No. 82

Chas. in 1886 in Song

Stewart King c/o

John C. Davant, Attorney

501 Cleveland St.

Clearwater Florida

January 11, 1938

Dear Stewart,

Next your uncle Charles wrote a letter to your mother about meeting Mrs. Frances Smith, who liked to call herself "Frank." This was shortly after he met her, at the GAR lodge, in the summer of 1886. A widow about the age of 50 or so, although later your mother said she lied about her age, Mrs. Smith was a celebrity not only for her ability to connect with the boys (she had many brothers growing up) and her singing voice, but for her daughter's marriage to E. C. DeWitt, an inventor of pharmaceuticals, giving her access to many stories of travel, discovery of luxuries, and great mind for business and the promotional arts. The pills came later.

Charles was working as a postal clerk in Sioux City near the line of C.M. & St. Paul, where a foreman by the name of Lidick was beginning to court "Frank." Apparently, Mr. Lidick was married before but had placed his wife in an insane institution back in Missouri and this, of course, struck up a conversation with your Uncle Charles, or rather, Charles listened to it. He would have provided very little information about his wife, Esther, because it was his nature not to tell. But with me it was different. And, of course, your mother.

Mrs. Smith was soon to marry Mr. Lidick and it was your Uncle Charles who was called in with the other railroad men to serenate the couple and remember that Charles really could sing well. Just as he knew the postal routes and the dates, locations, and stories of your elders, he also remembered lyrics and held all the keys, with no need for a harmonica or instrument to lock in the boys to start.

This woman "Frank" was later to become the wife of your uncle Charles, and I really don’t like getting ahead of myself, but I mention this now because it is when we all have improved access to the DeWitt network that our lives became somewhat vague and I am most weak in my testimony here, but I do come out of it, without much of any worldly reward. I wanted it to become a skill to appreciate the charlatans, the complicated, the compromised, and those who signed disclosure clauses in such dealings of the King store and the DeWitts.

As I was listening to your mother talk about the time when Charles was introduced to "Frank" and eventually the Dewitts, I was getting the fireplace cleaned and ready for her next DAR meeting. I was polishing the brass knobs. I had already done the sweeping and dusting, of course, and knew how Maria Parloa (or was it your mother) taught me that the polishing comes at the end. Even though we had electricity, we both agreed and wanted the brass to shine from the fire, from something internal, to provide warmth from this focal point.

Your mother said that she heard very little from Charles in 1886, when he was hanging out with the Lidicks more and more, but that is when she was wildly busy with you and your brothers and the store and your father was gone so much, and it was a blessing and a joy, her family, that she had to turn away from Charles a tad in order to keep things working in her household, and Charles knew this, perhaps more than anyone, Charles understood the risk of unraveling within the home.

In a few moments the ladies began to arrive for the meeting, and I served them according to the script that your mother and I ran through earlier in the day.

As I was attending to the fire, poking at the pieces from the bottom, engaging for stronger flames, I felt your mother's love on my back as she placed her hand there, I turned and smiled at her.

One of the ladies asked about your mother, in front of me, how she ever found me and how troubling it is to promote and secure good help.

Your mother said that it was her brother Charles who rescued me from a terrible house and brought her to the mansion like a stray puppy. "How attached we are to Miss Minnie! I don't know what I would have done had she not been delivered to us at that most tender moment for all of us! And to know that she was a poor orphan, being pushed out by her own mother, poor thing."

I swung around with the poker in my hand, still hot. Some of the ladies backed off.

I looked for your mother to read her face, but she was already moving on to welcome the next lady arriving at the door.

Two women, the ones I almost burned, did lean into me. They wanted to know what heritage I was, when I arrived, and how did I make it all the way to Clinton.

Perhaps in an effort to pull me out of this triangle, or perhaps to help me move on to my next category, or perhaps to cause me to put down the poker, your mother told me that I had had enough time at that station.

No matter, I was so thankful to your mother for pulling me in the right direction.

— Miss Minnie

2025 Copyright Christine Friesel