I've always wondered if Dad was involved with any other girls before he met mom. Here is my answer:
"Sweetheart, we are both frauds, the phlegmatic Joe and the calm, unemotional Mary. I remember my mother telling me once upon a time that I wasn't as hardboiled as I wanted to be, that someday a girl would get under my hard shell and discover I am all soft inside. I remember too that I laughed at that. But now darling that hard shell has melted completely. I speak of a million kisses to be exchanged between me and my Mary, I who have never kissed anyone , even my mother and sisters since I was a baby. I probably never grew up, Mary, beyond the tough guy stage which all little boys pass through. You know, the time when they think girls are sissies, and a real boy leaves all that kissing and stuff to girls.
Darling, you've taken on a hard job in falling in love with me. When I look back, I find it strange that I knew I loved you, Mary beloved. I guess it was because my emotions were unloosed in a tidal wave when I discovered you, Mary. Sweetheart, I don't want to give you the impression that before I met you, I believed that girls would have no part in my life. Looking at it rationally, I knew that of course they would. That was the trouble. I looked at it rationally. Naturally as I got older, I discovered that girls were nice to know, that I liked to talk to them, though usually I was too shy to. And I dreamed of being in love, but it was always a well-behaved dream--a dream in which I always knew what I was doing. Because I knew that falling in love was something one did deliberately.
It would be simple. I would meet sometime a girl whom I was attracted to and I would fall in love with her. I never really considered the girl's side of it. That's why darling the miracle of your loving me still seems unbelievable to me. When I did fall in love with you, Mary, it was and is so much of a complete surrender of everything I am or ever hope to me, I don't know the right words Mary, so I'll begin again. When I did fall in love with you Mary, and learned what being in love really is, I couldn't conceive how you could feel the same towards me, sweetheart. I turned "can't" to" couldn't ," Mary, because my heart seems to know that your loving me makes my love for you more complete and because I love you, your love is complete.
Dearest. I've learned these things from my heart; up to a year ago, I thought the mind was the only teacher. Now I know how wonderful are the lessons the heart teaches the mind. Beauty as a mental abstraction is something cold, but when beauty is perceived through the love of the heart, the beautiful becomes a colorful living reality.
Yes, darling , just knowing that we love each other gives us so much. It changes our world; it transforms us. I''m like you Mary; I'm afraid to think of the happiness that will be ours when we are together in our love. The happiness I am filled with when I receive and read one of your letters; the happiness that would be mine were I to receive all the letters you've written and will write to me all at once, would be just a promise of my happiness when I will be with you, my Mary, my own beloved Mary. Yet when I open one of your letters, darling, I can't conceive of being any happier than I am right at that instant. "
Showing posts with label Mary Nolan Koch. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mary Nolan Koch. Show all posts
Monday, August 15, 2011
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Warren's Tribute to His 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.
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
Happy Birthday, Mom
My mom was born in 1921 Here are some of the birthday and mother's day cards I wrote her over the years:
August 2000
Today is my mom's 79th Birthday. I hope we can celebrate her 80th next year, like we celebrated Grandma Nolan's birthday, with a big family reunion.
My mom has always amazed me. This has been one of her most amazing years ever. With incredible grace and courage, she has handled all the trials of this year--her pelvic fracture, her sternum fracture, her Parkinson's diagnosis, Stephen's illness, my divorce, Richard's job loss. The optimism, flexibility, and courage she is demonstrating in preparing to leave 827 Henry Street is terrific.
I have always been tempted by the idea of writing my mom's life history as a study of the changing conditions of women in the 20th century. I hope her saga will continue well into the 21st century.
I usually write my mom a sentimental birthday card and Mother's Day card each year. I want to share with you some of the things I have written over the years.
May 1985
"I am so glad we decided to come back to share our lives with you. Being able to call you almost every day and see you several times a week is even more precious than I thought it would be. I so appreciate your calm good sense, your ability to put my wildly fluctuating emotions into perspective, your constant support. This is your first Mother's Day without your own mother. I can imagine how desolate I would feel. I need you as an intellectual companion, the only person I know who reads the same books I do. One reason I couldn't tolerate Maine was that I was 450 miles away from my best woman friend who was also my mother.
"No doubt you will enjoy watching your difficult adolescent daughter handle adolescence from the other side. No doubt we will gain many insights into our relationship watching my struggles with my daughters. One of my favorite fantasies is that we should write a book together on mothers and daughters.
"I love you more than I can say, but I will keep trying to say it."
August 1993.
"I wish I could think of an original way to tell you how much I love you and how grateful I am for all you do to make it possible for me to fulfill my dreams. You've always believed in me and been willing to invest love, time, and money in me when I was pessimistic about myself.
August 1994
"I wish I could find words to express my deep love, gratitude and appreciation to the most loving, forgiving woman I know. I want you to know that I will always be there for you as you've been there for me, no matter what the future holds. You are the most splendid example of aging well I would want my daughters to have. I hope you realize how deeply you are loved, cherished, and marveled at by all of us. Sometimes we tease you, but we always listen to your loving words of wisdom and experience.
August 1995.
"Long ago I ran out of adequate words to convey the depths of my love, admiration, and gratitude. Maybe I should look through poetry books, but I suspect poems about mothers would be inappropriately sentimental. No one knows better than you how far removed from simple sentimentality mother love truly is.
May 2000
"I can never thank you enough for all your love, commitment, patience, understanding, supreme generosity. But I hope you will accept my giving you a little bit of the tremendous gifts you have given me. I'm really looking foward to our getting closer as we move in together."
Happy Birthday best of mothers.
Love
Mary Jo
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Mary Nolan Koch's Conversion
Years ago, my reaction to Imogene's request to tell you the story of my
conversion would have been: "Conversion? Why I wasn't a convert.
I've always been a practicing Catholic. I was baptized as a child."
That would have ben my understanding of conversion--something that
non-Catholics decide to do.
But I know differently now. I know that I'm always undergoing
conversion--turning more and more to God and becoming closer to Jesus
through the daily reception of the Eucharist.
All of my life I have been a weekly communicant, but it wasn't until
the early 1980's when I took early retirement in order to care for my
invalid mother and then my husband, afflicted with Alzheimer's Disease,
that I started attending daily Mass. Soon I realized that the daily
reception of the Eucharist had become the focal point of my life.
At first I would say that this daily reception of the Eucharist was a
private spirituality, but gradually I realized that I was also
receiving nourishment from the community of believers ath the morning
Eucharist, that it was a communal celebration. After all hadn't Vatican
II told us that We, the People are the Church, we seek community around
the Table of the Lord. If Jesus is broken and passed around, so too
must we be, if genuine community is to be realized in our Church.
I remember reading an articile in America magazine that reflected my
ideas about Eucharist and community. It made the point that the
Eucharistic liturgy should be a magnet to draw us out of our private
hideaway places. I could see how communal Eucharist could break down
the barriers of self-interest, social and economic class, even race and
age. It might seem an impossible task, but I know that in sharing
Eucharist, Christ gives us the graces to accomplish even impossible
tasks.
This new realization of the importance of Community in the life of the
Church led me to study about Small Christian Communities when I was
enrolled in the Diocesan Pastoral Formation Institute. I began to
realize that small group participation could lead to the renewal of the
Church. By coincidence our RENEW program was starting in the Parish,
and I became one of the leaders of RENEW. My Small Group became an
importance source of communal spiritual nourishment for me, and I am
pleased that we have continued to meet as a Small Christian Community.
My prayers at Eucharist now include not only the members of my own
Small Group, but also all the members of St. Martha's community.
I'm happy to know that in the early years of this century, Pope Pius X
encouraged the faithful to receive frequent Holy Communion because it
was not the common practice until that time. Recently I was impressed
with Jesuit Father Jack Morris's comment that "nothing to more critical
to a vital ch urch agenda, as we sail into the high winds of the
multicultural third millenium that the Eucharist" to bring us together.
I know as I read the new Cathechism that I agree with the statement
that the "Eucharist is the source and summit of the Christina life."
There were sometimes troubling days for me, and receiving the Eucharist
each morning gave me the spiritual nourishment and strength I needed to
cope with what was happening in my life. Becoming closer to Christ,
sharing in His life, death, and resurrection became the focus of my
spiritual life.
Also about that time I started daily Scripture reading. I was
particularly influenced by the Gospel of John. In Chapter 6 he
recounts Jesus' promise, "I am the Bread of Life, whoever comes to me
will never hunger, and whoever believes in me, will never thirst."
Jesus goes to to speak of sacramental nourishment, "unless you eat the
flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you do not have life
within you." I was impressed! Jesus was promising me eternal life.
John did not speak of the Institution of the Eucharist at the Last
Supper, but in the other three gospels we read that at the Last Supper
Jesus instituted the Eucharistic sacrifice of his body and blood. As I
received this Sacrament I became united with Christ in sharing his Body
and Blood.
In this connection I have a deep concern that as the priest shortage
continues to grow,that there will be many parishes that will not be
able to experience the joy of the daily Communal Celebration of the
Body and Blood of Christ. I know how important it is to me to continue
my growing relationship with Jesus, to be able to give Thanksgiving for
all He has done for me and for the Community of believers. I pray that
all Christians will continue to have this opportunity.
conversion would have been: "Conversion? Why I wasn't a convert.
I've always been a practicing Catholic. I was baptized as a child."
That would have ben my understanding of conversion--something that
non-Catholics decide to do.
But I know differently now. I know that I'm always undergoing
conversion--turning more and more to God and becoming closer to Jesus
through the daily reception of the Eucharist.
All of my life I have been a weekly communicant, but it wasn't until
the early 1980's when I took early retirement in order to care for my
invalid mother and then my husband, afflicted with Alzheimer's Disease,
that I started attending daily Mass. Soon I realized that the daily
reception of the Eucharist had become the focal point of my life.
At first I would say that this daily reception of the Eucharist was a
private spirituality, but gradually I realized that I was also
receiving nourishment from the community of believers ath the morning
Eucharist, that it was a communal celebration. After all hadn't Vatican
II told us that We, the People are the Church, we seek community around
the Table of the Lord. If Jesus is broken and passed around, so too
must we be, if genuine community is to be realized in our Church.
I remember reading an articile in America magazine that reflected my
ideas about Eucharist and community. It made the point that the
Eucharistic liturgy should be a magnet to draw us out of our private
hideaway places. I could see how communal Eucharist could break down
the barriers of self-interest, social and economic class, even race and
age. It might seem an impossible task, but I know that in sharing
Eucharist, Christ gives us the graces to accomplish even impossible
tasks.
This new realization of the importance of Community in the life of the
Church led me to study about Small Christian Communities when I was
enrolled in the Diocesan Pastoral Formation Institute. I began to
realize that small group participation could lead to the renewal of the
Church. By coincidence our RENEW program was starting in the Parish,
and I became one of the leaders of RENEW. My Small Group became an
importance source of communal spiritual nourishment for me, and I am
pleased that we have continued to meet as a Small Christian Community.
My prayers at Eucharist now include not only the members of my own
Small Group, but also all the members of St. Martha's community.
I'm happy to know that in the early years of this century, Pope Pius X
encouraged the faithful to receive frequent Holy Communion because it
was not the common practice until that time. Recently I was impressed
with Jesuit Father Jack Morris's comment that "nothing to more critical
to a vital ch urch agenda, as we sail into the high winds of the
multicultural third millenium that the Eucharist" to bring us together.
I know as I read the new Cathechism that I agree with the statement
that the "Eucharist is the source and summit of the Christina life."
There were sometimes troubling days for me, and receiving the Eucharist
each morning gave me the spiritual nourishment and strength I needed to
cope with what was happening in my life. Becoming closer to Christ,
sharing in His life, death, and resurrection became the focus of my
spiritual life.
Also about that time I started daily Scripture reading. I was
particularly influenced by the Gospel of John. In Chapter 6 he
recounts Jesus' promise, "I am the Bread of Life, whoever comes to me
will never hunger, and whoever believes in me, will never thirst."
Jesus goes to to speak of sacramental nourishment, "unless you eat the
flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you do not have life
within you." I was impressed! Jesus was promising me eternal life.
John did not speak of the Institution of the Eucharist at the Last
Supper, but in the other three gospels we read that at the Last Supper
Jesus instituted the Eucharistic sacrifice of his body and blood. As I
received this Sacrament I became united with Christ in sharing his Body
and Blood.
In this connection I have a deep concern that as the priest shortage
continues to grow,that there will be many parishes that will not be
able to experience the joy of the daily Communal Celebration of the
Body and Blood of Christ. I know how important it is to me to continue
my growing relationship with Jesus, to be able to give Thanksgiving for
all He has done for me and for the Community of believers. I pray that
all Christians will continue to have this opportunity.
Monday, August 1, 2011
Dear Mary, Love Dad
Uncle Warren added the notes to this transcription of a 1936 letter from Grandpa Nolan to my mother, two weeks after she turned 15.
105 11 - 220th Street
Queens Village
Aug 23 - 1936
Dear Mary:
It pains me that I have not written you sooner, because you must think
that your daddy hasn't been thinking about you. Your mother will tell you I am
a poor hand at letter writing. She can boast of few love letters. Furthermore
half the time, like yourself ,I cannot or do not write legibly. I made up my
mind I must write at least once to the finest "daughter" in the universe to show
my deep love and affection.
I bought a nice book for you to read "Gone with the Wind," only 1037 pages.
You probably can read it in a few hours. It will take me as long as it took to
read Anthony Adverse. Father Herchenroder took a copy away on his trip to the
coast. He spoke highly of it. By the way I don't know if I told you - James,
Miss Margaret the housekeeper and (myself) I (pardon me) accompanied Father
"H" to his train. He will go to Chicago, Grand Canyon, San Diego, Los Angeles,
Portland Oregon Seattle, Vancouver British Columbia through S.W. Canada to
Minneapolis, Minn, then to Chicago and back home about Sept 19 - about four weeks
vacation. We had a card from him from Chicago. He stated he was cleaning up
the passengers on the Pullman playing pinochle.
Vinny Stork is also California bound. He travels on the bus.
Marie Nolan is summering at Peconic Bay and the rest of us hug (?) the
back porch.
Well it was ever thus, the wealthy "travel" and "summer." The poor have
children.
So we come to the end of the sheet and this letter with love and kisses
from all home and a big kiss from Mother and Dad.
..............................................................................
...........................................
Notes
1. Father Herchenroder was the long time pastor of SS. Joachim and Anne
Church. The Nolans and Herchenroders had a Brooklyn connection. It is my
understanding that Father Herchenroder was a cardplaying guest at our home many times
prior to my father's death in January, 1939.
2. The Storks were our neighbors on 220th Street. During World War II they
had a flag with seven stars in their window, representing their seven sons in
the service.All returned home safely.
3. The last child was born on May 18, 1936 - my brother Ken, number eight for
my father, number seven for my mother. (Their little sister Veronica died as a toddler when my mom was only five.)
105 11 - 220th Street
Queens Village
Aug 23 - 1936
Dear Mary:
It pains me that I have not written you sooner, because you must think
that your daddy hasn't been thinking about you. Your mother will tell you I am
a poor hand at letter writing. She can boast of few love letters. Furthermore
half the time, like yourself ,I cannot or do not write legibly. I made up my
mind I must write at least once to the finest "daughter" in the universe to show
my deep love and affection.
I bought a nice book for you to read "Gone with the Wind," only 1037 pages.
You probably can read it in a few hours. It will take me as long as it took to
read Anthony Adverse. Father Herchenroder took a copy away on his trip to the
coast. He spoke highly of it. By the way I don't know if I told you - James,
Miss Margaret the housekeeper and (myself) I (pardon me) accompanied Father
"H" to his train. He will go to Chicago, Grand Canyon, San Diego, Los Angeles,
Portland Oregon Seattle, Vancouver British Columbia through S.W. Canada to
Minneapolis, Minn, then to Chicago and back home about Sept 19 - about four weeks
vacation. We had a card from him from Chicago. He stated he was cleaning up
the passengers on the Pullman playing pinochle.
Vinny Stork is also California bound. He travels on the bus.
Marie Nolan is summering at Peconic Bay and the rest of us hug (?) the
back porch.
Well it was ever thus, the wealthy "travel" and "summer." The poor have
children.
So we come to the end of the sheet and this letter with love and kisses
from all home and a big kiss from Mother and Dad.
..............................................................................
...........................................
Notes
1. Father Herchenroder was the long time pastor of SS. Joachim and Anne
Church. The Nolans and Herchenroders had a Brooklyn connection. It is my
understanding that Father Herchenroder was a cardplaying guest at our home many times
prior to my father's death in January, 1939.
2. The Storks were our neighbors on 220th Street. During World War II they
had a flag with seven stars in their window, representing their seven sons in
the service.All returned home safely.
3. The last child was born on May 18, 1936 - my brother Ken, number eight for
my father, number seven for my mother. (Their little sister Veronica died as a toddler when my mom was only five.)
1936, Dear Mary, Love Dad
Uncle Warren added the notes to this transcription of a 1936 letter from Grandpa Nolan to my mother, two weeks after she turned 15.
105 11 - 220th Street
Queens Village
Aug 23 - 1936
Dear Mary:
It pains me that I have not written you sooner, because you must think
that your daddy hasn't been thinking about you. Your mother will tell you I am
a poor hand at letter writing. She can boast of few love letters. Furthermore
half the time, like yourself ,I cannot or do not write legibly. I made up my
mind I must write at least once to the finest "daughter" in the universe to show
my deep love and affection.
I bought a nice book for you to read "Gone with the Wind," only 1037 pages.
You probably can read it in a few hours. It will take me as long as it took to
read Anthony Adverse. Father Herchenroder took a copy away on his trip to the
coast. He spoke highly of it. By the way I don't know if I told you - James,
Miss Margaret the housekeeper and (myself) I (pardon me) accompanied Father
"H" to his train. He will go to Chicago, Grand Canyon, San Diego, Los Angeles,
Portland Oregon Seattle, Vancouver British Columbia through S.W. Canada to
Minneapolis, Minn, then to Chicago and back home about Sept 19 - about four weeks
vacation. We had a card from him from Chicago. He stated he was cleaning up
the passengers on the Pullman playing pinochle.
Vinny Stork is also California bound. He travels on the bus.
Marie Nolan is summering at Peconic Bay and the rest of us hug (?) the
back porch.
Well it was ever thus, the wealthy "travel" and "summer." The poor have
children.
So we come to the end of the sheet and this letter with love and kisses
from all home and a big kiss from Mother and Dad.
..............................................................................
...........................................
Notes
1. Father Herchenroder was the long time pastor of SS. Joachim and Anne
Church. The Nolans and Herchenroders had a Brooklyn connection. It is my
understanding that Father Herchenroder was a cardplaying guest at our home many times
prior to my father's death in January, 1939.
2. The Storks were our neighbors on 220th Street. During World War II they
had a flag with seven stars in their window, representing their seven sons in
the service.All returned home safely.
3. The last child was born on May 18, 1936 - my brother Ken, number eight for
my father, number seven for my mother. (Their little sister Veronica died as a toddler when my mom was only five.)
105 11 - 220th Street
Queens Village
Aug 23 - 1936
Dear Mary:
It pains me that I have not written you sooner, because you must think
that your daddy hasn't been thinking about you. Your mother will tell you I am
a poor hand at letter writing. She can boast of few love letters. Furthermore
half the time, like yourself ,I cannot or do not write legibly. I made up my
mind I must write at least once to the finest "daughter" in the universe to show
my deep love and affection.
I bought a nice book for you to read "Gone with the Wind," only 1037 pages.
You probably can read it in a few hours. It will take me as long as it took to
read Anthony Adverse. Father Herchenroder took a copy away on his trip to the
coast. He spoke highly of it. By the way I don't know if I told you - James,
Miss Margaret the housekeeper and (myself) I (pardon me) accompanied Father
"H" to his train. He will go to Chicago, Grand Canyon, San Diego, Los Angeles,
Portland Oregon Seattle, Vancouver British Columbia through S.W. Canada to
Minneapolis, Minn, then to Chicago and back home about Sept 19 - about four weeks
vacation. We had a card from him from Chicago. He stated he was cleaning up
the passengers on the Pullman playing pinochle.
Vinny Stork is also California bound. He travels on the bus.
Marie Nolan is summering at Peconic Bay and the rest of us hug (?) the
back porch.
Well it was ever thus, the wealthy "travel" and "summer." The poor have
children.
So we come to the end of the sheet and this letter with love and kisses
from all home and a big kiss from Mother and Dad.
..............................................................................
...........................................
Notes
1. Father Herchenroder was the long time pastor of SS. Joachim and Anne
Church. The Nolans and Herchenroders had a Brooklyn connection. It is my
understanding that Father Herchenroder was a cardplaying guest at our home many times
prior to my father's death in January, 1939.
2. The Storks were our neighbors on 220th Street. During World War II they
had a flag with seven stars in their window, representing their seven sons in
the service.All returned home safely.
3. The last child was born on May 18, 1936 - my brother Ken, number eight for
my father, number seven for my mother. (Their little sister Veronica died as a toddler when my mom was only five.)
Monday, November 12, 2007
Marie's Childhood Memories
A few years before she died, my mom emailed some childhood memories, particularly about her dad.
As the oldest of my parent’s children I should share a few memories. My dad was very special for me. He took me everywhere with him since he liked to go for drives in the car, and not everyone wanted to go. I always asked if we would stop for food along the way, and he almost always obliged. However we did go on family trips. Once I remember going to Montreal. We always went out on Long Island in the summer, renting a bungalow usually for a month. In fact he wanted to buy a place but my mom was reluctant. Remember, there were very few amenities then, just old fashioned ice boxes and poor stoves. He would commute to the city often and come out on weekends.
One summer he when I was 12 I want to camp out there. I remember getting a letter 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 which 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 child bearing yearsAround 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
My dad died in January 1939 at age 52, leaving my mom a widow with 7 children at age 40, the youngest less than 2. 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.”
As the oldest of my parent’s children I should share a few memories. My dad was very special for me. He took me everywhere with him since he liked to go for drives in the car, and not everyone wanted to go. I always asked if we would stop for food along the way, and he almost always obliged. However we did go on family trips. Once I remember going to Montreal. We always went out on Long Island in the summer, renting a bungalow usually for a month. In fact he wanted to buy a place but my mom was reluctant. Remember, there were very few amenities then, just old fashioned ice boxes and poor stoves. He would commute to the city often and come out on weekends.
One summer he when I was 12 I want to camp out there. I remember getting a letter 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 which 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 child bearing yearsAround 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
My dad died in January 1939 at age 52, leaving my mom a widow with 7 children at age 40, the youngest less than 2. 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.”
Monday, December 11, 2006
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
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)