Stories of Our Lives Rich man's supper

By MARTHA HOGAN ESTES

Posted: July 29, 2009 at 5:10 a.m.

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ROGERS — Our family doctor, W.A.

Fowler, dropped by our house almost every evening to visit with our ailing grandfather and to administer his medication.

One evening as the doctor was preparing to leave, he turned to Mom and asked if we kids could go home with him to watch "The Lone Ranger" on his television set - they were not yet called TVs. "The Mrs." was out of town, he was alone. He said he'd feed us supper and bring us back as soon as the show was over.

The boys loved "The Lone Ranger," but I only wanted to see a "rich doctor's new house" and eat some sumptuous (and probably exotic) "supper" there. In unison, the four of us, said, "Please, Mom."

Mom agreed after our promises to behave and Doc's assurance that he'd bring us home immediately if we misbehaved.

Joe and I piled into the back seat of the big green Packard;

Jerry sat in the front next to the doctor and Bill rode "shotgun" with his arm resting against the plushly padded door. Joe and I huddled together and rubbed the soft upholstery and giggled.

Dr. Fowler drove west on our street. The car smoothly climbed the hill past the school. Joe and I began to watch the road; we'd never gone beyond the school grounds before. The road became a tunnel through large, old trees all the way to the very crest of the hill, where Dr. Fowler turned right onto a curving, white graveled drive.

Suddenly, a beautiful house appeared at the end of the lane. It looked like houses we had seen in magazines. It had walkways, shrubbery and shady places to sit in gliders on rock-paved spaces, which we later learned were called "patios." The drive ended in front of a garage door.

Dr. Fowler turned a key in a lock on a post, which opened the door of the garage. Wow! That was rich!

Once inside the garage, he opened a door to the house. Inside was a living room larger than our house, with louvered doors along an entire wall. There was no television in sight; I was disappointed.

Doc herded us into the kitchen to have supper before "The Lone Ranger" came on.

Oh, what a beautiful kitchen - it was shiny and clean with a table and set of chairs larger than those in our "full" dining room. Anticipation was building. Would we have steaks or shrimp or "caviar" (whatever that was)? All the rich people in my books ate caviar and I was sure I'd like it.

The doctor stepped into the cupboard area and extracted a box from a top shelf, then bowls. He pulled a bottle of milk from the refrigerator.

"Joe, get us some spoons from that drawer there next to the table," he said, waving a finger in the general direction of my younger brother.

"Martha, you set the bowls around the table," Dr. Fowler said, pouring milk into glasses, then passing them to Bill, who set them beside our bowls.

Everything looked so perfect! Everything matched. There was not one mismatched spoon, not one irregular glass, no bowl with even the tiniest chip in it. What a lovely setting!

Then turning our eager faces toward our host, we saw him open and set a huge box of Wheaties in the center of the table next to the sugar bowl.

Cheerfully, Dr. Fowler passed the cereal box and the sugar around the table while extolling the convenience of a "one-dish meal," which he loved to prepare when "the Mrs." was out.

After supper, we sat in the living room, where one louvered door was opened to reveal a shiny television set on a shelf. It looked like a miniature movie to me. The boys intently watched the Lone Ranger and Tonto dashing after bandits and rescuing the farmer's daughter while I stared at the books on the shelves beside the TV, the lamps and comfortable overstuffed chairs beside the huge couch on which we sat.

White-haired Dr. Fowler sat, smiling and relaxing, in his big easy chair with his little ashtray stand beside it and his pure white German shepherd "Robin" at his feet.

After the show, he drove us home. Joe and I were quiet and sleepy; Jerry was dozing across Bill's lap by the time we got home. Mom met us at the door, where we thanked the doctor and waved good-bye. As our host drove away, I said, "Mom, guess what rich people eat for supper!"

Martha Hogan Estes was born in Vernon County, Mo., but came to northwest Arkansas in the early 1940s. She attended public schools in Washington and Benton counties and raised a family there after short residencies in Tulsa, St. Louis and Memphis. She holds a BA in English from the University of Arkansas and is retired from the Rogers offices of Georgia-Pacific. She is a member and co-facilitator of LifeWriters.

Opinion, Pages 4 on 07/29/2009

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