My Birth is on Page 223

Turns out birthdays are actually good for your health — the more birthdays you have the longer you live. – Andrew Reynolds

First in a series of four baby pictures

I was born during World War II, two days before D-Day in Dexter, Iowa, to an Army pilot (Warren) who’d married an Iowa waitress (Doris). The hospital was just east of the Presbyterian Church where my folks were married a year earlier. The church bells rang the Sunday morning I was born.

Dad, an instructor in the Army Air Force, arrived in Iowa from Marfa Army Air Base, Texas, in time for my birth, but then had to get back to teach the next class of advanced cadets. They wrote precious letters to one another because my new mother and I stayed with her folks near Minburn until Dad could return to take us to Texas.

From the Redfield Review, June 8, 1944, Dexter section: Congratulations – Kenneth Neal (Dad’s dad), that energetic and enthusiastic Farm Bureau Director from Union township, stopped in at the office last Thursday looking vastly different than ever before. His chest protruding very visibly and his spirits were exceptionally good. It all summed up to one thing – Kenneth is a grandpa, and his little granddaughter is tops. Incidentally, the office force presented grandpa Kenneth with a walking cane and a mirror.

I am the oldest grandchild on the Neal side.

Doris wrote Warren on June 9, “It is just about time for Joy to come in. I sure do love her and if I had died, it would still be worth it. . . . I just look and look at her when she gets her tummy full and I can’t realize she’s really so cute and perfect and ours.”

By the fourth photo, I was gettin’ mighty tired of the whole thing.

In those days, mothers stayed in the hospital ten days with their newborns. She wrote again June 11: “A baby is crying now and I am wondering if it is our little bit of Joy. Hon, Kenneth got her the cutest little gold locket. Having a baby is so much better than Christmas.”

A picture of the baby locket is at the end of this blog post.

My first note from my Daddy is dated June 25, 1944, Marfa: “My Darling Little Bitty Hon, . . . Has anyone gotten you a dolly yet? If no one has, I’ll get you a little dolly. Sure will be glad when you and Mommy get down here with me. If Mommy won’t give you nickels to buy ice cream cones, you just come down and live with me and we’ll have ice cream cones galore.”

Only because of the war, hundreds of family letters were saved. At this point, Mom’s brother Dale Wilson was Missing in Action. He was the first person she wrote that she was expecting a baby boy in the spring. That small V-Mail letter was returned unopened, marked “Missing.” While transcribing the letters around 1990, that “baby boy” born June 4, 1944, was the first person to unseal that precious note.

My birth is also recorded on page 223 of Leora’s Letters: The Story of Love and Loss for an Iowa Family During World War II.

#aginggratefully #notgivingup