My passion is collecting history and specialize in old letters, diaries, photographs, and militaria. Bringing the stories these things hold out of obscurity makes me feel like I'm saving them from being lost or thrown away. I will likely be posting a lot of old photographs because I have so many good ones (at least I think so). So for the probably small amount of people that will read this blog, I hope you find these things as interesting as I do.
My grandmother graduated from Washington High School in Two Rivers, Wisconsin, in 1946 The school no longer exists and the building has been demolished, but photos from my grandmother’s time there have survived, including graduation day. She also wrote an undated essay about her graduation that I will include in full.
The Alumnae Look On
Last Friday night was “Homecoming Night” in Two Rivers. This annual event during the football season is as much a part of fall as the frosty nights and colored leaves are. The boys and girls of Washington High School were all prepared with trucks, signs, purple and gold crepe paper, and plenty of school spirit for a festive time. My girl friends Nappy, Bubbles, and Poodles (we have inscrutable nick names for each other) and I decided that we would go to see the parade and bonfire. We were curious to see if Hamilton High School’s homecoming would be just as good without the class of ’46! We also wanted to see the big bonfire which would be lit afterwards in the middle of Main Street. Our homecomings had had to without a bonfire for it happened that the four years we had been in high school had been war years and paper was too scarce for us to waste by sending our homecomings up in smoke.
We dressed in our oldest blue jeans, our gay lumber jack shirts, and sailor hats and set out for a gay time. The chilly autumn air was crisp and invigorating and it made us feel full of pep for it, too, seemed to have captured the spirit of this exciting night.
We hurried, for the parade was already underway. The strains of a lively march played by the band were piercing the clear fall air. My gay spirit sank a little when I saw the band march past. For four years my clarinet and I had been faithful members of the school band and it made me feel a little sad to see them march on without me. Following the band were trucks loaded with boys and girls shouting out the glories of the Purple Raiders and throwing streamers of purple and gold ribbon in the air. Through all the noise and confusion of laughing, cowbells ringing, and cheering we heard the threats—“We’ll mow ‘em down”; “Rickford, here we come”—and bits of the school song penetrating the air.
Barbara in front of Washington High School on graduation day
Speeches about football and the team were given in front of the Community House by the members of the class of ’47. My girl friends and I found it hard to concentrate on what was being said. Year after year the same thing was said in those homecoming speeches, but somehow they had meant something more to us when our classmates were up there giving them and our friends were on the team. We looked around for the class of ’46. There were a few there—scattered among the crowd. When the cheerleaders led the cheers and songs we tried to join in, but somehow our enthusiasm with which we had started out with was gone. A knot of girls had got together in a huddle and were giving out with a lusty “U Rah, Rah, seniors!” A group of juniors followed suit with a vivacious hurrah for juniors. We wanted to shout “U Rah Rah, Alumni,” but we were minus the alumni.
Suddenly, just as the student spirit was fully ignited, red flames shot up into the black sky. The bonfire was lit! Sparks dances like fireflies. The fire warmed us both externally and internally. We felt better now and our spirits lifted like the flames. Yes, our high school days were over. They had been fun, but now we had even more to look forward to than just homecomings. Our future was ahead of us. We agreed unanimously—“It’s great to be alumnae!”
Barbara on graduation day, this time at her home in Two Rivers
My grandmother, Barbara, came from a family that loved traveling. Among other places she was able to go to was Mexico, a country which became a favorite of her Aunt Leatha, who was the most prolific traveler in the family. For a school assignment, Barbara wrote a short account of this trip, and I’ve included the full transcript below.
Barbara, Mata, and Ben in the boat described by Barbara in her school essay.
February 16, 1944 Barbara Crane
Xochimilco
Mexico is a land of enchantment and beauty. There is so much to see and do in this land of smiling people and colorful costumes. On Sundays the Mexican charros ride into Chapultepec Park with their gay and spangled costumes and beautiful horses. The senoritas, the tortilla makers, the typical iron gates of Mexico City. Then there is Acapulco with its coconut palms bending in the ocean breezes, the silver mining towns, and the ornate churches. We remember it all.
A few miles from Mexico City is a most interesting spot. This is Xochimilco—“the island of flowers.” A legend tells how the Aztec Indians once piled mounds of rich earth of rafts and eventually the rafts became fixed to the bottom of the river and they planted gardens on this fertile land and called them the floating gardens. This tale is no longer true, but it makes a rather inspiring background for the islands today.
When we arrived in Xochimilco we drove over bumpy, muddy streets and finally drove in [to] a parking lot for tourists. Immediately five or six little Indian boys rushed up and begged to “watch our car.” They knew they would earn a few centavos as a reward.
Our eyes filled with wonder as we reached the shore of the floating gardens. Small, ragged children, and dark laughing women rushed up to us with a huge boquet [sic.] of a hundred or more gardenias for only twenty cents! Others came with roses, violets, sweet peas and carnations which all looked like shining rainbows. Hardly had we a chance to look about us when a dark man with a flashing smile and a large sombero [sic.] came and showed us to our boat.
The boats were flat with a large arch over it which is decorated with gardenians [sic.] and names of senoritas women in with large daisies and wreaths of flowers.
For a hour’s ride we rented our boat for about seven pesos and then relaxed for a quiet, dreamy hour, while a native boy standing on the back of the boat pushed us along with a long pole.
As we drifted along we wound in and out among the islands covered with flowers and vegetation. Tall trees with drooping branches bend towards the still waters and everywhere we saw colorful arrays of carnations and roses and could smell their sweet perfume.
In the distance we hear the haunting, tinkling music of the mirimba [sic.]. Before long a flower covered boat had drawn up to ours and several musicians “serenaded” us. Beside us a little canoe with a charcoal stove had drifted up and we heard a soft, “Lady, lady, look enchiladas and tortillas. You buy some?” she asked. We couldn’t resist her shy face and pleading look so we bought some tortillas.
A little Indian girl paddled up and begged us to buy a gardenia corsage. In still another boat two men took our pictures. On one picture they decorated us with angel’s faces!
All too soon the wharf came into sight once more and regretfully we stepped off our little skiff.
As we left we dared not look back for we felt as if we wished to go on and on in this fairy land of flowers and graceful poplars. The little senorita who shyly handed us a waxy gardenia as we left gave us a silent message—“return again.”
For the first time, let’s take a closer look at Mata’s daughter, Barbara, who loved writing about as much as her mother did. I was able to save some of her essays from school which are autobiographical—very useful information to have when so there are so few other materials. In this essay, written when she was sixteen, Barbara recalls her time in kindergarten. She attended the Gale School in Chicago, and it seems that it’s still being used as a school today! Here is the essay in full:
Barbara (2nd from right) around kindergarten age, with some friends
Kindergarten Days
The cold-faced superintendent of Gale School shook her gray head firmly. Her answer was “no”, and there was nothing we could do about it.
It really wasn’t fair though. You see, my mother was trying to enroll me in Gale School’s kindergarten. It wasn’t that they didn’t want me to attend their school. I just was too young. My birthday made me three days too young to go to school!
“It’s disgusting”, my mother told my dad that evening. I thought it was too. To start kindergarten at six years old was too much to bear.
A week later my mother packed our bags in a rush and whisked me away to our home in Two Rivers, for it was finally decided that I would begin my school career in Washington High.
The important day came. Little faces streaked with tears, a waling girl clinging to her mother, tiny tots fearfully eyeing their first teacher, bold boys playing tag on the freshly varnished floor, and little girls in new dresses and large hair bows were all a part of this first day.
In those days it seemed to be the custom of every mother to dress their poor girl in long white stockings that bagged and wrinkled hopelessly at the knees, and if we weren’t fortunate enough to have long, natural curls, we girls were also the victims of a very unbecoming hairstyle. I can see myself yet, perched on a stool at home while my “barber-shop” aunt clipped my hair short, right to the ears, and then carefully cut straight, stringy bangs across my forehead! Luckily, I didn’t know the difference at six years.
I remember seeing Patsy Winklemiller and Winifred Wentorf sitting together at a table that first day. They had bright yellow dresses on and huge, flopping hairbows in their hair. I thought they were twins. I met many more little girls and boys that day and many of them are still classmates of mine.
Kindergarten was fun. After the first trying day, we soon were friends and played happily in the sand box, fought over blocks, and learned to print our name in large, wobbly letters, besides drawing a pretty picture of nothing with our bright crayons.
It went along fine until one day our teacher announced that we must bring a rug to school. She explained to us in a very kindergarten teacher voice, that although we were old enough to go to school, we still should take a nap during the forenoon. This was blow to me. A nap—and in the middle of the forenoon! I was near tears. Of course, Mother thought it was a fine idea, (mothers always do) and hustled me off the next morning with a kiss and the detested rug tucked under my arm. My little heart rebelled inside of me. I had won the battle of naps at home and hadn’t taken a daily nap at home since I was three and now, here I was, a big lady of six, sleeping in the daytime. I hated to hear the teacher say very sweetly, “Now take out your rugs and go to sleep, children.” I never slept once. I rolled, and fretted and tossed on that miserable rug until the glad moment came when I could return to my play.
A half a year of my kindergarten life had passed when suddenly I found myself starting all over again. My mother packed our grips once more and whisked me away again. This time to our city home, Chicago.
The first day Mother walked to Gale School with me, but I had a mind of my own and insisted upon going alone, regardless of the dangerous traffic and the bigness of the city. I had to cross Sheridan Road, with all its rushing traffic. There were stop and go lights, but just the same, it was a bit risky for a six year old. One day the lights were out of order and I stood patiently on the curb waiting for the lights to change until my mother glanced out of the window and came to my rescue! I had been standing there over a half an hour waiting for the green light that never came! Once I got across Sheridan there were still empty lots to be crossed, and I had to make my way through dirty alleys lined with unsightly garbage cans and maybe a listless tramp or two.
Gale School itself was a dreary, gray-looking building and instead of the green lawns Washington had, the boys and girls of Gale School played on right cinders and gravel playgrounds and cement sidewalks.
The kindergarten was an immense room. It had to be, for there were a hundred pupils. Fifty came in the morning and fifty in the afternoon. And remember that this school represented only a small section of Chicago’s schools!
I still recall a few of my friends who I grew to like very much. There was Marilyn, a saucy blond with cute curls and a dimpled smile, and there was Gloria, a very sweet, dark-haired girl, Jack, a skinny boy, and Leona, a poor crippled girl with stringy, honey colored, whom nobody spoke to or played with. I felt sorry for her, and I wish I could have helped her in some way.
One day a little girl got a bloody nose, and she lay on the bench kicking and screaming while the red blood spurted out on her white dress. It was quite an ordeal, for the bleeding persisted. The teacher ran back and forth with dripping wet towels while the rest of us gathered around with our mouths open wide in awe and our eyes popping. We couldn’t understand what had happened to our little friend!
Another time a girl came to school with little red spots all over her face. Measles of course, but the teacher didn’t send her home. She said it would be all right this one day. It was just fine. The next day I was in bed with the measles.
Our teacher decided to put on a play. Yes, even then teachers believed in putting us in the spotlight. It was a Christmas play and I had a red crepe costume made to look like a Christmas bell. I had to wear the usual long white stockings and white shoes. Only the shoes proved to be a problem. My mother wore herself ragged hunting for white shoes for me. She was a proud mother and the shoes had to be very special. At the last minute she found a perfect pair. So there I was, a bell in the Christmas play!
All too soon the school bell rang for the last time on June, the twentieth, and we waved good-bye to Gale School, as we stumbled happily down the stone steps to the noisy street. This year had been fun, I thought. Why, all we did in school was play and have a good time. Little did I realize what lay ahead!
Although Mata’s 1940s diaries aren’t nearly as detailed as those from her younger days, there is enough to paint a picture of her relationship with her only child, Barbara. There are small praises about her sprinkled throughout the diary entries such as Barbara, the “good girl” or Barbara, the “dear girl” and many glimpses of Mata helping Barbara do something, like, for example, a school assignment. There’s plenty of small bits of evidence to show that Mata was proud of her daughter.
But, in a tale as old as time, tension arose when Barbara became all grown up. As with all teenagers, Barbara sought some level of independence, and it was a difficult thing for Mata to accept. Take, for example, one of the better-written passages from 1945:
“Barbara [is] out + I feel uncannily blue about it. So it goes, up to now she seldom went—unless a definite place. But now Janice calls her + they go to town. And now she already wants to stay—later + go several times a week. And doesn’t tell much. And all that I longed for she was, but now comes ‘the being like the rest.’ She loves her home + I wish she’d carry on—by limiting herself to one night a week. Some day she’ll feel sorry—for how short a time are ones [sic.] parents here.”
Ben, Barbara, and Mata at Barbara’s high school graduation, 1946
Mata also sized up Barbara’s teenage dates, as she did with a boy named Glen in 1945, who Barbara had a year-long relationship with. Mata wrote a few observations about him: “Seems nice, but too well to do. He + his suspenders over shirt + no coat…He is a real boy—not the spend thrift kind…Do hope Glen will come again—because he doesn’t smoke or drink + is a nice companion.” And she tracked the relationship to its conclusion just before Barbara headed off for college in 1946.
But, for her own reasons, Mata blamed herself to some extent for the end of Barbara and Glen’s relationship. And the Oct. 15, 1946 entry where she expresses her thoughts about this is one of the most insightful of the 1940s diaries:
“…To think I had encouraged her to keep company with a young student of Lincoln High, and he turned out to be no good. Poor kid, he seemed to be all right, but how often does one think a person is O.K. when he really isn’t. I didn’t mean any harm I understood that he came from good substantial family + so I thought he was a good kid. Well, I suppose we all have our faults + maybe when he grows older, he may develop into a better man. I thought she was having fun. Now I hoped she’d give him a pict[ure] + go tell Jan. I made such a mistake to say that. But I meant nothing by it. I only thought they were enjoying each other because he’d come up to see her often. But I guess I myself turned her against him. It was really my fault that Barbara decided to rule him out. If she ever in the last few months of 1946 goes back to him, I promise that I’ll not interest myself in their date. I guess I spoiled it all for her always asking about him. Maybe it’ll all come out O.K. She is such a wonderful understanding person…she’[ll] make a better person out of anyone. Anyway I guess G. some day will appreciate what a jewel she really is.”
Mata continued to concern herself with Glenn and Barbara in the following days and weeks. On Oct. 18, she wrote: “Homecoming parade + game Sat. But I have no heart for a thing. I feel so badly about B. + G.’s break up. So disappointed that she learned to dislike him so. And what she sees in Mahlick, well—beyond me. Richard perhaps. But wait in long run all may prove worse than G.”
And she didn’t leave it at that, because on Nov. 6 she wrote another lengthy entry about it:
“A ex soldier h[igh] s[chool] boy…got fond of Barbara, too, + so double date, after she tried to tell him she was so busy. And whistles when he comes in house. G.G. had faults, too, but in house he acted quite gentlemanly. Didn’t smoke or whistle, but one night he chewed gum vigorously when Barbara waited too long on night of Sr. Country Club dance…Barbara has new dates. Joe Mahlick former date of a 2 junior events—took it upon himself to renew dates. He’s not a fellow a girl takes to—a shy, quiet piece—treat them all alike, sympa[thetic] kind—accepts him. But she trimmed down the dates to a bore, minimum, so I guess he’s not encouraged to pursue. She discouraged Glenn hopelessly—so. Then a date from Man. boy finishing hi[gh school]. Both ex soldiers, + the soldiers are pretty much contaminated. Now Glenn + Joe rang the bell—who is next of the boy searching maze. Glenn never again. He made his farewell visit finally + so the end I prophesied, the night of that fatal game came. Now strange that I felt something had gone wrong + sure he came only 2x’s after that, and stayed only for a moment. According to rule, things in 3’s—he may come again. But why should he? Barbara has friends who show her better times; better characters, better looking, better companions, perfect “dates.” Well, he tried to be that, but maybe someday he’ll find a girl who’ll overlook his faults.”
Two weeks later, on Nov. 21, Mata brought up Glen again with Barbara. While Mata seemed to pity the boy, she also seemed happy that Barbara was apparently popular among other boys: “Barbara [has] a date with Dan after Spanish. Asked her if G. still to come. Yes, he’d run up again sometimes. So all in all if then she goes with both, each having his own freedom—O.K. Boys like her because she’s an all around good honest soul, pretty smart + modern, but not wild + boys like G. recognize her good traits + so he sticks even if he can’t get her too often. Anyway she is popular.”
Many months later, in early June 1947, Mata finally concluded the long saga when she wrote: “Barbara saw G. at prom. Poked him + now each new partners—so final closing of a 16 month chapter. My hopes spring out of a dead soul. A mushroom—it comes—only to drop over when plucked.”
With that story over, there were still other problems that Mata had in relation to Barbara, such as when Barbara drank alcohol for the first time. This did not make Mata happy: “I laugh; heart is in a thousand shreds. The day will never come again. Barbara tasted a bit of drink + it made my heart ache. She’s good + understanding. But why didn’t she wait until older. Just a few drops in a soda. But how much stronger one would be nowadays to resist often, because opportunities came too often to stave off further temptations.”
Then there was the perennial problem of curfews: “Barbara out with the Maribel boy. In spite of my pleading it’s late again—around 3. If only I can pound it into her—the late hours. Every one questions that—no matter how fine the character is.”
But the most explosive moment that Mata recorded in her diary was set off by something extremely trivial: “Just think the damm [sic.] fool says, “Mayta [sic.]! don’t yell so”—That to me when I thought she was in her room when she to come to the phone. And she expects me to whisper. No, never in my life have I felt that inner spirit of goneness—as I have this year + last. What an idiot I am in her eyes. What a damm [sic.] fool. I am to sink so low in this life so if ever they want her, I’ll simply make no issue of it—barely whisper to her. Lousy! Suggest she ask the boy’s name. Oh! no—suggest she look at Bob’s Marine suit. Oh! no what a kill joy!! No wonder! Well, now I can see the whole thing clearly! It took a life time to get my heart smashed. She has done it.”
Even though Barbara only ventured 150 miles away for college at the University of Wisconsin in Madison, it was yet another difficult transition for Mata to accept. Mata still wanted to be directly involved in her life. She lamented the fact that Barbara found others to confide in: “I know Barbara loves her parents. She’ll never know how much it would mean to have her always come to me with all her problems. If she’d only discuss things with her mother as I did with mine. Why must girls always tell a girl friend, all about a boy friend + a mother only guesses.” But this, too, Mata learned to accept.
Mata with Barbara at the University of Wisconsin, c. 1946-1949
But, despite all of the problems, there was always positivity hidden somewhere in Mata, even if it didn’t always manifest itself. Looking back on her life experience and how she finally achieved what she had wanted for so long—a family of her own—Mata occasionally brought her feelings back into perspective in her writing. She knew what Barbara meant to her, even in times of trouble: “Barbara is my all—her interest, her nice boy friend—helps me to bear all these things that bear down upon me!!”
Unfortunately, due to the lack of written material throughout the 1930s, Mata’s story must be fast-forwarded more than a decade. When we last left off, she got married (1927), moved to Chicago with her new husband, Ben, and her only child, a daughter named Barbara, was born (1928). We can assume that most of her time in the 1930s was devoted to being a mother. She had retired from teaching for good, and her husband’s job at a big bank was good enough to keep them at least somewhat comfortable for a while, though later on, there would be financial troubles. One notable event in this interim period is her mother dying in 1933. Not much is known about Caroline, but Mata had characterized her as a gentle soul, and she must have been distraught at losing her second parent.
At some point, Mata was living in Two Rivers again, perhaps it was shortly after her mother died. Mata’s uncle, Ed, seemed to be looking after the farm, so it’s unclear why she returned. During that time, Ben stayed at his bank job in Chicago, though did some to visit when he could, and Mata also came to visit Chicago sometimes, but this distance must have put a strain on their marriage and their family dynamic. There was a bizarre incident involving Ben in March 1942, where he said he was beaten and robbed in Chicago, having a watch given to him by Mata stolen along with some cash, and having 5 teeth knocked out in the process. What makes it bizarre is that Mata and other people in Two Rivers didn’t seem to believe it. Mata eventually came around to believing him, but still held some doubts. She wrote:
“Don’t know why it is but no one in T.R. takes Ben’s story of robbery seriously. I did not at 1st—because his eyes—always show that he’s had something + those deep seated colds—he had years back. But I can’t doubt him—he’d hate that. But why don’t people seem to take his hold-up seriously, I guess because he did not repent robbery formally at police station. Yes, the 2 things I wanted him to have—good—his watch + his fountain pen. All gone—never to come back. Why did he not tell Wold or his mother—or no one else? And Wold hangs around toughest joints and never has lost a thing—except money—but I guess he doesn’t know a watch or a pen—because he frequents tough joints. His money he throws away—no one need rob him. If Ben really did drink as he used to years back—it’s partly our fault—me here—he there—The only thing I try to show him better things better clothes—etc. I try to compensate in other ways.”
Mata with husband Ben and daughter Barbara before the war, c. 1935The family again about 10 years later, c. 1945
Mata’s surviving diaries pick up again at the very end of 1941, only weeks after the United States had officially entered World War II. Despite this, the diaries start off with a positive moment. For the first time in 8 years, Mata, Norbert (her brother), and Leatha (her sister) were all together at the same time. The diaries are significantly less well-written than they had been more than 20 years previously, with choppy, incomplete sentences, and don’t usually provide much insight into her thoughts as they once had. It is unknown if she wrote any other diaries that were lost over time, or if she had simply stopped writing them for many years, but nonetheless, they can still help to fill in the gaps a bit.
With American’s entry into the war, pacifism declined sharply. In between Germany’s invasion of Poland and the attack on Pearl Harbor, there were a considerable number of Americans who advocated isolationism. Despite this new turn of events, Mata remained one of the few ardently against war, though not for nationalistic reasons. Her reasons for thinking the way she did are open to interpretation, but I personally think it at least partly has to do with her German heritage. Throughout her life, Mata was proud of her German ancestry. She visited the country and kept in contact with her German relatives. Her parents, though American-born, spoke fluent German around the house, and all three of their children communicated with them in German. In those days, when there were such strict divisions between groups of people based on their heritage or ethnicity, Mata sometimes seemed to identify more with her German heritage than her American nationality. Of course, with such a strong attachment to Germany, she was certainly not enthusiastic about fighting it. There is no direct glorification of the Nazi regime or Hitler, but there are a number of times where Mata rails against American President Franklin D. Roosevelt and British Prime Minister Winston Churchill. The exact nuances of her position on the war and Germany during this time are not clear, but there are a few short moments that might provide some clues.
In late December 1941, she seemed to take a neutral position, writing: “Yes, the planet is in throes of another war. I needn’t choose sides. I shall be a snob when it comes to that. Aloof—I ask only to be left alone.” A few months later, she simply vents her hatred of war in general: “Father Hubbard—a word from him as to a real cause of this disease—we call war—would go far. But war + religion doesn’t mix at all.” She also disdained American propaganda films. For example, she accused the 1944 Hollywood film, “Tomorrow, The World” as “a rotten thing” because of its supposed “hatred for German children.” At this early stage in the war, Mata already detested President Roosevelt, which is evident in one entry where she is angry that Ben’s salary as a postal clerk had been reduced: “Nice going the postal clerks by oath can’t strike—so so easily Reverend Roosevelt—Dictator—can veto this raise.” Shortly after FDR’s death years later, near the end of the war, she wrote: “Hateful propaganda Pathe film…So the negotiated peace advocated by F.D.R. feel [fell] asleep + Japan + Germany 2 great cultures with bread hungry million are beaten to a pulp + we call it a day.” And nearly in the same breath, she directs her biting comments at Churchill: “And Churchill blares out—peace not until he, the Almight[y] Lord God of Hosts, Earth born announces it.” It seems that even the end of the war in Europe didn’t relieve Mata of her hatred for the two leaders. To her, they carried the war in Germany to excess and were its destroyers. Interestingly, she makes absolutely no mention of the Nazi regime and its role in Germany’s destruction during the war. What this omission means is up to interpretation.
While her attachment was to Germany, Mata also mentioned Japan as well, once reading a book about it and writing out some quotes. She had a habit of romanticizing countries and cultures, and was also sad to see the destruction of yet another country with a rich history. Even before the atomic bombs were dropped, she wrote: The beautiful cities of Japan are gone. We have become worse than they.” So it seems that she recognized some of the violence Japan had committed, but put the U.S. on the same level. And with the final end to the fighting in August 1945, Mata was still moody about the whole thing, and did not take part in any of the celebrations, and made her stance on the Allied Powers very clear: “Noisy streaks on the road—as people celebrate—temporary end of world war II atomic bomb + Russia—2 factors in stoppage of yellow fight. So 2 dead countries commercially + culturally extinct. The U.S. Britain + Russia—3 triumphant kings sit like vultures—satiated with the spoils.”
It should be noted that all of the things she wrote about the war, about Germany, Japan, Roosevelt, and Churchill were few and far between overall. Most of the pages of these 1940s diaries are filled with the tedium of farm life, small social gatherings, and updates on family members and friends. While the war was on her mind at times, she devoted far more time and energy on doing her daily routine. Mata’s feelings toward the war, whether you find them to be unpatriotic, harsh, or just wrong, it is an interesting example that went against the general consensus in the U.S. at that time.
The war seemed to have another effect on Mata. In a December 1945 letter to a relative who was being held as a prisoner of war from Germany, she explained her updated attitude towards Christianity:
“I don’t pretend to be much of a Christian—I guess because Christianity apparently means war and hate and atomic bombs and starvation of innocent children and revenge—I guess that is why I should not be flattered if anyone should ask if I were a Christian—but since I am what I am—vaguely it seems to me I remember that Christ said something about forgiving a fallen enemy—Christ said something about turning the other cheek, Christ said something about revenge being more dreadful than the crime preceeding [sic.] it—and above all Christ said something about love one another—but I suppose he was just talking and it really doesn’t mean anything—or does it?”
So far, we have seen Mata go through a vicious cycle of developing an intense crush on an older man (usually a doctor), only to end in severe disappointment that continued to affect her for a long time afterward. For the last few articles, I have relied on Mata’s well-written diaries, but unfortunately, this is where they end, so I had to do more research myself for this part of her life. The last article left off in the year 1916, and after that diary ended in the middle of the year, Mata attended an 8-week course at Columbia University in New York City. But there is little information about her time there. The only hint of what she did between that and 1919, assuming she had the correct chronology, we have only this single sentence from her later autobiographical essay: “After 3 years of fun and teaching and mountain climbs at Glacier and the Yellowstone areas I left again for Wisconsin.”
A photo of the Columbia University campus taken by Mata in 1916
While she may have returned to Wisconsin for a short time, as she often did, Mata then taught in Libby, Montana during the 1919-1920 school year. There isn’t much to write about her time there, but you can look at the photos I included in another very short article that I wrote when I first revived this blog. Mata was glad to leave Libby in 1920. Yet again, she returned home to Two Rivers, Wisconsin while she was in between teaching jobs. Despite being disappointed with the towns she had to teach in, she continued to take teaching jobs, this time staying in Wisconsin. One of these teaching jobs was at the new and architecturally beautiful Lincoln High School in Manitowoc. It was built in 1923, and she taught there in the mid-1920s. She seemed to enjoy it, according to a brief mention she wrote in her short autobiography: “Here I could have finished all of my school years. But as it was in the back of my head there was someone waiting for me.” And that someone was her husband, Ben Crane.
I used to think that this photo was from Libby High School based on the LHS patch, but now I think it’s probably from Lincoln High School in Manitowoc, Wisconsin, c. mid-1920s. But that is still unconfirmed.Mata in her later teaching years, possibly a class in Lincoln High School c. 1920s
Because of the lack of diaries for this part of her life, the lead-up to the marriage is a bit foggy. It’s unclear when and where exactly they met, but there are a few hints that can help make some general assumptions. There were actually some connections with the Crane family dating back more than 20 years earlier. On November 5, 1914, Mata wrote in her diary, “Edna Crane Grover spoke to me for the first time since graduation years ago. Now she has cooled off.” Edna Crane, older sister of Ben Crane, was less than a year older than Mata. It is implied that Edna and Mata graduated from the same high school, and probably at the same time. This is backed up by the fact that sometime between 1900 and 1905, the Crane family moved from Menominee, Michigan, to Two Rivers, Wisconsin. And less than two months after that Nov. 5, 1914 diary entry, Mata briefly mentioned another Crane family member: “I met Alice Crane of Mil. who is visiting in Two Rivers.” Alice Crane was the younger sister of Ben Crane, and was almost exactly four years younger than Mata. The next year (1915), on March 27, Mata wrote: “Meet Mrs. Crane + Alice too! Met them once more while at Milwaukee.” So now we have a third Crane enter into the story. “Mrs. Crane” almost certainly refers to Elizabeth Crane, mother of Ben, Edna, Alice, and an unmentioned son named Chester. But those are the only mentions of the Cranes in Mata’s diaries. While there was some kind of connection, it wasn’t a very strong one.
Ben Crane, around the time he got married to Mata, 1926
So we have established that some of the Hartungs and the Cranes at least knew each other. Yet, there was still no mention of Ben Crane himself. What makes things even more confusing is that, at the time of their marriage, Ben was working in Chicago, while Mata was presumably teaching at Lincoln High School in Manitowoc. It will probably forever stay a mystery.
The first (and only) surviving correspondence between Mata and Ben before their marriage is from a Dec. 1925 letter written by Ben. Mata’s father had just died very suddenly, and Ben wrote to console her: “It certainly must have been a terrible shock to you and the rest of [your] family, you all have my sympathy. I can hardly realize what has happened after reading your last letter. You must please be brave and strong, I have been thru with the same thing and know what it is.” On June 18, 1927, Mata and Ben got married. Mata couldn’t wait to find a husband for so long. She despaired about it constantly in her diary. Twelve years earlier, she had written: “I want to marry some day. Maybe somewhere—there is one whom I can love. If I do love him, I shall sacrifice to him my body and soul—and he will reward it with his love.” She finally got her wish.
Above: Mata and Ben’s marriage certificate (left) and the bride and groom at their wedding ceremony in 1927
Or was it? Ben was a year younger than Mata; at the time of their marriage, Mata was 39 and Ben was 37. For Mata especially, this was far past what most women would have considered the point of no return. Ben certainly goes against what had been her ideal type of man in the past. Her biggest crushes ten years before had been older men who were doctors. Ben was neither of those things. There is also a tinge of disappointment in Mata’s autobiographical essay after writing about the joys of dancing in her younger days: “But after marrying a non-dancer all this joy vanished into the thin blue.”
Perhaps she had already resigned herself to the life of a spinster when she met Ben. Perhaps it was a marriage simply for companionship—at least at first. Perhaps if her diaries from this time had survived (if they were ever written), we would know for certain how much the pairing was truly based on love and how much, if any, was based on societal pressure or loneliness. Whatever the case, upon becoming Mrs. Crane, Mata quit her modest 15-year career as a teacher and moved to Chicago with Ben, where he had a stable job at a big post office.
What was even more remarkable was that the next year, at 40 years old, Mata gave birth to her and Ben’s only child—a daughter named Barbara. While we don’t have the diary from that time, Mata did write a brief recollection 14 years later:
“My thoughts run to Barbara and her coming to earth nearly 14 years ago—+ its all so real. The going to Elmhurst in afternoon in a $10.00 taxi—to a $200—2 week room + a week more at 75—+ then 2 wks. more to Sena at $45 per wk. But it seemed like really doing the only thing a woman should do[,] recreate… And she came 20 min after 12 P.M. April 18. Paul Revere’s Ride—2 lines I never forgot… May 31st. I + Ben + baby—went to our Highland Park home, he carrying her. Then when Norbert [Mata’s brother] saw her, [he]…said—Looks like Mata + Ben said she looked like Leatha [Mata’s sister]—+ Marie Lipp [Mata’s friend] said she looked like Leatha.”
The first mother-daughter photo in April 1928
And this has been Mata’s journey through her first 40 years of life—a bit short of the halfway point. But what else lies ahead in her future?
This next article covers one of the most important themes for Mata at this time of her life: romance (again). Her diary for 1915 is the most detailed of all of her diaries, so this will be a longer article. So, without further ado, here is the story of Mata’s next romantic encounter.
After only a month after arriving in January 1915, she starts to have some sort of medical problem again, which she described as “A dreadful pain area located under my lung.” This required yet more doctors visits, though, as Mata recognizes, not with her beloved Dr. Middleton from Madison. But she strangest thing happens: she begins to fall for this doctor as well! His name was Treadwell. His full name was Dr. Glenn F. Treadwell, and he had been the physician of Friendship since 1912 and was 11 years older than Mata. The first entry where Mata expresses feelings towards him was February 27: “Up about 8:30. Sit in dining room—talk to Clara, she said ‘There comes doctor,’ + I flew upstairs! No one there but she, so entertains him until he asks where I am. Clara tells [him] I was here a minute ago. Of course, he knows now. Calls upstairs, + tells me to come down for he wishes to talk to me. Really, he is the limit, his third call here, and I am not desperately sick; but oh! that inglorious pain! He talks a long while. I wonder why C. always says [‘]he may give you a ride sometime.[‘] I doubt it. Yes I am beginning to like him—and dreams—dreams I have!! Will he ever ask me? As I told Clara, he’ll think about ‘what will people say?[‘] I shall be able to speak of this June 1. Then I’ll know whether or not he will or shall or hasn’t ask[ed] me. Do I want to ride with him—yes I do?—really! There’s a queer feeling about it—’That half way between consciousness + the other world’ as Zora Gale implies. I’ll even be happy if he should ask me.”
But she would apparently change her mind. Only 2 days later, on March 1, Mata, writing about some acquaintances: “Wonder if they were with Doc. Well! I guess there will be no more twixt he + I—I guess I’ll add it too, to my many, many vain dreams. But the time here is yet young—wait!!!”
Mata in Friendship, Wisconsin, 1915
And yet, she still wrote about him afterward, clearly not actually having come to terms with how she felt about the doctor, torturing herself about a love that she had already deemed impossible. Even more than a month later, on April 13, she still has not let him go, as evidenced by an encounter that she wrote about: “Dr. comes out at noon! My chance to see him if I had only left the house just then, I opened the door, he stood there and I simply let him stand there until Mrs. D. said—’Come in.’ It looked as if I was admitting him + yet! I wanted to leave but didn’t going into Clara—+ then leaning. Oh! I do make crude situations continually. Fool that I am! Wish I could meet him once to have him ask me—about my health you no [sic.] etc. But nothing comes my way—only! Mere things out of which arise no consequences!” After yet another lengthy encounter with Dr. Treadwell the next day, Mata has a moment of self-reflection: “Why record all this? Well, it was for me a tinge of enjoyment + contact with one I unconsciously seem to dream + think about. I haven’t tasted enuf [sic.] of life’s joys to know all possible likes. I suppose this passed out of his mind like a flash; I cling over it—and why—Maybe some day I can explain this indispensable subconscious feeling.”
But with more time, her attachment to this Dr. Treadwell only seemed to increase, reaching very intense levels, as indicated in this rambling yet eloquent entry from April 21, which I will include in full: “Uneventful except about 5:45. Went to supper earlier than usual. On my way met Doctor. Coincidence, Mrs. Holm sick—I go to supper unheard of early and just then Dr. must leave house. Walked up to hotel, stopped and talked there a little—but I was so real fussed that I didn’t say anything straight—and now when I retrospec [sic.]! I see him in a ridiculous situation—did he want to get away + I did not or what—really—truly—I can’t fathom his thoughts—but it may have been so. Again that ques[tion] of his, how is work! I said if I had other talents I would not teach etc.—and he said ‘You have undeveloped ones’—and—and—well—I at least like it better when he does not approach [the] teaching topic. Does he know any[thing] disastrous about me or it! Well! lately I have meet [met] him so often + a chance to talk. Are our thoughts mutual. Oh! you conscience! why torment me with such impossibilities—yet nevertheless my mind, it centers thereon no matter where to I turn. Told me I looked so much better now than before etc. Yes! my inner conscience bespeaks a real feeling. I wish it were indifference but I am assured it is not, any further developments! No! each preceding one seems to foreshadow vacancy. I am helpless—if he makes no advances I leave here in 7 weeks ne’er to return and again a wound in that vital organ (Oh such sentimentality[)]. Yet I love just a bit—it is something.”
Less than two weeks later, on May 2, Mata is still torturing herself thinking about Dr. Treadwell, first scolding herself for her behavior then going on a lengthy, emotional monologue reminiscent of a Victorian romance novel: “Home—find Dr. here to see Mr. Smith. About 10 to 6 he comes into dining room + we talk. I show him my pictures. If I could only keep from acting so wiggly! Be a woman I say! Brace yourself into a manner that will be strength—not weakness. Why don’t I act like one who has brains. Enuf [sic.] I corrected myself—now mind, young woman. Stand straight—and be firm. You surely lost all control of yourself today. Be firm next time and your personal appearance will improve one hundred fold in his estimation. So ‘watch your step.’ He is invited to supper—I am not. Go to hotel—Return very quickly—and again I wiggle + squirm—they had not eaten yet! Dr. talks about tipping etc. Ask[ed] me if we have ‘extra’ sun. I interpret this way—Extra (men thought)—yes not so many so many. Joke on me. He surely gets me ‘fussed.’ But I have made no resolutions so I am better off now! Just see if I won’t record a more spirited mental retrospect than what I recorded this evening. Again! why do I place thoughts about how Isn’t he tonight listening to that one in Adams! What am I in his estimation—not a straw. I must not let myself have such feeling toward. Yes! I love him. Haven’t I given way to such confessions before—oh womanly passion can’t you desist. Were he to take me, would I feel the same? He makes no move to come nearer only as an acquaintance—and I am thinking—thinking—only to meet him. Now one wish only—may it be granted me that I may see him once alone! Only a few days more and all will be closed. I must not let myself suffer for not gaining his love. It is all on my part. No it seems my conscience admits no analysis! It cries for that which it cannot have—Love!If there be mutual telepathy—that and only that will bring him to me—just once alone—Doctor knowest thou I call you. Strength now—woman’s control—when you meet him again.”
Dr. Treadwell later in life, more than 30 years after Mata was smitten with him
May 6 brought more of the same thoughts: “This A.M. I left for school at 8:15. Saw Dr. coming so I start out—he, however overtook me (he was driving and pulled up his horses and said, ‘I wish you’d give your scholars a vacation and ride to the country with me.’ I said Oh! wouldn’t I love to!!!—If I only could I added half depressingly. Again, here upon this passing remark made only casually I have clung all day. It alone gave me energy and spirit to carry thru my day’s tasks. Many would have forgotten it. I think he did, but I grasped it from my memory, placed it before many every hour today. If I had more diversions I should not count this—but to me it was more than a word of cheer—more—more—than the world to me. Why! oh! do I love him! Would I did not. All this is for myself—it is my feeling—he will never know what I leave behind. May I ask it—only once again—for a long hour with him even less would weave a golden coverlet to wrap about me in future dream hours. Oh! doctor, couldn’t thou but know. I’ll read all this—and it will bring only sad memories—but somehow I cannot do naught but write my real thoughts may I pray for an opportunity. Yes, I think my prayer would be unreserved. Yes love do what I shall give to him who loves me—not for a home, but for love. Such a dreary night.”
She had also made a friend, a fellow teacher who was around the same age named Nell Daly (though Mata misspelled the name as “Daily”). However, Mata’s first impression of Miss Daly was not exactly positive as evidenced by the first entry that mentions her. On April 15, Mata went to a dance, along with a number of other locals. Miss Daly and another woman, Miss Greenwood came with two men, and Mata felt that they had purposely avoided introducing the men to her. Mata was not happy: “[Y]es, the Misses Daily and Greenwood keep their men away—neither introduce me to the ‘man’ they came with. Yes, those are the girls! but why—are they exceptional? No, only some of the thousands who are untaught in society’s extreme artificiality, but merely exercise instinct and so create ‘class’ among themselves.”
But she would soon get over this incident. She enjoyed talking about Dr. Treadwell with Nell, as evidenced by this entry from April 18: “On way back the Dr. seeing us came back to meet us + insisted that I come to supper—that is Dr. was as Daily said ‘wanting worse than ever to have me.'” The very next day, Nell and another of Mata’s friends came to a conclusion about Dr. Treadwell: “Both decide that Dr. has a crush! And believe it is mutual! Yes! I must admit on my part it is—Now! no more advances. If he wishes to see me more—he must find a way.” Now, Mata had it on good authority that Dr. Treadwell liked her, though it all seemed to be just hearsay.
May 9 is one of her longest diary entries, taking the reader on an emotional rollercoaster from pleading to hope to bliss, all in the course of a single entry: “My unconscious thoughts concerning the doctor—are these—I arose at 7:30 (altho [sic.] sleepy) dressed + went down, waiting. Shall I call it that. I make unhappiness come over me thru [sic.] my vain wishing. A ride—oh! Interpreter, do you realize the torments I pass thru [sic.]; the gloom—because that thought never becomes a visual one? There is no chance! Why, look and long unceasingly. Just that remark of that morning made my hopes spring high. Wasn’t I happy then! Just those very words that I waited for—but with what effect! Impossibility not to be overcome unless by lawlessness. There is even in the waiting a pleasantness, sometimes yet when that hour of expectancy has passed. Oh! then that tangible downcast feeling—Doctor, if only you had not been here—I could leave this place with a carefreeness, ne’er before known. My inner plea is so strong though—that you must hear me! Dost thou not oh! God tell him too? Oh what vain longing in these last pages of my biography. It is too hard to express. Sunday is yet before me—and then????…Yes an eventful day. Has God answered my prayers! He has partly. Developments. On way home from church Dr. T walks back to Miss D. + I and they arrange it that I walk with him. He asked me where my flower garden was—if I had a friend etc. I said no, I was my own friend! Well on the way passing his office—doctor does not say very much. I am unusually silent but open up com. twice—then D. helps me out—we end up at his office. Rest for home. At 1 I call for Daily, we go to hotel for dinner. I eat little more than nothing. Ice cream last night set my stomach on a whack. After seeing the mound—Roch E Chree[sic] stream etc. we go to Dailys room + to see new dress. She expecting company from Adams, I depart hastily. Write home, then go to office—see Mae + we start for hike—Meet Dr.—but a very formal How do you do! Go for a long stroll until we get to cemetery we sat ourselves upon a log and rest. Jack etc. I guess everyone is immediate in trust with me knows where to my in trust drifts. Mr. Smith says “I guess by your actions![“] Well nothing doing after supper I go home. Dance the reel, then piano—Agnes + Magdalen come up + we took pictures. Oh! I look like a blinking idiot on the picture Agnes took! Where! Well, laughing, playing etc.—enter doctor—Wasn’t I surprised. Almost went on to Draeger’s, thought I saw him go away in auto—Yes, all worked like a charm—He jollied me about the pictures etc. Wanted one! I kid it etc. An informal half hour; I play wretchedly, then he departs with Ms. Smith. So Dr. leaves for Fond du Lac in A.M. Our events have surely been interesting. And Daily confidentially told me this noon. Dr. T. likes you (between you and me). Does he? Why doesn’t he come then? Hasn’t it begun—but this may end! My hopes are never realized—but my prayers have been introductarily [sic.] answered. God is good. Only one wish—To be with him alone, by his request. And Daily wants me up there for supper this week! Yes I am happy tonight—Why that pang when he left the room tonight. Is he impossible? Oh! Oh! I never dreamed of this—And today I dream of strawberries—It means love. Dr. wanted me to play ‘Dream of Heaven’—yea a coincidence verily I say. Good night, ‘dear Interpreter’—I am better pleased now!”
The Masonic Hall in Friendship, Wisconsin, which was sometimes used as a venue for local meetings, parties, or gatherings
But she would not be pleased for long. First, Nell Daly started acting a bit strange, and another of Mata’s friends had some insider information on May 12: “Tonight I hear that Miss Daily is thinking wrong of me:–she feels that she must weigh her words. I am glad that Miss D. told me this. Tomorrow, I shall call on Miss Daily and fix it all up—I noticed she acted strangely toward me. Oh! it’s my impulsive actions again; pretending I am angry etc. Oh! Luck! but I pray that her heart will revert from this thought.” Fortunately, this was resolved the next day, and Mata continued expressing her romantic hopes: “So many rumors have come forth that it has grown to be only a big golden butterfly always far out of reach—an illusion—a dream. I do not dare hope for it—for then it won’t surely come to pass. See nothing of Dr. all day. There maybe it is better so because I must forget him. It will be easier to forget now—or begin to. Yes, if he’d only knows I am sure he would come. Oh! but ‘he is taken’ is the death knell to those vague hopes I had.” It was more of the same on May 19: “Daily gave me the two dearest compliments and one from the doctor—worth more than gold to me—but how little she knows—how I do cherish those (no not sentimentally) but in a brave, pure way—love.”
On May 24, Mata went out with a friend named Clara on a scenic drive, but when they returned, Mata saw something: “[J]ust when we arrived home—there came the Dr. with team—beside him sat a girl—I am sure it was Miss Daily. If it were she, I’d be heart broken—for I know she likes him too. Could I only have boarded there—yes, perhaps—but who knows. Dr. can’t you hear how I want to be with you once—but I know you don’t care. It is all love on my part. Yet, I cannot give up my thoughts even on that basis. If I only could avoid seeing you! Every glimpse makes a new stab—a new start—and it all pains. Now I know that thoughts as I have are not sentiment—no they are vital bonds becoming firmer every hour—from which there is no release—until you come.”
Mata confronted her about this shortly afterward. In the entry for the next day, Mata writes: “Now what Miss Daily said. I put her down as going with Dr. She said: Oh! he is to me like a brother—he would never ask me anywhere—but I shall try to have him ask you. Say, but ‘such things’ are too idyllic to happen to me! If it would then once my cup of happiness would be overflowing. I must not say too much; for this may all rise up in thin air.” The day after that, there were plans for an upcoming dance, but Mata could only think about the doctor: “Yes, a dance but whom will I go with—there is a possibility of Dr. taking a new town girl—altho Daily has listed him as mine—this is a case where there is pure fiction—his name + mine linked on the card. Wish it were the truth! Conscience dost thou dare ask one such a question! But also it is truth—and that is stranger than fiction. For him to ask me would unbounded glory—outside of heaven! But if he only dances with me if we have it that will be glory too”
At this dance, Mata arrived when the third dance had begun, and I’ll let her describe what happened next: “Immediately Dr. asked me—and too, for the next one—my spirits rose—later a third—but the last. Three times he sat away from me when I was not dancing—Admired my violets—told him I picked them alone—asked why I went alone—he liked to pick violets, too. We just chattered back and forth about this, gaily indeed. He wanted a violet which I gave him—said he’d wear it in his watch for rest of life! Was there any significance in this? Does it answer what I have so long thought—his love? No, I think it is only a remark that he may make any time—he is heart whole—loves fun—may jolly with any girl—I am only one—and then forgotten. I wonder what he thinks?” But later, Mata’s mood nosedived. “Sat next to Dr. but after supper came the blow! No more dances with him—once only he sat down with Daily + I and talked a little—oh! and then they danced the second moonlight dance—he said ‘Come, this is pretty let’s dance it’—to Daily—oh! that cut so deeply—I hated dance—loathed it. Wanted to go. Yes, all rest of my dances were duty dances…Yes, I sat out many, many I the instigator—ungrateful people—I have awful drop in thermometer of my life! Future prospects—none—none—none—. Oh! the elements fortold of it truthfully. Dr. you were the one impetus that led me to suggest dance—It is all decided. I have nothing left but a few weeks of disparate sorrow.”
The next day, Mata went flower-picking with some friends, but she could only think about the previous night: “Every flower I picked brot [sic] last night’s association. Why did not I ask him to go picking violets sometime—Is that what he wanted—but Daily says, ‘he promises a lot and doesn’t do it.’ Maybe if I should get a little chance I think I shall mention it to him! the violet episode—but when will that be?” The next day, Mata was still thinking about, even tapping into her other failed romance with Dr. Middleton: “Last year at Madison I only attended Baptist services there because Dr. Middleton did. I came down; now I attend because Dr. T. attends here. I could have loved M. then as I like Dr. T. now. Tonight he sat in front of us. Services over he turned to me + smiled very much—saying, ‘Have you gotten over your dissappation [sic.]?’ I said “partly; but is that what you call it?” Dr. all day I waited for you—if you only knew it! Why couldn’t I not have left this place heart whole? I wonder if he has forgotten all about me too.”
Mata in Friendship, possibly picking flowers as described in her May 29, 1915 diary entry
Even though Mata’s felt she had failed at romance with Dr. Treadwell, Miss Daly had assured her that she saw the doctor as a brother and nothing more. Mata’s hopes were revived, despite any signs she thought she had picked up on at the dance. On May 31, she had another opportunity to talk with Dr. Treadwell, though they didn’t have complete alone time: “There we lay, both of us—I, of course, jumped up + he laughed when he caught us so. Was I happy—God—I thank you again—for this opportunity. I may have walked with D. but not for anything did I pray, nor wait 3 days for him to come and on the evening of our last holiday, he came. Well, all the family was there, but anyway it was good just to have him. Again our “violet story.” Teased me about fact that he does actually think so. Again said, ‘I told you I like to pick flowers’—and I said, ‘Allright [sic.], then you must tell me—but again he believed I did not go ‘alone.’ I wonder if he really means it—or does he only say that, just all in fun! At times I think he means it all. Talked about dance. He said ‘I told him so many things that night.’ Mr. S teases me + I threw pillows, Dr. laughs. He saw Clara + I start on our drive, too. Talked about dances—past and future. [When] he left I said ‘Dr. Treadwell whenever you want some violets let me know.’ He ‘And then you’ll pick some for me?[‘] Yes, I answered and he was off. Now I feel glad again—but soon all clouds over and I’ll be just once more unhappy—and if only those + 2 old teachers wouldn’t but[t] in here—I’d surely be more than happiness! Only God I ask to help me more—make him see that I am more and more in faith and my love is greater.”
As commencement day approached, Mata felt herself feeling more and more pessimistic about anything happening between her and Dr. Treadwell, knowing that she would have to move to yet another school. She didn’t know where, but it would probably be far away. On June 2, she had another interaction with the doctor: “I dared call to him—[“]Dr. have you that violet yet[?”] [“]Which one[?] Oh! Yes, yes I have it. I’ll keep it forever![“] I said ‘Oh! I don’t believe you unless I see it.’ He: ‘It looks pretty badly crushed, I wore it so hard, but I shall keep it as long as I live.’—and he was off. Yes, surely I saw him often this last Fri. dance. That may be the last—each meeting seems to be the last one! Here I record this—and in a week more I’ll only regret reading these past memories. And he—never will I be a part of his memory—he only leaves hearts torn.”
And in the next day’s entry, we can see her try to overcome her romantic trauma and seemingly coming to accept the outcome by convincing herself that it never would have happened: “Saw Dr. only once, when he scooted by in auto when I was leaving hotel. Somehow or other I feel that I must sacrifice my thoughts—and as the end approaches it seems a bit easier—for I know he has no affection for me.”
The next day (June 4), she happened to meet the doctor again by chance: “Just approaching toward court house was Dr. I wondered if he’d notice me—as I crossed over the field toward the court house. Yes, indeed he slowed up + finally stopped and waited for me—a most informal meeting we had yet—no exchange of greeting said I must have eaten an unusually big dinner… And I said [I] will be gone—He ‘You can stay over,’ you can be here—he taking for granted that staying over was the least of all to contend with. Yes, now I know him more and like him as a friend. My wish? No, never! I must not let it cloud my thoughts any longer.”
The Adams County courthouse, near where Mata had an interaction with Dr. Treadwell on June 4, 1915
But, as in the past, just when Mata seems like she had come to accept rejection, all the emotions come spilling out again, as it did on June 5: “Again about 5—just going over to get a film—I saw him turning back as the team came toward Smiths I sought refuge on the porch, instead of walking slowly and meeting him—He may have asked me to ride—but who knows… A bit of consolation—he stopped at the barn looking for Mr. S. Just tantalizing, about 2 P.M. he drove again. I need—why do I make myself unhappy—he won’t ask me—today was the last hour in the world—next week company—so I was right—the question is answered + the prophecy or augury filled, he did not ask me for a ride—And why? That must remain unanswered. It would be easier if I did not see him always with some one.”
She herself realizes and addresses her internal struggle in accepting all of this, writing the very next day: “[M]y inner conscience told me to expect this—I couldn’t see it that way—not until the actuallity [sic.] was tangible in the time presented. Now I know. Saw—oh! I can’t write it freely tonight—saw doctor at a distance. I’d dare to say I want his picture. Why does he keep away from me? He has interest in others! I have not: so that is the solution—and a hard answer to accept after it has been verified.”
Whereas before the relationship between Mata and Nell, now, at the very end of Mata’s stay in Friendship, there is some indication that there may have been some tension between the two. Mata recorded on June 7: “Daily called me up. I am sure she thought I had been riding with Dr. How could she? I may be wrong. Maybe I told her too much! I think—and yet I hardly want to—that she is not true. Anyway I cannot fathom her easily—but nevertheless I mistrust a little—and this I say with great difficulty—for I want to think the best of one I come in contact with as I did with her. I am a little affraid [sic.]—that there is jealousy—Why need she be! I am no rival of hers.”
And, finally, came Mata’s final private meeting with Dr. Treadwell on June 10: “That professional air of his, not a smile; not a suggestion of our former frivolities. I approach my subject in a usual round about way—finally get there—he promises a statement—Then we begin a half hour talk on school. yes, I felt I wanted to talk that over with him—and he assured me all his assistance—and he would get me a recommendation etc…Oh! and no dance—no one to go ahead—Dr. said he won’t and hasn’t time—Neither will I. Seniors want an after banquet dance. Well Miss Jacobson is here—proud, snobbish—light haired, homely oldish faced mortal—and doctor went with her? Oh! woe—woe! Doctor—is it love—no I think of him as an invaluable friend.”
However, she would see him again, as in the entry for the following day: “And Dr. well he came up with Miss Daily—so I felt—well—wonder why he did not take Miss Jacobson? I make an attempt to speak—a fizzle—message on truth—Friendship etc.” And her very final meeting with him came on June 13: “Met Dr. + team on way home. Dr. stops + asks why I wasn’t home to take picture—said—[“]why Oh! I am sorry—you must come in morning.” Will he! God help my prayer thou hast done this—it must come! But maybe he does not know that I want him to come. This late, I must end—and my thoughts are more than words.” The next day, she left Friendship, Wisconsin. And with that, Dr. Glenn F. Treadwell went out of Mata’s life forever.
A group photo in Friendship, Wisconsin. Mata is in the middle, with the hat with a thin band. I’m not able to identify anyone else in the photo. Perhaps Dr. Treadwell and/or Nell Daly is in this photo.
A few days before she left, she wrote a short blurb that, in a way, summarizes her entire one-sided romantic affair with the doctor: “Wait 11 weeks for a young doctor to ask you riding. Then after waiting unavailingly he drives up on this fine June morning and calls for the H.S. assistant of 3 years ago, the snob that she is. Like D. I am disappointed in the Dr.’s choice. Now, isn’t that a blow unkinder than unkind, to my conscience. I knew he’s never ask me but it was sweet (oh slush) to hope—the blasted hope was all premeditated.”
But there is one more interesting tidbit in this story. When searching for any information about Dr. Treadwell online, I could only find one article—though a very informative one—from a site that focuses on the history of Adams County, Wisconsin. Arriving at the part of this short biography that talks about the doctor’s marriage, I was shocked at what I found. In 1919, Dr. Treadwell married a schoolteacher named…Nell Daly!
For this section of Mata’s life, I decided to break it up into two separate articles since there is a lot of information and details to sift through. This period in her diaries is the most descriptive and lengthy, so I will be quoting quite a bit from them. First will be the shorter of the two articles, and we will take a brief look at her new town, new job and her overall experience there.
When we last left off with Mata, she was despairing at home, unable to find a teaching job. But, in the winter of 1915, her problem was solved. She was accepted for a teaching position as a high school English and history teacher in a small town named Friendship, Wisconsin. This was how she described the place before actually going there: “a lone country, surrounded by marsh land; no rail roads; 18 miles nearest R. station.” She would board at a hotel, earning her stay by doing some extra work for an hour a week.
Hotel in Friendship, probably the same one where Mata stayed during her time there.
Her first day of teaching on February 1 went well, as she recognized in her diary entry for that day: “First day of teaching in Friendship High. I am not at all frightened about beginning. I feel at ease right thru. All went smoothly on the first day. Reports state that Freshmen mind me very well but wait—newness nears off.”
But for some reason, she still had “the blues.” Perhaps it was the prospect that her life would be a continuing series of teaching jobs scattered throughout random small locales across the country, with a slim chance for romance or settling down. Perhaps it was simply the strangeness of a new environment, no matter how smoothly her first day had gone. Whatever the reason, she seemed to recover rather quickly, becoming more enthusiastic about this new place with an oddly positive name.
Friendship High School, where Mata taught for one school yearA group of some of Mata’s students in Friendship, Wisconsin, 1915
But, as in any age, teaching is not always an easy profession and gives it fair share of stress. In Mata’s case, there were some annoying problems with a few students. Take, for example, her diary entry for March 8: “Another day of it. Oh! the meaness [sic.] + impudence of several Freshmen. They are impossible. That’s all!! They (those special ones) make life dreary for the teacher—that’s all.” On May 12, she really put her foot down: “In P.M. I threaten to expel certain ones in class unless conduct improves.” Mata certainly seemed to be a rather strict and conservative teacher and wanted to keep her relationship with her students strictly formal, as evidenced in this blurb in her diary: “F. Billings…suggested giving my first name to the students. I refused, and I guess she was ‘outs’ about it.”
The leisure activities for Friendship were much the same as in the other places Mata had taught so far. That is to say, nothing spectacular. And she wasn’t too keen on what many of the local women did for fun, as we can see in this entry from February 22: “Miss Eddy has phoned up to want me to call on at the dime club this afternoon. I don’t like to go, but I guess it is a bounden duty. Shall go with Mrs. E. Smith. Did go, but I must make this confession to my own soul. I despise gatherings like this—sit—sew—gossip. Why not get out + hike on a decent day, spend remaining day resting + sewing in your own room at home[?].” Indeed, Mata was not much of an indoor person at all, as she explains in another entry: “Why is it that I love outdoor life so much? It is because of my family environment, inherent love and my own ease of adaptation. Then too, the surroundings here call for outdoor life. There is the school house in [the] midst of the wild—and the call in my blood is too strong to ward it off.” Fortunately for her, there were interesting hiking opportunities in Friendship, namely the locally famous Friendship Mound, as well as the Roche-A-Cri Mound, where she made no less than four treks in the course of her year in the town.
Friendship Mound, perhaps the most recognizable landmark in the local area
After a few months in Friendship, while Mata seemed to have some acquaintances, her opinion of the townspeople was not exactly flattering: “My criticism, of course, as for Friendship, they are the most unenthusiastic people alive—Not that they don’t see the merits but that they can’t conceal jealousy.” And, upon reflection, she didn’t seem to be too satisfied with her overall experience in the town: “Wouldn’t my Friendship days pass without bad feeling if I had not met and made a partial ‘friendship[?]’
But there was more to the story than just the difficulties of teaching and adjusting to life in yet another town. As before, Mata would yet again fall head over heels in love, which will be covered in the next article.
One denizen of Friendship, presumably the same E.E. Smith listed as the owner of Friendship Dairy
When the day finally came for graduation, Mata seemed distant; her mind was on the future. Just like today, she didn’t seem to know what to do after getting a college degree. This is what she wrote about her graduation day, June 17, 1914:
“Graduation Day. So wonderful a day. At 8:15 our pictures were taken. Then with Gyneth as a partner we marched as a class up + down hill over to Gym. We, our group halted in front of Gym. We, our group, halted in front of the Dr.’s office, for the last time. I did not like it. There was Dr. Crans but not mine. After the long exercises were about over a wagon load of diplomas were carted in and then we knew there was another wait. The whole morning events will always remain unforgotten for they were implanted in my brain cells. The B.A. degree was mine. Handed to me by Pres. V. Hise it was conferred to me—for the sheepskin symbolizes that. Wed. P.M. we go to the Bach’s Orchestral concert + then over to Pres. Van Hise’s reception. Gertrude Walker + her mother were with us. (Mother came Tues night + Pickford’s called for her in their auto.)”
The next day (June 18), she was still in a bit of a fog, writing only: “All is over. What ever is of sentimental nature sticks in my memory and I’d rather leave it there. if it put it in ink it will be all strange + unreal.”
Shortly afterward, she returned home to Two Rivers, sitting in limbo as she figured out what to do. Other than do something radical, all she could do was apply to the same kinds of teaching jobs all around the country as she had before. She had already sent some letters out, but before she really buckled down, she, Leatha (her sister), and their mother took a trip to Europe. This part in the diary is completely blank, and there is no written account of the trip, but there are some photos that survive. This was an interesting time to go to Europe: they set sail on June 25 and stayed for about a month. World War One officially began on July 28. It seems that they went to Western Europe, which would have been a little bit far away from the initial events in the Balkans. And with German roots and German pride, it’s pretty likely they made a visit there just in the nick of time.
An undated photo of Mata, looking as serious as she would probably have looked when she had to think about her future after graduation.
Immediately upon her return to Two Rivers, Mata had to get back to finding a job. Sometimes, she was bored, writing only one- or two-line entries. Other times, she despaired and poured her heart out. And yet other times, she was bitter, angry, and jealous. Here are some excerpts from her diary that show all of these emotions over the course of 6 months:
July 27: “A notification from Tressler of a position in Hibbing Minn. ‘way up north.’ Is it my fate to come up North again[?] Let us hope so, but only therein lies my salvation now. it sounds all good. Let us hope again. I wish he would take me.”
Aug. 1: “…My mind is on troubled waters. Now I see nothing before me. One after another the good jobs drop away from me—roll away just for others who have cost their lot in that die and win. I lose—he or she someone else wins. This again is fate. Teaching positions are a lottery…”
Sept. 2: “No mail yet. Where oh where is my ‘job.’ In wanting an 800 job I get nothing. All or nothing, like Peer Gynt.”
Sept. 3: “…No mail for me yet. When will Tressler or his ‘new man’ write? Just think Rose P. goes to Grand Rapids Minn. to teach….”
Sept. 9: “Mail comes. A letter from Let. She leaves tonight for Portland, Ore. and I am here yet. It was not to be. But who knows…”
Sept. 17: “…No mail and no school yet and let us not hope for one either. I sure am the—- —– that ever missed a good job when I did not apply for Chicago position—oh—woe—but alas that too is past forever….”
Sept. 25: “College opens again—My hopes and ambitions have meet [met] with a Napoleonic defeat. Was that Wis. career to be my Waterloo—This space shall leave for the answer that some day will come. Will it be for the better or worse. Which only as I and time contend will an ultimate decision come!… Nothing to solve the problem. Wait. Many have waited in idleness and naught has come of it. Again that mail box was void of what means something to me, a letter from Let + a business letter both yet to come. I am one of the vast army of unemployed now. Without occupation is ruination culminating in desperation. On this day Sept. 26, 1914. I shall create a new sphere embodied in purity, and happiness. Only 2 other time[s] has such a pact been made only to become void but I do not want a life of sacrificity [sic.] with no satisfaction of accomplishment. Sealed + sworn by me under oath—Sept. 26—14.”
Sept. 29: “…How monotonous life becomes at home. There is nothing at all to enter into the solid crustation [sic.] of one’s home when like our established routine. It is every day the same. My future prospects lie, practically speaking, buried. There seems nothing in the way of an income. Now a commercial agency at Chicago even refuses to hear my plea. That too, even money in it, retreats from intentions to supply me a place. And Letta, while I cannot fathom her, reasons for not writing, I must content myself with a long, long monotonous wait.
Oct. 1: “Nothing usual except—oh! yes! A letter from the agency at Chicago. A position—say that word looks unreal to me. It is one at Rochester Minn., the town of sentiment and science. A come down in salary howe’r, 75—to 60. Pretty cool. Even if nothing happens it at least is an encouragement to me and the family.”
Oct. 2: “Applied at Rochester. I wrote a “new form” app. letter. It may be so new that it’ll be consigned to the waist basket—revised spelling. After hours, yea, weeks of suspense Let wrote. It is a thousand times more capable of creating suspense than ought else in my existence. Will I hear or not. Of course not—I’ll say—you’ll never be disappointed then—No never!!!! At least a delightful one from Let.”
Oct. 7: “Now I wrote to Iowa—but that seems unreal—so much so that I simply do not visualize the place etc. another Badger board letter—howling smitherens [sic.]. Goodnight’s additional note—But honestly I can’t do my part I am penniless now—it’s a shame to say it. Oh! the storms in my brain when I hear no answer to my communications—the time actually goes without sympathy. To me now, every minute counts.”
Oct. 10: “No mail for me yet. In desperate haste I wrote to Milwaukee to Supt. Pacter[?]—oh the bravery when 80 miles is safe wall between us—the letter must worm its way to him. Disregarded—it finally finds itself in an unparted willow reed basket.”
Oct. 13: “A thirteenth + a Tues.—usually Tues. is lucky—Is it? Well now I can answer this question—no I cannot. I received a letter from Milwaukee from the sup’t of schools who sends a blank and some reading matter. A complicated process at first sight. Mil. schools are not to be gotten in a random. Much depends on one’s election to a position there. Yes. Normal Grad. Varsity grad and all require to begin at the very bottom of the rung to serve indefinitely, then be either cast out or chosen. A letter from Lydia Loos tells me that she is canvassing. I’m not alone in my calamity. Oh isn’t it hard to be one of the many. We can philanthropic work among the thousands, pity them while reading about them, seated in our comfortable homes—but to be one of them—that is beyond human comprehension. A teacher without a position—that I could not conceive off [sic.]—but here I am in the rut—yet I have a home—that poor Lydia has none. I finished the Count of Monte Cristo today. The “counts” watchword is wait and hope. That may be applicable but it seems to me that in our society one must open up channels by pressing the springs of activity and in so doing enroute[?] the substances, which when called into being present their opportunity. It is opportunity won by personality that seems to count for some. To wait and hope, that alone is not applicable toward modern society.”
Oct. 14: “No word from the agency. They keep me in greater suspense than the university. Now they have pocketed my $2.00 and hauled me some as a bait and that is the ultimatum. Nothing done all day. Were I the least ambitious I would have many things to do. Now here I am without a position a parasite, in a good home, that is all. But that eternal waiting—waiting. Will it ever culminate. One must have something to aim at something + look upon—be it only an acknowledgment—then you are worded.”
Oct. 19: “…No notification—oh woe—how bitter—why is it? And Let, she my dearest friends practices utter neglect. Oh! those wait days this fall. I guess I’ll dubbed [sic.] this life period of mine—Expectation and Disappointment.”
Oct. 22: “The Parker Agency wrote me this A.M.—now they pleadingly want to know if I have a position. I wish they would keep still—about that seems to me they made little enuf effort to know I didn’t get one thru that source. Oh! keep cool is another slogan I must adopt.”
Oct. 26: “Today I applied for assistant in home and school gardening in Int. Dept. at Wash. Therein this little hope for many wise heads will apply for same position. It will be competitive. I must do as Emerson says ‘Trust thyself.[‘]”
Oct. 29: “…I am trying out my own thoughts on others. I’ll wait and hope on and on!!!!!!! My new plan, feasible yes, teach until Christmas 1915 + then resign + go for ½ year to S[yracuse] U[University] oh yes!! That’s where I’ll meet some college man. Oh! conceit. But once oh once to taste real college life and then settle down. Who that a little life one has to live. Alas! Why not live according to the scale of harmony, not discord.”
Oct. 31: “…I received a letter from the agency. It is a vacancy in South Bend, Indiana. I apply sending my photograph…”
Nov. 5: “…Well the Indiana job has trailed off like a comet. It too shot off leaving my brain mangled with the mere thought of ever having thought about it…”
Nov. 7: “My acknowledgement was sent me from Milwaukee that I was put down as a H.S. instructor in German—nerve if must go with me. Also a note from South Bend Ind. Simply to fill out the time worn blank… Now my plans are for Eng. met in Manitowoc followed by a half year in Syr[acuse]. Wonder if my plans will deteriorate or grow to. Let’s us [sic.] wait + see.”
Nov. 14: “…Now I’ve written to Manitowoc’s superintendent Zimmers inquiring about that Eng. position he mentioned about. I heeded it not, only that I took mental note of what he said + centered my daring inquiry about that. I mailed some Friday A.M. what will come of it—is more than I can tell but it is in the kin of others. Now I won’t philosophize about it any longer. The answer will be there and that alone will help me to consider future thoughts. If I write now about it I may be wasting words. It is not for me but the wise sage to fortell. S. Bend Ind. returns my picture and letter…”
Nov. 18: “In A.M. I got a telegram from Chicago thru the Fiske Agency, notifying me of a vacancy in Vermillion, S.D. I applied and sent my picture too. Just like all else that letter goes and it must talk it may or may not succeed.”
Nov. 19: “Another telegram notifying me of a vacancy in Highland Park, Illinois. Mr. Clark Wright sup’t! Well could it happen any better, ever there if that isn’t the same man to whom I wrote in July, who asked me to come to interview—I didn’t + lost the job. Now what more? Will he acknowledge me having once refused me? Maybe his first refusal may prompt the acceptance now, but why talk, his thoughts are not my thoughts, his thinks will not be so different. If I’d get that job—well, why add that—Wait + see—look upon the future as the one to inform you as to what you will do. Now Manitowoc has not responded yet. If they do why then I will not be in a tangle and must unwind…”
Nov. 20: “A day that hath passed without it’s [sic.] path being marked for me except by the minutes, little milestones on the pathway of life. In A.M. I got 4 letters. The agency notified me of jobs by letter as telegramed [sic.] few days previous. Parker Agency too sent me notification to the same effect namely job at Vermillion S.D…”
Nov. 23: “Early Mon. morning I went to the mail box. And it was what my inner conscious had anticipated, I again was cast out by the principals in the case, namely the most holy superintendents. Telegrams, hurried letters, mails faithfully watched and all to no avail. My disappointment, or the outer crust of my inner conscious was keen…”
Nov. 24: “Again my voice sayeth sad, sad! Oh Agency where art they [thy] schools. Where superintendent thy position! Only 2 lone papers came and that was all there was. I can’t make myself do a thing, I lack ambition, energy I have nothing to work for—no nothing at all. Yes my predictions were true after all. I would be without a position at Thanksgiving. Just a few weeks more and then the wait is “oer” [o’er]—I’ll cast my oars out toward a strand where I’ll embark and once more flaunt myself into the face of higher education. Tonight is evening school.—so passes the time…”
Nov. 25: “…Oh! what mail came. It was only a like touch of coloring upon an already painted picture; a letter or rather an envelope from Highland Park, Ill. giving me in return for my efforts nothing, except my picture and no application so that has fallen thru. Could I be a sage or soothsayer and know the why it might change my destiny so that my former self would be lost and a new and better form would be built upon the mistakes of the old. If I but knew! If I but knew to guess + conjecture is fruitless for I may be all wrong.”
Nov. 27: “Mail brought me a letter from the Fisk Agency dated Nov. 25. It is a late date from the time they notified Fisk until now, and then there are countless other reasons as to why I fail to hear from there or anywhere. I rushed up an application and had pa take it down so that it would leave on the noon mail. However this is one of the least encouraging positions I have applied for. There seems to be a dead note in it somewhere that seems to relieve the strain of waiting for an impossible reply. For once my dream came true, if each come ever true. Let’s call it avoid a superstitious, an unusual coincidence. I dreamed a letter lay in the mail here addressed to me from Boston, a notification from the agency. And in the morning one came not from Boston but from Cleveland Ohio, east also…”
Dec. 1: “This morning Mr. Zimmers’ letter came with just the most fragile oh so far away ray of light. He has placed my letter on file; as yet he anticipates no vacancy in the Eng. dept. Of course, good fortune has turned away from me. Oh! so cold us she; haughty—and I can’t follow. Mayhap good things will come. Like Monte Cristo—’Wait and Hope!’ In desperation I wrote to Sheboygan, for a chance there simply to try out, but mind you no faith in it. Faith cannot be held up when there is no bark to cling to when in deep water…”
Dec. 4: “…Today again, I am planning to give up my “getting no job” and spend the next semester in Syracuse. I’ll have a chance to go now, and mayhap if I take it all things might go arwy [awry]—and if I don’t go—but thereby hangs the tale. One can always say what might have been—but not what is to be. It is no small wonder that the Greeks + Romans attempted nothing without journeying to the soothsayers. Then if things turned ill, their own selves were rendered blameless, and they were conscience free…”
Dec. 9: “…Here Mr. Morton in response to my letter unsuspectingly requesting him to look over my records, I learn as follows—It would be hard to receive an appointment on your credentials alone. I spend the entire morning writing him conclusive statements based upon that statement. I may have failed to make my points clear, he will respond in short sentences and I will still be at a loss. This is inevitable. I must write to some from whom I can obtain statements which could be sent out with my credentials. Will there be someone to help and aid me in this. Perhaps no one is interested in me enuf to even curtail the fate I am plunging toward. How inconsistent. Why was I granted a license of I am not competent to teach. Theoretical, not practical views and decisions seem in the promises made by catalog. If I were incompetent, why an E.X. and V.G. + H.F. in practice teaching. Do all records, diplomas, certificates etc. signify nothing more than mere symbols of the university’s—Only mere forms presented so that you may pass out and make room for others?? I cry—give me a chance so that I can grow and prove my efficiency. I am sure that those men are not heartless. I thought them human—but they may occupy their chair only thru their vagueness and unapproachableness to mystify one so that one should cherish their standards of judgement as unbending…”
Dec. 10: “2 letters today from Fisk. Vacancy in Sioux Falls S.D. from 60-75—6th grade. I sent a brief letter of application, if interested he will write me, but unfortunately my recommends [sic.] are working havoc. Oh! aren’t men unfeeling unless they are personally interested, plainly, if you have a pull O.K. if not shoot along blindly, halt when you become crippled. And Mr. H. Blair of Hibbing, Minn. wants an 8th grade teacher. He goes to the agency during holidays. I’ll let them show my papers, but he won’t notice them because he failed to win last August when A. Tressler notified me…”
Dec. 14: “A Red Letter Day. I received 2 letters one from Sioux Falls S.D. sending me the usual application blank and a second letter from Agency informing me of a dream job in Hammond. Geography as a dep’t subject and some other subjects. I write a careful letter to him. In P.M. I write to Swart of O.N.S. + Gardner of Dunbar. Yeoman does all + more when he must. I have written to Gardner asking him openly to write me, notice, a letter of recommendation. How could I. Well after all I was most driven to it. Let + Trance swore, I did too, but oh! I can’t write it—I can only think this. You see that good job prompted me. Alas it is too a dream.”
Dec. 17: “…Yes, I lose my spirit of true happiness each day by my added disappointments. As day follows day my hopes decrease. My dream position is not even a dream any more. It is nothing now. That too I lay with the rest + forget that such there was. When will that day down when I record upon these pages that my goal has been touched that I have that material bit that harbors in my mind, when I can say “Eureka.” And when commeth the day that I can begin with these letters that mean so much to all of us. joy in the horizon—that it will take me only 24 hours to reach?”
Dec. 19: “Today I received another notification from Fisk Agency. An 8th grade teacher is wanted in Meadville Pa. a town of some 10,000. Another letter and such a fine one from Miss Swart. She sent me her letter of recommendation. I hurried the same to Hammond, Ind. my dream city. It’s more as an impetus to at least hear than ought else…”
Jan. 2 [1915]: “As usual a day after a holiday is not worth while. One gets full of lazi [lazy] streaks. In the morning I beheld a revelation. My inferences may be all wrong, yet, evidence is strong enuf to make the whole thing seems plausible. In brief, a letter from the agency which gave me a big surprise. A vacancy occurred in Grand Rapids, Minn. 75 per, departmental work in Read. and Hist., 7th + 8th grade classes. Doesn’t that sound good? Alas! thereby ends the talk. Remarks are in order now. The letter, to begin with, had been addressed to 2 Rivers, Mich. Returned to Chicago and forwarded here, was the prelude to the proposition. Rose P., a kindergarten instructor, of G.R. Minn. while calling here said nothing I, with only an inkling of suspicion that perhaps she had known about it, decided to phone and ask her about it. Yes, Rose knew, the vacancy was probable before vacation. Thru the agency I found an untrue friend. It is as my mother quoted from Grosmutter— ‘Freunds genug be Wein und Brod aber keine in der Not’ [‘Friends enough with wine and bread, but none in need’]. Jealousy, I think, was the primary motive. Were I to apply there would be a fine chance of getting it. R. would not be the only one there from T.R. I might win some ascendency—And all this from a school mate. Little do I expect a friend to do something that is tangible—but I needed a friend just this season. I helped Letta get a job—In the teacher world one often helps another if their character is straight forward. Letta is a friend in need. That dear girl puts forth all effort to help me; she did all in her power to dissuade me. Hers is I have a position; she has none! I applied there but I am sure all is lost. Tomorrow a teacher must be in the school room. I surely feel qualified to feel that vacancy…”
Jan. 22: “At least a letter from Letta. News—full of it: Miss K. married at Christmas—the board to get ahead, ask her to resign. They quietly hired a teacher thru the Fisk agency, has studied abroad 2 years. Now they need a fourth teacher. Let didn’t speak for me because of the letter I wrote her saying I wouldn’t consider Portland for less than 90 per. I meant that for next year if I invested more in college ed. She misunderstood. The way is too far. It is too late. Fate is against me sure. No matter what I turn too [sic.]—a black wall rises, and says your course is all wrong. Had I chosen the other way—the result is like wise[?] Kismet that governs me. I need courage. I lack these—they are undermining myself. I’m becoming stagnant…”
Jan. 23: “Unhappy day! Knocks in the form of words; ignorant, silly, and more synonyms are applied to me by own kin. Indeed! what more can I say. My ideals are there. Yet in my home life I just simply live along from day to day. Yes I am hungry for a new love and a new life. There is not harmony here, I am too old for this, too old for that. At the U. I am young. Here I am old. I have nothing whatever to turn myself too [sic.]. When I do burst forth and feel—as my home demands she turns upon me, then I am silly, foolish, ignorant, I know nothing. It may not be all meant by this, yet surely my inner self strives for something that will help to put my power into activity. A letter from Pres. Keith promises me help in finding a position. Green Bay has accepted and filed my application. I tried to choose my star, but failed. I must be ready to take what I can yet, not that wherein I can put forth my conceptions of ideals I possess.”
Jan. 25: “…My ap[plication] + picture returned from Beardstown. A card enclosed stating ‘We selected a lady from St. Louis.’ Selection, are we like slaves, picked and paid for? Again my mistake makes me stoop low to beg for a letter of recom[mendation] that will get me a position. God! I asked thy help! I sacrificed Syr. U. because my chance in getting a job is small. I must put forth untiring efforts to establish myself in the teaching field. If I cannot secure the cooperation of the pres. Of b. Godshall I am lost. A whole year almost since June, and no chance to prove good. Goodnight does not write me; neither does Martin; they refrain politely and I must take the consequences alone. Secure cooperation, unprejudiced may help. But my chances are small…”
Jan. 27: “This morning ma asked pa if he could risk some hundred dollars for me to do graduate work—He replied—’Er kanns noch im wohl wagen’ [‘He can still dare’]. Prin[cipal] Martin never wrote me a personal letter—Now I begged him to cooperate. And morning’s mail brought a letter from Pres. Keith. That man, a Harvard graduate and a normal pres. And a good true man. He was willing to help me. Here he has already sent me an emergency call. Even if like the rest it’ll come to naught, it shows a spirit back of it. He is personally interested, the agency, commercially interested, and that [is] pretty cold hearted. A h[igh] s[chool] Eng. + Hist. job at Friendship, Wisconsin, situated in a lone country, surrounded by marsh land; no rail roads; 18 miles nearest R. station. If I get this place the whole difficulty is solved; I won’t need to decide between Syr. + Wis. The Aurora sup’t answered my application and filed it.”
And with that, after this long, long journey of finding a job, Mata finally had some luck. Only about 130 miles away from her home in Two Rivers, Friendship, Wisconsin was tiny and not a very interesting town with a population of only around 300. So began her new adventure in life.
Throughout Mata’s diaries from when she was a young woman, she seemed to be almost constantly lovelorn. Her failed romances tortured her emotionally and sometimes made her write very dramatically. For this article, I’ll track two short crushes Mata had while she was in her last year at the University of Wisconsin. Beginning in March 1914, she had developed a crush on what appears to be one of her teachers, a certain Dr. Newman (sometimes spelled “Newmann”). These are the first few mentions of him in the 1914 diary:
Mar. 5: “My quiz man—oh that honestly I don’t like him, just cause Newmann is just great etc. I didn’t know one word—he not having my name, loved me. Lab was a peach—why astonished was I Huh!!! when Newmann came to me + said [“]Miss Hartung—how are you getting along?[“] and proceeded to help me more than my share. Why he was one dear—just too grand for nothing—why even said my “agar” was fine when he had concocted it. Ha! Ha! He fixed all my test tubes + did about 5 a minute while I did one. He convinced me against using a glass tube in plugging + showed me with such pains how to do it—again he is a dear + the best looker I ever saw in my life. Just that faint color when he talks to you—+ such a gentleman…and just too nice. He just did more for me than I can tell about. Wonder if it’ll happen again. I pray that my presence was not one that will cause him to leave me alone now. Well let’s see.”
Mar. 10: “I saw surely my old self again for today I worked from 8 until 6. Mr. Morgan was back again, slightly limping. Mr. Newmann lecture[d] to us at 9 on cultures. Such a bundle of animation—why, ones mind cannot reside but I must go ever with that wonderful personality. Again he is our man in laboratory. He gives us instructings [sic.] as to making of cultures but my mind is so dull in a scientific way that I can’t grasp it until I just ponder—It was almost 11—I had my whole outfit in readiness but I got saturated with the points of procedure methods it was dinner time. Mr. Newmann + I were much interested in social work. He saw my phamphlet [pamphlet] [on the] conservation of Nat. Vitality on my desk so he asked me if I were taking Social Problems—He is spending much time in reading—on Christianity , Buddhism, Moh. Etc.—how interesting. He had taken a course in Prof. James’ course 14 years ago—I unconsciously surprisingly flattered him, by saying “14 years ago—impossible!!!![“] He laughed, for really he is just awfully young too—so was my doctor. He took down the name of my phamplet [sic.] + Ross’s “Changing America” to read. May that former phamplet [sic.] prove to be reading that will appeal to him—for in such a magnetic manly man it will be digested only to [be] absorbed + cultivated so as to make it applicable toward the social good + betterment.”
An undated photo of Mata as a young woman, c. 1910-1915
But, then something went wrong, triggering a very dramatic Mata to spill her heart out onto the pages of her diary, and coming to a broader conclusion about herself in the process:
Mar. 17: “Why even today Mr. N. never even smiled say nothing about that—why never even noticed me—just completely ignored my presence. And to think that Mr. N. was so good to me at first—Oh! why is he there—why do I like him—yes—just why? He doesn’t or never will think of or speak to me now again—and it may be best—I guess there is a reason as to why I’m always domed [doomed] to disappointments—And here my father revealed his poor business way of treating me. Never openly—always in that half way—Nothing substantial—no confidential treatment. Enuf—I can’t write this—those feelings I’ll never forget—Joy—future promise of having a “good time” once in my life—gone—In the future I may or may not plan again. Hereafter my must get frankness, openess [sic.]—and I myself must talk less—Measure your words—and think more. You feel like a mummy doin’ it but I guess part of it is all right.”
The next day’s entry is a very enlightening one with a lot of important information. Not only do we learn about another crush she had the year before, but we can also see her transition from one crush to another. Her feelings for Newman quickly dissipated after a brief 2-week infatuation. And this also comes with a twist:
Mar. 18: “Met Holohan on the hill this noon + walked a[s] far as College Bk. Store. On my way back whom do you suppose I met—well some one I like pretty well—I’ve gone back on N. (This is a countryfied [sic.] dutchy expression but nevertheless a good appropriate one[)] It was Dr. Middleton—I haven’t written that good sounding title for quite a while—He looked up at me in the usual same way—and greeted me with his ‘How do you do’—and that smile that isn’t there then just before he speaks appears—He seems to look older and just a tiny, tiny bit fleshier in his face. I guess it only appeared so—Dear I wish I were a friend of his… Mr. N. will be to me no more and I am not missing my guess. It’ll be an unbounded surprise if he ever speaks to me again. Oh! poison is ‘worry to the conscience.’ I must not take to heart those who care absolutely nothing for me. Yes last yr. it was MacDonald—well—he was nice—but really now I couldn’t like him as I did then cause of these others and so it will be again in later years.”
Another undated photo of Mata as a young woman, taken on the same day as the previous photo, c. 1910-1915
If you read the previous article, you’ll know all about how Mata underwent a stomach pump with no anesthetic to treat a lump in her stomach and her subsequent recovery. The doctor who performed the procedure was none other than the same Dr. Middleton she mentioned in the last entry. Her crush on Dr. Middleton seemed to be more serious and there doesn’t seem to be a falling-out like there was with Newman. Now, let’s track some of her mentions of Dr. Middleton:
Apr. 4: “Saw Dr. M. from a distance too bad I didn’t meet him—Gee! I like the man”
Apr. 11: “Met. Dr. M. but he at least I think so, didn’t see me—He was with a man + some saucy looking girl. Gee, whiz!!!!”
Apr. 22: “On our way to supper who should be waiting for the car but Dr. M. + another man—I know he saw me coming for he watched me and I immediately recognized him. Just crossing to the mail box where he stood. Gy. swiped my hat + I in the cold window. Apparently it had amused Doc, for he had that smile enlarged when I came up to him + How—do—you do—as usual was exchanged—I looked back when I went into house + he + the other were watching us until we entered the house. And how we did run down the street. So after 2 P.M. was worth the space.”
Apr. 23: “oh! I don’t see why I ever up my ideal I’ve taken it all back Dr. M. is the only one after all worthwhile”
May 25: Must get a report from Dr. Middleton verifying my health etc. Just delighted to see him? but wonder how he will act. Let’s not consider this until I see him though.”
May 29: “While there I phone to Dr. M. I go home bathe + at 4:10 go + make my appointment there. When he came in—he said—as usual [‘]How do you do? Well what is the trouble Miss Hartung?[‘] I explained the situation to him—just as it was frankly. He wrote to Tressler + handed me the note sealed. Yes, there he stood—ok! why can I see in that man what I like—why. could psy—answers that. 10 of him to one J.X. I only wish I wouldn’t have that feeling—[Aside:] [(]Ask me how I got along on my work—How my health was[)] for I know well enuf that it is pure love and affection for that man. He has no interest in me only as a medical advisor bears to a student—why should he. Why couldn’t it be otherwise—that’s were [where] miracle applies—But may a day come when he shall come + I come—or else goes in to oblivion”
This quickly changed, however, when Mata realized that all of the feelings, all of the signals she thought she might have been picking up on, were all in her head. About a week later, on, she wrote:
June 5: “There are a few whom I should wished to have been intimate contact with—yes but very few for example Dr. M. + that red checked, tall[,] dark man, handsome only does him part justice. He, I could have loved—+ more too. He was only another of my idyllic personages who slip into oblivion. I think about them—but not they. I wish I could have spoken to him again. when placed beside J.X. he falls into space, unthought of. Once he was just O.K. I hardly see why that man took such hold of me. I see nothing now. Why? because his interest in me existed only in my thought. I was nothing I his idea. Never a part of it. Badger out.”
While this probably should have been the end of it, Mata couldn’t quite make her feelings for him go away. It didn’t help that she was graduating from the University of Wisconsin and would likely have to move away to find a job. A few months later, she wrote a brief note about Dr. Middleton
October 9: “A drop in at Dr. Soik’s office. And strange to say that prefix doctor makes me think Dr. M. so hard. Wonder if he ever remembers his odd patient.”
A little over a month later, her old feelings cropped up again, seeming a bit stronger this time:
November 17: “All evening Dr. M. haunted my mind. Does he ever ever think of me?”
Mata continued to briefly mention Dr. Middleton once in a while into 1915. I had known of her crush on him for years now ever since I had first transcribed her diaries. However, it was only during the course of writing this article that I made an incredible discovery. In the last entry of her 1914 diary, she wrote:
Dec. 31: “Last night I dreamed of Dr. M. Today I pick up the Jan. 1915 Outlook mag. + there is an article by Dr. Wm S. Middleton, Medical Advisor so he has that which he rightly deserves, that man whom I hold as one of my fellow men for whom I would do all and everything. That young doctor and his brilliant mind have brought him to a responsible place. Yes he is there—back in the Wis. U. Each day I see him ready to see the many who need medical advice. He always was just as capable of meeting one at 5 as at 1. May his be a success—and if only I—Well, that is something I must forbear. Perhaps if he knew—and you know there may be a ‘someday.’ That mag. I must buy. It contains that article of vital interest to me.”
Only in that entry did she write his first name, and, as a bonus, a middle initial. I searched the web for that magazine article, but came up empty. I believed the magazine in question to be “The Outlook,” but it had weekly issues instead of monthly and there was no mention of any Dr. Middleton. While I have still not found the magazine in question, I found out just who this Dr. William Shainline Middleton was. He was kind of a big deal, and he’s famous enough to have a Wikipedia page. If there was any doubt about Dr. M. being the same as Dr. William Shainline Middleton, it disappeared when I read that he worked as clinical instructor of medicine at the University of Wisconsin at the same time, specialized in internal medicine, and even came up with a novel way of examining a patient’s spleen called “Middleton’s Maneuver.” Dr. Middleton not only served overseas as a medical officer in WWI, he was also an important figure in the medical care of American soldier on the European front in WWII and was involved in veterans’ medical care for decades. Two big facilities in Madison, Wisconsin bear his name: the William S. Middleton Memorial Veterans Administration Hospital and the William S. Middleton Health Sciences Library at the University of Wisconsin. But Mata knew him when he was only a 24-year old doctor at the university.
Although it’s not a completely clear photo of his face, this 1918 photo of Dr. Middleton gives a hint as to how Mata developed a crush on him, especially considering how nice he was to her
And with that, two crushes in one year came and went. When we next see Mata, she will be a college graduate in the all-too-familiar rut of being stuck at home and not being able to find a job.
unpublishedhistory 