — Don Ray Smith, Feel My Humerus

Book preview

Changing the

Sheets – A Kentucky

Memoir

Deanna O’Daniel

43563.png

AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2020 Deanna O’Daniel. All rights reserved.

This is a book of creative, historical non-fiction. Many names of people and locations have been changed to protect the innocent. References such as these are intended to provide a sense of authenticity and are used in a fictional way. Incidents and dialogue are drawn from the author’s memory and imagination and not to be construed as real. Also, let it be known that none of the characterizations of the people or situations in this book are to be construed, in any way, as an insult or a put down, of that person or place, but only a representative of the time period. This book is not meant to be hurtful in any way, only illuminating of the era represented.

No part of this publication may be reproduced or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or any other means now known or hereafter invented without expressed permission of the author, Mary Deanna O’Daniel

Published by AuthorHouse  03/18/2020

ISBN: 978-1-7283-5109-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-7283-5108-7 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Explanation of the name I use for myself

As Mary Deanna O’Daniel, I was named after my grandparents, Demetrious O’Daniel (Nicknamed Dee) and Anna Hegenaur O’Daniel. As a child I was called Mary Deanna, in my Catholic School, because almost all young Catholic girls at that time had the first name of Mary, to commemorate the Blessed Virgin. My major name of Deanna was confusing and I was many times called the wrong name of Diane or Donna. Nice names, to be sure, but not my name.

In highschool, I chopped Deanna off to Dee which represented my grandfather. I felt that, at least, the name I was being called had part, of my identity. This solution worked fine for several years. However, in my forties, I became lonesome for an association with my grandmother, Grandma Anna. I requested of my friends, that they spell the shortened version of my name, Dee, as, Dea. This brought in a bit of my identity with my beloved, Grandma Anna. The a, in Dea, is silent, so it is still pronounced as Dee, just spelled differently. So, when you read my name, just think Dee.

Gladly, now in my 70’s I have proudly reclaimed my whole name of Deanna, and most people call me that. It took a while to claim my whole self!

Dedication Page

Dear Reader,

I would like to dedicate this book, Changing the Sheets – A Kentucky Memoir, to all the other women of my generation, The Silent Generation. We were a small group, being the generation born after the Depression and before the end of World War II. Ours was the job of being a bridge-over, from the gentile, mostly homemaking, women who came before us, to the somewhat indulged, Baby-Boomer Generation, that came after us.

Raised to be agreeable wives to our husbands, good mothers and efficient homemakers, we were also the generation that took women out of the home, and into the workplace. This was very difficult because our Silent Generation didn’t have the inner skills needed, such as having permission to set boundaries, or take up for ourselves. It’s not ‘Lady-like,’ to speak ‘out of turn, we were told.

This book, also uses me as the representative of my era, and speaks to how women of my generation pushed through these hardships, found therapy and ultimately, our voice.

I would like to thank all the friends and professionals, who helped me along the way. I was ‘put in my place,’ many times by the Old Guard, but like other millions of my age group, I persevered.

I would also like to thank the many readers of my first book, Kiss Your Elbow – A Kentucky Memoir, who begged for a sequel. In my effort to write a second book I found that I had way too much material for one book, and chose to write two, instead. Please consider also reading my third book, Opening a New Window – A Kentucky Memoir. This final book of my trilogy, gives a pretty good idea of what life was like for a single woman, who was trained from childhood, to be as naïve and innocent, as I was.

Of course, it would be a lot more fun if you read the two books in sequence, with this one being first, but I think you would like them, either way.

My hope is that you will also find these two books to be nostalgic, poignant and somewhat humorous, as I was told that you found to be true in, Kiss Your Elbow. Those are the qualities that I endeavor to impart in my writing.

Please also consider writing your own story; everyone’s story is important, as part of our American quilt.

There were many wonderful, talented proofreaders who helped me throughout the process of the two works. I would like to take this opportunity to thank them: Bob Korn, Mary Carrell, Suzanne Hurst, Ann Bickel, Pat Kelly, Carol Hatt, and Gail Hart. Their interest and enthusiasm kept me going!

Please enjoy reading this book, Changing the Sheets – A Kentucky Memoir!

Preface

Dear Reader,

This book is the sequel to my first book, Kiss Your Elbow – A Kentucky Memoir, and is followed by its sequel, Opening a New Window – A Kentucky Memoir. The peacefulness and prosperity that followed World War II was soon gone, and followed by a very volatile period known as the 1960s. It is my wish as the writer that you enjoy this book as a recall of all the earth-shaking events of the 1960s and 1970s that changed our civilization, completely. Fueled by anger at the Vietnam War and liberated by the birth control pill, this huge group of young people, later to be called the Baby Boomers, created major revolutions on the American scene – Women’s Liberation being only one of them.

Do you remember?

(SNCC) Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee, (SDS) students for Democratic Society, the Weathermen, Racial riots in the cities, college demonstrations for freedom of speech, Protests over the Vietnam War, burning of draft cards, Hippies, The ‘Flower Children,’ the Hara Krishnas’ War on Poverty, LBJ, the March to Selman, the Freedom Riders, Tim Leary and LSD, Martin Luther King’s, I’ve Got a Dream Speech, the bodies of the three civil rights workers found in 1964, Rise of the Black Panthers, Richard Spec, Charles Whitman, Charles Mansion and his ‘Family,’ the Sharon Tate and the La Bianca Murders, psychedelic patterns and colors on furniture and clothing, Streakers, Yippies, Patti Hearst and the (SLA) Symbionese Liberation Army, hot pants, paper dresses, go-go boots, Nehru jackets, mutton chops-sideburns, foo man chu moustaches, Movies of Rosemary’s Baby, Bob, Ted Carol and Alice, Annie Hall, Woody Allen/Diane Keaton movies, Singers: Janice Joplin, Jimmy Hendrix and Jim Morrison, the rush to therapy: Primal Scream, Sensitivity Training, ‘Trust Falls. Watergate, Nixon’s Impeachment – many more!.

For those of you who lived through the period, I hope it will recall some memories of your youth. Maybe you were scared to death, most of the time, like I was. Maybe you were one of the active fighters, on the front lines of the changes of our society. Either way, I hope this remembrance of the past will be fun for you.

Changing the Sheets – A Kentucky Memoir

Getting Started:

1.    Let’s Get Married!

Realities:

2.    Two Legs, Four Legs, Six legs – a Roach!

3.    Sundays with Kurt’s Family

4.    Life in the ‘Hood’

5.    Mornings at Mom’s

6.    Troubles at U of L

7.    Have You Seen the Way They Dress These Days!

8.    The Cork is off in the West End

9.    It’s All Gone, Now…

Cracks:

10.  The World Has Turned Upside-Down!

11.  I’m Scared – You’re Scared – We’re All Scared

12.  Has Peace Left the Planet?

Openings:

13.  I Want to Breathe, Too

14.  Meeting the Other Fraternity Wives

15.  I Want to be Them!

Reaching Out:

16.  Where the Hippies are…

17.  Louisville’s Tornado of 1974

18.  America’s Return to the Real Thing!

19.  Goodbye, Dear Phil

20.  I Married a Lawyer – At Last!

21.  If There’s Help in Therapy – I Want It!

22.  I Must Kill My Own ‘Buddha’ on the Road!

Acting Out:

23.  Sex… Sex… Sex…

24.  Women Power!!!

25.  Feeling My Oats!

26.  Facing the Awful Truth

Getting Out:

27.  Ready or Not – I’m Ready!

28.  Breaking Up is Not Always, Hard to Do

Finishing Pages:

Gratitudes

Epilogue

About the Author

Chapter 1

Let’s Get Married!

This first part of my story starts on a hot afternoon in June, six weeks before my wedding in August of 1964. My fiancé, Kurt, had just arrived at my apartment in South Louisville. It was located not far from the famous Churchill Downs Race Track. I taught school at Holy Name Parish, across the street from the apartment I shared with my highschool girlfriend, Mary. I was twenty-three and he was twenty-five.

Today we would start looking for our own place and really begin putting our future life together. Just the thought of living with the man I loved made my stomach tingle. As a young lady in the early 1960s, my life was like a Doris Day and Rock Hudson movie. Everything was so romantic.

But, Kurt I pleaded, as we thundered down the outside metal fire escape of my 3rd Street apartment building to his car. Racing below me, I looked down at my slim, blond fiancé and shouted above the clatter of my high heels and his bass-widgeons. I was half teasing when I spoke, as though I didn’t really expect to be taken seriously. To press a point was not a woman’s place.

I think it would be good for us to live here in the South End, in an apartment like this one that I share with Mary.

Mary had attended Assumption High School with me and had been my roommate for two out of the three years I had taught at Holy Name. The south end is full of small, cheap apartments for men who come to town to work for Churchill Downs, and the L&N Railroad Yards, on 10th Street. My lips pursed into a half-pout like Doris Day would do as I adjusted the bobbypins in my French Twist hairdo.

Ugh. Kurt made a little grunting sound in return as we reached the bricks at the bottom of the steps. Excitement made me continue my cause anyway.

We’ll be able to buy our own home faster because the rent’s so cheap over here. I knew my father always appreciated thriftiness, and because Kurt was a man, I figured he would, too.

We stood on the brick sidewalk on the side of mine and Mary’s duplex. I beamed a big smile and lifted my solicitous face up to his. Using an embroidered handkerchief from a set given to me by one of my students, I daubed the sweat trickling from the corners of my brown hair and waited for his response.

The puzzled look on Kurt’s face disappointed me. We’ve still got plenty of time, he yawned. I want to see some other places on my list before we decide. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his freshly-ironed khaki pants.

Not ready to relent, my blue eyes met his, and I tried another plan. Actually, I haven’t told you this yet, but we could have this place, now, I said looking at the building we had just exited. You know how cute it is, and the timing is perfect because Mary just told me this morning that she wants to move out three weeks before you and I get married. If we take it, we can start bringing our stuff over here any time we want.

To take the pressure off, I looked down at my skirt, smoothed its pink gathers, then straightened my sleeveless blouse before I took up my cause again. This place has four big rooms, a nice kitchen with a stove and refrigerator supplied, and the bathroom has a shower. All for $45.00 a month – and the utilities are included! Bouncing up and down on my stiletto heels, my voice got almost giddy.

Kurt heaved another non-comitial sigh and said, Yeah, your place is really neat and all, but I don’t think much of this area. It’s not safe over here. There’s a lot of shysters who come over from the racetrack.

I had to get that thought out of his mind. Pshaw, I’ve been teaching at Holy Name and living here for three years. Mary and I feel it’s safe, and we’re just a couple of single girls. Actually, what I wanted to say was, You coward! Then I remembered how my parents felt about this area, when I told them I was leaving our Hikes Point farm to live over here by Churchill Downs.

So, instead I came back with, Yeah, this neighborhood has a few run-down buildings, but it’s such an interesting place. Uof L, the Speed Art Museum, and Parkway Field are all within walking distance, as well as Churchill Downs. There’s all kinds of free events at those places, and there’s laundry-mats, drugstores, and corner groceries. And, don’t forget about the, Cozy, our own movie theater, just down the block. We could find plenty of things to do here – all cheap.

Eh, Kurt shook his head, stuck his hands back into his pockets and came out with the truth. My brothers would tease me to death if I moved into this tacky end of town. We’ve always lived in the East End. His lips clamped into a line across his face.

I couldn’t argue with family feelings. "Hummm,’ I murmured, and cast my eyes to the ground. An unexplained jolt suddenly went through me and stopped my battle instantly. My mind drifted, as vague clouds of what was expected from a woman of my generation bubbled up from my background. I knew how to be female in the early `60s. The woman always defers to her man. In a marriage, agreement was always the woman’s job. This strong, unwritten rule had me shutting my mouth, and going along with Kurt’s plan. My lips quickly broadened and I gave him a big grin and let my mind be distracted by a popular song by Frankie Valli, Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You. Music always took the pain away.

Kurt didn’t care as much about saving money as I did. He wanted to live in a nice neighborhood. I wanted to be admired for my thrifty attitude. I didn’t see it then, but we were on separate pages of what we each saw as important. I refused to acknowledge my real feelings. I didn’t know what they were, anyway.

Mom had already shared her wisdom for having a good marriage with me. It takes two to argue, she said, and it’s the woman’s job to be quiet. I was so anxious to begin my own life that it didn’t occur to me that Mom was no longer good at doing that – maybe that’s why my parent’s marriage was a constant storm. Mom didn’t practice what she preached. She used to. Why didn’t Mom stick with it?

I knew Kurt wanted a happy wife, and I wanted to be that happy wife. It didn’t matter where we lived, as long as I got to live with Kurt. Continuing my grin, I said, Sure Hon, let’s go and check out those other places on your list. He kissed me on the forehead, grabbed my hand, and we raced for his 1954 black and white Ford Fairlane. The old jalopy was parked in front of my apartment building, under the tall trees that lined this part of 3rd Street.

He opened my car door, as a gentleman should and our apartment search began by heading to air-conditioned Wagner’s Drugstore, two blocks away for a cherry coke. Our clothes already sticking to us, the summer heat made it impossible to think of anything else. Although, his car radio playing The Duke of Earl, by Gene Chandler, distracted me a little bit when he mentioned, my dukedom. I giggled, I always thought that line was funny.

At last, I was getting married! At twenty-three, I felt like an old maid. Most of my girlfriends were married at twenty, with their husbands being about twenty-two. Kurt and I were older because we had both spent time in college, though neither of us had yet graduated. Kurt had also finished his draft obligation by serving in Korea. It was true – I was out of step with my girlfriends. They were already into their second pregnancy, by now. I wanted my own children, too, and was eager for them to arrive.

The thought of married life thrilled me. My dream was finally coming true. I would have what all young girls wanted in 1964; to belong to a loving husband, and to have my own home and family. My body tingled; now, my life would have a purpose. Kurt wanted his life to have a purpose, too. He was a serious young man who wanted a secure future. I felt the same way.

Both our heads were full of dreams. We were setting up the perfect life, the one that we wished our parents had given us when we were kids. We would definitely do it differently, or so we thought. I already knew how to make us happy. Mom had given me the rules. First rule: Keep your feelings to yourself. Kurt is so cute, how could I ever be displeased with him?

As for my appearance, I was almost too skinny at 103 pounds. My eyes were blue and my hair was brown and bushy, thanks to the permanents Mom had put on it almost every year since I was six. Whenever I looked into a mirror, I reminded myself that I could keep it under control with enough bobby pins. Kurt seemed to enjoy the way I looked, almost as much as I liked the way he did.

Besides being good looking, Kurt was smart. I was proud of my man. One hot summer night a few days later, he asked, You know what my plans are?

My shoulders yanked back, eager for his answer. We were on a moonlight walk in Cherokee Park. Saving money for our marriage meant we only did what we called cheap-dates.

He said, I’m almost finished with my accounting degree at Bellarmine. Since I fought in Korea, I’ll get money from the GI Bill and I want to use that for Law School.

I stopped him right there on the dusty, moonlit trail, flung my arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. You mean, I get to be an attorney’s wife!

He chuckled.

And I’m glad you’re a teacher, Kurt smiled back at me. I mean, that you have a career of your own.

We stared into Beargrass Creek as it meandered along beside our trail. I let my mind drift away into a daydream. I did feel good about not just being an ordinary housewife, like many women of the early `60s. Since World War II, most women left the breadwinning up to their husbands. None of Kurt’s sisters or sisters-in-law worked. They were like most of my girlfriends, home with children. That’s where I wanted to be someday – home with children of my own.

I was the first member of my family to go to college and I was proud of that. I was lucky enough to get a college scholarship for an emergency program that was needed to put more teachers in the classrooms. The large number of children born after the wars, that were later to be called, Baby-Boomers, put a huge population crunch into the schools. These partial scholarships were only available in the Catholic School System. I started teaching at age 20 and enjoyed the status I felt it gave me. At this point, teachers were respected as pillars of society.

Teaching in the Catholic System also meant something more significant. The Sisters of Charity made us feel important during our training as lay teachers, when we attended Nazareth College. They reminded us of why the parish priests put forth the money for these emergency scholarships:

Young Ladies, besides teaching the curriculum, the most essential part of your job is to build the Catholic Faith in the young children of tomorrow. That is why their parents spend the money to send their children to a Catholic School. My heart swelled, my calling is sacred, I sighed.

My attention returned to our walk in Cherokee Park as we found a stump big enough for me to sit on Kurt’s lap. As I glanced up through the clouds at the fullness of the yellow moon, I said, Kurt, since I’m already making good money, at $200.00 a month, why don’t you quit your part time job at Stry-Lencof Printing Co., and concentrate on finishing your accounting degree? Then you’ll get into law school faster. We’ll pay the bills out of my salary.

As the moon shone on the water, we moved over to a large log by the creek near the park’s pavilion. The flicker of moonlight bounced off the rippling waters of the creek in front of us. It was a beautiful evening. I felt so mellow. Spidery limb patterns spread across the ground from the trees that reached up behind the pavilion’s silvery roof. Kurt’s arms went around my waist and pulled me in closer.

Kissing me on the forehead he said, I was hoping you’d say that. I’ll be able to get a good job after I graduate from Bellarmine. We’ll buy a house as soon as I get the money for law school. You gotta’ think, we may already have a baby by then.

I kissed him on the cheek, my head full of romance, and exclaimed, Our own children! Oh, I can’t wait! Making plans for our future was easy; we were pretty satisfied with ourselves.

Three weeks before my marriage, with me about to panic, Kurt and I finally found an apartment that met our needs, as well as my Catholic School finances. It was a small attic in an arts and crafts style bungalow in the Highlands Area, near Cherokee Park. I was disappointed that it only had three small rooms. Not as large or as cute as mine and Mary’s place on 3rd Street, it was actually much more expensive, at $65. a month. But, the bathroom did have a shower, but so did mine and Mary’s 3rd Street place. Humph!

Located under the eaves, the July heat made it hard to bear, but we were young and determined that we could handle whatever we needed to. The kitchen didn’t come with a stove or a refrigerator, like mine and Mary’s had. Kurt relieved my anxiety when he said, "We can find those cheap in the Courier Journal’s Want-Ads Section.

When I told our plans to my parents, Dad said, I hope you find a stove that doesn’t leak gas and kill you while you’re sleeping during the night. My face twisted at that remark. I didn’t tell Kurt of my father’s lack of faith in us.

I had to admit, Kurt was right about living in the Highlands. The apartment was in a perfect location for us. Bellarmine College was just a few miles away. I quit my teaching job at Holy Name in the South-End and got one at St. Alban’s, which was only a short bus ride away. Our apartment was also close to both of our parents who, also lived in the Highlands. My family had just moved there from Hikes Point where I grew up. Mom and Dad and my siblings were still adjusting to living in the city.

The Highlands area of Louisville delighted me; it felt almost like a small town. Most of the homes in our part of the Highlands were large Victorians, built around the turn of the 20th Century, when Cherokee Park was established. The area didn’t have the excitement of U of L or the Speed Art Museum, but it did have three movie theaters. The Airway, the Bard and the Uptown theaters were all located on Bardstown Road, which was the major Highlands’ street. Like my former area on 3rd Street, this was a good walking neighborhood with some old-fashioned corner groceries, drugstores, hardware shops, and taverns. There were also three parks in the area, Willow, Tyler, and Cherokee.

We can make this place just as nice as what you and Mary had, Kurt said, perking up my energy as we looked at its tiny rooms. What he really wanted to do was to take my mind off the extra expense, since I would be paying the bills. I didn’t mind, my money was our money, now. In the three weeks before we got married, we set about making the place attractive.

Despite the heat, we hugged each other as the sweat dripped off our necks. We laughed at our frequent bumps on the eaves that jutted out from the low-ceiling above us.

Working to make the place like we wanted, Kurt panted as he came up the steps with a box of his college books, gasping for breath. I dropped my scrub brush and ran over to help him. Sweat made our bodies slippery. We had fun at putting our new life together. I wiped my brow with the back of my hand as he helped me unload a box of LP records I had collected from my membership with the Columbia Record Club.

Exhausted, we fell on the couch at the end of the day, and snuggled. It’ll be winter before you know it. If we weren’t such good Catholics we would have moved on to more serious actions. We didn’t do that because we respected each other too much. In the early 1960s (and before), girls who allowed pre-marital sex were considered used-goods, and called cheap. For Kurt to even suggest it would have meant that he thought I was that kind of a girl.

We used the classified ads as Kurt suggested and got an old gas stove for $10.00 and a 1936 refrigerator for $15.00. They seemed safe enough. Because they were old, both appliances were made of solid gauge steel, which meant they were extremely heavy. Kurt and his four strong brothers struggled them up the fifteen steps to our garret and pushed them into place. They were good natured men and joked with us as they grunted through the work.

God, Kurt, this place is so damned hot; I don’t know why you think you need this stove! They even knew how to connect the gas-line and safely turn on the pilot light so the stove could work. I was delighted and thought they were brilliant. They saw my bewildered face and said, Don’t worry, Dea, when Kurt becomes a homeowner, he’ll know how to do stuff like this, too. I smiled.

That’s good. I admitted, I can only do woman’s work.

But, that’s what marriage is – shared labor, each of us doing our part to make a home, Kurt said. I smiled up at him. It felt good to have a man around to do these vital things. Kurt’s brothers looked at each other, then smiled at us like we were the, Ken and Barbie Couple.

With that important stuff done, I started my passion – decorating. The front and the back rooms in the apartment each had large windows that let in lots of light. And thankfully, could be opened for a nice breeze that made living in this attic possible. At last, I got to use the items I had collected in my hope-chest. I had been adding to it since I was a little girl.

A refined young lady has many nice things ready for her house when it’s time to marry, Mom had told me at around age ten. I was completing yet another piece of embroidery work to put in the cedar chest that I stored at the foot of my bed. Almost every night I lovingly looked over the chest’s contents before I went to bed, anticipating how pretty they would look in my own home.

Kurt and I got our furniture at some of the used furniture stores on Market Street in the Haymarket Area, near Preston Street. In my parent’s large basement, we put a crisp, white coat of paint on the wooden kitchen chairs and drop leaf table that we bought for $6.00. We strapped them to his Ford Fairlane, and pushed and pulled, to get them up the steps and into our kitchen. All our friends had started their marriage with casts-offs, like we were doing. Who wanted to buy new furniture for a temporary place? Instead, we would save our money to buy a house, itself. Then I could stop work and be the mother of the four children we wanted. The thought made me smile, June Cleaver, of the Leave it to Beaver, TV show, was my heroine.

Going to 4th Street in Louisville’s major shopping area, I bought yards of material at McCrory’s Five & Dime. I loved sewing and made white curtains with red rick-rack trim for the windows in our sunny kitchen. Then I sewed red and white picnic-check cushions for the chairs, and a matching tablecloth.

It’ll be fun having our morning coffee and looking out on the beautiful flowers in the backyard, I told Kurt, as I noted a merry-go-round-type clothesline along with flower garden.

I wonder if, Mrs. Cohen would let me use that clothesline, I mumbled aloud to Kurt. We hadn’t seen our elderly gray haired landlady since we signed the lease.

Oh no, Kurt said, we’re not going to need clotheslines, we’ll use the laundry mats on Bardstown Road. It’s just a few blocks down the street."

The front room was our bedroom and looked out on the quiet residential street. We hung a white sheet on that large set of windows for privacy. The three of them were so big that it barely fit. The living room, in between the two bigger rooms, was just an oversized hallway that contained the stairwell to the outside on one side of the small room, and the door to the tiny bathroom, that disappeared under the eaves. Except for the shower area, only children could stand up in the bathroom.

Mom was excited for me, and gave up some of her time in fixing up her own newly purchased Highlands home to help me get our apartment ready. You’re my first marriage, Deanna, and I want you to have things the way you want them, so you can start off on the right foot. We sat on the floor as she helped me measure out the material for my new kitchen curtains. Shaking her salt and pepper permed curls she looked me straight in the eye. Just you don’t forget that message I shared with you about how to keep the peace in your marriage. Things would have been different between your father and me, if I had been able to keep to it.

That’s what I must do – be able to keep to it!

Mom helped me prepare the rest of my cast-off furniture. Together we upholstered the fold-out couch and cushioned chair that my Aunt Saloma tossed from a basement clean-out. I enjoyed being creative.

You can take this cheap throw rug you got from Zayre’s Discount Store, in the Mid-City Mall, to the Parrot Cleaners on Ellison Ave. and have it dyed purple to match some of the flowers in your new upholstery fabric, Mom said.

Would I ever be as smart as Mom?

Our coffee table was a large wooden packing crate that I had rescued from a trash bin at American Air Filter, while I was still teaching at Holy Name, the winter before. Some of my 3rd Grade students, who lived near me on 3rd Street, helped me carry it home. Kurt and I found two matching orange crates from a vegetable vendor in the Haymarket Area. We painted them all black. We thought they looked very sophisticated. With my embroidered doilies hanging over the edges of the tops, we used the crates for end tables. Smiling at our efforts, we enjoyed saving money and being inventive.

My heart swelled when Kurt said, Except for the kitchen, our place looks like the Beatnik apartments in Greenwich Village. The Beatniks were really popular in the late ‘50s.

Yeah-Man, I chuckled along with Kurt, our collection looks really, beat."

During our honeymoon in Chicago, we visited the Chicago Art Institute and bought eight black and white Chinese posters for two dollars. I water-colored them with the colors in my upholstery fabric and tacked them above our sofa with push-pins. Even though our place was small, we proudly showed it off to our families.

All the members of both families came by to see our place after we came home from our honeymoon trip – whether we were ready or not. Nobody called ahead because we didn’t yet, have a phone. Kurt had seven married siblings, and they showed up one family after another. He was the last one of the eight sibs to tie the knot. They were wonderful, saying our place was cute and remarking about our creativity.

Being the oldest of the sibs in my family, I was the only one that was married. My parents brought all the younger sibs that were still living at home, to see us at one time. Dad and my taller brothers stood under the bend of the eves like vultures hulking over freshly killed prey.

Hope you don’t have too many kids while you’re living here, Dad joked.

Oh, we won’t be here that long before we get a house, Kurt said quickly.

Summer was rapidly moving to its end. School started for me on the day after Labor Day. Kurt’s classes at Bellarmine began a week earlier than that. Before work and classes, we loved to lounge in the mornings. On this particular day, we were enjoying a pleasant late August morning.

Gentle breezes brought in birdsong through the screens of our open bedroom and kitchen windows. This created a delicious cool draft in the summer heat. We could hear Mrs. Cohen singing as she worked with her roses in the garden below. Their fragrance was delightful. Golden morning sun-rays soon flooded over our bed, which was a simple mattress on the floor. Other than a wooden chair, we had no bedroom furniture. This mattress was given to us by one of Kurt’s uncles. Our un-ironed clothes were kept in our two suitcases.

Locked in each other’s arms, we half slumbered as we waited for the smell of morning coffee to pull us apart. I prided myself in making real coffee, and not using the Folgers’ instant- freeze-dried coffee crystals that Mary and I had used in our apartment. I was determined to be a more modern housewife than my mother, and had fixed the coffee the night before. I used a couple of our new wedding presents – a new electric coffeepot and an automatic timer, so it would be ready for us in the morning.

Around 6:30 AM, the gurgling sounds of brewing reached my ears from the kitchen. Soon the enticing aroma drifted to our noses and I stirred in Kurt’s embrace. Now that I was married, I was expected to get up and fix my husband’s breakfast.

Pulling me back to him, Kurt said as he did every morning, No Honey, don’t get up just yet. Stay here with me. Luckily, Kurt only wanted a full bacon and eggs breakfast on the weekends. Wives always wanted to please their husband’s palette. Being a good cook was a major reason for a man to choose you as his wife. As the oldest of eleven siblings, I had had plenty of practice and was a good cook.

The coffee aroma soon became more enticing to Kurt and he rolled off the mattress, banging his knees on the bare wood of the uncarpeted floor. I yawned and turned over. We were saving our extra money for a bookcase bed. This was the latest trend in bedroom décor, and it would be our first new piece of furniture. We refused to get into debt. Our savings account was more important to us than furniture. I hoped we would have the bed before winter set in – this bare floor would be cold. Mom gave me two of her precious books of S&H Green Stamps to go toward getting a bedspread for it. I would collect the other three booklets needed by getting our groceries at the Winn Dixie at the Mid-City Mall. The stamps were given as premiums for purchases.

Both Kurt’s parents and mine were proud of our goals, which they said were pretty clear for a young couple. This pleased us because we wanted to impress our parents with our maturity. I would keep working until I got pregnant. After rent and living expenses, any additional money would go into a nestegg for our future house, his law business, and our new family.

Still on his knees, Kurt reached over and tickled me awake. I reacted by squawking, stretching, and smacking his leg. The smell of coffee perking away in the kitchen finally popped me into an upright position.

Come on, sleepy-head, he teased, pulling himself up from the floor and moving toward the bathroom. He had an 8:00 AM class. This was not a free day for me, either. This week was for teacher’s workshops, and for getting my third grade classroom prepared for the new school year. I had been so busy setting up my own household that I hadn’t done much about readying my classroom. My new principal had already told me that I would be having forty students. Yawning again, I crawled out of bed. Fumbling to a stand, I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and wobbled off to the bathroom.

Looking out at the backyard from the kitchen window as I approached the stove and the coffeepot, I spied the tall hollyhocks that bloomed along the fence below and smiled. How pretty they look – our life is so settled here. And there was Mrs. Cohen bending over her garden, as I had suspected. Reaching into the cabinet for the oatmeal and a pan to cook it, I proceeded to fix our morning meal. The cereal bowls were cradled in the crook of one arm as I poured both of us a cup of coffee with the other. The Maxwell House aroma tickled my nostrils and filled me with anticipation for a new day.

Kurt