Monthly Archives: July 2017

Lt. Col. Don Williamson 7-7-65

People, Things, , ,

I thought I’d written about my POW bracelet before, but I cannot find it when I search my blog. I did mention it on another blog in 2005

If you were a teenager in the 1970s, you probably knew someone who wore a silver POW bracelet. Maybe you did too. Maybe you still have yours. Did you research the soldier who was on your POW bracelet? I did. I hoped to find out that he was released and was reunited with his family and lived happily ever after. That was not the case for my POW.

My POW bracelet

My friend Cindy gave me the POW bracelet for either Christmas or my birthday. She said she chose it because my name is Dona and his name was Don. I wore it for a very long time, longer than most other people wore their POW bracelets. I planned on wearing it until I knew Lt. Col. Don Williamson was either safely home or his remains were returned.

His name was one of my first searches on the Internet, and it wasn’t until the last 12 or so years that I found out more about him. It wasn’t until today that I saw his photograph.

His full name was Don Ira Williamson. He was born in 1930 and lived in  Louisville, KY. He was an Air Force pilot in the Vietnam war. His fighter jet was shot down on July 7, 1965, and according to reports (see link above) he survived being shot down but died in 1979. His remains were returned in 1989.

Read the link above if you want to know more about Lt. Col. Don Williamson. If you want to see his photograph visit Don Ira Williamson’s memorial page on The Virtual Wall® http://www.VirtualWall.org/dw/WilliamsonDI01a.htm

I didn’t realize that his name was on the Vietnam Veterans’ Memorial. Or if I did, and visited it, I don’t remember doing so.

Happy 4th of July, you wonderful old First Federal Savings and Loan!

Memories, Things, ,

Apologies to Frances Goodrich, Albert Hackett, and Frank Capra. for the misuse of their words.

My first bank account was with Elgin’s First Federal Savings and Loan. Apparently, at the time, when you opened an account you were given a bank in the shape of the building. I found that bank, along with my passbooks a few years ago in the attic of my mom’s house in Elgin.

The bank is the color of old pennies — it may have been brighter copper colored when it was new. It is showing wear on one side, I think it is oxidation. White, not green, so I guess it is not copper.

I use the bank to hold foreign coins. I found a key that works (now that I look at it, it is the original key), so they are not forever stuck in it. I had the bank on my bookshelf in my office, but I want a less cluttered area so I am not positive what I am going to do with it.

The passbooks date from January 9, 1961 (I was 4) and is a joint account with my father. On January 10, 1961, a total of $31.06 was deposited into the account. The most money in the account was $2,364.74 on November 28, 1979. The account was closed on June 20, 1981, probably because I moved to Pittsburgh.

It seems I had another account with First Federal Savings and Loan that I opened on March 8, 1976. Its highest amount was $538.11 on July 1, 1976. I closed this on November 23, 1976.

I vaguely remember going to the bank to deposit money and to withdraw money using these passbooks. I didn’t have a checkbook or credit card and ATM machines weren’t invented yet.

As for the passbooks — I will keep them in a box in the knee wall. Maybe the kids will find them interesting someday. If nothing else, the advertisements are interesting.

I like the way the style of homes are different from the passbook that was opened in 1961 and the one that was opened in 1976.

Dream home 1961
Dream home 1976

Pregnancy Shaming

Emotions, Rant,

Not long after my son was conceived in May of 1992 I suspected I was pregnant. Sometimes you just know. I peed on a stick to check and when the pregnancy test confirmed I was probably pregnant I told one or two people at work. I waited until the school year was over before I had it confirmed by my ob-gyn. My husband and I talked about it and we agreed that I would take more time off than I did with our daughter. Raising two young children 18 months apart would probably be difficult. We also began talking about selling our house in Alexandria and moving closer to my husband’s job in Bethesda.

In the fall, when I returned to my teaching job and more people discovered that I was pregnant, I was summoned to the principal’s office where she told me she heard that I was pregnant and asked me what my plan was for after the baby was born. I smiled and told her I thought I would be taking a year or two off, expecting her next words to be congratulatory. Instead, she asked me why I didn’t tell her before the end of the school year in the spring. I explained that I was not 100% sure about the pregnancy until after school was over. She said that she knew that I told at least one person and told me that I was irresponsible for letting her place me with the 6th graders who would need more consistency* than 4th or 5th graders would. Then she asked me if the pregnancy was planned. Shocked, I told her that it was planned — very much so, but after the meeting I wished I told her that it was none of her business.

I taught up until winter break that year, then was placed on bedrest for 3 weeks because of early labor. The rest of my time at the school that year was filled with feelings of guilt. I don’t think she ever acknowledged my son’s birth, even after my extended maternity leave was up and because I was unsuccessful finding a teaching job elsewhere I pretty much begged for forgiveness so I could work there again.

When I did return to the school I discovered that one of the women I told about my suspected pregnancy in the spring had been reprimanded by the principal for not telling her.

Even now, nearly 25 years later, when I think about the principal’s words that autumn my gut clenches and instead of remembering my second pregnancy with pure joy, much of what I think about is what the principal said to me and the guilt she made me feel.

Some of you, maybe teachers or principals out there, may think the principal was right but it never occurred to me that my leaving mid-semester could do any harm. Perhaps, if you agree with her, you think it is good that eight years after that conversation, I decided teaching just wasn’t for me.

*I was a special education teacher. Our teaching practice involved a special education teacher supporting a mainstream teacher in a grade level for the year.