On this day in 1952, at 8:30 a.m. on a Saturday morning, my parents Cid H. Dalin Jr. and Nina Jean Blacker were married at St. Mary’s Church in Helena, Montana.

It was a great day, one that both of them had looked forward to for quite some time.

How do I know? Well, the two of them started a scrapbook several months before they married. And it’s full of all their hopes and wishes for the future.

Lucky me, right?

And I think my favorite part of the scrapbook is all the wonderful ephemera.

Like this Blondie cartoon cut from the August 16, 1952 newspaper . . .

Looks like an inside joke, especially with the reference to “Cabin Cafe”. And of course, I had to look that up. I came across this wonderful picture from 1957 . . .

I can just see my Mom and Dad sitting at a table here, sipping their coffee and laughing about their little joke. If I had to guess, that joke had something to do with my Mom — she drank lots of cream in her coffee, my Dad always had his black.

Next time I’m in Helena, I’ll be sure to locate this building so I can just stand there for a minutes . . . and imagine them going in and out.

Funeral #1

The tone of the happy scrapbook turns a bit sad on the next page, however.

My Dad’s father Cid Dalin Jr. passed away suddenly on July 13, 1952, after having suffered a heart attack only six days earlier. He was only 56 years old.

By all accounts of people that who knew him, he was a fine man. Loving and gentle, with a fun sense of humor. My Mom only knew him for a short while but always told me how sweet he was to her. And my Dad always spoke of his father quite fondly.

You can see in the note my father wrote later that he missed him on the day my parents were married but said he felt his presence.

Back to premarital bliss

A few more pages of sweet greeting cards and love notes . . .

. . . and a month-long trip my Mom made to Las Vegas, Nevada with her friend Blanche, designed, she told me on many occasions, to get my Dad to finally propose to her.

And based on the next few pages in the scrapbook, I guess it worked!

The Wedding

Followed by page after page after page of wedding cards, and two Western Union Telegrams.

Funeral #2

When I was still quite young, I remember the first time I heard the story that is about to follow.

Two days before my parents’ wedding, my Dad’s maternal grandmother, Mary Gertrude (Rumping) Riordan, passed away. She was 74 years old.

She had been ill for quite some time so her passing wasn’t entirely unexpected. But she must have planned to attend her grandson’s wedding. I say this because one of the first “wedding card” postings in the scrapbook are a few items labelled, “Grandma Riordan’s things for our gift from her”, followed by this note written by my Dad . . .

“We love you very much Gram. It was the bunk the way things worked out but we know you would have wanted it this way as well as Nina & I did.”

The phrase “we know you would have wanted it this way as well as Nina & I did” is a reference to some difficulties that arose amongst my Grandmother and her sisters.

The details of what happened after Mary’s death between my Grandmother and her sisters is a bit fuzzy. But I can only imagine that it must have been particularly painful for my Dad’s mother. Nonetheless, on Saturday November 15th, she attended her son’s wedding at 8:30 a.m., then hosted the wedding breakfast at her home, then attended her mother’s requiem mass at St. Helena cathedral, followed by the interment at Resurrection Catholic cemetery.

The scrapbook continues on to Christmas, with lots more cards and even a whole page of Christmas gift tags . . .

And then this . . .

Funeral #3

Mom’s older sister Mary was killed in a tragic car accident in California on December 26, 1952. She was only 28 years old.

It was several days before my Mom and her siblings in Montana were notified. The authorities had a difficult time identifying her family until they located my Mom and Dad’s wedding invitation among her belongings. The invitation was mailed to Mary in late October but she never responded.

The young man who was driving the car that night wrote to my Mom. They corresponded several times and she kept those letters. She also kept the last letter Mary wrote to their sister Katherine on December 25th, the day before she died, as well as several letters from the man who owned the store just half a block from where the accident occurred.

In one of his letters, he stated that he had “studied seven years for the Priesthood” and, “Not knowing [Mary] was Catholic I told her to pray and I did also of course . . . I’m sure she had time to make an Act of Contrition which I did also, so I think by the Mercy of God and his justice she made herself right with him.”

Mom spoke often about her older sister Mary . . . about the difficulties in her life, some “bad” decisions she’d made . . . but also about what she loved and missed about her. She often described her as a “lost soul” and prayed for her every night. And she said to me on many occasions that she was worried everyone would forget Mary.

But thanks to my Mom, no one will forget about Mary Williams, Cid Dalin Sr., or Mary Riordan.

Thank you, Mom.