Rita's Autobiography - 2

Rita’s Autobiography – 2

Although we enjoyed fairy tales our parents told us, we mostly wanted to hear the stories of their childhood.  “Tell us about when you were little” we begged over and over. Dad recalled his very first day of school. In those days if children were able to assist their grandparents on the farm they were given permission to leave school to help.  Dad’s first day was such a day. His brothers, John and Frank, left class before lunch to assist Grandpa Clark with the haying. Dad was befriended by a little classmate who comforted him and shared her sandwich, peach and cookies with him. This little girl’s act of kindness was never to be forgotten.  Another story we loved was the time that the three brothers spent the day at Stanley’s Pond teasing their big black dog.  They put the dog on a raft and pushed it out to the middle of the pond.  When dusk arrived they called Rover but he refused to budge from the raft. (I had always heard that the dog’s name was something like “Old Black Sailor”). All their coaxing, pleading, and entreating was futile and with heavy hearts they left for home without him.  Next morning you can well imagine their delight to find Rover at the back door wagging his tail. Another of Dad’s favorite winter pastimes was sleigh riding.  Their home was at the top of a huge hill.  The arrival of the first big snow storm meant the beginning of a season of endless frolicking in a winter wonderland just outside their front door.

Mother charmed us with her childhood stories too.  She told us about a year she and her brother, Lawrence, had two Christmas Eve celebrations.  She and Lawrence were visiting their grandparents in St. Joseph’s expecting to spend the entire holiday with them.  (These locations are confusing to me since I thought the Byrnes lived more in Friendsville, but then again it was on some back dirt road heading to St. Joseph’s therefore it might have been considered St. Joseph) Her mother became so lonesome for her two little ones that Grandpa couldn’t bear to see her cry.  He hitched up the team of horses to the sleigh and made the trip of several miles to pick up the children. Mother and Lawrence never forgot the Christmas that Santa came twice.  The big doors of the parlor were opened at the Byrnes and low and behold the Christmas tree stood in the center of the room with toys under the tree for both children.  Next morning when they awakened they found toys for them under their own tree.  Their sleigh ride home fascinated them also. They enjoyed the grandeur of winter cuddled together under a big bear skin rug.

Rita's Autobiography

The lady in the back row with the beautiful dark hair on top of her head is Margaret Mary Coleman

My mother, Rita Mary O’Donnell Fries’ Autobiography

Please note: Any information I added was placed in parenthesis.  

Mother ( Margaret Mary Coleman O’Donnell) was introduced to Dad by his cousin, Elizabeth O’Connell, who was a schoolteacher also.  Mother knew Dad ( TJ O’Donnell) many years before their marriage. She wrote a postcard to Dad in 1909 when  he was working at Binghamton State Hospital (stating that she hoped to see him at the Fair). ( Margaret sent another postcard to TJ in Valhalla, New York c/o B.W.S. Police. The card reads “I am spending a pleasant (?) day at the dentist’s. Sincerely Margaret” I cannot make out the exact date on the postcard but TJ worked as a Patrolman ( shield No. 125) on the Aqueduct at the Board of Water Supply (B.W.S.) City of New York from November 1909 until July 1915 therefore it was sometime within those dates.   (I also found a postcard that possibly appears to be in TJ’s handwriting addressed to Miss Margaret Brown Haversink Ave, Highland, New Jersey, dated June 12, 1912 which says “ I am up at the Works with nothing to do will remember “.

They were not married until the 19^th of January 1916 ( St. Patrick’s Church in Middletown Center ). The day after they married they left for the city where they lived the rest of their married life.  The reception was held at her mother’s ( Hannah Byrne Coleman )  house in Middletown Center, Pa.   I’ve been told their first home was in the Bronx.  Before I was born they moved to 50 Howard Ave, (Brooklyn) the place of my birth.

In the first days of their marriage Dad was in the Real Estate business with a partner ( I do not remember ever hearing this before). I also heard he was a bar tender at one time.   TJ was in the NYPD Class of May 4, 1916 which I found interesting because he married my grandmother, Margaret on January 19, 1916 meaning that he waited to marry her until he was a member of the NYPD.  There is also a postcard dated March 10, 1916 addressed to Mr. and Mrs. J. O’Donnell at 957 Teller Ave New York City so I can only assume this was where they first lived together after their January 1916 wedding ). Mother was a country school teacher for eleven years before her marriage.  After her marriage she never worked outside the home, although we five children arriving within the first five years of her marriage, were the beneficiaries of her expertise.    She had a repertoire of poems that she was able to recite for us, and we were a spellbound audience.  I was the eldest of the five.  The rest arriving in rapid succession – my three sisters followed by our only brother, Joe.  ( Margie came along a little later because she was born after Joe and was the youngest. )

As young children we were especially fond of the Little Toy Dog by Eugene Field, the story of a little boy who died in his sleep and his loyal toy friends remained faithful to him waiting for his return.  ( Sounds like a story that the Irish would like, doesn’t it?) My younger siblings were always in tears before Mother finished her recitation.  Another poem we all loved began with these words, “ When little Bessie Grey was a young, a dear good child was she.” This poem was the story of a little girl who died because of a fall from a hay loft.  ( Gotta love those Irish stories!) We were never able to find a copy of this one. Some of our other favorites were Kentucky Belle, Lasca and Rudyard Kipling’s Gunga Din.

                                                                    Postcard from the Board Of Water Supply ( Valhalla, NY ) 

 Dentist Office Postcard written by Margaret Coleman to TJ O'Donnell in early 1900's

My Aunt Norene (aka Peaches) and her Brother, Francis Coleman, and My Reflections

Norene was born on Oct. 6, 1897 in Middletown Twp.  Her parents were Hannah Byrne and (George) Frank Coleman.   She was a toddler when her father, Frank, died in 1901. (see "a bit of the Coleman Family History" for more details regarding Norene's parents and her siblings).  Norene married James Purtell on 11-3-1920 at St. Patrick's Church in Middletown, Pa.  Jim Purtell had a farm near Little Meadows, Pa., where the family lived up until the time of his death. The couple had seven children and Norene was a homemaker until her husband's untimely death at which point she went to work as an agent for The Prudential Insurance Company. At that time it was very unusual for women to be employed as agents.  Out of necessity, she managed both her job and raising a family.  (Please note: the above information is taken from the Curley Reunion Green Book published in 1980 and 1989).  The following thoughts are my own:
The Coleman women seemed to have been a hardy bunch.  I guess they took after their mother, Hannah "Work" Coleman.

November 8, 2019 - I came across some typewritten notes in some of the memorabilia boxes I inherited from my parents' basement.  One of the papers included some of my reflections regarding my great Aunt Aunt Norene Eleanor Coleman Purtell.  I had jotted down some of my thoughts and remembrances when I heard that she had died.  My notes appear to end rather abruptly and possibly there is something more somewhere in the house. But, I decided that now may be the time for others to add some of their own reflections and memories of a wonderful woman. 

When I heard that my Aunt Norene died I felt lonesome for myself, but happy for Aunt Norene. I could imagine seeing her being joyfully greeted with open arms by her family in heaven. I sensed she was more than ready to leave this earth and she wanted very much to be there in heaven.
The last time I saw Aunt Norene I wanted to ask her to give my Grandmother Margaret a hug for me. I never said it aloud but somehow I knew she heard my inner voice. Aunt Norene had a certain sensitivity for hearing what was in one’s heart. I know my Grandma O’Donnell was thrilled to see her younger sister once again. I could envision them smiling as they hugged each other after so many years.
I laid awake in bed that night as memories flooded my mind. All my senses were filled with my Aunt Norene. I could see Norene busily working in the big farmhouse kitchen, stacking wood in the old,  iron stove, and I could smell the delicious aromas of a freshly baked berry pie. What beautiful first memories of a beautiful woman.
I could hear the rosary being recited as we all knelt together around a table by the front window in  living room on Evelyn Street in Johnson City.  As we prayed, I could feel the warm, summer night breezes sweep over my shoulders as Our Blessed Mother stood in the center of this little altar, watching over us.  It was ever so peaceful and soothing.
I could taste Aunt Norene's home-made, "Hannah (Work) Coleman's Molasses Brown Bread.  It wasn't until years later that I discovered that exact taste again on a trip to Ireland.  I don't know what I did with that often-used recipe, so please share it with me if any of you happen to have it.
I felt the warmth of being hugged close to her bosom. No one who has had the privilege of an Aunt Norene hug can ever forget the sheer joy of its comfort.
I could hear her unique, wholehearted laugh.  My spirit lifted as I heard it again.
I started to think how interesting it was that Aunt Norene never seemed "old" to me.  Her spirit always remained young. I could talk to her about anything. I didn't have weigh my words or censor my thoughts. With my great Aunt Norene, I could be myself.  She never judged me harshly. As a matter of fact, didn't she always give everyone the benefit of the doubt?
I thanked God that Aunt Norene was close by when I waited anxiously to see if our son, Brian, was really going to be ours.  As I waited his adoption, her support was invaluable and a true gift.
Although her life was not always easy, I never heard Aunt Norene complain. Her strength was phenomenal. She was the last surviving link from her generation to the next.  Even recurring cancer couldn't take her until she was ready to go.
I remember her scrabble games, her delicious meals - especially that yummy chicken and dumplings my husband and I enjoyed around the table in the house she shared with her sister, Mae.  I remember her unpretentious expressions of faith and the those tiny tomato plant seedlings she planted in her driveway on Floral Avenue every Good Friday. Even the soil seemed to respond to my Aunt Norene. Honestly, who else could grow such glorious tomatoes in a tiny strip of dirt between a driveway and the side of a house?
I remember her courage, her youthfulness, her lovely silver hair which she arranged so beautifully on the top of her head.
I remember the Mary Kay make-up party at her kitchen table, her wonderful tales of her youth and the enlightening stories about her ancestors......
 

Since I have been focusing on my Aunt Norene the last couple of days, a couple more memories have resurfaced. Since my purpose is to share a little about this special woman so future generations might know something about her, I will add these memories to this blog entry.

One very simple memory - I remember being surprised by the fact that she kept the butter in a dish on a shelf in her kitchen rather than in the refrigerator. I had never seen that done before. 

One story I remember only vaguely was nonetheless fascinating.  I don’t recall a lot of the details but this true life tale made me realizes that young people hadn’t changed all that much over these many years.  One day when the Coleman teens were planning to attend a long anticipated dance that evening, a letter arrived from Ireland.  The young people, realizing that the letter probably contained news of a relative’s death in the “old country”, decided to hide the letter until the next day so that they could attend the dance. If the older folks heard the news of this somber event, it would have been considered inappropriate for the younger generation to attend the dance.  They danced that night and the older generation was none the wiser when the letter was presented to them the next day! 

Another time, Aunt Norene was taking a trip in the car with Bob and me and I was lamenting the fact that at this time of year the trees were barren and brown.  She said that it was actually the look she enjoyed the most since it was peaceful and restful and restorative.  I learned a lot from this woman even though in the time our lives overlapped, I didn’t get to spend an immense amount of time with her.  I can only imagine that those who knew her best have some amazing memories they could share. 

Aunt Norene died 11-15-

 

Reprehensible Behavior Sends a False Message

I had always hoped that I could look to the president of our country with respect, pride and admiration. As of Jan. 20, sadly, this is not the case. Instead, I see a man who is more like a misbehaved teenager and spoiled brat, the type of person I would suggest my own grandson stay clear of in his school environment or circle of friends.

I see a guy who has shown not only my grandson but all children – and not only in this country but globally – that in order to, in his words, “make America great again,” one has to lie, cheat, abuse, insult, bully and ignore. President Donald Trump demonstrates how to threaten and be disrespectful of others.

Watching him throughout the campaign, I was horrified by his nasty, insulting rhetoric. His obnoxious words are seared in my brain forever. Since his election, he has not done a thing to warrant my respect. Officially cloaking him in the role of president does not automatically change him and until such time as he demonstrates behavior deserving of respect, I cannot and will not acknowledge or accept him as “my president.” I feel that it only gives a false message to the children of our country, a message that shouts loud and clear – one can behave in a dreadful and depraved way, but bad behavior will still be rewarded.

Mary Beth Buchner

Rita’s Red Notebook

My mother’s notes:

The following paragraph was written by my maternal grandmother ( Margaret M. Coleman ) in a book that contains a record of my grandmother’s expenditures and contains information from 1909 to 1932. 

“ Tuesday, Sept. 6, 1911 

Commenced teaching at Baldwin’s school. The day is going off rather slowly as I have but four pupils.  It is cold and dark and gloomy today. We have the threshers at home.” 

The following is my mother’s ( Rita O’Donnell Fries ) handwriting:

In February 1901 Frank Coleman slipped on a huge, icy boulder sustaining a compound fracture of the leg. He seemed to be well on the road to recovery, in fact, the Doctor had given him permission to get up the next day, when approximately six weeks later, on Good Friday evening, April 2, 1901, while reading in bed with his little daughter, Noreen, he died unexpectedly of a blood clot, (I believe it was called apoplexy).  When Frank died suddenly at the age of 39, he left his wife, Hannah ByrneColeman with seven children and one on the way - Kathleen was born in September 1901, six months after father’s death. 

My grandmother, Margaret M. Coleman, who was fourteen years old at the time, was home with her Mom and Dad and little sister, Noreen when her Dad dropped the book and fell back on his pillow. None of the boys were home at the time, and Margaret ran alone to try to get help but to no avail as Frank had died instantly of a blood clot. Hannah Byrne Coleman, who was only 35 years old at the time of Frank’s death, was a brave, energetic, loving woman raised eight children alone.  Since Margaret was the oldest (14 years old - having been born on February 16, 1887)much of the responsibility fell on her shoulders. 

Her brother, Lawrence, was born a year after Margaret, on March 31, 1888, and the relationship between Lawrence and Margaret was a close and loving one.  My grandmother told my Mother that she was closer to Lawrence than to any of her other brothers and sisters. 

After Christopher (Chris), came Martin (Mart), Anna May,  Francis, Norine (? Noreen). There were two other children who died in infancy (one was named Mary). Kathleen, the youngest, was born posthumously, in September 1901. 

My Father describes his work activities in his early days with Queens College, Flushing, NY

This is a section taken from a draft letter written in pencil on scrap paper  (I can only surmise that it was recopied in pen on nicer stationery before being mailed to a guy named Bill,  that my Dad ( Charles A. Fries Sr) worked with at Devega ( A company involved with radios) 

“ A few words on history of CF ( i.e., Charles Fries )to keep you up to date. I became a Lab Assistant at QC ( i.e., Queens College) in 1938. A year or two later, the whole works was made civil service and my title was changed to Jr. Physicist- same duties. Then came the war and I became an Extension Division ( Evening Session) instructor of Radio Communications. In addition I taught radio to two classes of E. S. M. W. T. on alternate evenings. All the students were members of the Signal Corps Reserve. This was similar to the “ 63 Park Row” plan - but not the same. Then the A.S.T.P. moved into Queens College and I was made a full time instructor teaching Physics to the G.I.’s “ 

This A.S.T.P. teaching gave me a good salary and kept the draft board away. ......About two weeks ago the whole army educational program collapsed and all our soldiers “ joined the army”. The A.S.T.P. teachers are being absorbed by the research divisions of the larger colleges , and the remainder are getting commissions. I expect to go to Columbia University ‘s Radiation s Labs to work on radar. I already have the offer but am not yet released by Q.C. I hope I get re-established quite soon, because my 2A runs out in May and if things break the wrong way my new address will read “ Pvt Charles Fries”, etc. 

Somewhere in the above history I should have mentioned that I almost became an Associate Physicist ( P 3)  at Camp Evans, Belmar, N.J.  I wrote letters of recommendation s for my radio students to this Camp. Thus they got my name and sent me an offer of an immediate appointment as an Assistant Physicist ( P 2 ). I went there two times, bickering with them for a P3, ( a P2 was then effectively a cut in salary) but nothing came of it since Q.C. would not give me a leave of absence. Without this leave of absence I would have lost my civil service status.They told me my duties were to impact radar installations along the eastern coast. ( Little did they know how little I knew about radar installations.) 

Tomorrow I am going to look over a 300 watt “ Ham” transmitters. It is owned by W2LMN who is going overseas as a B-26 pilot. He used to work for me in the Physics Dept. and says he is giving me ( or this Dept) 1st crack at his equipment. He wants $100 for his outfit. If you are interested, let me know and I’ll give you more dope in the next letter.”

Facts about Guns

Gun-Related Injury Facts

• Nearly 1,300 children younger than 18 years of age die from shootings every year.
• 1 in 3 families with children have at least one gun in the house. It is estimated that there are more than 22 million children living in homes with guns.
• Most of the victims of unintentional shootings are boys. They are usually shot by a friend or relative, especially a brother.
• Nearly 40% of all unintentional shooting deaths among children 11-14 years of age occur in the home of a friend.
• Adolescents are at a higher risk for suicide when there is a gun in the home.

Myths About Guns

• Some parents believe that hiding their guns will prevent children from accessing them. However, 75% of children who live in homes with guns know where they are stored.
• Many parents think their children are not capable of firing a gun. However, children as young as 3 years old may be strong enough to pull the trigger of a handgun.
• Parents believe their children know the difference between real guns and toy guns, but in 16% of unintentional firearm deaths among children younger than 13 years of age, the gun was mistaken for a toy.
• Parents often believe their child would not touch a gun because “he knows better.” However, studies have found that most children will handle a gun if they find one, even if they have been taught not to.
• Some parents consider non-powder guns, like BB, pellet, and paintball guns, to be toys. These guns, which can fire at the speed of traditional guns, lead to nearly 22,000 injuries each year, especially eye injuries.

Gun Safety Tips

• The best way to keep your children safe from guns is to remove all guns from the home.
• If a gun is in the house, always keep it unloaded and locked. It should be out of reach and sight of children. Keep ammunition and guns locked in separate locations, not together.
• Safety devices, including gun locks, lock boxes and gun safes, should be used for every gun in the house.
• Storage keys and lock combinations should be hidden from children.
• Before visiting friends and relatives, ask if they have guns in their homes. If so, make sure they keep their guns unloaded and locked as well.
• Never leave children unsupervised in a home with a gun.

A Good Guy with a Gun

A Good Guy with a Gun 

I must admit I am biased when it comes to guns. Sometimes a personal experience will influence the way one thinks.  No matter what arguments to the contrary, this life event left deep-seated emotional scars that influenced my thinking.  

I remember walking into the hospital room on the 8th floor Pediatric Unit at St. Vincent’s Hospital in NYC and seeing the dark haired, handsome little boy lying in the  bed closest to the window. His family members sat by his bedside for hours on end. Even though visiting hours were rather stringent in the decade of the 60’s, we bent the rules for this little boy and his family.   Their sorrow was palpable even though it was obvious they were trying to mask it for the sake of Anthony.  Any smile I observed was plastic and weird.  The child still seemed “normal”.  I don’t remember if this young boy was even aware of the reality of his condition.  I don’t know if any of us adults, family and staff included, could honestly internalize the horrendous reality in front of us.  Sometimes in life you can’t recall every last detail of an experience but you can feel the overwhelming emotional pain that surrounded it. That is the part that stays enmeshed in your heart and soul forever.  This was the case in this incident. 

Anthony was probably 10 years old when he found the hidden gun and went to get the bullets that had been carefully hidden in another part of the house.  The gun belonged to his Grandfather.  I remember him as a gentle, loving man, a “good guy” by every stretch of the imagination. Now he sat at the head of his grandson’s bed, a broken man, a man who would never be whole again.   Little boys that age are inquisitive, and a lot of the time they are smarter than you think.  Anthony got a bullet in that gun and accidentally shot himself through the neck.  In medical terminology, Anthony, was now a quadriplegic.   It is easier for me to say that term than to define its meaning. Anthony could not move his arms or his legs and he would never, ever move them again.  Believe me when I say, having known the particulars of the story, this family was as good as any other family on earth. I am infuriated when people brush it off as negligence or act like this could never happen to them because they would be much more careful and responsible.  Accidents happen.  Not one of us is perfect. I know this man was a good guy with a gun.  But I know more than anything else in this world, he wished he never had that gun.   

This experience that colored my thoughts and feelings about guns was so heart-wrenching that it is hard to describe without reliving the pain.  

I remember it as a Living Wake on Pediatrics. 

The Decker Brothers - Meeting Mrs. Stanley Decker

The Decker Brothers - Meeting Mrs. Stanley Decker

Almost immediately the door is opened for me and I am invited inside by the Lady of the house.  I guess I was rather excited and nervous as I actually don’t remember for certain what I did next. I believe I handed over “Golden” who was still on the other end of my I-phone,  lending his encouragement and support.   It was as if he was it my ticket of entry as I tried to explain who I was and why I was at her doorstep. ( Who was I anyway? Some crazy old woman reminiscing about a brief but splendid summer romance that took place on a beautiful, serene lake decades earlier. ) This magical, coming-of-age experience left a lasting impression on me and the result was the “Story of the Decker Brothers” which somehow took on a life of its own.   I believe it made an impression on a lot of other people precisely because it is about love, which we realize, as we get near the end of our lives, is really the only thing that actually mattered all along. 

Mrs. Stanley Decker, i.e.,Tammy,  was very warm and most welcoming and for some reason, I didn’t feel that I was a stranger to her.   We chatted excitedly as if we were old friends and when I looked over her shoulder and noticed a young woman on the couch behind her,  she said, “ Oh this is Amara, she is a  young woman I take care of during the week.”  She called her son into the living room so I could see how much he looked like his Dad, Stanley. And, yes there is a striking resemblance! 

I explained quickly that that I was hoping to visit her husband, Stanley’s grave in the Afton Cemetery but I needed to hurry since my cousin was sitting in the car next to the Sunoco Station and she had absolutely no idea where I went. The truth of the matter was that my cousin, Sharon was literally ready to call the police to report a missing person. I had left the car to get better reception on my IPhone and when I never returned, Sharon went back into the little convenience store connected to the Sunoco Station looking for me. The attendant said I didn’t come  back into the store and at this point Sharon thought the whole thing seemed a bit like an episode out of “ The Twilight Zone”.  

Mrs. Tammy Decker gave me verbal directions on how to get to the correct cemetery and also explained approximately where her husband was buried. Because I was in a excited, hurried state of mind, my ability to focus was impaired and although I actually found the cemetery, I couldn’t locate Stanley Decker’s final resting place.  

I have been in touch with Tammy and I dare say we seem to be  kindred spirits. I imagine that one day we will meet again and she may escort me to Stanley’s

grave  and I can pay my respects and say a final goodbye.