September, 1991

He was born with blond hair and blue eyes. He was a good baby but never slept through the night. His father would pat him on the back until he fell back to sleep. His family called him Joey. He was a very good boy, but very shy. When his older brothers took him to the barber shop he wouldn’t speak a word. “What’s ‘your name?” the barber would ask…never an answer…so the barber called him “George” and every time he passed the barber shop, the barber would say, “Hi George.” Joe liked going to the beach with his older sisters; they say he made terrific sand castles! Kathy and Joe made kites to fly also.

Joe was the Captain of his grade school football team, and  was an all-star little league baseball player, but basketball was his favorite sport. He practiced for hours in our concrete long driveway shooting baskets and bouncing the ball so much that the neighbors finally commented about the sound of the “bounce, bounce, bounce.”
Joe’s school best friend was Jeff Csiszar. Sometimes they’d get in trouble with certain teachers because they liked to be class comedians. Joe (no longer the shy child) was elected grade school president.

Joe grew up with a very good friend, Jack, who lived next door. When they were about 8 years old they became whizzes about the Presidents of the United States. They could name them all, give their numerical order, and the dates of office. For hobbies, Joe and Jack collected baseball player autographs and cards. He was very lucky when his oldest brother gave him his super collection. One other thing Joe collected was Sports Illustrated magazines. We still have a trunk full in our garage.

Oh yes, in little league his team was in the playoffs. Coach Baines ran out of pitchers and put Joe (his 1st baseman) in to pitch because he could at least get the ball over
the plate. It was a beautiful pitch but the very small Mortenson boy connected with the ball and it was gone…home run!

To Joe,

Joe, these thoughts tap-danced through my mind when I saw you looking through some old pictures and saying, “Just think, I wasn’t even born when these activities occurred.” You were born in the 14th year of our marriage. You lived in the same house until you left the nest for the University of Santa Clara. Your view of your parents was therefore quite different than that of your older siblings.

Dad’s pediatric practice was now booming and soon house calls would be a thing of the past. You missed those times on Sunday when Dad was working and the rest of the family would ride with me to look for a larger house or we’d all ride with Dad for a chance to be with him as he drove to a house call.

You had two older brothers to admire, imitate, and learn sports and scouting from. You had three older sisters to mother you. (After I’d put you to bed and go away to do the dinner dishes, I’d come back later and you’d be asleep on Eileen’s bed!)

You missed the Fritzsche tree house on Via de la Paz, and Miss Byrnes, our neighborhood sitter. She was famous for her children’s tea parties.  By the time you were born your grandma Nonna was widowed and lived in town, so she was willing to watch you if I needed to go somewhere.

You missed the trauma of having your Dad away for 15 months in the China Sea on a mine sweeper during the Korean War. (But you and Jim did have to register for the draft.)

You missed your Uncle Dick living with us at 717 Via de la Paz while he had a night club act written.

You  missed the white picket-fenced house on 588 Radcliffe, which has been remodeled beyond recognition.

You never lived in 1/2 a Quonset hut (our home near Fort Ord, Monterey, CA.)

You never lived with us in East L.A. in Wyvernwood while Dad was at L.A. County Hospital.

You never lived in sleepy little Carlsbad, near the Marine base where Barbara was baptized in tiny St. Patrick’s Church.

I don’t think you ever saw our Studebaker unless Grandma Nonna still was driving it.

Your Grandpa Krueger was beginning to get his forgetfulness which continued into Alzheimer’s disease. But he enjoyed you, Joe.   He’d push you about the house in your stroller and then call out, “Elaine, where am I?” You remind me of my Dad very much: blonde curly hair, blue eyes, shy at times, loved sports.

After my mother had her massive stroke, you were my tiny helper when we’d go to Cosgrove’s Convalescent Home, put mother and the wheel chair into the car and go off to her speech therapy class or take her to the Century City Mall.

I bowled in a league until four weeks before you were born. Later, I decided to start golf and tennis again. I started a part-time job with the Bay District LA County Medical Assn. It was mentally good for me, but not easy caring for a family while working. How does this generation of mothers who have to work and care for the needs of a family  keep their sanity?

I love you, Joe, my baby. I hope you haven’t regretted having an older mother (who seldom drove car pool.)