Chapter 33

It’s been established that Mother liked adopting orphans. But they weren’t always runt baby pigs, doomed litters of puppies or kittens, or any other animal in danger of being exterminated. She also adopted people.

Case in point: Morrie.  She met Morrie when she went to work at the Legion Club as a cocktail waitress to make extra money for clothes and new furnishings for the house.  He was in his late 30s then, I think, a bachelor who lived with and took care of his elderly mother.

Morrie was kind of a goofy guy, with curly dark red hair and a silly grin, who loved to laugh and joke a lot. He and Mother made a good team at work, but she thought he was kind of lonely. So she invited him out to dinner. He gobbled up her wonderful cooking, and she loved to be appreciated. They became friends.  On his day off from the club, he’d often come out to the house and spend an afternoon with us. He’d bring a few cold beers, and he and Mother would imbibe while she canned vegetables or ironed clothes or mopped the kitchen floor. We’d be in and out, and he’d tease all of us. It was like he had a family for the first time.

Now, most folks know Minnesotans like their beer. The saying is, “It’s noon somewhere.” Forget about five-o’clock. Especially in the summer.

Of course, the small-town mindset in Maple Lake made something more of it, but it was never anything but friendship and fun.

One summer night, Cindy and I begged Daddy to take us to the new Elvis Presley movie, playing in nearby Buffalo. It was Kissin’ Cousins, and we thought the country-set theme might entice him to go. He really wasn’t a movie-goer. Of course, Mother thought it sounded great, but he was adamant. He wasn’t going. Morrie was there for supper that night and said, “I’d like to go. I’ll take them.”

And he did. Bought our tickets, popcorn, the whole bit.  Just as the previews were starting and the lights were dimming, somebody tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around. It was Mother and Daddy! They decided it did sound like fun after all. We got a good laugh — and Morrie didn’t have to take us home.

Which was sad because we always loved riding in Morrie’s very cool, very streamlined black-and-white Olds 88 convertible. (Dale said he loved looking at the fancy dashboard with all its fascinating gauges and the speedometer, which changed colors depending on the speed.)
He treated Cindy and me like little sisters, even bought us Christmas presents. One year, when I was in high school, he bought Cindy and me these shoe bags. We always had to wear boots to school in the winter, carry our shoes in a paper bag, then switch off once we got to school, then back again when school was out. It was a hassle. The shoe bags were very trendy tapestry-covered bags with a zipper and a long leather strap handle so they could be carried like a shoulder bag. They were great! (Note: I still have mine and still use it from time to time. Yes, really.)

Dale remembers Morrie taking him ice fishing.  Morrie was a good fisherman and often brought us whole fresh walleye, which Mother would stuff with butter and garlic, wrap in foil, and bake until it was tender and succulent. It wasn’t hard to get him to stay for supper!

Morrie also had a pilot’s license and kept a small plane at the Maple Lake airport. (Yes, we had no movie theater, but we did have an airport!)  He gave all of us rides at one time or another. I only went once. I thought it was scary. But he’d often swing by our house, pull into the driveway, and yell at Dale, who was in elementary school, “Hey, wanna go for a ride?” Dale says he didn’t have to be asked twice!

Eventually, Morrie met a gal who thought he was cute and funny, and they got married. We were so happy for him!

Mother’s other orphan was Marv.

Marv was the town barber. Mother knew him from her high school days. Marv’s story was a sad one. He and his wife had two young boys when she developed a brain tumor and became an invalid. She was in a nursing home for years and every night after work, and on Sundays after church, he visited her in nearby Monticello.  He raised the boys on his own and worked every day but Sunday.  Mother started inviting him out to supper because she thought he was lonely.
He came and really seemed to love her cooking — well, who didn’t? But more than that, he liked being around a family again, I think.  His boys were pretty much grown. Then Daddy discovered that Marv liked to play cribbage. That was the clincher.

Marv talked to us girls like we were adults, something our own uncles never did. And Dale liked him, too, especially after Marv gave him an engraving set one Christmas. (Dale still has that, too.)

Marv stopped by almost every Sunday afternoon after he visited his wife, who sadly didn’t even know he was there. He and Daddy would play cribbage, and Marv would often stay for Sunday night supper.

She also adopted a neighbor, a Mrs. Haggerty, who lived down on the lake not far from our house. Mrs. H was also alone, and when Mother found out she had breast cancer and was going through chemo and radiation, as well as surgery, she’d load up the car with food for her.  I remember casseroles wrapped in towels to keep them warm, me sitting with a pie on my lap so it wouldn’t tip over on the drive. I never went in because Mother said she was too fragile to have visitors. But I remember a car full of good-smelling, fresh-baked bread and other goodies on the short trip down and back.

Later in my life, I was telling her about a couple of volunteer things I was doing. They were pretty time-consuming.

She said, “You’re so busy already. Why do you do all this extra stuff?

I replied, “Where do you think I learned it?”

“What?” she said.  “I never did anything like that for anyone.”

She was so wrong.

Epilogue (Cindy): Our parents instilled in all of us a sense of generosity and kindness toward others. Neither of them was very religious, but being a good neighbor, giving to those in need, respecting the earth, all came from how they existed in this world. We learned by example.

I remember that Marv, a recovering alcoholic, “fell off the wagon” once and put himself into rehab. Every Sunday that he was there, Mother would pack up a picnic of fried chicken, potato salad, biscuits, etc., and we’d all pile in the car and drive up to spend Sunday at the rehab center with Marv. He and Daddy would play cribbage, of course, and Mother would set the spread of food out on a picnic table. I can’t say what that visit meant to Marv, but I do know it taught me the importance of standing by your friends.