which occurs in late January of that year, when the ice on the Sandusky River, which flows through town, piles up and inundates the business district.



State Street, Fremont, Ohio, 1904.  Photo credit: Rutherford B. Hayes Presidential Library archive.

I don't know whether I've mentioned to you, Gentle Reader, but I served time in Ohio.  Fifth through Ninth grade, to be precise.  My mother did not care for Ohio, and so pretty much as soon as we moved, Ohio became a subject to which we never referred, or did so at our own peril. Of course my mother was never one to spoil everyone else's good time just because she was unhappy; the official version of events was that Ohio, as it turned out, had not agreed with any of us, and the less said about it the better.  And so the matter rested, until last week.

Fremont, Ohio, in Sandusky County -- where I note the polls were kept open late last night, presumably and not surprisingly because of the weather, perhaps even flooding again -- is the home of President Rutherford Birchard Hayes, who you will recall "won" the hotly contested Stolen Election of 1876 from the Democratic candidate, Samuel Tilden, who had won the popular vote.

Like my mother, the First Lady, "Lemonade" Lucy Hayes, was opposed to alcohol and did not allow it in the White House.  It is not clear in those days of the early Temperance Movement where the alcohol was kept.  In our case it was kept in the barn.

Lucy also instituted the first White House Easter Egg Hunt, a tradtion that has continued, although the decline of good Christian values has seen the return of liquor and probably card playing and loose women and even swearing too, to the President's Home, with the expected sad and debilitating results.

I would not even be thinking about Fremont at all, however, if it were not for a surprising run-in recently with another member of a loosely organized social club I belong to here.  This member -- I shall call him B -- with whom I have been on friendly and casual speaking terms for some years now, happened to mention in passing something to the effect of having grown up in a town in north-western Ohio where the weekend entertainment for teens was to become inebriated and drive up and down State Street.  Unaware of how many towns in America have a State Street or informal Saturday night fun of this variety I was about to inquire further when B spared me the trouble by saying the town's name and I choked back a little cry of shock and amazement.  How could it be?  In the vast population of the City of Angels, what strange coincidence had drawn our two lives into such accidental interception?  This was far beyond some run-of-the-mill Six Degrees of Separation.  This was definitely not one of those times when you can swing a dead cat and hit someone who's slept with your boyfriend.  This was a time for wonder and awe.

After these many years, the veil my mother drew across Fremont had been lifted.  The prohibition against memory had expired.  Was I really unhappy back then?  I asked myself.  Was our time spent in that town only one of bitter sorrow and tribulation?  Obviously, these questions are unfair.  For the majority of the period in question I was in Junior High.  My Seventh Grade English teacher was Enola Titsworth.  My swimming coach was Mr. Ballsizer, who made us line up stark naked and appear one at a time in the doorway of his office to be given our school-issued swimsuit, at which point, facing him with hands at your sides, at the tender age of 11, 12 and 13, you had to say your last name and announce "Small," "Medium," or "Large" while he sat at his desk and checked you off the attendance list, occasionally criticizing your stance ("Hands at your sides!") or correcting your assessment to "Small" (if you were underdeveloped) or "Large" (if you were a fatty), "Medium" being the only desirable and "right" answer.  No, I am not making this up.  Yes, I had self-esteem issues.  Now you know why I suffered from black-outs.   Yes, I am still in recovery.  I rest my case.

The town's one salvation was the Birchard Hayes Library, next to the Jurnior High, a stately brick and stone pile in the Romanesque taste whose doyenne and head librarian was a tall willowy lady who wore long dresses and glasses on a string around her neck and an old-fashioned bun on the top of her head and showed a gentle kindness to little boys who loved books.  I remember Miss ____ with unbridled affection.  She seemed to accept my odd ways and inspired me as only a woman who doesn't have to feed you or clothe you can.

"I loved her," I blurt out to B. passionately as we compare notes on the town.  B replies that he remembered her just as fondly as well, and that his mother had known her.  Along with her "special lady friend" who taught for many years as the girl's gym teacher.

Preoccupied as I am by flashbacks to my days of trauma in swimming class, I don't immediately respond to B's revelation of Sapphic love.  I don't recall the girl's gym teacher at all.  I should check with my sister.  Then suddenly it is as if I've discovered I was raised by Alice and Gertrude somehow without my knowing it.

"___?!" I reply.

B nods knowingly.

"Shut up!" I exclaim.  "Get out of here!"  "No Way!"

"Way," he says calmly.   

Well, as you might expect, there will be more to reveal about those Lost Years in Ohio.  More to that place and that time than I could have imagined.  More to be revealed.