Art & Aletha Family 1972

by Aletha Turley, taken from postcard written to her sister Franceen shortly after the attached picture was taken.

We went down to a picture studio a couple of weeks ago to have a family picture taken and it was really an unforgettable experience and one I hope I don't have to go through very often. In the first place it was next to impossible to get 14 of us in clean clothes without holes, mate socks and a pair of shoes apiece. Then just when I'd think we about had the bunch ready, I'd discover someone with a dirty face and their hair all messed up again. After a couple of hours of fuming and fussing and crying and threatening, we all crammed into the 1962 Plymouth station wagon and were on our way. Halfway there, I discovered that we forgot Amy's bottle and diapers. Art said, "Oh, it's all right, we will only be there a few minutes 'cause it don't take that long to take pictures." (We got home about 3 hours later.)

The picture studio is on the second floor of the Montrose Hotel (one of the nicer hotels downtown). We parked about a block from the hotel, and as we tumbled out of the car all the kids started running down the sidewalk to the hotel. I screamed at all of them to quit running, and Mark turned around to look and stubbed his toe on a crack and fell down. We were strung out all the way down the block. When we got in the hotel we had to ask directions to get to the studio. There were quite a few people in the lobby and they were all watching us and counting.

We rode the elevator up and for a minute we thought we couldn't all get on the same elevator, but it was empty so we made it. We had about a 45-minute wait as there were other people ahead of us. Part of us (about 8 only) sat in the waiting room and the rest were standing out in the foyer. Art had Amy and she was crying because she was hungry. He finally got her to sleep. Then they called "Turleys!" When the 8 of us in the waiting room stood up, everyone went, "Oh!" When the six came from the foyer, everyone laughed. When we walked into the small room to have a picture taken, the young man that was the photographer put his hand on his forehead and said, "Oh, no!"

About an hour later after being rearranged about 15 times, stood on boxes, sat on boxes, and after the photographer had tried everything from going brrrrr with his tongue, throwing a ball at Lori, dancing a jig, saying "Smile at this old pickle-puss," and pinching Amy's cheeks to try and wake her up (she never did). After all this, the photographer collapsed into a chair and went, "Whew!" He was really sweating. Lori never did smile and Amy never woke up.