That a preacher and his wife in 1951, with virtually no money, three young children and no assured future employment, would sell almost everything they have and set off for Europe for three months: Good heavens.
Grace’s letters to their parents throughout the winter of 1950–51 reflect their determination — and the cliffhanger ups and down of their progress. Would Jim get the grant he’d applied for? How long would they stay? Could they take the children? If not, who would? And what would the family do afterward?
In a February 1951 letter to her mother, Grace writes that Jim has heard from the church administrators about possible grants to support his studies. “The amount of the scholarships is $2000-$3000, depending on length and who all goes. If we cared to apply, we could take the family and remain a year for study in one place. We have seriously considered this and rejected it for several reasons. In the first place Geneva is not old enough to appreciate the advantages or get anything out of it; she would be a burden instead of an interested helper, and it would be very hard on her. And since one of our main reasons for going is to travel, see museums, churches, go into back villages and poke around, attend concerts, go by train, bus, bicycle and hiking, we could not be free with the children to do this. So we are making application for just Jim, accompanied for three months by me; he to stay at least six months and perhaps more if money and study holds out. I wish I could stay six months, but I don’t feel that I should go off and leave the children for more than the summer.”
Continuing to unspool to her mother their unsettled prospects, Grace soon writes, “Next fall and winter until Jim returns early in 1952, I will have to live either with the O’s or with you, if either of you will be so kind as to take us in for a few months. I told you that I would much prefer living in Texas during the winter and we certainly want a Southern address because churches in the South are strangely prejudiced against any northern-sounding address when they go to call, except in the very large ones.
“If you would keep Geneva in the mornings, I would try to get a job in a church or office and work half-time in order to help pay my way. Then when Jim returned, we would live somewhere until he had a call or found something to do; this is the only going-out-on-faith part of it all, but we feel that we can always work somewhere and we want to do this badly enough that we are willing to take that chance. So — I’m asking you to consider it all and see whether you want to have that experience (!) next winter. Please feel free to decline. Then I will try the Overholsers and see if they want to put up with us. I want you to feel perfectly free to decide any way you wish. It is your life now to live as you wish.”
What I’d give to have seen my grandmother opening this letter.
It contained one more interesting note: “This evening, Geneva is having fun looking at Kodak pictures. She knows who you are in every one.” The photos featured a trip to Houston the summer before, during which we played with cousins from Port Arthur. One of them, my brother recalls, was a girl about his age named Janis Joplin. (Our grandmothers were sisters.)
These wintertime letters also included Grace’s customary report on cultural highlights. They’d seen “King Solomon’s Mines — one of the most exciting movies I’ve ever seen” and Lauritz Melchior, the Robert Shaw Chorale, the Slavenska Ballet, Oscar Levant and “the Italian picture ‘Bitter Rice.’” All of this available in nearby small towns and cities.
Remarkably, Jim’s parents agreed to keep us (ages 3, 7 and 10) for the summer at their home in Springfield, Ohio. And Grace’s mother agreed to have her and the children in Dallas for the school year to follow.
A letter to Jim’s parents: “I believe the children will be fairly easy to take care of next summer, but there is one thing that bothers me slightly. The washing problem for three children in summer is something you probably haven’t faced since Jim and Alf were small. Think about it very realistically for a few days and then tell me what you think. I will sell my washing machine and then when we start again I’ll probably buy a Sears Kenmore automatic. Would you like to buy one yourself to use this summer, or another type that would be good, and then sell it to me later?”
Things sped toward a close. “Jim will preach his last sermon here the last Sunday in May, one week after he gets back from the Commencement exercises in Richmond.” Grace got a note from the Presbyterian Church Department of Children’s work, thanking her for the ”fine service you have rendered in past years and looking forward to having you work with us again in the very near future.” Also, to Jim’s parents: “I have already packed two boxes of dishes, five of books, have started on our clothes which is a problem what with determining things Jim and I will need this summer, the children this summer and next winter, Jim next winter and us next winter. Incidentally, do you want me to bring any blankets or sheets? Say the word. I plan to bring the typewriter, iron and pressure cooker. We have already sold the piano, dining room furniture, water heater, washing machine, baby bed, youth bed, two living room tables and porch furniture.”
Meanwhile, their travel agent couldn’t get them on the boat she’d promised, but found another and booked that, along with hotel rooms in London and Paris. A decision on Jim’s grant is overdue by more than a week: “We have expected a call, a wire, or some word, every hour. It was the worst suspense I’ve gone through in many a day.” But “in spite of this unknown UNKNOWN, Jim decided he must tell the Session Sunday April 22, to meet the church’s requirements.”
Then: In an April 29 letter to her mother, “You will be disappointed to hear that Jim did not receive the grant. Maybe for one of three reasons: his age; the size of this church which the man came here and saw; and probably the most important one, the fact that Jim is taking me along and we plan to travel for three months — perhaps they figured he could leave me at home and afford to pay for his own study. But, Dr. Blakely wrote that the Board of Education (not the foundation, which might have given him $2500) was giving him $750 which he said was small but might help a little. Indeed it does, and since we have never had miracles in our lives yet we really hadn’t expected this too much and therefore aren’t torn up.”
Miracle or no miracle, Grace and Jim packed their family into the car the day after school ended. They drove to Springfield, dropped their children off and boarded a train to New York. At 11:30 AM, June 1, 1951, they sailed from Pier 2 in Hoboken aboard the SS Homeland. Grace’s mother flew up to see them off.