Balding

I've had several discussions with my brothers and daughters about whether Dad went bald. My recollection is that he developed a higher and higher forehead and his hair thinned, but he never got bald. These pictures confirm my memories. Compare this one of Dad and Patricia in 1983, when he was 70, with the one of Dad and Vanessa in 1973, when he was 59. He has gotten gray, but his hair has not receded that significantly. Dad grew his beard after he retired from Ebasco.

Penguins

This picture brings back many memories, whether fond or not I have to puzzle out. From first grade through high school, I was taught by the Dominican Sisters of Amityville. Richard was in St. Martha's first graduating class, and all my brothers graduated from St. Martha's; I was too old. I went to Holy Redeemer in Freeport for first and second grade and then Queen of the Most Holy Rosary in Roosevelt for third through eighth grade. Richard and I both went to St. Agnes High School in Rockville Centre; Stephen went to St. Mary's in Manhasset. Peter, Michael, and Mark went to Maria Regina in Uniondale.

The tall nun on the right was Sister Miriam Francis; she was the principal at both Holy Redeember and the Queen. She died last year at age 93, having worked well into her 80's. I wasn't surprised; in retrospect she was an amazing educator. A tall, elegant woman, she effortlessly ruled her 800 students with a clicker; she never had to raise her voice. One click, and we were instantly silent and attentive. She knew the name and the history of every student in the school. We all both feared and admired her, were willing to work hard for her praise.

I was a very good girl. In seventh grade Sister Miriam Francis told me I could not have had a more perfect record. So I was never the victim of a nun's wrath, never had an eraser hurled at me, never was hit by a pointer, never had to stay after school to clean the blackboards. My innate shyness was reinforced, however. Good students only answered questions; they never asked them.

The nuns were very young; many had not yet been to college but were expected to teach classes of over sixty students. Everything I know about English grammar I learned from the nuns; we must have diagrammed a thousand sentences. As I get older, my memories get better; I had more good teachers than dismal ones.

Koch Hair

These pictures beg to be shared with everyone. The top one of Mark, Stephen, and Michael was taken June 16, 1974 at Peter's wedding to Merce's mother, Jacquelyn Blackstone. They got married at the New York University Chapel; Jacquie had just graduated from NYU. Mark was almost 15; Michael was 18; Stephen was 25. Richard has rejoiced in his good fortune at not being able to come and be included in this lineup. The family first met Michelle at this wedding.

Thankfully, the groom had cleaned up for the wedding. This picture of Peter and Vanessa had been taken only six months previously.

Politics

This is a picture of Robert Kennedy speaking at my graduation from Fordham University in 1967. Do I have to explain who he is? The younger brother of President John Kennedy, he served as Attorney General, then became Senator from New York. He was running for president in 1998 when he was assassinated June 5, ten days before my wedding to Chris Hawkins. I remember I had a final wedding dress fitting the day after the assassination, and I was in tears most of the time.

In the midst of a heated debate between Uncle Ken and the younger generation, I posted this account of my political evolution. I would love to hear everyone else's stories.

My first specific political memory centered around the duck and cover, hide under our desks, exercises that were a regular feature of my early school life from age 5 on. I knew enough about nuclear war to be terrified. We lived near to an air force base and I used to go out to the backyard, look up at the planes, and try to determine if they were American or Russian. I remember getting a book out of the library on aircraft identification. When I heard Joseph Stalin died, I remember asking if that meant no one would drop bombs on us.

In 1954 I had a severe case of the measles and Grandma Nolan came to help nurse me. She was listening to the Joseph McCarthy army hearings. Hatred of McCarthy's voice
might have shaped my entire political development. The other determining force was my obsession with John F. Kennedy. I first took an interest in political conventions in 1956, when I was 11. Kennedy made a brief try for the vice presidential nomination, and my mom mentioned he was Catholic, that there had never been a Catholic president. From 1956 to 1963, I read everything I could about Kennedy. When I was 15 I did volunteer work for his presidential campaign.

In high school we had political debates to imitate the famous Kennedy/Nixon debates and I represented Kennedy. What he believed in, I believed in. Gradually I moved to the left of his pragmatic liberalism. Certainly Kennedy was responsible for my decision to major in political science in college.

I cannot precisely date my interest in and commitment to civil rights. When I was a freshman, I joined my college's Interracial Understanding Group. I was envious of those college students who have the affluence to spend the summer down south registering voters and didn't have to worry about money to pay their tuition. Kennedy's assassination, occurring in the fall of my freshman year in college, devastated me. I felt like there had been a death in my immediate family. I quickly translated my political allegiance to Bobby Kennedy.

Gradually during college I became a pacifist. Opposition to the Vietnam War right from the beginning was the catalyst. My husband to be, Chris, applied for conscientious objector status and was willing to face jail rather than be inducted. We became very active in the Catholic Peace Fellowship, the Fellowship of Reconciliation, and the War Resister's League, all pacifist organizations. We went on several anti-war demonstrations both in New York and Washington. I briefly attended Stanford University where resistance to the war was at its height. Almost every afternoon, David Harris, Joan Baez's future husband, spoke out eloquently against the war.

My first job after Stanford was as an assistant to Victor Riesel, a labor columnist, who had been blinded by acid thrown in his face by the mob who controlled the waterfront he was exposing. One of my assigments was to read the AP ticker to him every day, clip articles in all the newspapers, labor papers. This was in 1968, when King and Kennedy were assassinated, when anti-war protect was at its height.

Vanessa's and John's Wedding

Vanessa loved this picture taken at her wedding ; she said she had never before been photographed with all her uncles. She doesn't remember the picture taken in 1974, the year after she was born, or she might not have realized these scary people were relatives. Let me identify the desperadoes. Rose is sitting on Kathy's lap. Next in the back row are Stephen, Mary Jo, Michael, Richard with Daniel, and Mark. In front are Jacquie, Peter, Phoebe, Chris, and Vanessa.

Unfortunately we didn't take a cousins picture at Vanessa's wedding. To see the wedding pictures, go to the Vanessa and John Wedding site. I will be adding many more over the next few weeks.

Elizabeth's and Brent's Wedding

The little boy sitting next to Brent is Matthew, Chris's sister Lynn's son. I assume I don't have to identify everyone, but I will anyway. Back: Joe, Elizabeth, Patrick, Rose, Brian, Vanessa, John, Katherine, Josh, Mercedes, Matt. Mercedes's husband Matt couldn't make it. This Matt is Patricia's Matt. In front is the Hawkins Matt, Brent, Elizabeth, and Patricia.

For wedding pictures, please go to Elizabeth's and Brent's Wedding Page, For gorgeous professional pictures, go to www.pictage.com and search for the Hawkins/Radcliffe wedding, September 23, 2005. You will have to register (it's free) to see the pictures.

Mercedes's and Matt's Wedding

Try as I might, I can't get the lighting in this picture to do justice to Koch beauty. Most of the cousins were fortunate enough to spend the weekend at Martha's Vinyard for Merce's and Matt's fabulous wedding. For pictures of the wedding, go to Merce's web site, pictures 154 to 224. For stunning professional pictures, go to www.pictage.com and search for the Blackstone/Schaenen Wedding, June 4, 2005. You will have to register (it's free) to see the pictures, but it is so worth it.

Kate's and Joe's Wedding

Liz Hambourger and Pat Koch, Anna Odle and Dan Koch, Rose Koch and Brian Litofsky, Joe Koch, Joe and Katie Hubbell and Kevin Koch. Katie and Joe were married in Chicago, Labor Day Weekend, September 5, 2004. There are many lovely wedding pictures on Katie's website,
pictures 195 to 306.

Drums and Batons

My mom and dad must have been dedicated to nurturing their children's unique gifts at whatever cost. Otherwise, why allow Santa to bring Richard a drum and me a baton.

We lived in a tiny two bedroom, one-story house. Was Richard allowed to play the drum inside? Richard  has always assured me I beat him up regularly when he was too young to fight back. No one has ever verified this accusation, and this picture proves it must be false. If I regularly terrorized my brothers, surely my parents would not have given me such an effective weapon. This picture proves Richard had not a fear in the world that my baton would come in contact with his head or his drum.

Were my frequent confessions that "I hit my brothers"  due to an overscrupulous conscience. and a lifelong susceptibility to Richard's stories? I afraid not. I confessed hitting my brothers, along with disobeying and talking back to my parents, every single time.The priest should have been more skeptical about my resolution of never doing it again. But I used my hairbrush, not my baton. A sharp elbow jab cannot possibly qualify as even a venial sin.

1959--Koches Without Pajamas

At least I look better! I believe this picture was taken in the upstairs apartment at Grandma Nolan's house in Queens Village. In 1959 Aunt Joan and Uncle Peter were living in the apartment that most of our uncles and aunts took advantage of when they were first married and saving for a house. I love Peter's and Stephen's bow ties and Michael's suspenders. Stephen is all spiffed up in a jacket. At only 18 months Mark looks ready to take on his brothers in a fair fight. When Mark was a toddler, I recall Mom's lamenting: "Is he so much worse or am I so old?"

What Was I Thinking?

This is Christmas 1959; I was 14 years old. None of my daughters or nieces would ever wear such pajamas, never mind permit her picture to be taken in them. My ghastly permanent compounds the horror. Being willing to include this picture of me should grant me amnesty for embarrassing my brothers, daugthers, nieces and nephews in subsequent pictures:)

Christmas Tree, 1952

I can't figure out exactly what is happening here. Is Richard bursting with pride because he cut down the Christmas tree? Did Dad remove the top of the tree and encourage Stephen to plant it in the garden?

Notice how far down Locust Street you can see because none of the houses are landscaped. All the houses look exactly alike.

Who remembers the white fence and the rose trellis in the garden?

Richard emailed me the explanation:
"I won the card game and got the big tree. Stephen came in second and alas big sis had to console herself with the wreath. She was around front."

Memories and Photographs

I have always been intrigued by the relationship between my memories and the photographs I have frequently seen. Immersing myself in the family history for the last four years, I certainly remember much I had forgotten. I hope everyone finds my photo blog equally helpful.

But do I remember the actual event or do I remember the slides of the event? Do I remember clearly what was never photographed? Unquestionably, discussing the picture slides with the whole family did elicit everyone's memories, which then became incorporated into individual memories. I fondly remember countless slide shows with mom and dad, Grandma Nolan, uncles and aunts, brothers and sisters-in-law, and nephews and nieces. There was always screams of laugher and frequent admonitions to the younger Koches to stop standing between the projector and the screen. I recall Mom's telling me Richard and Kathy were watching the family slides. I suspected correctly that she would call back a few hours later to announce their engagement. I encouraged Andy to watch the family slides on his second visit to New York in 1996:) I tend to gauge the seriousness of potential family mates by how immersed they were in the family photos.

Yet the pictures so distort the reality of our everyday life. We got a few toys at Christmas, but we never played with them. We went away on vacation the entire summer. In the summer we lived in the water, either in the pool or at the beach; in the winter there was always abundant snow. We were always outside, never inside. We never played ping pong or knock hockey. We never played board games that ended with some poor sport upsetting the board once his loss became inevitable. (I was always a good sport because I was usually winning.)

But much of our outside play is neglected. We never played badmitten; we never played baseball; we never went ice skating; we never had a sled; we never rode a bicycle. My brothers did play basketball in the driveway unless the next door neighbor was complaining to the cops about evening play. Richard never ran cross country. Several brothers were photographed in football regalia, but there was no proof the Michael actually played on his high school team. Michael's broken leg is honored, but not Peter's broken arm. Richard's missing tooth is noted.

We were very religious; we spent an inordinate amount of time receiving our communion and being confirmed. However, we never went to church at other times. I never wore glasses; that is an outstanding accomplishment given that I got my glasses at 10 and my contact lenses at 19.

We only graduated from school; we never attended it. Except for a picture of Richard's graduating from St. Martha's, there are no pictures of our schools. You would never realize we attended three different high schools and three different grammar schools. According to the pictures, we never studied, never read a book, never went to the library, never participated in any after school activity. Richard was a drummer; I was a baton twirler. Peter started playing the accordion at his second wedding. Our family pets are very neglected. I gave up trying to figure out how many cats we had and what they looked like. Familes who call their cats "cat" don't waste film on them.

Relationships are neglected. Mom and Dad never kissed one another after their wedding or hugged us after babyhood. During our childhood we always wore pajamas for photographs. Dad was rarely there because he was always behind the camera. Mom was never pregnant or nursing, an accomplishment even more amazing than my never wearing glasses. No one was ever filthy, battered, bloody. Anne was only my friend during school graduations. Bob Logan seems to have been Richard's and Stephen's only friend. Jackie only appears once while she and Peter were in high school. The siblings related to each other by lining up in size order.

Christmas Eve at Grandma's House

My daughter the writer wrote this description of a family Christmas Eve as part of a college application essay.

We’re in the midst of our annual Christmas Eve tree-trimming bash at my grandmother’s house. My father and my uncle Gerry are bringing in the tree, and my sisters and I are breathlessly awaiting its unveiling. I’m afraid that the reason is not that we’re waiting for this magical season to weave its spell over us. We get as sentimental as anyone over Christmas, but right now we’re wondering what geometric figure the tree will most closely resemble. My grandmother is very frugal. The result of this is that her trees are always cheap, but they also tend to have rather original shapes.

They bring the tree through the door, set it in the stand, and cut the netting around it. It does not disappoint. It’s, it’s...it’s nearly a perfect cylinder! My sisters and I begin hanging the ornaments. They consist of a few beautiful heirlooms, some traditional Christmas balls, many, many plastic multi-colored plastic disco balls, and a good number of styrofoam-and-yarn-elves which have been mysteriously decapitated over the years.

The traditional meal of tortilla chips and salsa is served. Much to everyone’s chagrin, but to no one’s surprise, Grandma has frozen the salsa. She has a rather touching faith that the best thing to do for any, and I do mean any, food is to stick it in the freezer for six months. Fortunately, the chips escaped unscathed.

My father places the angel on top of the tree, and we step back and admire our handiwork. It’s may not be one of man’s great artistic endeavors, but this tree has character, lots of character.

Christmas House

Surely you all remember the Klimczuk Christmas House on Jerusalem Avenue. Newsday had a story about it when Mr. Klimczuk died in 1994:

"For as long as anyone can remember in Uniondale, there has always been a Christmas house - the house on Jerusalem Avenue adorned each year with lights and electric candles, a red Santa's mailbox, a wishing well, a sleigh on the roof and Santa's workshop in the back.

And there was always Sam Klimczuk, dressed up like Santa Claus, handing out presents to the children, who lined the street on Christmas Eve. "He had so much stuff it was unbelievable," said Vincent Alexander, Klimczuk's next-door neighbor for 15 years. "He gave you the Christmas spirit. A lot of people say they don't feel the Christmas spirit. But if you lived next door to him, you felt it. " Klimczuk would start decorating right after Thanksgiving and soon the brick house with faded yellow siding would be lit up like a carnival - altar boys, elephants, the Pope, eight Christmas trees, reindeer, a black Madonna, a space shuttle and crew, chirping birds.

And just as the December sun would go down, thousands of lights would turn on. "Thousands of people came," said Jack Chan, chief of auxiliary police in Uniondale. "I think he was the greatest. He was willing to do all this work just to make some people happy, especially young people.' There were so many lights, some of Chan's officers helped Klimczuk rebuild a used Army Reserve generator so he could provide his own juice, Chan said. For the last 30 years on Christmas Eve, Chan and a dozen auxiliary officers directed traffic and kept the lines moving. The lines stretched around the block. Although the traffic sometimes got to be a nuisance and screeching brakes mingled with Christmas music, the house was part of Uniondale's landscape.

What We Wanted For Christmas

How did we know what we wanted for Christmas in the days before television, glossy newspaper and magazine advertisements? The Sears Wish Book was our bible. I don't recall regular visits to department stores, though we probably did visit Santa Claus, didn't we? Help me out here guys.

I suspect we had more generic requests--bike, trains, truck, dolls, chemistry sets, tinker toys. I recall being thrilled with a cake baking set. We didn't long for specific brands, colors, sizes. Most of our presents did not require batteries. We were aware that Mom and Dad were not rich. But my memory could be playing tricks on me. Perhaps I spent hours gazing over the Sears catalog and coming up with a 25-item list. In my old age, I have learned to mistrust memories that compare me favorably to younger generations. When Katherine was 5, she said, "anything Santa wants to bring me for Christmas is fine with me." I doubt a Koch would have been so unmaterialistic.

Christmas Guys, 1959

Stephen, Michael, and Peter experiment with varied identities at Christmas, 1959. Dating these pictures is a challenge where there is no obvious clue like a graduation or an identifiable vacation place. Sometimes the slides are dated, which helped me out here. Stephen is wearing a Notre Dame football shirt that Uncle Frank gave him when we visited Uncle Ken at the Paulist Novitiate in 1956, but that doesn't help much because Michael would have been a baby if it were 1956. It got easier to decide how old my brothers were when they stopped wearing the same crew cut.

I used to think Dad only took pictures during family vacations, Communions, Confirmations, and graduations. When I was looking for Christmas slides, I realized that Dad only took pictures outside. Either he didn't have a flash or the flash worked very badly. The few indoor shots are poorly lit. I have to work hard to make them bright enough to be visible.

Christmas 1959

Richard, Stephen, Peter, and Michael pose next to the Christmas tree in the dining room. I would imagine this icture was taken in 1959. I wish I could see the tree more clearly; I probably still have some of those ornaments. Is Peter holding his blanket?

All the boys seem to be sporting homemade haircuys. I rememer how thrilled Mom was when she got the buzzers that would enable her to save money on barbers and how frightening her first attempts were. I would have left home before I let her touch my hair:)

Our Christmas trees remain a mixture of tacky sentimental ornaments and more tasteful ones. Mom's ornaments have become more desirable since we can no longer tease her about them.

Mom and Mark, Christmas, 1959

I think this is 1959. Mark was that big when he was 18 months old. Mom made those stockings for us in her domestic phase. Before she went back to college, she pursued crafts; I recall her making hats and sock monkeys. She also was a good seamstress, making most of my clothes until I graduated from high school.

I still have most, if not all, of those stockings. What happened to the brass plate on the wall? I will be posting other Christmas pictures, hoping to stir up memories.

Christmas 1953

Previously I have labeled this picture Christmas 1953. I am eight; Richard is 6; Stephen is 5. I have begun the fruitless quest to curl my hair. I have not yet admitted even to myself that I need glasses, but I am cheating on school vision tests.

Richard and I are demonstrating our precocious musical talent on a giant xylophone. Stephen does not yet appear to have his chemistry set.

So many pictures appear to be of us in our pajamas. Does anyone remember how early we were allowed to get up on Christmas day? What time were we supposed to be in bed every night? I recall monumental fights with Mom all through high school about bedtimes.
She needed her sleep so I had to go to bed earlier than I wanted or needed to.

Mom on a Ladder, Christmas 1953

Characteristically, Mom is on the ladder decorating the top of the Christmas tree. Notice she isn't holding onto anything to keep her balance. She does appear to be wearing an apron. I am just grinning for the photographer. It probably never occurred to either Mom or Dad to reverse roles.

I keep noticing all that tinsel on Koch Christmas trees. The Hawkins family long ago abandoned tinsel for fear first the babies and then the cats would eat it. Besides, Chris could not stand to watch the girls hurl tinsel at the tree in huge clumps.

Legend has it that Mom was on a ladder painting the living room ceiling the day Richard was born. Given that he was born at 11:45 pm, that is probably true.

Family Christmas 1953

This posts are going to be organized by stream of consciousness. I wondered who took this picture. For a change, Dad is in it. (I found a later picture that solved the mystery; Sophie took it. Sophie needs a post of her own.) Beneath the stairs are MJ, Richard, and Aunt Mary. I can't explain what I am wearing on my head. On the stairs are Aunt Joan, Dad, Mom holding Peter, Uncle Dick, Grandma Nolan, and Stephen. This was taken at Christmas 1953.

The bannister of the stairs never changed. They don't seem to be carpeted. Do anyone else remember the wallpaper? Next to Aunt Mary, almost out of the picture, is our first Hi-Fi. I think it remained in the basement for most of our lifetimes. I remember how excited I was when Dad first bought it. I recall hearing Beethoven's Symphonies around that time. Dad loved classical music; he makes knowledgeable references to it in his letters to Mom during the war. He always wanted to listen to WQXR (the classical music station) in the car. In another picture, I discovered that there is a bookcase under the stairs; we got the Hi-Fi later on.l

Mystery Fireplace--Christmas 1951

I suspect this picture was taken at the same time as the first one of Mom reading, Christmas 1951. We are all wearing the same pajamas.

But where are we? Is that a fake fireplace with the sole purpose of providing a place to hang Christmas stockings? Does anyone remember that wallpaper? Selecting wallpaper does not seem to have been one of Mom's talents.

How long did you believe in Santa Claus? Roger Tuffili (sp?) corrupted me about both Santa Claus and sex. I didn't believe him, and stayed up Chrstmas Eve to confirm the sad truth with my own ears. I suspect I must have been about seven or eight. What I don't remember is whether I immediately spoiled my brothers' innocent faith in Santa. Vanessa and Elizabeth were eager to corrupt Katherine, but all three conspired to keep Patricia a believer for as long as possible.

Does anyone else remember how excited we were when the Sears Christmas catalog arrived? That was our principal source of ideas for presents. We didn't have television to seduce us.

Christmas 1949

This photo was labeled Christmas 1949; I would have thought my being in thrall to curlers started a little later. I am "reading" Children's Garden of Verses. Stephen appears to be in the same walker that Richard was riding in when Lorraine Larsen (not his sister) pushed him down the stairs. Mom looks so absurdly young to have three children, but then she was only 28.

First Christmas

This was taken at Christmas, 1945, in the Nolan house in Queens Village. I was five months old; Dad was still in France. Mom seems remarkably calm about my playing with the tinsel. I can't capture my earliest memory of 105-11 220th Street. That isn't surprising since it was my home until I was 19 months old. I remember the unusual better than the everyday. Patricia doesn't remember living in Bangor until she was 18 months old. I remember being in Grandma Nolan's dining room when Mom bought Stephen home from the hospital on Thanksgiving, 1948. I suspect I remember that more because the hospital sent Mom home with candy for Stephen's sister and brother.

As far as I know, we visited Queens Village every Christmas Day until Grandma moved to Uniondale sometime in the early 1970's. My most vivid Christmas Queens Village memory is the shows Uncle Jim organized for the cousins to perform.

July 27, 1945

Somewhere in France
Friday, July 27, 1945

Dear George,

Here I thought I was going to surprise you with the news of the arrival of my daughter on the 17th of this month. Instead you and Mark beat me to the punch by announcing your wedding to take place in September.

Congratulations George--after sixteen months and twenty-one days of wedded bliss ,I'm more than ever convinced that marriage is wonderful. My Mary and I are happier than ever be
because of our brand new daughter. According to the latest reports our Mary-Jo looks exactly llke my Mrs and not the least bit like her dad so she is going to be a real pretty little girl.

Again I'm saying am I surprised! So the last of the old yearbook committee is finally taking that step. I'm sure you and Mary will be happy--there's something about being married to a Mary that guarantees it. Even if she is my sister, I think you're a lucky man, George. There won't be a dull moment at your place with Mary around--I know there never was at the Koches. The gal can talk or have you discovered that for yourself? I like them beautiful and talkative myself--I forget you've already met my Mrs. It will be nice having you for a brother-in-law George and I 'm not saying that because we can use a dentist in the family.

Mary tells me you've stationed permanently at Lovell General, you lucky dog. I bet you're glad to exchange Massachusetts for India. How was it there? I'm over here in a "vacation" camp hoping that the Japs decide to give up. On the whole I've had it pretty easy over in the ETO. My only contribution to the war effort was a six week period on d.s. at a PW hospital. Aided by a staff of German PW'S I functioned as a registrar's office. It was nice work but it didn't last long enough. I was lucky enough to get a three-day pass to Paris last week. Paris is really a beautiful city and I was a regular tourist seeing all the sights: Notre Dame, Arc de Triumphe, the Louvre with its Mona Lisa and Venus de Milo, a boat ride on the Seine, a tour of Versailles, the Montmartre, the Folies Bergere, the Opera, the Opera Comique, and a host of other high spots.

I sure would like to get home to your wedding but I'm afraid that the army and the Japanese won't cooperate. I hear the two of you will start housekeeping right away. Although we already have a family, my Mary and I still have that experience in front of us. I'll probably be coming to you or Mary for advice. However you tell Mary that she better not try pulling your rank ton the Joe Koches.

Congratulations again, I say, and mine and Mary's best wishes for lots of happiness to the two of you.

Sincerely,
Joe

Army Life

"I recall that on one Sunday afternoon, about five hundred years ago, someone told me how the army made a friend of theirs so much bolder. I hope you're not drawing a parallel. If you had higher mathematics at Queens college, you show know that, according to Riemannian geometry, there are no parallels. It's not the army, Mary; it's the fountain pen for a mighty man with pen and ink, am I. In all these years it's been a hidden talent.

Since one Nolan at least is interested in the army, I should begin by describing the process of Uptonizing. The prospective soldiers arrive in Camp Upton (I can't tell you how since that is a troop movement and troop movements are military secrets) late in the afternoon , and the balance of the day and night is spent in being acclimated. This involves standing out in the open, swept by cold winds (and rain if there is any) until the body temperature is about 40 degrees, and then marched into a building to thaw out. Just so this time is not wasted, they dish out either a meal or a test.

I was lucky because my first day ended at 11 pm; if my name began with a "z" it probably would have concluded at about 4 am. The next day the process is repeated beginning at 5 am--it is dark at this unearthly hour . However, after breakfast and after the inevitable standing around being counted and recounted , we were marched into the processing unit. I entered one door as a civilian and came out a fully uniformed soldier (in fact, carrying three other complete uniforms in a large canvas bag), possessing an insurance policy, and bearing the imprints of typhoid, anti-tetanus, and smallpox innoculations. After that the entire group is marched to the cinema to see a double feature entitled, "What Every Young Soldier Should Know." Thus ends the process and the solider is usually sent to some other camp for basic training.

But you are probably saying to yourself, Joe must be still at Camp Upton because the envelope says so. Yes I am still out here in the woods. It seems that I'm on a special detail; the requirements for which seem to (1) that you wear glasses, and (2) that you pass the intelligence test (I got 151 but I always knew I was a genius). After working for a week I don't think the second requirement is at all necessary. On the whole work is rather easy--just routine clerical work handling the records of the incoming soldiers ,but there is certainly enough of it.

Because of our work we live in a special row of tents. I'm sleeping in a 6 man tent and believe it or not, my principal complaint is that it is too hot. One of the soldiers in my tent was formerly a fireman on a Coast Guard rum chaser during prohibition days: he has appinted himself chief of the tent stove and he keeps it red hot night and day. Even on the windiest days the temperature inside our tent is about 85. We use coal so we're not affected by oil rationing. Heh, Heh."

Army Life

"I recall that on one Sunday afternoon, about five hundred years ago, someone told me how the army made a friend of theirs so much bolder. I hope you're not drawing a parallel. If you had higher mathematics at Queens college, you show know that, according to Riemannian geometry, there are no parallels. It's not the army, Mary; it's the fountain pen for a mighty man with pen and ink, am I. In all these years it's been a hidden talent.

Since one Nolan at least is interested in the army, I should begin by describing the process of Uptonizing. The prospective soldiers arrive in Camp Upton (I can't tell you how since that is a troop movement and troop movements are military secrets) late in the afternoon , and the balance of the day and night is spent in being acclimated. This involves standing out in the open, swept by cold winds (and rain if there is any) until the body temperature is about 40 degrees, and then marched into a building to thaw out. Just so this time is not wasted, they dish out either a meal or a test.

I was lucky because my first day ended at 11 pm; if my name began with a "z" it probably would have concluded at about 4 am. The next day the process is repeated beginning at 5 am--it is dark at this unearthly hour . However, after breakfast and after the inevitable standing around being counted and recounted , we were marched into the processing unit. I entered one door as a civilian and came out a fully uniformed soldier (in fact, carrying three other complete uniforms in a large canvas bag), possessing an insurance policy, and bearing the imprints of typhoid, anti-tetanus, and smallpox innoculations. After that the entire group is marched to the cinema to see a double feature entitled, "What Every Young Soldier Should Know." Thus ends the process and the solider is usually sent to some other camp for basic training.

But you are probably saying to yourself, Joe must be still at Camp Upton because the envelope says so. Yes I am still out here in the woods. It seems that I'm on a special detail; the requirements for which seem to (1) that you wear glasses, and (2) that you pass the intelligence test (I got 151 but I always knew I was a genius). After working for a week I don't think the second requirement is at all necessary. On the whole work is rather easy--just routine clerical work handling the records of the incoming soldiers ,but there is certainly enough of it.

Because of our work we live in a special row of tents. I'm sleeping in a 6 man tent and believe it or not, my principal complaint is that it is too hot. One of the soldiers in my tent was formerly a fireman on a Coast Guard rum chaser during prohibition days: he has appinted himself chief of the tent stove and he keeps it red hot night and day. Even on the windiest days the temperature inside our tent is about 85. We use coal so we're not affected by oil rationing. Heh, Heh."

Interview with Mom, 1980

Interviewed by Cynthia Nieves

Mrs. Mary Koch is a social studies instructor who teaches at Uniondale High. This year will be her last at the high school as she moves on into another phase of her life, a phase she describes as one in which there is a
need for change, a different type of growth. I was fortunate enough to have the opportunity to interview her. I never was able to know her personally, but in the passage of a mere half hour I found her to be an incredibly refreshing individual--one with courage, enthusiasm, and an unquenchable desire constantly to expand her intellectual horizons.

Q. How many years have you taught and how many of those years were spent at Uniondale High?
A. I have taught eleven years and all have been spent at Uniondale High.

Q. What do you feel is the most rewarding experience you have gained during your teaching career?
A. I would have to say my association with the students. I decided to teach at the high school level because I felt the students, being older and more mature, would have more to say and offer on an intellectual level than at an elementary school.

Q. Why did you decided to become a history teacher and did not choose English or math, etc?
A. I've always enjoyed history. I majored in history and acquired my masters in it as well. I had originally planned to be a journalist, but changes in my life--marriage and other things--led me to teaching, and being interested in politics as well, I decided to teach a course I myself enjoy.

Q. Do you feel the students of today are much different from the students of yesterday?
A. When I first came, there was much more turbulence because of the times. I find that students are less involved in public affairs now. At that time, when I began to teach, there was more interest in government and the welfare of the world than there is now. Apathy is the big problem. I have seen positive changes in the young women especially. Girls are much more involved in sports and positions of leadership today.

Q. What do you plan to do after you retire?
A. I don't think of myself as "retiring." I feel this is an important phase in my life, and I want to change, to do something different. I plan to work for this organization called Bread for the World--a lobby-like group that hopes to influence Congress into aiding the hungry, starved,
underdeveloped nations in the world. Having a deep interest in politics, I believe this is a movement that I will help grow--so in reality, I'm not leaving education.

Q. If you had it all to do over again, would you teach?
A. Probably not. In terms of today's world and the new roles women have taken--the whole array of opportunities available--I would definitely go into law if I had it all to do over again. It's not that I regret teaching. It's just that it was the sensible thing to do in that period of my life. It ws good for me.

Q. How would you sum up your years at Uniondale?
A. Happy years overall. Of course there were times of discontent and discouragement when I couldn't seem to get pupils excited and interested in learning, but for that phase of my life it was good for me. Now it's ti me to move on. I'm excited about doing something new.

Q. Is there anything you'd care to say, before we close, to the students.
A. Yes. Be involved . Be committed. Students just sort of drift now. Live! One needs to care about people, the world. I only hope that I can educate the public about the people who need compassion, an outstretched hand. One always needs to keep trying.

Dad Describes Meeting Mom

Her name was Mary, of course. She was a blue-eyed, smiling, long-legged, cool looking girl--a trifle naive. A girl with class he thought when he first saw her, but young. A bus seems an awful place for things to start, but there was she on a bus going to church and planning to have a chocolate ice cream cone with sprinkelettes. He was going to church too, but she sat in back of him and that was that.

He said hello to her that afternoon or more likely she said hello to him. Again nothing happened--there are lots of shapely girls in blue bathing suits at a lake summer resort. The summer resort was one of those let’s-be-one’big-happy-family sort of places--it even had a social director and a social directrix. Naturally one afternoon there was a baseball game in which all the boys and girls (in those places they’re all boys and girls even if the boys and girls have big boys and girls of their own) were to participate. Well this particular boy and girl were antisocial or mutually social. They sat out the ball game on a raft. Long afterward he learned her reason why she was there but being a romantic still doesn’t believe it.

They talked about prosaic things--families and schools; after all he was a shy young man. She wasn’t. Maybe that is why he was sure it happened then. That’s the trouble with shy young men: they are not used to openhearted friendliness. He never knew what she saw in him, but for the rest of the week they were summer friends. He struggled a little bit--an inherent male instinct. Why one rainy afternoon they went to a Bing Crosby movie in separate groups. They had only a week, not even a full one.

However, this time it did happen on a bus. They had made some sort of plan to ride back to New York on the same bus. He from the summer resort, she from Albany where she was visiting. He was positive. She says it couldn’t haven happened then--that soon.

He didn’t know the proper method of courting a girl, not a beautiful one like her. Oh he was quite proper. The movies he took her to were always approved for adults and children. A baseball game, a few football games, a little bowling--that was about all. He didn’t have much time, altogether three months. He then went away as did twelve million other men young and old. Oh yes, he finally kissed her once. He was very proper and very shy and afraid she would say no.

She Looked on Tempests and Was Never Shaken

From Katherine's tribute to Mom in April 2004:

She was incredibly smart, and incredibly interested in the world around her—whether it was the history of the China lobby or when any of her nieces, nephews and grandchildren would finally, in her words “find yourself a mate.”

She also had the strongest faith of anyone I’ve ever known. Maybe it was that combination, that fierce intellect and that certain belief and trust in God, that made her so strong. Much more often than not her beliefs coincided with the Catholic Church, but when they differed she was not shy about saying so. On most of the many nights I slept over at the house on Henry Street, I wore a polyester blend, 1970s issue T-shirt that said in glittery bubble letters “When God Created Man, She Was Only Joking.” And I remember her telling me about sneaking in inclusive language to her frequent readings at St. Martha’s, much to the new parish priest’s chagrin.

And on the much more frequent occasions when her children and grandchildren did something she disapproved of—she let us know in no uncertain terms, but there was never a single moment’s doubt that she loved and accepted us anyway. I’ll always think of her when I read these lines from Shakespeare’s 116th sonnet::

“Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken.”

I know, it’s a love poem—and a truly bizarre choice for a description of one’s grandmother. But—getting back to photographs, and with apologies for the embarrassment this may cause certain unnamed relatives of mine--I defy you to find a better or funnier illustration of Shakespeare’s words than this picture of Grandma Mary, Grandpa Joe, and their wayward offspring in the early 1970s.

She was in many ways a third parent to me. I think I’ve spent more time with my husband at this point, but I’m not at all sure of that. She was someone who could be counted on absolutely, without question or condition. She looked on tempests and was never shaken, and I’m not only talking about my uncles’ hairdos when I say that. I don’t think I’ve ever owed as much to, or cared as much about, anyone to whom I expressed it so little. But she was not the most demonstrative person either, so maybe she knew. I lack her certainty about God and heaven, but I hope very much that she knows now.

Mom Remembers Her Dad

In 1999, Mom shared these memories of her dad with the Nolan email list.

"There aren't many one dotters who can tell you about our mom and dad, particularly about our dad, since he died when I was 17 and most of my siblings were much younger. As the oldest of my parent's children, I should share a few memories. My dad was very special for me. He took me everywhere with him since he liked to go for drives in the car and not everyone wanted to go. I always asked if we would stop for food along the way, and he almost always obliged.

However we did go on family trips. Once I remember going to Montreal. We always went out on Long Island in the summer, renting a bungalow, usually for a month. In fact he wanted to buy a place but my mom was reluctant. Remember, there were very few amenities then, just old fashioned ice boxes and poor stoves. He would commute to the city often and come out on weekends.

One summer when I was 12, I want to camp out there. I remember getting a letter (which I can't find) telling me that he bought I book that even I couldn't finish in one night - GONE WITH THE WIND - He knew that I sneaked into the bathroom at night to read after I was supposed to be in bed for the night.

His law office in N.Y. was just across from City Hall and he often took me there when there was going to be a parade to welcome a celebrity to City Hall. I vaguely remember when I was a young kid going to see Lindberg's celebration in 1927. My dad was a lawyer who took pity on people who couldn't afford to pay much. During the depression he had many clients who couldn't pay him. When he died my mom found a file cabinet filled with unpaid bills from people he had helped. Fortunately, he did have people who paid so we were not too destitute during the 30's.

He was a Democrat and was a Roosevelt man, but I remember his coming home one day proclaiming, " He closed the banks." As a family we talked politics. My parents supported FDR and his New Deal. That is probably the reason why I became an FDR supporter In fact I cast my
first vote for President for Roosevelt.

Unfortunately, long before doctors had the modern medicines that control high blood pressure, my dad had very high blood pressure that caused him many health problems During the last years of his life he was in the hospital many times. My mom was 12 years younger than my dad and still in her childbearing years. Around the time each of my youngest brothers was born, she also had a sick husband to care for. Since I was in my teens, I used to take care of them when she would be at the hospital I was almost 14 years older than Frank and was so close to him when he was young , his dying this winter was very hard for me

My dad died in Jan. 1939 at age 52, leaving my mom a widow with 7 children at age 40. Because my dad was an independent lawyer he had no pension; due to his health conditions he had been unable to get much insurance. My mom was left with limited income except for the low rent from some old houses my dad owned in Brooklyn. My older half-brother Jim was in Law School at this point and I was entering my Senior year at high school, expecting to go to college when I graduated. I remember well my father's brother Bill saying to my mom: "Well you're lucky, Mary is a girl so she doesn't need to go to college. I remember thinking maybe not now but certainly some day."

53 years in Uniondale

These pictures speak more eloquently than words could. Mom and Dad moved to the house in March 1947; Mom sold it in December 2000 to a family of landscapers, whose properly adjoined hers on both sides.

Mom's Giftedness

It became apparent to me over the Giftedness weekend that I have always had a comfortable awareness of my gifts. Throughout my life I have been blessed with love and affirmation in my birth family, in my marriage and family, in my professional career as a teacher, and in my church work. I have recognized that God gave me special gifts of intellect and nature that have resulted in my being successful at what I do. He has graced me with faith and commitment to my Church and given me a loving husband, children, and friends.

Not that I haven’t had setbacks. It was difficult for me to struggle through my husband’s long illness and death, but somehow even then I felt able to accept this loss supported by God’s grace. God showed me how I could fulfill my life in service to others through the Alzheimer’s Association and the Church. You can see why the Institute has been so valuable to me in these so-called senior years of my life.

At the same time I am quite aware of my many weaknesses. I must carefully examine and nurture my gifts so that they will be available in my new ministry. I believe that how we live “old age” is a true test of our character. Now I am in excellent health, but I hope and pray that God will give me the grace to accept any limitations on my activities that He will send my way. I admit in advance that it will be difficult for me to slow down and admit infirmity.

Procrastination, Dad Style

After reading Dad's description of studying for his actuarial exams, everyone in the Hawkins-Graves family will conclude that their study habits are genetic.

It was my intent to begin this letter with a lecture on procrastination delivered in Prof. Koch's inimitable style. This is how I used to work it. In those days I got off at 4:30 so I would be home considerably before 6.
Since dinner would be ready at 6 it was hardly worthwhile to begin studying. So I would start reading the LI Daily Press. After supper it would be only a few minutes till Lowell Thomas comes on so I might as well wait. (Please excuse the shift of tenses to the narrative present.) Well, a fellow needs some amusement and what's fifteen minutes; so to WEAF for the Chesterfield program with Fred Waring. Time out to rest so now it's 7:30. The half hour from 7:30 to 8:00 was really the difficult time to waste. I usually couldn't think of a valid excuse for not studying. Since I wasn't a lawyer, I usually got by without one.

Of course, everyone knows that the good radio programs come on a 8 o'clock so I was saved. This was good for Monday and Tuesday nights. Wednesday was a tougher struggle for I knew if I could get by Wednesday, I was saved for the rest of the week. What would be the use of studying for the last two days of the week? Occasionally, though, I would lose on Wednesday nights and I would have to make some attempt at getting to work. I usually got seated at my desk about 9 but I was still struggling. I could rearrange the papers on my desk for ten or fifteen minutes ,but finally I would have to pick up my book. However, there was still life in the old procrastinator: instead of opening the textbook at the assigned chapter, I could skip a hundred pages or so and then begin reading there. If I was near the end of the book, there were always other ones to look over. At approximately 10:30 the struggle would be over. It always puzzled me why I felt so tired after studying for only three hours.

Expanding House

In 1952 the unfinished attic on the second floor was converted into two bedrooms to make room for Peter. Richard, Stephen, and I had been sharing the larger downstairs bedroom; Richard and I were in bunk beds and Stephen was still in a crib. The original stairs were next to the kitchen; these became a closet and storage area. New stairs were created opposite the front door. If the stairs had been left as they were originally, I would have had to go through Richard's and Stephen's bedroom to get to mine. Two front dormers were created to make the bedrooms bigger. Dad and Uncle Pat worked on the project; I recall being apprehensive about the holes in the roof before the dormers were completed.

In 1956 after Michael was born, we finally accepted the reality we were not going to find a bigger house with such a great backyard. We added a huge dining room and a garage to the house; we also added a back dormer and a bathroom upstairs. The dining/family room made the house liveable, enabled us to host huge family parties. Grown children could sleep on the convertible couch in the dining room when they visited. The small house was big enough for all the love, life, chaos, and learning it contained.

347 Henry Street

Living with the Nolans in Queens Village was a wartime compromise for our parents. In their letters, they frequently plan for a home of their own. Shortly after Dad came home from France in February 1946, Mom and Dad started house hunting on Long Island; housing was hard to find. Mom and Dad purchased 347 Henry Street, East Hempstead, in 1946 for $10,200. The Koch family moved into their new home March 3, 1947, a month after Richard was born. At that time Dad's income was $4800; their mortgage was $9200. The house was built in 1942. In 1950 the address was changed to 827 Henry Street. In 1953 East Hempstead became Uniondale.

The house had two bedrooms, a living room, a bathroom, and a small kitchen. There was an unfinished basement and attic; we had no garage. Everytime Mom was pregnant, the family would go househunting; we almost bought houses in Merrick and Roosevelt. Dad did not want to lengthen his communte, and we never found a house nearby that had a backyard so perfect for gardening, swimming pools, and baseball games.

Dad and Vanessa

I wonder how many of his grandchildren remember Grandpa's reading to them? Vanessa is about 16 months old and is utterly captivated. The picture is taken at 827 Henry Street; the stairs are instantly recognizable. Given how many countless hours Mom and Dad read to their children and grandchildren, very few pictures exist.

Reading with Dad

Dad is reading to Stephen, Michael, and Peter. The date and ages puzzle me. Michael must be at least three; Dad is reading from a huge book. But if it is 1959, Peter would be 7 and Stephen would be 10. Stephen looks younger than that. I love Michael's pjamas. Were we expected to be dressed for bed before Dad read to us? Did Dad always keep his tie on after he came home from work?

I remember the curtains and the lamp better than the couch. I can't figure out what Dad is reading. Surely it is not the family bible, which is that color. Looking back, Dad and Mom didn't spent much time reading picture books. We were exposed to much more challenging books when we were very young. Mom also went out of the way to take us to the Hempstead Library because the Uniondale Library was so inadequate. She let us take out more books at a time than any parents I have met in my entire library career.

When Mom and Dad visited me at the hospital after Vanessa was born, they bought children's books as a present.

The Importance of Remembering

This picture of Mom was taken in late 2002; she is rereading one of Dad's wartime letters. I love her gentle smile. Until the end of her life, looking at old pictures and letters seemed to awaken her old self. Three weeks before Mom died, we looked at her web site on our television set and she read aloud every caption, seemed to be aware of who everyone was.

Now that Mom and Dad are dead, I realize the importance of not letting family memories die with them. So I started this blog to help us remember. The blog will keep reinventing itself. Several times a week I will post a family picture and share what I remember about when it was taken and what other memories it evokes. I will also post excerpts from Mom's and Dad's wartime letters. I will share what other family members have written. There are many pictures I haven't yet scanned, so you can look forward to photos that you have never seen.

I hope all my brothers, sisters-in-law, nieces and nephews, daughters and sons-in-law will share their reflections and reactions. All of you are welcome to comment. If you want full posting privileges, tell me and I will make you a full-fledged member of this blog.