Why oh why have I waited over a year to start the next chapter of Maxine's Story! I can't blame it on the pandemic, because that gave me lots of time at home to write. I really have no reason. So, I begin this chapter now. In the last chapter, Maxine's brother, Harold, had been seriously injured in WWII. The family got word that he was in a hospital in Bushnell Military Hospital in Brigham City, Utah that specialized in treating amputees.
How relieved the family was. He was safe, he was alive! It would be some time before anyone could travel from Iowa to Utah at that time with so many rations and lodging difficult to find there. My grandmother made sure he had plenty of boxes with treats and letters delivered to him weekly.
My Uncle Harold was the kindest and gentlest of all the Carlson children. I am sure being in battle was difficult for him, but like so many other WWII Veterans, he did not talk about it much. While he was at Bushnell Hospital many of the other patients were envious at all the goodies, cards and letters he would receive from home. He shared whatever he got, but found that he, too, was envious. Some soldiers received nothing in the mail. Uncle Harold noticed that those soldiers would get lots of attention from the nurses and the Red Cross Volunteers. And most of them were young pretty women who would sit and chat and laugh with the patients. Oh, Harold got his share of attention, but he just wanted more. So, he would give a lot of his treats away and whenever a Red Cross Volunteer would ask him how he was doing, he would put on his sad face and say that he never heard from home. He said he knew his family must be embarrassed about the loss of his leg. Hearing that, the young women started giving him lots more attention and Uncle Harold was in heaven.
Back home in Iowa, my grandmother received a call from the head of the Red Cross in their area. "Mrs. Carlson, you do know how important it is for our wounded soldiers to have support from their families. Is there a reason you have not communicated with your son? He appears depressed and says he thinks his family is embarrassed." My grandmother was stunned. She explained that the family has been sending letters, cards and treats since they knew he was in the hospital. Something was not making sense. She told the woman to call the Post Master and ask how much was being sent out. Well, the Red Cross did just that and the Post Master assured the woman that Sara Carlson was sending boxes at least once a week and in-between lots of letters and cards. Then he called my grandmother and said he did not know what was going on. He knew the family and knew how concerned they were.
My grandmother was determined to find out for herself. She decided that she and my mother would take the train to Brigham City, Utah and find out what was making her son so depressed. "I don't care if we have to sleep on the sidewalk when we get there. No son of mine is going to feel unloved!"
A De Moines newspaper even printed a short bit about my Nana and Mother making the trip to Utah. This was printed on April 15, 1945. I forgot to mention that they stopped in Denver on the way home to visit my grandmother's sister, Aunt Rett.
So that is how my mother ended up in Utah. She took time off from her bank job and joined my grandmother on their journey out west. When they got there, they finally found a place to stay in Ogdon.
My grandmother was a determined and confident woman. She went straight to the hospital and made it right into Harold's ward. I am not sure what the discussion was when he saw her and my mother walking toward him. I am sure he was elated, until my grandmother asked what had happened to the letters and treats that were sent to him. He had to admit that he lied to the Red Cross so that he could get extra attention from some of the pretty workers. I am sure that finally being with her wounded son, my grandmother overlooked this lie and was just grateful that she could hold him in her arms. The small mystery was solved and that was what mattered.
She and my mother stayed in Utah for a few weeks. I am not sure how long, but long enough for my mother to have made a lot of friends on Harold's ward. She would visit often and play cards and games. After she left one day, another patient, one they called 'The Senator' asked my uncle this. "Does that ring on Maxine's finger mean anything?" And Uncle Harold smiled, "Nah, she doesn't love that man." Now, Harold could not know if Maxine loved Wilber, but Harold just might have been wiser than given credit. The Senator was smiling as he headed to his next therapy session.
