MEMORY LANE
Twins came as a surprise
When Elmer and I realized I was pregnant, I visited a doctor in Inglewood, California. We were living in Santa Monica at the time. Everything was fine at that first visit, but the doctor did ask me if there were twins in my family. I told him no, and he told me not to worry about it. We didn’t worry about it, and I didn’t ever see that doctor again.
Elmer’s cousin Harold Alexander was in medical school in
Los Angeles. He insisted that I get under the care of his favorite practicing instructor, Dr. Reynolds. It was a long way for us to drive, so the doctor saw me once a month—he said I was doing so well that I didn’t need to come more often. I would pick up Elmer at Douglas Aircraft Co., where he worked as a tool and die maker, and he’d shave and change his clothes on the long ride to the doctor’s office.
We didn’t have a phone in 1940—there was a waiting list to get one at that time. Late on July 2, we decided I should go to the hospital. By the time we were driving down Olympic Boulevard in Santa Monica, it was 1 a.m. There was not much traffic, so Elmer just slowed down at the red signals. Soon here came a cop who pulled us over for not coming to complete stops. He took one look at me and let us go.
Larry arrived at 8:59 a.m. July 3 and Lloyd, two minutes later. Someone woke up dear Elmer, who was asleep in the waiting area—fathers weren’t allowed in the delivery room then—and told him I’d had twins. It was a surprise to everyone.
I didn’t know how I was going to manage one, let alone two, but Elmer was a rock. He washed diapers for one year—before disposables were common, of course.
I loved California and thought we’d stay there forever, but just before the boys turned 6, we moved to southern Oregon because we wanted to raise our sons in a less-populated area. We will always be thankful we have such wonderful sons.