Monday February 15, 2021
I woke up to my alarm Wednesday morning, February 3, 2021 to get ready for another day of working at home thanks to the Covid-19 pandemic. Everyday when I wake the first things I do are take my thyroid meds, go to the bathroom, brush my teeth, brush my hair, put on my robe and head down to the kitchen to have coffee with my husband, David. I always check my social media platforms while sipping my coffee and then, if I remember, check my personal email if I see any interesting pop-up notifications. One pop-up caught my eye as it had Mom's name in the subject heading "Marilyn Bromley".
A gentleman by the name of Carl Wieck is who sent the email about Mom. Carl, originally born in Louisville now lives in Finland but it turns out he knew Mom when they both were elementary age children at George Rogers Clark Elementary School. Carl had gone to school with my mom from elementary school all the way through high school and even some college (Clark Elementary, Barret Junior High, Atherton High and later University of Louisville).
In his email Carl included a full page letter to me reminiscing about the crush he had had on Mom throughout his youth; as he puts it she was his "first great love" at the age of 8. He explained that he had found my book on the internet, purchased and read it. I cannot begin to explain the emotion I felt when reading his email and letter...it was almost like Mom was alive again, envisioning my mom as a little girl and this little boy following her around. I read his letter with warmth in my heart and a tear in my eye.
I hope Carl understands how very much it meant to me that he reached out. I think the only thing that might have made his email even better is if he had a photo of he and mom together as children from the birthday party he mentions in his letter.
With Carl's permission I have copied and pasted his email and letter here in the post below. Please enjoy.
Carl's email
Dear Anne Balcom,
I want to thank you for your blog book. I ran across it on the Net and decided to order and read it. Which has now successfully taken place.
My reason: I went all through school with your mother and always considered her my first great love (though at around 8 that was pretty distant). But since you ask for remembrances of that grand lady, I'm including a few of my own.
Now let's hope your e-mail is still the one mentioned on page 123 of your book.
Thank you again for opening the door a crack for me to see Marilyn again.
Big hug,
Carl Wieck
It must have been in kindergarten with Miss Jauckens and later Miss Gordon that I shared classes with Marilyn Bromley. Later it was with Miss Fegenbush. In my memory (I’m 83 as I write this so take that into account) it was in third grade with Miss Cross that Marilyn’s beauty became fully evident to me and I did all in my power to attract the attention of that frail whisp of a girl. To me she was a vision of loveliness the like of which was a new and powerful force in my life. I recall her being dressed in shirt-waist frilly dresses that seemed more frothy than real. My antics in class got me sent out to sit in the hall at least once a day, but I couldn’t help myself.
It was on one of those hall stays that Miss Pearl B. Speed noticed my seemingly permanent exclusion and invited me to come with her to her class. She assured me she would see that I got into no trouble with Miss Cross, so I accompanied her to her classroom where she put a book of beautiful bird pictures in front of me and I sat calmly drawing for the next two hours. Little did she know that it was to interest Marilyn Bromley that I had crossed the good behavior line once again. The following year was Miss Speed’s turn to deal with me and she did so with precisely the same artistry she had displayed the previous year.
I believe it was around that time that my mother set up a birthday party for the first and last time. That was a major development that needed to be recognized as such and I was told I could invite five or six friends of my choosing. Top of the list was Marilyn. We lived at the time at 2213 Payne Street while Marilyn lived on Birchwood and I believe her mother brought her in a car along with Margaret Ward (one just can’t leave a little sister behind for such a big event, and I had one of my own so understood the logic involved) and picked them both up two or three hours later. I was over the moon and only remember how excited I was the entire afternoon.
My good friend Alex Wilson lived on South Galt, close to Clark School, and one Saturday I went to play with him. In his garage were two bicycles that he decided we should take for a spin. I had never been on a bicycle before and was having problems controlling the iron beast but did as well as I could manage. When deciding where to go, I suggested going down Birchwood, since I knew that Marilyn’s family lived there somewhere and had memorized the street number for just such an occasion. Alex had no idea what was in my mind but as a pal went along with my suggestion. When we turned right on South Birchwood, right next to the Crescent Hill Public Library, I ran my uncontrolled bike into the calf of a black lady who was clearly on her way to work in someone’s home (there was no other explanation for her presence there in those days). I was hugely embarrassed and believe I tore her stocking, but after her initial shock, she gently allowed me to excuse myself for not knowing how to brake the bike.
Now, Alex and I picked up where we had left off and down Birchwood we headed. I succeeded in spotting Marilyn’s home, but was not lucky enough to catch a glimpse of my dream lady. A few houses later came a sharp descent, and the street was either unmade or in bad shape because I recall it being strewn with gravel. I was following Alex but without brakes, I suddenly came to the conclusion that I had to take a fall rather than rocket out onto Grinstead Drive where a car might await me. The gravel and my speed soon meshed, and I arose from the encounter pretty badly banged up, bleeding sufficiently from various places.
What to do? It came to me that since I knew where Marilyn lived, I might ask her mother (who knew me at least from the birthday party) for some band-aid aid. When Mrs. Bromley saw me, she took me in and resolved all the issues in no time, and I even got a glimpse of Marilyn. My mother later phoned Mrs. Bromley to thank her for patching up her son and I wore the patches as badges of honor. What I recall of that encounter is how calm and sweet Mrs. Bromley was to me. My own mother, I was sure, would have reacted in a more excited manner.
In the years that followed, Marilyn and I were often in the same classes, and this continued through Clark, Barret and Atherton. We were always friends but went our own ways. We even graduated from the University of Louisville, albeit a couple of years apart, which meant that I never ran into her on campus. After U. of L., I was seldom in Louisville since I was pursuing my studies in Berlin, at Northwestern and in Paris. But now and again I would hear from my mother, who had taken a position as a librarian at Eline Library, that Marilyn had come in and said hello to me. Somehow, I heard (possibly from my mother) that Marilyn had had heart troubles, and it is of interest to me that the same doctor who did a triple by-pass on my father, Dr. Lansing, operated on her. I hope he was less snippy (no pun intended, of course) with her than he was when I asked him questions about my father’s impending slicing.
From the blog book I am privileged to learn (and see) some glimpses of Marilyn’s life and the people who have populated it. For instance, I would have recognized anywhere Marilyn’s father Paul Bromley, a man I always considered exceedingly handsome as well as gentle and kind. And Marilyn’s mother still impresses me to the point where I would have liked a better picture of her. Margaret Ward is hard for me to see clearly, but I well recall that when she was working for the Kentucky Opera Association (?), she chose some of my father’s photographs for advertising purposes. Somewhere, I still have a few of the beautiful cards she had made. Beverly was younger than those in my world at the time. I also recall when Paul Bromley suffered a heart attack as he was trying to get back up the hill to his family during a tornado. I could imagine just how terrible that was for all concerned.
I am also grateful that Marilyn found a life partner who didn’t flinch when the “or worse” wave hit, as well as children and grandchildren to distract her with joy, and love her like she deserved.
Marilyn, with her ice-melting smile, would have appreciated a line my wife vouchsafed to me the day before she died. As she lay there, communicating with pencil and paper but otherwise plugged into every wired machine possible, and after being told that her brother wanted to come to see her, she came out with, “Martti thinks I’m dying, but if he comes tomorrow, I think he’ll still find me well-connected.”
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I was curious about the house that Carl mentioned at 2213 Payne Street so I did a little research of my own on Google and found the following information below. What a beautiful home!
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