Working title: "Life has a way of happening...!"

Let's set the Scene I, Act I in Des Moines, Iowa, in the year 1934, well after the "War to End All Wars" and before "The Greatest Generation War" was begun...

Principal players are four young men-about-town... in their twenties, athletic, handsome, charismatic, sartorially well-dressed, all established in their fields of business endeavor and on their "way up" to use a Midwestern slang term of the time.

Story Plot: Meet the "right girl"...marry...join the Hyperion Country Club...meet at Babe's (a famous to near-infamous nightclub in Des Moines in those days owned by Babe Bisignano, where only the best food and drink were served according to newspaper clippings) on Friday nights after a hard day at the office. The good life!

Characters names: Rich Barnes...Louie Eubank...Harry Frohwein...and, let's name the fourth one..."Dutch" Reagan, just for the heck of it.

In any good story line, there is always the protagonist, and here is where it gets to be more difficult, for me, in telling their story. Where is Tyler Perry when I need him! One thing for sure: there are no "bit players" in this telling!

(Well, shoot...there goes my Monday Schedule! Three of you posted "comments" for this page, and you know by now that it takes only a "wink, wink" about anything I write to get me back at this old computer once more. The truth be known, I want to finish this story, too, so that I will know how it ends....hang on tight, here we go!)

The four comrades were inseparable for those few years in Des Moines, earning good money for the times and enjoying a lifestyle made famous by the likes of Cary Grant, Randolph Scott, John Wayne, John Payne and other like-minded swains on the silver screen. This particular "band of brothers" were parted by the days and years of World War II, all serving admirably and coming home to have another Sunday dinner at 210 Birch Street in Atlantic, Iowa. Well, one did not and that would be the other "Dutch" in my life...he ended up in Hollywood! in the company of Jane Wyman, the sassy little blond chick from the state to the south of Iowa, Missouri.

I think I have found the "protagonist" for this story!

For a while I was going to go with Harry because he ended up being my brother-in-law by virtue of his marriage to my sister, Trudy in 1939. It will take a book to completely cover the "Story of Harry," the only non-Cranston-by-birth person who captured the heart of my Mom and could do no wrong in her eyes. He had only to enter the back door of our home (having traveled with Trudy from Des Moines with Rich and Louie) and shout "May-meeeeeee!" ... we kids could actually see her "melt!" (It is from her, no doubt, that I inherited the gene-reaction-response formula for selected members of the male gender at the bowling alley!)

Then I considered Rich, the catalyst for the story I am about to reveal about "Dutch" (the protagonist).

Louie would have been a fine choice 'cause he earned a piece of my heart and adoration when I was all of 14 as he sat across the dining room table from me eating with his fingers pieces of chicken, using a fork like a gentleman does, for the mashed potatoes and gravy, asparagus, wilted lettuce salad, and two slices of Mom's dark chocolate cake. He fit right into the Cranston mold! I now realize that I had the makings of a "stalker" at 14 but sought no professional help as all my girlfriends told me this was one more stage of growing up and so I have continued with this practice and will, until the end of "my story!"

But, back to Rich...he was cuter than the "protagonist" of this telling, in my mind's eye, and a bit shyer than the other three. He was the closest to "Dutch" during their single-stage years and, therefore, he was the one who decided to go to Hollywood to seek employment with the Bank of America, as he had been in Des Moines. Now, remember, this is all prior to World War II and before the four entered the service.

The "Dutch" Reagan (you may have guessed this by now) yes, the WHO sports broadcaster who went to Hollywood in 1937 to broadcast a Cubs baseball game but caught the eye of a savvy film mogul who, in turn, signed him for a seven-year contract with Warner Brothers. His velvet voice won my heart and admiration during the hot and humid summer months as he skillfully called the Cubs games over WHO. There were no more fanatical baseball fans than my family, and we could be found sitting on the floor in front of a couple of fans semi-circling a big pan of ice to cool down the room any time there was a game to be heard.

Harry and Trudy shared this story with me as we left the Veteran's Hospital in Des Moines, the last time I would see Rich, on my first visit to Iowa after I had moved to California with Del in late January of 1948.

Having been invited to stay with "Dutch" and Jane until he found his own living quarters, Rich arrived in the land of movie stars, palm trees,The Brown Derby, the Paladium, Catalina Island, Earl Carroll's Vanities, and all that enchanted the common man in the land of "make believe."

Rich had always known "Dutch" as kind and gentle, not subject to using profanity in the company of the opposite sex. Not a bad recommendation, huh?

Now as for Jane.... It took me a long time to forgive this cute blond chick from Missouri for her transgression where "Dutch" was concerned. That came about in 1950, and I will end this story with how that all came about, but this is what actually happened during Rich's first visit to their home. Rich had told the story to Harry and Trudy in earlier years, and Trudy told me this story back in August of 1948.

Rich, with a straight face in telling this to Harry and Trudy, said that the Reagan home was spic and span, dinner was delicious and the evening was spent in hashing over the "good old days in Des Moines." Jane, along with her ability to enchant her public by her antics on the silver-screen, was a great housekeeper, the bar by which most women were judged in that era and, a penchant for profanity, we will come to learn. Almost perfect, except she had a moment of forgetfulness which has never been shared with her adoring fans until now...I get to spill the beans, once more!

Rich, in using the nicely-appointed bathroom that evening, discovered a note pinned to one of the lace-edged towels: "Do not touch these towels, you S.O.B." and that could only mean one person, my "Dutch!" See why I harbored a long-term resentment all those past years? Jane forgot the one and most important tenant of housekeeping duties before guests arrived: "Remove all damning (even if instructional) evidence!" and how could she call that darling man an "S.O.B."? And, why was I laughing as heartily as Harry and Trudy? (The truth: that was their purpose, to cheer my soul.)

For sure, in his own words, Rich, too, did not touch the towels and they were left in the pristine condition they were in prior to his arrival. Intimidation by association, if there is such a condition!

And it came to pass that I forgave Jane Wyman eventually. It came about in this way.

Del and I had recently moved into our home at 5529, a new tract of homes that became a target for every vacuum, carpet, insurance, forced air system, fencing material and grass seed salesman alive. And, visiting church preachers!

The day I finally forgave Jane was the day I did the "delicates" by hand-washing and it was before I had a Kenmore-Sears dryer. It being an overcast kind of day, I elected to hang these "delicates" in the doorway nearest to the floor furnace. And did...just as the doorbell rang for the umpteenth time, another salesman.

I scooted to the door and opened it to find the nice looking, salt-and-pepper haired Visiting Pastor of the local Presbyterian Church and his companion, the Youth Minister, more my age. Ever being hospitable, after a few words spoken through the screen door, I invited them in and sat them down on our new Chinese-modern sofa and listened intently to their enthusiastic words of why my hubby and I would feel at home in their church. While listening to them, I noticed their eyes straying to the doorway and I wondered to myself..."what's with the attraction to the doorway?" It was then that I forgave Jane Wyman for her transgression of which we have written. I, also, was guilty big-time of "failing to remove the damning(even if pretty-in- pink) evidence!"

And therein, my three dear readers, lies the moral of this story...judge not because, delightfully and purposefully, "Life has a way of happening.."

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Post Script: You will remember Bus of "Four Little Indians" storyline. Harry became the beloved stepfather of Bus and Peggy Ann (of the misplaced baby storyline) when he married my sister, Trudy. Bus became the stepfather of Babe Bisignano's three very young nephews when he married Nancy Neal Rizzuti. The three Rizzuti boys went on to become well known in the advertising, teaching and film-producing fields. Babe lived to a great age as a revered and honored citizen of Des Moines, active in community work, always a "character" and a friend to all.

The picture heading up this story is an exact replica of the WHO-DES MOINES table at which "Dutch" Reagan broadcast the Cubs games and is located at the President Ronald W. Reagan Museum in Simi Valley. There is also a large statue of my "Dutch" standing guard at the entryway of the door leading into the Museum (or was about six years ago when I visited)...I reached up and slipped my hand into his.