Left Out in the Cold

Meg Fries and Sr.Nolaska, O.P. (who was a sweetheart, by the way)

My father was notoriously protective of his family.  Here is a letter that he sent to St. Michael's Elementary School when his youngest daughter, Margaret, was left out in the cold.  Since my Dad mentions the 8th grade boys misbehaving, I imagine the year was the winter of  1959-1960 since that is the year that Marty would have been in eight grade.

           "My son, Martin, has been instructed to escort his sister, (Margaret of Mrs. Wiese's class) home from school each day.  This involves taking the Liberty Avenue bus to Pennsylvania Avenue and then walking six blocks towards Highland Park. 
             In order that this plan work smoothly, the two children should be able to leave school at about the same time, or at a prescribed difference in time as on Wednesday when Martin gets out at 2PM and Margaret at 3PM.  Each Wednesday Martin must find shelter for this hour and then return to the school exit where he can expect to find his sister.
             Yesterday things did not go well at all - no doubt to extenuating circumstances.  Margaret was released an hour too soon and Martin almost an hour too late.  ( I understand Mrs. Wiese is ill and the 8th grade boys misbehaved again).  As a result of this and very poor bus service, the children arrived home at 4:30PM in a badly frozen condition.  Margaret was out in the cold for a longer time than was good for her health.  Some stranger noticed her condition, and called the traffic policeman's attention to it.  This patrolman had just taken Margaret in tow when Martin arrived.
               The purpose of this letter is to ask you to help keep this cold waiting time to a minimum.  Anything that you do in this direction will be greatly appreciated.  If seeing me personally will help, I shall be glad to meet with you at your convenience.
                                                                       Respectfully,
                                                                       Charles A. Fries "

Letters of Hero Dad Compiled by Child, 6

The following news article and photo appeared in the Brooklyn Section  - Sunday News, November 18, 1951.   I found this with the things my parents saved. 

            "Taking time from play with her dolls and other toys, pretty 6-year-old Sharon O'Donnell is busy compiling a very special book of letters.  It is very special to the blue-eyed brown-haired little girl because they are from her daddy, Lt. Joseph T. O'Donnell, who was killed in Korea Oct. 13.
            In her book of memories, too, will be pictures of her father and the citation for "conspicuously meritorious and outstanding performance of military duty" that accompanied the Bronze Star he received for action in Germany during World War II.
                                      Mother, Sister Help.
             Helping young Sharon in her self-appointed task is her mother, slender Mrs. Marie O'Donnell.  Also "helping" are the little fingers of her three-year-old sister, Diane.
              Among the letters specially prized by the bereaved family who live at 73 Linden St., Brooklyn is one from Japan last September to the two girls.   Their father wrote it on the ever of "going on a train ride" that started his trip to Korea.
               He carefully illustrated the sentence with little sketches that gave his daughters a visual idea of life in Japan and the Japanese people.
                                     In Action 2 Days.
He told in words and sketches how the women, in kimonos, carry their babies on their backs; how the farmers lug pails slung on their shoulders and walk "like a rocker" in flat sandals with wooden stilts.
He also promised the girls he would "write again like this if you like it." 
                 Mrs. O'Donnell was notified on Nov. 6 of her husband's death.  So far as she can determine from his last letter, dated Oct. 10, in which he said they had "orders now to push off on the attack tomorrow morning, " he was killed two days after going into action.
                O'Donnell, who worked in a bank, enlisted in the Army in 1942.  He served in Europe with the 82nd Airborne for 16 months without injury.  After separation from the Army in March 1945, he was in the Reserves and on Nov. 11, 1950 was called back to duty.  He flew to Japan in September.
                Knowing that Sharon was a bit worried about Santa Claus this year, O'Donnell wrote his wife from Japan on Sept. 13 to "Tell Sharon Santa Claus will come to Diane and to her, too.  She can have anything she wants."

Just a Really Cute Photo of Marie & Joe O'Donnell

 

Is this photo adorable or what!! The date June 22, 1947 is stamped on the back.  I assume it was probably taken at Rockaway Beach as that was the usual beach used by the O'Donnell Family in that time period.  I love Marie's little jumpsuit.  She was always so well dressed.  

My Dad writes of his brother-in-law, Joe O'Donnell

  On back of this photo it is written "Paris France  Sept- 1945

Last night I went through another bunch of old, badly worn newspaper clippings, photos, and letters.    Most of the information pertained to my Uncle Joe O'Donnell.  Several of the letters were written by my father.  The following letter which is addressed to Joe (possibly my Dad's good friend, Joe Mule") was especially poignant:

                                                                                 Brooklyn 7, New York
                                                                                  6 February, 1952
Dear Joe,

Enclosed you will find the picture about which I spoke including a clipping from the local newspaper.  The clipping tells its own story. [I will include the clippings that I found at another time]

On Tues. at 9"30AM (exactly as specified in the telegram a few days before), an army hearse from the Brooklyn Army base deposited a "rough" box, stenciled "1st Lt. Joseph T. O'Donnell 01059578" on a sidewalk at Pilling St. and Bushwich Ave.   The civilian driver and the undertaker removed the outer box ( with great difficulty --- it was a very cold day), and exposed the inner steel coffin . The coffin was identified by means of one of Joe's dog tags.  This tag was hanging loosely on a small piece of wire looped around one of the handles.  The escort who accompanied the body from the P.O. E. in Brooklyn, was a 1st Lt. who had to remain with the body until the internment.  He too was a reservist and World War II vet.   He was called back ten months ago and assigned to the transportation corps.  This was his first escort duty. ( that same morning eight of his fellow officers had to escort eight bodies to the next of kin ---- the Lieutenant explained that the rank of the escort must be at least as high as that of the corpse.)  He told Marie that he was at her command until he handed her the flag and dog tag at the burial services.  He turned out to be a real swell guy.  He's about 32, single, handsome, an MA in business administration, and at present on leave as a rookie cop from Philadelphia.   His name is John E. Hean.  He is the Aide-De-Camp to General Lastayo.  He had quite a visit with T.J. and his brother John.  All three are ex-cops.  I did my best to "fix it up" for Anne.  However it was he who pulled me aside first, and asked all about Anne.  I hope something comes of it.  He has written to Marie and complemented her on the fine family she has.

A very great crowd turned out for the wake.  The undertaker couldn't use his second chapel but had to turn over the whole place to us.  All gratis too.  All Joe's colleagues at the bank,  all Anne's gang from the office, an American Legion post, and neighbors and friends tried to crowd into the place.  Even the farmer relations from Pennsylvania mad a record turnout.  Joe sure had a lot of friends.  In fact after reading his letters,  I regret not having known him better.  If only 1/4 the number of people that showed up at Joe's funeral come to mine, I'll (?) be satisfied.

The rite of the Am. Legion, the volley and taps at the cemetery, and the final good-by were the real sad points. I should include the arrival of Joe's wife and mother at his casket's side for the first time.  Their "welcome home" was most touching.  I wish you could have been there.  I'll fill in some details when I see you.

Due to some technicality, the casket was not interred until Friday.  [ my note: the posting in the Brooklyn Eagle newspaper dated Tues., January 29, 1952 reports that First Lieutenant Joseph T. O'Donnell will be buried Thursday (i.e., Jan. 31, 1952) in Cypress Hills National Cemetery after a solemn requiem mass has been offered in St.  Barbara's R. C. Church, Central Ave. and Bleeker St.]
T.J., Marie's brother, and I went to the cemetery.  Two times the coffin went down a foot or two and got stuck.  Each time they had to crank it back up, push it aside, climb in the hole and make it bigger.  The third time it went down --- with a man standing on it!  Joe didn't go down without a fight.  This unhappy episode took so long, we almost froze to death.

Marie and Joe's parents have demonstrated an enormous amount of stamina.  It surprises me to see how well they stand up under so much punishment.  They deserve much more than a gold star,  especially since the family was so closely knit.  It takes a situation such as this to bring out the heroes and heroines. 

Only today Rita told me that she wished she could "wake up" and find that she has been dreaming.  It will be a long time (if ever) before the family gets back to normal living.

Your letter,  "A Prayer of St. Francis of Assisi"  [interestingly, we chose this prayer for my father's Holy Picture Card ] was most opportune and most gratefully received.  I took it to the wake on Tuesday afternoon where Rita opened it.

At the moment Marty is sick with intestinal flu.  He has had it quite a few days now.  All the Marski's and Margie's husband [ i.e., Bill Foulkes]  and son [probably Glenn] were sick with the same thing last week.   Everyone and his brother has some kind of illness down here.  Big Dorothy [ here my Dad is referring to Nick's wife, Dorothy Pascarelli who has a daughter named Dorothy, i.e., little Dorothy ]  gets dizzy spells and must take some kind of "shots" for it.  It's not Nick's fault either. It seems that her blood pressure is too low. [Nick, Charlie and Joe were friends since  HS and College and were known as the 3 Musketeers]

I hope all is well in your neck of the woods.  Write when you get a minute or two.

                                                                           As ever
                                                                           Charlie
PS Since writing the above, Marie called to tell us that Sharon had a bad fall on her head.  [ I believe she fell from a swing - you'll have to ask her what she remembers about it].  Hurried X-rays have ruled out a fracture, but she has a concussion and two weeks of bed rest has been prescribed.  It sure can pour in some places, eh???

15 years ago today we said Good-Bye

I don't know where or when this photo was taken of my Mother.  And, I don't know where exactly she is right now.  Nonetheless, I feel her spirit is a part of me today and forever.  I'm always amazed by the reality that Rita Mary actually carried me around within her body for an entire 9 months.  I wonder what that felt like for her and for me.  I was never "with child" so I don't know from that perspective and I can't remember my time within her womb so I don't know from that perspective either.  Wow, isn't it really mind-boggling when you think about this level of intimacy.   I guess it is the reason I believe that our mothers never actually leave us.  Thanks for carrying me around all that time, Mommy, and thanks for being with me still.   I love you.

Belated Happy Birthday Aunt Margie

Margaret Mary O'Donnell (Margie) married William Joseph Foulkes (Bill) on January 14, 1950 at Our Lady of Good Counsel Church in Brooklyn, NY.   Don't Margie & Bill look like Movie Stars??
Cousin Sharon O'Donnell (Smith) and I were flower girls at the wedding. 
Aunt Margie had a birthday on November 5th and I failed to get a birthday card out to her.  I hope that her daughter, Lynn, my godchild will share this photo and message with her.  
Happy Belated Birthday, Aunt Margie!  You are forever a Movie Star and lovely Lady to me.  God bless you,
Love from Mary Beth & Bob

Huckleberry Fries - page 3 (last page)

Photo on left - Joseph Fries, Sr,  Charles A. Fries (my Dad) and Joseph Fries, Jr.   I am not certain but I think the photo might have been taken up at Garrison.  I love my Dad's double-breasted suit.
Photo at bottom - Bob Buchner and Charles Fries looking for the infamous key outside of the gym at Garrison when Bob & I and my father and mother stopped there on Jan 15, 1995 on our way back North to Albany after a trip to Long Island.








Here is page # 3
"Upon arrival at Garrison in September I soon realized that this was one place where they meant "business". The school program was much larger then those to which I was accustomed.  All students were required to take eight subjects during their first year and more in each successive year.  The school days were long; broken only by a short recess at lunch hour.  At first I thought that these and many other regulations were too severe, but gradually I became accustomed to them so that by the end of my first year I was hardly aware of their existence.

When I returned in September I missed my mechanical diversions which I had during the summer.  although I got along as well in my studies as in my first year, nevertheless I was very restless.  Whenever possible I borrowed physics books from older students and read them in both free & study periods.  On one occasion I made a master key out of an old belt clasp for the benefit of a small clique of which I was a member.  We used it to open each other's lockers when we wished to borrow a ball or bat, or to return something we had used.   However, we enjoyed the benefits of the key only one week when the Rector learned of its existence and summoned us to appear before him.  I was told to give all my attention to my studies and not to waste it on such foolishness.   After this incident my mechanical desires remained suppressed until I returned home for my second summer vacation.

Although I never returned to Garrison, yet it is to this place that I owe my education.  Here I learned the meaning of responsibility and the value of education.  Just before entering Glencliff College I had no interest of continuing my schooling beyond the second year of high school.  When I left, however, I was eager to complete high school so that I could enter college.  This change was due to the strict & Individualistic supervision which was given to me.  If I had been left without such guiding influence,  I would have never completed high school."

Some of my own thoughts:
This autobiographical narrative that my Father wrote when he was 19 gave me a glimpse into his thoughts that I never had before.  I did not even know this little autobiography existed until a few days ago.  I heard his story about the creation of a master key many times throughout my life but I was surprised to learn that my Dad only had use of it for one week before he was discovered.  It obviously made a big impression on him since he shared this story so many times and with so many people.  He also told us that when he got wind of the fact that the Administration was aware of its existence and, my Dad's involvement, (sound like he was the master mind of this operation to me) he ran outside of the gym and quickly buried the key in the ground in order to hide the evidence.  About 9 years ago a large group of his family accompanied my Dad to a reunion at Garrison and we looked in vain for the hidden key ( I will have to go back sometime with a metal detector ).  When he spoke to us about his time at Garrison, he always sounded like it was a marvelous time in his life.  He spoke about the wind-up record player(that had to be cranked periodically to keep it going)that was used at recreation time and about sledding in the snow and about taking the train from Manhattan up to Garrison.  Back in those years the electricity that ran the train engine did not go all the way up to Croton/Harmon/Garrison area and at some point outside the city area, they would have to switch to a steam engine.  Throughout his life, my father loved trains and really seemed to enjoy this type of travel.
 I was also very surprised to hear him say ".....all my plans for the future provided for a more adventurous and exciting life."  He always seemed like such a home-body and appeared to want something very safe and secure not only for himself but for all his family.  He had may fears and I believe they held him back from soaring.  I wonder what would have happened had he not gone to Garrison.  Would he really have quit school after eight grade or would he have become an inventor of sorts?  Interestingly, he never once mentions that he went to Garrison/Glencliff to pursue a vocation to the priesthood.  It was as if that thought didn't even enter his mind.  I always thought he must have felt saddened or abandoned at having been sent so far from home at such a young age.  I would not have wanted to go to a Boarding School right after graduating elementary school.  He sounded like he was delighted to go away from his home and family - at least initially.
This is the story I heard at some point - My father had an Uncle (his father's brother) and his name was also Charles Fries.  He was studying for the priesthood and a very short time before he was to be ordained (something like a month or two) he died of flu pneumonia in the epidemic of 1918.  If I remember correctly my Dad's grandfather, Jacob Fries, also died in that same epidemic that killed his son, "Uncle" Charlie.  The family was devastated that they lost their "family" priest right before he was to be ordained and it seemed that they were very hopeful that my Dad (Charlie also) or his older brother, Joseph, would fill this spot.  My Uncle Joe Fries went to Garrison for 4 years and then left also.  Actually, this was the reason my father was familiar with Garrison as he had been up there when his brother was in school.
My father told me that one of his Uncles took him back up to school in September of his third year of High School (for some reason his father could not make the trip with him) but before his Uncle left to come back home to Brooklyn my father announced that he had decided not to stay.  My Dad came back home to Brooklyn with his Uncle and my Grandfather had to scramble to find a school placement for him.  He was enrolled in Bushwich High School in Brooklyn and it was here that he met his first life-long friend, Joseph Mule'.   Two years later at Brooklyn College, he met the 3rd Musketeer, Nicholas Pascarelli.

Huckleberry Fries - page 2

Charlie, his Mom, Elizabeth Daniel Fries, Annette/Anne Fries, Rosemary Fries,Joseph Fries, Sr & Jr

page # 2

While I was in the sixth or seventh grades, I resolved to end my school life after the eighth year.  I decided that eight years of this routine was enough for any person.  Accordingly, all my plans for the future provided for a more adventurous and exciting life.  One week I decided to be a “cop” and the next I wanted to drive trains.  However, the idea of becoming a radio engineer became more and more fascinating, so that when I reached the eighth grade I had definitely decided to go into this field.  But fate decreed differently.  About two months before graduation, my father approached me and asked,

“Have you decided what high school you wish to attend?”

“I don’t care to go to any  -  I’ll never be able to get through the course.”  

“Then what do you intend to do?” asked my father patiently.

“I want to study for a radio engineer”.

“But you need more schooling than you have now.”

“Then I’ll be a mere radio serviceman, - eight years of schooling is enough.”

“Perhaps you will change your mind when I tell you that you may go to Garrison.”

“May I”, I asked eagerly, wondering if my father was really serious.

“It’s up to you – think it over”  he said as he rose to leave. 

For a long time I remained seated thinking about the offer.  Although I did not care for anything connected with school, yet an offer like this could not be passed up without serious thought.

Garrison was a small town on the Hudson River directly opposite West Point.  Situated on a cliff high above the river was Glencliffe College.  The buildings were hidden from the river by several layers of stately evergreens.   In the front of the main building was a spacious lawn; on the side, at a lower depth, was a large lake which served as a “swimming hole” in summer and an ice skating ring in the winter.  On all sides in the distance could be seen the uneven silhouette of the mountains; nothing more……. To be continued.

                

My note: Bob looked at the original copy and he believes that the teacher wrote, " good description in spots together with adequate presentation of your life."    We think that the writing teacher was a female from past stories my Dad told us about his college writing teacher's involvement with the three Musketeers ( a story for another time) and Bob thinks that maybe she lowered his grade from a B+ to a B because she didn't like what he said about how the "gang" treated women.

Huckleberry Fries - An Autobiographical Narrative by Charles A. Fries, Sr.

The following was found folded up in the bottom of a moldy box of junk.   It was truly a priceless gift to me.  Now I know why my father wanted so desperately to have the priest come to hear his last confession!  This is a side of my father I never really knew.  I couldn’t help but smile in amazement as I read his words obviously written as a school assignment when he was 19 years old.  The assignment is   labeled as:

“Charles Fries   

Aug- 13 -1935

Autobiographical Narrative”

Written in pencil on the front page is a note from his Teacher.  It says B+ which is then erased and then marked B “good description in spots” (then there is a word I can’t decipher) with “adequate” or does it say “inadequate” (again the teacher’s handwriting is hard to read – I guess she marked a lot of papers) presentation of your life.   If the word is inadequate then I have to agree because I wanted to read so much more about his life.  He doesn’t mention his siblings, the circumstances of his birth, etc.  But what he wrote was a rare and amazing journey into who he was or at least who he believed he was.   I could not help but think of “Huckleberry Finn”.  What follows in today’s Blog is page one.  There are two plus pages to follow.

“While I attended grammar school, studies held no interest for me.  This was especially true during the period from the sixth to the eighth grades.  During this time I did no more school work than was necessary to insure promotion, and often I did this only when threatened by the teacher.  In class I didn’t pay attention and at home I rushed through my assignments.  While I was supposed to pay attention I was either working out some scheme for passing notes undetected, or pondering over some elementary problem connected with my hobby – electricity.

            Outside the classroom I was much more inclined to mischief.  At home, two other rascals and myself formed a “gang” which was not very popular with the neighbors.  We roamed about the vicinity with our sling shots periling all alley cats, stray dogs (and some windows) that came in sight.   On other occasions we annoyed the girls until their whole families were “after” us.   One favorite practice was to take their ribbons, rings, and such paraphernalia.  These things were returned only when the young ladies “paid” for them.  Needless to say, we never accepted money but instead demanded something which made payment more agreeable to both parties concerned.   Although the girls did not admit that they enjoyed “paying” for their articles, nevertheless this was quite evident from the fact that they never failed to appear with such “takeables”.  Whenever we grew tired of molesting man and beast, and nothing more adventurous presented itself, we would hold a meeting behind a large wood pile far in the rear of my yard.  Here we usually filled our corn cob pipes with saw dust or with dried grape vine leaves.  I had invented this new smoke since I had been forbidden to use tobacco……………..to be continued

I Stood Guard at the Dumpster

On Sunday and Monday, I basically stood guard at the dumpster as best I could.  Boxes loaded with moldy junk came at me one after the other in rapid succession.  I feel a bit like a fool, but I really don't care.  I try to be reasonable, I really do.  After all we don't want this clear-out and clean-up to go on indefinitely.  Bob urged me onward - he's known me a long time and I am fighting him as he is loosing his temper, while my nephew-in-law, gentle Jason, was oh so patient.  But I just have to look quickly through this stuff for those things that hold the life and breath and heart and soul of my parents and, for that matter, my entire family.    It is physically and emotional exhausting.  I lament that we didn't do this clean out in a more leisurely manner while my father was alive.  But he couldn't stand to do it, he really couldn't and we, his children, didn't want to cause him pain.  Once in the past year, I secretly cleaned out his refrigerator and he was so upset with me that I felt like I drove an arrow through his heart.  So we let the junk grow up around him until after he died.
Was standing guard at the dumpster and experiencing the conflict worth it?  You're damn straight it was! (Are you aloud to use the word, "damn" in a blog?)  I need to be dramatic because I feel I have once again found gifts that - to me at least - are priceless.  I found two get well cards I wrote to my father in May and June of 1956 as he lay in bed for 6 weeks after having a coronary occlusion (aka a heart attack - the recommended treatment was very different back in 1956 and laying in bed barely moving was part of the treatment plan). My sister Meg was not quite two years old but she scribbled her message to Daddy at the bottom of mine. And I found a handwritten autobiography that my father wrote on August 13, 1935 when he was 19 years old.  It was amazing to read Charles Fries'  description of himself before he became my Dad.  I absolutely loved it and I promise I will share it with you soon but it is three  and a quarter pages long and it is getting late.
My get well note is a lot shorter so maybe I'll include it tonight before I go to bed.
"                                                                        June 10, 1956
Dear Daddy,
         How are you feeling? I hope much better.
          Next Sunday is Father's Day. Mom Ma - Ma says we can try to get in to see you.  Maybe even Peggie can come in.
           Uncle Nick says that when you are well enough to come to his house we can roast hot-dogs and hamburgers on his new grill.  I hope I spelled hamburgers right.
          Marty is writing a letter to, but Ma-Ma is helping him a little.  He can't write much by himself.
          After I write to you I'm sending a get-well card to Alfred R. the boy that Ma-Ma told you about he is in NY Memorial Hospital.  This is his eight oberation (I meant to say eighth operation but I never could spell - thank God they invented spell check). And he is oln only in the 8A. ( I made an awful lot of grammatical errors also but my intentions were good).
           My sister (meaning the Nun at school) and my class pray for you every day.
           When are you coming home. We are getting a father's Day pre present.  A nice thing to.
            Meggie (did I mention we had a lot of different names for my sister, Margaret Mary?) has a piece of paper and wants to write you a letter to you to.
            I let Meg write on this paper.
                              Love Mary B
From Meggie  ( with an arrow pointing to a bit of scribble in pencil at the bottom of my letter which is written in pen.) 
CAN YOU BELIEVE I COULDN'T EVEN SPELL DADDY????

Lawton, PA - May 24, 1937

I have asthma from the dust and sinus issues from the mold yet something drives me on to search through the rubble.  Every day that I spend clearing out the "stuff", I come away with this deep sadness.  I am crying way too much.  I feel like I am  literally "throwing away" my Mom and my Dad and although some may think I am foolish, I can't let certain things slip away without preserving something of who they were to each other and to me and my family.
Reading these letters has brought the young Rita and Charlie into my life.  I don't think I ever experienced them in quite this way.   My emotions are complex to say the least.
So here goes another letter:
"                                                                               Lawton, Pennsylvania
                                                                                 May 24, 1937
Dear Charlie,
          Please forgive me for writing in pencil because that's all I happen to have just now.  I'm writing this outside the school auditorium or Community House at Rush.  You see the building, a trifle larger than a two by four, has to be used in many capacities.  At the present, the seniors of the Rush class of '37 are practicing their play, "Seniors at the Bar" for tonight, "Class Night".  I've decided I'd rather wait till this evening before seeing the play, because if I watch the rehearsal I won't appreciate the performance this evening.  The first thing on the program for tonight will be an address by the Class President.  Then there will be the play which includes the prophecy.  Following the play will be a reading of the class will and history and ending with presentation of gifts.  Everything, just now, seems to be centered on graduation.  Tomorrow will be the eventful night.   Maryrose is Class President and she has to give the valedictorian speech.  She is quite nervous and excited over it all.
          Last night there was a Baccalaureate Sermon given in the Methodist Church by the Minister.  It was very impressive even though it was given by a preacher.
          Gee, but they have a big time over graduating here.  Sometimes I wished we had lived in the country, if just for the school life.  It seems so much fuller, more intimate and enjoyable than in the city.  But I suppose that's only natural because the classes are so small, the teachers have the opportunity to meet their pupils socially and become acquainted in a most personal manner.  Oh well, such is life.
          How I wish you could be up here with me.  Everything looks so nice and fresh and green. The birds are singing.  There is just the faintest breeze rustling the leaves in the nearby trees.  Every living thing seems to have come to new life.  Gosh, but I am getting poetical.  I guess " they got me in the spring", don't you think so?  Well, that's enough of foolish chatter, but I never did profess to be much of a letter writer so don't blame me.  If you get tired before the end, just rip the rest up.
         Yesterday, I went to 9:30 Mass and then came home to Rosina's and read the funnies.  After dinner, Uncle Mart took Rosina and her friend to Meshoppen to get the bus to Scranton.  She has another week in college so I won't see her any more this week.  I came up to Geary's last night, and I presume I'll stay for a day or two.
           Tonight there is a dance at Thayne's  (Joe knows that place) but I don't know whether we'll go or not.  There is another one Wednesday nite at Silver Lake in Thos. Murphy's barn.  They just finished building it and it's customary to have something like "barn warming"  ( I suppose that's what you call it) before using it.  I hope we'll be able to go to that one.
             Last night after the sermon Mary went out with some of the kids from school so I stayed at home with Norene and Ruth.  We sat in the station and treated each other to ice cream.  Believe it or not we had five dishes of ice cream each.  I had ice cream twice before in the afternoon.  You won't know me when I get home,  I'll be so fat.
             I just thought of something my cousin Tony was telling me this morning.  He said he once knew a blind man who picked up a plane and saw (Ain't that corn'in?)
              Well, you see I've just written my limit on my own note paper so I'll have to finish on the Geary's stationary.  I don't know what I'll be doing the rest of the week, maybe I'll drop you a line before I go back.  Now don't forget your promise to write to me.  Be a good boy till till I get back.  Don't study too hard, and get to bed early.  By the way, how did you make out in the test Friday?  I went to Mass and said a special prayer for you that morning.  I hope you got at least a 99.
               Well, everybody send their best regards to Joe (and of course to you).  Mary says to give you both her love.  You must be tired of trying to decipher this mess so I'll stop and keep your eyes from further strain.  Till we meet again-
                                                                     Love and kisses
                                                                            Rita
P.S.  I started this letter yesterday as you probably noticed but didn't get a chance to mail it.  The Class Night program was great and the dance too.  I got home around one.  This morning I went to a funeral.  I expect to go to town  - Montrose - this afternoon and to graduation tonight.  So you see I'm a busy woman. R.O'D. "
 some thoughts of my own - my mother was 20 years old when she wrote this letter to my father.    I think the Joe that she refers to in her letter is Joe Fries, my father's brother. Uncle Mart is Martin Coleman - my grandma Margaret O'Donnell's brother.  Rosina is Uncle Mart's daughter and one of my mother's favorite cousins (no offense to the other 46 first cousins).  Geary's refers to grandma O'Donnell's sister, May Coleman Geary - Norene and I think Ruth are children of May and her husband (name?) - help cousins who know these answers.  Is MaryRose one of May's kids?  I do not know who Thomas Murphy is (the barn warming ) I never heard of Thaynes before.
this sentence "It was very impressive even though it was given by a preacher." gives you some idea how us Catholics thought we were the only ones with a "real" connection to God.
The very last food my mother ate before she died was Ice Cream!!