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| Bonnie Pride, summer of '48. |
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| Dad and Bonnie, on his homecoming, 1945. |
When Bonnie was 5 years old, the doctors recommended surgery to repair this defect. On Nov. 22, 1948, Bonnie had the operation at a
Boston hospital. She fell into a coma and died that day.
As my mother and dad told me the story much later, the medical team made her death even more traumatic for them than it would normally have been. The doctor who performed the
surgery could not bring himself to speak with my parents. While Bonnie lay
comatose, a nurse told my mother all had gone well and she could see her
daughter soon. My parents learned the truth only later.
A letter from my mother to her parents to be published in
the next post will give a sense of how Bonnie’s death affected her and my father. They
never got over it. I was 17 when John F. Kennedy was shot. Mom and Dad seemed
not just shocked and saddened by the assassination but also personally devastated.
Only later did my mother explain that it had occurred on the 15th anniversary
of Bonnie’s death.
My dad had been home from the war for nearly three years
when Bonnie died. For a while he drove a bread truck in Stratford, Conn. Years
later, he told us a story about this. One morning he felt rotten but left home to drive his bread route anyway. While making a delivery, he heard a
backfire, thought it was enemy fire and dived under a parked vehicle. When an
ambulance came for him, his temperature was 105. It took a while for doctors
to diagnose his affliction, but then they had had no experience dealing with malaria.
My cousin Don, who was about 12, remembers going
out on the bread delivery truck with Dad another time. Dad took an interest in him and his
twin brother, Ron. He bought them a football and peppered them with passes. Dad had one of the first television sets. They watched the Joe Louis-Billy Conn rematch with him on June 19, 1946, a little over a month before I was born. Boxing
was one of Dad’s lifelong passions.
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| Me with Bonnie, 1947 |
As I mentioned early in this series of posts, during World
War II Bonnie had become a beloved symbol of the future for my family. Her
Uncle Carl Nordstrom, my mother’s brother, wrote to my mother 10 days after her
death. Words mean little after such a loss, but Carl wrote from the heart, and
my mother kept his letter for as long as she lived.
Carl, incidentally, had been a tank commander in Gen. George S. Patton’s Third Army in Europe. He survived the Battle of the Bulge and the invasion Of Germany. You can read more about him on this web page, posted after his death in 2010 at the age of 91.
Carl, incidentally, had been a tank commander in Gen. George S. Patton’s Third Army in Europe. He survived the Battle of the Bulge and the invasion Of Germany. You can read more about him on this web page, posted after his death in 2010 at the age of 91.
Here is what he wrote:
4
W. 601 St.
Shanks Village
Orangeburg,
N.Y.
Dec. 2, 1948
Dear Bern,
On an imposing cliff, overlooking the mighty Hudson, there
stands an impressive tomb, the magnificent mausoleum erected in honor of a
great American General.
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| Carl Nordstrom (right) at Fort Campbell, Ky., 1943. |
Each in its private way is erected in memory to a great
leader. Each in its particular way helps the living to live a little better.
The tomb of General Grrant, a silent symbol of our magnificent heritage, is a
friendly anchor to reality in a mad city. The unadorned cross of General Patton
is a symbol of fellowship with his living and fallen friends.
Our family, in its own way, wants to recreate the memory of
Bonnie. We deeply respect the spirit that brought so many and such beautiful
flowers to her funeral. But today is a day of world hardship. The terror of war
has cracked the heart of humanity throughout Europe and the Orient. The little
children especially have felt its awful breath. And, tonight, many are
wandering down a lonely road, homeless, parentless, helpless and frightened.
Christmas is coming. This is a proper season to think of
others and to help others who are less fortunate. We think Bonnie would
remember her playmates, and those who might have been her playmates. She would
want to help those who might need her help. So, in her memory, we are going to
try to make this Christmas happier for some little children somewhere in the
world.
I thought you might want to have this poem I wrote. I penned
it that Tuesday night. The words are yours, Charlie’s, Mom’s and Dad’s.
To Bonnie
A little flow of light has dimmed and faded out.
A little laugh, once so bright and clear, has stopped.
A little flower folded in its beauty and took its leave.
A little girl has closed her eyes and gone to sleep.
The little girl, at the kitchen door, with her flowers and
her smile,
The little lady, in her bed, and hugging to her doll,
The little mother, with her “Mike,” and all the other kids,
The little springtime bloom in her gentle blue and shining
Mary Janes.
Her panties – a mite too long,
Her proud step, on her way to school,
Her lunch box, the badge of growing up,
The golden doll and the dirty knees.
A fragile friend, who
stayed to visit us a while,
Who smiled, and brought a world of goodness with her while
she stayed.
Her life was early spent, but not in vain,
Our little stranger from the infinite.
The cheer, the hope she brought, relieved the pain
When futile war, with awful force, had hit.
For a little while we must part from you.
Your work is done, your rest is well deserved.
You’ve sowed a little seed of good in all of us.
In time each seed will surely bear sweet fruit.
We’ve still a little work to do, a little joy to bring into
the world ourselves.
But when our task is one, and we’ve tried as best we can,
We’ll meet again, and romp and laugh and think of days far
gone.
The image that you’ve left with us tender and is sweet.
So, Bonnie dear, one kiss upon your cheek,
A gentle pat, a parting smile from all of us.
Good night, sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite.
A wonderful post Mike.
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