Newswise — Giving her up was his last resort.

He didn’t want to drop his daughter off at the college orphanage, but Ben Swedlund had no other choice.

After his wife, Helen, died in surgery in 1934, Ben was left to care for his five daughters while working full time for the city of Brookings.

His youngest daughter, 20-month-old Lola, was crippled and couldn’t walk.

At the time, Lola’s older sister, Mabel, had a child three months older than Lola, and nursed both of the children.

Mabel convinced their father to let the students at South Dakota State College’s Home Management House care for Lola.

State opened the Home Management House—practice cottage—in 1921, where home economic students lived and cared for an orphan as part of an internship.

“Mabel told my father the college students would have time to work with me and help get me walking,” said Lola. “My father didn’t want me to go, but I think he knew he had to in order to care for the rest of the family.”

Though she’s not exactly sure why, Lola never told anyone she was an orphan in the practice cottage in the 1930s.

“I guess I just kind of washed it out of my memory,” said Lola. “My father had his hands full, but he was a wonderful father,” said Lola, noting that as a conceivable reason she kept the secret all her life.

Bundles of attention

Home Economics Dean Edith “Ma” Pierson welcomed the first child in 1921, followed one at a time, until 1939.

The 9-room cottage accommodated six students, an instructor and a baby.

Mabel told Lola when Pierson picked Lola up from their home in September 1934, she cried the whole way to the college.

Home economics seniors were required to live in the house for one 12-week quarter, rotating responsibilities every 12 days. The women were responsible for feedings, budgeting and laundry.

Blue-eyed blonde

According to an article in the Sept. 26, 1934, issue of the Industrial Collegian, once Lola arrived at the cottage, the blue-eyed blonde baby of Scandinavian descent delighted the students.

The article noted, “Lola played happily nearly all day. When shown a coat she was to wear and told that it was hers, Lola immediately claimed it and made many trips to the hall that afternoon to look at it proudly and say ‘my coat.’”

Lola thrived at the practice cottage. She wore leg braces and could walk on her own shortly after her third birthday. “Ma loved me like her own daughter,” said Lola. “Mabel said Ma wanted to adopt me.”

Just before turning four, Lola returned home with her father. While other orphans were adopted, Lola’s father came back. “I remember riding back home and crying,” said Lola. “I wasn’t ready to leave all that good attention.”

Lola grew up in Brookings, never telling anyone about her time as an orphan.

Keeping it in

In 1949, a 17-year-old Lola married Kenneth Christianson, with whom she had six children.

Lola kept her secret, and never found the chance to tell her husband, who passed away from an asthma attack in 1971. “He never even knew,” said Lola.

After marrying Don Stampe in 1972, and welcoming his four children, Lola started taking cooking classes at SDSU.

One day, while having coffee in the lounge, Lola recognized a photo of Ma Pierson on the wall. “I looked up and said, ‘Ma, I remember her,” said Lola. A professor overheard Lola, walked over and hugged Lola saying, “I remember you—you’re Lola.”

“We talked for a long time, but after that, I washed it out of my memory again,” said Lola, who still didn't tell her husband and children.

Embracing her past

More than 80 years after her first day at the practice cottage, Lola revealed her secret while having coffee at the senior citizen’s club.

“I guess I just brought it up to my friends that day,” said Lola. “I’m not really sure why. Later that day, I told my daughter and she said ‘oh Mom, we have to pursue this.’”

Last summer, Lola and her daughter connected with the university library staff, and were amazed by the practice cottage archives.

Even though Lola was just a toddler, her memories from the practice cottage are vivid. And although the fear of shaming her caring father likely deterred her decision to share the secret all those years, Lola is glad she finally did.

“It felt good to tell my story,” said Lola.

It’s a piece of history she is now willing to embrace.

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