Enter George

February 11, 2010

February is the month of love, and it certainly was for Ruth. February is the month George Larson came into her life.

“Grandpa and I met in February of 1929,” wrote my grandmother in a letter to me, dated 1979. “We met when I took a job at C.A. Burnette Co., in Chicago. Grandpa was the bookkeeper and I was the switch board operator.”

Nine months later, on Thanksgiving Eve, they were married.

Who was this George who obviously swept her off her feet? Or perhaps she swept him?

George was originally from northern Indiana—a farm boy, he was. As a teenager, he and his brothers grew pickles (cucumbers) and hauled them into Chicago to sell. As a young man, right after he graduated salutatorian of his Grovertown high school class, he moved to Chicago to look for work.

George had been living in the big city for more than ten years before he met Ruth. In fact, family lore has it he was previously engaged to another woman. Well, thank goodness that didn’t work out!

Ruth was just shy of 20-years-old that February day when she met George. He was almost 30. What began then was a unique relationship that would last the next 54 years.

And beyond.

Handwriting. I love it. It’s one of the things that touches me most as I sort through these old photos and letters. Each distinct style personifies the writer and in its own way brings that individual back to life.

Today, handwriting is a lost art, is it not?

The handwriting in the top photo is Ruth’s. By the look of that smudge, I wonder if she was using a fountain pen? The careful handwriting in white is my Aunt Judith’s, a teacher. And the handwriting in the last photo is my mother Carol’s. With such an obvious backhand, one might assume she was a leftie. Nope, she was not.


One Response to “Enter George”

  1. Ann Says:

    I love handwriting, although mine is atrocious. I always got bad marks in penmanship in elementary school.

    Now I wonder, do they even teach penmanship? I’m afraid you’re right – it is becoming a lost art!

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