A 20th Century Love Story

In the fall of 1912, two special people were born: In September, Magdelena and in November, Boleslaw appeared. Too foreign for the public school system, these names were changed to Margaret and Walter. Although they lived within several blocks of each other, they didn't meet until one Saturday evening in 1932.

It was at a small dance hall in Worcester, Mass. that their eyes first locked. She was slim, a sharp dresser and had an infectious smile. He was tall, dark and handsome. What brought them together was their love of dancing. Swing, waltzes, polkas, tangos, fox trots, rhumbas -- whatever the band played, they could do. And do they did. Dancing became a Saturday night habit. Their friends were soon talking about how good they were together.

Although "cutting in" was a custom at the time, it didn't take long for any hopeful swain of pretty Peggy to learn Walter wasn't about to let it happen. With swift twists and turns, without losing the rhythm, he became adept at the fancy footwork to keep cutters at bay.

Since the Victorian era, if a fellow tapped the male partner of a dancing duo, good manners required said partner to give up the girl...and to wait at least one dance before reclaiming her. Most likely this drove lovesick young men mad while ensuring the popularity of the female. In vogue at least through the early 1960's, it may be so still.

That winter and spring, the two spent Saturday evenings at one dance hall or another; wherever a good band was playing, they would find each other there. Warm weather came. On Sunday afternoons, they would go to a church picnic, to the beach, a band concert, a walk or a movie. Margaret didn't drive and Walter did not have a car. Mostly they walked or took a bus. This was in the middle of the Great Depression and money was scarce

Each would be twenty that fall. Margaret had graduated from a commercial high school and worked at an envelope company in book-keeping. Walter, to help support his family, left school at thirteen and worked at various factories. At the time, he may have been working for a shoe manufacturer or perhaps it was the wall-paper factory. Whichever, it was unskilled labor and did not pay well.

Margaret's parents were not very happy with her seeing Walter. She always knew when Walter arrived to pick her up for a date. Shortly after the doorbell rang, if she heard a loud slam, she knew who stood on the other side of the door. Why this antagonism? Three reasons: Walter was Polish, Walter was poor, Walter was not the nice wealthy middle-aged Lithuanian man her mother had chosen for her.

But our Peggy had a stubborn streak and a lot of will power. No matter that her mother's choice sent her flowers and candy. No matter that he attended the same church as she. No matter that he was almost in his forties and managed a dry goods store. Nothing mattered save that she was determined to marry Walter. And she did, on Columbus Day week-end in 1933. The wedding was at the Lithuanian church. With the holiday giving them an extra day off, they took a train to Washington D.C. for their honeymoon. A packed lunch and $6.00 collected from friends was enough for a night's stay. What they remembered most of their time in the capitol was a huge man sitting under a tree on the Mall, paring his toenails with a knife! Not the most romantic of images, it sure brought a lot of laughs with each telling.

They stayed several months at Walter's father's apartment. His father had immigrated to America in 1907 and didn't speak much English; Margaret, only a little Polish. After a short stay, they found their own place. His father paid her a high compliment: she worked like a Russian, even if she was only Lithuanian. The relationship between Poles and Lithuanians was sort of like that of the Irish and English.

In her own apartment, Margaret was determined to be the best housewife ever. One big problem stood in her way. Cooking. She knew how to sew, she kept her home spotless, but she'd never had to cook. She could make toast and tea. Walter had to cook for his siblings and liked good food. He was an excellent cook. One day, it was time to cook a meal on her own.

Conscious not only of cooking the meal but also doing it as cheaply as possible (still in the Depression), she was determined to succeed. This is when she discovered how much Walter really loved her. Because he ate and drank every bit of the dinner. It consisted of a baked potato, boiled hot dogs, and coffee. To keep costs down, she made the coffee in the same hot water in which the franks were boiled! He really did drink the coffee. Afterwards, she splurged on a cookbook.

For their first anniversary, they went out for dinner and dancing with another couple. Dance contests were very popular in the 30's and that night, the restaurant featured a waltz contest. Margaret and Walter entered. At the end of each waltz, the maitre d' would hold his hand over one couple at a time. No or little applause and you were out of the running.

Soon only two couples were left. The winner would receive $50.00, a large sum then, and a silver loving cup. The couple the maitre d' wanted to win kept getting less and less applause while that for our intrepid pair was becoming louder and longer. The audience was restive, for their selection was being ignored. Finally, by acclaim, the prize went to Margaret and Walter. Later they learned the other couple was the restaurant owner's daughter and son-in-law! And another family legend was born.

After that, life was relatively calm. In 1935, their first daughter was born. Margaret stayed home with her baby. Walter got a better job at a wire mill. On the side he practiced his hobby: working with electronics, while she practiced cooking. He built radios, tinkered with motors and engines and repaired neighbors' appliances. Electricity fascinated him; he believed it was evidence of God. The fascination lasted his whole life.

Each wanted the baby to grow up knowing the languages that they had grown up with. To accomplish this fairly, they settled on alternating Lithuanian and English one week with Polish and English the next. This became more confusing than satisfying and eventually only English was spoken.

Dancing and music still remained a large part in their lives, just not in public. Saturday evenings were spent with friends, at one house or another. The children learned to sleep wherever they were while the adults sang and danced.

In 1941, World War II began shortly after their second daughter was born. Walter wanted to enlist, but was denied the military. He was, at nearly 30, considered too old and married fathers were exempt from the draft. The wire mill where he worked was conscripted by the Navy. Although the barbed wire made there was for military use, he felt shamed not to be doing more. This was a sore spot for a long time. It did not bother Margaret, because some of their family and friends did not make it back. Yet she never told him how she felt, only telling her girls years later.

By 1946, when their third and last daughter was born, Walter was champing at the bit. At 34, it was now or never if he was to follow his dream. He wanted to do what he loved and be his own boss. What was his dream? To own a store that sold and fixed appliances, radios and that newest big thing, television. He knew he could do this. He already had a clientele for repairing electronic goods. And this new thing, this television -- he understood it, knew it was not a passing fad. He would do it.

"How," she said. "How can you fix something when no one knows what it is?"

"I know what it is," he told her as he tried explaining the workings of cathode tubes, vacuum tubes and antennas. He knew, somehow, that this new appliance would be big, would succeed. And was confident he could fix them and sell them. Of course, he was right.

So a small store was rented, not too far from their apartment. Margaret's dream, to be a stay-at-home mom was not to be. After the first few years, she worked in the store aongside Walter, six days a week with only short breaks for vacations, until they both retired in 1982.

Through the early 50's, the store prospered so that she only had to work mornings. Walter hired an assistant and soon had to find a larger shop. The site he chose was in area ripe for expansion as a shopping center. The city planned for an expressway with exit/entrance ramps nearby.

Originally the expressway ramps were to direct drivers to the location,thereby increasing business. Then politics reared its head and the ramps were moved closer to a nearby college. This move kept traffic and business away. The hoped for increase of customers did not become a reality; the store just about broke even.

Faced with the fact that their dreams of success were not coming true, they did not give up. They worked hard for little return, managing to put one girl through college and provide very nice Polish weddings for the other two.

Working long hours did not, in the early years, change their love of dancing. Early in the marriage, they had gotten a player piano. Through the years it was a major form of entertainment. Family and friends came frequently for lively, musical Saturday evenings. At home or at church gatherings, Sundays were for polkas!

Margaret was two months older than Walter. So, on her birthday, after the candles were blown out, he would gleefully tease her. When, for example, she turned 40, he said, "Hey, you are really getting old. Here you are going on 41 and I'm only 39!" He did this every year. And every year she tried to show him he was wrong. Until the year he didn't; he had passed away the winter of 1998. His joke was sorely missed by Peggy and their daughters.

The years flew by; evenings and Sundays grew quieter. Children grew up and grandchildren appeared. The latter were all given a taste of music and singing and dancing, but it was not the same, not the full show. Mostly now, the pair sat and watched the antics of youngsters.

In 1983, on their 50th wedding anniversary, they once again got a standing ovation for their beautiful waltz. At 71, they still had it, twirling and dipping, eyes only for each other. And nobody cut in.

Labor day week-end in 1997 was the last anniversary, their 64th, they would share. Walter was in a nursing home. Diabetes and seniltiy were too much for Margaret to care for. Neither one wanted to live with any daughter; daughters could be bossy. They were fiercely independent. He died of pneumonia one February night in 1998.

Not long after, Margaret developed Alzheimer's and lost the ability to walk. She entered a nursing home and lived there, quite content, for five years. It was her home; she cooked for everyone (or so she said). Walter was kept in the closet, she informed her girls, because he didn't want to talk to anyone but her and she liked it that way. When a daughter visited, they would sing the old danceable songs from the thirties and the war years.

"It's time to see all those people I need to see" she said, the first clear conversation she'd had in years.

"Do you want to sing now?" her daughter asked.She shool her head yes and they softly sang the old songs. Margaret fell asleep, an enchanted sleep, to join her Walter and waltz forever more.