Letters of long ago, saved in a box, show couple’s devotion

A postage stamp cost a nickel in 1964.

Ray Wilkes can remember. He bought plenty of them.

He sent those letters across four state lines, sealing the envelopes with a blessed assurance his prayers would be answered.

In a hospital room 675 miles away, his wife, Pat, was battling a rare form of cancer.

But she always wrote back.

A gallon of gas cost 30 cents in 1964. Ray would fill his light-blue Volkswagen Beetle — with the gas tank in the front — and make round trips from Macon to the National Institutes of Health in Bethesda, Maryland, where Pat was a patient.

He still laughs about the time he made the brave journey in the VW with his 6-year-old son, Mike, as well as friends Lennis and Marie East and their two children. That was an adventure — six people taking a “bug’’ up the Eastern Seaboard, a couple of kids rolling around on the floorboard in the back.

But the best trip of all was when he traveled alone on a weekend in the fall. Pat waited until he arrived to share the news. The doctors had told her she was in remission. If Ray could stick around a couple of extra days, there was a possibility she might be able to return home with him.

The Wilkeses left a trail of happy tears all the way back to Macon. There were puddles of joy from the Potomac all the way downstream to the Ocmulgee.

Last week, they celebrated their 60th wedding anniversary. They would have been content with a quiet dinner at home in Jones County. After all, they didn’t have a big celebration or fanfare for their 50th anniversary — or any of the others, for that matter.

But dozens of friends and family insisted on honoring them with a banquet at Healy Point. Their only child, Mike, organized the event and made the trip with his family from South Dakota to be with his folks.

“I was raised by the two people I admire most in the world,’’ Mike said, “I know a lot of people may say that, but my mom and dad are two of the most genuine people I have ever known. … They are exactly the same people, with the same values and the same character, in every situation.’’

Sixty years of holy matrimony won’t shatter any records. Over the years, I have interviewed a number of couples married 75 years or more.

For the Wilkeses, however, there was a time when they weren’t sure they would make it to 10 years, much less 60. So it has been the quality, not the quantity that defines their marriage.

Pat had a miscarriage when she was 26 years old. After her systems did not return to normal, she was diagnosed with choriocarcinoma, a malignant tumor of the uterus that grows from the cells of the placenta.

She was part of a clinical trial at the National Institutes of Health over a three-month period, from August until October 1964. The women received injections of methotrexate, a derivative of the poisonous mustard gas used during wartime that was later utilized on the front line of chemotherapy drugs.

A number of the women in her trial group did not survive. Two of her roommates at Bethesda were among those who died. She learned of one’s death after she sent her a Christmas card, and it was returned. She still grieves over the loss of her friend, more than 50 years later.

HIGH SCHOOL SWEETHEARTS

Ray was born in Schley County in 1937. His family moved to Macon four years later. His father was among the first employees at Robins Air Force Base, where he worked in the carpenter’s shop. For many years, his dad also had a newspaper route in the Shirley Hills neighborhood.

(Of course, Ray shared the same name with the late Bibb County sheriff, and that led to lots of interesting stories over the years. He used to get phone calls for the sheriff all the time.)

Pat was from Clinchfield, in Houston County. Her family came to Macon, where her father worked for the Central Georgia Railroad.

Ray and Pat met when they were 14 years old, and were sweethearts through their high school years at Lanier and Miller. She played the piano at Mogul Baptist Church in east Macon, where her brother, Douglas Fullington, was the pastor. Ray’s family moved into the neighborhood, and he began attending church there. When he first saw Pat at the piano, it was love at first verse.

They were married at Morningside Baptist on June 24, 1956, and went to Gatlinburg for their honeymoon. Mike was born two years later. They had planned to have more children, and Pat was pregnant in early 1964. She was already wearing maternity clothes when she had her miscarriage around Easter and was diagnosed with choriocarcinoma.

While Pat was undergoing her treatments at Bethesda, Ray had a strong support system at home. His parents helped him with his young son. Friends rallied to his side. It allowed him to stay on the job at Georgia Kaolin, where he worked for 44 years.

After Pat returned home, she continued to send urine samples back to Bethesda for analysis. Mike remembers many times he would ride with his mother down to Seventh Street, where they would purchase dry ice to ship the lab work.

She soon began checking off her “bucket list.’’ One of her wishes was to further her education, and she earned her degree in home economics from Georgia College in Milledgeville. She later worked in accounting with GMAC in Macon for 16 years. She also expressed a desire to travel, and she and Ray have been all over the map.

She kept Ray’s letters in a box, along with her replies. They are chapters of their life together, a diary of love, a travelogue of faith.

As a young man, Mike once opened the box and read a few of the letters. His father would share stories about how Mike was doing in school. Or he would write Pat about how somebody at church had brought food.

The letters were tender and sweet, filled with hope. One day, Mike plans to write an inspirational book based on their content.

A few weeks ago, with their anniversary approaching, Pat got out the box for the first time in several years. There were notes from friends to cheer her up. There were cards from friends who sent clothes, books and stationary. Some mailed her sheet music when they learned there was a piano on same floor of the hospital where she was staying at Bethesda.

She and Ray read the letters to each other. It was very emotional.

“They showed our feelings and how much we missed each other,’’ Ray said. “Those were tough times, and we were young. If we hadn’t had our faith, I don’t know how we would have made it.’’

A stamp cost 5 cents. Gas was 30.

You can’t put a price on love.

This story was originally published June 25, 2016 at 12:38 PM with the headline "Letters of long ago, saved in a box, show couple’s devotion."