Jan. 4th, 1944, Longview, Washington:
St. Helen’s Grade school was the 10th of 14 schools I attended during my K-12 years. I was walking the mile or so from the school to my new home on the corner of 30th and Hemlock St. Feeling very alone but enjoying the unseasonably warm sun on my back when a little girl walking ahead of me stopped and waited for me to catch up with her. She said Hi and I said Hi and we started to walk along together. We were the only ones walking along this route from school since most of the other students lived in the opposite direction.
I noticed that she was blond with the white skin I always envied and at that time she barely came up to my shoulders. I can’t remember what we talked about but we agreed that we didn’t like our 5th-grade teacher and that we liked to ride bikes but it was difficult to get parts and especially patches for the tires. We became best friends within days and were inseparable.
Shirley had everything I would have wanted out of life. She was blond, petite, had fair skin (that she wanted to tan) and a dog named Chiefy that loved her; she played the piano, had a brother whose outgrown jeans she got to wear. (I was stuck in skirts and dresses except at camp.) She also had lived in the same place all her life; her parents owned the house and even a cow. Although Shirley always had a lot of chores to do when she got home from school since her mother and dad both worked at the lumber mill and she had to practice the piano – I liked listening and was so envious – to me it seemed she had a charmed life. She knew, even at the age of ten, that she would be a nurse.
We had many adventures during the 5 years we spent together. Sometimes we fought but soon we were back together again. There were dark times when she didn’t speak to me for days or even weeks. One time she confessed that she wanted to break off our friendship because some of her other friends and some members of her family objected to her having a Jewish friend. But that didn’t happen.
That summer of 1944 we joined the Camp Fire Girls and started collecting cans and newspapers for the war effort. Over the years we rode our bikes all over Longview and sometimes beyond. There was a memorable bike ride to the Longview Bridge. A high wooden structure at that time, we rode to the highest point and crawled out over the water on the planks that stuck out of the bridge. On the way home we realized what a dangerous thing we had done and never told anyone about it.
We spent many hours imitating Esther Williams in the R.A. Long High School Swimming pool. (It no longer exists.) Going clam digging and later opening and cleaning the clams. (There is a reason they call those critters “Razor Clams”!) That was not my favorite thing to do, but I went along with the Rimkuses so they could legally dig for more clams (the limit was 24 per person) and Shirley, Chiefy and I loved running on Long Beach.
During the summers we started picked berries and beans to earn money for YMCA Camp at Spirit Lake. The first year we went the weather was cold and cloudy and it rained almost every day. It wasn’t until the end of the second week that the weather cleared and we could see the spiritual beauty of that place and we knew we would return. The 5 times we went to YMCA camp were some of the best times of our young lives.
We swam in the icy clear waters of Spirit Lake, getting into the lake by balancing on logs along the shore until we rolled off. There was the morning we rowed out too far into the smooth lake that always turned choppy by noon. (Hence the name Spirit Lake.) The waves bounced us around and we were very scared. Nobody thought of life preservers. Finally we made it to shore. The whole camp had turned out to cheer our safe return. The counselors were happy to see us but gave us a stern lecture and we never went out that far again.
One year on a long hike around the lake someone stuck a stick into a bee’s nest and we all got sung and Shirley was one of the worst cases. The coming Sunday was visitor’s day and our parents used their precious gasoline coupons to visit us. We were hardly recognizable with our faces puffy and our eyes swollen almost shut from crying. Eating the goodies our folks brought was nearly impossible for another week. We were not happy campers.
Each year there was a competition between the cabins to put on a play at the nightly campfire. Our cabin put together a play about Little Red Riding Hood. Red was a jitterbugging teen (Shirley), Grandma was a camp director, the hunter was a Marine because her Dad was one (almost everyone at camp had a relative in the service that year) and the wolf was a sailor (me) because I owned a sailor hat. It was a great show and we won the competition mostly because Shirley ad-libbed a line or two and hit me over the head with her huge basket.
The last year at camp was 1948. Our new camp director was named Dorothea. She wore skirts and insisted we all call her by her full name. Of course we all called her Dopey Dotty when she was out of earshot. She was very prim and proper and wanted to teach us manners.
By then Shirley and I were in the oldest group and had discovered boys. We met some on a hike near the Portland YMCA and asked Dotty if we could have a party with the boy’s camp. At first she said no, but one day some of our newfound friends brought us some fish they had caught and convinced her that we might learn something about social manners if we had a dance. It was a fun event and I even had a date with one of the boys when I returned to Portland, where I had moved earlier that year.
During that last camp year Shirley and I convinced some of our bunkmates to go skinny-dipping at midnight near the boathouse. We wore our bathing suits and went to the farthest end of the boathouse dock to slip out of our suits. We tried to be very quiet but 6 teenage girls have a problem not giggling and talking in loud whispers. We also must have splashed a bit. I do remember that the water felt much warmer at night; it felt wonderful and free. We were really having fun trying to find each other in the dark. There was a moon, but it was almost down. Suddenly there was a spotlight shining on the water. Dotty, with 2 of the boy helpers, was yelling for us to get out of the water NOW!!! We swam to the edge of the dock but there was not way we were going to get out of the water until she turned off the light. It took a while for her to understand this and we began to get cold. Eventually she turned out the light and sent the boys away and we got out. Since we were going home the next day and were not likely to come back because we had reached the age limit of camp, Dotty didn’t say a word to us ever again.
The years went by and we stayed in touch through her Nursing School – Nursing – 4 babies – pottery (I still treasure the “neurotic” (her word) pitcher with Shirley’s initials on the bottom) and then quilting, which became a truly artistic passion.
During those years we managed a trip to Japan where we hugged and giggled like teenagers when we found ourselves wearing kimonos with all the trimmings. I remember ski trips and a few hikes in pretty places. I didn’t get back to Spirit Lake as often as I had planned to. Then one day in 1980 it was gone. All that soul-lifting landscape that had been the most beautiful place I had ever seen – or maybe ever will see – had disappeared.
Shirley’s life has been an inspiration to me. She overcame many severe problems and accomplished so much. I bragged to many people about my friend who had walked the 27-mile marathon at age 70. I remember Shirley telling me how at first the dog would love to go walking with her but when the walks got to be over 10 miles, he would hide under the table and whimper when she called him to walk with her.
I am very grateful to have had a friend like Shirley in my life. I will cherish the memories as long as I live and view with awe and reverence the legacy of the beautiful Spirit Lake Quilt she allowed me to have.
Ruthie Lindemann Lanno
January, 2011
