Never before or since have I lived in such splendor as I did my senior year in high school. During the years my father was building Our Savior’s Lutheran church and for three years after, my family rented five different homes in Osage. The opportunity to rent Dr. Isham’s home for one year occurred in the summer of 1953, while the doctor served in the Naval Reserves.
The brick sidewalk, the cement lions, plus the tall pillars on the home greeted one’s arrival. Once inside you’d step on plush burgundy carpeting, ogle at the marble fireplace and dining room chandelier. French doors led from the living room to the sunroom. The front foyer featured a dramatic stairwell, while the servants plain “back stairwell” led upstairs from the kitchen.
Enter my sister Miriam, an airline stewardess for Braniff Airlines, based in Kansas City. When Miriam had a furlough, she’d hop a train or bus to Osage. We were never quite sure what to expect when she arrived with her “sophisticated city ways.”
When home she took over, ordering Mom and the rest of us around. I especially resented her borrowing my school clothes without permission to wear around the house. My complaints to Mom fell on deaf ears. She’d respond with, “Oh, she’ll be leaving in a few days.
Miriam took pride in appearances, so Mom, seven-year-old Ruth and I were subjected to beauty and hair treatments. Because of high school activities and my afterschool waitress job at the Snack Shop I often escaped, but Mom and Ruth didn’t.
I don’t doubt her heart was in the right place in her efforts to help my mother, but when she arrived in August ‘53 and discovered the large chest freezer in the basement she had an idea. My mother had not utilized the freezer because, quite simply, she did not believe in frozen foods. She never did! The only items ever in the freezer compartment of her refrigerator were ice cream and possibly frozen orange juice. Even though she baked bread and could have frozen some of the loaves, she didn’t.
Miriam attempted to change her viewpoint. Recognizing the size of the house Mom was maintaining, she knew just how she could be of assistance. She would freeze bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwiches for Dad’s lunches the following winter. I objected, telling Mom I knew you couldn’t freeze such an item. But Mom, who seldom let me cook, because food costs money and your father might not like it, couldn’t stand up to Miriam’s proposal.
Miriam spent the afternoon in the kitchen making BLT’s—a loaf of bread, a pound of bacon, a head of lettuce and a dozen fresh tomatoes made its way to the freezer.
Miriam returned to Kansas City—I can’t remember when or who put the BLT’s out of their misery.
