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.”

Rita and Charlie's 77th Anniversary

77 years ago today my parents married.  My Dad said my Mom looked like the cat that swallowed the canary that day in 1940.  I'd say she still had that same look when they renewed their marriage vows at Our Lady of Mercy Church in Colonie, NY on their 50th Anniversary in October 1990.   Father John Waldron presided that day.  Get a load of the prices for the wedding menu.

Fun Facts about my Father

• My Dad, Charles Anthony Fries, Sr.,  would always go out to get our Christmas trees at the "11th hour" on Christmas Eve.  I think he felt sorry for the scrawny, unclaimed trees leaning against the fence on the corner lot.   It was cold and those poor trees looked so lonely.  It didn’t hurt that they cost nothing or pretty close to it, but I don’t think that was his primary reason for waiting until the stand was closing down for the season.   There was something exhilarating about running out at the last minute that excited him.   By the world’s standards we might have had the barest, skinniest, sickliest looking tree in all of Brooklyn, but we loved our tree nevertheless.

• Speaking of Christmas, in the late afternoon on Christmas Eve, my parents would also rush to Myrtle Avenue in Ridgewood, Queens to finish their remaining Christmas present purchases.   I use the term “remaining” loosely since a rather large part of the gifts were bought as they quickly ran from store to store in an excited, somewhat stressful fashion.  We would bring the items home and hurriedly wrap them to bring next door for the “exchange” at the annual Christmas Eve get-together at my Grandpa Fries’ house. 

• My Dad was rather protective of his family.  When we were young children, he had us kids stand on a table and twirl around and around with our arms over our heads as he wrapped each one of us in a blanket and secured it firmly down the side with large safety pins.  God forbid we get a chill during the night!   I guess in retrospect it could be seen as a bit confining but at the time I don’t remember minding it at all.   

• My Dad always believed that “function” was paramount and “looks” didn’t really matter.  If it works, who cares what it looks like?  So for most of my growing up years, the water spigots in our one and only bathtub, in our one and only bathroom, were turned on with pliers which we rested  on the side of the bathtub.  There were no knobs on the hot and cold water faucets, only some sort of screws coming out of the wall and these were turned on by using the pliers.  Hey, it worked; we were still able to take baths.  My sister recently reminded me that the bathtub contained another interesting peculiarity - hot water came out of the cold water spout and cold water came out of the hot water spout.  Till this day, we both still have trouble figuring out faucets.  It makes life a little bit more interesting though. 

• Whenever we sat in the Dining Room (which was a lot since we had company all the time) my Dad sat at one end of the dining room table.   Roast beef, roast turkey and roast chicken were frequent choices for a company dinner, and my father was the primary meat carver.   These company dinners were noisy, crowded, joyous events at 62 Interboro Parkway and my father’s style of carving and serving the meat only added to the excitement.   “Do you want some more meat?” he would say, hoping he’d get a positive response.   When a guest said “yes’, he’d say, “hold out your plate”, and with one well-coordinated movement, he’d slice the meat, pick up the knife and fling the sliced meat across the table onto your plate.  Rarely did he miss, even if the meat was going to the opposite end of the table.   Dinner was fun at our house.

• The photo above was taken in 1936 ( my Dad was 19 years old )the backyard at my father's house ( 8 Vermont Ave - name was changed to  62 Interboro Parkway in the late 30's and more recently changed to the Jackie Robinson Pkwy) 

Hi Poppi

Connor called me the other night to tell me that the Harp music box that he had gotten from Poppi's house started playing by itself.  He said that it happened twice and no one was near it.  I said, "Connor, did you know that this is the anniversary of  Poppi's death?"  There was complete silence on the other end of the phone and after a minute or so, he answered,  "No, Mema, I didn't know."
Before he hung up I asked to speak to my daughter, Diane.  She said, "Mom, it was really strange. It was up on a shelf in the dining room and no one was near it when it started to play spontaneously. It never happened before and I hadn't touched it".
She wondered if Poppi was saying, "Hi"Connor liked that explanation and so do I. 

A Glimpse into Rita and Charlie’s Married Life

Last night I sat in the recliner in my family room while decades of cancelled checks gave me an overview of my parents’ life together.   I realize that my parents could certainly be categorized as “pack rats”.   In all honesty, it appeared that they never seemed to part with anything; every single piece of paper that entered the house remained there forever.   

Interestingly though, in many ways they were extremely organized.  My Mom had an intricately cataloged library she created for St. Michael’s Parish in East NY Brooklyn many years ago.  The library is partly contained - I say partly since it quickly outgrew this one bookcase - in a home-made wooden bookshelf that my father had specifically built for this purpose.  This bookshelf is a rather elaborate thing; folds like a book; can be locked, and is on wheels for easier transport.  Every book is meticulously numbered.  I can only imagine how much time this entire operation must have required.  The sad part is my parents ran out of room for all this stuff and this marvelous co-creation ended up mildewed in the basement. 

So when my son – who continues to work diligently on the monumental task of cleaning out my parents’ basement - handed me a shoebox of canceled checks and deposit record logs to shred or burn, I just couldn’t resist.   I had to look them over.   I just had to.   

Talk about organized!  Every month of every year since 1962 is folded away neatly inside that month’s Checking Account Statement from the bank.   Each little packet contains the canceled checks from that particular month, stapled together and attached to the statement.  Then a rubber band holds the activities of that month all neatly together.  On the outside of the packet in my Dad’s distinctive print is written the month and year.   As an example, I picked up a little packet labeled Nov 1983.  It was a busy month apparently.  A lot of checks were written and the packet is a bit bigger than some other months.  The Checking Account Statement is from the Queens County Savings Bank of Flushing, NY. This information alone reminds me of my father’s typical routine.  Although he officially retired from his position as Physics Assistant and Adjunct Physics Professor at Queens College in Flushing, NY in 1976, he loved that job and that place and had a permanent desk there.  On his way back and forth from work (he always loved going against the traffic and away from NYC) he would stop at a local supermarket to buy the groceries and do the banking.  This simple bank statement reminded me of this time.  It was a pleasant memory for me.  There were many other mostly pleasant memories that were provoked as I “looked” quickly through the days and the months, and the years.  

I easily gleaned a feeling, once again - I say once again as I guess I knew this already- of the type of people Rita and Charlie were.  Not surprisingly, where you spend your money says a lot about you.  Certainly there were a bunch of practical requirements of life in the 20^th century represented in these checks – The New York Telephone Company – Nov 7, 1983 check # 1597 - $47.66; The Brooklyn Union Gas Co. check # 1598 - $30.14       In that month alone, my parents wrote checks for the following “charitable” donations: The Maryknoll Sisters - $10 (my parents sent money to the Maryknoll Sisters religiously for decades probably because my mother was prouder than a peacock that her mother’s first cousin – her cousin once removed – was Mother Mary Coleman, the Mother General of the Maryknoll Sisters from 1959 until 1971.

There was a check # 1602 for $25 for the “Oblate Missions” – This check has “IMO, Anna Dannenhoffer “written in small print in the left hand corner of the check so it is obviously something my father’s Aunt Anna (his father’s sister) requested.  This reminds me of the fact that my father did a heck of a lot of things for a heck of a lot of people and it makes me think that Aunt Anna probably didn’t do checks.

There was a check for “The Sacred Heart League” for $10.  I believe that my parents subscribed to a magazine entitled, The Sacred Heart Messenger. There was a check for “Our Sunday Visitor” which I believe was a Catholic Newspaper periodical.  Over all these decades of checks I could observe that apparently my parents read a lot about being Catholic or at least they subscribed to a lot of Catholic literature.  

There was a check for $5 for “The Society of the Divine Savior” I don’t know why other than that my parents were Catholic through and through.  Possibly my mother knew a priest or brother connected with this organization.  She was always befriending one priest or another. Once, the parish priest at St. Michael’s in East New York told my mother she was more religious than the Pope (or something along those lines).  

There was a check for “Our Sunday Visitor” which I believe was a Catholic Newspaper periodical.  Over all these decades of checks I could observe that they apparently read a lot about being Catholic.

There was a check for $25 for the “Nat’l Committee of Catholic Laymen”. I like to think this had something to do with the Vatican II philosophy that we, the people, are just as much the Incarnation of Christ as any of the priests and bishops.  

There is a $20 check to the “Bishop’s Diocesan Support Appeal”.   It is still a “big deal” annual appeal today in 2015.  I wonder how long this appeal has been going on.  And, not to be rude, I wonder how much of this money has been used to pay for retribution to Sex Abuse victims.  Nonetheless, Bob & I still give to this Appeal as we don’t want the poor to suffer because of the sins of the father.  Hope never dies!

There is a $10 check to Misericordia – Heart of Mercy and in the memo section it says in my Dad’s handwriting “ATT: SISTER ROSEMARY.  I assume this was a nun he/they befriended unless it had something to do with my Dad’s younger sister, Rosemary Fries McBride.   This reminds me that my Father chauffeured the nuns around his entire life.  He took them wherever they wanted to go and when they said, “jump”, he said, “how high”? I know he believed that catering to the Sisters would get him into heaven.  He wanted me to enter the convent, for that very reason.  If I became a nun, he would have a sure ticket through those Pearly Gates.  As most of you know, I was far from a nun so my Dad had to earn heaven in another way.

There is a check for St. Michael’s Community Church for $5 and in the memo is written “raffle”.   St. Michael the Archangel was the parish in East New York Brooklyn that I grew up in. This is the parish that my father grew up in. It is on Jerome Street and it is a beautiful structure inside and out, built by German immigrants in? (I’ll have to look this up again).  I have compared every other church and every other Catholic experience to this church and these experiences. I dare say, so did my father. My mother had experiences in a previous Church that she knew and loved- Our Lady of Good Counsel in the Bushwich section of Brooklyn. Rita married Charlie there on Oct. 19^th 1940.  Nonetheless, while she raised her children, St. Michael’s became her church home.   

This is far from over but I have to do other things - like shower, clean closets, etc.  

Does this mean anything to anyone? I wonder out loud but I guess it doesn't really matter in a way, since it means something to me and no one forces you to read it.  I want to believe that our lives matter and that the people who came before us and on whose shoulders we stood, should not disintegrate entirely into dust.  Who they were and what was important to them influences who we are today and what we will be in the future.