From Moravia to Texas: A Czech Immigrant Family’s Pioneering Journey

By Sam Kopecky

As the early 20th century steadily recedes into the distant past, many details of daily life during that American pre-depression period fade to an increasingly abstract perspective, void of the feeling brought to life in this loving couple’s extensive and valuable correspondence. The minute details of everyday life become more important as the distance in decades between their readers and the correspondence, increases. This is a rare first-hand account of the stress and hardships of a country nurse, and country doctor and WWI veteran, from humble origins. With the advent of WWI, there is also the beginning of the ‘medical corps’ in General “Black Jack” Pershing’s notional army, which later became a permanent institution in the federalized U.S.A. army in WWII. Before this time, organized medical and nursing services were almost completely lacking, with tragic consequences in the American war between the States, only 60 years before Joe and Golda’s correspondence. This was a condition said not to have been resolved until the conclusion of Roosevelt’s ‘New Deal’ of the 1930’s–early 40’s and the demands of WWII, that the great advances in medicine and nursing care achieved in the hospitals of the north eastern United States, had finally reached all corners of this country.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Aug 10, 2020
• ISBN: 9781698700724

Sam Kopecky

The manuscript for this Czechoslovakian-Texan history was completed by Sam Kopecky in 2001, shortly before his death following a long illness. It was based on a detailed diary written by his (first American generation) grandfather, Dr Joseph Kopecky, as well as extensive correspondence between his grandparents from 1913–1920.

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Copyright 2020 Sam Kopecky and edited for publication by Pam Kopecky.

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ISBN: 978-1-6987-0070-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6987-0071-7 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6987-0072-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020908546

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CONTENTS

PART IV LETTERS FROM 1917 TO 1920

Chapter 71     The Draft

Chapter 72     The Inevitable

Chapter 73     Melon Patch

Chapter 74     Sanitorium

Chapter 75     Out of Touch

Chapter 76     Mineral Wells

Chapter 77     Preparing

Chapter 78     Overworked

Chapter 79     Galveston Transfer

Chapter 80     Treatment

Chapter 81     Orders

Chapter 82     Whereabouts

Chapter 83     In The Army Now

With the 19th Field Artillery, 5th Division

Chapter 84     Fort Sam Houston

Chapter 85     Checking Out

Chapter 86     Waiting

Chapter 87     Recovering

Chapter 88     Prognosis

Chapter 89     Reflections

Chapter 90     Assigned

Chapter 91     Christmas

Chapter 92     Year End

Chapter 93     Getting Anxious

Chapter 94     Preparing

Chapter 95     Apprehension

Chapter 96     At Last

Chapter 97     Camp Zachary Taylor

Chapter 98     The Trip to Siberia – Chicago to San Francisco

Chapter 99     On The ‘Logan’

Chapter 100   Siberian Arrival

Chapter 101   Vladivostok – Spasskoe, Siberia

Chapter 102   Day Trip

Chapter 103   News from Home

Chapter 104   Routine

Chapter 105   Letters from Home

Chapter 106   Experiences

Chapter 107   On to Lake Baikal

Chapter 108   Still on The Move

Chapter 109   Writing from Graham

Chapter 110   Selenga

Chapter 111   Plans

Chapter 112   Autumn on Its Way

Chapter 113   Summer Drags On

Chapter 114   Down to Taiton

Chapter 115   Catching Up

Chapter 116   Winter Quarters

Chapter 117   New Recruits

Chapter 118   The Fortune Teller

Chapter 119   Denton at Last

Chapter 120   School Starts

Chapter 121   Turning Colder

Chapter 122   Frost Bite

Chapter 123   School at Denton

Chapter 124   Up and Down The Line

Chapter 125   Settling In

Chapter 126   Christmas Nears

Chapter 127   More School

Chapter 128   Christmas Time

Chapter 129   Events of The Time

Chapter 130   Christmas in Siberia

Chapter 131   Back at School

Chapter 132   Misha

Chapter 133   Coming Home

PART V AFTER THE WAR 1920 - 1960

Chapter 134   After The War

Appendix: History of Mexico – 1876 to 1988

Russian Background

Admiral Kolchak: 1918 – 1920

Prohibition

Joe Kopecky – by Jerrie Hejl Collins

Bibliography

PART IV

Letters from 1917 to 1920

From the letters written between Dr. Joe and Golda Kopecky — along with diary excerpts.

CHAPTER

71

The Draft

…"Well, well, well, my dear girl, isn’t that a deuce of a come-off. Streptococci infection. Let us hope it won’t get to be any worse than it is and that you will not have to stay in bed any longer than your Dr. thinks you will. In the meantime, make virtue of necessity and enjoy staying in bed as much as you can. You need a rest anyway. As soon as you get well enough, I’ll come over and see you — and I, if I think best, will marry you against your wishes and bring you down here. Be as cheerful as circumstances and painful joints permit, and all will be all right again.

I had a case of broken neck yesterday. The man got into too close a communion with John Barleycorn, and while driving home, fell off his wagon and broke his neck. At first, it was hard to determine the extent of his injury on account of his being so much under the influence of alcohol. By midnight he became conscious and partly sober, and it became evident that he was completely paralysed in all his extremities. He finally became fully conscious and suffered great pain; about 18 hours after the injury he died from paralysis of respiration.

He came from Taiton. Ten years ago, three of his girls went to school with me. John Barleycorn got him.

At last we seem to have prospects for a rain. It has been raining all around us today and right now it is clouded up and thundering like it meant business. The Douglasses came home yesterday and report a good time, and regret very much that it was impossible for you to come. Send me your physician’s address.

Pretty rough on the kitty. The bath seems to have had much the same result as one hot bath had on an old drunk when Wieners was relieving at Sealy once upon a time.

Heart murmur. Here’s hoping it will soon chase itself off the face of the earth. The Dr. is giving you stock vaccine, I suppose.

I have a letter from Washington saying that I have passed the exam. and will receive the commission later. I have not yet decided as to whether I will accept it or not when it gets here. Anyway, there is no necessity for deciding now, so I shall not worry about it. Gray does not seem to have heard from his application as yet.

I am glad to know that you are no worse now than you were when you wrote last. That may mean that if you stay quietly in bed, you may recover without any further complications…

Well, I am afraid I do not have much sympathy with the boy that began to cry when he found out that his number was drafted. The chairman of the registration board told me the other day that a young man came in to inquire abut his number and was so scared that his knees almost knocked against each other. He asked me whether I did not think it was pitiful. I told him no, it was disgusting. A man like that ought to be sent to the front — he ought not to be allowed to stay here and propagate more cowards.

We are just beginning to realise that we are involved in the most terrible war this world has ever seen. The sooner we wake up and steel ourselves to the gravity of the situation, the better off we will be. The war will not be over soon. I do not believe it would be right to keep this truth from you any longer. When my commission gets here I feel that I will have to accept it; when I accept it I mean to apply for immediate active service. This business of indecision is getting to be intolerable.

Three hundred years ago the Germans have done to the nation of my fathers what they are now trying to do to the rest of Europe… and then to the rest of the world. Ever since I was able to read, I have read abut the awful oppression of my forefathers’ country by the Prussians. I have learned to hate their name and have time and again said that if my country needs me against Germany, she will have to call me just once. When my father came to this country he came here seeking freedom — and he found it. What this has meant to me I can only realise by comparing myself and my lot, with that of my cousins who stayed in Europe. Now the Germans are trying to do to my country what they have done to that of my forefathers 300 years ago. It is now no longer a question of tradition or of sentiment in regard to the past; it is a question of my own native land. In offering me a commission, Uncle Sam is offering me a sword with the hilt towards me; he wants me to stand by him… to protect this country… and you.

To prepare a cozy home where I could bring you to rule and be my partner for the rest of my life, and to call this home with you in it, my own, has been the fondest dream, the passion of my heart, for the past year. I have had my heart gripped by loneliness time and again but I only needed to think of this fond dream and my loneliness disappeared, as if dispelled by a charm. I love you with all my heart; you are the centre of my thoughts, my plans, my life. We are now only a few weeks from the time when our dreams and our hopes are to become realised. But, Golda, my dear heart, when this country calls me as it now seems it will sooner or later, though my heart is breaking every time I see that little house and think of you and my dreams… when Uncle Sam offers me a sword in this hour of this country’s greatest danger, you know me and you know what the answer must be. You will never be a slacker’s wife.

With tender love and hundreds

of hugs and kisses, Joe."

… "Well, the draft is over with as far as I am concerned. My number is 1073 and 1073 was drawn as the 1556th number, and as only those that were pulled out on the first 500 or 600 numbers are likely to be called for the first army, I—if I were subject to draft—would likely not be called out until the 3rd army was drafted, which—if the 3rd army is ever organised at all—would be sometime next year. But I guess my commission will be here pretty soon and as a member of the medical reserve corps, I would not be subject to draft. Also, I could get exemption from the draft even if my commission never got here.

I am a great deal more concerned about my younger brothers than I am about myself. As yet, I have not learned whether they have been drafted or not. I know what numbers have been drafted but I do not know what my brothers’ numbers are. Oh well, we will know all this sometime in the near future.

Yes, I suppose the latter part of October will do as well as any other time and while I am not anxious to postpone it any more than necessary, it might really be best to wait till all this draft and other military business gets settled and I know ‘whereabouts I am at’. Anyway, a month one way or the other ought not to make very much difference to us after we have gotten as trained to it as we have. Don’t understand me to say that I find it any too pleasant; I only mean that I can put up with it if I have to. Nothing like making virtue of necessity."…

Dr Joe then spent time writing several lines with different pen points; stubby, fine, extra fine, medium and so on. He usually just grabbed one — only to regret it later. This time, he wanted one he liked… and he thought it would be the fine point.

John had come by to get a ride home with Dr Joe but the area had so much rain, his brother decided to go with a man in a surrey instead. However, Dr Joe thought that if the weather broke he might go home just the same, to see how everyone was doing. He continued…

"It hasn’t rained any yesterday and doesn’t look much like it might today. Saturday afternoon, I had to go out on a call about seven miles away from here and got into some mud but I had a broad-tired car running in front of me all the way, and so did not find it very hard to drive. While I was out there, the farmer gave me two large watermelons to take with me. I left them here at the drugstore on ice, and yesterday while I was gone, the boys gave the smaller one of them to Turner and opened up the larger one themselves. They thought they’d trick Turner but were disappointed when they found the larger melon unripe.

I started home yesterday morning and took a friend with me as I rather expected to get into a muddy place somewhere. I did not tell him why I took him along. I was glad I took him. I got into a treacherous place where my rear wheels sank into the mud, clean to the axle, and we had to work for two hours before we got the car out. We had to walk home, about one and a half miles away, to get a horse and pull the jitney out. My arms are real sore this morning from all that pulling and lifting. I stayed on high and dry places for the rest of the day.

Your estimation of John is not very far from right. At times he is disposed to be rather slushy and then again he gets hypercritical, grouchy and the rest of it, until he is hard to get along with. He is very much disposed to being autocratic. I have no trouble getting along with him but he and Cyril get along best when they are out of each other’s sight. Each thinks that when it comes to the other’s common sense and brains, he has nix. I can see where both are prejudiced and mistaken. John is too conservative and Cyril too radical, which considering the difference in their ages, is natural.

You do not say much as to how you are getting along, so I take it for granted you are getting along okay. I hope that the heart trouble you mentioned in your letter yesterday is the only heart trouble you are afflicted with.

Paddie’s name reminds me of a joke I read today. A little boy had a dog named Paddy. Paddy got run over by a jitney and was killed. The boy’s mother broke the news to him and he seemed to take the news remarkable cool. But that night, an awful wail came from the nursery. The mother hastened to see what the trouble was. The boy informed her that the nurse had just told him Paddy was dead. She said why I told you so at noon and you did not seem to mind it. He said, I didn’t know you said Paddy. I thought you said Daddy.

No letter yesterday and none today. Are you worse? I imagine it is rather tiresome to have to stay in bed now, unless you have a cool room. If you have a cool room, you ought not to mind it very much. I have a real cool room where I stay; towards morning it gets so cool that I have to have a thin blanket.

Cyril came down here yesterday. He was taking a horse to John’s farm at Blue Creek and then meant to stay in town for a while. There was a girl from West Texas visiting here and he was to see her. She wrote him twice last week about being here but he could not come on account of the rain. When he got here yesterday she had gone, so I had to take him home. I did not stay at home long.

There is not very much doing now. The people seem to be so absorbed in the results of the draft that they do not get sick. I suppose there will be quite a number of them that will feel pretty sick—figuratively speaking—when the drafting or calling out of those drafted, begins in real earnest.

Cyril is trying to get into this Second Officers’ Training camp. He is to go to Houston for a final exam, Monday. He does not know yet how he stands on the draft proposition; he registered in Runnels Co. and has not heard on his number yet.

It seems to me that a good many people have lost some of their former enthusiasm about the war. It is amusing and sometimes pitiful to see how scared some people get. If I was scared, I don’t believe I would want to show it.

Not sure as to whether Dr. Gray sent his application in or not but I believe he did. If I have to go, I would not like to see him stay…

We got our order for appearing for exam in this county. The quota for Wharton County is 147. I am to be the 313th to appear for examination. As more than half of those called will be either unfit or else will claim exemption, I am sure to be called for examination. I do not know as yet when the examination is to be held but I’ll certainly feel relieved when all this mess is over with; let it come out as it will. It is beginning to get on my nerves — the uncertainty of it is.

I did an adenotomy this morning on a child about three years old. Redhead gave the anaesthetic. There was nothing unusual about it; except a meddling grandmother. I got along with her by just simply ignoring her. Once or twice I felt like telling her to close herself out of the room but I reconsidered it. I thought I would be complimenting her to even notice her.

So you are up and about. That’s good news. You will soon be well enough to come down here; or else I can come to see you. You will have to take good care of yourself for a while so as not to encourage a relapse. As for the tonsils, you would probably be better off without them. How do you look and how are you, outside of the joint trouble? Your case progresses much better than those cases usually do. The disorder is a serious one at best and you may as well get to looking at it from that viewpoint.

Yes, I think it would be best to have the tonsils removed but I warn you not to expect too much from this procedure. This will not do away with the infection already in your system; you will have to fight that out. I’ll see you as soon as I can possibly get away — and if you feel that my presence can cheer you up or help you in any way, say the word and I’ll be up there on the next train. Other things can afford to wait…

Just got back from Taiton. Cyril came with me. He is going to Houston to take his exam for the training camp tomorrow morning. I guess he will come back either tomorrow night or Tuesday morning. Jerome, who is at school at Huntsville, will likely come back with him.

I had a letter from Dr. Graves last night telling me that Drs McNeill and Leary had been called out. He offered me Dr. McNeill’s place for the time of the war — or until McNeil comes back. I spoke to Dr. Graves last night and told him that I would likely be called out in the first draft and as I have claimed no exemption, do not think I can get excused. He is going to wait till the draft is over with before he looks for another man. I don’t know what I would rather do; go into the army or take McNeill’s place.

I am not doing much of anything and don’t expect to do much more during my stay here. Since the people know that I am going away, I suppose they will turn to some doctor that is going to stay. Then too, a good many families are away for the summer. It seems that I have very little ambition left right now. It may be the summer heat… on the other hand, it may be the chaotic condition of things… and it is of course, also your suffering. As soon as I can get away—or if you say so, even as soon as you say so—I’ll come up and see you for a few days. If you are sick in bed, I can visit you and read to you. You seem to be having some visitors most of the time anyway…

You poor darling. I can see from your handwriting that you are suffering with your wrists. I have thought several times that I am treating you real shabby in not having come up to comfort you. I believe you would put up a better fight and would get well quicker if I stayed with you a few days. As soon as this crazy obstet. case I am waiting for now gets over with, I will feel free — for a while. In the meantime my dearest, remember that I think of you all the time…

What joints are now involved?

Cyril and Jerome came in on the noon train from Houston. I don’t believe I told you that Cyril was going to work a scheme to get Jerome home. Cyril will not stay at home long if he gets admitted to that training camp. Jerome has been doing good work at school and was to stay there till August 15th but wrote Cyril that if he writes the principal that he (Jerome) is badly needed at home, they’d give him his credits and let him off two weeks ahead of time. Cyril wired from Houston and the scheme worked, and both came in about an hour ago. Things kinder brightened up when those boys got here; this usually happens when they get together. They can act more different kinds of fools than anyone else I know of. I am quite anxious for you to meet the boys.

Later: Was called away to attend to a woman flooding. This usually admits of no delay so I had to leave your letter unfinished. When I came back, the train had already gone through. My jitney has been acting contrary today; this morning it positively refused to start. This afternoon I had a blow-out and ruined an inner tube, as if I did not have garage expenses enough already.

Miss Taylor, the telegraph operator who has been boarding at our house for the past year, is going to Oklahoma. Her substitute arrived a day or so ago and when I first saw her, I told Taylor, I believe you’d better stay; let’s let well enough alone. Taylor is ugly but this new one is much uglier. She is about forty, fat and French. One of her eyes has a tendency to run away into the northwest corner of her eye-socket. That’s as close a description as I can give, for after the first look I could not muster enough courage to look at her face again…

My garage bill for the past month was $50.77. Wouldn’t that stagger you? Still, I believe I have done less driving than any preceding month.

As to this draft business, the modus operandi will be as follows. If I am drafted before my commission gets here, I will have to respond to the draft and then transfer from the army to the Medical Reserve Corps. If my commission gets here before I am drafted, I will accept the commission and then cannot be drafted anymore. That would be the procedure in case I claim no exemption. If I claim exemption, the mode of procedure would be as follows: When I am drafted, I may claim exemption on the strength of having accepted that job at Galveston. My claims will then go up to the district exemption board to be passed upon. If the board does recognise my claims, that will end it. I can accept the job on strength of the claim that I am already rendering the nation a valuable service by teaching in a medical college. If my claims are not recognised, then I can accept my commission and wait for my call…"

CHAPTER

72

The Inevitable

…"I’m tired of working, myself — but I didn’t plan this kind of a vacation. The bed grows monotonous, yet I can’t complain because there are many things that I have to be thankful for and there are many ways of entertaining one’s self. So I’ll take your advice and make the best of it. My few friends here have been so very thoughtful. One dear old lady across the street, whom I’ve laughed about so often, brings me the loveliest roses and fresh bread. I told my sister I felt real guilty when she came with them.

Well, I’m sorry the old man got his neck broken but they have to pay the price when they commune with J. B. it seems. Oh! I recall how repulsive the sight of one of those old drunken patients in the hospital! I haven’t smelt alcohol on anyone’s breath—with one exception—since I left Sealy.

Here’s the paper. Drawing to be at 9:30 Friday. That’s tomorrow. What is your number? I’m praying that it will not be drawn. Then you can go when you feel it your duty and can take your own sweet time in deciding where your duty lies.

O, why does that sister of mine always remember that horrible medicine? She never lets the time run over two minutes. It tastes worser and worser. I fear this will not be mailed till morning, then you’ll get no letter tomorrow. O, Dr. Lee Yater, Henderson St. Why? …

If we could ride away out of sight of this ugly town, away out in the cool evening, I’d forget I ever had ‘rheumatics’ and I think the ride would cure my heart…

Lady caller — quick with the spirits of aromatics Ann! I thought she never would leave. Isn’t that a polite way to speak of one’s caller? She’s a little pretty spoiled child 15 years old, who thinks she is prettier than she is and thinks everyone appreciates her as she does herself. She has boys on the brain, which makes it impossible to keep her interested in any other subject. She comes over here nearly every day and unfortunately for us, she never knows when to go. I had another little girl caller this afternoon. She was 16, yet a sensible sweet girl whose company was enjoyed. What a pity that some mothers train up such sweet little fools as the former one. If you compliment her she will come to see you three times a day. Medicine time!!!!

Yes the Dr’s giving me Strepto - 8 Staphto vaccine (combined) put up by Parke Davis. He’s coming this morning to give me the third dose. I’m a little sceptical about its merit too.

Let’s see what have I done today? Read, slept, ate, took medicines, and played with Paddie. My bum hand refused to let me sew or crochet. What have you accomplished today? Eleven o’clock is a long time rolling around these mornings. Sometimes when it finally comes, ‘Kiddo’, the postman, passes me up. Then I want to throw bricks at him. This morning I looked out in time to see his blue skirt and straw hat pass the window and I didn’t hear the mailbox click.

Fort Worth is having a great time now with her training camps, new resorts etc. I meant to run up there to do a little shopping before I went to see you. Under the present conditions I can’t say what I’ll do. Maybe I can stop when I come back from having my tonsillectomy.

Today is the day that Dr. Y. said I may go to town. I might hobble down there if I could use my hands to dress. Don’t think I care to go. My wrists and thumbs are swollen sompin awful; they hurt too. I don’t think I’ll ever get well enough to go to Dallas. Guess I’ll have to phone the Dr. this day. Sister isn’t well today. Nearly a hospital here. Wish I were nurse instead of patient.

I saw a Capt. Chandler’s picture in the ‘Star Telegram’ — said he was from El Campo. Do you know him?…

You were very thoughtful and sweet to send me a special today. The day will not seem so long. O, yes, the candy came yesterday and was joyfully received by Ogie and Paddie both. I’ll have sister to bring me a piece or two right now. I like chocolates that are cold from being on ice.

I hope you get to go home and have an enjoyable time. Don’t eat too much fried chicken, and pie, and goodies. I guess your brother John will be gone to Blue Creek. Judging from the numerous trips he makes out there I’m inclined to think there’s a girl at Blue Creek, as well as a farm. Don’t tell him I said so because I imagine he is a cranky old bachelor who would think me impudent. I’ve never anticipated meeting him with much pleasure for I have him in mind, as a hypercritical old maid schoolteacher. Don’t tell him tho, cause I guess I’m mistaken. At least I’ll not condemn him until I shall have made his acquaintance.

Do the thrilling adventures of the Sammies in France make you want to go also? I’ve been reading about their learning to speak French and how the French maidens are teaching some of them. Now I don’t want you to go atal.

The neighbours didn’t contribute anything to the cripple today. The old lady pulled all her roses for me. She takes part of her roses to her daughter’s grave. I’m glad she doesn’t put flowers on my grave…

So the last of October is the final decision of us. I’ll be kinder glad when that time comes. I’ve always thought of my wedding as I did my funeral — inevitable, yet far indefinitely in the future. Charles is going to town; I’ll send this now with him.

You will get no letter tomorrow because I entertained company when I should have been writing. I got up early this morning and helped sister peel peaches that she wanted to can. Before the peaches were finished I felt finished too. I went back to bed and slept so long that I didn’t have time to write you a letter before ‘Kiddo’ came.

Well I must admit that you have your share of perseverance when it comes to making a trip through the mud. If I were that friend of yours I’d be a little suspicious when you asked me to go with you after a recent rain. You seem to be in need of better roads down there. Were your brothers’ numbers among the first drawn? Or have you learned yet?

Yes, I’m getting along as well as could be expected. The Dr says I’m getting off light. Dr. Yater was telling me yesterday how well I was doing and began telling about several severe cases— one that hadn’t walked for ten years. I told him he’d do me a great favour by giving an overdose of morphine should such a fate befall me. I’m worried for fear this will recur. He advises that I have my tonsils removed as soon as convenient but I don’t know whom I want to do the work. They are buried and will be hard to get. I wouldn’t have confidence in the specialists here; I’d rather have Yater than them. I must get well ’cause I couldn’t live and be so useless.

Don’t worry about flowers. They are very scarce now I know. Don’t waste your money on flowers for me. You hear most people say, If you can’t give me flowers while I’m living, don’t put them on my grave but I differ with them. I do want a bouquet or two sent to my funeral so that the old curious sisters can’t say Poor thing; she hadn’t a friend. So, if I should be mistaken happen to die, you must make every effort to get me a rose or two.

It’s time to take that horrid medicine. It seems worse since I fix it myself. I got up yesterday. Dr says I may go to town Saturday; maybe. I told him he was having me stay in the house so that I wouldn’t gad the streets so much. He said yes, he was afraid someone would see me and want to marry me. Then they would have no nurse in Cleburne. I took all this seriously and decided to abide by his orders.

Your joke about the kid and the dog make me think of another ungrateful youngster I read about. The father at the head of the table was saying When I was a child I was glad to eat dry bread at times. His youngest daughter: Well Daddy, you are getting a great deal more since you have come to live with us…

I can’t write very well because of my swollen thumb but I have no favourable report to make this morning. I’ve had four doses of vaccine and not well yet. I seemed to respond to the treatment at first but now I’m not improving like I should. Dr. Yater says I must go to Dallas to a specialist whom he recommends very highly, and have my tonsils removed as soon as I’m strong enough to go. I’m wondering if I’ll ever get able to walk well enough to go. I wish you were here to go with me. He insists on my having a local anaesthetic — so I suppose I’ll have to submit to it; says I must stay in the hospital one night. What do you think? Ever since I entered that old training school, ill luck has befallen me. I’m in a dreadful mood — can’t write for ‘squalling’…

After I had finished my cry and powdered my nose, I began sewing on a garment, which kept me busy till some Irish women selling lace came by. They gave me some lace for a hand made garment that I made too large for myself, and they sold me some extra lace that looks like spider web. It is the hand woven lace like the Mexican women weave on pillows. After they left, the woman living on the corner sent me my dinner. While I was eating, in came Paddie with a piece of pie on a plate that the woman next door had sent to me. Paddie got the pie and a chicken leg from the tray. He was very much pleased. After dinner I took a short nap. I received a letter from Watson; Fred’s number was the 450th drawn.

Yes, I have a very cool room. Ever since I’ve had to stay in bed, the weather has been very pleasant. At night, one needs light cover. I don’t mind staying in bed; neither do I mind the pain, which isn’t so much if I knew that this staying in bed would help me any. But when I see everyone about me busy and read of everyone’s doing something that the world needs done… and when I think of myself sitting here idle, and when the thought that I might not ever be of any use in the world haunts me… I get blue — you’ll say I’m pessimistic but you never have had rheumatism.

Yes, it seems that the enthusiasm has faded considerably since the stern realisation is brought upon them. One boy here went away crying when he saw that his number had been drawn. Poor old boys, I feel sorry for them. I’ve read so many horrible descriptions of the war that I shudder at the thought of it. I believe I had rather go than have anyone dear to me to go; it wouldn’t seem so terrible at nearer range. How long will Germany last I wonder — a few more thousand are wondering the same I suppose. Someone has prophesied that peace will be declared in September. Wouldn’t that be convenient? It would be just before our wedding day and we would marry to celebrate the great event.

O, I forgot, I might yet be crippled and couldn’t marry you. I’m not going to build any air castles to be blown down in my face…

I’ve felt so peculiarly about this war business; when I think of it and your connection with it, I think of you as being so far from me and I feel my helplessness in aiding you. If we were where we could discuss these topics, it wouldn’t be so bad. As it is, everything seems so indefinite and you seem so far away that I’m haunted by the fear that you’ll be taken away from me by some uncontrollable force before I’m even aware of my loss. Why are you being examined again? I wish they’d leave you be. I know that you’ve been under a nervous strain. The uncertainty alone is enough to give one D. T.’s. Never mind, I know that you deserve all that’s good and I’m still betting on your success. Fate couldn’t be so cruel as to make you go to war and let that good-for-nothing Gray stay at home.

How do I look? A little paler—except when my temp. is above 99 degrees—and a little thinner than I was two weeks ago. I’m five feet, four and a half inches tall, have freckles, grey green eyes and black hair. If you were to meet me do you think you’d like me?

Sunday morning — your special delivery letter just received. I like your little patriotic speech even tho it makes me sad. I’ve thought all the time that you’d accept the commission. I’m glad that you have manhood and patriotism enough to answer what you think your duty; I couldn’t have a slacker. Heretofore I’ve evaded the seriousness of it all because I loved you so. But quoting your own doctrine, We mustn’t resent the inevitable, this I guess I’ll learn to swallow like medicine and learn to take without water before all this trouble is over.

I can’t blame you for feeling bitter toward Germany. Wish I were a man and could go with you to help defend our country.

Where did you spend the day? Out in a mud hole pulling your car out for the exercise? We need a few mud holes around here. It’s getting very dry…

I guess I’ll soon have to give up my boy, my lover, my ideal of manhood… to horrible cruel war. It looks like too great a sacrifice that our best men should be taken. I can’t hardly become reconciled to your going yet if you were a man who didn’t answer his call to duty, I wouldn’t have much respect for you. The war prospects are not very favourable I admit. I was reading an article yesterday that told how many men Germany still had — and we’ll have our hands full but of course, we will win. I don’t know whether I’ll be a Red Cross nurse and go to France, or stay at home and knit sox. In truth I’m stumbling along in the dark.

I must see you soon because I’m afraid you’ll be called away. I almost wish we had married last July and kept house with the operating table and gas jet, then we could have been happy a year, if never anymore. Yet it might have been harder to give you up, so there’s no use of regrets. I am glad that you’ve made your final decision so that you will know how to plan and have a little peace of mind.

Tuesday — I’m actually anxious about you, for fear you will have a nervous breakdown. Come on to see me and forget about all your cases; everything is uncertain anyway — life itself. Will you be free to come by the first of the week? I’ll have my Premier to take you riding and we’ll go to Lake Worth for a plunge. Now if my hands are sore you will have to run the car. Are you going to sell your car and other paraphernalia? I hope that you soon decide and try to become reconciled to it. Let me know when you think, that I may see your dear all sweet face. Well I’ll be a Dutchman! I didn’t know I had all this space at the bottom of the page. Will you get your commission if you are drafted? I don’t understand all that anyway…

Since my hand is about normal I’m very industriously inclined. About 11 a.m. I attempted to cut out an apron. There didn’t seem to be a breath of breeze blowing until I got my patterns laid on the material. From the way that tissue paper fluttered and scattered over the room, one would have thought there was a sea breeze near by. I tried to work slowly and kept assuring myself that so little exertion would not be harmful but it seemed that the mere thought of work fatigued me. Finally at 3 o’clock, I was wet with perspiration and hurting in every joint, so folded the patterns and material to wait some more opportune day. I got it all cut out and have been in the bed ever since.

Joe, I’m never going to get well it seems, so you might as well come now before I become a chronic invalid. August is here and here I be. I’m trying to make a brave fight… but I miss.

I hope that life has taken on more cheerful aspects in your vision. It sounds so unnatural for you to be gloomy and indifferent toward your welfare. Your being unsettled makes you feel that way I suppose. When you get in your new work and real busy, your interest in life will revive. This work and travel, along with the varied experiences, will add much to your life. And I suppose, if you are fortunate enough to return to America—I trust that you are—that you will never regret the time spent in the war. So cheer up, you’ve a great adventure in store for you; a great work too. You are healthy and well-blessed in intellect, capable of accomplishing much. Why should you be moody? I know that there’s a place worthwhile, waiting for you somewhere sometime.

Love Golda."

CHAPTER

73

Melon Patch

… "To tell the truth, I am not worrying much about what’s coming; though one cannot help thinking of it. After all, it does not make so much difference and for some reason I am beginning to feel strongly that it will all be for the best, though I am unable to see why. The reaction that comes on one, after one has his immediate plans shattered, is just temporary. Out of the old, one can reconstruct the new, if one has any brains.

You certainly do not seem to want for company. All these sympathetic, solicitous inquisitive neighbours will have to be sidetracked for a while when I come down. I know it will be pretty bad on them but they can wait.

I do not know just when I will be able to come down but if convenient, likely Monday or Sunday. The obstetrical case I mentioned recently has not come off yet but I cannot wait for it indefinitely. I have been putting off seeing you long enough. It will soon be half a year since I have seen you.

Isn’t this beginning to be an awfully hot month. Cotton is coming in now at the rate of over hundred bales a day. The town is beginning to put on a prosperous look; the cotton has such a good price that the farmers feel like lords. They seem to be getting more money than they know what to do with…

No is mighty ‘dern’ right; I’ll see you again before I leave for war. I’ll come to see you then, with my uniform on so as to add to the local color and give it a touch of romance. Only don’t speak of my enlisting. Only common soldiers enlist; men like your fiongsay—ahem! —are commissioned instead of enlisting! Their commission has Woodrow’s signature on it and is fixed so that it can be framed, and in later years pointed out with pride to the second generation.

A Danish gentleman came in and asked me to give his wife something to relieve her of being in the family way. Those offers come in so often that I can’t even get angry anymore when I refuse them. I used to resent the insinuation on my integrity.

So the gentleman in high heart lost his right arm. Too bad… but maybe in consideration of the experience he has had in France, he is willing to part with his arm. Cyril and I were discussing the prospects of going to France the other day and he said it would be nice if one could go, and live to come back and tell the fellers about it. I told him yes; that I believe I would even be willing to get wounded and get well. John did not seem to like the idea of one of us coming back minus a hand, and thought it would be much nicer to serve in this country.

I am glad to hear that you are doing better. It takes time for these cases to get well.

Con mucho amor y un mil besos, Joe."

… "Have you an electric current (lights) in your house? To save my life, I can’t think whether you have electric lights or not.

Had an adeno-tonsillectomy this morning. It was so hot; I sweated and spewed like Dr. Breathi. At that, it took only about 20 minutes. The patient is still alive and I hope will continue to stay so. The smaller a child is, the harder it seems it is to handle the tonsils. This was a frail little girl of four years and her tonsils were quite hard to extract.

The draft numbers are out, I understand, as far as no. 300. I hope mine will be out soon — mine is 313. Somehow, I have about quit worrying about the matter; have become reconciled, I guess. For the last few days, much to my astonishment — not to say disappointment, I have been in a real cheerful mood. I feel amused about one phase of this business that has occurred to me time and again; I wonder if it has to you. That is, that if we were to read about our present status in a novel, we would think it real romantic and interesting. There’s enough material here for a good story or a movie plan. Right at present, it is rather hard to see any humour in it; it would hardly do for a comedy. It has not reached—and I hope and believe will not reach—the point where it is a tragedy but it would make a mighty good drama. Someday we will look back at this time in our lives and though we will be glad it is over with, we will be glad we had the experiences of going through it."

Dear Ogie, got to Rosenberg at 7am and then got to come with a man from here, in his car. The man’s wife, a former obst. case of mine, was on her way from South Dakota and he met her at Rosenberg. As I was going to the train in Ft. Worth I heard the lady call out Hello Dr. Kopecky!" and was certainly surprised to hear my name. I got home about 9:30 a.m.

The obst. case I waited for so long came off the very night I left here. Dr. Gray got it.

Cyril took Mother to Refugio Co. to my sister’s while I was gone. He went in my jitney. He left Mother there, and he and Olaster came back. I went home and to John’s place yesterday.

I certainly enjoyed last night’s sleep. Did not sleep any the night before. Felt like I could sleep two years—including legal holidays and Sundays— when I got home.

Don’t attempt to write a long letter while your wrist is swollen but let me have a few lines after it’s train time.

Ogie won’t get a letter Monday. The reasons therefore: a little tack lying in the way of my tire. It is remarkable what a lot of mischief a little tack can play when it gets out of its jurisdiction. And it seems that I incurred all this trouble unnecessarily too. A few days ago, John asked me to come and get him this morning and take him over to Taiton. When I got to his farm today, I could not find him anywhere so I came on back to town. When I got back, Turner asked me, Did I tell you John told me yesterday that he would go home sooner than he thought he would and that it would not be necessary for you to go after him? I felt like murdering him and gave him a look that implied as much. When I got to the house, I found the flat tire and the tack; all of which made me still more wrath. I was to go over to Taiton to get John but he got back here before I left town.

Well, your beloved is now 1st Lieutenant in the U. S. Army; that is, if he chooses so to be. The commission got here this evening. By Wednesday, I shall have decided whether I am going to accept it or not — though I guess I will. I see in today’s paper that Drs. Allen Heard and Boyd have been ordered to Washington. That Sealy force is going to be altered some, the next thing you know — there will be no one but the old codgers left.

I fell asleep about 3 p.m. this afternoon and slept till 7 p.m. It seems that I get more satisfaction from sleep than I do from anything else now. I never did care especially about eating but I do enjoy sleeping about eighty hours out of the 24 hours. I’ll have to sit up till about 1 a.m. now, as I will not be able to sleep…"

It had been almost a week since Dr. Joe had returned from his quick trip to see Golda. She still remained in the Harris Sanitorium in Ft. Worth, recovering from having had her tonsils removed. He continued…

"You might be able to assist the probes by putting an inked thumb print right over the place where the radial pulse can best be felt. From your description, the probes must be about as apt as Misses Able and Peterson used to be. One of these days, some probe never will find your pulse and you will be pronounced dead.

In speaking of the Medical Brigade, you said they said something about a vaccine and a rabbit, and you wondered whether you were going to get it. Sure, I hope you will; if you like rabbits I don’t see why you should not get some. There’s no need of your being on liquid diet now. If you have to take the vaccine too, let the rabbit get the vaccine and you get the rabbit.

The latest ‘war news’ is that Cyril passed his examination for the training camp and will leave home for Leon Springs in about one more week. Also that Dr. Gray got his commission.

I went home yesterday afternoon to see whether Cyril had received his notification about the Training Camp. Cyril and Jerome went to a dance Sunday night; though I do not think they danced any. Things must have not been entertaining for they found it necessary to leave the dance and attack a man’s watermelon patch. Their excuse was that they gave the man plenty of chances to invite them over for the melons and he refused to do so. Of course, I would not like to see the boys hurt permanently but I would certainly enjoy it, if they got a handful of birdshot apiece next time they get into some other man’s melon patch.

Did that operation for adenoids this morning. Myrtle McDonald gave the anaesthetic. The patient was a 10-year-old girl; she kicked like an old mule until she got under the anaesthetic.

I went to see John over at Blue Creek last night and he has two bales of cotton out now. He seems to be getting so used to the batching that he likes it. He goes home every Sunday.

It’s getting dry again. It is not quite as hot and dry as it is in North Texas but it is getting to be real dusty. The roads are rough and all cut up by heavy farm wagons coming in with cotton. There’s lots of cotton and lots of money here now…

Mother came in this morning from Refugio Co. She did not get the letter I wrote to her the other day, and so went over to Placedo and stayed overnight. This will save me a trip to Blessing tomorrow. I took Mother over to John’s place at Blue Creek and this evening I shall take her home. They are not expecting her at home today.

I got my notice to appear before the local examination board on the 20th of August. I’ll beat them out of that by accepting my commission before that time comes. I’ll just beat them to it.

As to your not having university education — I do not think that’s so bad. I never thought of that very much. I think your training as a nurse is worth a great deal, and your store of commonsense will prove of more service to you than a university education would. Anyway, if you miss it much, you may go to a university while the war is on…"

CHAPTER

74

Sanitorium

… "Have just finished your letter. Yes, there are electric lights in the house. I’m feeling better this morning; maybe I’ll be well by next Christmas.

I finished ‘High Heart’ yesterday. They had no more difficulties to overcome; nor any more romance than we’ve had. The heroine had two lovers and loved only one. You see our story would be lacking in that phase. She had to give up her sweetheart to war but fate brought him back to her. She’s nursing him back to health again, in a hospital in France. Maybe he will not have to go back to The Front since his right arm is gone and one leg is badly injured. Let’s hope that she keeps him and lives happy ever after.

Well, I should say hot! The last two days have been almost unbearable. The air seems so oppressive. I get along better than those who have to work as I wear few clothes and lounge on the bed all the time. The evenings are tedious for me because I don’t get out of doors much and at this time, the rise in my temp makes my skin feel so dry and parched. I prefer the ‘sweating’.

It’s consoling to learn that you are cheerful under the existing circumstances; the boys must have worked a charm on you. Well, we know that it’s best to be cheerful no matter what our lot but we don’t always abide by the theory. Now what do you mean by getting a number with ‘13’ stuck on it? Jes like ye, to be so rash. Keep up your high spirits — if necessary, go to see your brothers. I suppose you will spend Sunday at home; provided you don’t take Miss Operator riding.

Hurry and get your business arranged — I’m getting anxious to see you. Will this be the last time we’ll be together before you enlist? No!!!"…

Dr. Joe has gone to North Texas, seen Golda and returned. The time spent was only a few days as that was all the time he felt he could afford to take off. Golda writes to him…

Harris Sanitorium, Ft. Worth

August 10, 1917.

"I didn’t get to write this morning because there was no back-rest available and my left elbow was too sore to lean upon. My throat feels much better today but my speech is still impaired. I talk like people from Georgia and Mississippi. You should have seen the big bowl of milk-toast that I had for breakfast. It felt good to my throat as well as to my hungry stomach. I think my appetite is going to come back.

Well, Dr. Bursey came hunting you last night after you were gone. It seems impossible for you two to appear on the scene at the same time. They removed tonsils and adenoids from a girl in room #31 this morning. I heard her crying when the Novocain began to lose its effect. Poor girl. I wanted to tell her that that intense pain wouldn’t last more than an hour and a half; I guess she’s found that out by now, however.

The night nurse assumed a more cheerful attitude later on last night and was very obliging. I called her every two hours for a glass of water. I couldn’t sleep, so I drank. The flowers are still pretty — they are on the dresser where I can see them every time I look up. Every time I look at them I think of you. I missed your visits today but I’m so thankful that I had you yesterday. When I was in the greatest pain I stood it better because I knew that you’d be back soon. It’s wicked for me to be so wild about you.

How did your operations come out? I don’t think you would feel equal to the task after your night’s ride. It’s so hard for one to work when there’s no incentive to guide one. I hope you will soon learn your destiny, and be able to pursue your ‘phantoms of delight’ once more. If I were permitted to choose, I couldn’t have chosen a more inappropriate time to be sick. I ought to be healthy and able to make life a little more cheerful for you in the hours of your trying decisions, instead of being sick and adding to your worries. I’ll try to get well then if I do, you’ll have one star in your crown for saving your patients…

Today is almost like yesterday except for a swollen knee and foot, and a cooler atmosphere. It seems like the first few weeks of fall makes one look to see if the leaves are turning gold.

Dr. Bursey came to see me a few minutes ago. He said that perhaps Miss Bursey would come to see me tomorrow. The little boy in the lab came and talked awhile yesterday evening. I never get to making their exit. They are very busy or I am repulsive to them — one or the other. An occasional visit is made