EDITOR’S NOTE: For the next few weeks, we will be sharing entries from Old Tillamook Times, provided by Sandi Burgess Botten Dean, featuring Karen Kranweiss Nudelman’s blog in which she describes the search and book writing that started a little over 10 years ago when she first received “the letters” and began reading. Then came the idea for a story, then a book – “Dear Folks” tells a young man’s story through letters he wrote home to his parents in Tillamook, Oregon. Links to the introduction to the story and the series are below.
By Karen Krantweiss Nudelman
The nightlight broke in my 6-year-old son’s room, and he is not ready to face the darkness of night alone. I lent him a battery-operated candle that simulates the dancing movement of an actual flame to keep his world slightly illuminated. He was so exhausted and immediately turned his head toward the wall – a tell- tale sign that he would be asleep in moments. But I knew he would want to drift into slumber while listening to whatever song I picked for our nightly ritual. It was always different, depending on my mood, or whatever tune was on my mind at the moment. Even though it was fake, the ambiance of the candlelight was real. It led me to think about how this nightly ritual between mother and son was happening in many homes tonight. Not just this night, but all the nights long before my son and I existed. For this is what mothers did for their sons. A firm tucking-in to secure his tired body into his favorite sheets. A kiss on the back of his hair that desperately needed a trim. A song that spoke what the heart felt. And a wish that he will always, always remember these moments.
“It’s very clear, our love is here to stay
Not for a year, but forever and a day
The radio and the telephone,
And the movies that we know
May just be passing fancies
And in time may go.”
This song, my parents’ favorite, was written by George and Ira Gershwin in 1938. That year, Chuck Hunter was 14 years old, and I suppose long past the days of his mother, Alice, putting him to bed. But I imagined this song, “Our Love is Here to Stay” coming over the airwaves and finding its way to Chuck’s home on McCormick Loop, playing softly in the background, as the last few dishes in the kitchen were being put away. Maybe they listened to the radio earlier in the evening to hear reports on the war happening in Europe – thousands of miles away from their dairy farm in Tillamook.
“But, oh my dear
Our love is here to stay
Together we’re going a long, long way”
Back in my son’s room, I listened to his soft breathing which would soon turn into snoring. I stopped singing for a moment and thought about whether or not to finish. At this point, the only one listening was me. I’ve sung this song so many times, I could sing in my sleep. But tonight, I heard the words in a new and unexpected way.
So many things have changed in the 75 years since this song first played. Everything that was known then, is now obsolete. If artifacts exist at all, they are most likely found sitting on the shelves of antique stores or exhibits in museums. Nothing is the same. Well, almost nothing. The love we feel for our children is a constant force that even time cannot wipe away.
I recall a story I learned about Alice Hunter during our recent trip to Tillamook, Oregon. The son of the current owner of the Hunter house and farm was only about 10 years old when his family moved in. And although it was the 1980s, the contents of the house told a different story. Nothing could prepare them for the time capsule that was Chuck’s bedroom. The wallpaper, the furniture, the toys…all indicating that the year was still 1944. Chuck slept in his childhood room for the last time while on a brief furlough that summer before he was shipped overseas. His bedroom lay untouched for over forty years.
“In time the Rockies may crumble
Gibraltar may tumble
They’re only made of clay
But our love is here to stay”
The year is now 2015 and although I can’t put myself in Alice’s shoes, I can relate to the love she felt for her son. There are very few things in Alice’s world, seven decades ago, that I would recognize. But her love for Chuck is very familiar because it’s a timeless emotion. And it propels me forward, as I continue to write Chuck’s story.
Here are links to the previous stories about Karen’s journey to document Chuck Hunter’s life:
