In Case Anything Should Ever Happen

If you’ve been reading along with me on these letters sent from Lummie Davis Moore to her younger brother Jack, you probably thought Lummie had brought the second letter to a close yesterday, when she signed off—unless you picked up a hint from her additional comment, post script, that “Friends and neighbors are taking care of everything at home.”

She wasn’t done there. In fact, it seemed hard for her to bring herself to a close, as she continued for two more pages. After all the confidence, the boasting of the certainty of faithful friends, and even the spunky spirit bemoaning the captivity of hospital confinement after hip surgery for an unfortunate fall, the façade began to crumble at the point of signing off her second letter in May, 1962.

Somehow, so far removed from family in her retirement location in Phoenix, Arizona, perhaps in all those hours of solitude, Lummie had begun to wonder if all her doctor’s promises would indeed come to pass. She began to write doubtful phrases like, “in case anything should happen ever,” and to share contact information for people who “will always know” how she was doing.

Perhaps the Mrs. Cook and Mrs. Finly Lummie referred to were retirees, just as Lummie was. One for certain—Mrs. Finly—was a snowbird from, coincidentally, Columbus, where Lummie’s brother Jack and his wife were planning to return.

Jack’s return to Columbus seemed imminent at this point. Did Lummie fear losing contact with her brother just when her own health might turn for the worst? Of course, there was always her own daughter, Sarah Martha—whom I’m presuming she referred to in this letter, using the nickname “Babe”—but somehow, Lummie seemed to have a hesitation about being a “nuisance” to her own daughter. How much reading between the lines here might yield in further family information is hard to tell on this point.

With one last plea for her brother to remember to keep her posted on his new address, Lummie put the final close on her letter.

Jack am sending you an address + Telephone no—whom you can call at any time to find out about me in case anything should happen ever—She in turn has your name and will give her your new address—She is my near neighbor—and will always know just how things are with me.

            Mrs. O. K. Cook

            532 W. Georgia Ave.

            Tel AM 5-4605

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

            Mrs. L. L. Finly

            3406 N. 38^th St.

            Tel AM 5-2727

You met this lady in Columbus (Minnie)

Friends have been wonderful—One has wheel chair for me, another brought me adjustable crutches and cane at least ½ doz[en]—have been offered—So am fine don’t worry—Did I send you Brochure of this place where I am—If not let me know and I will send you one—I sent Babe one and just don’t remember if I sent you one or not—but will—Let me know of your move—

                                    Love

                                                Lumie