Mom remembering in 2025

March 25, 1917 - November 19, 1998 It is amazing how fast time passes.  Can it really be 27 years since my mother’s spirit left her body?  I know for certain that she left because I was lying in bed next to her at that very moment when she was no longer in the physical structure that had held her since March 25th 1917.  Believe me dead is dead.  Her body was vacant, empty; there was no question about it, she was not there anymore.   When the hospice nurse asked me to check for her pulse, I said “no”.  I knew without any doubt she was dead and more importantly I refused to feel my dearly beloved Mother without a heartbeat.   Since I was close beside her, I actually saw her take her very last breath.  I imagine if this could be viewed without any emotion, it could be an interesting phenomenon.   People breathe in and breathe out so many times over their lifetimes that we hardly notice this small physical activity. All of a sudden after slowing down and coming in spurts, there is a moment when a specific simple breath is the very last one.   My parents had shared a bed together since October 19, 1940 and on this particular day, my Dad stood at the foot of their bed anxiously willing his wife to continue breathing.  When he saw that she exhaled and did not inhale again, he basically screamed at me to shake her.   He had been stimulating her breaths like this for the last day or so and he felt if I shook her really hard, I could keep her alive.   I remember saying, “Daddy, I can’t do that.”  The cyanosis had already worked itself half way up her body and it seemed cruel to insist she keep breathing now.   So my mother died.  But honestly it is not her death, but her life that I want to remember today. I want people to know who Rita Mary Agnes O’Donnell Fries was and what she was like ( Agnes was the name she chose for her Confirmation although I am not sure why – I think she told me but I no longer remember). I especially want her great-grandchildren to know a little bit about their Great- Grandmother since this type of thing was always very important to my Mother.   So here are some things that I remember and want to share about my Mom: * she smiled a lot  * she cried a bit too.  * she made the best apple pie I ever ate. * she had a crush on Johnny Ryan and took him to her High School Prom where she met her husband, my father, Charles A. Fries. (Charlie escorted his sister, Rosemary Fries, to the Prom and Rosemary was my Mom’s good friend so they sat together at the same table). * my mother always let us kids build forts and other interesting things under the dining room table and in other places throughout the house.  There would be sheets and blankets and pillows and upside down chairs all over the place. It would make the house a really big mess but our imaginations could run wild. * she also allowed us to paint the windows with snow scenes at Christmas time.  Was that white shoe polish we used? * my mother didn’t care for housework, but she enjoyed cooking and entertaining.  * she always had room for one more at her table- always! * she researched family history better than anyone else I ever knew. * after High School my mother went to work at the Mohegan Company but once her firstborn son was born in 1943, she became a full time Stay-at -Home Mom.   * my Mother lost her fifth-born child, Joseph O’Donnell Fries, several hours after he was born ( December 11, 1956 ).  She carried her baby for a full nine months and was never given the chance to see her son or to hold him which only added to her horrendous heartbreak.  * she took some college courses later in life and I was amazed how brilliant she was when I read her research paper on Peyote. * the parish priest once told us that my mother was more Catholic than the Pope.   She held an office with the Christian Mother’s Association. * luckily, my mother sang the praises of conjugal love. Otherwise, after the negative perceptions of sexuality absorbed during my years in Catholic School, I might never have gotten married. Thanks Mom for explaining things in a positive light. * my Mother loved books and started a library at St. Michael the Archangel Church on Jerome Street in Brooklyn, NY. * she loved the fact that her husband had a college education and worked in the Physics Department at Queens College and that they were exposed to highly educated, stimulating people.   * my mother wanted to go to Ireland but sadly, never got there.  * she wanted to drive but never took lessons. * she loved being an O’Donnell and was disappointed that she had to give up her maiden name when she got married.  * She would get mad at my father but told me on several occasions that she looked at other women's husbands and quickly decided she liked the one she had the best.   She said she wouldn’t trade her husband for any of the others.   * my mother loved children.  * she loved to sleep * she loved ice cream and it was the last thing she ate before she died.   * she took art classes in her later years and wasn’t a bad artist. * she has wrote realms of journals and copybooks filled with her thoughts and feelings and what she ate for dinner. I can’t throw them out.  * she was always planning outings and activities rather than planning for her death.  * she left this earth 27 years ago but somehow she isn’t really gone.  * when I am out shopping and I hear a woman say, “Mom”, I get jealous.  I have the urge to go over to the younger woman and tell her how lucky she is, but I restrain myself. 

The 60th Reunion

60th Reunion On Friday, November 7th, 2025, I was the first person from the St. Vincent’s Hospital School of Nursing, Class of 1965 to walk into Jack Doyle’s Irish ☘️ Pub. My husband Bob and I had left our home in Latham NY early enough so as to make certain that we would get there in time for the 12 noon meetup time. After all, our 60 year reunion is a once in a lifetime event that I absolutely didn’t want to miss. We figured if we made excellent time and arrived early we could sit and chat in the car for a while before I went into the Pub. We made fabulous time until we were about a mile away from my destination. We hadn’t driven into Manhattan in many years so we were not prepared for the massive traffic we had to deal with once we reached midtown. We crept around the last couple of blocks but it turned out the streets were so crowded, there wasn’t a spot available to pull the car over to the curb, so when we got close to Jack Doyle’s I had to grab my pocketbook and Nursing Cape and jump out of the car. I opened the front door and stepped into a winter wonderland of Christmas greenery, sparkling white lights and shiny ornaments. Wow, how very magical I thought as I walked over to a young woman who was unstacking chairs in the relatively empty Pub. There was a handful of people sitting at the bar when I arrived but not one single sign of a reunion. I asked the young lady the whereabouts of the St. Vincent’s Reunion group and she looked at me rather confused before answering. For a moment, I thought maybe something had changed and I missed the email. Or maybe my 80 year old brain messed up and I was at the wrong Pub or worse yet, I travelled to New York City on the wrong day. In case you’re not there yet, when one turns 80, remembering details is no longer a strong point. But almost as soon as these fears entered my mind, I dismissed them. After all, I had reviewed the details over and over a million times as this was something I didn’t want to miss. Finally the young lady responded in her sweet Irish brogue “ Oh yeah, but we’re not quite ready yet” Thank God, I thought as I asked the location of the Ladies Room. Another consequence of turning 80, is the relief at knowing a bathroom is nearby. As I was exiting the stall and was washing my hands, I overheard a familiar Brooklyn accent and it made me happy. When the Ladies Room door opened, I fell into the embrace of a very dear classmate, Gail Dougherty Checkett. It was at that moment that I realized the depth and true emotional implications of this reunion. …….to be continued When I exited the restroom, I watched the staff preparing our alcove area on the first floor. I believe the initial plan was that we were to have a room on the second floor but because stairs would be problematic for some of us, the Pub made these necessary adjustments. As older women walked through the front door and started walking towards our area in the room, one by one these “elderly women” slipped away and my young classmates appeared in their places. I need a scotch and soda I said as I walked over to a darling young waitress by the bar. I took a couple of comforting sips and I remembered our welcoming party our first night at 158 West 12th Street. An upper classmate sang” Scotch and Soda, Mud in your eye, Baby do I feel high, Oh me, oh my, Do I feel high”. Yes, I certainly felt high but it wasn’t the alcohol. Rather I felt something so monumental, it almost took my breath away. All of a sudden I started to cry. I turned toward the back of our little alcove in an attempt to stop myself from letting go as I knew if I let it out then and there I would be sobbing hysterically. This was the type of emotion that would be difficult to contain even though, quite honestly I really didn’t understand the full meaning of my tears. Thank God, Missy and Pat had the reins of this event firmly under their control. I was a bit of a wet noodle. The time flew by but, honestly, we are older now and it was probably just about the right amount of time for one day. Nonetheless, it made me wish we were somewhere together where we could sleep overnight and regroup the next day.. Every second when we were together was magical for me. Since those magical hours ended, I’ve done a lot of reflecting and here is what I’ve come up as to why it was all so emotional and so monumental for me. In this group of 22 women, I could feel the presence of all our beloved classmates including all those who weren’t able to make the trip for one reason or another and even all those of us who have already died. We didn’t have an official Mass together on Friday, but in my humble opinion, we had a very real Communion with all the beautiful members of the SVH, Class of 1965 Communion of Saints. I also thought about the impact of all these “cream of the crop” nurses who graduated at 4pm on Tuesday, June 15, 1965 at St. Patrick’s Cathedral and I imagined the vast impact of all these loving, healing hands and hearts over these past 60 years. I thought of the rippling effects on every single person whose lives were touched by my classmates. Dear God, if that isn’t monumental!! I am so honored to have known you and to be numbered among you. I want to be remembered as a member of the St.Vincent’s Hospital School of Nursing, Class of 1965 throughout eternity. Thank you for allowing me to be a part of you.

Aunt Dorothy O’Donnell

My mother, Rita Mary O’Donnell Fries, who was Dorothy’s oldest sister told me that no one ever knew for sure what caused Dorothy’s seizure disorder. One possible cause was the fact that Dorothy suffered a ruptured appendix and became deathly ill. My mother prayed really hard that Dorothy would survive but always felt that she might have developed her seizures as a consequence of being so sick. The other scenario I heard was that she fell from a ladder or rope while in gym class. Aunt Anne told me that she would go out with Dorothy to the 5 and 10 Store and Dorothy would put things in her pockets and leave the store and the cops would be called. Anne was always explaining about Dorothy’s condition. One time Dorothy had a full blown seizure ( Grand Mal seizure) while they were walking on the sidewalk and a lot of people surrounded them and attempted to intervene and Anne had to take charge of the situation and tell them she was able to handle it correctly. Dorothy would sleep walk and leave the family’s Brooklyn apartment in the middle of the night. This was one of the reasons it was decided to place Dorothy in Craig Colony. Also my grandmother ( Margaret Coleman O’Donnell ) had a weak heart after suffering a heart attack at age 47 so it was becoming more and more of a challenge for her to keep Dorothy at home. I can only imagine what a difficult decision it was. Maybe this is the reason it was not discussed in much detail. Anne and Dorothy are buried in the Friendsville Cemetery either side of their parents, Margaret (Coleman) and T.J. O’Donnell Craig colony or Craig state school was for folks with seizure disorders. Located in Sonyea, Wyoming County. Can’t prove it not I believe Sonyea was an acronym for state of New York epileptic asylum Dorothy was born in December 1919 and Anne in December 1920 - just one year apart. Dorothy died in 1942

Charles A. Fries Sr. teaching Radio Communications

St. Patrick’s Church

Meg sitting in the spot where St. Patrick’s Church in Middletown Center sat until quite recently. (All that’s left is the cornerstone from 1848 and the graveyard that surrounded the church. Sadly it was torn down and I miss being able to walk up the isle where my grandma, Margaret Mary Coleman, married my grandfather, Thomas J. O’Donnell, on January 19, 1916. The reception followed at my great grandmother’s house but I’m not sure where exactly the house was. I like to fantasize that it was the house in this picture which is a very short distance from the church but my Great-Grandma, Hannah Byrne Coleman was widowed at a young age and left to run a farm and raise 8 children on her own therefore I doubt her house would be so big and elaborate.

Old Black Sailor

On the beautiful country road from the O’Donnell Homestead to Stanley Pond ( now called Stanley Lake ). There is a family story about an incident that occurred when the 3 O’Donnell brothers went to Stanley Pond with their dog, Old Black Sailor. They crafted a little raft out of some twigs and small logs and sent Old Black Sailor for a ride out into the pond. The raft went too far out into the middle of the pond and they couldn’t get it back closer to shore when the sun began to set. Finally, they knew they better get back home before the dinner hour so they reluctantly left Old Black Sailor floating on the raft, fearing that they might not see him again. Since the dog was allowed to wander around the farm, they didn’t say a word about their dilemma to their parents and later that night they went to bed wondering sadly if they would ever see their beloved dog again. When they awoke the next morning and went downstairs they heard some noise at the back door and when they opened it, there was Old Black Sailor in all his glory, a bit water-logged but wagging his tail joyfully!

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Nostalgic trip to the country