Destitute

My days of destitution, which were actually Jean’s as well as mine, were during college and those first few years of employment following college. (College was fall 1970 - spring 1974) I had nothing because nothing was all I could afford. I suppose all of my mature readers have their own stories of being poor. For the sake of my descendants, and for my own amusement, I thought it might be interesting to document a few examples of the depth and breadth of my poverty. Perhaps the experience won’t feel so disconcerting to my descendants when they go through their own trial of passage.



The Pub
Jean and I started dating for a lifetime when we were both enrolled at Coe College. We’d meet for breakfast at 7:30 am and then head off for classes. Some semesters we had a math class in common during the day. Jean helped me get through Modern Algebra, which has nothing to do with algebra as we commonly think of it. I helped Jean occasionally with calculus/analysis stuff. Each of us claims the other is the smarter partner, which is a wise position to take when married.

(Note well, the secret to a successful marriage can be summed up in two words. Yes ma’am. These two words are rivaled only by a companion pair of words. I’m sorry.)

We may have met up for lunch, though that fact is forgotten to me. I had track practice in the afternoon, and I’d finish that up just in time to get in the door of the cafeteria just before it closed. After eating dinner with Jean we’d head off to the library to study until it closed at 10pm.

As a special treat after studying in the library we’d occasionally go to the “Pub” for a snack. The Pub was a small grill located on campus where you could buy a variety of foods after the cafeteria had closed for the day. We’d go there maybe once a month, definitely no more than twice a month, because we couldn’t afford the extravagance. For roughly 75 cents we’d get one order of toast to split between us, which was two slices of bread, and two glasses of milk. It was living large and I felt guilty spending so much money. I hoped my mom and dad would approve.



The Iowa Theater
Rarer still than going to the misnamed Pub, I would occasionally take Jean to a movie at the Iowa Theater. It was a nine block walk from Coe College to the Iowa Theater. There were two other theaters within walking distance of Coe, but these theaters didn’t have Mr. Beatty.

Mr. Beatty was my brother Bill’s Boy Scout Leader for many years. He was also the maintenance man, custodian, manager, and I don’t know exactly what else for the Iowa Theater. Sometimes Mr. Beatty would be outside the theater monitoring the line of folks waiting to pay. He’d stroll up and down the line smiling and chatting with folks, and he’d see Jean and I standing in the line.

Somehow Mr. Beatty knew what it was like to be a destitute college kid and practiced Random Acts of Kindness years before the phrase had been coined. He’d stroll over to us, squeeze between us, and grab us by the elbows like a school principal would do to kids who’d misbehaved. Continuing to talk to us in a pleasant tone as if nothing was going on, he’d pull us out of the line and walk us slowly down toward the entrance of the theater. When we got to the doors he continued to walk us inside past the ticket taker, whereupon he released our elbows and said with a smile, “Enjoy the movie!” I wonder if he saw the water in my eyes as I was tearing up with thanks.

I wish you could see the tears rolling down my face right now as I remember those moments. Those movies are one of my favorite memories of our dating years. I couldn’t afford to take Jean to a movie except for the occasional $10 Mom and Dad would graciously slip me for just that purpose. Mr. B sneaking us into the movie meant we could afford one more date out, or several orders of toast and milk, or maybe a chocolate malt at the Dairy Queen. We continued to frequent the Iowa Theater in hopes that Mr. B would be there, and we could have a free date, or given the 50/50 probability, two dates for the price of one. Thanks Mr. B. Many, many thanks.



Borrowed Car
Mom and Dad had two cars while I was attending Coe College. They each needed a car to get to work during the week, but during the weekend it wasn’t a hardship for the folks to be down to one car. It was only a 2-mile run from Coe to Mom and Dad’s house, so every few weeks I’d call ahead on a Friday to see if I could borrow Mom’s car for the weekend. It only took 15 minutes to run the two miles home and pick up the car. Being a distance runner really does come in handy.

Better yet were the times when Mom and Dad showed up at a Coe basketball game on Friday night. During half-time we could say hello, I could make a sales pitch for the car, Dad might slip me a couple bucks, and Jean and I could catch a ride to the house after the game. Then Jean and I would head back to Coe with the car and I’d keep it for the rest of the weekend.

Jean and I would make weekend trips (free) to Wapsipinicon State Park, or Maquoketa Caves State Park. Did I mention these were free? I either had Dad’s credit card to fill up the tank, or I put a buck or two in (38 cents/gallon) so it wasn’t empty when I returned it; the salient point being that use of the car was essentially free. (Thanks Mom and Dad!)

On Sunday afternoon Jean and I would drive the car home with my dirty laundry and an occasional physics paper or lab experiment. The meal service was closed Sunday nights, so the only free meal in town was at Mom and Dad’s house. Also, the washers and dryers in the dorms were 50 cents a load whereas the machines in Mom and Dad’s basement were free (did I mention free?) and available so long as I did it myself. Note well, I always asked, I was never presumptuous when freeloading off my folks, but they never said no, thank goodness.

Now before you start laughing too hard about how cheap I was, please remember that I had washed dishes for a dollar an hour to earn money for college only a couple of summers earlier. In my mind one load of laundry, that’s 50 cents for the washer and 50 cents for the dryer, equaled a full hour of washing dishes. A dollar was precious to me, and it still is, knowing the labor that is required to earn one. I wasn’t going to waste a dollar of my money, or my parent’s money, unless I absolutely had to.

So I had laundry running in my parent’s basement, I was making a plate of leftovers out of Mom’s refrigerator, and Mom graciously assented to typing my physics paper while I was mooching everything else. I didn’t learn to type, and badly at that, until my senior year, so Mom’s name really should appear on the diploma next to mine. Mom saved me hours of time, time I did not have, dozens of times.

Mom was a super typist, and with that old manual typewriter, without auto-correct, you had to be super accurate. Mom would shake her head and mutter, “I have no idea what ANY of this means!” I’d wave my hands and explain F=ma, Maxwell’s equations, inertia, entropy, kinetic energy, potential energy, and angular momentum just to impress my folks a bit and reassure them that they were getting their nickel’s worth by sending me to Coe College.

When I finished my laundry, and finished my dinner, and my latest greatest paper was typed, Mom would drive Jean and I back to Coe and drop us off at the dorms.

Yes, I realize how much I owe my parents.