Roma and Fred

Introduction

My maternal grandparents carried on a two-year courtship correspondence between 1915 and 1917, by which time they had married. Roma Belle Mattison and Frederick Benjamin Winter met in Portsmouth, Ohio on May 23, 1915 at “the Edison concert.” She would be 27 in a month, he was 42. Concert going was a popular pastime. Without television, and cinema still being somewhat new, concerts and lectures were a way for friends to go out together, for the sexes to mingle without causing scandal. Churches, masonic halls and Chautauqua-type gatherings were where “culture” was disseminated, especially for people like my grandparents who strove to be cultured.

Roma was an adventuresome working girl, a traveling saleswoman (books, Who’s Who, encyclopedias, and magazines perhaps) who lived in rooming houses with other young working women in various towns in Ohio―Marion, Delaware, Fostoria, Bucyrus, Findlay. She grew up in Albion, Michigan, went to Albion College and had traveled to other parts of the country. She enjoyed her work and her life. Her goal, of course, was to marry an upstanding respectable man, and she hoped she might be a high school choral music director as that was her training and joy. (Years later when we attended church with her on occasion, her soprano voice rose above all others, causing us grandchildren great embarrassment.)

Fred lived with his mother and her single sister in Portsmouth, Ohio. He was well known and respected and though considered highly eligible, was not yet married. A member of the Order of Masons, he taught Sunday school and worked in commerce along the Ohio River in various capacities. Three of his sisters married three Marting brothers, Marting’s being the Macy’s of Portsmouth at the time.

This lengthy blog consists of their two-year courtship correspondence, with accompanying notes.

Roma’s first letter is written on Green-Joyce Company Lounge letterhead from Columbus. She is already flirting and signs the letter “Lovingly” even though she refers to him as Mr. Winter. Already it’s clear that Roma leads an adventuresome life. She seems to relish her independence and lets Fred know what a social butterfly she is.

The following day she writes another letter, having settled at the Pilgrim Inn in Marion, Ohio. She invites him to visit her—to come up Saturday and stay over till Sunday, with the prospect of not being closely supervised but not so left alone as to cause scandal, as there would be a young married couple in the house: “Our visits in Portsmouth were not entirely satisfactory to me, and here they would be unattended, and undisturbed.”

Fred’s first letter, written May 31^st, is pure treacle, “the crystallization of sweet innocence and all that is adorable in young womanhood.” He, too, refers to her formally, Miss Matteson, but signs his letter, “your loving friend, W.” They are clearly smitten with each other from the start.

At the same time, each teases the other, sometimes intentionally sometimes not, by talking about other liaisons―real and potential―to show that they are popular and wanted by others. In his very first letter, Fred tells Roma that he has his “first date with Miss Stockham tomorrow night—she is the young lady you met in the coupe that Sunday night. We are going to a concert at Bigelow Church.” In the same letter, he cautions Roma to “Keep away from that charming young man from Michigan—it does not contribute to my happiness to hear about him.”

I don’t know if the “young man from Michigan” is Mr. Bower, also “Mr. B., but his name crops up regularly in both their letters. Mr. Bower, too, is smitten with Roma and has perhaps let her know he would like to marry her as she throws his name up whenever Fred’s reluctance to propose marriage bothers her. Mr. B. owns a car, Fred does not.

They clearly are in the throes of an infatuation with each other; at the same time, neither knows how to move it further. She is eager, he is reluctant. The reason for his reluctance is not clear.

There were two mail deliveries daily and postal service was such that each knew when the other would receive their letter.

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The Green-Joyce Company Lounge, Columbus Ohio

Saturday 10:30

Dear Mr. Winter:

As you see we have traveled so far. Our train for Marion leaves at 2:45, and as we have sometime to wait, Lena and I thot we would write a few letters, so tomorrow and Monday we could settle and rest. Of course the latter is wholly unnecessary, but just to see what it might be like, we are going to indulge. You know you can do anything “once.”

The trip did not seem at all long or tedious. At Waverly our “Engineer” friends got on for Circleville, so we had company part way.

If I were not going to save my money from now on, I might be tempted to buy some new clothes, but to keep from yielding to temptation, I think we shall take in a picture show after lunch. I truly hope I will be more interested in the pictures than I was yesterday.

I have felt half dazed this morning. It does not seem that I have truly left my good times and kind friends behind. We will surely be lonesome, and hope you will not forget us all-together.

For the present you may address any mail general delivery, Marion. As soon as we are settled will let you know. I wish to assure you we will not select our rooming place in haste.

Lovingly, Roma

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May 30, 1915  Sunday 8 P.M.

Dear Mr. Winter:

Didn’t I tell you last Sunday night I would be lonesome a week from then?

I have so much to tell you I scarcely know where to begin. It has rained almost continually since our arrival, which has not added materially to our pleasure. Last night we stayed at the Pilgrim Inn. Our room was very cheerful, and the bed a paradise. We retired at 8:45 and arose at 10, and I might add, that the entire time was spent in sleeping. This afternoon we laid down at three, and slept until four. Do you not think I should look as fresh as a rose?

I believe if I had been a man, Mr. Winter, I should have carried your threat into practice, namely, been driven to marrying. Such a meal. There are no good eating places down town at all, but kind fortune has smiled upon us once more, and directed us to one of the prettiest, grandest, and most charming places I have ever seen. My vocabulary is far too limited to describe to you the beauty of the home and grounds, where we take our meals. Mrs. Templeton caters to the better class of people, and if you will excuse the expression they are “come class,” at least in their Sunday finery that is the conclusion to be deducted. Miss Hopper and I were the only ones fortunate enough to get places. The others may come later. The meals are very good too. There are several bachelors who have boarded with Mrs. Templeton for nine years, so you may judge the board from that.

We were fortunate enough to get a room just a few doors from our eating place, and I surely would not ask for better. We have the use of the entire house, and oh, the front porch is grand. There is a chair swing, several rockers, and a double rocker. The house sets back from the street and has a number of trees etc. to make it attractive.

I am sure my attempt to describe our surroundings to you has fallen very short, and I am going to recall to your mind an old adage, which I think you will agree is very true, that “seeing is believing.”

We do not know how long we shall stay, as that all depends upon business. If it should happen to be poor we will not stay longer than a week, and if it is good our stay will be indefinite. Anyway, I think you ought to arrange to come on Saturday and stay over Sunday don’t you? Our visits in Portsmouth were not entirely satisfactory to me, and here they would be unattended, and undisturbed. Our landlady goes away this week for a few days, but there is a young married couple here with a three months old baby, also a charming young man, so we would not be lonesome. (From Michigan)

If I were not getting to the critical place where I do not have any more birthdays, I might ask you to come and celebrate with me, but that is not telling the exact date, then too, if you want that picture I think you will have to come after it. Now I defy you to down these arguments.

Mr. Winter did you ever have the hives? Well, I have, and my poor arms look as tho a hornet’s nest had settled there. There are surely disagreeable, but I do not think will last long. You know you can’t down a good man long.

If you care to, and can arrange to come to Marion for next Sunday, please let me know as soon as possible.

Lovingly, Roma

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[May 31, 1915]

My Dear Miss Matteson,

The thrill that came to me on the receipt of your welcome little letter signed “lovingly” will never be known to you. I cannot tell you in words how I have been missing you since Saturday morning’s farewell was said.

I have often heard of Michigan peaches, Michigan scenery and other things Michigan but believe me, I have never seen anything so approaching concentrated sweetness as your own dear little self and you too from Michigan.

Oh, you little dew drop—yes that is what you are to me—the dewdrop that glistens like a diamond on the petal of the rosebud that glorifies the morning of a spring day.

I am seated under the folds of Old Glory penning these lines—this you know is Decoration Day and what a Decoration Day it would be for me, were you by my side.

Just a week ago to-night we enjoyed the Edison concert and all that followed. Mr. Killy is just passing on a motor cycle—“things to worry about.”

Mr. B is really looking bad and I have been feeling about as he looks—there you have it. Oh, why didn’t you stay over the triple holiday—we could have borrowed the coupe (“mebbie”) and with picture shows, parties, etc., continued our good time a day or two longer—for that was the life. It is rumored that I am married—of course, I know nothing about it.

I am now wondering “at this juncture”—if you are just as sweet as you were the last time I saw you. My memory is rich with thoughts of you—again you are the dew drop—the crystallization of sweet innocence and all that is adorable in young womanhood.

O, that you were here at my side just now, that I might look into your blue eyes—the very hue of Heaven itself and bask in the radiance of your enchanting smile! I see I must close, lest I grow eloquent, for (you) my theme is so lofty.

Won’t you delight me with an early reply.

Your loving friend, W.

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