Nessie

By Louise Langford

‘Nessie’ is a compilation of memoirs of the life of a truly remarkable woman, totally undauntable in her convictions, a born leader, and a genuine friend. Painting scenes born of union strikes and personal loss to unique neighbors, ‘Nessie” offers a strong insight to rural life during the Great Depression, and the following war and post-war years.
These most memorable times of my mother were penned as seen through my eyes, from the time I can remember until her death in 1999. Nessie was a force—a happy force—as these stories depict, in protecting family and friends alike, and a tribute to women everywhere.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 20, 2020
• ISBN: 9781664149236

Louise Langford

A native of Montana, Louise raised her family in Lewistown, where she worked as a newspaperwoman for the Lewistown News Argus and, later, a dispatcher for the local sheriff’s department. After the death of her husband, she volunteered for one year as a teacher-missionary to Honduras. Moved by the great need for both education and medical help in this desperate third-world culture, she spent the next seventeen years in Central America, teaching English, working with the medical brigades—especially the children—and learning to survive in a world so very different from her own. Now back in Montana, she lives in a retirement apartment in Lewistown and enjoys her family. She has given presentations of her work in Honduras before many civic and church groups and works as a volunteer at the local hospital and the Center for the Aged.

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Copyright © 2021 by Louise Langford.

Copyright Registration Number: 1-9908260401

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

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Rev. date: 12/19/2020

Xlibris

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CONTENTS

Author’s Note

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

To the memory of my Mother, Nessie—much loved.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Dear family:

I am eighty-eight years old at this writing. I now live in another world—one of computers and social media. And while I appreciate my cellphone, I do so miss the sounds and reality of a world long disappeared.

I wrote this because I wanted you all to know what a most remarkable woman my mother (your grandmother, great grandmother, etc.) was, and also the wisdom and strength of the man who supported her and loved us all—my father.

There were many stories, but I chose these few to try to share with you another time—another era—that of Nessie.

I did change six names, mainly to protect families, however all the incidents stated here are real; so real.

I love you all, and hope you enjoy these glimpses into my early life, and that of my Mother, Nessie. I do see bits of her—little traits—in each one of you.

Love,

Louise - mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother.

I

Her name was Nessie, and she was born in 1906—the year of the horse. The world knew her and my father as Nessie and Beecher. They were married in 1930 and survived the great depression; my mother with a determination that would be her hallmark in life.

Those were the days of one work dress and one good dress; homemade doll clothes from Santa Claus; aprons to keep your clothes clean; the old crank wall telephones, and operators like Mrs. Cram who knew all the news, where everyone was, and connected you by names as well as numbers; of two and five cent Hershey Bars; 40-mph speed limits, and rumble seats; of running to be the first to stand in front of the wall heater on cold mornings; and ‘Mairzy Doats and Doazy Doats.’

Nessie was always happy, always had a smile, and a laugh—a beautiful, full, musical laugh that traveled upward with an infectious lilt and reached out and touched people. She laughed a lot—that was Nessie. A pretty woman of average height and build, her dark hair was medium-short and curled—held back with a thin band of white elastic, and she wore rimless glasses. She held a fascination for the Chinese calendar and readily pointed out that she was born in the year of the horse—active, animated and energetic.

We ate a lot of Campbell’s Soup, or eggs. Both were pretty easy and quick, as mother was very busy with her news, Girl Scouts, Brownies, 4-H, church, Eastern Star, and bridge, among other things. Daddy would always joke and say he’d have died if it hadn’t been for eggs, and she would say, Now, Beecher.

The importance of the situation was reflected in how she said Beecher: BEE-cher, was like a gentle admonition; Bee-CHER, a tickle; BEE-CHER, a mouse; and a quiet Beecher, serious talk. When I was called my full name, Beecher Louise, it meant I had trouble.

There was always an apron, usually large enough to cover the front of her everyday dress, and it had to have a pocket for her hanky. It tied in back so that it could easily be whipped off if there was a knock at the door. Mother’s apron—how many times we ran towards that apron for comfort or security. Yet, it was how she used it that I remember so vividly. When she sensed a problem, or her emotions began to kick in, I would see her hands slide down the sides of her apron, then under it, and quietly lift it to her face, over her mouth. When her heart was touched her apron came up.

Mother’s relaxation was the Bridge Club. This was the early 40’s. The club was the mainstay for many of these women, the night they could forget worries and work, if only for three hours. The house was cleaned. There was fancy food. The good things were brought out to be used. Oh, how we loved it when she had the ladies at our house. There was Sue, Ann, Verna, Alma, Erlice, Dunny, and Edna, among others, all laughing and happy, and saying crazy sounding things:

Two spades.

Nessie, did you say two spades?

Oh, girls, I don’t know what to say!

That’s a rubber now, girls!

Nessie, really! giggle, giggle.

Erlice, you’ve cut off our leg!

My little sister, Diann, and I would lie in bed listening to every word we could hear. Sometimes, when it was gossip, they would talk real low and serious, but pretty soon they’d be laughing again.

* * * * * *

Mother didn’t much like her middle name, Gertrude. Nana, my maternal grandmother, loved it. She named my mother Nessie, after herself, and Gertrude, after a favorite aunt, because she thought Trudy would be such a lovely nickname. Mother simply said, Why would you name me that? She named me Beecher Louise, after my father, and my sister Nessie Diann, after herself.

Mother adored her father, and was inspired by his love of music and his work with bands, both private and in the