Once Upon a Time, Letters from Marjory

Once upon a time—in 2015, on a peninsula in the San Francisco Bay near Angel Island—a package arrived in the mailbox. It was from my father.

Inside was a stack of letters written by my grandmother—Mum to him—along with a characteristically practical aside: some day it might inspire a story for me to write.

The letters themselves are bookended by two milestones in his life: the start of law school in Washington, D.C., and the week he married my mother. But what they really contain is something else entirely—the running commentary of my grandmother at roughly the age I am now.

She often began her letters the way a certain fictional diarist once did: with the weather. Like my daily journaling.

“Bright and fair,” she writes, borrowing the habit from The Real Diary of a Real Boy, where the hero Plupey Shute noted the weather when nothing much had happened. It is, as opening strategies go, efficient. It fills the page while you decide what the letter is actually about.

From there she rarely went straight.

Her mind wandered—through literary allusion, borrowed legend, neighborhood gossip, and family lore. Cornelia’s jewels stood in for motherhood. A robin leaving the nest carried the meaning of children growing up. A plateau represents uncertainty about what comes next. Even heaven, in her telling, had rules about fishing and cornet playing.

Robert Burns and Alfred, Lord Tennyson appear without warning. So does a lullaby adapted from Come Josephine in My Flying Machine. In Marjory’s world, high culture and pop culture share the same paragraph quite comfortably. I loved the moments of digging in, straining my memory to remember, researching when I needed more context to her references.

What emerges is less a tidy narrative than a rhythm: a mind moving easily between the witty and the learned, the sentimental and the observational—shaped by the cultural currents of its time and, occasionally, in need of an editor.

Then comes the final letter in the stack—the one written the week before my father’s wedding.

In it, my grandmother pauses, imagining what might lie ahead. Children. A household not yet formed. The stories that come with both. Of  “Once upon a time—tales for the grandchildren.”

Not the ending of a story, but the beginning of one she suspected was coming.

Three generations telling stories the same way: a little poetry, a little pop culture, and a common reflection “once upon a time.”

In the dedication of my first book, out this May, I wrote:

“To my father, for teaching me to take a sad song and make it better. And to my Marjory, for singing it to me now.”

Once upon a time, you know what happened next….

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Saturday, Jan 5, 1956

Dear Jay,

Bright and fair.

When I was a youngster I read “The Real Diary of a Real Boy.” The Boy’s name was Plupey Shute.  Each day he began his report with the weather.  It helped to fill the day because often never anything eventful happened which is the same with me.

Plupey’s one aim in life was to buy a cornet, but as soon he saved some few cents, he needed it for something else so he never did get to buy his cornet.  Wonder if Roger Michael will ever play Phil’s?  

Uncle Bill, of blessed memory, could play a cornet but Aunt Nan wouldn’t allow him to do so.  Now he can go fishing for a thousand years and not take the cornet.  It would frighten the fish and they won’t bite.  But no one will cook the fish in Heaven either, just like Nan!  So that will be no fun!

“My mother can fill two pages and say nothing.”

Love & Prayers 

Mum

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Saturday, Nov 7, 1959

Dear Jay, 

Marjory’s jewels - Cornelia could not have displayed hers with more pride.  Alas, legend does not tell what Cornelia did when she must part with her jewels.  On Nov. 14th, will I with heavy heart the home road take?  Or will I rejoice like the robin when her brood flies from the nest to make nests of their own?  I feel as one on a plateau who does not know whether a valley or hill lies ahead.

The No. 1 Son:  heart shaped face looking like one of the “Angel Heads.” He is dressed in a gift from Betsy Cushing - hand-made, tiny french knots on the sheerest of fabrics.  Dad scoffs - dressed like a girl! Pink linen rompers from Grandpapa’s cousin, Sally Doherty.  Why PINK - a boy’s outfit should be found!

So Sheila O’Shea to the rescue and outfits are sent by the Jock Saltonstalls for “the Nephew.”

Wonderful baby! He never cries! So many admirers:  Aunt Ann, Daisy Martin, The Mat Cunhas, Aunt Jean, Aunt Sheila, and always “Yane” “Yane;” Daddy” “Daddy”  “Why don’t you take that baby home to his daddy and sister?  “The Moxie people live across the road at Winthrop Beach.  Dad and Jane Anne have returned to school and you cry incessantly for them.  The baby who never cried is alarming in voice.  

Mother’s just don’t count!  Dad rushes home.  Jane comes Saturday and sings, “Josephine, get out of my flying machine; you’re wasting gasoline…” What a lullaby to bring all those smiles! (Note: Josephine and the Flying Machine 1911 Fred Fisher Hit Song)

So we returned to 39 Joy St.  A happy child dashes to “Buddy”, Tim Sullivan, the traffic cop, “Oh, Mrs. Sullivan I have no children of my own. If you would but give me this one, I should not even have to change his name!”  Jay happily directs traffic from “The Box” on the corner of Joy and Beacon. Buddy must let traffic take care of itself and carry Jay down the steps to the Common.  No efforts of the mother can get him from the Box.  

But, happily he races for the Gun, a relic of World War I……..(Note:  from The Charge of the Light Brigade By Alfred, Lord Tennyson)

“Once upon a time” - tales for the grandchildren.

Love and prayers for both, 

Mum

PS letter to Mary tomorrow to be sent to PA, as she will probably have left Washington.  Week-end mail a problem. 

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July 20, 2015

Dear Laura,

You are my very special youngest child of whom I am very proud!

Please find enclosed a few mementos from your family file - your academic record has been forever wiped off the face of this earth.

Also some additional letters from your grandma - behaving pretty much as I remember - when you retire you could use her letters as a background to the middle decades of the 20th century.

Best to Steve and the lads - looking forward to seeing you soon - I will call to bring you up to date (as I understand it and without authority to commit.

Love,

Your Often Adoring Father