Nov. 1
"Darling I am quite convinced that we're going to be proud parents in July. Four days late and still no sign of my period. (Grandma, like me, was regular as clockwork.) I'm still waiting two weeks though before I'll be completely convinced. Oh hon, each day I feel more certain that Our Lady has given us another wonderful favor. This is the bestest favor of all--a child of our very own.
Joe, I am sure it's true. I certainly haven't been feeling exactly normal. I can't say that I've really been nauseous, but I seem to have something very close to it. Maybe that accounts for my steady tired feeling too. All in all though, I feel fine, and I'm sure I'll have a normal pregnancy. Hon, it seems funny to talk about my being pregnant. Isn't it super?"
Nov. 10, 1944
"I told my mother she's going to be a grandmother and she wasn't even the least bit surprised. She said that it's really not necessary to go to the doctors until the end of the second month because he couldn't tell my anything until then anyway. ...It's fun being able to talk about it to mom though."
Nov. 14, 1944
"I haven't starting eating crackers in bed because I really haven't been too nauseous in the early morning. I usually feel worse about 10 or 11 o'clock.
Our secret is still a three-way secret although I don't know how I held back last night . Ginnie and Peg apparently thought that nothing happened because I didn't say anything. They were teasing me that I'd have my last chance to make good when you get your 5-day pass. Ha, Ha, little do they know that our baby is a month old already."
Monday, December 11, 2006
December 1944--Two Months Pregnant
My lucky steak ended today because I've been feeling sickish all day. I hate to miss Communion on Sunday, but I did this morning....After all my talking last night, I didn't go to Wisdom (her alma mater) this afternoon anyway. I was afraid I might get sick on the bus or something. So I spent most of the afternoon sleeping and about 5 I got up feeling much better.
Let's buy the baby something for Christmas. If you're lucky enough to get a 5 day pass, we can go shopping next Saturday. Otherwise I'll buy a baby dress or sweater or something myself. After all, Mary-Jo should have a hope chest too...
No, I didn't do any talking in the doctor's office--I just listened. You didn't think it possible, did you? Remember my telling you I could be silent and subdued some times? No, darling, doctors never embarrass me. They're so impersonal anyway. Most of the time you are covered with a sheet anyway. It's silly to get excited about going to the doctor's. That's just part of having a baby....
...Being a mother is just about the best thing that could happen to anyone. Darling, I guess you feel the same way about being a father. Joe, I still can't believe it really. It seems too wonderful to be true.
Let's buy the baby something for Christmas. If you're lucky enough to get a 5 day pass, we can go shopping next Saturday. Otherwise I'll buy a baby dress or sweater or something myself. After all, Mary-Jo should have a hope chest too...
No, I didn't do any talking in the doctor's office--I just listened. You didn't think it possible, did you? Remember my telling you I could be silent and subdued some times? No, darling, doctors never embarrass me. They're so impersonal anyway. Most of the time you are covered with a sheet anyway. It's silly to get excited about going to the doctor's. That's just part of having a baby....
...Being a mother is just about the best thing that could happen to anyone. Darling, I guess you feel the same way about being a father. Joe, I still can't believe it really. It seems too wonderful to be true.
November, 1944--Pregnancy
November 7, 1944
Dear, by this time you've had more mail from me, haven't you? You should know that things are pretty definite about our being parents next July. Isn't it super wonderful hon? Oh darling I'm so excited and happy I don't know that I can keep it a secret much longer. I want the whole world to know that I'm the luckiest girl in it 'cause I'm going to be a mommy. Joe darling, I love Mary-Jo's daddy awfully very much.
Very once in a while a baby Joe was mentioned.
Darling, I am so excited I doubt if I can keep it a secret much longer. I'll probably tell my mother soon and Peggy is likely it get it out of me at any time. Joe, I like having secrets with you. Dear, it's thrilling hearing my hubby say, "hello mommy."
November 8
Today I''m feeling quite chipper 'cause I talked with my husband last night. Dear, it was so exciting to share our secret. I like being a future mother awfully much. I love Mary-Jo's future daddy just millions of billions of times. I love you more than all the babies that were born this year. Just think hon, ours will be one of the babies who'll be born next year. Byrdie just told me before that Gladys Adams ( the secretary who married her boss, remember) is expecting a baby the end of April. I had all I could do to keep from telling her that Mary Koch is expecting a baby the beginning of July. It's really too soon to tell anyone yet though. I wonder how the doctor will figure. I understand that they estimate one week after the first day of your last period and then say it'll be nine months from then. Which means that he'd probably say sometime around July 8th. My guess is about the 15th though. I've decided I'll wait until the 26th of Nov., which would normally be my next period and then if nothing happens, I'll arrange to go to the doctor the following week. I think I'll call Dr. Schanno and ask him to recommend me to someone.
Dear, by this time you've had more mail from me, haven't you? You should know that things are pretty definite about our being parents next July. Isn't it super wonderful hon? Oh darling I'm so excited and happy I don't know that I can keep it a secret much longer. I want the whole world to know that I'm the luckiest girl in it 'cause I'm going to be a mommy. Joe darling, I love Mary-Jo's daddy awfully very much.
Very once in a while a baby Joe was mentioned.
Darling, I am so excited I doubt if I can keep it a secret much longer. I'll probably tell my mother soon and Peggy is likely it get it out of me at any time. Joe, I like having secrets with you. Dear, it's thrilling hearing my hubby say, "hello mommy."
November 8
Today I''m feeling quite chipper 'cause I talked with my husband last night. Dear, it was so exciting to share our secret. I like being a future mother awfully much. I love Mary-Jo's future daddy just millions of billions of times. I love you more than all the babies that were born this year. Just think hon, ours will be one of the babies who'll be born next year. Byrdie just told me before that Gladys Adams ( the secretary who married her boss, remember) is expecting a baby the end of April. I had all I could do to keep from telling her that Mary Koch is expecting a baby the beginning of July. It's really too soon to tell anyone yet though. I wonder how the doctor will figure. I understand that they estimate one week after the first day of your last period and then say it'll be nine months from then. Which means that he'd probably say sometime around July 8th. My guess is about the 15th though. I've decided I'll wait until the 26th of Nov., which would normally be my next period and then if nothing happens, I'll arrange to go to the doctor the following week. I think I'll call Dr. Schanno and ask him to recommend me to someone.
November 11, 1944--Mom to Dad
November 7, 1944
Dear, by this time you've had more mail from me, haven't you? You should know that things are pretty definite about our being parents next July. Isn't it super wonderful hon? Oh darling I'm so excited and happy I don't know that I can keep it a secret much longer. I want the whole world to know that I'm the luckiest girl in it 'cause I'm going to be a mommy. Joe darling, I love Mary-Jo's daddy awfully very much.
Very once in a while a baby Joe was mentioned.
Darling, I am so excited I doubt if I can keep it a secret much longer. I'll probably tell my mother soon and Peggy is likely it get it out of me at any time. Joe, I like having secrets with you. Dear, it's thrilling hearing my hubby say, "hello mommy."
November 8
Today I''m feeling quite chipper 'cause I talked with my husband last night. Dear, it was so exciting to share our secret. I like being a future mother awfully much. I love Mary-Jo's future daddy just millions of billions of times. I love ou more than all the babies that were born this year. Just think hon, ours will be one of the babies who'll be born next year. Byrdie just told me before that Gladys Adams ( the secretary who married her boss, remember) is expecting a baby the end of April. I had all I could do to keep from telling her that Mary Koch is expecting a baby the beginning of July. It's really too soon to tell anyone yet though. I wonder how the doctor will figure. I understand that they estimate one week after the first day of your last period and then say it'll be nine months from then. Which means that he'd probably say sometime around July 8th. My guess is about the 15th though. I've decided I'll wait until the 26th of Nov., which would normally be my next period and then if nothing happens, I'll arrange to go to the doctor the following week. I think I'll call Dr. Schanno and ask him to recommend me to someone.
Dear, by this time you've had more mail from me, haven't you? You should know that things are pretty definite about our being parents next July. Isn't it super wonderful hon? Oh darling I'm so excited and happy I don't know that I can keep it a secret much longer. I want the whole world to know that I'm the luckiest girl in it 'cause I'm going to be a mommy. Joe darling, I love Mary-Jo's daddy awfully very much.
Very once in a while a baby Joe was mentioned.
Darling, I am so excited I doubt if I can keep it a secret much longer. I'll probably tell my mother soon and Peggy is likely it get it out of me at any time. Joe, I like having secrets with you. Dear, it's thrilling hearing my hubby say, "hello mommy."
November 8
Today I''m feeling quite chipper 'cause I talked with my husband last night. Dear, it was so exciting to share our secret. I like being a future mother awfully much. I love Mary-Jo's future daddy just millions of billions of times. I love ou more than all the babies that were born this year. Just think hon, ours will be one of the babies who'll be born next year. Byrdie just told me before that Gladys Adams ( the secretary who married her boss, remember) is expecting a baby the end of April. I had all I could do to keep from telling her that Mary Koch is expecting a baby the beginning of July. It's really too soon to tell anyone yet though. I wonder how the doctor will figure. I understand that they estimate one week after the first day of your last period and then say it'll be nine months from then. Which means that he'd probably say sometime around July 8th. My guess is about the 15th though. I've decided I'll wait until the 26th of Nov., which would normally be my next period and then if nothing happens, I'll arrange to go to the doctor the following week. I think I'll call Dr. Schanno and ask him to recommend me to someone.
November 7 and 8, 1944--Mary to Joe
November 7, 1944
Dear, by this time you've had more mail from me, haven't you? You should know that things are pretty definite about our being parents next July. Isn't it super wonderful hon? Oh darling I'm so excited and happy I don't know that I can keep it a secret much longer. I want the whole world to know that I'm the luckiest girl in it 'cause I'm going to be a mommy. Joe darling, I love Mary-Jo's daddy awfully very much.
Very once in a while a baby Joe was mentioned.
Darling, I am so excited I doubt if I can keep it a secret much longer. I'll probably tell my mother soon and Peggy is likely it get it out of me at any time. Joe, I like having secrets with you. Dear, it's thrilling hearing my hubby say, "hello mommy."
November 8
Today I''m feeling quite chipper 'cause I talked with my husband last night. Dear, it was so exciting to share our secret. I like being a future mother awfully much. I love Mary-Jo's future daddy just millions of billions of times. I love ou more than all the babies that were born this year. Just think hon, ours will be one of the babies who'll be born next year. Byrdie just told me before that Gladys Adams ( the secretary who married her boss, remember) is expecting a baby the end of April. I had all I could do to keep from telling her that Mary Koch is expecting a baby the beginning of July. It's really too soon to tell anyone yet though. I wonder how the doctor will figure. I understand that they estimate one week after the first day of your last period and then say it'll be nine months from then. Which means that he'd probably say sometime around July 8th. My guess is about the 15th though. I've decided I'll wait until the 26th of Nov., which would normally be my next period and then if nothing happens, I'll arrange to go to the doctor the following week. I think I'll call Dr. Schanno and ask him to recommend me to someone.
Dear, by this time you've had more mail from me, haven't you? You should know that things are pretty definite about our being parents next July. Isn't it super wonderful hon? Oh darling I'm so excited and happy I don't know that I can keep it a secret much longer. I want the whole world to know that I'm the luckiest girl in it 'cause I'm going to be a mommy. Joe darling, I love Mary-Jo's daddy awfully very much.
Very once in a while a baby Joe was mentioned.
Darling, I am so excited I doubt if I can keep it a secret much longer. I'll probably tell my mother soon and Peggy is likely it get it out of me at any time. Joe, I like having secrets with you. Dear, it's thrilling hearing my hubby say, "hello mommy."
November 8
Today I''m feeling quite chipper 'cause I talked with my husband last night. Dear, it was so exciting to share our secret. I like being a future mother awfully much. I love Mary-Jo's future daddy just millions of billions of times. I love ou more than all the babies that were born this year. Just think hon, ours will be one of the babies who'll be born next year. Byrdie just told me before that Gladys Adams ( the secretary who married her boss, remember) is expecting a baby the end of April. I had all I could do to keep from telling her that Mary Koch is expecting a baby the beginning of July. It's really too soon to tell anyone yet though. I wonder how the doctor will figure. I understand that they estimate one week after the first day of your last period and then say it'll be nine months from then. Which means that he'd probably say sometime around July 8th. My guess is about the 15th though. I've decided I'll wait until the 26th of Nov., which would normally be my next period and then if nothing happens, I'll arrange to go to the doctor the following week. I think I'll call Dr. Schanno and ask him to recommend me to someone.
She Aids Group That Aided Her
- A Newsday article reprinted by permission, Newsday, Inc.
Copyright, 1995
When her husband, Joseph, was diagnosed with Alzheimer's in 1985, Mary Koch did what most wives-turned-caregivers would do. She joined an organization that offered support groups and advice. In her case, the Long Island chapter of the Alzheimer's Association, with an office in Patchogue.
After her husband died in 1987, Koch,now 73, remained an active supporter. This dedication has led her up the volunteer ladder to her present position as the chapter's legislativeadvocate. She also leads a support group in Elmont.
"We have twenty-eight support groups for
caregivers on Long Island," said Koch, who lives in Uniondale. "I was part of a support group when my husband was diagnosed. We discuss problems and everyone tries to help each other." Names of day-care groups, respite-care contacts and Medicaid information are offered at these meetings, often held twice monthly. "We encourage people to go to support groups," she said. "It helps to know how others handle situations."
A former social studies teacher at Uniondale High School, she now uses that training in her advocacy role. She suggests that the chapter's 500 registered members write
letters to the state and contact congressmen whenever legislation affecting Alzheimer's is on the agenda. "I'm concerned about Medicaid cuts as it applies to home care," Koch said. "Alzheimer patients are not able to follow advice to push a button [to summon help]. They need caregivers a full day."
Based on census figures, she estimates there are about 40,000 families with Alzheimer
patients on Long Island. For further information, contact Koch at 486-5607 or the Patchogue office at 289-6335.
Copyright, 1995
When her husband, Joseph, was diagnosed with Alzheimer's in 1985, Mary Koch did what most wives-turned-caregivers would do. She joined an organization that offered support groups and advice. In her case, the Long Island chapter of the Alzheimer's Association, with an office in Patchogue.
After her husband died in 1987, Koch,now 73, remained an active supporter. This dedication has led her up the volunteer ladder to her present position as the chapter's legislativeadvocate. She also leads a support group in Elmont.
"We have twenty-eight support groups for
caregivers on Long Island," said Koch, who lives in Uniondale. "I was part of a support group when my husband was diagnosed. We discuss problems and everyone tries to help each other." Names of day-care groups, respite-care contacts and Medicaid information are offered at these meetings, often held twice monthly. "We encourage people to go to support groups," she said. "It helps to know how others handle situations."
A former social studies teacher at Uniondale High School, she now uses that training in her advocacy role. She suggests that the chapter's 500 registered members write
letters to the state and contact congressmen whenever legislation affecting Alzheimer's is on the agenda. "I'm concerned about Medicaid cuts as it applies to home care," Koch said. "Alzheimer patients are not able to follow advice to push a button [to summon help]. They need caregivers a full day."
Based on census figures, she estimates there are about 40,000 families with Alzheimer
patients on Long Island. For further information, contact Koch at 486-5607 or the Patchogue office at 289-6335.
In Praise of My Grandma
Katie Koch Hubbell, wrote this on August 11, 1999.
Although I have not been fortunate enough to have lived close by my Grandma throughout my life, I have always admired her and looked up to her. I am constantly telling my friends and people I meet about what an incredible person my grandmother is. I hope to have half her energy and strength when I am 78 years old. I think many people would be grateful to have it when they are half her age.
It's often difficult to find Female role models who demonstrate the qualities that I value in people and I have been fortunate to have several of those role models in my life, my Grandma being one of them. As a young female trying to struggle through life and establish myself, I find solace in the fact that women like Grandma Mary were there before me laying the path. Knowing that despite growing up in times when women were not given as many opportunities as we are today and seeing the incredible things my Grandma was able to accomplish, I feel confident that I can accomplish similar things.
Another wonderful thing that I have to thank my Grandma for is for giving birth and raising my father. I admire my dad and strongly feel that my Grandma played a huge role in helping him develop into the wonderful person that he is. Thank You GRANDMA
Although I have not been fortunate enough to have lived close by my Grandma throughout my life, I have always admired her and looked up to her. I am constantly telling my friends and people I meet about what an incredible person my grandmother is. I hope to have half her energy and strength when I am 78 years old. I think many people would be grateful to have it when they are half her age.
It's often difficult to find Female role models who demonstrate the qualities that I value in people and I have been fortunate to have several of those role models in my life, my Grandma being one of them. As a young female trying to struggle through life and establish myself, I find solace in the fact that women like Grandma Mary were there before me laying the path. Knowing that despite growing up in times when women were not given as many opportunities as we are today and seeing the incredible things my Grandma was able to accomplish, I feel confident that I can accomplish similar things.
Another wonderful thing that I have to thank my Grandma for is for giving birth and raising my father. I admire my dad and strongly feel that my Grandma played a huge role in helping him develop into the wonderful person that he is. Thank You GRANDMA
Mom Remembers Her Dad
Mom didn't reminisce very much, but she posted this to Nolan in 1989 before she got sick.
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 to 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 he 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 a 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 yrs. 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.”
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 to 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 he 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 a 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 yrs. 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.”
Warren's Tribute to My Sister, Marie
April 11, 2004
MY SISTER, MARIE
She was one of the brightest stars of our generation, World War II bride, mother of six, grandmother of fifteen, community activist, teacher, founding pillar of St. Martha's Church in Uniondale, L.I., and finally, a volunteer lobbyist for the Alzheimer's Association in Albany and Washington.
She was my big sister. For us, her five brothers and her sister, Joan, she was always, "Marie".
In my first memory of her she is crying, doubtless frustrated by the antics of her three rambunctious younger brothers, Warren, Frank and Ken. We were eleven, thirteen and fifteen years younger than Marie.
Though she was an accomplished scholar at Our Lady of Wisdom Academy in Ozone Park, our father's death in 1939 made it impossible for her to consider college. She went to work, helping to support her widowed mother and five younger siblings. In the evening, she took courses, eventually overburdening herself and suffering some health setbacks.
A young man she dated in 1940 had a car with a rumble seat. Before we knew what cool meant, it was cool to go to the World's Fair in Flushing Meadow in the rumble seat of a coupe. The Trylon and Perisphere were enduring symbols of our youth. The young man did not survive the war which began for the U.S. in December, 1941.
At some point we learned tha Marie had met Joe Koch while on a summer vacation in the Adirondacks. Then he was in the Army and there were endless letters back and forth. Suddenly, he was coming home on furlough and she was to be married. It was March 6, 1944. She was just twenty-two. He called her Mary.
Joe Koch had four sisters, Mary, Jane, Agnes and Peggy. They descended upon our simple 220th Street home in Queens Village and transformed it into a wedding palace. As there was rationing, and meat was scarce, we younger ones were sent out to canvass the neighborhood for red coupons which, with a bit of money, and some luck, would provision the wedding feast. With certainty there were also preserved vegetables and fruits from our previous summer's victorygarden.
My memory is of a bright, sunny day with a distinct chill in the air. My brother Robert, 17, handsome in his blue Xavier uniform with white gloves, standing in for James who was aboard the USS Biloxi in the Pacific, escorted the beautiful bride down the aisle of SS. Joachim and Anne Church. Later, in our backyard, I recall seeing our white haired pastor, Father Herchenroder. He had been a poker playing pal of my father, and knew many of the Nolans from the Brooklyn days. As the celebration dwindled down, a few of us with more serious
purpose adjourned across the street to engage the Gallic boys in a game of marbles. Which reminds me that one of the Gallics, Denny, had a serious crush on my sister and would come calling for her. He was about ten at the time of her wedding.
As Joe went back to his military duties, Marie continued to live with us. We younger ones learned that the great mystery of life was unfolding, and that there was to be a baby in the summer of 1945. For some reason we had a piano in our living room. Maybe James played a little, and Aunt Anna some, but there were no virtuosos in our family. Soon my big sister, awaiting her first born, began to play over, and over and over again, "Meet me in St. Louis, Looie, meet me at the Fair", from the popular 1944 movie of that name. Hers was a
small repertoire. We never heard "The Trolley Song", "The Boy Next Door", or "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" from the same film.
In May of 1945. Jim and Kay were married. At the reception in the Belmont Plaza hotel on Lexington Avenue, a family picture was taken. My very pregnant "big" sister hid behind her little brothers.
Mary Jo arrived on July 17, 1945. I believe by this time her Dad was in Europe, probably beginning his hunt for "Bambi" in Paris. And we had a little sister. Can boys thirteen, eleven and nine really be uncles? As I made my way through eighth grade at SS. Joachim and Anne in 1945-46, it was my morning ritual to spend time playing with Mary Jo before heading off to school. She was pretty cute.
MY SISTER, MARIE
She was one of the brightest stars of our generation, World War II bride, mother of six, grandmother of fifteen, community activist, teacher, founding pillar of St. Martha's Church in Uniondale, L.I., and finally, a volunteer lobbyist for the Alzheimer's Association in Albany and Washington.
She was my big sister. For us, her five brothers and her sister, Joan, she was always, "Marie".
In my first memory of her she is crying, doubtless frustrated by the antics of her three rambunctious younger brothers, Warren, Frank and Ken. We were eleven, thirteen and fifteen years younger than Marie.
Though she was an accomplished scholar at Our Lady of Wisdom Academy in Ozone Park, our father's death in 1939 made it impossible for her to consider college. She went to work, helping to support her widowed mother and five younger siblings. In the evening, she took courses, eventually overburdening herself and suffering some health setbacks.
A young man she dated in 1940 had a car with a rumble seat. Before we knew what cool meant, it was cool to go to the World's Fair in Flushing Meadow in the rumble seat of a coupe. The Trylon and Perisphere were enduring symbols of our youth. The young man did not survive the war which began for the U.S. in December, 1941.
At some point we learned tha Marie had met Joe Koch while on a summer vacation in the Adirondacks. Then he was in the Army and there were endless letters back and forth. Suddenly, he was coming home on furlough and she was to be married. It was March 6, 1944. She was just twenty-two. He called her Mary.
Joe Koch had four sisters, Mary, Jane, Agnes and Peggy. They descended upon our simple 220th Street home in Queens Village and transformed it into a wedding palace. As there was rationing, and meat was scarce, we younger ones were sent out to canvass the neighborhood for red coupons which, with a bit of money, and some luck, would provision the wedding feast. With certainty there were also preserved vegetables and fruits from our previous summer's victorygarden.
My memory is of a bright, sunny day with a distinct chill in the air. My brother Robert, 17, handsome in his blue Xavier uniform with white gloves, standing in for James who was aboard the USS Biloxi in the Pacific, escorted the beautiful bride down the aisle of SS. Joachim and Anne Church. Later, in our backyard, I recall seeing our white haired pastor, Father Herchenroder. He had been a poker playing pal of my father, and knew many of the Nolans from the Brooklyn days. As the celebration dwindled down, a few of us with more serious
purpose adjourned across the street to engage the Gallic boys in a game of marbles. Which reminds me that one of the Gallics, Denny, had a serious crush on my sister and would come calling for her. He was about ten at the time of her wedding.
As Joe went back to his military duties, Marie continued to live with us. We younger ones learned that the great mystery of life was unfolding, and that there was to be a baby in the summer of 1945. For some reason we had a piano in our living room. Maybe James played a little, and Aunt Anna some, but there were no virtuosos in our family. Soon my big sister, awaiting her first born, began to play over, and over and over again, "Meet me in St. Louis, Looie, meet me at the Fair", from the popular 1944 movie of that name. Hers was a
small repertoire. We never heard "The Trolley Song", "The Boy Next Door", or "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" from the same film.
In May of 1945. Jim and Kay were married. At the reception in the Belmont Plaza hotel on Lexington Avenue, a family picture was taken. My very pregnant "big" sister hid behind her little brothers.
Mary Jo arrived on July 17, 1945. I believe by this time her Dad was in Europe, probably beginning his hunt for "Bambi" in Paris. And we had a little sister. Can boys thirteen, eleven and nine really be uncles? As I made my way through eighth grade at SS. Joachim and Anne in 1945-46, it was my morning ritual to spend time playing with Mary Jo before heading off to school. She was pretty cute.
When the war ended in August, 1945, Joe did not return as quickly as other soldiers. Most of his service had been stateside, and he had not accumulated as many points as others who had been in combat zones. When he did come home, he squeezed into our family abode at 220th Street, living there throughout 1946 and into 1947, commuting to his job wiith the Metropolitan Life Insurance Company in Manhattan via bus and subway.
Housing was scarce after the war. Early in 1947, Joe and Marie found a prewar Cape Cod style house in a place called Uniondale on the Nassau frontier. For us New York City sophisticates, anything east of Belmont Park was the habitat of potato farmers and clamdiggers. Both Joe and Marie began to exhibit some of those Long Island farming and gardening instincts, so it was great that they had purchased an oversized lot which brought them much happiness over the
years, and provided ample room for large family gatherings. The address was827 Henry Street.
We Nolans no longer owned a car so it was a two bus trip to Uniondale, first via Bee Line to Hempstead, and then by some Okielike conveyance along Front Street to Uniondale Avenue. I recall being pressed into service to scrape and paint the bathroom before they moved in. Looking out that bathroom window at night, you could see a few lights twinkling on far off Front Street. There seemed nothing in between. It was a pretty desolate place, but it was connected to civilization via telephone, IV6-5607. Over the years, I must have called
that number a thousand times.
By the early 1950s my three oldest siblings were contributing mightily to the postwar baby boom. Their progeny was color coded by family: blondes, brunettes and redheads. My wife Marie and I produced twins in the biggest baby boom year, 1957. With the marriages of Joan and Peter, Frank and Rosemarie, and Ken and Marie swelling the total, Mother soon had thirty-one grandchildren.
In the 1950s and 1960s our family celebrations were still focused on 220th Street. At Thanksgiving and Christmas, we would arrive in relays. It was on these occasions that James would put together family entertainments featuring the grandchildren. After Mother sold the old homestead in 1969 and moved to a Uniondale apartment, Joe and Marie began to host the family gatherings on the holidays and for special events during the summer. My sister had an amazing ability to bring together large numbers of people with little pretense or fuss,
creating a joyous, happy, relaxed time for all. These gatherings continued through the 1970s, 1980s and 1990s. Her organization of the 1998 one hundreth anniversary celebration of Mother's birthday topped all her parties and had to be held on the grounds of a local church to accomodate all the Nolans and related families. The one dotter, two dotter, three dotter terminology that we use to distinguish the generations was a product of that happy family event.
In the 1960s Marie graduated from Nassau Community College and continued on for her Hofstra degree. She told me that she was considering becoming an elementary teacher. With apology to all elementary teachers, I told my sister that she needed to be teaching at the secondary level. With her deep and diverse intellectual interests that was clearly the place for her. She went on to her master's degree at Hofstra University and began to teach social studies at Uniondale High School. Some years later, she invited me to speak to her colleagues at Uniondale on the subject of a school-within-a-school project they were organizing. I had done an evaluation of a similar community school at Herricks High School. It was hard to tell if she was more proud of me or I of her. It was amusing to see two of my Regis teachers, her Uniondale colleagues, in the group.
Mother was always amazed at having produced children who were so widely distributed across the political spectrum in their views. Marie, Frank and I were the liberal caucus, sometimes referred to as "Commonweal Catholics". I still read Commonweal, but now I stand alone, Have mercy, Ken.
In the late 1970s, the time came when Mother could no longer function on her own. Marie and Joe took her into their home. While carrying on an amazing variety of social, community and church related activities, Marie was able to provide our Mother with the best possible quality of life until her death in January, 1985. Perhaps it was her involvement in Mother's care that made her slow to recognize the changes that were taking place in her husband, Joe. He was
exhibiting symptoms later diagnosed as Alzheimer's disease, and so she entered upon another period of devoted care for a loved one, this time her life's partner.
From their earliest days in Uniondale, Marie and Joe had been part of the Catholic community which founded St. Martha's parish. Relations were not always smooth. There came a time when she was part of a group locking horns with the then pastor who wanted to knock down the old church and build something grander. Her group was successful. My sister was deeply involved in all aspects of her parish, serving as a lector and as a member of the parish council among
other activities. At various times of her life she was a daily communicant, walking the five or six blocks to the church. On the half-dozen or more occasions when my wife and I attended Mass with her there, she seemed to be greeted by half the congregation. As the community changed, St. Martha's served a more diverse population. Both in her church and community activities my sister was dedicated to maintaining Uniondale as a balanced, integrated community.
After Joe's death in 1987, Marie became a leader in the fight against Alzheimer's disease, serving as a member of the board of the Long Island Alzheimer's Association, conducting support groups, gathering her clan to participate in the annual march, and lobbying for funds each year in both Albany and Washington. Even after we moved from West Islip to Otisco Lake in 1994, she would summon us each fall to participate in the Alzheimer's march. My daughter Eileen remembers that about the time the cherry blossoms were blooming around the Tidal
Basin in Washington, her Aunt Marie would sweep into town to lobby for Congressional support to fund Alzheimer's research, bunk with her for one night, and share a meal at some ethnic restaurant with Eileen and my son Chris. Marie sensitized me to the Alzheimer's problem. Last summer I became a participant in a national study to determine the possible effectiveness of anti-inflammatory drugs in inpeding the progress of Alzheimer's disease.
About two years ago we took Marie to visit James at his home in Ridge. They sat opposite each other, holding hands. I do not recall any verbal communication between them, but who can know what is passing through the minds of a brother and sister who, after eighty years of shared family life, are meeting for the last time.
As her health declined Marie benefitted from the wonderful care given her by her family caregivers. Michael, Sherry and Willa live about forty minutes east of us so while my sister was with them we were able to visit her and see the loving care which they provided. Willa, about five at the time, was in a role reversal with her grandmother, watching over her and cautioning her when necessary.
My sister would often joke about a paper she had written at Hofstra, "I Lived with Twelve Men". She meant her five brothers, her five sons, her father and her husband. With Mary Jo's recent marriage, a thirteenth man came into my sister's life, Andy Graves. As Marie became less mobile, and less and less able to communicate, Andy and Mary Jo devoted all their energies to her care. All of us in her widely extended family are deeply grateful to them for their extraordinary efforts in caring for the person we all loved so much.
When we saw Marie two weeks ago at Jim's wake, we were elated at her response to Eileen's baby. Her eyes sparkled, and she seemed thrilled to see little Andrew, making the kind of cooing sounds adults use to communicate with infants. It gave us hope that she would be with us a while more, but it was not to be.
To Mary Jo and Richard, Stephen and Michael, Peter and Mark, let me say, in my brother Bob's words, your mother was an extraordinary woman. She was a teacher and model for us all, the exemplar of a modern, educated, Christian woman who was a great mother and grandmother, an accomplished professional educator, and a spirited activist and leader in the affairs of her church and community.
And to you, dear sister, your lively voice is quieted, and your exciting life's journey has come to an end. Leave it to you to pick Good Friday for a dramatic exit. You will live on in the hearts and minds of all of us who have loved you so dearly. Hopefully, you will light the way for us to follow in your heavenly path when we are called.
Love to all our family,
Warren
Housing was scarce after the war. Early in 1947, Joe and Marie found a prewar Cape Cod style house in a place called Uniondale on the Nassau frontier. For us New York City sophisticates, anything east of Belmont Park was the habitat of potato farmers and clamdiggers. Both Joe and Marie began to exhibit some of those Long Island farming and gardening instincts, so it was great that they had purchased an oversized lot which brought them much happiness over the
years, and provided ample room for large family gatherings. The address was827 Henry Street.
We Nolans no longer owned a car so it was a two bus trip to Uniondale, first via Bee Line to Hempstead, and then by some Okielike conveyance along Front Street to Uniondale Avenue. I recall being pressed into service to scrape and paint the bathroom before they moved in. Looking out that bathroom window at night, you could see a few lights twinkling on far off Front Street. There seemed nothing in between. It was a pretty desolate place, but it was connected to civilization via telephone, IV6-5607. Over the years, I must have called
that number a thousand times.
By the early 1950s my three oldest siblings were contributing mightily to the postwar baby boom. Their progeny was color coded by family: blondes, brunettes and redheads. My wife Marie and I produced twins in the biggest baby boom year, 1957. With the marriages of Joan and Peter, Frank and Rosemarie, and Ken and Marie swelling the total, Mother soon had thirty-one grandchildren.
In the 1950s and 1960s our family celebrations were still focused on 220th Street. At Thanksgiving and Christmas, we would arrive in relays. It was on these occasions that James would put together family entertainments featuring the grandchildren. After Mother sold the old homestead in 1969 and moved to a Uniondale apartment, Joe and Marie began to host the family gatherings on the holidays and for special events during the summer. My sister had an amazing ability to bring together large numbers of people with little pretense or fuss,
creating a joyous, happy, relaxed time for all. These gatherings continued through the 1970s, 1980s and 1990s. Her organization of the 1998 one hundreth anniversary celebration of Mother's birthday topped all her parties and had to be held on the grounds of a local church to accomodate all the Nolans and related families. The one dotter, two dotter, three dotter terminology that we use to distinguish the generations was a product of that happy family event.
In the 1960s Marie graduated from Nassau Community College and continued on for her Hofstra degree. She told me that she was considering becoming an elementary teacher. With apology to all elementary teachers, I told my sister that she needed to be teaching at the secondary level. With her deep and diverse intellectual interests that was clearly the place for her. She went on to her master's degree at Hofstra University and began to teach social studies at Uniondale High School. Some years later, she invited me to speak to her colleagues at Uniondale on the subject of a school-within-a-school project they were organizing. I had done an evaluation of a similar community school at Herricks High School. It was hard to tell if she was more proud of me or I of her. It was amusing to see two of my Regis teachers, her Uniondale colleagues, in the group.
Mother was always amazed at having produced children who were so widely distributed across the political spectrum in their views. Marie, Frank and I were the liberal caucus, sometimes referred to as "Commonweal Catholics". I still read Commonweal, but now I stand alone, Have mercy, Ken.
In the late 1970s, the time came when Mother could no longer function on her own. Marie and Joe took her into their home. While carrying on an amazing variety of social, community and church related activities, Marie was able to provide our Mother with the best possible quality of life until her death in January, 1985. Perhaps it was her involvement in Mother's care that made her slow to recognize the changes that were taking place in her husband, Joe. He was
exhibiting symptoms later diagnosed as Alzheimer's disease, and so she entered upon another period of devoted care for a loved one, this time her life's partner.
From their earliest days in Uniondale, Marie and Joe had been part of the Catholic community which founded St. Martha's parish. Relations were not always smooth. There came a time when she was part of a group locking horns with the then pastor who wanted to knock down the old church and build something grander. Her group was successful. My sister was deeply involved in all aspects of her parish, serving as a lector and as a member of the parish council among
other activities. At various times of her life she was a daily communicant, walking the five or six blocks to the church. On the half-dozen or more occasions when my wife and I attended Mass with her there, she seemed to be greeted by half the congregation. As the community changed, St. Martha's served a more diverse population. Both in her church and community activities my sister was dedicated to maintaining Uniondale as a balanced, integrated community.
After Joe's death in 1987, Marie became a leader in the fight against Alzheimer's disease, serving as a member of the board of the Long Island Alzheimer's Association, conducting support groups, gathering her clan to participate in the annual march, and lobbying for funds each year in both Albany and Washington. Even after we moved from West Islip to Otisco Lake in 1994, she would summon us each fall to participate in the Alzheimer's march. My daughter Eileen remembers that about the time the cherry blossoms were blooming around the Tidal
Basin in Washington, her Aunt Marie would sweep into town to lobby for Congressional support to fund Alzheimer's research, bunk with her for one night, and share a meal at some ethnic restaurant with Eileen and my son Chris. Marie sensitized me to the Alzheimer's problem. Last summer I became a participant in a national study to determine the possible effectiveness of anti-inflammatory drugs in inpeding the progress of Alzheimer's disease.
About two years ago we took Marie to visit James at his home in Ridge. They sat opposite each other, holding hands. I do not recall any verbal communication between them, but who can know what is passing through the minds of a brother and sister who, after eighty years of shared family life, are meeting for the last time.
As her health declined Marie benefitted from the wonderful care given her by her family caregivers. Michael, Sherry and Willa live about forty minutes east of us so while my sister was with them we were able to visit her and see the loving care which they provided. Willa, about five at the time, was in a role reversal with her grandmother, watching over her and cautioning her when necessary.
My sister would often joke about a paper she had written at Hofstra, "I Lived with Twelve Men". She meant her five brothers, her five sons, her father and her husband. With Mary Jo's recent marriage, a thirteenth man came into my sister's life, Andy Graves. As Marie became less mobile, and less and less able to communicate, Andy and Mary Jo devoted all their energies to her care. All of us in her widely extended family are deeply grateful to them for their extraordinary efforts in caring for the person we all loved so much.
When we saw Marie two weeks ago at Jim's wake, we were elated at her response to Eileen's baby. Her eyes sparkled, and she seemed thrilled to see little Andrew, making the kind of cooing sounds adults use to communicate with infants. It gave us hope that she would be with us a while more, but it was not to be.
To Mary Jo and Richard, Stephen and Michael, Peter and Mark, let me say, in my brother Bob's words, your mother was an extraordinary woman. She was a teacher and model for us all, the exemplar of a modern, educated, Christian woman who was a great mother and grandmother, an accomplished professional educator, and a spirited activist and leader in the affairs of her church and community.
And to you, dear sister, your lively voice is quieted, and your exciting life's journey has come to an end. Leave it to you to pick Good Friday for a dramatic exit. You will live on in the hearts and minds of all of us who have loved you so dearly. Hopefully, you will light the way for us to follow in your heavenly path when we are called.
Love to all our family,
Warren
Sunday, April 9, 2006
She Looked on Tempests and Was Never Shaken
Today is the second anniversary of my mother's death, April 9. I wanted to share again this wonderful tribute that my daughter Katherine wrote two years ago.
I knew her as my Grandma, and I knew her best when I was a kid or a teenager, and that seems to be the only way I can write about her. So. Here is the best composite sketch I can come up with:
She enters the room, and calls out “greetings, greetings.” (Or, if it’s our house in Baldwin, she shakes her head, says “chaos, chaos”, and promptly misplaces her purse.)
She is always, always moving—that’s the first thing you have to know about her. This occasionally verges on the absurd--she used to do laps around McDonald’s by the side of the highway on long trips, and I remember Aunt Sherry once whispering to me “right, no more coffee for you”, as Grandma completed her fourth circuit of the kitchen and stairs on a rainy day in New Woodstock. And when she breaks more bones in the course of a year than the typical casualty rate of a Koch ski trip, or you’re trying to pack up your college doom room, it’s downright unnerving.
But for the most part it’s a very good thing. I don’t know how many countries she went to, or how many lobbying trips to Washington D.C., but I remember our trip to France together; and her descriptions of how Ted Kennedy’s new wife seemed to be doing him good, and which Congressmen were decent guys in spite of being Republicans. And I’ve more than lost count of the times she took my sisters and me to the pool, or the beach, or to visit one of our relatives. But I’ll never forget that the way back from Mark and Maura’s house requires pulling into the Croton Library parking lot and doing a U turn. (At this point, of course, it’s partly because Uncle Mark refuses to tell us the alternate route.)
She also took us into New York City a lot, but the trip to Manhattan I remember the best was the least successful. I was in eighth or ninth grade, and Patricia was in fourth or fifth. Grandma took the two of us and my sister’s best friend into New York for Patricia’s birthday. We were going to Central Park and a museum, I think—I’m not sure because we never got there. Grandma’s route to New York was even more circuitous than the way home from Croton. The Long Island Railroad was too expensive, and parking in Manhattan was right out, so she would drive to a municipal parking lot in Queens where you could park all day for $2, and then walk ten minutes or so to the subway—I don’t remember which station, somewhere near the end of the E line. This time, though, our meter was broken. I suggested we move to another space, but she was not willing to waste those quarters, so she wrote a note and taped it to the parking meter. Unfortunately, in the confusion, she left her car keys sitting on the driver’s seat—she realized this somewhere under the streets of Manhattan.
We turned around, and no one had broken the window or stolen the car. But here, I thought, was an object lesson for Grandma—moderation in all things, including frugality.
She’d have to pay for a locksmith, which cost much more than the extra quarters or, God forbid, a train ticket.
She did no such thing. Instead she asked a rough looking young man on a nearby sidewalk to help her break into her car. He was happy to assist. When he could not get the door open, he called over a friend. Who said, after a few more unsuccessful attempts to pick the lock, that what they really needed was a crowbar, but since he didn’t have his around and Grandma was not crazy about that, they’d better ask another friend. Who said, and I quote, “what we really need is a Puerto Rican.”
I don’t know whether they found a Puerto Rican, and I don’t remember how long we stood there, Grandma smiling encouragingly and offering occasional advice, or how many neighborhood kids were debating the best way to break into a Toyota Camry by the end—it’s probably somewhat exaggerated in my memory. I can tell you that in the end, the simple yet elegant coat-hanger-through-the-window-to-pull-up-the-button-technique did the trick. The lock suffered some damage from the good samaritans’ enthusiastic efforts, but you could get the door open more often than not. And from then on, we parked in the driveway of a high school friend of Grandma’s—10 minutes further away from a subway station even further down the E line, but $2.00 cheaper than the municipal lot and much less risk of a break in.
(As I was writing all of that, I realized---it’s not quite accurate to say she was always moving. I just remembered the nights in Henry Street when she would tuck us in, and tell us to lie still and imagine we were floating on a cloud. There were also her “yoga,” excuse me, ‘yoger” exercises. But if I ever want to finish this, I should move on, so….)
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 the picture posted above 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.
Monday, January 16, 2006
First Family Car
Richard, Stephen, and I are having trouble remembering and dating our family cars. This was the first. I remember that we had to bring big jugs of water even on hour trips because the car would overheat the need water. This must the car Mom learned to drive in. She failed her first test. When parking, she ran over a curb that was obscured by feeds. Richard, Stephen, and I had to go along for driving practice. I wound up doing the same thing in Maine. My kids loathed practicing parallel parking.
Gardening
Dad was a gardener; he grew vegetables. Flowers were Mom's department, but she took over growing vegetables after Dad died. Neither Mom or Dad were great cooks, so I don't remember specific family recipes. What I remember are delicious fresh vegetables--tomatoes, string beans, corn, zucchini, broccoli, lettuce. No tomatoes or corn have ever tasted as good.In retrospect I understand that gardening was the perfect way for Dad to unwind from his actuarial job and his long commute. I remember his encouraging us to start our own little gardens. I remember helping him plant strawberries. I remember picking off Japanese beetles from the plants and putting them in a jar of something that killed them.
Peter and Michael have definitely inherited the gardening gene. I tend to garden in the spring, then neglect the garden during the hot summer.
Saturday, January 14, 2006
Mary: January 16, 1943
Dear Joe, Saturday morning in the office is as usual very dull--not that you'd know about such things, having loafed all your life on the seventh day of the week--so I'm free to steal a few minutes to say hello to you. Then too, since most of my time this weekend will be divided between the books and hot coffee, I'll probably not have another chance to write.
Due to the paper shortage you'll note that I'm typing single space, although all the best secretarial books insist that you should use double space for personal letters. While in the midst of licenses and priorities, I'd like to inform you that we do not sell them--the Government does that. On the contrary we have to obtain them, and it's a hard job getting them. If you've been reading your newspapers lately (or maybe the El Paso Times isn't up to date), you'd know that there are innumerable forms to be completed before Washington will even consider granting priorities, allocations, and licenses. I hope now that you realize that procuring licenses is not as simple as persuading poor unsuspecting individuals to buy insurance policies.
This morning promised to be just another dull dreary Saturday, but soddenly the old sun has appeared and changed the whole outlook. To herald the appearance of Mr. Sol is the air-raid whistle which means noon time has come; I'm glad because hunger is gnawing at my stomach. You know army life would never do for me if the meals are as bad as you say. In no time though you'll probably become adept at dragging the available supply of food from those Texans, just as you were in obtaining subway seats from helpless women. Well, I guess I'll have to interrupt this letter anyway to get my mail out before closing time. See you later.
In a few short hours spring has come! How do I know? Well, when you can use a porch which has no heat, then it's spring, isn't it? Yes, it's the first time since November that we've even stayed on the porch more than two minutes. Usually we just consider that a part of the great outdoors. Of course you will probably pick me up on the above and remark something about my being on the porch for a whole hour one night. But why do I let my thoughts stray like that. To get back to spring--after work I walked down Fifth Avenue to the 42nd St. entrance to the subway just so that I might enjoy the warm sunny day. You see you're not the only one who takes 16 mile hikes.
Our coats were tossed open; thermostats were shoved down to 60, the solid earth became soft and muddy, and the world seemed to be whistling a tune of spring. Yet the other sure signs of spring were missing--there were no cheery songs of the birds or the first green buds on the trees--so I guess it isn't here yet. How I wish it were; then I'd have an excuse for this sudden attack of spring fever.
Mother insists that the cold blustery winter has just begun; rather she hopes so because we just bought a new grate for the fireplace which burns coal and we haven't yet experimented with it. By the way when dashing through RHM on Monday, I happened to see your sister Jane. However as I was rather late and anxious to get back form lunch on time, I didn't take time to stop. Besides she seemed to be persuading a reluctant costumier to buy some little do-dad.
Due to the paper shortage you'll note that I'm typing single space, although all the best secretarial books insist that you should use double space for personal letters. While in the midst of licenses and priorities, I'd like to inform you that we do not sell them--the Government does that. On the contrary we have to obtain them, and it's a hard job getting them. If you've been reading your newspapers lately (or maybe the El Paso Times isn't up to date), you'd know that there are innumerable forms to be completed before Washington will even consider granting priorities, allocations, and licenses. I hope now that you realize that procuring licenses is not as simple as persuading poor unsuspecting individuals to buy insurance policies.
This morning promised to be just another dull dreary Saturday, but soddenly the old sun has appeared and changed the whole outlook. To herald the appearance of Mr. Sol is the air-raid whistle which means noon time has come; I'm glad because hunger is gnawing at my stomach. You know army life would never do for me if the meals are as bad as you say. In no time though you'll probably become adept at dragging the available supply of food from those Texans, just as you were in obtaining subway seats from helpless women. Well, I guess I'll have to interrupt this letter anyway to get my mail out before closing time. See you later.
In a few short hours spring has come! How do I know? Well, when you can use a porch which has no heat, then it's spring, isn't it? Yes, it's the first time since November that we've even stayed on the porch more than two minutes. Usually we just consider that a part of the great outdoors. Of course you will probably pick me up on the above and remark something about my being on the porch for a whole hour one night. But why do I let my thoughts stray like that. To get back to spring--after work I walked down Fifth Avenue to the 42nd St. entrance to the subway just so that I might enjoy the warm sunny day. You see you're not the only one who takes 16 mile hikes.
Our coats were tossed open; thermostats were shoved down to 60, the solid earth became soft and muddy, and the world seemed to be whistling a tune of spring. Yet the other sure signs of spring were missing--there were no cheery songs of the birds or the first green buds on the trees--so I guess it isn't here yet. How I wish it were; then I'd have an excuse for this sudden attack of spring fever.
Mother insists that the cold blustery winter has just begun; rather she hopes so because we just bought a new grate for the fireplace which burns coal and we haven't yet experimented with it. By the way when dashing through RHM on Monday, I happened to see your sister Jane. However as I was rather late and anxious to get back form lunch on time, I didn't take time to stop. Besides she seemed to be persuading a reluctant costumier to buy some little do-dad.
Joe: January 14, 1943
Mary, Mary,
Don’t you know that you’re not supposed to upset the equanimity of privates in the United States army by writing letters at two o clock on the morning? Why, just to list some of the effects: Last night I had planned to write a letter to Leroy A Lincoln, President ye dear old Metropolitan thanking him for his letter of Christmas greetings and for the wallet which “my friends and associates of Mother Met” had sent as a Christmas remembrance. No letter for Leroy last night nor tonight and after all he was my boss and will be at some time in the future. Then there is the physiological effect of just 4 1/2 hours of sleep last night. Being systematic I usually budget my time: I just think of you, Mary, during the daytime hours; from 9 to 6:30 is reserved for Morpheus. But not last night, I couldn’t fall asleep until after midnight and I was wide awake at 4:30, back in Queens Village. Evidently the red bus no longer is running in the early hours of the morning because of the gasoline situation.
Twenty four hours later I’m in no better condition. I read the NY Daily News of Jan. 6, 7, and 8 and all the drippy stories in the January American to try to get back into a semblance of my phlegmatic self. All to no avail.
If it were anyone else but you, Mary, I could dismiss it as an example of sleep-writing. But not Mary Nolan--her vivacity is at its zenith at the time “is it tonight or tomorrow morning.” Just seven weeks ago tonight we said goodbye, Mary--they must have been Biblical weeks--I’ll have to stop this because by Jan. 23 I’m supposed to be a full-fledged soldier having then finished my basic training. It wouldn’t do when the Sgt. gives the command Cadence Count for me to suddenly shout out twice a four word phrase which my heart drums out continually like a bolero instead of the usual 1-2-3-4 1-2-3-4. I’m afraid to think of the possibility that the seven weeks may become 7 times seven weeks--Halt, Private Koch.
Don’t you know that you’re not supposed to upset the equanimity of privates in the United States army by writing letters at two o clock on the morning? Why, just to list some of the effects: Last night I had planned to write a letter to Leroy A Lincoln, President ye dear old Metropolitan thanking him for his letter of Christmas greetings and for the wallet which “my friends and associates of Mother Met” had sent as a Christmas remembrance. No letter for Leroy last night nor tonight and after all he was my boss and will be at some time in the future. Then there is the physiological effect of just 4 1/2 hours of sleep last night. Being systematic I usually budget my time: I just think of you, Mary, during the daytime hours; from 9 to 6:30 is reserved for Morpheus. But not last night, I couldn’t fall asleep until after midnight and I was wide awake at 4:30, back in Queens Village. Evidently the red bus no longer is running in the early hours of the morning because of the gasoline situation.
Twenty four hours later I’m in no better condition. I read the NY Daily News of Jan. 6, 7, and 8 and all the drippy stories in the January American to try to get back into a semblance of my phlegmatic self. All to no avail.
If it were anyone else but you, Mary, I could dismiss it as an example of sleep-writing. But not Mary Nolan--her vivacity is at its zenith at the time “is it tonight or tomorrow morning.” Just seven weeks ago tonight we said goodbye, Mary--they must have been Biblical weeks--I’ll have to stop this because by Jan. 23 I’m supposed to be a full-fledged soldier having then finished my basic training. It wouldn’t do when the Sgt. gives the command Cadence Count for me to suddenly shout out twice a four word phrase which my heart drums out continually like a bolero instead of the usual 1-2-3-4 1-2-3-4. I’m afraid to think of the possibility that the seven weeks may become 7 times seven weeks--Halt, Private Koch.
Joe: January 5, 1943
Since you have seen fit to comment on my writing ability (was it some Nolan blarney or some Hunter satire?) I feel brash enough to give you a short lesson in mathematics. To wit, 3 x 4 =12. Simple, isn’t it? You are probably wondering what prompted this pedagogical outburst and I should let you guess, Mary. But just writing your name, Mary, makes me softhearted so I’ll tell you. Well along in your last letter (on page 9 to be exact) you stated and I quote, “here I am on my third booklet.” Yet on the last page of that very same booklet in a P.S. you wanted me to note that your letter was only 15 3/4 pages. You know, Mary, that sooner or later the Hunter Math dept. will get you for at least one course and where will you be? I think I’ll have the Koches ship my calculus book to Queens Village. After all, if your wishes for an end to World War Ii during 1943 are fulfilled, I’ll need an assistant mathematician to help me with my actuarial examination.
I notice that you glibly mention our letters crossing in the mails. It’s my belief that one has to master the intricacies of Einsteinian Time-Space in order to keep our correspondence straight. Look at the following diagram:
Do I hear Mary Nolan saying, “Yes, he fills up his letter with charts and diagrams so he can boast of his extended epistles; if I did that I wouldn’t have to make mistakes in arithmetic.”? Oh, I forgot you’re still a Home Eco. major--at least until the new semester--so you won’t have to answer that question. While we’re on the subject of home economics, I think it’s mean, Mary, to mention your prowess (is that a bit too strong?) as a cook when I’m some 2500 miles away from your kitchen. I’ll get even, though. In my next letter home I’ll tell my mother; for over thirty years she’s been looking for someone to cook Sunday dinner for the Koches. In that time she got a number of additional Koches but no cooks. That’s a German pun, and like all German jokes, lousy.
I notice that you glibly mention our letters crossing in the mails. It’s my belief that one has to master the intricacies of Einsteinian Time-Space in order to keep our correspondence straight. Look at the following diagram:
Do I hear Mary Nolan saying, “Yes, he fills up his letter with charts and diagrams so he can boast of his extended epistles; if I did that I wouldn’t have to make mistakes in arithmetic.”? Oh, I forgot you’re still a Home Eco. major--at least until the new semester--so you won’t have to answer that question. While we’re on the subject of home economics, I think it’s mean, Mary, to mention your prowess (is that a bit too strong?) as a cook when I’m some 2500 miles away from your kitchen. I’ll get even, though. In my next letter home I’ll tell my mother; for over thirty years she’s been looking for someone to cook Sunday dinner for the Koches. In that time she got a number of additional Koches but no cooks. That’s a German pun, and like all German jokes, lousy.
Joe: February 10, 16, 1943
February 10, 1943-- By now I’m in such a state about you, Maring <-- well that crossed out word is an example; I tried to combine Mary and darling in one word--Mary darling, that I’m joining your mother in worrying whether you go out without galoshes in the snow. Remember, dearest, if your mother doesn’t insist, Pvt. Koch insists that you wear your galoshes. I can’t even see the inconsistency of my position--I who haven’t worn rubbers or a raincoat for years....
February 16, 1943--Gee, darling, I didn’t know Lana Turner was unhappy in her marriage to Stephen Crane. I didn’t even know she was married. Tell me more. I can realize why she is unhappy, he is much too old for her. Why how many years ago was it that he wrote “The Red Badge of Courage?” Little did I know when I wrote a book report for 4th term high school English what a gay old dog the author of that book was. Going in for sweater girls, tsk tsk! And tut tut. I wouldn’t have felt have so guilty either about that report. We were supposed chose a book and summarize it in about a dozen statements. I picked “The Red Badge of Courage” because it was short and secondly because the chapter headings were complete sentences that merely had to be copied word for word, obviating reading the book. Much to my embarrassment--for I had a conscience in those my younger days-- the teacher singled me out for praise of my choice of good literature....
February 16, 1943--Gee, darling, I didn’t know Lana Turner was unhappy in her marriage to Stephen Crane. I didn’t even know she was married. Tell me more. I can realize why she is unhappy, he is much too old for her. Why how many years ago was it that he wrote “The Red Badge of Courage?” Little did I know when I wrote a book report for 4th term high school English what a gay old dog the author of that book was. Going in for sweater girls, tsk tsk! And tut tut. I wouldn’t have felt have so guilty either about that report. We were supposed chose a book and summarize it in about a dozen statements. I picked “The Red Badge of Courage” because it was short and secondly because the chapter headings were complete sentences that merely had to be copied word for word, obviating reading the book. Much to my embarrassment--for I had a conscience in those my younger days-- the teacher singled me out for praise of my choice of good literature....
Joe: January 27, 1943
I’m closing my ears and getting back to a most important subject--correction; to me the most important subject--you, Mary dearest. I’m still puzzled by the outcome of a decision to go to McAveighs instead of Loon Lake Colony because the latter place seemed to be a little too sophisticated for a simple minded guy like Joe Koch. I just remembered the connotation attached to simple minded--but just one moron joke mary. I’ve gone along for a good many years carefree, rather self-complacent and then--I remember seven days at McAveighs, a bus ride from Albany to New York, Bambi, a Brooklyn-Philly game, some shows, a few movies, a couple of football games featuring Fordham--luck Fordham-- a ballet, a rodeo--what I’m trying to say is that I remember only Mary, Mary dear, dearest Mary, lovely blue-eyed Mary, mary pretending to be asleep on the red bus, Mary so alive, Mary bowling, Mary and her Hobokens, talkative Mary, the Mary who says she is silent and subdued, the Mary who says she isn’t naive just because she has principles, the Mary who puts stamps upside down on letters to new Mexico, Mary the student, Mary the only girl--just Mary.Then I count on my fingers that it’s just for five months that I’ve known her--and for two of those months I haven’t seen her--It upsets all my theories and a theoritician who finds his theories upset is a dangerous man, darling Mary. He finds his fountain pen to no avail, so he’s thinking of and loving you, Mary dear, across 2500 miles and hoping that Queens Village is tuned in by telepathy. With all my love, Mary, love that must be real because it is so incoherent, I love you, Mary, and will always and always.
Joe: January 17, 1943
Sunday Afternoon--All is quiet and peaceful--three hard-working soldiers are enjoying a siesta--inaudibly, thanks be, correction four; one is studying a dictionary--a victim of three new words-a-day disease, probably; another is painfully writing a letter--not me, I enjoy writing letters which begin Mary dear.
The only sound is the humming of the fan in one of the barracks’ as it blows out warm currents of desert air. Fortunately, my mind is miles and miles away. watching a dark head buried in a book of scientific lore; otherwise there would be five siesta-ers. A pair of blue eyes looks up from the heavy book, which I can now observe to be entitled Physiology for Students of Home Economics, but resolutely look down again on page 47--only 281 more. Alongside the printed book is another--a notebook which, at last, is completed; although, here and there, its contents are not clear--I wish that Peggy wrote clearer but borrowers can’t be choosers and only he last three quarters is copied. What is this? The diagrams in the notebook are but black and white--no crayon colored charts.
If it were but a picture all would be still. But no, I can hear the sound of grinding teeth--do I have to interpolate that they are white and were noticed by me in that period from August to November--as the ideal cell battles with a sarcolena with a lonely neuron looking on. Wait, another sound can be heard. A voice--yes it’s Kenneth’s--is saying, “Mary, Mary, did you hear how a moron powders her nose. No? There were five morons and they all ordered Coca-Cola, the other one ordered milk.” Another sterner voice is heard: “Frank, stop marching around, your sister Mary is studying. Sit still,; here’s a new Superman book to read.”
What is the focus point of all this solicitude doing? She’s making progress: a page is turned over, eyes race over page 48 and reach halfway down the next page. They stop then, puzzled--how did that New Mexican jackrabbit get tangled up in the carotid artery? Back to page 47 and ye old physiology textbook is turned face down and a hand--a left hand reaches for the notebook. This time the eyes are resolute; they ignore a bracelet whose blue stones are earnestly trying to reflect the glory of its owners eyes. Page after page is flipped by--ah here it is, the circulatory system. “The heart is a wonderful instrument: it pumps thirty billion times during the allotted span of three score and ten years...” The owner of these studious blue eyes pauses to absorb into her mind all this concentrated knowledge about the heart. Alas, that pause was fatal--her mind leaps to a consideration of other facts about hearts which are not contained in any textbook.
Mary! What is the use of my being in Queens Village this Sunday afternoon when you persist in wandering to a warmer Sunday afternoon out in the desert. I’ve glided from the New Mexican plateau to the lowlands of Long Island so you could study. After all, it’s only two days until the 19th and well you know Monday and Tuesday will be the two busiest days for the priorities and export license department; Pete will probably keep you working overtime Monday night; it always happens that way. Well, I’ve done my best, Mary--New Mexico it is.
The only sound is the humming of the fan in one of the barracks’ as it blows out warm currents of desert air. Fortunately, my mind is miles and miles away. watching a dark head buried in a book of scientific lore; otherwise there would be five siesta-ers. A pair of blue eyes looks up from the heavy book, which I can now observe to be entitled Physiology for Students of Home Economics, but resolutely look down again on page 47--only 281 more. Alongside the printed book is another--a notebook which, at last, is completed; although, here and there, its contents are not clear--I wish that Peggy wrote clearer but borrowers can’t be choosers and only he last three quarters is copied. What is this? The diagrams in the notebook are but black and white--no crayon colored charts.
If it were but a picture all would be still. But no, I can hear the sound of grinding teeth--do I have to interpolate that they are white and were noticed by me in that period from August to November--as the ideal cell battles with a sarcolena with a lonely neuron looking on. Wait, another sound can be heard. A voice--yes it’s Kenneth’s--is saying, “Mary, Mary, did you hear how a moron powders her nose. No? There were five morons and they all ordered Coca-Cola, the other one ordered milk.” Another sterner voice is heard: “Frank, stop marching around, your sister Mary is studying. Sit still,; here’s a new Superman book to read.”
What is the focus point of all this solicitude doing? She’s making progress: a page is turned over, eyes race over page 48 and reach halfway down the next page. They stop then, puzzled--how did that New Mexican jackrabbit get tangled up in the carotid artery? Back to page 47 and ye old physiology textbook is turned face down and a hand--a left hand reaches for the notebook. This time the eyes are resolute; they ignore a bracelet whose blue stones are earnestly trying to reflect the glory of its owners eyes. Page after page is flipped by--ah here it is, the circulatory system. “The heart is a wonderful instrument: it pumps thirty billion times during the allotted span of three score and ten years...” The owner of these studious blue eyes pauses to absorb into her mind all this concentrated knowledge about the heart. Alas, that pause was fatal--her mind leaps to a consideration of other facts about hearts which are not contained in any textbook.
Mary! What is the use of my being in Queens Village this Sunday afternoon when you persist in wandering to a warmer Sunday afternoon out in the desert. I’ve glided from the New Mexican plateau to the lowlands of Long Island so you could study. After all, it’s only two days until the 19th and well you know Monday and Tuesday will be the two busiest days for the priorities and export license department; Pete will probably keep you working overtime Monday night; it always happens that way. Well, I’ve done my best, Mary--New Mexico it is.
Joe: January 8, 1943
Your appeal for pulse rate readings has appealed to the scientist in me.--stamps will not be accepted. You will understand that laboratory conditions are not ideal here at the Lordsburg Interment Camp so I will not be able to furnish exact figures on all the readings you need, Mary. However, here goes:
Sex: Male. (Thanks for placing me in the adult classification.)
Age: 29 years, 4 months, and 4 days--someone borrowed the latest issue of the astrology magazine
so I can’t verify this approximation. To find the exact number of hours and minutes up to this time (7:45 N.M. Mountain War Time) consult any astrology almanack for favorite time at which geniuses are born (I know the plural is genii but I don’t want you to receive the wrong impression.)
Pulse rate: All the following figures are at 15 second intervals.
1. Before meals: Too great a variation--the only meal that is worthy of being called a meal is breakfast and it’s too dark at seven o clock in the morning to take my pulse before breakfast. Since we’ve had stew for supper for the last seven days--stew consisting of everything left over from dinner all mixed together--any pulse reading before and after supper would be utterly unreliable: the before reading would merely show anticipated revulsion and the after one show you I’m tired of eating bread and apple butter for supper. Naturally this leaves dinner. However, I’m getting used to the dinners by this time and I’m afraid that if I observe scientifically any physiological reactions, it will disturb my digestion of the midday repast.
2. After meals: See remarks under “Before meals”.
3. Reclining: 18
4. Sitting: 17.
4a. Sitting but reading one letter from a certain individual who (as in all scientific treatises) will be nameless; besides I don’t want to make you overconfident regarding your literary prowess, Mary: 20.
5. Standing: 19.
6. After 1/2 min. of exercise: Well ignorance is a poor excuse for your snide remark about 1/2 minute exercise, but I accept it this time. I’ll have you understand, Physiologist Nolan, that even when I brush my teeth I undergo five minutes of very vigorous calisthenics. Since our formal calisthenics in the morning takes up a full half hour I’m afraid that this reading will be impossible to obtain. Besides it takes me more than half a minute to count my pulse beats for 1 seconds.
7. After a hot bath: Are you kidding? After a hot shower Pvt. Koch turns off the hot water and a forceful pray of icy cold water immediately cascades upon his manly physique. It takes a bettter man than me to count his heart beats under a cold shower--how do I know my watch is really waterproof; the jeweler didn’t say positively?
Please understand, Mary, that if I were using my own writing paper or even the U.S.O. letterhead, I wouldn’t clutter it up with tripe like the above. Insamuch as you own the prioroities and export licenses on this paper, Mary Nolan Inc., I suppose you can demand what you will....
This going to bed at nine o clock is getting me down especially on Friday nights, so last night I stayed awake in bed for over an hour philosophizing and poor you will have to bear the brunt of it. What started my mind gyrating was a jingle of Gertrude Stein’s which of course I don’t remember word for word--no one does--which goes something like this:
Jack and Jill went up the hill
Jack is Jack even though Jack is Jill, he’d still be Jack.
Somewhere in one of my philosophy courses I remember that the question of personality was brought up: “Why am I, I?” or “why are you, you?” I am not indulging in double talk. Well this was the starting point: I can’t remember any changes in myself since I graduated from grammar school--maybe beacuse I received a medical for general excellence at that time, I decided that I couldn’t be improved--even back in Jan. 1927 I was a pessimist. I wonder though, if my (illegible) had taken me out to the woods then, would I have recognized one Mary Nolan who was just then starting kindergarten? I doubt it for the twins were slightly less than four years old and Agnes was just about six so I looked upon all the younger fry as a great annoyance--especially the talkative ones. But I must have changed: now, when my thoughts turn to one youngster (of Gresheimer--classification of those who are neither children nor adults) the gleam in my eyes is definitely not one of annoyance; just for your information, mary, it’s one of longing--
I seemed to have wandered off track back in the previous paragraph--just shows I haven’t a one track mind. What I’m trying to get at is the fact that we do not recognize the process of evolution taking place within ourselved. We can look back at ourselves from the present time and recollect what we once were but we can’t point out any turning point. Probably growing older is a continuous process of accretion--we never lose ourselves, but just keep adding more thoughts, more emotions , and I trust more wisdom, not to mention such mundane things as(illegible), bad habits, etx. I’m not including you in the last category, but I already feel as if I knew you always, Mary. Yet I can remember a certain Sunday just one day less than twenty weks ago when I first met the Wisdom Alumnae Trio--well I was always warned that canoeing was a dangerous sport.
I promise you Mary, that in the future I’ll leave philosophy to the philosophers. How are the other Nolans--they can’t be in perfect condition if they let you cheat at Pick-Up-Sticks. I know that game and I also know that anyone that wins all the time does it by a crooked flip of the wrist as they let the sticks go....
Sex: Male. (Thanks for placing me in the adult classification.)
Age: 29 years, 4 months, and 4 days--someone borrowed the latest issue of the astrology magazine
so I can’t verify this approximation. To find the exact number of hours and minutes up to this time (7:45 N.M. Mountain War Time) consult any astrology almanack for favorite time at which geniuses are born (I know the plural is genii but I don’t want you to receive the wrong impression.)
Pulse rate: All the following figures are at 15 second intervals.
1. Before meals: Too great a variation--the only meal that is worthy of being called a meal is breakfast and it’s too dark at seven o clock in the morning to take my pulse before breakfast. Since we’ve had stew for supper for the last seven days--stew consisting of everything left over from dinner all mixed together--any pulse reading before and after supper would be utterly unreliable: the before reading would merely show anticipated revulsion and the after one show you I’m tired of eating bread and apple butter for supper. Naturally this leaves dinner. However, I’m getting used to the dinners by this time and I’m afraid that if I observe scientifically any physiological reactions, it will disturb my digestion of the midday repast.
2. After meals: See remarks under “Before meals”.
3. Reclining: 18
4. Sitting: 17.
4a. Sitting but reading one letter from a certain individual who (as in all scientific treatises) will be nameless; besides I don’t want to make you overconfident regarding your literary prowess, Mary: 20.
5. Standing: 19.
6. After 1/2 min. of exercise: Well ignorance is a poor excuse for your snide remark about 1/2 minute exercise, but I accept it this time. I’ll have you understand, Physiologist Nolan, that even when I brush my teeth I undergo five minutes of very vigorous calisthenics. Since our formal calisthenics in the morning takes up a full half hour I’m afraid that this reading will be impossible to obtain. Besides it takes me more than half a minute to count my pulse beats for 1 seconds.
7. After a hot bath: Are you kidding? After a hot shower Pvt. Koch turns off the hot water and a forceful pray of icy cold water immediately cascades upon his manly physique. It takes a bettter man than me to count his heart beats under a cold shower--how do I know my watch is really waterproof; the jeweler didn’t say positively?
Please understand, Mary, that if I were using my own writing paper or even the U.S.O. letterhead, I wouldn’t clutter it up with tripe like the above. Insamuch as you own the prioroities and export licenses on this paper, Mary Nolan Inc., I suppose you can demand what you will....
This going to bed at nine o clock is getting me down especially on Friday nights, so last night I stayed awake in bed for over an hour philosophizing and poor you will have to bear the brunt of it. What started my mind gyrating was a jingle of Gertrude Stein’s which of course I don’t remember word for word--no one does--which goes something like this:
Jack and Jill went up the hill
Jack is Jack even though Jack is Jill, he’d still be Jack.
Somewhere in one of my philosophy courses I remember that the question of personality was brought up: “Why am I, I?” or “why are you, you?” I am not indulging in double talk. Well this was the starting point: I can’t remember any changes in myself since I graduated from grammar school--maybe beacuse I received a medical for general excellence at that time, I decided that I couldn’t be improved--even back in Jan. 1927 I was a pessimist. I wonder though, if my (illegible) had taken me out to the woods then, would I have recognized one Mary Nolan who was just then starting kindergarten? I doubt it for the twins were slightly less than four years old and Agnes was just about six so I looked upon all the younger fry as a great annoyance--especially the talkative ones. But I must have changed: now, when my thoughts turn to one youngster (of Gresheimer--classification of those who are neither children nor adults) the gleam in my eyes is definitely not one of annoyance; just for your information, mary, it’s one of longing--
I seemed to have wandered off track back in the previous paragraph--just shows I haven’t a one track mind. What I’m trying to get at is the fact that we do not recognize the process of evolution taking place within ourselved. We can look back at ourselves from the present time and recollect what we once were but we can’t point out any turning point. Probably growing older is a continuous process of accretion--we never lose ourselves, but just keep adding more thoughts, more emotions , and I trust more wisdom, not to mention such mundane things as(illegible), bad habits, etx. I’m not including you in the last category, but I already feel as if I knew you always, Mary. Yet I can remember a certain Sunday just one day less than twenty weks ago when I first met the Wisdom Alumnae Trio--well I was always warned that canoeing was a dangerous sport.
I promise you Mary, that in the future I’ll leave philosophy to the philosophers. How are the other Nolans--they can’t be in perfect condition if they let you cheat at Pick-Up-Sticks. I know that game and I also know that anyone that wins all the time does it by a crooked flip of the wrist as they let the sticks go....
Friday, January 13, 2006
Joe: December 25, 1942
The eastern skies are golden ocean that stretches from purple mountain to purple mountain. Over this glowing ocean, a halo of pale yellow reaches up until it is transmuted into the deepest blue. The shores of the golden sea are white sand, of course, but as they recede from the molten surf they become darker and grayer until a dull green color predominates. The cactus and yucca-studded beach stretches all the way to the brown mountains of the west which are roofed by the western sky trying to show that the Occident too is a colorful panorama. The blue-gray western clouds are blushing a genteel pink. Is it because they have seen the sun still beneath the eastern horizon or are they showing their anticipation of the home-coming moon--in all its white fullness sailing slowly serenely towards its western moorings?
The description is not so hot but it is an attempt to show that despite the radio and the jukebox, a white Christmas is not the only kind. In fact, I’m pretty sure that the first Christmas was more like our New Mexico one than the wintry Christmases of Queens Village and points north. All right, the fact that I’m writing letters on Christmas shows which kind I prefer. I think that all twelve of us who came down from Camp Upton feel quite lonely and homesick today.
I myself can’t conceive of being 2800 miles away from you and the Koches. Next door the bugler is practicing, outside cactus is growing, and if I look out the window I can see the desert all around and yet I still think that all I have to do is catch that next bus at Parsons Blvd and have you help me play with the various games and toys of the Nolan younger trio until Frank says, “Whose Christmas presents do you think these are anyway?”
The description is not so hot but it is an attempt to show that despite the radio and the jukebox, a white Christmas is not the only kind. In fact, I’m pretty sure that the first Christmas was more like our New Mexico one than the wintry Christmases of Queens Village and points north. All right, the fact that I’m writing letters on Christmas shows which kind I prefer. I think that all twelve of us who came down from Camp Upton feel quite lonely and homesick today.
I myself can’t conceive of being 2800 miles away from you and the Koches. Next door the bugler is practicing, outside cactus is growing, and if I look out the window I can see the desert all around and yet I still think that all I have to do is catch that next bus at Parsons Blvd and have you help me play with the various games and toys of the Nolan younger trio until Frank says, “Whose Christmas presents do you think these are anyway?”
Little Brother
I have always loved this picture taken in the fall of 1947. First, I have been amused by how blonde I am. More importantly, this might have been the last time I had the advantage over Richard. In my baby book Mom claims that "Mary Jo and Richard were always ahead of mother. Often though she forgot he was so small and played rough." I am dubious; he does not look intimidated. Richard was always a far bolder spirit than his timid sister; he resembles Mom much more. All our lives, I have never been sure when he is pulling my leg. For many years Richard made me feel guilty for pushing him down the cellar stairs in his walker; then Mom explained that the culprit was Lorraine Larsen. Significantly, I thought I might have wanted to eliminate him.:)
Mary Jo, Richard, Stephen, 1949
This was taken in the summer of 1949. I am just turning four; Richard is two and one half; Stephen is about 7 months. I do have some vague memories of Stephen as a baby, but they are not specific. Stephen and I were blondes to begin with; my hair is already turning dark. Richard always had dark hair; I think he has changed the least over the years.
Joe Meets Mary
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.
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.
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