22 and the Mother of 11 Book 2: An Alaska Frontier Instant Mother's Story

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PREFACE

Jesse Lee Home has been taking care of children in Alaska for more than a hundred years and has existed in three different locations:

Unalaska in the Aleutian Islands, 1890-1925,

Seward on the Kenai Peninsula, 1925-1966, and

Anchorage in South Central Alaska, 1966-?

Map showing the three locations.

Who Was Jesse Lee?

Jesse Lee was an itinerant Methodist minister traveling on horseback in the late 1700’s to establish Methodist churches, not in Alaska, but in New England. By 1809 and again in 1812, he was elected to serve as Chaplain to the Continental Congress. He had become a close associate of Bishop Francis Asbury, the first historian of Methodism in America. So one can easily understand how the name of this well loved circuit rider was presented to the Woman’s Home Missionary Society who were financing this endeavor in Alaska. Apparently, it had bothered none that he was one of the first known American conscientious objectors. When he refused to carry arms, he was drafted and imprisoned. However, his skills of persuasion were such that he moved his guards and fellow prisoners to become conscientious objectors with him. So Jesse Lee was soon released from prison. Having died seventy-four years before the mission in Unalaska began, he knew not of this honor of placing his name on this historical institution. He lived 1758-1816.

Jesse Lee Home in Unalaska

Twenty years after the purchase of Alaska from Russia, the Agent for Education, Dr. Sheldon Jackson, saw the need for an industrial school in western Alaska. Knowing it would take a missionary zeal to persevere in this new territory, he sought the Methodists to construct the institution and to send an educational missionary. The government would offer housing and salary.

Orphaned girls arrived in Unalaska without a place to stay, and John Tuck, a missionary from Connecticut, and his wife, had to take them into their small house while waiting for construction to begin. Numbers grew. Out of desperation, Tuck pleaded for another missionary. Agnes Sowle arrived. By 1900 the first building was completed; the Tucks had left; and Agnes successfully offered to split her salary of $30.00 per month with a Miss M.E. Mellor, if she would come to assist. After three years, Agnes returned to Brooklyn and married Dr. Alfred Newhall, who joined in her work. His coming allowed a hospital to exist within the Home. By 1903, a second building was constructed which housed residents, the sick from the village, and ailing sailors from passing ships. Mama and Papa Newhall were beloved parents to many children until her death of a stroke in 1917. Five years later, he remarried to a staff member, Emma Supernaw.

A concert pianist, Simeon Oliver, and Gordan Gould, a founder of Alaska Pacific University in Anchorage, were both raised in the Home.

Jesse Lee Home in Seward

By 1925 the Methodists felt the Home could be run more economically and serve more Alaskans, if it were moved out of the Aleutians. Seward officials, eager to receive the Home, enticed the Methodists with the following:

1. One hundred acres of sloping hillside on the Seward Highway.

2. A more moderate climate reducing fuel costs.

3. Cheaper freight.

4. The city would build a road to the property.

Dr. Newhall chose to assist the Presbyterians in Point Barrow. So the Rev. R.V.B. Dunlap became the first of a long line of superintendents serving the Home in Seward. Among the children moving to Seward from Unalaska was Benny Benson. At age 13, and in the seventh grade, he entered a territory wide contest to design the Alaska flag. His winning flag flew for the first time on the grounds of the Home on July 9, 1927. His design was eight stars of gold on a blue background illustrating the Big Dipper and the North Star.

In 1942, World War II arrived in Alaska at Dutch Harbor in the Aleutians. Military installations were established at the entrance to Resurrection Bay near Seward. The Home was closed and the children relocated. A camouflage of evergreen trees was painted on the empty buildings. After the war, the Home was reopened and continued until the 1964 Alaska earthquake. No residents were injured, but the Girls Building became uninhabitable.

Jesse Lee Home in Anchorage

With the Girls Building leveled, and social work moving toward foster homes to house needy children, the Home was receiving less residents. Anchorage needed an institution to serve mildly disturbed children, who were not seen as good candidates for foster care. So the Home redesigned its program and, using half of the $1,600,000 raised by U.S.Methodist Churches for earthquake victims, built cottages on twenty-five acres in Anchorage. Since 1966 Jesse Lee Home has become a treatment center for children of physical abuse, neglect, or with behavioral problems. Rev. Richard Gilbert became the person who so ably conducted this transformation. The author served on its first board.

References for Preface

Arnett, Hans. Outline map of Alaska.

Boston University School of Theology: New England Conference Commission on Archives and History. Manuscript History collection.

Hays, Rev. Walter, Script for Slide Program, The Jesse Lee Story. Slide narration slides #27-28 and #38.

Newhall, Edith Drugg, "The Early History of the Jesse Lee Home," daughter of Dr. Albert and Agnes Newhall. This one and a half page history was prepared and sent to the Reverend Walter Hays at his request on April 4, 1980.

ridgefieldpress.com The news of Ridgefield, Connecticut. An Han Network site. Where Jesse Lee preached 225 years ago, By the Ridgefield Press on September 7, 2014 in Lead News, Conscience and War. 1976 supplement to the Boston based Methodist newspaper, Zion Herald, Jesse Lee, Man of Conscience to Preacher.

Seward Phoenix Log, 12/5/25 pp. 4-5. Newspaper of Seward, Alaska. Prosperity Edition. Archives of the Seward Community Library. Research secured by Virginia Search Kirk in 1984.

Shepard, Bea & Claudia Kelsey, HAVE GOSPEL TENT WILL TRAVEL. The Methodist Church in Alaska since 1886. Copyright 1986 by Conference-Council on Ministries, Alaska Missionary Conference of the United Methodist Church, Anchorage, Alaska. References taken from the Prologue and pp. 19, 48,127-129, and 144.

Woman’s Home Mission, Volume 7, #12 1890. pp. 181-182 by Mrs. L. Daggett.

INTRODUCTION TO BOOK 2

22 and the Mother of 11 is a story of life in the historical Jesse Lee Home in the 1950’s in Seward, Alaska. The focus is on young women just out of college, with no parenting skills, who commit to the roles of house-mothers. The story depicts the challenges of being a parent figure for a dormitory of ten or eleven children, who bring constant tattling, peer conflicts, temper tantrums, and relentless teasing in acts of mischief. In addition, the housemothers must deal with scratches, bruises, fractures, enuresis, and clothing always in need of repair, washing, and ironing. As housemothers, discipline, guidance, and TLC are much in demand.

Betty Jane, Dolores, and Jinny, strive to provide all of the above as they find themselves suddenly mothers and no longer college students. This story is based on the memoirs of their service from 1952-1955 . . . all before television, cell phones, and video games.

Book 2 continues the story of Betty Jane and Dolores as housemothers and introduces the arrival of Jinny to Jesse Lee Home.

Jesse Lee Home in the 1950’s after the World War II camouflage of evergreen trees had been removed. From the author’s collection.

Chapter 1

WHAT TO DO? . . . BED-WETTING, TANTRUMS, AND INEXPERIENCED COOKS !

I didn’t know it, but I was about to meet one of the biggest challenges of working in the Jesse Lee Children’s Home in Seward, Alaska. I had arrived at the age of twenty-two in August of 1952 as a short-term missionary with the Methodist Church. One morning I went into the bathroom belonging to the little boys in my care to see if any were lingering in play and perhaps, into mischief. That was often the order of the day with eleven little boys. To my surprise only one boy was in the room, and he was struggling to toss something over the shower stall.

Carl, what are you doing?

Carl quickly turned and faced me. I’m trying to get my sheet over the stall to dry. His eyes quickly dropped to the floor revealing embarrassment.

Why?

Carl hesitated and then mumbled, Uh, I wet my bed.

I paused to let my mind absorb this statement and all the consequences it could entail for the future. It brought back memories in my own life when I was a little girl and would sometimes wake up in a wet bed. I realized how difficult that admission must have been for him, as he revealed this heretofore embarrassing secret to me.

But why is the whole sheet wet?

Miz Yokel says I have to rinse my sheet out in the shower and then hang it up to dry.

Hmmm, I thought, if Miss Yokel said it, it must be done. Rachel Yokel was the very able assistant to Mr. Matthews, the superintendent of the Jesse Lee Home. Once again I saw in my memory that awful scene of my big sister exclaiming in disgust to our mother that Betty has wet the bed again. My mother soon whisked away the soiled sheet. It was out of my sight but not out of my mind.

I walked to the shower stall in the C Boys’ bathroom and began to straighten the sheet that was hanging unevenly from the efforts of this healthy looking seven year old. Obviously, he had struggled to sling the weight of this wet fabric high above his head. The little dark haired boy from the Aleutian Islands watched nervously, as he stood in his underwear.

Where are your clothes, Carl?

I rinsed out my pajamas, and they’re hangin’ over by the radiator to dry.

I never had to deal with the telltale wet clothes when I was Carl’s age, for my mother stepped in and tried to make me as comfortable as she could, knowing I hated it when the big ring of wet urine crept over to my sister’s side of the bed. But Carl’s mother had died a long time ago. As a result, his father had to put Carl and his sisters into the Jesse Lee Home. His father was away in another part of Alaska and never came to visit. Had his big sister known about Carl’s problem, I suspect she would probably have just scolded him, claiming his act was an embarrassment to both of them. Right now, all Carl had was me.

I glanced at the short string strung above the radiator for hanging socks that were washed by the six, seven, and eight year old boys of the C Dorm each night. The socks had all been removed and no doubt were on most of their feet by now. A single set of dripping wet pajamas was now taking up much of the room on that line. And did you shower?

Yes.

And is that clean underwear you have on now?

Yes, said Carl, again looking down at the floor and shaking his head.

Trying to respond in a non judgmental manner, I said, Then go get dressed for breakfast. The bell is about to ring. On that suggestion, Carl dashed out of the bathroom and hurriedly passed some of his dorm mates who had come out of the big dorm room where the C Boys slept. It was located farther down the hall.

Having stepped out of the boys’ bathroom and into the hall, unfortunately, I overheard the following comment.

Phewww, said one of the boys holding his nose. Carl wet his bed and he stinks.

I do not ! mumbled Carl who kept on walking.

"Yeah, his bed is next to mine and it stinks," said another.

When I heard these words, my heart went out to Carl. I knew the humiliation of having no control over one’s bladder in sleep. Waking up in a big circle of urine under my body was still too vivid in my mind. In the 1930’s, the medical world had no sure answers for enuresis. Now, in 1952, bed-wetting still was not recognized as a big problem in society. Why, I wondered. Perhaps it was because there were no fatalities from bed-wetting, and eventually everybody grows out of it. But for the victim, it is a huge problem that embeds guilt, shame, embarrassment, and rejection deep into the emotions. How was I to help Carl when I couldn’t help myself, even with the insistence of my parents reducing my liquid intake in the evening, and that didn’t always work. This certainly affects his feelings of self worth. For children living with families, it’s a secret that usually stays within that circle. But how do you keep that silent in a children’s home in the 1950’s when sharing a sleeping room with ten other boys and with whom a common washroom is shared? I wondered if other houseparents had to deal with this problem. Suddenly the bell clanged, and the next sound was a rush of feet into the covered arcade leading to the dining room located in the next building. I immediately saw there was no time to curtail the insensitive remarks coming from Carl’s dorm mates. I’d have to deal with that later but just how, I wasn’t sure.

After breakfast I approached Rachel Yokel on the subject. Before I had arrived on the scene a few weeks earlier, Rachel was filling in as the temporary housemother for my C Boys. Yes, Carl’s action was the procedure she had directed him to follow each time he had wet his bed. Rachel said she felt he was being trained to independently take care of his problem. She knew that it was a Herculean effort to rinse out the huge bed sheet for a seven year old. But she hoped that by having to handle the soiled sheets, he would soon learn how to avoid bed wetting, even though no established cure for such was known at the time.

After my boys went off to school that morning, I climbed the stairs to the second floor and approached Dolores on the matter. She was the housemother to the B Boys, who were in the upper elementary age group. Like me, she was right out of college.

Well, Betty Jane, soon after I arrived at Jesse Lee in the early summer, I dealt with that over in the Girls Building. I tried everything to prevent Jodie’s bed wetting, but nothing worked. I made sure she went to the bathroom before she crawled into bed at night, and I even got her up later to do the same before I retired in the evening. But no luck. Even tried prayer, but she still occasionally wets the bed according to her present housemother, Pat.

Did you try limiting her fluid intake after dinner?

Oh yes. Didn’t work.

Well, who knows, Dolores, maybe if you hadn’t tried all of those things, she would have wet the bed even more.

Perhaps . . . who knows? I doubt it. For medical science has come up with no certainty to stop bed wetting. It’s a mystery that some kids do and some don’t.

I could only hope that some member of the staff had found a better way of handling this unfortunate situation. I made a mental note to check with some of the others.

*     *     *

A few weeks later Dolores came downstairs and found me in my sewing room ironing the boys’ white shirts for Sunday wear. Guess what? she declared as she walked into the room. You know that new boy I got about three weeks ago?

I kept on ironing as I responded, The one that gets up early and makes his bed before the others?

Yep, that’s the one. Now I know why he does that.

To impress his housemother?

I wish. Unfortunately, he has Carl’s problem . . . and Jodie’s.

Her answer surprised me. I stopped the ironing abruptly, No. When did you discover that?

Well, I’ve been naively holding him up as an example to the others, saying how impressed I am that he doesn’t put off making his bed until the last possible minute. I went on to say that he is the only one in the dorm who doesn’t need to be reminded to make his bed before going off to school. The boy who sleeps in the bed next to his finally spoke up and let the whole unfortunate truth out.

And who was that? I asked, beginning to iron again and hoping I could get this chore done before the boys would be home from school for lunch.

Horace.

I’m surprised Horace held a secret inside as long as he did, I replied.

Dolores spied the one chair in my work room by the sewing machine. You don’t mind if I sit, do you? And without waiting for my answer, she pulled the chair away from the pedal Singer sewing machine and relaxed her small five foot one inch frame into a sitting position. We were near the same size, except I was less than two inches taller. Please do. I want to hear the rest of this story, I told her.

Well, Horace was probably miffed about something, or else tired of me giving credit that was unwarranted in his mind.

What exactly did Horace say? I asked.

Simply that the reason the boy makes his bed so fast every morning is so I won’t see that he has wet his bed every night.

Again I stopped the ironing. "Every night?" I asked.

That’s what Horace claimed, but the poor kid responded muttering, Do not every night. Then Horace snapped back, Do too ! It smells like it ! I smell it every morning, Miss Morey !"

Oh, boy ! So what are you going to do now? I asked Dolores hoping she had a new idea to pass on for this problem.

If he actually does wet his bed every night, he has a bigger problem than Jodie.

And Carl, I added.

I’ll start the same procedure with him that I did with Jodie. At least I can have him put on clean pajamas as needed. I know Horace will appreciate that.

Finished with the shirt, I began to place it on a hanger while saying, I wish we could get some counseling for some of these kids.

Rachel mentioned that a mental health team is traveling around the territory. She says Mr. Matthews is trying to get them to come here.

Well, if they do, I’m more concerned about Max than Carl. Did I tell you the latest? Last week several of the boys came running to me calling, ‘Missepps ! Missepps !’ They were yelling, ‘Max is kicking and screaming on his bed, and he won’t stop !’ And then quiet natured Brian urged, ‘Make him stop. He hurts my ears.’ I then ceased what I was doing and went into the dorm room. Sure enough, there was Max prone on his bed, screaming at the top of his lungs, and his legs were pounding the bed like two big mallets trying to destroy something. I tried to communicate with him by raising my voice several times over his, but he seemed oblivious to the rest of us. Then one of the twins, Jeff, shouted over Max’s outrage, ‘Miss Yokel throws water in his face !’ I asked if that stopped him, and the other twin, Jack, replied, ‘Yes !’

Dolores chuckled again, Those twins are a pair for sure ! What one says, the other always supports. Did you get the water?

Didn’t have to. About that time Willy walked in with a cup of water, as if to say, I know the routine, and handed it to me. Suddenly Max was aware of what was about to happen, and he jerked his face away from us, protecting his head with his arms. He never missed a beat with the rhythm of those legs hammering down and up. The yelling and screaming just got louder.

Throw the water ! yelled Jeff. That’s what Miss Yokel does !

Yeah, throw it ! yelled Jack.

Dolores responded, Yes, of course Jack was the cheerleader !

I guess it sounds humorous now, but I’m here to tell you, it was no laughing matter at the time. I felt totally unequipped as to how to handle this wild tantrum. They never taught us about that at the Methodist U.S.-2 short term mission training center. I did throw the water on him, but it landed on his arms that were covering his face. That just made him madder, and he yelled even louder . . . if that was possible. Finally the boys and I went out of the room and left Max carrying on alone. I didn’t know anything else to do. With his arms and legs in constant motion, I couldn’t touch him to hopefully calm him down.

Rachel must have managed to surprise him with the water. It seems that shock would have created a definite pause, mused Dolores.

Well, it didn’t work for me. You’re a psychology major. Did this sort of thing ever come up in a class discussion in the past few years?

No, but I imagine the first question one would ask is what was the tantrum about? Did you find that out?

You know his mother lives in town and had recently visited. And I think his tantrums relate to her visits.

Does she anger him when she comes?

Oh, as best I can tell, she is all sweetness and charm.

So?

So Max can’t understand why he can’t live with this wonderful lady who comes with treats and sweetness, but unfortunately, with excuses why he can’t go home with her. Rachel says the woman has convinced the powers that be that she is a single mother and cannot afford to take care of him.

And of course at age seven or eight Max can’t understand any of that, Dolores commented. No doubt she keeps telling him that she will come and get him when she gets more money?

"Yes, and instead of that reassuring Max, the more he thinks about it, it just fills him with rage. So it may be a few days later when, emotionally, he can’t hold it any longer, and