WILMA
SMITH
I met Wilma Smith at the Ogden Senior
center in a writing class. It was my first time to attend. She recognized me as
being Hopes brother by my name. In two weeks the class was held again. It would
be the last time I would see her. She gave me the paper below, and said she was
happy to have been able to give it to me for family remembrances. She added
that she had macro degeneration and would not be going out in public anymore. I
tried to locate her every way possible to no avail. K.WALLACE
HOPE, Was My Best
Friend
My name
is Wilma Smith and I’d like to tell you a true story about how I met the best
friend I ever had, “Hope
Hickenlooper.”
In January of
1940 Mother enrolled in Ogden Utah Business College where she renewed her
elementary school teaching credentials. That fall she was awarded a contract to
teach Special Education classes at Ogden’s Grant Elementary School. Hill Air
Force Base, a new supply and training center, opened south of Ogden City. In
the summer of 1941, my mother took a Civil Service examination at the air base.
She was immediately hired for a position in the Airplane Parts Supply Division.
Her new job paid a higher salary, better benefits as well as opportunity for
career advancement.
In 1942, my
mother managed to buy old clapboard, two story home on Ogden’s upper bench at
1128 Oak Street. The house needed serious cleaning and painting. Friends helped
my mother and I complete the cleaning and painting. We move into the house
during the summer of my fourteenth year. When classes began in September at
Central Junior High, I had a long walk to school; however church was only one
and one half blocks from home. The first Sunday in our new home, Mother my
brother Eldon and I walked to church for Sunday school at the Twentieth Ward.
I met Hope in
Sunday school. I was shy and reserved while she was witty and outspoken. Her
large brown eyes, dark hair, and quick, friendly, joyous laughter immediately
garnered my attention. She approached me after class and said, “You moved into
the house which is directly through the block from where I live, shall we walk
home together?”
Thus began a friendship which has endured for almost sixty
years.
Hope and I were
both born in 1927. We shared many other background similarities. Her Mother
Lottie Hickenlooper, a widow, was a school teacher. My mother Mabel, also a
widow, was a former school teacher. Hope’s sister Jocelyn and my brother Eldon
were handicapped. Each of us had a half-brother from our fathers’ first
marriage.
I delighted in
Hope.
When we were
young teenagers Hope’s family invited me to accompany them on a long week-end
vacation at the Bear Lake, Idaho Resort. Hope and I conspired to use movie
stars names at the resort when we introduced ourselves to new acquaintances.
Because I admired the movie stars Linda Darnel and Veronica Lake, I became
Linda Lake. Hope liked Lana Turner and Heddy Lamar, Therefore she became Lana
Lamar. While wading along the beach at Bear Lake we met several interesting
teen-age boys. They seemed smitten with our flirtations and wanted to write to
us. We were amazed the boys did not question the unusual names. Two of the
young men did indeed write to us. Hope and I discussed our shared feelings of
guilt and decided our easiest option was to not answer the letters. For those
few days we enjoyed the fantasy of being movie stars.
At the height of the world at war, Hope left Ogden High
School at the age of fifteen. She married Miland Coburn, a Corps man in the
Navy, recently graduated from Ogden High. They were stationed in Hailey, Idaho
for two years. After the war ended, Mike was accepted in the class of ‘46 at
Loyola Dental School University of Chicago. They had two children, Gene and
Karlene, and for the next two years Hope worked part time.
When Miland was a junior, Hope for reason I don't recall,
moved back to Salt Lake City, 452 Harvard Avenue with her mother and her
brother Wally. Karlene and Hope camped out in the dining room; Gene went to
live with his uncle Royal and his wife Genève in Payson, Utah.
I admired Hope's grit and determination. Even as she had to
return to work to financially support herself and Karlene, she maintained her same
bubbly, happy positive outlook. She the smartest person I ever met.
Through many of
Hope’s and my life challenges, struggles and passages, we gave each other
encouragement and support. Our letters written over sixty years included pithy
and honest observations as well as enduring, unqualified love and acceptance
for each other. I still have bundles of Hope’s letters.
Years ago Hope
and her fourth husband Bill moved from Ogden, Utah to Pocatello, Idaho to be
near Hope’s youngest daughter Janet and son-in-law Dan George and their
children. In the summer of 1997, Hope began experiencing health problems. I
received word last fall that Hope had suffer a stroke. She experience great
difficulty in walking but could still talk and write letters. When I last spoke
to her on the long distance telephone she seemed depressed. Near the end of our
conversation her spirits seemed to lift. Once again, for a few moments, I
enjoyed her lilting personality.
Three weeks ago I
was awakened by a vivid dream about my friend, Hope. In the dream we were
standing in back of a church, but were positioned on opposite sides of the
chapel. Hope was holding an open book and was trying to tell me something. I
said to her,
“Hope, I can’t
hear what you are saying.”
The dream was so intense; I awoke with a
start and a feeling of concern for my friend Hope. I promised myself to call
her that evening, which was a Friday. Somehow I just could not place the call.
The following afternoon, when I returned home from a walk along the beach, a
call from Hope’s daughter, Janet, was waiting on my answering machine. Janet told
me her mother had passed away about 9:00P>M> the night before.
A psychologist
might explain my dream as expressing an unconscious concern about the health
condition of a close friend. I prefer to believe my son Randy’s explanation.
Randy said
“Mother, Hope was
trying to tell you that her book of life was about to close.”
. . . . . . . . . . . . . Knocking on Heaven’s Door
A path to a Better Way To Die
Thanks to a panoply of relatively recent
medical advances elderly people now survive repeated health crises that once
killed them. Every day across the country, family care gives find themselves pondering
a medical procedure that may save the life or prevent the dying of someone
beloved and grown frail.
When is it time to say “No”
to a doctor? To say, “Enough”? The questions surface uneasily in medical
journals and chat rooms in waiting rooms, and conversations between friends. However
the questions are phrased, there is no denying
that the answers, given or avoided, will shape when and how someone we love
meet death. This is a burden not often carried by earlier generations of spouses,
sons, and daughters. We are in a labyrinth without a map.
I believe Wilma is somewhere,
near to my loving sister Hope.
Karl Wallace (brother)
To be continued…
To read more go to: www.karlwallaceblog.blogspot.com
OR Email:
drkarlwallace@gmail.com
