Balding

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

Penguins

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

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

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

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

Koch Hair

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

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

Politics

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vanessa's and John's Wedding

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

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

Elizabeth's and Brent's Wedding

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

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

Mercedes's and Matt's Wedding

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

Kate's and Joe's Wedding

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

Drums and Batons

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

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

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

1959--Koches Without Pajamas

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

What Was I Thinking?

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

Christmas Tree, 1952

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

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

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

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

Memories and Photographs

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Christmas Eve at Grandma's House

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

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

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

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

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

Christmas House

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

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

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

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

What We Wanted For Christmas

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

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

Christmas Guys, 1959

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

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

Christmas 1959

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

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

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

Mom and Mark, Christmas, 1959

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

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

Christmas 1953

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

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

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