CHAPTER 13
A SEAT NEXT TO YOU
WALTER AND LAURA STEWART WEDDING, JUNE 1941.
Laura — DAVID RASKIN & JOHNNY MERCER, 1945
A sophisticated Long Island gal met a boy from Detroit, in Indiana of all places, and launched a relationship that spanned seven decades—all thanks to a small slip of paper, drawn from a basket.
Walter Stewart and Laura Versfelt met at Fort Wayne Bible Institute in 1940. Each month, students drew scraps of paper with a table and seat number written on it to find out where they’d sit for meals in the dining room. “Lo and behold, after a few months, Walter was assigned to my table,” recalled Laura. He made quite an impression. “He pulled my chair out for me. Most of the boys were farm boys, but Walter was from Detroit—he was a city boy,” she said.
She’d had plenty of opportunities to observe the handsome young man. Walter led songs during their weekly services. “Each Friday night, he dressed up.”
Walter found his feisty tablemate intriguing. “The other guys were scared of this girl from New York,” he said. “So they dared me to ask her out, and I did! We walked down to the park and back—a 45-minute date.” But in those 45 minutes, he found a way to impress the city girl. “He knew the name of every bird we saw!” Laura said. While she didn’t share his knowledge of ornithology, she was a singer and shared his passion for music.
“She was soloist, and music was a specialty of mine so we had something in common,” Walter said. With a big concert approaching, he borrowed a car and asked Laura if she’d like to go with him. She agreed. Seventy years later, in their cozy living room, he stole a glance at her. “That was the first time you kissed me,” he said.
“No! No! You rascal, you!” Laura said, laughing as she pushed at his shoulder.
Walter shrugged. Then he grinned and proceeded to tell the real story of their first kiss. “I kissed her in the hallway after a music lesson,” he admitted. “I kissed her so hard you could hear it down the hall! SMACK!”
Though he said they were too poor to marry, he proposed anyway. When the school year drew to a close, she went home to Long Island and he traveled back to Detroit, but their separation didn’t last long. “I bought a diamond ring for her and hitchhiked all the way to Long Island to give it to her. She was surprised to see me because she’d just written that it wouldn’t be a good time to visit.” He chuckled. “It’s a good thing I left before that letter came!”
They both found employment in aircraft factories in Long Island, and when her mother realized Walter wasn’t just another boyfriend, she gave her blessing and they plunged into wedding plans.
In June 1941, they married in Garden City Park on Long Island. Laura laughed when she recalled what transpired after the ceremony. “We sang together at the wedding reception and when we thought no one was looking, we snuck out through the kitchen and made our getaway.”
But they weren’t stealthy enough and soon found themselves followed by a caravan of cars. Walter’s friends “kidnapped” him and treated him to ice cream before releasing him to his bride. Laura wasn’t thrilled by the chain of events, but the experience later came in handy. “As a pastor’s wife, I’ve told many a bride, whatever happens, just roll with it,” she said.
They settled into married life and eagerly anticipated the birth of their first child, when tragedy struck. The baby died at birth. As Laura woke from the anesthesia, she said, “I heard a baby cry, then the doctor said, ‘I’m sorry.’”
The loss was especially hard, as Walter had enlisted in the Navy and was soon to be shipped out. As he processed the loss of their child, he said, “I sat at the aircraft factory and cried like a baby. You plan for nine months and then it’s just gone. It was a little girl.” As he spoke, Laura looked at him, astonished. “You never told me that,” she said. “You never told me you cried.” He shrugged and looked away. The memory of that long-ago loss still hurts.
War doesn’t wait for grief, and in December of 1943, Walter was sent to Hawaii and then on to Guam. “I didn’t want to leave her—I was worried about her health.” However, he found new concerns in the South Pacific. Walter has never forgotten the things he saw, though he often wishes he could. “Shot up, devastated, rotting corpses—the smell was horrible. It was like a horror movie when we got there.”
Laura said, “I’ll bet there are stories I never did hear.”
Walter served two and half years. “That was enough for me,” he said. “I couldn’t wait to get home.”
Laura was waiting for him. “I can still see him in that little white sailor hat,” she recalled. No band played as he walked toward her, but after being apart for two years, just the sight of him proved more exciting than a ticker tape parade. That isn’t to say their reunion went smoothly. Like many couples separated by the war, the Stewarts had to readjust to life together. “It felt strange at first,” she said. I’d gotten used to being on my own.”
WALTER STEWART, HAWAII, 1944.
Laura had a good job that paid the bills and had her own way of doing things. She smiled, “He found out his wife had become a little independent.” Walter took the changes in stride, but eventually said, “We need to talk this over!” And talk they did. Their deep love for each other and their shared faith helped ease the transition.
The G.I. Bill enabled Walter to attend Gordon College in Boston. Sadly, as he pursued his ministerial degree, Laura lost another baby. This time it was a boy. “I carried him almost six months,” she said. “After the second baby, I was through. I didn’t want any children.” And Walter? As he packed away the unused baby clothes in a cedar chest, he wept, dampening the tiny outfits with his tears. Shaking her head with the memory, Laura said, “I don’t understand how couples break up at a time like that—we needed each other so.”
Following graduation in 1948, they moved west and pastored churches in the Portland, Oregon area, where Walter enrolled in seminary. He hadn’t given up his dream of being a father. “I broached the subject of having another baby,” he said.
It didn’t go well. “If I’d had a gun, I would have shot him,” Laura said. She still felt raw from the loss of her first two babies. But one year after that conversation she gave birth to a daughter, Roberta Joy. Five years later at the age of 42, she found out she was expecting again. “I told the doctor, if I’m pregnant it’s a miracle. The doctor replied, “Well, I found a miracle and it’s a good-sized one!” Their daughter Laurie completed their family in 1959.
After raising their daughters and serving in many churches, the couple retired to Desert Hot Springs, California before eventually moving to the Pacific Northwest to be near their younger daughter.
The Stewarts credit their faith in God for their lasting marriage, and Laura’s eyes still sparkle when she talks about her husband. “I knew in my heart that the love we had for one another was something you don’t find in many marriages,” she said. “Walter’s always had a heart for his family and he’s been the one to forgive and forget. I’ve been a tough egg to crack, but I’ve softened over the years.”
And Walter is still thankful for that slip of paper that seated him at her table so long ago. His voice grew husky as he recounted their life together. He said, “She’s what I needed to fill in the blanks.”
LOVE LESSON
‘A man who shows his emotions and is tender-hearted makes a good husband.”—Laura Stewart
LAURA AND WALTER STEWART, 2010.
Walter Stewart died March 23, 2013