Now You Know My Secret

By David Spencer

It was while she was growing up in an old farmhouse in Iowa, Mel become aware that her family was unlike others she knew. Her father was distant and ended up moving away. Her mother didn’t trust her, and it became obvious that she was hiding something terrible in her past.

When Mel learned that she did not have a birth certificate or a baptismal certificate, she began asking her mother the likely questions: Where was I born? Why is Dad never pleased with me? Why did someone paint

• Language: English
• Publisher: Newman Springs Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 31, 2020
• ISBN: 9781640961142

Book preview

Chapter 1

Growing Up in Iowa

My name is Mel Swanson. I write this account as I approach the edge of the winter of my life. I guess I’m a gen Xer. When I asked my mom how I got the name Mel, she usually laughed and said, That’s my secret, honey. One day I’ll tell you.

Growing up in one of the seven counties that make up the Loess Hills region of Iowa, one could walk the short main street off Highway 30 in less than fifteen minutes. It is a small farming community of hardworking and God-fearing souls.

In the small community school I attended, teachers and students initially thought that the name Mel was a boy’s name. Yes, I was teased—bullied? Mel, Mel, you’re so swell or Mel, Mel, go to hell! And as I grew older it became worse. Mel, Mel, fucks so well.

Both my parents were teachers. Mother taught second and third grades. My father was the assistant principal. Both worked in the same school district.

As I reflect on my early home life in that big old farmhouse, it was often filled with tension. It was after I discovered Mother’s journal that I would learn why all that tension existed and all of the secrets that she refused to divulge while she was alive. I discovered a series of revelations that created fear and uncertainty for me, my family, and my future.

Let me describe the early days of my life in the old farmhouse at the edge of town. Yes, I rode the school bus to school and got the mail from the mailbox where UPS rural delivery performed its daily service. Neither rain, nor shine, nor …

As a young girl growing up in an agricultural environment, I was labeled precocious. I was petite, blonde, and some said a model Shirley Temple. I knew nothing of Shirley Temple, and so I tried to be myself. I learned to read at age three, thanks to Mother. However, I guess my interest in reading was because of the motivation provided by our landlord and neighbor Gunner Gunnerson. His nickname was Gunny! Mr. Gunnerson, whom I used to call Grandpa, was not offended; he used to live in our old farmhouse and grew up there. His family owned the homestead that dated to the early 1870s when Gunny’s great-great-grandfather filed a claim under the Homestead Act that passed into law on 1862. He now lives in an old smaller tenant’s house adjacent to our house which he had moved into after the accident.

What was unique and different about Grandpa Gunnerson? Often after the school bus dropped me off, I would wander over to the fence that separated our houses to talk and greet and play with his dog, Buck. Buck was a collie, and I guess Buck taught me love. He was always there with Grandpa Gunny looking for treats and for me to scratch his ears. Buck’s love was wonderfully unconditional. When I reflect, I wonder why humans aren’t that way. Oh well. One day!

Grandpa Gunny was well-read and had many stories. He shared some of his books with me and encouraged me to read too. Often, our discussions lasted until Mom called me in for supper. Sadly, Grandpa Gunny had an early stage of dementia. He would forget and appear puzzled when I would remind him of a past exchange.

Grandpa Gunny grew up during the Depression era of the late 1920s and 1930s. He remembered the songs of Shirley Temple and explained her impact on the sad, forlorn population struggling to overcome poverty and adversity brought on by the Great Depression. He taught me to sing On the Good Ship Lollipop and Polly Wally Doodle. No, I didn’t dance for him, but I just knew that Grandpa loved both Shirley Temple and me. He especially liked the song Animal Crackers in My Soup. Those were special times for me. I was able to get recognition and acknowledgement from him that was sometimes missing from my father. Only later would I learn why I was treated in this fashion by my father.

Mother had told me about Grandpa Gunny’s background and past. His family had lived in our old farmhouse that we now leased; thanks to the efforts of Gunny Gunnerson’s son, Dan, who was one of the two attorneys in town.

Grandpa had farmed the 160-plus acres for over forty years. He milked twenty or so Jersey and Guernsey cows and cared for chickens, pigs, and several sheep. They also raised corn, oats, and alfalfa. The family always had a display or entry in the county fair and celebrated Corn Stalk Days with the other farmers in that agricultural community.

One day, tragedy struck the family. Gunny was driving the ten-year old Farmall M tractor. It was haying season and time to store winter’s hay in his old red barn. According to the account of what happened to Gunny, provided by his son Dan, Gunny was bringing a load of hay bales down a fairly steep hill. The pin on the Farmall’s drawbar, which held the wagon tongue, popped out. It sent the load of hay crashing into the rear of the Farmall causing it to overturn. Gunny was pinned under the tractor and was unconscious. Fortunately, his neighbor Jack Larsen was baling hay on his property adjacent to Gunny’s field. Seeing what happened, Jack ran to Gunny’s aid. He managed to get Gunny from under the tractor though he remained unconscious. Jack called the county sheriff who dispatched an ambulance. Rather than go directly to the hospital in Sioux City, Gunny’s doctor, Dr. Pearson, recommended the Mayo Clinic. Though it meant a longer drive east, Dr. Pearson reasoned that Mayo’s doctors would be better able to treat Gunny’s obvious head injury.

Gunny’s neighbors all stepped in to help. They saw that the cows were milked, fed, and cared for. The other farm animals also were serviced. Meanwhile, Gunny’s condition was listed as critical. Severe brain trauma was the long-term prognosis.

When Dan realized that his dad would no longer be able to continue farming, he made arrangements for a farm auction. All the farm animals, implements, including the Farmall M, would be sold and the monies placed in an escrow account for Gunny. Dan also made arrangements to lease the old farmhouse and move Gunny into the smaller tenant’s home next door. The farmland was leased to Jack Larsen.

By the time my parents and I moved into Gunny’s old farmhouse, Gunny had survived his tractor accident and was living in the tenant’s house next door to us. Dr. Pearson believed that Gunny had suffered a stroke which may have triggered the tractor accident. That, in combination with the brain injury, contributed to what Dr. Pearson said was vascular dementia. This had the effect of saddling Gunny with roller-coaster behavior and emotions. Dr. Pearson also relied on Mayo clinic neurologists who said Gunny’s symptoms resulted from impaired blood flow brought on by the tractor accident. The brain injury brought changes in the way that Gunny expressed his emotions. Despite obvious brain damage, Gunny seemed to find some joy when he and Buck would meet me at the back fence where I would report on the events at school that day.

I especially remembered one school day in spring before classes ended. I was in the fourth grade and sat in the front row of seats in Miss Butterfield’s class. Miss Butterfield was a large, some might say obese, woman with large hands and fingers shaped like tiny sausages. She was a stern no-nonsense person who rarely smiled. Then one day, it happened.

Sig Olson, a farm boy, whose dad was on the community school board, had an unfortunate accident in Miss Butterfield’s class. Siggy, as all of his classmates called him, was labeled a cutup, meaning he often played jokes and teased girls. The day it happened was a bright and sunny spring day. The class was restless and anxious to escape Miss Butterfield. By now, Miss Butterfield had gotten accounts from other teachers regarding Sig. In the back of her mind, she resolved to correct promptly any indiscretions. A disturbance in the back row of the class caused Miss Butterfield to look back and then ordered Sig up to the front of the class. With a smirk, Sig strolled up to the front of the class. Sig was a fairly good-sized lad for his age. Still as he faced Miss Butterfield for his sentence, he dropped his pencil. As he reached down to retrieve it, the large portion of bean soup his mother served for his last night’s supper got their gastric revenge. Sig farted loudly and startled all. The effect on Miss Butterfield was electric and spontaneous. She leaped from her chair, grabbed the smirking Sig by the collar, and proceeded to slap his face. Sig was facing the class, and after three or four cracks, a watery stain appeared in the front of his bib overalls. He cried out, I’ve got to go to the bathroom! Miss Butterfield released him, and he ran for the door. As he escaped out of the room, all could see what looked like a brown expanding stain in the rear of his britches!

The next day, Sig did not come to school. In his place was Sig’s dad. He first had gone to Principal Tompkins’ office. He had gotten permission to confront Miss Butterfield. When he walked into the class, she gasped upon seeing him. She demanded what he wanted. Sig’s dad, in an angry voice, told her that her punishment of Sig was wrong and unacceptable. The proper remedy, he stated, was to contact the parents.

Well, Sig never returned to Miss Butterfield’s class. And stories about this adventure spread in the teachers’ lounge. Teachers were appalled and opposed to this form of punishment. The sixth grade teacher, Mr. Proctor, once characterized Miss Butterfield—the way he claims that the British ambassador to the US during the Madison administration had described Dolly Madison—as being fat, forty-four, but not fair. The health science teacher for all grades stated that poor Miss Butterfield probably had gallstones. She said many women who were fat, forty, and fair tended to have gallstones or complexions that would increase their risk of developing gallstones. Mercifully at the end of the school year, the school board did not renew Miss Butterfield’s contract. Someone said she had gotten a position with a Mankato Minnesota community school. Further, the Teachers’ Association did not file a just cause grievance for Miss Butterfield.

My account of what happened in the fourth grade made Grandpa Gunny smile and chuckle. I believe he looked forward to my stories from school.

During this time, I knew nothing about Gunny’s mental condition. Sadly, his dementia caused his son to move him to a continuous-care retirement center called Serenity House. He died several months later leaving me with memories of our after-school visits. Grandpa Gunny and Buck left me with their love, acknowledgment, and acceptance.

All these things, I would later observe, were often missing from my home, especially from my dad.