AUGUST 1965 TUPELO, MISSISSIPPI
A week after we arrived back in the States, the children and I moved to Tupelo, Mississippi, to live near my sister, Janice, and her family.
Tupelo was a sleepy little community where friends were like family and “do unto others” was a motto to live by. Everyone attended church, which was the social hub of the community. Janice and her family were members of the Episcopal Church, but the children and I began attending St. James Catholic. St. James was founded in 1914, but they did not get their first priest until 1919. Father Robert Reitmeier was an amiable man who served thirty-three years in Tupelo and its surrounding areas.
The original church had been built downtown at the corner of Green Street and Magazine Street. It had survived the great tornado of 1936, and the building contained many memories of worship until 1960, when the expanded congregation outgrew the building. As was the custom, its wooden walls were torn down, for “once a church, always a church,” and it could never be used for anything else. The new brick church was built on Gloster Street and expanded back to Lakeshire Drive, and has served the community well ever since.
Members of this church prayed many a prayer on our behalf and were a help and comfort to me and the children over the years. Though we later transferred our membership to First United Methodist, those years of attending Mass at St. James somehow made me feel closer to Smitty. While listening to Rev. Clarence Meyer, my mind would often wander back in time to a peaceful memory of sitting next to Smitty during a worship service in our small church in Okinawa. It was a modest chapel that served all the different denominations represented on the base.
A bittersweet memory often surfaced of me standing alone before the priest in Okinawa as he baptized Lyle. It was an emotional time as I committed Lyle to God without Smitty there to participate in that monumental event. Thankfully, I wasn’t totally alone. A small group of loyal friends had showed up to support me. Patti and Ivy were named as Lyle’s godparents, and Shirley and Bill, the Shirmans, and Smitty’s wing commander, Col. Robert Cardenas, all came to support me. And Shieko was there too. Sweet Shieko. Oh, how I missed her!
For the first six weeks, we lived with Janice and her husband, Dick, as well as their teenage children, Rick and Deb. During this time, I was anxiously awaiting the freedom that having my own car would bring. I had sold our Oldsmobile in Okinawa and while there had selected a Chevrolet station wagon and paid for it in full, emphasizing that it should be shipped to the port of New Orleans, the closest port to Tupelo. The car prices offered to GIs returning from overseas were well below dealer cost, so to avoid dealer involvement, the cars had to be picked up at a U.S. port. My plan was to ask Janice to keep my children for a day while I took the bus to New Orleans and then drove my new car back to Tupelo.
Though I had been adamant about the need for the vehicle to arrive in New Orleans, I received a notice that my car had been shipped to the port of Baltimore. I was blindsided, knowing it would take days to ride the bus to Maryland and return home. I did not intend to be away from my children for that long during this difficult time of adjustment.
What should I do? I wondered. I was constantly making decisions on behalf of myself and my children. I knew I would serve Smitty well by overseeing our family affairs with strength and dignity. Remembering my success with the Secretary of the Air Force, I decided to call the president of the General Motors Company in Detroit. I called the operator and requested for a call to be placed to Mr. Estes, the current president of General Motors—collect, no less. As she patched me through and requested the acceptance of the long-distance charges, I began to speak to him, above the operator, telling him my situation. He finally agreed to accept the call, and I repeated my request.
“Mr. Estes, this is Louise Harris. I am the wife of Captain Smitty Harris, who was shot down and is MIA in North Vietnam. I, in good faith, ordered and paid for a new station wagon before I left Okinawa and was very clear about my need to have it delivered to the port of New Orleans. I have three young children—ages four, three and a half, and nine weeks—and I cannot leave them for the time needed to get to Baltimore, where my car is now. I need my car to be in New Orleans. How can you help me?”
“Well, Mrs. Harris, first let me tell you how sorry I am for your circumstances. Let me think just a minute.” He paused as he considered my situation. “I don’t know Tupelo, Mrs. Harris. Is there a General Motors dealership there?”
“Why, yes there is. It’s not far from my sister’s house, where I am staying.”
“I’ll tell you what I can do for you. I am going to give you a code. You can go down to the General Motors dealership, give them this code, explain your situation to them, and tell them if there is any problem, they can call me personally. I want you to pick out any car you would like on their lot.”
“What should I do if there is a price difference between what they have and what I have paid?”
“Pick out any car you would like on that lot,” he repeated.
“I don’t mind paying the difference, Mr. Estes.”
“You tell them it is fully paid for. You go pick out any car, and I want you to enjoy it. And I hope you get good news about your husband soon.”
“Thank you, Mr. Estes,” I said with relief. “You have really helped me.”
“The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Harris,” he replied.
An hour later, I was at the Tupelo General Motors car lot. Nervously, I told my story to George Ruff, the owner of the dealership. He just laughed. He led me straight to the only station wagon on his lot. The fully loaded yellow Buick had all the bells and whistles—leather seats, air-conditioning, and three rows of seats, including a flexible bunk seat in the back. As I drove back to Janice’s house in my new car, I was filled with relief and gratitude for the good people God had brought to help me. Robin and Carolyn came flying out the door when I pulled up, squealing the happy cry of little girls, excited to see their new, bright yellow car. Once again, I hoped this would make Smitty proud.
Later that month, I found myself once again in a new home. I remember sitting on the couch looking at the cardboard boxes stacked in the corner of the room and feeling a wave of exhaustion. The house was quiet, as I had successfully gotten all three children to bed early. The days were still long and hot, and I hoped the curtains in the bedroom would block out the light still shining that evening. I knew I had to take advantage of the time I had without children underfoot, so I took a deep breath, forced myself off the couch, and headed to the mountain of boxes. This was the third time I had moved since I had been in Tupelo. While I appreciated the roof over our heads, I longed for the comfort of my own home. Renting and moving, renting and moving, renting and moving—this was not the stability I had intended for my children.
Maybe in time I can find a way to buy a small place of my own—a place to make memories with the children, a place for Smitty to come home to, I thought wistfully.
As I opened box after box, organizing the contents of each, I thought of Smitty. He would never have allowed me to move the heavy boxes alone had he been there. I loved how he seemed to have the perfect balance of being protective and taking care of me, while at the same time trusting me to be capable and independent. That’s probably why I could handle the situation so well.
Janice had been a lifesaver. Almost daily, we went to her house on Madison Street. The children played in the massive backyard, while Janice and I had a cup of coffee. Robin and Carolyn had become fast friends with the Hall children who lived next door. I had also gotten close to this sweet family, as we shared a common bond. Sam’s brother, George Hall, was also flying missions in RF-101s during bomb damage assessments after previous strikes in Vietnam.
Janice was always ready with a kind word but also quick with a witty observation to make me laugh. She was a lot like Smitty in that way. She and Smitty had a unique relationship, which to an outsider may have seemed a bit confrontational. They loved to tease each other, and no matter what one dished out, the other would send right back. The first day they met was no exception.
Smitty and I had driven to Aliceville, Alabama, where Janice and Dick lived early in their marriage. Janice was seven years older than I was, and at age eighteen she had announced her engagement to Dick, much to the consternation of my grandparents and my mother. They wanted her to go to college. However, as usual, Janice was right, and they were well suited for a wonderful marriage that lasted more than five decades until they were parted by death. Janice’s personality was bigger than life, and she was intent on a relentless testing of my new boyfriend, Carlyle Smith Harris. The first time they met, she was confrontational, and he gave it right back. Half in jest and half serious, she was determined to find out who he was.
“So you’re the guy who thinks he can date my sister,” she said with raised eyebrows.
“Yes, isn’t she the lucky one?” he quipped.
It was a rather awkward drive as we headed to Columbus Air Force Base, where Smitty had secured dinner reservations for the four of us. After enjoying a delicious steak dinner while serenaded by a well-known pianist, Janice finally gave her stamp of approval. But while they loved each other, the ribbing between Janice and Smitty never stopped. I loved that about them, and I missed those funny moments.