Saturday, July 5, 1941
Mama gave me this diary for my birthday. I don't like to write, and what I really wanted was a Betty Grable bathing suit, but she said I'm too young for that. I don't think ten is so young, but Mama can be stubborn.
The thing about diaries is either life is boring, like it is here in East Texas, or it's so exciting, like in Hollywood, that you never have time to write.
But since I've got you, I may as well tell you about my boring life. I just finished fourth grade and I live in a three-bedroom two-story house with six people.
The oldest person in the house is my grandma, Katherine Hutchison, Daddy's mama. She is very old, as old as the President. She was a grown-up when the other Roosevelt was president, but she didn't vote for him. Women couldn't vote then and anyway she is a Democrat. (Just about the only one in town.) She admires Eleanor Roosevelt, who is smart and brave and sticks up for the little guy. Mrs. Roosevelt writes her diary for the papers, six days a week!
Next oldest is Daddy, who was almost old enough to fight in the Great War. He is smart and brave, but he is handsome, not plain like the First Lady, although he is tall and skinny. He is the best daddy in the world and he loves Mama so much that he will dance with her in the kitchen and pretend it's a fancy New York nightclub. He works hard but our family is kind of big and the Depression isn't really over in our town.
Mama is the most beautiful woman in the world. I hope I grow up to look just like her. I have her red hair but I also have freckles. Mama used to be a flapper and she wishes she was thin and flat-chested like Grandma, but Grandma says Mama is crazy. Mama could wear a Betty Grable bathing suit if she wanted to, but she says that wouldn't be right for a middle-aged mother of four. Mama loves music more than anything except her family.
My older brother Archie, who I call "Starched Shorts," is twelve and he thinks he's so grown up, but sometimes he forgets about being responsible and he can act like a kid instead of an almost teenager. He's a little fat, like Mama's side of the family, and he has red hair, too.
My other brother, Cornelius (I call him "Cornball") is eight. He takes after Daddy's side in looks. He has brown hair and is skinny, but he's not tall yet. Bullies like to pick on him, and Starched Shorts and I have to defend him. He reads a lot and has to wear glasses. He loves superhero comics and science fiction. He loves writing, but not anything real or true.
My only sister is Barbara. The family still calls her "Baby," or sometimes "Babby," but I call her "Babs" because in nine years she'll be a teenager, and I think that would be a good teenaged nickname. She's very cute, with brown hair and big brown eyes, and less annoying than my brothers, but Grandma says I think that because Babs worships me. The three of us share a room, which is nicer than it sounds. I would like my own room of course, but Grandma gives good advice, and I like having a little sister to dress up and spoil.
What else can I tell you about me? I like dogs but Mama says us kids make enough of a mess, so we can't have one (a dog, not a mess). I love clothes and I have a secret dream to move to Hollywood and become a costume designer. That way, I would meet all the stars and maybe marry one. Or two.
I don't have a boyfriend yet, but Jimmy Wilson did give me a birthday kiss yesterday, in the backseat of his father's Studebaker. Don't worry, it was parked in front of their house.
Yes, I was born on the 4th of July. Daddy calls me his "little firecracker," but that's also because of my fiery temper and hair. My brothers and sister call me "Money," not like the kind you spend. Starchy Shorts couldn't pronounce "Mona" when I was a baby, and then he kept calling me that, and Cornball and Babs picked it up when they started to talk.
That's all I can think to say right now. And Mama promised to teach me to jitterbug today if it's not too hot. (We can't afford air conditioning, like they probably have in Hollywood.)
Sunday, July 5, 1942
I know, it's been a whole year! Well, I kind of forgot about you, until Mama hinted that she might get me another diary for this birthday. Maybe I will just write in you the day after every birthday. That will mean you'll last another 364 years, ha ha!
So I'm eleven now and I still don't have a Betty Grable figure but I'm starting to get a bust. Grandma jokes that soon she can give me brassieres as hand-me-downs. (At least I think they're jokes. We're so poor that maybe I will have to wear old old-lady undergarments!)
The biggest change since a year ago is that the U.S. is in The War now, which means that it should end soon. Daddy signed up, to help things along. He knew he wouldn't get drafted, not when he's over 40 and is sole support of our family. Well, I told you he was brave!
Babs is scared that Daddy will be hurt, but she's so little (just five) that she gets scared easy. The boys say they will join up when they're old enough, but even Jughead is only thirteen.
That is my new nickname for Archie. Sometimes Cornball trades funny comics for the superhero ones, and there is a new one I like because it is all about high school kids. The main character is called Archie Andrews, and he has red hair and freckles, so of course I was calling Starched Shorts that, but he took it as a compliment. So now I call him Jughead, after A.A.'s weird friend.
Monday, July 5, 1943
Maybe I should call this "My Year," since I'm not as "prolific" as Mrs. Roosevelt. (That's a vocabulary word on my summer reading list. It means you make a lot of stuff.)
The biggest change in me is I got The Curse. That's what Mama calls it, but Grandma says it's when you don't get it that you have to worry. (I'm not sure what she means by that, and she won't tell me till I'm older.) I am the first of my friends to get it, so I'm proud of that. The bad thing is that now that I can wear more grown-up bathing suits (not yet a Grable figure, but I'm getting closer), sometimes I can't go swimming because of the curse.
More boys want to kiss me, not just Jimmy Wilson, but Mama says to be careful. I don't see what's wrong with kissing. It feels nice. She says just don't let them touch me where they shouldn't. (She doesn't explain that.)
The rest of the family is growing up, too. Jughead starts high school this Fall, and Babs will be in first grade.
Cornball and I are still at grammar school of course, but now that he's ten he has decided that he will become a science-fiction writer. I am the only one he lets read his writing, although I would never let him read this, the only thing I write outside of school. He's working on a story right now about outer-space aliens that walk among us and look like normal human beings but they suck out your soul and make you a zombie with no personality of your own, just a hive mentality, like with bees. It's called The Hive People, and it gives me hives!
Mama says she might get a job, so she won't feel so lonely with all of us kids at school. Daddy's pay in the Army is good and he sends home what he can, but there are still things we can't afford, so a little extra money (not Money) would be nice.
I miss Daddy a lot, but Mama is sure The War will end in a few more months. Maybe he will be home by Christmas! I will make sure to write an entry if he is.
Otherwise, see you next year, when I'm finally a teenager!
Wednesday, July 5, 1944
So I'm finally a teenager. I used to dream about this, but life is nothing like I imagined.
I know I should've written this when we found out, but I just couldn't. Even months later, it doesn't seem real. When friends' fathers have died, you see them get sick or there's something leading up to it. But we got a telegram and it happened so far away.
Mama carried on, crying and insisting it was a mistake, a lie. The drinking started that night, although she still goes to her secretary job every weekday and tries to act like she's all right.
Grandma is trying to hold this family together, but it's not easy. She talked Jughead out of going and getting a job. He's only fifteen and she wants him to be the first person in the family to finish high school, maybe even go to college, although I don't know where she thinks the money is going to come from. Daddy left us some, and there is the Army insurance and all, but it's not enough.
Since Jughead reacted by trying to act more grown up and responsible than he is, you can guess that Cornball's reaction was to escape into his stories. He says death isn't as scary when it's pretend and he gets to decide who lives and who dies.
Poor little Babs, who's always been quiet and shy, is even quieter and shyer now. She's only seven! That is too young to lose your daddy. Even I am too young.
Tuesday, June 5, 1945
I know, I'm a month early, but I couldn't wait any longer or I'd burst. Mama is getting married and we're all moving to New England!
Mama's boss had a rich client visiting from out of town, and her boss asked her to have dinner with this Mr. Reynolds. Mama didn't want to at first, even though her boss said she didn't have to kiss Mr. Reynolds or anything, just be nice to him.
But then she ended up liking Mr. Reynolds, who of course thought she was beautiful, so she did kiss him. And now they're getting married!
I don't know much about this guy, but he's not as handsome or as sweet as Daddy of course. He's not mean but he doesn't seem to like kids, so why is he marrying a woman with four of them?
Grandma said Mama is probably lonely without Daddy. I said, "Well, I miss Daddy, too, but I wouldn't run out and get another father!" And I pointed out that Grandma never remarried after Grandpa died twenty years ago, and I don't think Eleanor Roosevelt is going to rush right out and get a new husband either. She said Mama is less independent and needs a man in her life.
Jughead thinks Mama is after Mr. Reynolds's money, not that she's a gold-digger, but that much money is hard to resist. Cornball worries about moving to Connecticut, and Babs is a little scared of Mr. Reynolds because he's a stranger, but she does miss having a father.
Yeah, we have to move to Connecticut. Don't that beat all! Mr. Reynolds works in New York. (Don't ask me at what, they explained it, but I still don't understand it. It's one of those millionaire jobs you see in the movies.) He has a big estate in Connecticut though, so he said, "Your children won't be exposed to the criminal element in The City." Yes, he talks like that!
OK, in a way I want to see his mansion and everything, but I would rather live here with Grandma. I was born in this house, and so was Daddy. And poor Grandma's going to have to live all alone, unless my annoying Great-Aunt Almira moves in with her, and Grandma says she'd rather move to the old ladies' home than live with her sister.
I'm going to miss all my friends, too. I was starting high school this Fall! That means dances and football games and everything, just like in the Archie comics. Maybe I could get a boyfriend who actually drives a car, rather than sit with Jimmy Wilson in a parked one.
Babs is so sweet. She said maybe I will get a nice boyfriend in Connecticut. Maybe I will, but I'm worried that the boys will be stuck up and look down on a girl that even Grandma calls "an untamed Texan redhead."
Still, I will admit, I'm actually looking forward to the wedding. The boys are going to be ushers (they don't want to wear tuxes, but too bad), and Babs will be the flower girl, but I get to be not just a bridesmaid but the maid of honor. I will pretend it's a big Hollywood wedding, like the one I wish that Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall had a couple weeks ago. (They just had a quiet little ceremony, although I guess that could be nice, too.) I won't think about who's actually getting married.
Thursday, July 5, 1945
Well, here I am, fourteen and living in Connecticut.
The wedding was nice I guess. Fancy anyway. I loved my dress and Babs looked adorable. Mama was stunning, but I don't think she was glowing like a bride is supposed to. I know it was a second wedding, but I can tell she doesn't love Mr. Reynolds. There's nothing I can do about it though.
They went off on their honeymoon, while us kids finished out the school year. On the day after the last day of school, the day before Mama and Mr. Reynolds were due back, I let Jimmy Wilson feel me up, for ten seconds. It was partly to say goodbye and partly to squash the rumors that I pad my brassiere. I don't mind if rumors start that I'm easy, but I didn't want lies spread about me! Even though I was moving away.
I will be more careful of my reputation in Connecticut. They're probably all a bunch of stick in the muds. (Sticks in the mud?) The ones I met at the wedding were anyway. I don't think they were too happy about having to come to a "hick town" in Texas in June, but too bad for them. They didn't stay long of course, but I knew I'd be seeing them after we moved to the mansion.
It really is a mansion. It's so big that Babs got lost our first night here. She and I don't share a room anymore. We both have suites! It's like a hotel.
I miss bunking with her. I know, that sounds crazy because I'm a teenager and she's my kid sister, but I feel so alone. I miss Grandma even more of course.
Still, I think under other circumstances, like if Daddy had struck oil and he was here instead of Mr. Reynolds, I would love living in this house. Except, yeah, Grandma would have to have a suite, too.
I don't know how long it'll take to get used to being rich instead of poor. Maybe I never will get used to it. We have not just enough of everything but more than you can imagine. You should see the food!
But I can't lick the spoon when the chefs (yes, more than one) bake cakes, and I can't dance in the kitchen with Mama, because what would the servants say?
And we're not supposed to talk to the servants, except to give them orders, and then only things like "Please hand me" whatever, even when it's in our reach. They all know what they're generally supposed to do, and there's a housekeeper and a butler that get their orders from Mr. Reynolds and then tell the "lower servants" what to do specifically.
There are no other kids in the neighborhood, because there isn't really a neighborhood. You could put my whole hometown on the front lawn. In fact, Mr. Reynolds had his own fireworks display last night. He had them spell out "Happy birthday, Mona!", which was sweet I guess, except he hardly ever talks to me or the boys or Babs. We hardly ever see him, and I don't think Mama does much either. So if she doesn't love him, well, I suppose it doesn't matter as much as it would in a normal-sized house.
Anyway, I guess we'll meet the other kids when school starts. And it looks like I can't just write once a year anymore. I guess once a month will work.
Sunday, August 5, 1945
Well, I met my new "granny," since she's back from her summer holidays in Europe. (She headed over there as soon as Germany surrendered.) No, I don't call her Granny. I can't even really think of Mr. Reynolds as my stepdaddy. I call his mother Mrs. Reynolds, to her face anyway. I won't sully my diary with what I call her when I'm around Jughead, Cornball, and Babs.
Mr. Reynolds may not like kids, but his mother hates them, or at least us. I've eavesdropped on her and I know she thinks we're white trash. She told one of her friends on the phone that "the older girl is the worst of the lot, all bosom and no brains." I act dumb around her so she won't know what I really think.
She doesn't have a very high opinion of Mama either, but she said, "At least the woman is and the younger children may be salvageable, but the older two are probably a lost cause."
She wants to send us all off to prep school. Jughead wants to go to the nearest high school, because he was on the football team back home (well, he was the burliest boy in his year) and he doesn't want to play squash or fencing or whatever rich boys do. And I don't want to share a room with snobby strangers, girls who would look down on me for growing up poor. Yes, Mrs. Reynolds had the housekeeper take me on a shopping trip for a new wardrobe (I didn't get much say in what I bought, which is most of the fun of shopping), so at least they wouldn't pick on my clothes, but I'm sure they'd make fun of my accent and my ignorance of all the things rich girls are supposed to know.
Cornball, to my surprise, wants to go to a military academy. Even with the War almost over (Japan's probably going to surrender soon), he thinks there will be future wars. Of course, usually when he talks about future wars, he means with lasers, but I guess knowing strategy and all that would come in handy.
Babs doesn't want to leave home and she knows that we'd have to go to different schools, since we're six years apart. Oh, I just thought of something! I bet I'll get sent to some drippy all-girls school. Four years without boys? I don't think so!
Wednesday, September 5, 1945
Maybe I do have no brains. I thought I was being so smart playing dumb, deliberately failing the entrance exam for the prep school the Reynoldses wanted to send me to. But all that's happened is now the four of us are going to four different schools.
They let Jughead go to public school, since he's sixteen and almost a man and "a lost cause." They let Cornball go to military school. Poor Babs, who can't stick up for herself, is going to the same prep school Mrs. Reynolds went to when she was little.
And me? I'm going to Smallridge, the local day school, which is a prep school where you're not a boarder. It's not all that local. I can't walk there. The chauffeur has to drive me to and from, an hour each way. But I do get to see Mama and Jughead every day.
It's just, she's changing. She's taking "lady lessons" from her new mother-in-law. Mama and Grandma always got along, but it was because they respected and even admired each other's differences. With Mrs. Reynolds, Mama is always acting like an insecure little girl who needs guidance. And she wonders why I don't act the same.
I don't want you to think I'm acting low class or immature or anything. I mean, I'm fourteen and I am not the same girl who used to beat up the boys who beat up Cornball. But I want to be a normal teenager. I want to wear bobby socks and listen to Frank Sinatra records. I don't want to wear pearls and listen to classical!