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March 01, 2006

hank and dorothy

In a Woolworth's shoebox, she saved every love letter he ever wrote to her. A cigar box wrapped with a purple ribbon held the tortoise shell comb and glass beads he won for her at the county fair throwing baseballs at milk bottles. In the top draw of her dresser in a little trinket box wrapped in pink tissue was the rose bud he sent her when she turned eighteen.

A woman like Dorothy does not let go easily, not even when his need to search for greener pastures left her alone. She loved him with all her heart and nothing was going to change her mind.

She was a young country girl still wet behind the ears and barely out of high school from the small farming town of Pulaski. He was a burly good-natured plowboy in his late twenties transplanted to the big city of Green Bay looking for adventure.

They met at a Sadie Hawkins dance at the VFW one night in late June in 1931. They were just two people out for a good time. It started with a slow song and bodies swaying. Then came a pair of strong muscular arms wrapped around a small soft waist. That is all it took. She was smitten. He was not - not yet anyway.

The west was calling Hank. He wanted to ride broncos and wander the pairie living the cowboy life before it was all gone. One day in springtime, he put away his cheese makers license, kissed Dorothy goodbye, and left her standing on the porch of her parent’s home.

It took two long years before he finally figured out what Dorothy already knew. His fate and that of his grandchildren was waiting for him in the heart of his little country girl.



Posted by roadapples at March 1, 2006 02:32 PM

Awww, how sweet. Were they your parents?

Posted by: kenju at March 1, 2006 10:58 PM

*sigh*

I just love a happy ending.

Look at those faces, would ya? Love it.

Posted by: Jennifer at March 2, 2006 03:03 PM

That's a neat story. Thanks for sharing it.

Posted by: Tim Rice at March 3, 2006 06:41 PM

Got a shiver here.

Is it the Pulaski near me?

Posted by: colleen at March 11, 2006 08:56 PM

Judy: These two love birds were my wife's grandparents. I knew and was very fond of them myself. I used to sit and listen to Hank tell stories from his youth. When he told those stories, I could tell that in his mind he was in his twenties once again - riding the range and having a grand time. Hank passed in 1990 and Dorothy joined him in 1994.

Colleen: This Pulaski is in Wisconsin, just north of Green Bay.

Tim: You are welcome. I am glad you liked this tale.

Posted by: road apples [TypeKey Profile Page] at March 11, 2006 10:07 PM