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