No Time to Quit

“Wayne, we’ve got to go! Something’s wrong!” Lillie, barely twenty years old, knew at six months pregnant it was way too early to give birth to her first child, but she was bleeding. The chances of a premature baby surviving in 1932 were remote. They needed to get to a hospital. Worried about his wife and baby, Wayne took Lillie to the closest hospital, a small ten-bed facility established in an old farmhouse about ten miles away in the city of Norwich, Kansas. Lillie’s doctor (and the hospital’s founder) Eugene Wallace was not there. He was about forty miles away at the osteopathic hospital in Wichita. As the bleeding continued to get worse, Dr. Wallace was called. He told the couple to stay put. He would be there as soon as he could. When the doctor arrived, concern was written all over his face. There was no way to stop the birth, so Lillie was taken to the operating room. Wayne was sent to wait on a porch, where all he could do was pace, pray and hope. The afterbirth came first, and the prognosis was not good for either mother or child. “If we don’t do something immediately, we will lose them both,” said Dr. Wallace. The decision was made to perform an emergency cesarean section in an effort to at least save Lillie. The thought of losing Lillie was unbearable. As Wayne looked back, he could see her in the pale blue dress she wore when they were married the summer before, and he recounted the precious moments they had spent together. Wayne’s reputation of being a wild young man preceded him, though the reputation was not quite accurate. It was intentionally constructed by his mischievous behavior, sense of humor, and lack of car for what other people thought. The antics he and his best friend performed included slipping vanilla bottles into their back pockets while walking down Main Street being loud and obnoxious, giving people the impression they were drunk. When they were sure their performance gained the appropriate attention, they would hide out at one or the other’s home, laughing and playing their guitars. They chuckled at the gossip that spread through town the next morning. Wayne Buttel and Lillie Loomis saw each other the first time at the general store in Anness, though Lillie was unaware the man who was watching her was Wayne. Though it was the late 1920s, stepping into the store was like stepping back in time. The building, which sat across the street from the one-room school house, was constructed in the 1800s and had not changed. The slatted wood boardwalk led the way to the wooden door that was framed on either side by huge glass windows. Lined with shelves of various merchandise, the walls of the large single room were barely visible, the exception being the back right corner. There stood a small table and chairs at which local farmers chewed snuff and smoked as they played checkers while comparing notes about farming, catching up on news and spreading local gossip. Lillie’s entrance was announced by the creaky hardwood floor. She felt eyes following her as she headed for a display case on the left that ran the length of the room. The display case held small items of greater value, like jewelry, and the top was crowded with less expensive items. A small clearing, just big enough for a clerk to wait on a customer, was nestled between jars of candy and jars of buttons. Wayne, sitting among the group of farmers in the back, could not help staring. The rest of the world stopped as Lillie entered the store, bringing in the sun with her golden-blond hair that he later described as the color of ripe wheat. Taking a break from harvesting, Wayne was filthy and unshaven. His blue eyes gazing at her through his scruffy face made her uncomfortable. She thought he was an old man who should not be looking at a young woman that way. That old coot! A couple of days later, Wayne and Lillie met. Wayne had shaved, and his dark hair was clean and combed. He introduced himself and said he had seen her in the store. “You look a lot like Lyndal Loomis. Are you related?” he asked. “She’s my sister,” said Lillie. The two girls were only thirteen months apart and were mistaken for twins more than once. Lillie had a big part in the Milton High School play in which she sat on a moon and sang as it floated down to the stage. After one of the performances, Wayne approached Lillie and Lyndal as they walked toward their car, asking if the girls would like to go to the local drug store and get malts. Knowing his reputation, Lillie was apprehensive. It took a lot of convincing for the girls to agree, but they did. A baby’s cry jolted Wayne from the past to reality at about 8:00 p.m. on June 28, 1932. When he heard the cry, he thought it was over. But he was wrong. A few minutes later, he heard another cry. Twins were born–a boy, Charles Arthur, and a girl, Gail Gordine, who was named after Wayne’s best friend. Charles was born first, weighing four pounds and five ounces, followed by Gail, weighing one pound and nine ounces. The small country hospital was not equipped to care for premature babies, as it lacked even an incubator. Lillie was not doing well. There was so much blood in the operating room that a mop was used to clean it up, and tears streamed down Dr. Wallace’s face as he told Wayne that he believed none of the three would live. He was so sure the mother and children would die that he recommended the purchase of grave plots. Wayne’s father, William, who was on the board of a small cemetery located about a mile from the farm in Milton where Wayne was born and raised, helped purchase three grave plots. The land included the exact spot where Wayne kissed Lillie for the first time. A grim shroud covered the small hospital as Wayne and Lillie’s families surrounded them with constant prayer. Lillie, who was thirteen in the line of sixteen children, had family at the hospital constantly. A brother, Floyd, came home from California to see her, even though his wife had recently given birth to a baby girl. Two days after the twins were born, William signed the death certificate of his grandson, Charles. Wayne didn’t know what to do. He was so desperate he headed toward Wichita on foot to get oxygen for his family. Shortly after that, Gail, who was only as long as a table knife, quit breathing. Dr. Wallace told the nurse to contact the morgue. “Oh my God, Wayne can’t lose all three!” the nurse said to herself. Nurse Sarah Bradley lived on a farm down the road from Wayne’s parents and knew the family well. She would not let the baby go without a fight. She went to work on that little girl, trying to resuscitate her.