A Coward in Love

In the late summer of 1941, Ronald Fowler, at twenty-two, still lived at home with his parents in a small rented apartment in Chicago’s Sheffield neighborhood. The reason he remained with them was basically simple: no convincing reason for him to leave had ever presented itself. Although the family was far from well off, as an only child Ronald found most of his wants satisfied. And small wants were all he ever really had. If, while he was growing up, he wanted candy, ice cream, a comic book, or a new toy, his mother was quick to buy it for him. If Ronald needed clothes, she took him to the bargain basement at Goldblatt’s over on Lincoln Avenue. For shoes, they went to Kinney’s next door. If he wanted to go somewhere when he was old enough to go out alone, she gave him money for the movies and to ride the streetcar or the el if necessary. In short, life was easy for him.

Well almost. His father did have a tendency to spend too many evenings in Dimple’s Tavern. And his mother sometimes burst into tears for no apparent reason. But because Ronald didn’t grasp the significance of these symptoms, they remained, for the most part, on the edge of Ronald’s world. He went through grammar and high school with average grades and without incident. After graduation, completely lacking ambition, Ronald stayed home, read Westerns written by Ernest Haycox, Luke Short, and Zane Grey and listened to sports during the day on his father’s radio. On weekends, he spent Saturday and Sunday afternoons at the movies.

Never once did Ronald think about where his life was going or whether he should change it. There was no reason to. It was simple as far as Ronald was concerned, and he liked it that way. Why change it? And if he hadn’t met Noriko, his life might have continued in that carefree indolent state indefinitely.

She entered his life one afternoon and altered everything. Some obscure corner in Ronald’s soul suddenly felt a series of emotional tremors when he saw her for the first time. She was carefully picking four-o-clock seeds from the bushes that filled her front yard. And as shy and obtuse as Ronald was, he stopped, totally fascinated, and silently watched her. Eventually sensing his presence, Noriko turned her head and meeting his eyes, smiled. Ronald automatically returned her smile, and before either knew how or why, a strong mutual attraction was established.

So unexpected yet so casual was there meeting that they spoke in soft tones, both fearful that whatever had joined them might be severed by the sharp edge of everyday speech. It was not long before Ronald boldly touched her hands; they were small and soft. She touched his cheek, and a mild warmth of affection graced her palm. Their surroundings blurred as if a gossamer veil had been drawn around them. All external sounds were reduced to faint murmurs. The summer sunlight, as if exquisitely filtered, gave the color of the flowers a palpable transcendence.

The next day, they met again, and the day after that, always sitting along the curb in the speckled shade of the maple that grew in the narrow space between the sidewalk and the street. Although she was Japanese-American, all Ronald saw were her petite size, thin eyes and flawless ivory complexion. What Noriko saw in Ronald were his blond hair, strong arms and piercing blue eyes. She just smiled, gently held his hand and kissed him on the cheek when they met and parted. It was the kisses that sealed his love for her.

Concerned about what her parents would think, at the end of the week Noriko suggested it would be better if they met away from where she lived. And they did. Sometimes it was in the darkness of a movie theater. Other times they sat across from each other in the tall-backed wooden booths of the ice cream parlor on Lincoln Avenue where anyone passing would be unable to see them.

Noriko knew her parents would never approve of her relationship with Ronald. It was out of the question. At first her father would brood, then her mother would cry, then both would vehemently list the reasons why her behavior was a terrible mistake. It was unfortunate but true, they told her, but in America couples as different as she and Ronald very seldom mixed and if they did, their relationship was doomed. It was like an unwritten law.

Ronald never considered how his own parents would react when they learned of his deep feelings for Noriko. It was unknown territory. He had never been in love before. And no one he had ever known had fallen in love with someone of Japanese descent. Maybe they would approve, Ronald thought.

When they learned about it, Ronald’s friends, to his face, and his neighbors behind his back, certainly did not, and they uniformly condemned what they labeled his “shameless behavior.” The neighborhood gossips were even secretly pleased to have something juicy to talk about when they leaned over a porch railing or a back fence. It was a lot more fun than talking about the wars in Europe and Asia.

It was not long before the full impact of Ronald’s relationship with Noriko began to weigh on him. When the guys he had gone to school with began to look the other way when they saw Noriko and him on the street, Ronald’s heart sank. Yet he lacked the courage to challenge them. And he felt even worse when he was shunned by those he had sipped beers with in Slim’s Tavern (a place his father never went) on Saturday nights.

Only Slim had a few kind words to say when he served Ronald a beer. And Emory Blackwood, sitting at a table in the corner of Slim’s waiting for someone to sit down and challenge him to a few hands of Five Card Stud, would smile and nod when Ron came in.

But the two weren’t enough, especially when Ronald’s folks found out – and shortly after the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor no less. His father yelled and threatened to throw him out on the street. His mother cried and pleaded with him to spare her from, what she called a terrible embarrassment. “Only a baby born out of wedlock would have been worse,” she said. Both asked him over and over how he could have done such an awful thing to them.

A month after New Years, Ronald – completely worn down by anguish and the opposition of family and friends – took the only way out he could think of. Without a word to anyone – not even to Noriko – he joined the navy. And one morning a week later, Ronald left home for the last time. He hoped time and distance would erase his feelings and all the trouble they had caused.

Fred E. Schwartz owned and operated Baybury Books in Ephraim. He has written four books of essays, including Seasons on the Peninsula, on Door County. Fred was the publisher of the Baybury Review for six years, and also wrote numerous reviews and columns for other publications in the area.