
Sarah Morlok Cotton, quadruplet who knew fame and suffering, dies at 95
Advertisement
Donations poured in almost immediately. The city of Lansing provided the family with a rent-free home. The Massachusetts Carriage Co. sent a custom-made baby carriage with four seats. Businesspeople opened bank accounts for each child.
Get Starting Point
A guide through the most important stories of the morning, delivered Monday through Friday.
Enter Email
Sign Up
'Lansing's Morlok quadruplets,' the Associated Press wrote, 'are the most famous group of babies on the American continent.'
The Morloks charged visitors 25 cents to visit their home and see the babies. Carl Morlok, who ran for constable of Lansing in 1931, used photos of his daughters on his campaign ads with the slogan, 'We will appreciate your support.' He won in a landslide.
Amid the commotion, Sadie Morlok tried to provide her daughters with a sense of normalcy. 'Our mother used to dress us in pretty little identical crocheted sweaters and bonnets in spring and summer, or snow pant outfits in winter,' Ms. Cotton wrote in her autobiography, 'The Morlok Quadruplets: The Alphabet Sisters' (2015). 'Then, she would carefully seat two of us facing the other two in the carriage and go for a nice stroll around the block to give us sunshine and a breath.'
Advertisement
In an era when children like Shirley Temple were big stars, the public's interest in the Morlok sisters endured.
Newspapers reported on their birthdays and Christmas gifts. Their pictures were featured in newsreels at movie theaters. Sensing a source of income during the lean days of the Great Depression, Sadie Morlok enrolled her daughters in singing and dancing classes, turning them into performers.
Their first time onstage was at a boat show in Lowell, a nearby city, when they were 6 years old. Soon, they were traveling by train to perform in Pennsylvania, Connecticut, and other states. Their trademark song was 'Alice Blue Gown,' by Joseph McCarthy and Harry Tierney. They didn't make much money, but Morlok delighted in the attention her daughters received.
Asked later in life about when she first realized that she was famous, Ms. Cotton replied: 'Well, I think it was in our dancing chorus rehearsal when I glanced to the right, then to the left, and saw three other people who looked just like me, danced just like me, and sang like me. I think then I realized I was one part of a famous team.'
Offstage, their lives were no song and dance.
In 'Girls and Their Monsters,' Audrey Clare Farley's 2023 book about the sisters, Ms. Cotton described a bleaker version of her childhood than the uplifting story she told in her autobiography.
Advertisement
Though the newspapers called her father 'Jolly Carl, Daddy 4-of-a-kind,' he was actually a tyrant, she said.
He banged the sisters' heads together when they wouldn't go to sleep. A germophobe, he forbade them from going to the library because he worried that germs were on the books. Worst of all, Farley noted, he sexually abused all of the girls when they were teenagers.
'The story of the Morlok sisters is the story of darkness coursing through the world,' she wrote. 'It's the story of malevolence masquerading as innocence and thereby hiding in plain sight.'
It got worse.
In their early 20s, the Morlok quadruplets began showing signs of serious mental illness. They had delusions, stared catatonically for hours, and cycled in and out of psychiatric institutions. Edna, Wilma, and Helen all underwent electroconvulsive therapy.
Eventually, a doctor who had been treating the sisters in Michigan referred them to the National Institute of Mental Health in Maryland. Intrigued by the connections between the genetic and environmental causes of mental illness, a team of researchers there studied the quadruplets from 1955 to 1958. Each woman had her own psychiatrist, though only Sarah was able to engage in meaningful psychotherapy.
The researchers, led by Dr. David Rosenthal, suspected that both parents were mentally ill and that Carl's mother was borderline schizophrenic. In 1963, using the pseudonym Genain to protect the family's privacy, the institute produced a 636-page report, 'The Genain Quadruplets: a Case Study and Theoretical Analysis of Heredity and Environment in Schizophrenia.'
In the report, Rosenthal concluded that the Morlok quadruplets had been the victims of an 'unhappy collusion of nature and nurture.'
Only Sarah recovered enough to live on her own. Farley attributed that to two factors: She had endured less abuse from her father than her sisters had, and she had benefited from exceptionally good psychotherapy during the study in Maryland.
Advertisement
'She knew quite clearly that she got better at NIMH and her sisters didn't,' Farley said in an interview. 'And she always had survivor's guilt about that.'
She met George Cotton, an Air Force officer, at Luther Place Memorial Church in Washington, D.C. They married in 1961, and for many years she worked as a legal secretary and typist.
George Cotton died in 2023. In addition to their son David, Ms. Cotton leaves four grandsons. Another son, William, died in 1994. As for the other Morlok sisters, Wilma died in 2002, Helen in 2003, and Edna in 2015.
Farley, who tracked down Ms. Cotton in 2021, found her eager to speak about her childhood.
'She had really faded out of public view,' Farley said. 'I think the fact that somebody was interested in her brought back fond memories of her performing as a child and being a public figure.'
After their first phone conversation, Ms. Cotton called back immediately. She had forgotten to tell Farley how many songs she could play on the piano by memory -- 266, it turned out.
'She was still very proud of those days,' Farley said.
This article originally appeared in
Hashtags

Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles


New York Post
an hour ago
- New York Post
Ichiro Suzuki steals show with witty Hall of Fame speech in English
COOPERSTOWN — Ichiro Suzuki stole the show with his nearly 20-minute speech, delivered in English. Long known to those around him for speaking English well, Ichiro always chose to speak publicly in Japanese, using an interpreter. Now a Hall of Famer, Ichiro chose Sunday to break out a witty speech in front of a crowd of thousands of fans wearing his No. 51 Mariners jersey. Advertisement Afterward, speaking in Japanese again following his speech, Ichiro said he 'always knew' he would deliver the speech in English, in hopes of letting his American fans understand it as well as possible. 5 Ichiro Suzuki delivers a nearly 20-minute speech in English at his Hall of Fame induction ceremony. Charles Wenzelberg / New York Post 'I played with him, so I knew he could do that,'' CC Sabathia said of Ichiro's speaking ability. 'It was good for people to get to know his personality and how hard he worked.' Advertisement Brian Cashman had a similar story, saying that when he traded for Ichiro in 2012, he and an interpreter spent over an hour on a phone call with Ichiro and his interpreter to explain what his role would be if he agreed to come to the Yankees. 'It took forever,'' Cashman said. A week later, Cashman introduced himself to Ichiro in person in The Bronx and was surprised. 5 Ichiro Suzuki jokes with fellow Hall of Famers Derek Jeter and Cal Ripken Jr. before his speech. Charles Wenzelberg / New York Post Advertisement 5 Billy Wagner and Ichiro Suzuki chat during their Hall of Fame induction ceremony. Charles Wenzelberg / New York Post 5 Ichiro Suzuki's wife, Yumiko Fukushima, watches her husband be inducted into the baseball Hall of Fame. Charles Wenzelberg / New York Post 'He responded by speaking better English than I did,'' Cashman said. Ichiro, in addition to thanking the Mariners and their fans, as well as his Orix team in Japan that let him come to the majors in 2001, also fondly recalled his time with the Yankees from 2012-14. Advertisement 'I enjoyed my two-and-a-half years in pinstripes and to get to experience the great leadership of Derek Jeter and the organization's proud touch,' Ichiro said. Billy Wagner said he'd been preparing his Hall of Fame speech 'for about 10 years' while waiting to get inducted. He finally got his chance Sunday, when the lefty became the first left-handed reliever to be enshrined in the Hall, in part thanks to his three-plus years with the Mets. 5 Billy Wagner shows off his new Hall of Fame ring. Charles Wenzelberg / New York Post And while he's most remembered for his years in Houston — where his first manager was Terry Collins in 1995 and '96 — he noted the role his time in Queens played in his path to Cooperstown. But he also praised the Mets and their former owners, the Wilpons. Advertisement 'For a small-town guy like me, going to a big city, Fred Wilpon and his son, Jeff, and the Mets organization made it easy to come to the field and compete,' Wagner said. 'Because I got to ride in [to the ballpark] with Tom Glavine. They always had a great team surrounding me and that helped me reach this stage today.' Wagner noted that he and Whitey Ford are the only pitchers in the Hall of Fame who are shorter than 6 feet tall. He also noted that he is the only pitcher from a Division III college (Ferrum College) to get to Cooperstown. 'I'm from a very small part of southwest Virginia,'' Wagner said. 'To grow up in a small, rural area, this isn't something you think about.' Advertisement Dave Parker died in June at age 74. He had been preparing a speech for his induction and his son, Dave II, spoke on his behalf. The late Dick Allen's wife, Willa, also spoke on her husband's behalf. … Sandy Koufax, the oldest living Hall of Famer at age 89, was in attendance. … The start of the ceremony was delayed by an hour due to inclement weather. There were an estimated 30,000 fans in attendance.


Buzz Feed
an hour ago
- Buzz Feed
Tacky Home Decor Trends People Think Need To Disappear
We all know that taste is subjective. So when you walk into someone's home, their decor might not be the same as what you like. But recently, real estate agent @EricGoldie asked people on TikTok for the decor that they think screams "this home is tacky." Judging by the responses, there's a handful of choices that people pretty much across the board think is tacky. Here are some of the most-agreed-upon responses: Mirrored furniture. —felipewitov "Taj Mahal" stone (quartzite with gold veining). —Royalrusset Anything that starts with "In this house..." —kattales54 "That damn Tom Ford coffee table book." "When a regular house has a beach house theme." —kayatreea Studded couches or bed frames. —serenalucila "Anything Rae Dunn 🚩🚩🚩📌📌📌" "Quotes all over the walls. Stop it." —cnormgo "Signs announcing what room it is... "Kitchen", "Bathroom: Wash your hands!" —lillian7129 "Mounted dead animal heads." —KGo-Key "Couches with cup holders." —dmarie19694 "Anything with a luxury brand logo. Chanel doesnt make toilet seat covers babes." —deeayeego ''Family' displayed everywhere. Like wtf else is living there." —jessyourmess "American flag as decor. 😬" — "The big wooden fork and spoon hanging in the kitchen." —susanwillis361 "Not necessarily decor, but being nearly knocked out by apple cinnamon [scent plug-ins] (or any scent really) the second you walk in the door automatically makes everything else about the house extremely tacky." —russtor "I'll die on this hill but televisions in bedrooms." —Spliffthekid "Bible quote placards all over like, 'As for this house, we will serve the lord!'" —moonflour475 "The multiple gothic crosses on one wall." —macebee "MAGA stuff, confederate flags." — And finally, a reminder: "Rent so high I don't even feel right commenting on this. If you got a house, you're doing a good job. A home is a luxury."


Boston Globe
2 hours ago
- Boston Globe
Joan Anderson, unsung heroine of hula hoop history, dies at 101
'Everyone was having such fun,' she added, 'I thought, 'I'd like to do that, too.'' Back in Los Angeles, Ms. Anderson asked her mother to mail her one of the rings from Australia, and it soon brought joy to the Anderson household. Her children played with it. Ms. Anderson swerved it around her hips for friends at dinner parties. When someone told her that it looked as if she was 'doing the hula,' the traditional Hawaiian dance, Ms. Anderson was struck with inspiration. Get Starting Point A guide through the most important stories of the morning, delivered Monday through Friday. Enter Email Sign Up She named the object the hula hoop. Advertisement What transpired next would place Ms. Anderson at the center of what she described as an American tale of shattered dreams and promises, a business deal made on a handshake, and, eventually, a lawsuit. Ms. Anderson died July 14 at a nursing facility in Carlsbad, Calif., north of San Diego. She was 101. Her daughter, Loralyn Willis, announced the death. The hubbub over the hoop started when her husband, Wayne, saw opportunity in the object and decided to pitch it to Wham-O, a toy company that soon became known for the Frisbee. As it happened, he was acquainted with one of Wham-O's founders, Arthur Melin, known as Spud, so he arranged a meeting. Advertisement The encounter, she recalled, occurred in a parking lot outside Wham-O's offices in San Gabriel, Calif. The Andersons opened up the trunk of their car and took out the hoop. 'There were no witnesses,' Ms. Anderson said in the documentary. 'Just Spud and my husband and myself.' 'We told him, 'We've called it the hula hoop,'' she continued. 'He said: 'Looks like it has some merit. If it makes money for us, it's going to make money for you.'' The deal was sealed with what Ms. Anderson characterized as a 'gentleman's handshake' and nothing more. Wham-O began experimenting with the hoop, developing a plastic version of it and trying it out on children at a Pasadena, Calif., elementary school. The company also started giving them away to generate buzz. By the time Wham-O was selling the hoop, lines were forming outside department stores. As the popularity of what Wham-O trademarked as the Hula Hoop grew, Ms. Anderson said, she and her husband heard less and less from Melin. 'We called Spud and asked him what was going on, and he kept putting us off,' she said. 'Then they just ignored us.' The hoop quickly became a national sensation. From Ms. Anderson's home in the suburbs of Monterey Park, Calif., she watched as newspapers landed on her porch with headlines like 'Hula-Hoop Sales Soar to $30 Million in 2 Months.' Over the years, stories about Wham-O's success sometimes spoke of a 'friend' visiting from Australia who first told the company about the hoop. 'I think that bugged me more than anything,' Ms. Anderson said. 'It was never reported correctly at all. I was not a 'friend.'' Advertisement In 1961, the Andersons filed a lawsuit against Wham-O. But the company presented records demonstrating its own woes. Just as quickly as the Hula Hoop sensation took off, it swiftly ended, entering the annals of American fads. Wham-O was left with heaps of unsold hoops and argued that it had not made a profit after production costs. The case concluded in a settlement, and the Andersons walked away with just a few thousand dollars. The couple moved on with their lives. Wham-O went on to release the SuperBall, the Slip 'N Slide ,and Silly String. Melin died in 2002. (Wham-O was sold in 1982 to the Kransco Group Cos. for $12 million. It was later sold to Mattel, which then sold it to a group of investors, and it has continued changing hands ever since.) 'We often talked about the money we could have made from it and maybe changed our life a little bit,' Ms. Anderson said in the documentary, 'but it didn't work out that way.' 'The world isn't fair. But life goes on.' Joan Constance Manning was born Dec. 28, 1923, in Sydney to Claude and Ethel (Hallandal) Manning. Her father was a real estate broker. As a young woman, Joan was a swimsuit model known as the 'Pocket Venus' because she was 5 feet 2 inches tall. In 1945, Wayne Anderson, a US Army pilot on leave from duty, approached Joan on Bondi Beach. They married a few months later and moved to California. Anderson, who went on to run a prosperous woodwork machine manufacturing business, died in 2007. Advertisement In addition to her daughter, Loralyn, Ms. Anderson is survived by two sons, Warren and Gary, and six grandchildren. Another son, Carl, died in 2023. Over the years, Ms. Anderson's brush with hula hoop history faded into family lore. When her children grew up, they sent letters about her story to Oprah Winfrey and Ellen DeGeneres, but nothing came of it. Fate intervened in 2016, when Ms. Anderson's daughter was recounting the story to coworkers while dining at a restaurant in La Mesa, near San Diego. At a table nearby, eavesdropping, was the mother of Amy Hill, a filmmaker. She asked for her telephone number and passed it along it to Hill. Intrigued by the tip, Hill began vetting the story with her husband and collaborator, Chris Riess. They decided to pursue the project and interviewed Ms. Anderson at La Costa Glen, the retirement community where she lived. The resulting short documentary, 'Hula Girl,' premiered at the Tribeca Film Festival in 2018. At 94, Ms. Anderson flew to New York to promote the film, and a writer for Vogue interviewed her for an article. The documentary was also shown at the Sydney Film Festival and received coverage in The Atlantic and Smithsonian magazine. It was screened as well for Ms. Anderson's fellow residents at La Costa Glen. Her friends watched in fascination as they learned about her connection to the hula hoop. At La Costa Glen, Ms. Anderson stayed fit by swimming every week and taking ballroom dancing lessons. She also became a formidable bridge player. And in her apartment, she kept the original wood hoop that her mother had mailed to her from Australia, although it mostly sat collecting dust. Advertisement 'I do it once in a while for exercise,' she said, 'but not as much as I should.' This article originally appeared in