Today in my "massive house clean-up", I came across this article about my maternal grandfather, T.J. O'Donnell. It is obviously from an old newspaper clipping and it is rapidly disintegrating, therefore, before I retire for the evening, I will type a copy of it into my Blog in an attempt to preserve the information for future generations. It does not contain a date or the name of the newspaper.
MANY ARE RESCUED IN DASH OF RUNAWAY
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Bravery of Patrolman Thomas J. O'Donnell Saves Lives of Woman and Child.
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OFFICER HIMSELF INJURED.
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Grasps Horse and Succeeds in Throwing It to Ground.
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A woman, her five-year-old son and a policeman narrowly escaped serious injury yesterday afternoon when a horse ran wild in Fulton street, between Albany and Tompkins avenues, and imperiled the safety of scores of pedestrians, who ran to safety in hallways or stores.
The woman, Mrs. Bertha O. Floyd, 25 years old, of 1490 Atlantic avenue, and her son, Frank, Jr., sustained bruises of the face and body when they were hurled from the path of the onrushing animal by Patrolman Thomas J. O'Donnell, of Atlantic avenue station, who grasped the horse about the neck.
The patrolman was dragged about a block before he managed to turn the animal into Kingston avenue, where he headed it toward a stone wall. As the animal reared at the wall, the wagon turned over and the horse fell on its side. The policeman, bruised, and his uniform badly torn, climbed on the horse and sat on its head until people came to his rescue and helped him hold it.
Mrs. Floyd and her son were attended by Dr. Marcus, of Jewish Hospital, who had been summoned by Patrolman O'Donnell. The patrolman had escaped serious injury and refused medical attention to bruises.
The horse, owned by Morris Levine, of 293 Ellery street, a painter, was attached to a wagon and had been left in Fulton street near Albany avenue by the driver, Isadore Lowenthal, of 494 East 139th street, the Bronx. It was reported the horse might have been frightened by the whistle of an elevated train overhead, which caused it to start on a mad rampage down the street.
Patrolman O'Donnell had heard the cries of woman and children as they rushed to safety. He saw the animal dashing down the street, with the wagon swaying from one side to the other of the street. Directly in the path of the animal was Mrs. Floyd and her son.
The patrolman ran across the street and bolted over the woman and boy just in time to prevent them from being run down. At the same time he reached up and clasped his arms around the neck of the animal, and by turning the horse's head directed it toward the stone wall.
Isn't this photo adorable? On the back of the photo, in my mother's hand-writing it says "probably 1923 at Coleman Reunion".
Life is amazing, isn't it?
Who, on that warm summer day in Friendsville, Pa., would ever have guessed what life was going to hold for the five children in this photograph?
A lot of water has gone under the bridge as the years passed quickly by. There are many glorious, intriguing tales that need to be told.
Feel free to join in on the story telling. Please teach your children and your grandchildren all about these wonderful people who walked this earth before them.
Yesterday, I stopped in to see my "old" friends from my last job at the NYS Dept. of Health Nursing Home Complaint Hotline and Case Resolution Bureau and I brought them bagels, Irish Soda Bread and some Chocolate Chip Cheesecake. Everyone was happy to see me and my food supplies!!
There is an interesting phenomenon at State Agencies. If ever you have food lying around the house and you don't know what to do with it, simply bring it into a State Agency and leave it unattended and, by the end of the day and possibly sooner, it will disappear completely and magically. It is a marvelous thing for someone like me who can not throw out even a rusted paperclip.
I love to see someone appreciate the things I can't eat or can't use anymore. It makes it so much easier for me to part with "my wonderful stuff". I especially like to return things to their original or "rightful" owners. If you sent me a letter in your youth or childhood, you may be seeing it once again. It is not that I don't appreciate your letters or your words to me. Rather, it is just that I consider them so precious and so priceless that I cannot, for the life of me, throw them out. Maybe your kids will want to read them, or maybe you will want to read them again and get a glimpse back into your long ago past. Whatever the case, if I do send you something that you gave me years ago, do not be insulted or offended. Rather, know that it means, simply and honestly, that I am getting up in years and since I can't take it with me to the great beyond, I do not want it to one day end up in the dumpster. So here is the requested recipe for the Cheesecake:
Chocolate Chip Cheese Cake
Topping:
8 ounce package of cream cheese ( you could try using a little more cream cheese to make it richer if you want)
1 egg, unbeaten
6 ounce package of chocolate chips
½ cup sugar
1/8 tsp salt
Beat cream cheese, and then add egg, sugar and salt. Beat until well-blended. Stir in Chocolate chips and set aside.
Cake:
1 & ½ cups flour
1 cup sugar
¼ cup unsweetened cocoa
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp vanilla extract
½ tsp salt
1 cup water
½ cup vegetable oil (I use canola)
1 tsp apple cigar or white vinegar
Blend together all the cake ingredients. The batter will be rather thin (that’s as it should be). Pour into an 8 inch square pan which has been generously greased and floured. Drop the topping by spoonfuls over the cake batter and the spread evenly.
Bake at 350 degrees for 50 minutes. Cut in squares after cooling.
I almost always have the all the above ingredients on hand at home (except maybe for the cream cheese which I then have to run out and buy) so this is a quick and easy, “from scratch” recipe that can be made for any number of occasions. If you want to serve it as a dessert after a nice dinner, you can dress it up and make it more decadent by melting some chocolate chips with a tiny bit of milk in the microwave (cook for about a minute and a half on power level 6 or 7 and then stir to blend). You can even add a tsp or two of an orange liquor to add some special flavor to the chocolate. Spoon the mixture over each serving and top with whipped cream from the can. Boy is that good!
I will be attending a wedding shower tomorrow and it has me thinking about the topic of love and marriage. They go together like a horse and carriage, now don't they?
Recently I heard a homily about love and about faith and I thought it was very interesting and very true. The "feeling" of love, like the feeling of faith, can be fleeting and fickle and can wax and wain.
When I was young I use to think that as soon as my "feelings"were gone then that meant I no longer loved that person. I would break up with the guy or he would break up with me and I would be looking for "love" again. After awhile I realized that this "feeling", although exciting and exhilarating, was not all there is to "love".
I know it doesn't sound terribly romantic but I believe that when a couple marry they basically make a decision to love each other. They take a vow to continue to make the decision to love each other each and every day even when the "feelings" of love aren't there. They know that love is an action verb and so they continue to put one foot in front of the other and walk the walk.
Someone gave me this prayer many moons ago and I say it regularly. In case you have never seen it, I thought I would share it with you in my blog. Hope it works as well for you as it has worked for me.
Lord, bless and preserve my cherished husband whom you have given to me;
let his life be long and blessed, comfortable and holy;
let me ever be a blessing and a comfort to him, a sharer in all his sorrows, a consolation in all the accidents and trials of life;
make me forever lovable in his eyes and forever dear to him; unite his heart to mine in fondest love and holiness, and mine to him in all sweetness, charity and submission*.
Keep me from all ungentleness.
Make me humble and obedient* that we may delight in each other according to your blessed word.
May both of us rejoice in You, having our portion in the love and service of God forever. Amen
*These parts I have trouble with as I see marriage more as a partnership than a dictatorship. Yet, I am old-fashioned enough to believe that the husband is the “Head” of the family whereas the wife is the “Heart”. I like to believe that the final decision/authority about anything of real importance in their life together would be mutually agreed upon (whenever and wherever possible) before it is completed.
I would also like to believe that the man I married would feel the same way as I do about this and I believe he does.
Connor helps Bob blow out the candles on his 64th Birthday
His true date of birth is June 7th, 1947. His mother told me and she was there.
Shortly after I met Bob in late December 1969, (actually I first met him briefly the month before but once again that is another story) he asked me how old I was. I told him the truth and said, " I'm 24, I'll be 25 in March." Then I asked him the next logical question, "And, how old are you? "
Knowing my age, and being fearful I would think he was too young for me (and I would have!), he added a year to his age.
Several months later (in May 1970) as we were sitting around a table with a group of his friends at Rodney Dangerfield'sComedy Club in Manhattan, his friend, Margaret, said, "Bobby, your birthday is coming up soon and you'll be 23 years old, right?" I started to correct Margaret while at the same time I looked over at Bob expecting that he would chime in with the accurate information. I could tell immediately by the look of horror on Bob's face that Margaret had her facts correct. What a way for me to find out the truth!
Here I was an older woman of 25 and Bob was still only a 22 years old kid. But, by then, it was much too late. Even though I was none too happy with this bold faced lie, I was already "in too deep". He explained that when we met he liked me and he didn't want to loose me because of his age. I listened to his rationale and decided to forgive him. So now "Dishonest Bob" is stuck with an older woman. See what happens when you lie.
My memory fades behind the curtain of so many years; a lot of different vacations seem to blend together in my mind. However, I do remember certain things about that particular visit to the Ellison household.
At that moment in time, Nonie and Greydon had two rather interesting and inquisitive teenage girls, and a rather rambunctious, outspoken adolescent boy.Both the girls, Judy and Terry, had striking red hair.Judy, the older of the two, had shorter, straight hair which was a bit more subdued in color; she wore glasses and seemed to be in charge. Terry was younger- but not by much- and she had a head full of wild, red curls.That should have warned me.You know what they say about redheads!
Initially, I sensed that they were eying us carefully from a bit of a distance.Possibly having four relative strangers as overnight guests (and for several nights too) was not their idea of a good time. Here we were invading their home and their space and their privacy. Who knows, maybe they were even thrown out of their bedrooms to make room for the “Downstate Guests”. Come to think of it, I'll have to ask them about that. I actually don’t remember where we all slept while we were there although I know for certain that Bob and I did not sleep together. Remember this was in 1970 and we were not married, and in 1970 you didn’t sleep together before you were married.
During that stay on LeRoy Street, I remember that my Aunt Anne O'Donnell and her cousin Nonie (Judy and Terry's Mom) spent a great deal of time sitting on the back porch, smoking and drinking and talking for what seemed like hours and hours on end. Boy, could those two talk!
I also remember taking "little Rickie" to the drag races. Actually, even though Bob did the driving and Rickie was just a kid, he very much took us to this event. Rickie certainly could talk too and he seemed blissfully happy to be able to explain all the particulars of drag racing to a neophyte such as myself. I had never before been to a drag race and, as a matter of fact, I haven't been to one since. Oh the wonderful things you get to do "up in the country".
I remember at one point during our visit, when Judy and Terry got up a little closer to us, Bob and I stood in the kitchen chit-chatting with them as they shared their tales about their boyfriends and the wonders of living on the marvelous west side (of Binghamton). For those of you who don't know Bob very well, I have to say, he is a fantastic interviewer and it has always amazed me the questions he can ask with relative ease and immunity. And, for those of you who don't know Judy and Terry very well, they are one of the best tag teams I have ever met. And I mean that as a true compliment. They go together like peaches and cream or peanut butter and jelly. You can't imagine one without the other.
I remember Bob and I took a lot of walks around the neighborhood during that visit to the Ellison's and I think we even had a fight or two. Eventually our visit was over and we returned to the hustle and bustle of the BigApple and our usual work-a-day week.
It wasn't until many years later that we discovered that my dear, sweet, "innocent" boyfriend had been given the infamous label of "Dishonest Bob from New York City". One day when Bob -who was by now my dear sweet, "innocent" husband- was driving Terry- who was now a sophisticated college student attending courses at State University at Albany- from Binghamton to Albany, New York, Terry shared the following story (and I paraphrase it since I have heard it second and third hand).
It seems that shortly after our LeRoy Street "invasion" back in 1970, Terry went to put on her favorite little ring, and, horrors of horrors, it was missing! It was a lovely pearl ring, and it had great sentimental value to her. She loved that ring as only a teenage girl can love a ring. I understand Terry, I really do, I know the feeling well, I was once a teenage girl with a favorite piece of jewlrey and God forbid it should go missing. Cost is not the issue here, it is what it means to you. And, as a young teenager, at that moment in your life, it is of ultimate importance.
OK, so now you accept the fact that the ring is indeed missing. You've looked everywhere, and it is nowhere to be found. Now the next question that pops into your head is, where the hell did it go? Or maybe your head said, where the heck did it go?
It certainly couldn't have disappeared into thin air. Oh, I know, you think to yourself, - and believe me I understand it is a perfectly rational and logical thought - that shady character, that wild hot-shot stranger from New York City, he must have taken my ring. That's it, he stole my ring!!
I'm not sure what the other half of the tag team thought at the time, but when you bring your investigative findings to the attention of your wise and loving Mother, she will have no part of it. Even though this guy, Bob, is a stranger to the Ellison household and a big city slicker, she still won't accept the guilty verdict; she gives him the benefit of the doubt. I guess sometimes, actually many times, mothers are wiser than daughters and this time this mother proves right. A short time later, the beloved pearl ring is found peeking out from under the bed. And Bob would never have known he was Dishonest Bob from New York City if you hadn't confessed. But then again, doesn't it make a cute little story?
Love Ya, Tag Team
Regards to your Dad, the Farmer!!
P.S. Photo is Bob - circa March 1971 - when we were dating
Bob & I have been very preoccupied lately trying to decide whether to sell our home (size down) or to stay put (at least for a while longer). It is a very complicated, difficult decision, especially for me. I was amazed at all the emotions and feelings that it has awakened in me. First of all, I realized that for the first time in our lives we are heading in the opposite direction - going downhill rather than uphill - breaking down rather than building up. It made me come face to face with the realization that I am now sitting in a front row seat and I am a lot closer to being called up on stage (if you get my drift). So instead of feeling happy about a move, I am feeling rather sad.
I went through some of these feelings once before. One day in October 1986 I bawled my eyes out as I swept the floors clean and said my last good-byes in a living room that echoed with silence and emptiness. I was alone in our vacant home on Oakwood Drive West. The movers were finished, and Bob had just left too in order to open the doors for them in our lovely new home. As as I stood there in the stillness and looked around, I could hear the voices of my children and their friends running through the hallway and up and down the stairs, I could see the Social Worker arrive at the front door with our new little redheaded baby girl. Out the back window I could see Brian playing intently with his bulldozer as he endlessly dug holes and roadways in his homemade sand box. All the while Brian played, our dog, Bing, ran in circles around his doghouse. I could see my Mother and Father, Aunts, Uncles, Brothers and Sister and my in-laws as they sat together sharing meals and stories and jokes around our dining room table. In the quiet, I felt as if I were standing in a beautiful sanctuary, a place that was blessed with so much grace and love and peace. I understood in that moment that all that happened within these four walls -even the noise and chaos and the shouting and arguments - were in a very real sense a gift, a blessing to me. I was still a young woman then and we had only lived for 8 short years in that home and yet I felt all these things. It is any wonder, I struggle now.
