I am writing this because I think I must. We have long had great pride in the women of our family whom we Lutz kids knew personally as far back as Grandma Priscilla Jordan. The older kids knew her, but I did not since she died in 1941 just before I was born. Carrie Mae Jordan Beal, our Bonnie Beal, was of course, the Lutz matriarch, and then Mother (Dorothy Jordan Beal Lutz) who was the worker, the trend setter, the one who lived the realities of life on the farm with five kids and no dad during the war. There were ancillary women, of course, whom we knew and loved; friends whom we called aunt with no blood ties. There were others who influenced our lives. I wrote a long piece about Tottie (Mother’s sister) in my memoirs, which are for Jeff and Amy only while I am still around.
The “must” comes from the fact that she was in the house, not doing the work, but setting the tone of life during those three years she was with us. Her impact lives on and that is why I want to tell that story. The high impact person in my memory and young life: Sarah Ellen Covert Lutz Gallagher, Dad’s mother. She came to live with us in late 1948 or 1949. Our family life changed significantly, as we knew it, until mid morning May 29, 1952.
In 1947 the Luacres house was changed with the addition of the three car garage when the back porch was taken off and the finished mud-room/laundry room and a new downstairs bathroom were added. That addition made it possible for someone to inhabit the room behind the kitchen as a genuine bedroom, because it now had access through the addition to the bathroom. Prior to that time that room was used by Jonathan Byler who then used the out house and showered in the basement. Before that Uncle Herman Melvin (another story) occupied that space. I do not know how he bathed, etc. So when Bonnie broke her hip it was natural for her to move in with us. We had the space.
A buzzer button was installed on the wainscot in the room near her bed with the bell attached to a board with a long wire that usually ended up in Mom and Dad’s room on the second floor. Her room was likely originally (in 1840) designed as a “study” or office since it had a built-in cupboard with glass doors, an open shelf below and some drawers on the wall adjoining the kitchen. For those among us who have been in the old house, that became the TV room. But for now, it was Bonnie Lutz’ bedroom.
We never went in there unless invited, but it was so close to the kitchen one could hear voices in both directions. When we wanted to let off some steam, the kitchen was not the place to do it. Unless, that is, for some reason Sadie was not home. If that was the case we took the opportunity to holler and scream in the kitchen to attest to that fact. There was that type of mood within the Lutz household; always on your guard, always on your best behavior and when she went for an afternoon visit, that tension was released.
We of course had the barn and the out of doors to be kids, but there were rules that were imposed by our guest: no indoor games on Sunday, even ball games had to be played in an adjacent field and not in the front yard (basically so she could not see us.) Radio play (anytime) had to be done clandestinely. The radio shows we liked most (Tom Mix, Clyde Beaty, Straight Arrow, etc.) were under scrutiny. Mother did not forbid all this, but we ran the risk of the stern face or the sharp questions from the house guest. A Heavy Pall was Cast Upon The House.
Mother would step in to mediate sometimes and Dad would, unbeknownst to us, tell her to buzz off. There is a history here that is hard to imagine, but she and Mother did not get along. Perhaps it was due to this young woman, in 1924, coming into the life of her pride and joy, Son Raymond. They were from different sides of town, Mother from the North Hill, the daughter of a professional family and Sade was from the East Side - the workingman’s, the mill-men’s side of town. Dave suggests that since Mother wore slacks on the farm (for obvious reasons) Bonnie thought her a sinner. Thinking back, my humble analysis was that she did not enjoy her life. Dave, in his memory book, mentions how her eldest son, Uncle Earl, did not have much good to say about his mother. I never heard Dad specifically disparage her. However we all knew for a fact (because she told us) that she felt she should not have remarried because doing so put her at odds with Scripture. Dave also attests to Mr. Gallagher being a kind and gentle man who died of complications of diabetes. That was before my time.
Over those two or so years there were sharp words…lots of words and raised voices. Dave got after her verbally one time when he thought she had overstepped her bounds and attitude toward Mother (he would have been a senior in HS or home in the summer from college.) This would be followed by tears and sorrow and pledges, from her, to do better. “Don’t speak to my mother that way!” Dave said loudly. Jim and I were silent, but impacted.
(One side note) During the summer of 1951 between Dave’s junior and senior year at Penn State, he and Tillie saw to it that Jim, Chick and I got to travel the North County circuit of baseball teams. Thinking back, it was a chance for us to get out of the house and let the dust settle at the end of each day. Besides we had a great time visiting ball games in Volant, Pulaski, New Wilmington and East Brook. I have a mental picture of each of these fields.
All was not bad, however, just that constant dark curtain.
There were times when Bonnie would feel she needed to be more responsive to Jim and me. (Not sure if she made similar overtures to Chickie.) But a “session” with her was not welcome, but tolerated. There were stories we had no interest in hearing and morals to them that did not fit. Likely there was her reference to the Deity that was oftentimes off base to what we learned at Sunday School.
She was Pentacostal, and spoke in tongues. There was chanting and crying going on from time to time. While Jim and I were aware of all this, Dave actually shared that she laid hands on him when he had a belly ache and spoke words over him he did not know, but that was before she moved in with us. Which reminds me of visiting her at her home on the East Side on Arlington Ave one day…perhaps the only time I remember. Dad took Jim and me there for lunch. She gave us fried egg sandwiches. That is an aside, but wow, that played into my mantra of: “Bonnie Lutz I smell your boots” (we would sometimes say.)
The dinner table during those years, pre-May 29, 1952, was not an inviting experience. Dad was stern enough. Bonnie had us “cowed.”
Every family has its outliers. And we have several. I will someday write about my understanding and interaction with Uncle Ed just because we need to share the genetic link and the lessons learned (or suspected.) This piece is, however, about the paternal side of the family.
There is little known about A P Lutz as he died (at age 58) when dad was 16 in 1910. I will try to distill what little information I have (via Dave’s notes and the lone newspaper clipping of his death.) But that is another report. For now you, dear reader, have the nature of the times in the Lutz homestead where we youngins grew up and matured.
Then it happened!
Just before lunch on a warm late-May morning. Jim and I were sitting at the kitchen table, perhaps even eating, when there was a noise at the back door. Bonnie opened the door part way with hoe still in hand clutching her chest. I can still see the image and hear her words: “Dorothy, I am sick, I am so sick.” She was obviously having a heart episode of some sort. It must have been painful because she was crying and saying over and over, “I’m so sick.”
One or both of us bolted for Mother…in another room, up stairs? I do not recall, but within seconds she was there. Bonnie, by this time, was almost in her room through the back entrance she used for the bathroom. Mother met her there.
We kept our distance, but listened intently. There were more tears and sobbing and sounds of Mother’s consoling words. Jim and I were uncomfortable, so we left the house and walked out to the field across the road where our neighbor, Paul Nesbett, was planting corn. We crawled up on his supply wagon for a brief time.
Probably curiosity got the better of us and back to the house we ran, this time listening from outside and hearing the process this time through the open windows.
“Dorothy, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” she repeated over and over
“That’s ok, dear, that’s ok,” I heard Mother say. “I’ve called Ray; he’ll be right home.” And then there was singing. Mother had taken her 88 year old body, cradled it in her arms and sang hymns to her. Mother was singing her home! Bonnie knew it too. The sobs changed to muttered words, “I’m coming Jesus, oh Jesus I am coming to you.”
Another note or two about the times we lived in: there was no ambulance service, save the morticians. Mostly, people loaded loved ones in their car and took them to the hospital. And, we had one car, a 1950 silver-tone grey tudor Ford and Dad had driven himself to the office that day, five miles away. While it was lunch time, he still had to call his afternoon appointments to cancel. It took him a while.
Jim and I bolted to the field again. Paul was reloading his planter at the wagon this time and inquired as to what was going on with us. Just then Dad drove into view. Paul, and I recall this vividly, Paul put two and two together. We were acting odd and Dad was coming home in the middle of the day. We were forced to fess up that our grandma was likely dying.
She had in fact died before Dad got home. That was a sorrowful sight, Dad pacing the floor lamenting that he had not arrived in time. In time it was clear that he had some words with her the night before and that haunted him. Mother reported that years later. But Dad knew she was a burden to Mother and that her presence in the house would likely impact us kids. He was sad about that. When I was about 18 I overheard Dad tell Joe that he is surprised I turned out OK listing several examples of things that could have turned me. Living through the Bonnie Lutz years was the most significant. (The other items were being the youngest and perhaps spoiled or having older parents, etc.) He was right about the Bonnie Lutz issue, but over time it became a learning opportunity for me as I mulled this over and over.
So what did I learn? It took years to get past the event it so impacted me, but I came to realize:
The meaning of grace
What is forgiveness
Reconciliation
The power of hymns
The best technique when with someone about to die
How to deal with remorse (I was glad she died)
To reach out to those whom you do not understand and learn from them
Those are some of the lessons. It took me a while, but I came to realize how truly great, strong and patient Mother was.
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