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seven years later the French presented her with the Order of Chevalier of the Legion of Honor.
I asked her what the German citizens thought when she returned home with the conquering Allied soldiers. She laughed and said, "The Army thought I'd be killed, and assigned me two bodyguards. I had no need of them. I was the local girl who'd made good!"
Another reason for the soft spot in my heart for Marlene is that she was my mother's favorite singer. The last time Mother visited me she wore out two records of that famous song "See What the Boys in the Back Room Will Have." I was certain she didn't know what the song was offering the boys, and once asked her why she was so fond of it. She replied, "I just love her voice."
Mother was hard of hearing. Trying to be helpful, I bought her a hearing aid, had it adjusted, and had her dresses made so the device would be hidden. Noticing she wasn't using it, I asked her why. She replied, "I don't like the harsh sounds of the world. I can hear you perfectly. If there's anything important I should know, you'll tell me."
"But what about pictures, Mother? You can't hear them."
"No, but I enjoy looking at them. It was many years before they talked. There was something soothing about the quiet pictures."
Not wanting to hurt my feelings or waste my money, she occasionally wore the hearing aid; but when she got home to Altoona she gave it to my sister Dora's husband.
Mother had insisted on flying to California. Dora said, "It's not safe."
"Nonsense," Mother replied. "Elda flies everywhere. Wrhat's good enough for her is safe for me."
Dora extracted a promise that she wouldn't leave the plane at any of the stops until it reached Los Angeles, but Mother didn't promise not to look out of the window. So the minute the plane took off, she filled her vision with mountains, plains, and the beauty and glory of America. She was too busy looking to cat-nap, and was so thrilled with what she'd seen that when I met her at the airport you'd have thought she was twenty-five.
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