Yesterday I entered one of Mother's stories in my blog. Today I will record the second one. I truly believe that this is the one that she entered into Arthur Godfrey's contest. Sadly, her story won no prize.
IT'S AUTOMATIC
Not many people in Middletown know the story back of Mary Brent. You see, Mary's husband is the owner of the town's leading newspaper. Well, to be perfectly frank, it is the only newspaper. Middletown has a population of only 2000 people, so it wouldn't support a daily paper, let alone two newspapers. So you see, it is more or less a family affair. The paper was handed down to Tom from his father. Tom would rather part with his right arm than the "Weekly Clarion," as the paper is called.
Well, I almost feel like one of the family. I've lived next door to the Brents all my life, and Mary and Tom seem like my own children. I watched Tom court Mary and bring her home to live next door. After Tom's folks had gone beyond, the old home place was just as if it had always belonged to Tom and Mary. I've been Aunt Hettie to all their children, four boys and one girl. Most all of them are grown now.
But, I'm getting ahead of my story. As I said before, I've been Aunt Hettie to all of them. I've baby sat with'em - nursed 'em when they were sick - spanked 'em and loved 'em. Mary helps Tom on the paper, as did all the boys. But, Mary's biggest
help to Tom and the paper is her weekly story. Why, I'd sooner miss a meal than one of her stories. And, mind you, this has been goin' on for years.
I might never have known how Mary writes her stories, if it hadn't been for what happened a few weeks ago. But, let me start from the beginning. It all began when Mary entered one of her stories in a contest, and, lo and behold, Mary came off with first place. Now, the funny part of it was, the first prize was an automatic washer and drier. Well, the whole town of Middletown was right proud of Mary, and happy as could be for her.
Mary had always done her own laundry work, and, believe me, the shirts those four boys and Tom wore added up to around twenty-five or thirty shirts a week. I know, 'cause I used to count 'em when they were flying on the line like so many white flags of surrender. There were many colored ones, too. I used to love the way Mary would hang the colors so they would look pretty together, and match 'em with colored plastic clothes pins.
Mary and I do a lot of visitin' over the back fence. I used to laugh at her matchin'
the clothes pins to the shirts, but Mary's a funny little thing. Things like that help her to forget that she is doing all that hard work.
But, all that changed after she had the washer and dryer. It certainly saved her totin' all those clothes back and forth, and I knew it would save her so much hard work, and give her more time for the newspaper.
But, a funny thing happened. Mary's stories started changing. They were shorter and shorter. And, finally, they began repeating stories that Mary had written years ago. They couldn't fool me, 'cause I hadn't missed a one. Then, one morning I turned to the story section, and there, as big as life, in place of Mary's story, was a new column headed, "My Favorite Recipe."
Let me tell you that this made me and lots of other folks pretty sick. We all had more recipes than we could ever use. Well, this kept on for a month or more. Amd everyone in town was pretty upset about the change in the newspaper!
Then, one morning I looked out the window and there they were, sixteen white shirts flapping on the line, not to mention the snowy white sheets and pillow cases. Well, honest to goodness, it was a sight for sore eyes. They sure looked tood to me. I hurried and put on a fresh apron and ran a comb through my hair. Something must have happened to Mary's new washer and dryer, else why was she hanging her wash outside?
I called through the screen door and Mary answered from the basement.
"Come on down, Aunt Hettie."
"Is your washer broken, Mary?" I asked.
Mary acted sorta sheepish - that's the only way I can express it.
"No, Aunt Hettie," she said. "Now that you've caught me, I guess I can confess my secret to you. Maybe you'll have a hard time believing this, but, so help me, it's the honest to goodness truth. You see, this old washer talks back to me, and it's here I get all my ideas for my stories. As this old washer gyrates back and forth, it says things to me. Listen, Aunt Hettie, hear it now? It's saying,'a new fur coat, a new fur coat, a new fur coat.' Now watch while a put a new load in, all socks this time. Do you hear what it's saying? It's saying, 'Jim mustn't know, Jim mustn't know.'
"Well," I said, "I guess I can hear it now that you mention it. But, land sakes, how can you make a story out of that?"
"Well you see, Aunt Hettie, I put down all those things in my note book, then they start my mind working and I have no trouble writing my stories. But, with my automatic washer, I never get a single idea, and I simply run dry. I just had to come down and use my old washer."
Well, I helped her empty the water and hang up the socks and went on home. I could hardly wait for the next paper. I went out early to bring it is so I could read it while I had my breakfast coffee. I turned right to the story section. And there it was. Mary had called her new story, "The Secret." It was a dandy story. The secret, of course, was a fur coat that the wife's hushand didn't know she had bought. I even forgot to drink my coffee until I had finished reading the story.
Mary's stories have an even greater attractgion for me now. Of course, she uses her sutomatic, but every time I see Mary's washing flappin' on the line, I know that she has gone to her old washer for inspiration. Then, I try to pick out which phrase in the story the old washer had suggested. It may not be an automatic washer, but it sure is an sutomatic story teller.
by Gladys Lininger Green
Not until I read this story yesterday, did I realize that my mother probably did arrange her washing on the lines so that the colors made an artistic arrangement, and the clothes pins matched. That would be pleasing to her artist's eye, and make all that hard work bearable.
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