Dorothy Hennaman

It was the fall of 1942, my Mother and I had walked up town to do some shopping. She asked me what I wanted for Christmas this year, and warned me it wouldn't be very much as my father had joined the army. After Pearl Harbor, he couldn't stand not getting in and doing his part, even though he was over 36, and didn't have to go.

I walked past Jane's Drapery and Gift Shop every day on my way home from school, and knew just what I wanted, "a doll."

Even though I was 11 years old, and a tomboy, I liked dolls. Every year my dad's sisters would get my cousins and me a baby doll. But I had a hint I wouldn't be getting a doll this year, Nancy Drew books were coming my way.

Mother and I wandered into the gift shop, and looked at all the beautiful things. The dolls were small but gorgeous, the one in the pink snowsuit was the one I wanted, "Cynthia" was stamped on the sole of her shoe. Mother said, "All right, you know what your getting. We'll have it wrapped, and I'll put it away for Christmas."

That doll wasn't actually played with by me very much but my little sister came along on January 5th, and through the years she would play with her, with permission.

The doll made quite a few trips in her box, on my lap, on trains and in the car.

Before we left to take up residence near where my father was stationed, we had a sale, and all my big dolls were sold. I had just Cynthia Jean, and a black doll I had received when I had an appendix operation.

Cynthia Jean had a special place when I had my own home, and stood the ravages of time very well.

Then . . . Dollie, a very active Pyrenees puppy, came to live with us. One morning, when I was quite busy, I heard her in the living room so went in to shag her out, and there was my Cynthia Jean shaken to pieces. Her little pink snowsuit with the ermine trimmed scarf was in tatters, and poor Cynthia lay in five disconnected pieces!

Dollie looked up at me as if to say, "Aren't you proud of me? I killed that animal with the little tails!" I was heart broken but I knew all was not lost, because I knew a wonderful doll doctor and he would fix her up, and Gary did!

(My sister grew up and had her own "real live" Cynthia Jean.)