Keep the Heritage Alive!

Tape 2 (1989) - Rose Anna Bell's Story

Narrator: Rose Anna Bell
Interviewer: Mildred Pratt
Date: Nov. 15, 1989
Side A
MP Today is November 15 [1989] and I'm talking with Mrs. Rose Anna Bell at ISU. And now you are going to give me again your father's name, I'm sorry.
RB My father's name was Newton Benjamin Gaines.
MP Newton Benjamin Gaines.
RB Un-huh. I don't remember where he was born, but I think it was out east in Virginia or some place like that.
MP In Virginia. All right. And your mother?
RB My mother's name was Apole Graves.
MP Apole Graves.
RB Un-huh. And she was one of twelve, and her parents lived in Downs, Illinois.
MP And what were their names, do you know?
RB Graves. I don't remember their.
MP That's interesting-they were born in Downs? Downs, Illinois?
RB Downs, Illinois. It's a little country town. That's where I spent my summers-every summer after school. School was out, I was on the day before going to Downs. That's why I never spent any of my summers with my family. I was with my grandparents.
MP Tell me the names of your brothers and sisters.
RB My oldest is Edward Benjamin Gaines, and he was born in, I think, in Normal or Bloomington. The next one was Luther Melvin Gaines. I don't know exactly where he was born. And Walter Benjamin Gaines-I think that was his [middle] name. (voice seems uncertain)
MP Now Walter was the one.
RB He was the baby.
MP who graduated from ISU.
RB ISU. Yes. And there was Mildred Florence, and she was born at Washburn, Illinois. It is out farther west of Bloomington. Then it was me Rose Anna, and I was born at 1207 West Oakland Avenue [in Bloomington]. And I think the other two, Leota and Frances-Leota Mae and Frances Oneada-I think they were born out there on Oakland Avenue, too. We lived at 1207 West Oakland Avenue then. The house has been torn down, and that's where they're going to make that new bridge.
MP Now your mother died when?
RB When my sister was a year old.
MP Now which sister was that?
RB Frances.
MP How old were you?
RB I was five. I was five at the time my mother died.
MP Now, tell me what happened? You said some social worker came in. Was that immediately after your mother's death?"
RB No, it wasn't immediately 'cause Dad got housekeepers. A lot of people liked him, but they didn't want the children. That's the reason why-and he didn't want us kids in the streets or running around the streets. And the social worker she kept an eye on us. I don't know why. We four girls, and we had a dog, too.
MP Your father owned a house? He was a fire knocker?
RB Oh yes. For the railroad-Chicago and Alton Railroad. He had been there for years. The boys helped him in his job. They (inaudible) from him. Walter-we called him Brother all the time-was with us girls at home.
MP So this social worker came out while your father was away? Describe that situation as you did.
RB Well, I just remember we were playing and all at once Mrs. [Florence] Strohmeier [assistant overseer of the poor and assistant secretary for the Bureau of Social Service]-we knew her.
MP What was her name?
RB Strohmeier. Yes, I don't know her first name. I don't remember rather. She came out and, of course, we knew her. Us kids knew her. And she came out in her-I called it a wagon, but it wasn't. It was an automobile. She just took us children.
MP How many children did she take?
RB We four girls and a boy? She took us out here to Normal to Illinois Soldiers and Sailors.
MP So she only took the five of you because the others were not at home. They were older?
RB Yes. Older, and they was with my dad. They was working with my dad. So then she called. Dad got off work around 3:30 [P.M.]. I remember that because we always had dinner after that. After Dad married Mama, we always had our meals around 4:30 or 5:00 o'clock. 'Cause he always come home and cleaned himself up. Anyhow, she called him when he got-there's a little shanty when the fellows get off work on the railroad where the boys, the fellas, undressed and changed their clothing. And Dad's little car-he had a little car. We called it the "the cracker box." We had a horse and buggy a lot of times. Anyhow, she came and got us and took us up to Normal, and he got off work at 3:00. She called the shanty. She called the C and A shops. They put Papa on the phone, and she told him, "Newton, if you want to see your children, come to Illinois Soldiers and Sailors Home. I have brought them here." I don't know her excuse or why she did it. She and him were pretty close friends, you know-she knew Dad. But he didn't want us in a Home, and so then he came right out there from the shops to the Home. When he seen us kids there standing (inaudible), he cried. They didn't know how to take care of us. Of course, the baby, she was in a nursery there. But us older ones we were in Cottage 8. The lady that was head over that cottage-her name was Mrs. Berry. She was a nice lady. When she had a day off-I can't think of the lady's name. She always had a crutch. We learned to darn our socks. We just learned everything. Everybody had their job. There was no difference in color or anything like that because we had the big room where you could go in and shower. You had to explain to them because they would look at you, you know. And you would come out, and you would dry yourself off. Everybody went to bed at the same time. But when we had our meals, we didn't eat in the cottage. We went to the dining room. The big building up there, see. We had good food. Wasn't nothing we wanted.
MP You remembered being well cared of?
RB Oh, we were well cared for. We was clean. Doctors was there. They had a dentist and everything right there on the grounds. You had a toothache, you pulled the tooth out. And that's the reason I have to wear bridges, you see. I just thought that was what you did. You had a toothache, you pulled the tooth out. Get rid of it. Anyhow, we were well taken care of. Nice thing about it during the year there was an organization from town that would take us on picnics because we had picnics every year. They would take us on little outings. But when we were in there, we couldn't go outside the grounds because it was fenced in all the way around. You learned how to do things. I didn't work in the laundry or anything like that. There was a place you got your clothes made. Everybody wore regulation clothes and like that, you know, but they were good to us.
MP Let me ask you approximately what year was that?
RB Oh, Honey. I can't remember. It's been such-so many years ago.
MP So, you were about six years old when you went in?
RB No. Well, maybe I was because I was about nine or ten when Dad married Mama.
MP Oh, when you came out? You were in there then about many years?
RB I would say about four or five years. We were well taken care of and well fed. We had all the milk we wanted to drink.
MP How often did you see your father? Did you go visit him?
RB No. He came to visit us once or twice because he would come and get us. Now, you are going to think this is funny. But we were scared of people outside the Home because we weren't used to them. All these people, and we weren't used to them.
MP That was completely new for you to be in the institution like that.
RB Yeah, because-everybody set the table and my brother used to help serve the tables. I can remember sometimes I'd be in the hospital, and he'd come by and say, "How do you feel Sis?" And I'd tell him, and he'd say, "Dad will be here." "So tell him I say, 'Hi'." Well, the time he told me once before that he was going to be there, when they went to take my temperature I took the thing out and laid it down on the floor so my temperature would be getting normal. I wouldn't have to be laying there in that bed. But you know I wanted to see my dad so I did that. But I paid for it because they had to carry me back to the hospital. I called it the hospital, but I think now sometimes they call it the infirmary. Anyhow, he told Dad that I was sick. What bothered Dad was they didn't know how to comb us girls' hair. They didn't know how to comb my hair. And they shaved me. My oldest sister's head was shaved three times.
MP They just shaved all the hair?
RB Oh, yeah. Just shaved all the hair. My baby sister, she was a baby and her hair wasn't touched. Mine was cut only once. I don't remember about my sister-the one who's living now-I don't know how many times hers was cut. I know my older sister-it was always thin. Her hair was always thin.
MP How did your father react to all this?
RB Oh, he cried. He just cried. He said he thought they ought to know how to comb my hair or let us mess with it.
MP Do you remember how did the other children there relate to you? Did you have a good relationship with the other children?
RB Yes. Just like any.
MP Were there other Black children there?
RB Yes. I don't remember-I remember in the Home-I don't know if the lady is still living or not-there were two ladies who were there who were deaf. That's how I learned sign language. I used to do that all the time. Because you learn from somebody else, you know, especially in the same setting. You learn from them. A lot of times, I could look at them-and at one time I was slightly deaf, too, after I was out of the Home. Of course, everyone thought I was playing 'cause I played about everything. I was a devil. But I would watch their mouths, and that's the reason why I look at a person all the time. Sometimes I sit if I do like that-because this is the ear, and sometimes the sound goes passed. I was out here having my ears examined, too, and liked it. They got such a kick out of me. We just had a ball. Anyhow this girl-she was married to Jordan Grigsby. She was out here, too. She was older than me. And there were these other two girls that was deaf. One of their names was Mildred. I don't remember the other's name. Anyhow, they were in our cottage. We were just like a big family. We learned how to darn socks. I could darn a pair of socks just like-you know. Just like it's supposed to be, you know. And you don't have no bumps. It would be smooth, you know. We didn't throw nothing away because some of the little ones could use the things that we were darning. But it was an experience.
MP Now, tell me. I understand that the only children who are accepted into those Homes are those whose fathers had served in one of the wars.
RB I don't know whether my father did or not. But we was out here.
MP I suspect he did.
RB We were out here, and he knew that we were getting taken good care of. When he would come and get us and take us home for a day or something like that, we were scared of the people outside. We were at home with the ones at the Home, but we were scared of the people outside. And it was really funny, you know, when I think of it now because that's all we knew. We were our own sisters and brothers, you know.
MP Yes. So now when you learned-when your father got married, how did he tell you about it?
RB Well, he said he was going to take us home to Mama. And you know as usual there's always somebody in the neighborhood or in the area that's going to tell you that you don't have to mind her. "She's not your mother." And they'll build up a-you know, when you're a child you believe a lot of things that aren't true. Maybe it's because.
MP If they are adults who are telling you that, you believe it.
RB I was a-I hate to say it, but I was the devil. A lot of times I'd say, "You ain't my Mama. I don't have to mind you." And sat there. It hurt her, but she never let on.
MP We didn't get her name. What was her name?
RB My stepmother's name?
MP Yes.
RB Belle Kidd.
MP Belle Kidd. And you told me you thought she came from southern Illinois.
RB Southern Illinois-either Saint Louis or further down because when it came to cooking gumbo and all that sort of stuff, she was ace. And she never used a recipe, and that's the way I learned to cook. She taught me. When we were home, we used an awful lot of baked bread. Every Wednesday and every Saturday we baked three loaves of bread and fifty-two rolls.
MP Oh, is that right? So she taught you then how to make rolls?
RB I was-'cause she'd say- well, when she was in the hospital, she says-you know we would buy-there was a store here named My Store. It used to be down there where.
MP What was it called?
RB My Store. M-Y Store. My Store. It used to be down there on-I don't know what's there now. It used to be down there on Center Street. But that used to be My Store before it was Montgomery Wards. A grocery store and everything you wanted to buy.
MP A kind of general store.
RB Yes. Everybody-and just like the West Side Clothing Store you had an account there-not like these things you have a charge card. You just had an account there, and you paid it off. And so we would buy bread there, you know. And so when she got sick and had to go to the hospital, I told her, "I have go to the store and get some bread Mama."And she said, "Can't you make some biscuits." She said, "You watched me enough, you ought to be able to." She gave you confidence that you didn't even think you had. And she said, "Just go ahead and do it like I do."I said, "Okay, Mama." [I thought], "If Mama thinks I can do it, I'm going to do it." And she said, "When you make them, bring me one." Of course, you see Saint Joe's was out west then on Oakland Avenue.
MP And that's where she was?
RB That's where she was. That's a Catholic hospital. See, she's Catholic. She knew everyone of those Sisters just like she knew the palm of her hand, you know. So anyhow I baked biscuits for supper. Nobody said anything about them at the table. And I had to go see Mama every night 'cause we combed Mama's hair. We did little things for her. So I took this to her. Before she touched it she says, "You didn't put any baking soda-baking powder in it." And I says, "Did you do that?" And she says, "Yeah." And I says, "How can you tell?" And she says, "I can tell by looking at it." She had the eye. So then she says, "You go home and put some baking powder in it. You know, the next batch, you know. But I didn't know she had. I just took (laughter drowns out comments). And she taught us to make cakes. You didn't bounce around in the kitchen when you had a cake in the oven. Dad always had to have cake in his bucket. We had to get up at five o'clock in the morning to fix him his-to fix the stove. We had a coal range, but up here it was gas, but we didn't use the gas. We just used the coal. (inaudible sentence) Had a reservoir on this side. We had this thing, a double boiler with-what is it now? Oatmeal or something like that because everybody had oatmeal. And then you'd have your bacon or whatever it was. We always had big slabs of bacon. We never bought anything. Mom never bought anything little.
MP Oh, she bought large amounts?
RB We had our own garden. We had our own chickens. We had a horse and buggy.
MP Oh, you did?
RB Oh, yeah, we had our own garden, and we all worked in the garden. And you had to do that. It was a job. And we canned every year, and we learned how to can. Because in the wintertime our shelves in the basement were fixed like that, you know. And we had tomatoes and green beans. Everything that you would have in a garden, it was there. And we had a peach tree and a cherry tree and a pear tree. And you know I look at that ground now, and I think, "How could that parcel of ground have raised seven kids and have all of that stuff that we canned." Because Mama-Dad always bought potatoes by those big, big bags, you know. We used to buy those big bags to store because we used them, you know. I used to wonder how that parcel of land could handle us kids. And we'd be happy.
MP Now, tell me who did the disciplining? Did your father?
RB Oh, Mama did. And Dad did, too. He had a strap like that. In our dining room, you know. At that end there was a place that held the shoe polish and everything like that, you know. Papa would mend shoes sometimes, you know. But there was a strap, and if you didn't do right, you got that strap.
MP You got that strap.
RB Dad whipped me once in his life. Not with the strap-I thought it was with the whole bush in the neighborhood. (laughter) It wasn't funny because my older sister, you know-"We didn't," she said. Because Mom wasn't able to quit work right away. She quit work after so long a time because, you know, streetcars were running. There was a club my brother belonged to, and it was called the "something" Fellows. Anyhow, my brother belonged to it. And they had this club, and they'd have a party every so often and invite the girls and this and that and the other. So Mildred-that's my oldest sister. Mildred Florence. Boy, she was a "honey." She was going to go, you see. And Mama had told me, "Where Mildred goes, you go, too." Well, you see I believed Mama. So she went?
RB Brother asked if we went to the Jolly Fellows-I think it was the Jolly Fellows. All the young men belonged. So they had this party out on East Oakland Avenue. That's across the tracks. And the young man who lived there was Fred Bynum. Kathryn Dean-wait a minute. Her-well, anyhow.
MP Her maiden name is Bynum, right?
RB No her maiden name is Kathryn.? (trying to remember)
MP She was Bynum at one time.
RB I think she was married to him. I'm not sure. Anyhow, we went to his house. We didn't.
MP That's where the party was?
RB That's where the party was. So Mildred said she was going to this party. And Mama said for me to go along, too. So I got ready too. And I went.
MP You were the chaperone for your older sister, right?
RB I was a wild one. I was no chaperone. I was getting into more devilment than she was. So when we first got there, Mildred didn't say anything to Brother, because Brother belonged to this thing. Anyhow when I walked in, the first person I seen was my brother. And he said, "Mama say you could be here?" Mama was still at work see. "Mama say you could be here?" I said, "Mildred said she did." And he said, "Are you sure?" I said, "Mm-huh." Just then the streetcar went by and there was my mama on there. But had she known she'd have got off and got us out of there. But she didn't. She went on home, and she asked Dad where the girls were. And Dad told her-no the little kids, my sisters Leota and Frances. They told her, "They went to the party." Regular Fellows-that's what they were. Regular Fellows. Anyhow, when we go home-it was after mid-night, and the boys brought us home in a car. I'm telling you it was the oddest thing. They said, "There's your father. What's he doing? Is he planting-what's he doing with the shrubs?" Mildred said, "Oh, he must be planting." Well, I knew Dad wasn't planting no shrubs.
MP You knew exactly what.
RB What he was going to do with them. He was going to wear us out. Well, we got in-my sister and I-see this is a big family. My sister and I slept in the front room (inaudible), you know. So I got myself ready to go to bed. And I'll tell you the truth. I was a weakling because whenever I got afraid of anything, my kidneys were weak, and I would wet the bed. And they used to tease me about it, but the more-that's why I say to anybody, who's got a child if they wet the bed, don't hurt them with it. Don't throw it up to them. Because that stays with them, and it makes them afraid to go to sleep. And afraid to do anything because the first thing they did was.
MP Because they're afraid they are going to wet the bed?
RB And then you get punished for it, and you just dread that. And you think everybody in town knows it. Anyhow, I got myself ready to go to bed, and Mildred got herself ready. Mama was sitting there. Mama always hummed, and so Daddy was sitting-he had a big leather chair. I don't think they make them like that anymore. But anyhow, he had this big leather chair, and he was sitting in it, and he called Mildred. He said, "Why did you go to the party?" "Well, I wanted to go," she said. Dad-that was his "pick," see. My oldest brother and my oldest sister. That's why I always say if you have any children, don't have no picks. The other ones feel it, and it hurts. They're not anything. He said, "I told you to stay home, and I'm going to whip you." He took-he had these bushes, and my dad couldn't stand up and whip somebody because he was too heavy and short-winded. So he had to sit down. And Mildred stepped back. Anyhow then he whipped me. He called me in and asked me why I went. After he hit me the second or third time-that was the only time my dad ever hit me-my mama said, "Dad don't touch her. I told her to go where Mildred went." So Dad said, "Okay go on to bed. Mildred come back here?"
MP And she got the brunt of it.
RB And the little kids-they always called them the little kids-they got up. And Mildred said, "I don't care. I had a good time." And Leota said, "Look at all the shrubs." And I didn't say anything. Mildred said, "It didn't hurt me." And really I don't' think it did. She was just that stubborn. She was just like Dad. It bothered me. And Mom.
MP She protected you.
RB Un-huh. She said, "I told you to go."I said, "Mom, she said she'd called you." We didn't have a phone. We had to go in back of us to 1208 West Mill Street. That's where Mrs. Caldwell lived. We could use her phone because she always had a phone. Parties never interested me after that.
? I'm curious how old were you when you went to the party with your sister?
RB I don't know. Old enough to get in trouble. I shouldn't have did it, but I did because Mama had said to go with her.
MP And you remembered that.
RB Oh, yes. Mama taught me so much. I'm the only one in the family-I sew a little. I used to make all my daughter's clothes. But I don't sew like my sister that I have now and the baby sister because they worked in the factories. They can put it out just like that. And when my sister made something for me, all she had to do was look at me. I had two suits that she made me. She made me a velvet-it's not purple. It's a lavender suit. She didn't have to even measure me. It's lined and everything.
MP Now, she learned this from your mother then?
RB Oh, yes. And my old-my sister now-and I have a black (inaudible). She called it-my baby sister called it the black gab. It's a honey. She said, "The only thing I hate about you is you like pockets." And I do. I like pockets. But, see, I always have a lot of Kleenex in my pockets, you know. This is the only thing that don't have-nobody made this. I don't know where I got this.
MP Now where did you go to school?
RB I went to Irving School. And my daughter went to Irving School, too. My husband went to Irving School, too. My daughter went to Irving School, and she was the president of her graduating class. And then she went to high school. She was on the honor roll for four years, and she got a scholarship to Wesleyan.
MP Now, Irving-was that a high school and a grade school?
RB No, that was just a grade school.
MP You went to high school at Bloomington?
RB I went to Bloomington High School-old Bloomington High School. I don't know what they're going to make of it now. And I walked from the station to the high school.
MP Where was the old high school?
RB Right up there across the street from Lafayette Apartments.
MP That now is the junior high, isn't it. And you walked all the way there to school?
RB Oh, yes, I walked school. We didn't have money to ride on the bus. 'Cause we lived by the station, you know. And we walked.
MP You were telling me about your daughter. She graduated from Bloomington High and then went to Illinois Wesleyan?
RB Yes. And she got a scholarship. While she was taking her-well, she didn't-Mr. Goodyear he was the-what do you call it-the superintendent or principal of the. (the 1944 Bloomington High School yearbook lists P. Clifton Kurtz as principal and Dr. Paul Gossard as superintendent)
MP Principal.
RB high school. He interceded for her to get a scholarship. Well, she didn't make it on the first test. Mr. Goodyear said, "Give her a chance. She's nervous and she'll make." And she got it because someone followed her around out there at Wesleyan, but she didn't know it. This man followed her around to each class that she was in. Was doing it for some lady. And I just was going over some papers earlier this morning-I was looking for something. The lady's name that paid her tuition at Wesleyan was Mrs. Melvina Reed. And she lived in Piper City, Illinois. She was an old lady, and she only weighed about ninety pounds and when my daughter used-when she decided to go to Washington, D. C., she took that upon herself-because she spent most of her waking hours from high school down at Second Presbyterian Church with her friends. Because she was friends with Donna Dodge and Mary Jane Grubb (both in 1944 graduating class) and all those girls that were in her class, you see.
MP Now, they were in her class in high school?
RB In high school.
MP You were saying someone followed her around at Illinois Wesleyan. Who was this person?
RB I don't know his name.
MP Why did he follow her around?
RB He followed her around to see how she was doing because this little old lady-she paid her tuition. Every time you turned around there was a check coming from her. So, my daughter-when she decided to go to Washington, D. C. -the old library was on the corner of.
MP Washington?
RB Yes, and they always had things on the bulletin board about different colleges and like that. She could either go to New York, Washington, D. C., or Ohio. Well, she decided-this was her own idea-I didn't know what she was doing, but anyhow she wrote to Washington D. C. and she was accepted at Saint Elizabeth's Hospital. That's a government hospital. When she had gotten this check from Mrs. Reed-the lady must have called or something-anyhow she decided she would go return it, the check. So when she called her and told her she would be up to see her because I hadn't met her before. She said, "Okay." Of course, I was with her. The little lady politely told me, she didn't want to see me, she wanted to see my daughter. She said, "You go on and do anything you want." Ida told her, "I'm bringing you back this check for my schooling because I'm going to Washington, D. C. I'm going to be a nurse." And the little old lady, she was sitting on a high stool because she was a little, small lady, and she was rich. She had plenty of money. Her home wasn't any more-it was just like mine. Her son lived with her. She says to Ida, "Don't you want my money?" And Ida said, "Yes, I need your money, but you have helped me so far, and I would rather that you give it to somebody else and help someone else because I'm going to Washington, D. C. and be at Saint Elizabeth's Hospital." And the lady says, "I want you to keep it." And Ida said, "I can't, because I'll be working for the government." I don't know what happened because I wasn't-I didn't hear it. Anyhow, I came across this little notation, "Melvina Reed, Piper City" and her birthday was such and such, but the writing was so small.
MP You saw this just recently?
RB This morning. Early this morning because I was trying to find an envelope that I was going to mail out to somebody. And I couldn't find it. I generally save everything. And anyhow Ida went to Washington, D. C. Course she had, I think, either two and a half or something like that years at Wesleyan. At this Saint Elizabeth's Hospital they had Negro help. They had kitchen help, laundry, and caretakers. But they'd never had a Black nurse-Black person before there.
MP As a student?
RB As a student. So when we took her there-see, her daddy and I didn't want her to go-she had never been away from us, and I asked her why she wanted to go. And she says, "I'm going there because it's too far to come back in a day, and that way I'll have to make up my mind of whether to stay there or not." So her father and I decided to take her. I had already decided that if she is going to go, we'll take her. When we got there, men were only allowed in the front place. So I took her suitcase-her steamer trunk-you know that little thing that you buy. Not a steamer trunk.
MP Footlocker.
RB Footlocker. That's exactly what it was. She had bought it and-before that she had worked at Roland's operating the outside elevator, and she had saved her own money. So she was pretty thrifty. So I went back with her and one of the ladies came in that was working there. I know she was a helper or something there because she had on a blue uniform, and she asked Ida, "Why are you taking your clothes out of your suitcase? You don't know whether you are going to stay here or not?" You see they wasn't used to her. My daughter turned and looked at her and says, "I'm going to be here. Whether you believe it or not, I'm going to be here." She took all of her things out of the footlocker and put them in the drawer. Picked out-you know, in each room they have two beds, two desks and everything. So she stayed, and one of the girls that was in her class wanted her to-see, her window's on the ground floor. She could get out, in and out, see. Wanted her to-if she went out that night, she could come in. But she said, "If I do that I would be defeating my purpose." (Inaudible) If you're not in by curfew, that's it because they watched over you like a hawk. But those girls, to this day I still hear from them. One of them-she and her husband have a jewelry store in California. And one is in Alaska and all like that. But anyhow Ida stayed there, and she graduated cum laude. She sang-well, there was another girl that joined the group, too, but I don't know whether she ever stayed or not. But Ida sang "The Lord's Prayer"-no, wait a minute-"The Holy City" at the (inaudible).
MP She sang with the choir. Did she sing with the choir at Wesleyan?
RB Yes. No, she didn't sing with the choir. She was in band. She was in the concert band and the pep band or whatever you called it. She played the saxophone, and she played the piano.
MP Do you play the piano?
RB Not very much. I just taught myself. I love music. But anyhow, she sang "The Holy City" at the (audible). You know the Capitol. You know Washington D.C. is made so funny. It's made around a circle, you know. And you can get lost. And we were on our way. Papa and I was in town. I forget what hotel we were staying at. But she was to sing, and we got lost.
MP Oh, you were going to hear her?
RB Absolutely, we went to the (inaudible), and we went to her graduation, too. Because we had to be there.
MP And you missed hearing her sing?
RB Oh, no. We walked in when she was singing 'cause the girls-all the kids were sitting up there just on needles and pins, you know. "Where's your parents?" And when she got up to sing "The Holy City" at the (inaudible) we walked in. And all the kids went "Whew." They loved her, you know. She was such a loveable person. So then at her graduation, she sang the "Lord's Prayer." She said there is nothing in the world that can help you with your voice except an organ, and everybody in that hospital grounds-they just gathered her in their arms, you know. They called her "the baby." She was written up in the paper. And, of course, I still have that stuff. And I heard about all that, and then when she died, I heard from all them, too. Dr. Frisch-I don't know whether you know him. He's a surgeon here-he was in her graduating class at grade school. She and him both went to Wesleyan in pre-med. He was a doctor. I had to go to him-I didn't have to go to him, but I said, "I know Dr. Frisch." I had to be operated on. I said, "I'll have him. But I don't know where he is or what his name is." They said, "Well, there's a John Frisch." I said, "No. We called him Jack. He was a West Side boy, you know. So I was sitting there talking to the nurse. Pretty soon she went out, and I was sitting there like that and she went out, and pretty soon he came in. He said, "Mrs. Bell, I'm Jack." And he says, "You know, when Ida died, I wanted so much to say something to you, but you don't know what it meant to me, or to all of us who knew her, because we all loved her." She was such a beautiful person. Not just because she was my daughter, but she really was. She never gave me an ounce of trouble, and she was always so good to me. I worked like I did at private families, you know, and she rode a bicycle. Sometimes she would bring me up town on her bicycle on the handlebars because she rode a boy's bicycle. Because she liked the boy's bike. People would laugh. I'd jump off, you know, and then get on the bus because she'd go on to Wesleyan, and I'd be going out east to work.
MP How did this woman learn about her?
RB I don't know how. You mean Mrs....
MP The woman who was from Piper City, you say, who provided pay for her education at Wesleyan.
RB I don't know how. It must have been through the high school.
MP Maybe through Bloomington High School?
RBI You know, I was thinking about that the other day when I happened to be going over these letters, and I looked on this blue thing-"Melvina Reed, Piper City." That's when it all came back to me. But you see the lady politely told me, "I don't talk to you. I talk to her." I was nothing as far as she was concerned. I didn't have anything to do with it. She wanted to do that herself-go on to that nursing.
MP I wanted to ask you how you happened to start writing poetry and when you started?
RB Oh, I don't know how I did that. It's just that sometimes.
MP Do you remember if you wrote as a child?
RB No. I don't remember. I just remember writing after I was married. I was always ready to rhyme something. Papa used to say something, tease me about it, you know. Anyhow, I feel there's a lot of things-sometimes when you just sit down and when you're by yourself, and I've been by myself a lot of times. And you know being on the farm for twenty-five years, you see, and my main companion was the dog. And I could go any place-and a lot of people wondered-of, course my dad taught us not to be afraid. Especially when we had a dog with us, and that dog was my buddy. My granddaughter used to ask me, "Why do you say something to the dog? Can he understand you?" I said, "He understands me." And if I was going to town, I said, "I'm going to tie you up, but I'll let you loose as soon as I come back." You know I didn't want him running, but I don't like to see a dog tied. I could just tell him to do something. "You go over there and lay down." And he knew when I was afraid of anything. I had two Rustys-a Silky and two Rustys. And both the Rustys were Airedales. And they have an awful lot of sense. They are just so marvelous.
MP Do you have one now?
RB No. Because, you see, in town you have to keep them tied. And I don't want to. And every time I look on the television and there is something about a dog, I think I ought to have one. They keep you so much company. (remainder of interview contains personal family information. Dr. Pratt soon stopped recording)
End Side A

 
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Richard Bell
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