FOR MOST OF THE CENTURY: AND THEN CAME EDWARD

Jean Bell Mosley's new autobiography, "For Most of the Century," is only available in serialized form in the Southeast Missourian. Return each week for her continuing story.

Although I applied for a school teaching position in the spring of 1933, having secured by Sixty Hour Teacher's Certificate from Flat River Junior College, I did not get one. Anyone who had a job in 1933 held onto it tenaciously. Dust storms clouded the Midwest, CCC (Civilian Conservation Corps) camps appeared around the country. My "old friend" Coolidge had departed the White House. No one had paid much attention to his advice about "Make more money than you spend. Spend less money than you make."

Herbert Hoover won the presidency in 1924 and he was one of the many who thought, "Just let things alone and they'll eventually work out." Economically speaking, that is.

It didn't work out that way. Things got worse. For a while it looked as if America was just going to spiral away upward into a dust storm. The barren fields with no cover crops to keep the top soil down were just left "swinging in the wind," an expression that was to be made popular in another coming crisis.

Thousands of families in the Midwest packed their pitifully few belongings into and onto old jalopies and headed west. This sad era in American History was depicted in a best selling novel by John Steinbeck, "The Grapes of Wrath."

One night I overhead a bedtime conversation between Mama and Dad. I didn't mean to eavesdrop but when I became aware they were talking about me, I listened.

"If we just let her stay around here, she'll end up marrying some no-account and getting nowhere."

In the darkness, I blushed at this assessment of my future. Gee Whiz! Hadn't I already perfectly dissected a frog and given a speech with notes!

Mama said, "Well, she does have the partial scholarship. Do you think we can swing the rest?"

"We will," Dad replied stoutly. After that there was silence. They had gone to sleep and I did too, smiling.

Going as a junior into a four year college with no one else from your home town attending was not easy. Campus friendships had already been formed.

The other girls staying at 383 N. Henderson helped, although we seldom had the same classes. I was "that girl who worked in the Dean's office, typing."

During the first term I was introduced to Sorosis "rushing." There were social societies for girls -- Clio, Sorosis, Hesperian and for the boys -- Websters, Bentons and Mark Twains.

I had not experienced anything like this at Flat River. There were no social sororities there, only Phi Theta Kappa, the honorary scholastic society which held social parties occasionally. Remember the red, soot-covered jello?

I was chosen by Sorosis and attended their meetings, learning for the first time what black-balling was. I did not like that. In fact I did not enjoy Sorosis much at all. They had dances and I didn't dance. They had parties. I seldom went. Once each girl in Sorosis was assigned a boy from the Mark Twain fraternity to ask for a date for some party, maybe Valentine's. I did not ask my assigned date. Also, I failed to notify anyone that I was not going to ask, so this boy -- a popular boy on campus, Jimmy Wax, was not at the party. I had made a faux pas.

Before the school year was over though, I had made many friends who, at the end of the year, wrote warm, encouraging messages in my Sagamore, our college yearbook. Most of those who had written referred to my basketball and swimming abilities. I had led Sorosis to an inter-society championship and earned a letter in swimming, was even nominated in the first of several eliminations as the Sagamore Queen. The nomination was made by someone for whom I helped write a thesis!

Since the boys who lived in town knew there was always a number of girls staying at 383 North Henderson, they made it their business to come by in the early mornings and sit on the porch or in the porch swings which were at either end of the long porch that spanned the front of the house. Mrs. Rosena Perry, the landlady, who was otherwise rather strict with "her girls," seeing that they signed out and in when on a date, didn't seem to mind these town boys stopping to visit on the porch. One or two at a time, of course.

One evening, after dark (no girl was afraid to walk anywhere on the campus after dark at that time), returning from the library to my home away from home, I saw the girls on the porch along with two boys. Dim light came through the two front windows and I didn't really get a very good look at the two boys who introduced themselves as John Hirsch and John Mosley. I stayed to chat a while with them and the other girls, then went upstairs to my studies.

About a week later I was called to the telephone. It was John. For some reason, I did not ask "John who?" Instantly, for some weird reason it popped into my head that it was the one who had called himself John Hirsch. He wanted a date. I told him I would think about it and for him to call back in a few days.

There was only one other person in town that I knew besides those I had recently met, someone who had lived in Cape Girardeau a long time. It was Alene Sadler. She had taught school at Doe Run, my home town. I called her to ask if she knew a John Hirsch and if so, what kind of fellow was he? she said she knew no one called John Hirsch but that the Hirsch family was highly respected, well known, and she thought it would be all right for me to accept a date with this John Hirsch.

So when John called again, I did accept the date. When he came to the door, I realized it was not the boy I had expected, although I had seen both of them only in dim light.

After I had called him John a few times, he admitted that his name wasn't really John but Edward, Edward Mosley.

Edward and Ralph Hirsch were best friends and they had, through who knows what boyish ritual, custom or habit, been calling each other John all their lives. Ralph went on to marry LaVerne Moore and after about four children they had another child whom they, at last, named John.

Well, the Mosley family was well thought of too. Edward lived with his mother and father at 501 Themis Street. Two older brothers, Sylvester and Juel, and a sister, Bernice, had already married and had homes of their own.

Edward had gone to college for a few semesters but dropped out to take a job at the Southeast Missouri Printing and Stationery Company. That old Depression again. He had a car and a little more money to spend and seemed so much more mature than the boys I had been accustomed to dating. He was intelligent too. Because he had liked his Shakespeare teacher, he knew the old Bard and his works which always seemed such a funny combination with his other occupations and recreations. He was a printing pressman, a hunter, a fisherman and baseball player. I bet no one in the outfield of the Capahas, his baseball team, knew he could repeat at the crop of a ball, "Out, out dammed spot," and many other well known quotes. If there was ever one who believed in the work ethic, he was at the top of his class, always leaving for work early, and having his press going half an hour before it was necessary.

~Jean Bell Mosley is an author and longtime resident of Cape Girardeau.