Sharing Bee-Wees
by Ruth Wertzberger Carlson

> > One especially bleak winter day in Dubuque, Iowa, when blizzards and measles
> > had conspired to keep her ten kids (only 13 years apart) home from school for
> > weeks, my mother Rosie read in my father¹s Knights of Columbus newsletter
> > about a family in Washington, D.C. that wanted to trade houses with a family
> > in Dubuque, so they could attend a family reunion that summer. Rosie, my mom,
> > wrote an essay about how she wanted her children to see the nation's capitol
> > and the only way we could afford it was by driving and staying in a house for
> > free.
> >
> > Each evening we ran to the mailbox to see if our acceptance letter had arrived
> > and after several months, Mom dejectedly said, "They must have picked someone
> > that didn't have ten children.² When we finally got good news saying we were
> > selected out of dozens of applicants because mom's essay was so moving, the
> > ten of us screamed and jumped up and down. Later we found out that the D.C.
> > family had called a friend in Dubuque to make sure our family wouldn¹t trash
> > their home!
> >
> > The next night my Dad, Art, a manager at the Dubuque Meat Packing Plant, (the
> > Pack) brought home an empty ham container and cut a hole in the top to serve
> > as our vacation bank. During supper we prepared for our drive across America
> > by naming the state's capitols. Over dessert we'd contribute to the holiday
> > fund. Babysitting money, allowances and birthday checks all went in, and the
> > bigger the sacrifice the bigger the applause. We were each responsible for
> > packing our own entertainment for the trip, including books, puzzles and
> > stuffed animals. My brother Bobby insisted on bringing his "bee wee" even
> > though he was embarrassing old for a baby blanket.
> >
> > As the date grew closer my father made ominous noises about how it was
> > impossible for him to take vacation during the Pack's busy season so one night
> > Mom said she would go without him. The thought of my Mom driving across
> > country with ten kids apparantly scared my Dad more than being stuck with us
> > in a car for days and he managed to get the time off.
> >
> > Mom bought us all new matching outfits to make a good impression in the big
> > city and we got up at the crack of dawn so we could drive as long as possible
> > and save on hotel expenses. We didn't leave till hours later, after Dad had
> > strapped the suitcases on top of our avocado-colored station wagon and placed
> > the rest of the bags under our feet. Mom, Dad and baby Carrie sat in the front
> > seat, Susan, Jane, Debbie and I squeezed in the second seat, Cathy was in the
> > compartment between the seats and Bill, Paul, Bob and Dave sat in the rear.
> > This was 38 years ago, before child restraining seats and seat belts were
> > required. We finally drove down the driveway, only to have Debbie say she had
> > to go the bathroom, which started a chain reaction and all of us had to run to
> > the toilet.
> >
> > On the road, I remember Mom turning around to look at us and smiling with so
> > much naked love in her eyes it felt like a warm blanket. To keep us happy she
> > doled out treats like licorice and we played the usual car games, slug
> > bug--hitting each other when we saw Volkswagen bugs-- and yelling out license
> > plates. At rest stops we got a Dr. Pepper from a machine, an unheard of luxury
> > in our world where soft drinks (generic only) were reserved for Saturday night
> > after our baths. As we piled back into the car, Dad would count noses to make
> > sure we weren't missing anyone. Amazingly no one was ever left behind.
> >
> > At one point we got caught in a monster traffic jam and Mom convinced Dad to
> > let my brother Bill, then 17, drive. They traded places and Dad climbed in the
> > last seat, which faced backwards. It was 102 degrees so Dad rolled up his
> > pants, stuck his calves out the window, and fell asleep. Those pale legs
> > turned a bright red and bothered him the rest of the trip but Bill finally got
> > a chance to take the wheel.
> >
> > Despite my Dad frequently asking David, the youngest boy and a wise acre, if
> > he wanted to walk home, we only pulled over once when the radiator overheated.
> > While Dad was frantically looking around for something to untwist the hissing
> > radiator cap, Bobby surprised us all by handing Dad his bee wee. My father
> > looked him in the eyes and asked, "Are you sure?," realizing the blanket would
> > be ruined. Bobbie nodded and we all cheered. He had finally become a big boy
> > who didn't need a security blanket.
> >
> > We went to every monument in Washington D.C. but four decades later I remember
> > the drive more than the nation's capitol. Today my parents are both dead, but
> > they left us a great legacy, each other. When we complained as children about
> > having to share, mom would say "Someday you'll be glad you have all these
> > brothers and sisters." Today my siblings are my best friends and each year we
> > pile our kids into minivans and drive from different corners of the U.S. to
> > meet in a vacation spot. No one has more than three kids but when the 16
> > cousins unite they get a taste of our crazy upbringing. Fortunately, there are
> > enough young ones so we always have a bee wee--just in case there are any car
> > emergencies.
> >
> > -END-
> > Bio: Ruth Wertzberger Carlson grew up in Dubuque, Iowa and attended Wahlert
> > High School until the summer following her junior year her father was
> > trasferred to manage the Dubuque Meat Packing Plant in South San Francisco,
> > CA. The rest of the family, inlcuding (three who attended the University of
> > Iowa, Susan, Jane, and Paul) now live on the West Coast. Ruth is a freelance
> > writer who specializes in travel, profiles of women executives, sailing, golf
> > and fashion. She and her husband Richard Carlson live in Santa Cruz,
> > California and she hopes to get him back to Dubuque this summer to see her
> > hometown!
> >

I just lost an uncle and Dubuque just lost their biggest fan. When I was growing up in Dubuque the Wertzberger clan got together almost ever Sunday at my Granddaddy Charlie's house. My dad Art, Uncle Fritz and Uncle Dick would sit at a card table and drink beer, smoke cigars, pipes, or cigarettes and swear a lot as they played euchre and pinochle (games my new friends in California find mysterious). Uncle Dick always took time out to tell jokes to the kids-he had 8 children, Fritz had 6 and I have 9 siblings. They were silly goofy jokes like finding quarters behind our ears, but we thought they were hilarious. My sister Debbie remembers him doing funny tricks with his tongue like Jerry Lewis.” He used his nose and ears to change directions of his extended tongue with a grand finale where he tugged at his throat and pretended to swallow it--I did that trick to my kids!, she says.

Dick was in charge of the advertising, community and public relations at the Dubuque Meat Packing Plant, skills that I'm proud to say I inherited from him. He was responsible for those jingles I still can't get out of my head: D-u-b-u-q-u-e, spells Dubuque, the meat for your family, look for the bright red fleur de lis, the symbol of flavor and quality. I still have the fleur de lis coasters, cards, and even ties he designed in my closet. Looking back I can see how innovative and savvy he was, understanding that his audience was kids and families. Thanks in part to his great marketing, a large part of Dubuque residents were able to hold down high paying jobs allowing them to become homeowners.

At his wife Stella's birthday party a few years ago in Eagle Point Park, when I commented on the beautiful surroundings, (my family moved to California when I was 17 and my dad was transferred to the South San Francisco Dubuque meat packing plant), Dick said "People take Dubuque for granted. This town has so much going for it." He made it his mission to promote the city, serving as Director of the Chamber of Commerce, many charities and mayor. My brother Bill reminded me that while he was in office the city was undergoing an economic downturn and he helped turn around the recession by convincing Bob Hope to host a fundraiser, gaining national media attention.

I'll never forget the morning I was having coffee at UC Berkeley and I heard a woman at the next table mention an article in the San Francisco Chronicle about the mayor of Dubuque. "That's my Uncle," I said proudly. "No it's a nun," she said. Turns out Dick had just ended his term and a nun on the city council had been elected. Dick told me the rest of the city council (all men) were concerned about attending an upcoming conference in Atlantic City with a nun, but turns out she got a big kick out of the risqué girlie shows and wanted to stay out later than the guys.

Dick has received so many awards it would take all day to list them but to me his most significant achievement is his successful, happy children. Dick, Jack, Steven, Tom, Barb, Michael, Greg and Maggie. Barb and I are only a year apart and although she shared a room with her grandmother she managed to slip out the window so we could go to Junie's bait shop. She used to talk the barkeeper into giving us free beer if we did the alligator dance! (Please ask her to demonstrate it for you the next time you see her!). Fortunately Dick never found out about these escapades because he was very strict with Barb, maybe because she was the only girl until Maggie arrived many years later.

Dick's wife Stella had to enter an assisted living home, much to his dismay, about a year ago and he'd visit her every day, evidence of his love for her, but also his jealousy. He didn't like all the attention she was getting from the other men. Debbie remembers him saying that his wife Stella had already been canonized for putting up with him.

Dick stayed young till the end, playing golf, sending email jokes and visiting us when he could. I have no doubt that he and my dad are playing cards in heaven right now-still swearing and accusing each other of cheating but having a good time. Bunny rabbit, Dubuque, the Wertzbergers and countless others he helped will miss him.

Ruth Wertzberger Carlson
Aka Bunny Rabbit