On a sunny June morning about 6:00 a.m., I took a deep breath and began this adventure on planet earth, for the first time functioning without the life support system which my mother had been providing for nine months. Although I did not know it then, at least consciously, I was one of the luckier children born on that day, or any day. There are those who say that we choose our parents. If that is true, I certainly made an excellent choice. No one has ever received a more loving nurturer. Although money was scarce, services were inexpensive. Witness the attached hospital bill - $25.00 for the delivery and a full week's stay in the hospital for both my mother and myself. The accompanying pictures are ample evidence that I was a well-fed little red-head.

Since my parents, as all parents, had such a profound influence on my early life, or more accurately, my entire life, I feel you should know something about them.

My father, Thomas Joseph, was born in Clearfield, Pennsylvania, one of five sons born to Thomas Joseph and Elizabeth Daugherty Cleary. The couple were married on October 30, 1889. Louis was born on January 19, 1891; Thomas on April 18, 1892; Maurice on August 13, 1893; William on November 17, 1894; and Cyril in January, 1896.

Tragically, my grandmother died of acute appendicitis on September 18, 1898. My grandfather's mother and his two single sisters, Mary and Sarah, stepped in to raise the boys. Shortly after the death, the family moved to Harrisburg. My grandfather opened a barber shop, which he operated until his death in 1924.

My mother, Maria Viola, the third of five children of Christina McNally and Adam Rutter, was born on January 6, 1897 in Harrisburg, where she lived until 1918 when she married my Father and moved to Worcester, Massachusetts. Her siblings were Eva, Anna, Adam and Clare.

The quotations in the following descriptions are taken from an autobiography which I wrote while a junior in high school.

*Not entirely accurate - I never saw my father dance, although my mother loved to dance. As to golf - I never knew either of them to play golf, nor did they belong to a golf club. Although not mentioned here, my father was an avid baseball fan, especially of the (then) Philadelphia Athletics.

Although I was born in Worcester, Massachusetts, I was not destined to remain a "Massachusetts Yankee". Within the year my parents moved to Lancaster, Pennsylvania, and then, when I was about two years old, to Harrisburg, where we were to spend the next several years.

While we lived in Harrisburg my sister Marie was born on May 21, 1921, and my brother Tom, on June 10, 1922. Tom came into the world plagued by health problems, and so far as I can remember, he was never free of them in those early years of his life. It seems to me, thinking back, that the culmination of his problems was a bout with pneumonia when he was about four years old and was expected to die. Fortunately he recovered, but for many hears had respiratory problems.

His poor health, including a near death experience, put a severe burden on my mother, since my sister was barely a year old when Tom was born. The situation may have caused Marie to feel neglected, but I can't honestly say that I was affected. In spite of her distractions, I know that my mother was always insistent that Marie and I would have equal treatment from any visiting relatives. Remembering that she was only twenty-four years old when Tom was born, I think that she did an admirable job of handling a trying situation.

What a break it was for me to return to Harrisburg. There I had, among other relatives, an adoring Grandfather Cleary. I've been told that on many an afternoon my grandfather would close his barber shop and come to the house to play with me. Although I don't actually remember his visits - I was only five when he died - I feel a greatest tenderness for this man. He was blessed with five sons, but lost his wife at such an early age, and with her death, any hope of having a daughter. It was especially nice that I had inherited the Cleary red hair.

The picture of my grandfather was taken in front of the house at 1526 Susquehanna St. in Harrisburg, where he lived until his death in 1924, and his sons continued to live for many years. It was a house in which I always felt loved.

Harrisburg developed along the banks of the Susquehanna River. The residents were fortunate because the city planners had provided a wide grassy area adjacent to the river as it wound its way through town, which served as a park. I was often taken to this lovely area. The young man is my Uncle Maurice, usually called Jere, my father's brother.

Harrisburg's citizens had another advantage. As the Susquehanna flowed past the town, a large island was created. Since the river was naturally shallow, sand was brought in and a beach created which, naturally enough, was called "Island Beach." When the grand opening was held, my mother and I were there to enjoy the sun and sand and water. My mother is the slender young lady in the pictures. I clearly had a wonderful day. Incidentally, the beach was very popular, and remained in operation for many years. Even as a teenager I continued to enjoy the beach.

In 1925 I entered the first grade at St. Mary's Catholic School in Harrisburg.

My scholastic career started on a great note when I received, at the close of that school year, the prize given to the pupil in each grade with the highest average for the year's work. Although I must admit I don't remember the event, my mother certainly did. On a Sunday afternoon after the school year ended, all academic awards were presented to the students at a ceremony in the parish church. Naturally, all the parents attended. The winners were not announced prior to the distribution of the awards. Only one other student and myself were under consideration for the first-grade prize, which, to my mother's great delight, was awarded to me.

(I am sure my mother felt a particular pride in my accomplishment, since she had left school at the end of the sixth grade.)

I should not leave this year without mentioning my lifelong friend, Leonard Young. His mother and mine were best friends, so we became acquainted at a very young age. Our birthdays are very close, consequently we started in the first grade at St. Mary's school together. Even though my family left Harrisburg we always kept in touch, although infrequently. How great it is to have a friend who can remember how things were when you were both six years old. It happens much too infrequently.

The second grade was noteworthy because it was the only other school year that I attended St. Mary's. It was also important because at the end of that school year I made my First Communion. (Note the rug on which I'm standing. Whether it was there to add to the aesthetic value of the picture of to keep my shoes clean, I do not know.)

During the summer of 1927, my family moved to Detroit, Michigan, because my father had accepted a position there. In distance, Detroit was about 600 miles from Harrisburg, but in those days that was a two-day trip over the Appalachian Mountains.

I have often wondered what was so great about the work prospect in Detroit that enticed my father into moving there, so far from his and my mother's families. It certainly wasn't a lighter work load. As long as I can remember he worked six days a week, which included about 15 hours on Saturday. Only Sunday was a day of rest for him. After Mass, without fail, he would take time to write a letter to his brother Lou detailing all of the week's activities. I never saw one of those letters, but I am sure they included a complete account of everything we children did. My Uncle Lou told me that it was so difficult after my Farther died, not to receive those weekly letters.

I began the third grade at St. Cecilia Catholic School, since our home was located within the parish boundaries. In those days parents were under a strict edict to send their children to the parish school. There were no school buses for the Catholic schools, so we all had to walk to school. Luckily, there were many Catholics in the area, so there were always friends to share the walk. Nevertheless, Detroit has some bitter cold and windy winter weather, so the walk, four times a day, was often unpleasant. In those days no one ever thought of serving hot lunches at the schools. But we survived, and were no doubt healthier for all that walking.

The Christmas letter to my father was written that first Christmas we lived in Detroit. It is interesting that I signed it with my full name. The letter must have truly touched him, because it was kept through the years. I clearly loved my father very much, and still do.

(Notice that the letter was written in ink. There were no ball-point pens in those days- only a holder with a removable pen point and a bottle of ink. Believe me, it was hard not to make a blot on the paper - especially when you were only eight years old.)

Although we lived in a few different houses when we first moved to Detroit, we finally settled in at 7225 Tuxedo Ave., where the family remained until after my father's death in 1952.

Lest you are beginning to think that I never had a sick day, I need to add that at some point I did have a tonsillectomy. It seemed that everyone had one in those days. Maybe it was the only way the doctors knew to deal with a sore throat.

I also had an appendectomy when I was fifteen. In fact, I spent my sixteenth birthday in the hospital. I remember looking forward to that birthday so I could get a driver's license. Of course, we had only one car, so opportunities to drive were limited, especially since my father drove to work. Well anyway, my father taught me to drive, giving me numerous safe driving tips, many of which I remember to this day. I finally got my license, and haven't been without one since.

It has always been a mystery to me why any woman would be satisfied to let her husband do all the family driving. That always seemed so confining, to wait on a man's willingness or free time to go somewhere. As the King of Siam was wont to say - "is a puzzlement."

There were no other illnesses that I can recall, nor any other trips to the hospital. Lucky me - to be born healthy and able to stay that way.

After we moved to Detroit, it became customary for my mother, with us children, to drive to Harrisburg, where we would spend the summers. My father always took his vacation during the last two weeks of August when he took the train to Harrisburg so that he, too, could spend some time with his family. I don't remember any summer when we were young that this procedure was not followed. When his vacation was over, we all returned together to Detroit, in time for the start of the new school year.

I remember that, toward the end of our vacation, my uncles took us children shopping to buy us new fall outfits. It was a really nice treat because, as I have mentioned, money was rather scarce at our house.

My mother and Tom, and usually Marie also, stayed with my grandmother Rutter, or with my mother's friend Peg Young. Except for an occasional day or so, I always stayed at 1526 Susquehanna St., where my uncles lived.

I must say that I lived in a very protected environment while in Harrisburg. There was a public school and playground one block from the house, and sometimes I would play there, but without fail we had lunch (dinner?) at 12:00 o’clock when my Uncle Bill came home for lunch. This was always the big meal of the day. After lunch I had to stay in the house and "rest", away from the midday sun. That seems like rather a strict arrangement, but I don't remember minding it too much. On the third floor of the house was a room filled with old books and other miscellaneous items. However, it was the books which most interested me. I remember particularly a book of Aesop's Fables which I still have, and several Horatio Alger stories. They were nice stories, and are even now referred to by writers. I like them because the hero, Horatio, always accomplished his goals. He was a hero to me in those days. I only regret that I don't still have those books.

My Uncle Bill made an effort on those summer days, to find something interesting for us children to do after he had finished his day's work. A trip to a swimming pool was always a favorite. Or he might take us to a park, or whatever else he thought would be a treat for us. He was always the soul of kindness, and I loved him dearly.

My uncles all remained single, and continued to live at 1526 Susquehanna, with my Aunt Mary acting as cook and housekeeper.

They missed our family, and particularly us children, as relatives always do, so they made many trips to Detroit to spend their vacations with our family. It was always so great for us to have them there, even though we had to go to school. It was a special treat when they would pick us up at the end of the school day. It seems that we were always satisfied with such little things.

Although the Susquehanna River was rather shallow, it was deep enough to allow the city to run a nightly "dance boat", which made a short trip up the river on summer evenings, during which a small band played dance music for the patrons. I wasn't much of a dancer in those days, but I remember that Uncle Bill frequently took me on that boat as I reached teen-age. I don't remember my sister being there also, but she might have been.

It wouldn't do to leave those early years without a couple of fashion shots. At one point, socks seem to be very important - even for a teenager. The picture with the hat was taken at Easter. I was apparently old enough to wear a hat, but not old enough to graduate from those knee socks.

   

I remained a student at St. Cecilia's until 1936 when I graduated. During those years, I received numerous "honor cards" which always pleased my parents. Our school was so small - there were only fifty students in my graduating class. Consequently, we did not have an athletic program. I do remember attending a few football games, but I don't know whether our team ever won. The school had a single tennis court, and luckily, a young priest who gave us some tennis instructions. I like tennis, and would liked to have become a decent player, but never did. However, it is a game one can enjoy without being too expert.

In my senior year in high school, my "writing" was first published. One of the parish priests, a Father Collins whom I greatly admired, taught us religion. Several classes were devoted to an explanation of the Church's position on evolution. Naturally, on an examination, we were asked to repeat what we had learned. My answer was published in the parish weekly bulletin. Father Collins later told my family that he had received several telephone calls from irate parishioners, who could not believe that a Catholic had written such nonsense.

Evolution

I am unaware whether there was any scientific opinion in those days that, rather than being descended from apes, mankind began its existence swimming in the seas millions of years before it ever set foot on land. However we began, I presume the basic premise would still be correct, that at a certain stage of development mankind was given a soul. But who knows - I personally like the idea of being descended from real people, e.g. Adam and Eve.

Note: For an additional insight into the economy of those days, turn the article over and consider the weekly donations of the parishioners. To keep the amounts in perspective, my father raised a family, bought a house and car, and kept three children in Catholic school on a salary of $65.00 a week. Did you notice that a woman's haircut was 35 cents?

Graduation Day, June 14, 1936, finally arrived, only eight days after my seventeenth birthday. The little booklet which was given to the graduates is included here because in the category "My hopes and plans for the future," I have written: "I hope some day to be admitted to the bar." During all the years that followed I never relinquished that dream.

My children should also note that the class motto really was "Dare to be Different." As I have often mentioned to them, the nuns argued that we couldn't use that motto because it didn't translate into Latin. (It's hard to believe that the Romans didn't have a word for it.) At any rate, I guess our class qualified as early rebels, since we insisted on the motto, Latin translation or no. (Obviously, all rebellion didn't begin in the 1960's.)

Having decided that I wanted to be an attorney, I discussed with my father the possibility of attending college. The University of Detroit, a Jesuit college, was located about four miles from our home and could be reached by bus. We, like all of our friends, were a single car family. As I remember, the tuition was $200.00 per year.

Looking back now, I find it remarkable that I received only encouragement from my father. There was no discussion about the choice of law as a profession, even though in those days there were very few women lawyers. I only remember my father saying, "I'll do whatever I can to help you." Somehow, he managed to pay half of that $200.00. As my contribution, I worked on Saturday at an A & P store several miles from home. I was required to be at work at 8:00 o'clock in the morning and to stay until 9:00 at night. (No eight hour workdays in those days.) Furthermore, the employees could not leave until the store was cleaned and secured for the night. After that I took the bus home which added another 45 minutes to my day. For this expenditure of time I received $3.00, but at least no taxes were deducted. Although it wasn't much, this money helped with my transportation, lunches, supplies and spending money. To earn a little more I worked in the university library several hours each week.

Incidentally, when I applied for admission to the University of Detroit, I was told that I could not obtain a Bachelor of Arts degree because I was a woman. (A BA degree was the usual degree for one continuing on to law school.) It was my first bitter taste of discrimination. However, I had become accustomed to making do, so I accepted the verdict and agreed to seek a Bachelor of Science degree.

The women were also subject to other restrictions. For example, in those days when everyone wore anklets, the girls at U of D could wear them only if they also wore stockings with them. Also, the women were forbidden to smoke anywhere on the campus except the women's lounge. I'm sure there were other restrictions, but I've long since forgotten what they were. However, I think I was lucky to be still living at home rather than on the campus.

It is obvious from my transcript of that first year that I went from being an A student at St. Cecilia's to a C student at the university. What caused the drop in my grades? It was probably a combination of many factors, not the least of which was my lack of free time to study. I also discovered that my math background was very poor, by comparison with the math training received by the young men in the class who had attended nearby Jesuit High School.

(Perhaps this belief, that my high school education was inferior, was a consideration, although unrecognized, in my desire to send my son to Jesuit High School.)

At the end of my freshman year I dropped out of U. of D. That decision was made partially because I felt that it was too much of a burden on my father to continue contributing to my education. Furthermore, the hours I was putting in were pretty strenuous for a 17-year old.

Whatever the reason, everyone now knows that I never gave up my goal of becoming a lawyer. Achieving that goal was aided considerably by an intervening war which prompted my enlistment in the Marine Corps, passage by Congress of the GI Bill, and my marriage to John Cooper. But more about those events later.

Thus, I became an unemployed college dropout. Jobs were scarce, but with the help of my parents' contacts, during the next few years I worked in a grocery store, as a long distance telephone operator, a bookkeeper, and a clerk of some sort with General Motors, where I was working when I enlisted in the Marine Corps.

When I worked at the telephone company, some of us were assigned to work a split shift - that is, about three hours in the morning and three or four in the evening during the busiest hours. Since it was much too far to go home during the off hours I developed the habit of visiting a large roller skating rink which was located nearby. I invested in a pair of shoe skates, and became very proficient during the succeeding years. It was great fun, and inexpensive. I never tired of skating. Unfortunately, it was not an Olympic sport, which was O.K. because I certainly wasn't potential Olympic material. Anyway, I am explaining how the following picture on roller skates happened to be taken, with my good friend at the time, Kay Goldie.

I should add, before proceeding, that I was not laid off from any of my various jobs. I found that being a telephone operator was too nerve racking, with only seconds to connect or disconnect a call, ring a party, etc. I left to go to work at Crane Plumbing Co. as a clerk. Not satisfied to be just a clerk I enrolled in night school at Wayne University. Probably because of the management training, I was offered the position of bookkeeper. It only took a short time to decide I didn't want "to do that for the rest of my life". I then moved to General Motors where I remained until I enlisted.

I don't know what my father, who had worked for the same company since he left school, as had his brothers, thought of all these job changes. I think though, that anything I decided would make me happy, was O.K. with him.

I am thankful that, after all, my father lived to attend my graduation, with John, from the University of Oklahoma in 1949, so many years later, and to see me finally begin law school in the fall of that year.

As I grew older my cousin Dorothy took me under her wing for I was certainly no social butterfly. Furthermore I didn't have much freedom when I was in Pennsylvania. I do remember that we often went dancing on Saturday afternoon or evening, at Hershey Pennsylvania, which could be reached from Harrisburg by trolley, which I'm sure was very inexpensive. It was the custom in those days for the big name bands who were entertaining in New York City to visit the ballroom at Hershey, which had, as I recall, a huge dance floor. Dorothy was a wonderful dancer and had more potential partners than she could possibly use, so some of the poor things were forced into dancing with her young cousin. The cost to dance there must have been minimal, because neither of us had any money to speak of - these were the depression days. But we always seemed to have a lot of fun in just doing things together.

Among Dorothy's surplus boyfriends was one named John Schneider, who lived in Lykens, located about 40 miles from Harrisburg. Dorothy eventually married another boy from Lykens, Chuck Matter, and lives there to this day.

Well, at any rate, John Schneider fell in love with me, and I guess I felt the same about him. He was four years older than me and wanted to get married, but I wasn't sure I liked the idea of marriage. Although he was a really nice guy, and I'm sure would have been very good to me, it is really fortunate that I declined. I can hardly image how miserable I, with all my ambition, would have been living in a small coal-mining town for the rest of my life. Well, I did say no, and that was the end of that romance. Fear not, I'm not going to bore you with an account of my other "love" affairs. John Schneider was notable for being first.

Meanwhile, although I was not personally very aware of the war clouds gathering, the fateful Sunday of December 7, 1941, stopped this country in its tracks. The diabolic attack on Pearl Harbor by the Japanese united us as no minor event could have. Everyone wanted to see the Japanese defeated. A national draft was instituted, but only men were subject to the draft. The need for additional personnel was critical, so the various military branches organized women's corps. The first to move was the Army with its Women's Army Corps, more commonly referred to as WACS. The Navy followed with its WAVES, and the Coast Guard organized the SPARS.

Finally, the Marine Corps decided women might be useful. The Marines, however, refused to allow any "cute" nickname for its female recruits and insisted that they be called Women Marines. Publicly the name stuck, but the incorrigible male Marines, not to be dictated to by the brass, called us "BAMS" which was an acronym for "broad ass marines." Nevertheless, they liked their women marines, and woe be to any soldier or sailor who ever bothered a woman marine. It was nice to feel that protected.

Being a typical Gemini, I toyed with the idea of enlisting in each branch of the services as it activated a corps for women, but eventually I decided that the Marine Corps was far superior. I enlisted on December 20, 1943 for the "duration plus six months." I actually began active duty in February, 1944, going through boot camp at Camp Lejeune, North Carolina. As a pleasurable experience, boot camp ranks at the bottom of my preferred activities, including a trip to the dentist. At any rate, after six weeks of arduous training, study and discipline, not to mention a certain amount of brain-washing on the excellence of the Marine Corps and our luck in being accepted as recruits, we "graduated." We thus became full-fledged Marine Corps privates, for which we were paid $50.00 per month. Incidentally, I remained a private for 13 months, but eventually was promoted to corporal and then to sergeant, as my (cherished) stripes attest. The metal tag is my "dog tag" which all service personnel were required to wear at all times even though not in imminent danger. Although "imminent danger" was not anticipated while we served stateside, it was no secret that the Navy, either singly or combined, would gladly have sunk the entire Marine Corps.

In spite of any problems, I believe my two years in the Marine Corps were among the most rewarding and personally profitable in my life. Without them, and the later GI Bill, I feel sure that I would never have finished college, let alone law school.

After completion of boot camp I was sent to the Marine Air Wing stationed at Miramar, California, where I remained until my discharge. This was a providential assignment, for while I was stationed at Miramar, I met and married John Cooper.

(MISSING EXCERPT)

...the trip into town. Had I not picked up my mail that day, this story might have had a different ending.

At any rate, that Tuesday evening John asked me to marry him, threatening that if I did not agree, he would return to Oklahoma and I would never see him again. Not knowing whether he was bluffing, I accepted the "proposal." Since John had just returned from an overseas tour of duty, he had 30 days leave. It was, therefore, decided that we would try to be married on the following Saturday at La Jolla.

We contacted a priest - it would have been unthinkable for me not to be married by a priest. It was arranged that we would be married on Saturday, July 21, 1945, at the Mary Star of the Sea Catholic Church in La Jolla. My sister, who had also joined the marine Corps and was stationed at nearby Camp Pendleton, agreed to be my maid-of-honor. In a happy coincidence, John's sister Gladys and her husband Preston McPhail, who was stationed at the naval base in San Diego, were able to attend the wedding.

Attending the wedding dinner were, from left to right, Preston and Gladys, John and I, my best friend Marge dePourtales, Marie, and Eloise and Roy Bokland. Roy and I worked together and were great friends.

Thus began my transition from a life of single blessedness to one of marital bliss!

John and I spent our wedding night at the Park Manor Hotel in San Diego. I don't remember how large the room was, but the price was certainly right. The next day we left for Oklahoma, so that I could meet John's family, and then on to Detroit, where he could meet mine.

John's mother, Dessie Delilah Kreig, married John Cooper in Bedford, Iowa in 1912. Of that union four children were born; Carl Harold on November 12, 1913, Lura Mae on February 19, 1916, Gladys Lenora on April 1, 1920, and John, Jr. on November 3, 1924. John was born in Wanette, Oklahoma. The family moved many times during the succeeding years, but were living in Duncan, Oklahoma in 1937 when John's father met his death in an accident.

When I met the family, Carl had married and divorced, but had custody of his two sons, Carl Harold, Jr. and Gary Lynn. Carl had joined the Navy and his mother was caring for the children in Duncan. Lura Mae had married E.L. "Sonny" Suttle, and had two children, Linda Faye and Jon E. Gladys had married Preston McPhail and had given birth to five children, only two of whom survived in 1945. They are Eileen and Karen.

Before proceeding, I want to add that I was the most fortunate of brides to have had Dessie Cooper as a mother-in-law. She always treated me with as much love and consideration as if I had been her own child. To illustrate the kind of person she was I have enclosed a copy of my "Portrait of Dessie" which I wrote as a tribute to her.

To continue, both families were more than gracious, and welcomed us into their homes. I think perhaps my family had the more difficult adjustment, since I was the first in my family to marry, and my folks had naturally assumed that their daughters would be married in Detroit in our parish church.

However, everything worked out fine. Of course, it would have been very difficult for my family not to have liked John. One interesting note, the return trip ticket stubs for the trip from Chicago to Los Angeles show that we left Chicago on August 11. We arrived back in Los Angeles on August 14, referred to ever since as V-J day, the day on which Japan surrendered and the war was finally over. What a celebration there was in Los Angeles! But celebration or not, I had to return to Miramar, and John to the Naval Air Station in Oakland.

Note that we returned on the famous "Atchinson, Topeka and Santa Fe" train. Surely you have all heard the famous song of the same name.

Special provisions were later made for the discharge upon request of any Woman Marine who was married to a serviceman who had served overseas. I applied for a discharge and was actually separated on November 8, 1945. I joined John in Oakland. Shortly thereafter John received orders to proceed to New Orleans for discharge. It was a long and tiresome ride from San Francisco to New Orleans. I thought New Orleans was a sorry excuse for a city, and declared that I never wanted to live there. Little did I think that I would spend more than twenty of the succeeding years in New Orleans. But more about that later.