My parents, George and Vilma Hanes, were married on September 29, 1950 at Kendall Baptist Church in Washington, D.C. They honeymooned in Niagara Falls, NY then settled into their daily lives while living in a one bedroom, one bath apartment in Walter Reed Gardens in Arlington, VA. She would turn 20 on October 17th and he had just celebrated his 28th birthday on September 25th.
While my dad worked as a mechanic for Capital Airlines at National Airport, my mother worked as a clerk-typist in the False and Misleading Advertising Division of the Federal Trade Commission. (For example, Scott bathroom tissue advertised 1,000 sheets on every roll. Somebody with a lot of time on their hands counted and submitted a complaint that there were only 985! Her duty was to channel this written complaint to the proper attorney.) Her plan was to work a couple of years and then start having babies. As luck would have it (or, as I like to think, the Lord willed it!), by the end of that first October she realized she was in the family way. “No, no! This can’t be! It’s not supposed to happen like this!” was her cry. Yes, I was on the way and due to arrive on or about July 5, 1951.
Maternity fashions were quite blousy back in the 1950’s. Maybe you can recall an old I Love Lucy TV show and the pretty smocks Lucy wore while pregnant with Little Ricky. Bows, collars, polka dots or box pleats accented the tops which were usually worn with skirts that had an expandable waist. Ladies hardly ever wore slacks back then-- maybe dungarees around the house--but not out in public.
My mother’s obstetrician was Dr. J. Earl Kaden who practiced in Washington, DC. Women who suspected they were pregnant were advised not to even see a doctor until they had missed three monthly cycles. My due date was determined by the first time my mother felt movement plus five months. How scientific!
On Monday, June 19th, my mother went for her regular doctor’s appointment and was told that her baby was still high and probably wouldn’t arrive that week. Of course, on Tuesday her water broke and began a slight trickle. Her immediate thought was, “No! Not yet! I have to wait until June 29th for our 9 month anniversary!” Dr. Kaden was called but he said to wait until she had pains before leaving for the hospital. With that advice, she packed her suitcase with clean gowns and undies and went on to bed.
About 1 a.m. on the 20th she felt some discomfort and a few little pains. Within the hour the doctor was called again and he instructed her to go to the hospital. Out the door they went, off to Columbia Hospital in DC. By the time my parents arrived, her pains had stopped, but since her water had broken she was admitted, and my dad was sent home to wait. Around 6 a.m. her labor had not progressed so she was taken to the maternity ward and put to bed. Her orders were to stay off her feet and get up only to use the bathroom.
Well, she lay there all day, bored, lonely, with only a little sip of water now and then. No food was allowed because she would eventually be given anesthetic to be totally “knocked out” for the delivery. As night began to fall, lower back labor began in earnest, for she can recall how she felt like she was bending backward. She says she gripped the bed covers so fiercely that the nurse had to pry her fingers off the sheets. Even when the nurse checked her progress she told my mother she needed to hurt worse! At some point, she was wheeled to the labor room where the doctor checked her and ordered a shot in the hip of some mysterious medication. She remembered nothing, even the delivery, until she woke up back in her bed in the ward the next morning. In the meantime, my dad, still anxiously waiting at home, had received a call to inform him of my birth but was told not to return to the hospital until the next morning. He must have needed his rest after waiting all that time!
The doctor came to my mother’s bedside on his morning rounds and she anxiously inquired about her new baby. He said that yes, indeed, she had given birth to a beautiful baby girl at 11:25 p.m., weighing in at 7 lb. 1 oz., 20” long, and born breech.
“Breech? What? Did you know my baby was coming breech?” she asked. “Yes, I knew,” (and certainly at this point he patted her hand in a fatherly fashion) “but I didn’t want you to worry [dear].”
Post partum recovery in the early 1950’s consisted of a lengthy hospital stay. Mom remained in bed, day and night, for three days, having to use a bedpan for bathroom necessities; on day four she was permitted to dangle her feet off the side of the bed; on day five she could walk to the bathroom; on day six she went home. Her instructions were to rest for two weeks and do as little as possible except care for her baby--and no stairs and no lifting!
I was given the name Bonnie Lee for no particular reason other than the fact that my mother liked it and didn’t want me named after any relatives. After the fact, though, it was discovered that I shared my middle name with a great grandmother on my father’s side of the family, Virginia Lee Darne(s). I was the first and only granddaughter on that same side of the family and the third grandchild on my mother’s side. My mother became a stay at home mother which is something I have always appreciated and strived for myself when I became a mother.
I was bottle fed on a formula made, in large part, with Carnation canned milk plus some powdered nutritional additive. When the Jewel Tea salesman came knocking at the front door, my mother purchased a six-glass bottle sterilizer. (To this day my mother uses that big aluminum pot to make soup.) All diapers were cloth and secured with safety pins, with plastic pants or diaper covers on top.
Mom brushed my hair into a little curly top-knot. I laughed out loud at two months, cut my first tooth at five months, and walked alone on my first birthday. It’s a wonder I lived through measles, mumps and chicken pox considering all the aspirin and penicillin injections I was given. My pediatrician, Dr. John Sherburn, had a basement office in his home on Hillwood Ave. in Falls Church VA and even made house calls.
I was the sole object of my parent’s attention until my brother Steve was born two years and nine months later. His birth is another story as he began his venture into this world, feet first, in the living room, at home. . .
