Beginning Of An Unknown Journey

Gretchen Blais

In February 1958 at age 18, an adventure I could not imagine began; classes at San Jose State University began, and I was there. I was fortunate to have someone who never met me, but knew about my situation, pay my tuition and my residential fees at the Catholic Women’s Center; I never learned their names.

Towards the end of the semester, something troubled me. Father Duryea at the Newman Center seemed trustworthy, so desperate, I took a risk and shared the issue with him. At the end of our conversation, he suggested I meet Bob and Terry Johnston, as they often had students live with them. He told me they had six children.

We set a time to meet. I took the bus to Juanita Street in the Willow Glen district of San Jose, CA, where they lived. I felt welcomed as they explained my responsibilities as I worked for my room and board. It comprised babysitting when needed, helping with the kids, and doing things around the house. It was all familiar to me as I came from a large family. There were never more than 10 kids at home at once. With all the Johnston kids, it felt like home minus the conflicts, the confusions and the violence. I needed security, and with the Johnstons; it was perfect.

Administering to the needs of children was very familiar to me. I was next to the oldest and the oldest girl in my family of eleven children. I knew how to address the needs of kids, how to clean the house, do laundry, fix food and other things to help keep things moving. Living with the family, I felt safe; in that net of safety, I knew I could address ongoing problems.

I retrieved my meager belongings from the Catholic Women’s Center. With my own room, a closet to myself, and a dresser with four drawers instead of one drawer in a four-drawer dresser that I shared with siblings, was new for me.

Living with the Johnston family was an incredible learning experience. I felt like one of the family as I watched, observed and learned. One day, one of the boys had a meltdown about something. Bob picked him up, gently sat him on the stairs, and told him to sit and think about his behavior. In ten minutes, Bob picked him up and off they went into another room for a talk. There was no yelling by the adults, no whacking or belittling of the child. It confirmed a suspicion within me; there was a different way to relate to children than what I grew up with. Loving your children openly, as limits were established, made sense to me. When I had children of my own, I wasn’t always able to maintain that stance, but I had the memory of Terry and Bob I could return to for balance.

There were many new experiences for me besides living in a healthy, well-functioning family. Listening to classical music like Dvorak’s Symphony From the New World over and over and over. Same with Beethoven’s 5th symphony. I recall walking from the dining room into the kitchen and stopping in my tracks. On the radio was an opera. I’d never heard a voice sing so tender, a voice so passionately expressed.

I lived with the Johnstons until I married in February 1961. The seeds they planted sprouted. Their tenderness taught me I was worth something, that I was important, that I had something to give. It took years for the roots to grow deep, years for me to come into full blossom. Over the years, Terry reinforced what a miracle I was. She nudged me on to discover my true self.

When I was in my early forties, Terry paid for me to have my handwriting analyzed. She knew there were ways I could not appreciate myself. I read the report and felt stumped. I struggled to understand the results. The person who evaluated my handwriting saw my creativity, my curiosity, my humor. She knew I was searching and that with persistence, I’d move my searching into a broader ring, which turned out to be true. Thank you, Terry, for the nudges, always.

Beginning in my forties, art became a passion within me. As time passed, I matured into a visual artist and a writer. Once while traveling, I stopped for the night. While I sat in nature, my mind grew quiet. People who supported me in my quest to understand my reason for being on the planet bubbled into my thoughts. Terry was there, Bob was there, and their family energy emerged, among others. A phrase surfaced and resulted in a drawing and an arrow pointing me to a standard for my continuing evolution. The phrase ...soften your heart ...heal the world, was so clear. This phrase has been my mantra for a long time, and it grows stronger as I continue my journey with the memories of living in a loving, supportive household. Thank you, Terry, and thanks to all the Johnston family who helped me come into my essence, my true self at last.

Dear Terry,

Thank you for the email about the memorial service for your mother.   She was a wonderful woman of exceptional strength and commitment.  We are unable to attend the service, but send our love and comforting thoughts to you and your family.  Sincerely, Georgiana and John Flaherty.  

 My family and I wish to convey our heartfelt condolences to the Johnston family. Our thoughts are with you all in the family and Terry’s friends. Terry Johnston was an extraordinary person, always full of energy, grace, wisdom, and compassion. I am especially grateful to Terry and Bob for their support when I first arrived in San Jose over 60 years ago in 1961. I came to attend San Jose City College as a teenager, without any relatives or friends in the U.S., completely naive but eager to pursue my education. There were only six foreign students from Hong Kong on campus. Within the first couple of months, Terry and Bob welcomed two of us (Herbert Lo and myself), complete strangers, into their household as part of their family. I quickly learned about American family life, customs, and etiquette from the family. They cared about our well-being, were concerned about how we were doing in school, and offered to help when we had problems. I was blown away when Terry solved one of the physics problems I struggled with. I lost count of how many times she had to search for me and bring me home when my bicycle tire went flat. Even after I left San Jose, a year-and-half later, Terry and Bob continued to connect with me, and I continued to visit as a house guest until I moved to Canada in 1964. They offered to write a reference letter for my application to medical school at the University of British Columbia. She continued to keep in touch through her yearly newsletters detailing each family member's work life, school life, hobbies, adventures, and achievements (yes, and the occasional setbacks also) – with such pride and detail. I did visit them in with my parents, during their North American visit some years ago. Terry and Bob also visited the Canadian Rockies here once, where we met up. I still have some of her newsletters, and the last electronic one I have was from 2020.

Dear Terry, may you rest in peace.