karenulijohn

My parents were not particularly thrilled with our engagement, and even less enthusiastic about our traveling to Spokane, WA to meet Harvey’s parents.  My father finally relented after receiving written invitations from Harvey’s family and a family associated with his company in Seattle.  The plan was to spend a week in Spokane and then drive to Seattle where Harvey would spend several days in the office.  

Harvey’s parents met us at the airport when we arrived and drove us back to the family home.  It was the middle of winter, and the snow was piled so high that the cars had to have an orange ball stuck to the antenna in order for the car to be seen in traffic.  His mother and I hit it off almost right away.  She was working as head of the draft board, but she was anxious to have me meet her workmates and take me to lunch.  She was so kind to me and so happy that I was marrying her “little Chum.”  His father was a little different.  I had to win him over by beating him at cribbage.  And, we did have music in common.  He had a large Conn organ in the living room which he played at full volume every chance he got. The family had planned a reception for us so that old friends could meet Harvey’s fiancé, since everyone had pretty much given up on him ever marrying.  I didn’t know it at the time, but Harvey’s Dad commented on the age difference saying, “She’s a little young, isn’t she?”  

After a week, we rented a car and drove across the Cascade Mountains to  Seattle.  Harvey had been telling me how treacherous Snoqualmie Pass was in the winter.  I had imagined  the pass as a little dirt road, similar to what the conestoga wagons used.  When we drove through the pass on a six lane highway, I gave it the name “Phony Pass.”  The scenery was beautiful, so different from anything I had experienced in Pennsylvania.  

The Andersons, with whom I stayed, lived in Edmonds, a little north of Seattle, and they had four young children.  Barbara was very welcoming and I got a taste of the culture that existed there.  A pot of coffee was available throughout the day and evening, and served to anyone who dropped in for a visit, no matter how short.  Logistics during this time were quite complicated since Harvey had to work during the day, but we spent every evening together and out of respect for my hosts, I tried to be home at a respectable hour.  

Up to this point, the trip went completely as planned.  We spent as much time as we could together and had a lovely time.  But then, an unexpected business meeting forced us to detour through New York City on our way back to London. There was no invitation, no chaperone, and a reservation at The Plaza Hotel!  What to do??

As we got to know each other better, it turned out that there was another Karen, in Seattle.  The facts of the existence of this woman sort of ‘trickled out’ over several dates.  There was even a strange kind of ‘engagement’ although they rarely talked or wrote to each other.  If I hadn’t met her, I might have thought she was a fictitious  ‘get out of this date’ sort of excuse.  Harvey and I were both scheduled to be back in the States for part of the summer; he was going back to Seattle on business, and I was going to stay with my brother George at my Grandma’s house in Pittsburgh.  Harvey insisted that everything would be all right when we got back to London.  In my mind, that meant everything would be all right for him, with his new wife, and I would have to be nice to her!

Harvey had flown out a week before I left, and the first morning I was in Pittsburgh, the phone rang very, very early. It was Harvey, and he asked me to marry him.  I said, “No, I just got here!”  He explained that he had seen the other Karen and broken up with her so that he was free to ask me.  He was perplexed and sought some explanation from my Mother who asked him what he expected, “she is only 18!”

Eventually, I arrived back in London, and I found a letter from him.  As I opened it, letters, notes and cards that I had written to him over the three or four months we’d been together, came tumbling out.  There was a short note from him that read, “I am getting rid of some vestigial clutter!”  I didn’t know what vestigial meant, but I was still insulted.

We continued to see each other, but our meetings were tense and difficult.  Finally, he decided it was over and took himself off on a business trip to Brussels.  In the meantime, I knew that I really loved him, and couldn’t go on with things as they were.  I knew the date he was returning, but I did not know the flight, or time, or even the airline.  I knew he usually flew British Airways, so I picked a late afternoon arrival from Brussels, and hired a mini cab to take me to the airport.  As luck would have it, I had chosen well.  Harvey came through customs and spotted me…and the mini cab driver.  “Who is that?” were the first words out of his mouth.  The cab driver made a hasty retreat, and I took Harvey’s arm and told him I was there to meet him and that I wanted to patch things up.  He was even more skeptical when, on the way into London I told him that I would marry him, but only if he got me a ring by Thursday.  I’m not sure why Thursday was important, but I think we were scheduled to go to the theatre.

Much later, he told me he thought I was setting him up for something.  He took me to a jewelry store in Regent Street that we lovingly refer to as Fred Hill’s Diamond Paradise.  The diamond ring was of questionable quality and my wedding band cost all of nine guineas, but I was thrilled.  No roses, no proposal on one  knee, no romantic hideaway, but I was engaged to the man of my dreams.

While I was on my morning walk today, the question of how I move forward kept crowding into my thoughts. Thinking about the future is very painful and bleak.  It occurred to me that perhaps the best way forward is to recapture memories of the past.  Right now, the only Harvey I remember vividly is the “sick” Harvey.  I want to remember him as healthy and strong.  I’m thankful that he did not lose his wonderful sense of humor which certainly carried us through some of the more difficult days of his illness.

Looking back 53 years, we met in February of 1965 at the United States Navy Chapel in London, England.  He was 29, having just had a birthday, and I was 17, anxiously awaiting my 18th birthday in April.  He approached me at the coffee hour after the service and asked me if I would like to join him for “dinner and a natter.”  I had no idea what a “natter” was, but said yes anyway.  My parents were somewhat concerned, but I suggested that once he knew how old I was, he would no longer have an interest.  Well, the subject of my age never came up (until much later) and I certainly didn’t volunteer because I really liked him.

I lived with my parents in a lovely flat in Grosvenor Square.  There were two main entrances and a concierge/doorman stationed at both.  Somehow or another, Harvey missed the opulent main entrances and came up through the back tradesman entrance and arrived at the back door of the flat which was hardly ever used.  Chains and bolts had to be undone before the door could be opened, and there he stood in his grey suit and crisp white shirt, holding a pineapple.

He took me to a little Swiss restaurant on Ebury Street called The Edelweiss where we had cheese fondue.  The restaurant itself was modeled after a restaurant in Geneva, with pine panelling and pine tables.  We sat in a booth and got down to the business of getting to know each other.  He was working for a paper tape company out of Seattle, WA. running the newly formed European operation.  He was a great conversationalist, and we seemed to have a lot to talk about for several hours.  During that time I noticed his hands.  He had beautiful hands, well formed, long fingers, but strong.  The other thing I noticed was his watch.  It was quite large and I ended up referring to it as the “hubcap.”

On our second date, which occurred in the following week, he managed to find his way through the main entrance of the block of flats, but, when he arrived at our door, he had two tulips with roots and dirt attached that he had picked out of the flower bed in the courtyard.  That evening we went to The George Coaching Inn in Southwark.  Again, we sat for hours talking and laughing and enjoying each other’s company.  I started to worry a little though (as I am wont to do on occasion) because he had not tried to kiss me.  I wanted him to kiss me!

A Celebration of Life service for Harvey Ulijohn will be held on Saturday, June 16th, 2018 at 2:00 PM at the Lincoln Hills Community Church on Joiner Parkway.  A reception will follow in the foyer.  Please come and show your love for this wonderful man.