Ken's Recollections of a Small Boy

Originally posted to Nolan, August 5, 1999

Date: Mon, 5 Aug 2002 17:52:57 -0500 (CDT)

Subject: Recollections of a small boy.

A few days ago my grandson, Justin Nolan (Denis, our middle son is his

dad) turned seven years old. I started to think about the year 1943 when

I turned seven...perhaps in second grade at SS Joachim &Anne. WWII was

on big time; times were serious: there were air raid wardens, sirens and

drills. Blackout window shades were drawn at night; the few cars

authorized to be on the road (due to gas rationing) had their headlights

blackened except for a tiny cat's eye center glow that would allow the

car to be seen by another car or a pedestrian but did not cast a beam

visible from the sky...by a potential enemy 'spy' plane!

 Mostly our family's concerns during that time seemed focused on the eldest

children, Jim, Marie and Bob. Jim was either already in the Navy or

about to go. Marie's graduation from high school(Our Lady of Wisdom

Academy in Ozone Park...now closed) and her entry into the labor market

automatically changed Jim's draft status. He was no longer 'exempt' from

service as the "sole support of the family." The entire family was, I

recall, gathered by the living room fireplace in QV on the snowy day

that soon-to-be 'Ensign Jim' anxiously awaited an overdue taxi to the

LIRR station, as he headed off to Great Lakes Naval Station...which Bob

was later to do in late '44 or early '45. 

Don't recall just when Joe Koch entered Marie's life, but when he did and was 

later stationed in Lordsburg, N.M. (guarding German POW's?), I was the proud recipient of a

"hand-beaded" Indian leather belt which made me feel important...in the

same way that, earlier, Kay Connally (Jim's fiance) stole my heart by

presenting me a beach pail and shovel wrapped in purple cellophane! (I

wonder: do younger kids in today's families experience such indelible

moments that "connected" them forever to the future spouses of their

elder siblings?). I was later to shine Joe's Koch's 'civilian' shoes for

35 cents a week as he went to work, post war, for the Metropolitan

Insurance Company on 23rd(?) Street...did I press his suit trousers too?

Yes...all good preparation for attending Xavier's ROTC and a twenty year

military career! Mostly, during the war, I remember the atmosphere

surrounding long distance calls that we were expecting from Joe Koch or

brother Jim. How we came to know to expect them, I can't

recall...(Warren: did an operator alert us in advance?). The requirement

was that we boys be still and silent (as if in church) because "Marie

was waiting for a long distance call from Joe" in the radio room just

off the dining room. The sound quality of such "patched" calls was

clearly not digital!

 I especially loved the calls from Jim when we all lined up proudly to talk to our big brother serving on the USS Biloxi,And who in retrospect was clearly my surrogate father given the nineteen years difference in our ages. Funny how it is for the little kids in a family: I almost don't remember a time in my life when my eldest siblings' spouses, Joe, Kay and Shirley were not already part of the family! 

Finally, during the war families proudly displayed in their

front windows 'service banners' (perhaps 10"x14" flags with a two inch

red border and a large white field with a large blue star in the center,

with gold fringe on the bottom and on the upper

dowel from which the flag draped. We had such flags displayed for Jim,

Bob and Joe.

The Stork family down the street had five sons in service and five blue

stars.  My best friend, Jackie Cavanaugh's house, had a flag with a gold

star on it...did you ever see the women dressed in white suits on

Memorial Day on TV from Arlington Cemetary? They are the "Gold Star

Mothers" whose sons and daughters died in the war. Jackie's brother

'Jimmy' died in the war; if the war memorial is still at the Queens

Village Plaza by the LIRR station, Jimmy's name is there. The practice

of displaying the service banner ceased after the war and only

reappeared after "911." I presented one to my new neighbor, Linda

Trevino, who son is an Air Force officer in Dubai; another blue star

banner other hangs proudly in my own front window, an old soldier's

tribute to his Air Force Captain son and a daily reminder to pray for

him, our troops and our Country!

Happy Birthday, Brother James, From Warren

December 16, 2002                                         HAPPY BIRTHDAY BROTHER JAMES! 
Yes, James!  You will remember that in our Queens Village home you were always James.  For Mother, it was always James, Marie, Robert, Francis and Kenneth.  It was only later, beyond 220th Street, that Jim, Mary, Bob, Frank and Ken evolved.  And Joan and I?  Well we had those plain vanilla names for which there was no easy substitute, though Joan  pinned "Huck" on me  one summer because I would run around without shoes. 

Today is your 86th birthday!  You were born on December 16th, 1916 in Brooklyn.  For our historically challenged younger generations of Nolans, that was about four months before the United States entered World War I, and about five months before the birth of your fellow World War II sailor, John F. Kennedy. 

As for every child your birth was a triumphant event in the family.  But for you - and for Daddy - it was also a tragedy because you lost your mother, Bessie (Elizabeth) on the following day. 

Our father's sister, Grace, my godmother, became your interim mother. You had a special tie to her all the years she lived.  We are all familiar with the remarkable letter Daddy wrote to you, his infant son, in May of 1917, when he feared being taken away from you by the Great War.  He told you about your mother, and gave you lifetime counsel about both your praying - and your pooping. 

You were a little boy of three and one-half in 1920 when a new mother came into your life - Mary Catherine King - "Mae" to some.  How many times over the years did you entertain us with your story, somewhat elaborated, about how you accompanied them on their honeymoon!  Recently you have taken to referring to her as your stepmother.  For many years, I did not know about the sad circumstances of your birth, but throughout all my life I never heard you refer to her in any way except as "Mother". 

In 1924 the family moved to Queens Village. For a while you attended P.S. 34, across the street from SS. Joachim and Anne church.  But when the new SSJA school was built you entered the fifth grade - then the highest grade - and were in the first graduating class with your pals, Joe Keating and Gerry Stork.  My Marie and I went back to SSJA a few years ago for the 75th anniversary of the founding of the school.  Your old 220th Street pal and classmate, Joe Keating, was there and asking for you.  You were followed at the school by your six brothers and sisters.  Our old school is still going strong with more than 500 students, many of Haitian background. 

Tragedy touched the family again in 1926 when you lost little Veronica.  That must have been tough for a nine year old boy. 

Along the way you become an educational prodigy, graduating 8th grade at the age of 12, and completing Brooklyn Prep at the age of 16.  You set the pattern for your four younger brothers going on to Jesuit high schools, Regis and Xavier.  After Brooklyn Prep you entered a six year undergraduate/law studies program at the old St. John's University in Brooklyn. 

Coming on the scene in 1932, my first memories of my big brother were of your law school days - not studying, but going to parties.  You were a pretty happy-go-lucky guy in those days, hanging out with Ed Hahn,  Jim Fallon and Bill Reilly - the crooner.  I have an enduring memory of you raiding my piggy bank before a big date.  Somewhere along the way there was a girl named Kay. 

But at home , things were not going well.  During the 1930s, Daddy was in and out of the hospital.  Frank and Ken were born in 1934 and 1936.  You told me the story of how Daddy summoned you in 1938 and made it clear you needed to get a job.  He sent you to see an old friend, Judge Richards, at the East New York Savings Bank. (You told me Judge Richards and his wife had wanted to adopt you after your mother died.)  Judge Richards gave you a job as a young attorney for the bank for the princely sum of $12.00 per week.  Except for World War II, you were to spend your whole working life there. 

Daddy died on January 23, 1939.  Mother, just 40 years old, was widowed with seven children, the youngest just two.  There was no social security.  Three rental properties in Brooklyn provided a small income, but rents in those days were $25.00 per month.  Without knowing all the details we do know that during our growing up years, you were always helping her financially, first from your small bank pay, then from your naval officer's salary, and later, while you were raising your own family, you found a way to help. 

I remember a snowy day in 1943 when you left Queens Village to begin your training as a naval officer at Notre Dame.  When I got to Notre Dame in 1954, and would pass Morrissey Hall, I would often think of you living and training there. 

Soon you were in the South Pacific as a young ensign on the U.S.S. Biloxi.  From the maps and stories in the Long Island Daily Press we at home could have some idea what was happening in your life.  We also had your heavily censured V-mail letters. 

There was a happy, rainy day in May, 1945, when you were back in Queens, marrying your sweetheart, Kay Connolly.  We local yokels  from Queens Village were pretty impressed by the reception at the Belmont Plaza on Lexington Avenue in New York. Mother's first grandchild, Mary Jo was there - sort of.  In the pictures my very big sister, Marie, sheltered herself behind a covey of her younger brothers.  You had to return to the Pacific to finish the job.  Happily the war against Japan ended in August.  Many years later you told me how your ship went to Japan to recover Allied prisoners, and how you visited the site of one of the A-bomb attacks. 

Returning to civilian life and to the East New York Savings Bank, you and Kay had a small apartment in Queens - Forest Hills or Kew Gardens or somesuch.  You invited us all for a spaghetti dinner. You were the chef, preparing a special tomato sauce. I was a very impressed thirteen year old for whom spaghetti was something that came out of a can labeled Franco-American.  I had also never been in an apartment building before. 

Your first baby, Jimmy M.D., was born in 1947, and things went on from there. As my Marie noted when she came into the family in 1956, it was helpful that the next generation was color coded, your and Kay's redheads, Bob and Shirley's blondes, and Joe and Marie's brunettes. 

I guess you thought all Nolan boys should be lawyers so you were a bit uncomprehending when you found a history teacher in the family.  It was a bit ironic that, just out of the army, and with two new babies, I found my first teaching job at JHS 149 in Brooklyn, a few blocks from the East New York Savings Bank. 

A few years later, I got a teaching job in West Islip, found a house and needed a mortgage.  It was the summer of 1961.  You and Kay were on a cross-country auto tour with Kay's sister Virginia and her husband, Bill Mitty.  I guess Mother had your tour schedule, for we knew that you were currently staying at the residence of Bill Mitty's uncle, the Archbishop of San Francisco.  And so it was that the mortgage process for my humble $14,800.00 abode on Raleigh Lane in West Islip began at the home of  an archbishop.  Of course, archbishops were in better repute in those days. 

Jim, all the two dotters, including my four children, have wonderful memories of you, of your singing, joking and story telling, of your arranging "shows" in which they participated at family gatherings.  We adults still tell your jokes.  Recently I got a big kick out of telling you one of your jokes that you had forgotten. 

We are sad that you have lost Kay, and that you are alone.  But you have four great children who love you and care for you, some  wonderful grandchildren, and a host of nieces and nephews scattered over the landscape for whom you have provided lasting, joyful memories. 

And though our tight knit band of seven brothers and sisters was broken with the loss of our dear brother Frank, six of us are still here, standing strong, and you are our leader! 

                                               With much love on your birthday, 

                                                 Your kid brother, 

                                                  Warren (and Marie)

Grandma Koch's Youth

This discussion was originally on the Madden Koch google group.


Mary Jo:
Talking to my Koch  girl cousins at recent funerals, I realized I did not know the real Grandma Koch, who made money on the horses, told off nuns on the bus, etc.  I hope Betsy, Tricia, Kathy, and Georgine will share some of the stories with this group.

My dad sometimes said.  "Grandma had 7 kids in ten years from age 30 to age 40, and it almost drove her mad." He never elaborated.  Did anything happen after Dick and Peggy were born?

Georgine:
I think Grandma had a nervous break down after Peggy and Dick were born .  My mother alluded to it and I remember her telling me "Don't have more children than you can take care of."  I gathered that she (Mary ) helped take care of the twins.  I know that the family moved a lot and I wondered if that was for money reasons.  The girls were all very close and my mother was shy so I think that her sisters were the core of her friends.  I have tried to write a few of my memories of the family times together and will transcribe some to you.   The Koch Family did stay very close when we were kids, and I remember many happy times.


Kathy:I too remember my Mom speaking about her Auntie coming to stay with them after the twins were born because Grandma couldn't take care of them. Times were tough.


Sharon:
I was told by my mom that Grandma Koch had more a physical breakdown than a mental breakdown.  She was exhausted nursing the two twins (who were 8 lbs each at birth) around the clock.  My mom said Grandma found herself walking into walls while holding the baby because she was so tired.  I believe Grandpa was working a lot of hours and for some reason, Grandma's sisters couldn't help out at that time.  Grandma had four little ones under the age of five (Jane, Agnes, Dick and Mary) and the impression I got was Grandma was wiped out.

I know she was sent away for "rest."I can't remember which of Grandma's sisters came to help, but she stayed long enough for Dick to start calling her "mom".  The story my mom told me was when Grandma came back, your dad (Joe) told the twins, "now this is your REAL mother.". I can imagine all of this must have been very frightening to the all the children being your dad couldn't have been older than 10 or 11 when it happened and of course all the other children were even younger.

I believe that is why Grandpa moved the gang out to Queens so Grandma could be in the "country".  However, Grandma was a city girl and as my mom described it "hated the move".  On the plus side, had they not moved there, my parents would have never met each other.

My mom used to tell me that Grandpa was a gardener and liked to fix up the houses that they rented.  He would make those houses so nice that the owners sold them and the Koches had to move. This apparently happened a lot because my mom said she went to a lot of different schools in 8 years.  I think Grandpa bought the house in Queens but I could be wrong.  I know my mom said it was important to her that her children grow up in the same house, and I think the rest of her siblings felt the same way.

I was told by my mom that she felt much loved by Grandma and that she felt Grandma had as many kids as she could possibly have.  I think my mom felt Grandma wanted so many kids because Grandma's mother died, the father couldn't take care of her and her siblings, gave them away to family members except for Grandma who was adopted by other people when she was around seven. Grandma said to my mom "I was the only one adopted by strangers."  Her father died sometime after that.

My mom also told me that Grandma's adopted mother had a little girl of her own much later on and got the idea in her head that Grandma might want to marry her son (the fact that she had her own daughter by blood probably also played into this).  Grandma told my mom that had not true, he was her brother, she grew up with him and there was nothing more than that. When Grandma turned 18, her adopted mom told Grandma that she should leave now which Grandma did.

When Grandma's adopted dad and brother found out, they went searching for her. When they located her, they pleaded with her to come back, that "Mom was wrong for making you leave."  Grandma refused to come back because she was so devastated by the actions of this woman who had been her mother.  Grandma used to cry about it and told my mom that she missed the little girl as well whom she had been helping to raise.

Grandma changed her name back to Madden and broke all contact with the family.  My mom told me their names but I'm sorry now that I didn't write it down.

Mary Jo: 
I want to cry for Grandma. How miraculous that she was able to be such a loving mother and grandma after she had been treated so abusively. What an incredibly strong woman she was!

Agnes to Joe, October 1945

Among the thousands of letters my dad and mother exchanged from  November 1942 to March 1946, I have found some family letters, from my dad to Grandma Koch and from Uncle Francis. I found just one letter from Aunt Agnes.  I gather her writing to her brother is an event.


October 12, 1945

Dear Joe,

Yes I am really writing to you.  I just never do get around to it  so you will have to overlook it.

We finally got Mary [Argentieri] off and now we are all very busy with my coming wedding.  I am truly exhausted, but you know all about that because you’ve gone through it already.

Mary called today and the baby is fine.  She weighs fourteen pounds so she certainly is a nice fat healthy baby.  I still thinks she looks like mom, at least the nose anyway.


We really are terribly busy and we don’t get the chance to get to see our niece very often.  Yes we did receive your letter.  Johnny and I got her over here one Sunday but we haven’t the time to do that right now.  We would really like to see her oftener than we do. (That’s really more often isn’t it?)

I am sending you a wedding invitation because I thought you would like to have one.  I am also sending you a picture from the Press of Mary and George.  I will send others later on. We haven’t heard from Mary Argentieri in over two weeks but you know how Mary is about writing (almost as bad as me).  They have a new apartment and I guess she is very busy setting it up.


We haven’t been able to find a place to stay yet.  That is one of my biggest problems.
We want a furnished apartment but none seem available thus far.  Furniture is too terribly expensive to get any right now.


We are going to Florida on our honeymoon.  We will drive down there now that gas rationing has been lifted.  I get more and more tired as the days go by.  I certainly will be glad when it is all over.  Johnny is nervous about the mass already but I guess he will live through it.


Peggy said when she saw the baby outside the bank she looked beautiful.  She is so plump and cute that she is convinced that the baby takes after her father, the plump part naturally.  All the girls in the bank thought your wife is a very pretty girl.


I  will close now because I have to write some more letters.  Take care of yourself.


Love from all,
Agnes


PS We got a “v” mail from Dick.  He is coming home the end of December.  How about you, anything definite yet?

Joe to George, July 27, 19445

I am so grateful to Georgine for finding this letter.

Somewhere in France
Friday, July 27, 1945

Dear George,

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sincerely,
Joe

Dad's Yearbook Profile, 1937

No problem, riddle, or formula seems to be beyond his ken. He is the outstanding scientist of St. Francis College; he is the winner of the coveted Smith Memorial Medal for excellence in Science. Yet even his own brilliance could not fathom the enigma of Joe Koch. In many ways Joe is a walking paradox. He seldom laughs outright; in fact his picture would lead one to believe that he is a sombre pessimist. Yet it is his nimble wit that makes him a distinctive personality. His humor is never loud; rather it is whimsical and epigrammatic.

To be the leading scholar of the college it is necessary to do more work than the average. A student who is desirous of attaining official recognition must sit at home and do extra assignments. That is the normal procedure. But is that the form fol owed by our human riddle? Certainly not! He is actually scrupulous about not doing more than the assignment requires. He does exactly what he is demanded to do and not one jot more. What he does, however, is of such undeniable excellence that he was one of the first men picked for the Duns Scotus Honor Society.

With regards to one trait, however, Joe appears to contain no contradictions. That is his quality of intense loyalty to his friends.

Mom Graduates from College, 1967

My mom and I graduated from college the same day, June 1967. I graduated from Fordham in the morning; she graduated from Hofstra in the afternoon. She is beaming with pride in my accomplishment; I on the other hand look sulky about her much greater achievement. Mom's father died when she was 17. Because he has been ill so long, he wasn't able to get life insurance. Although mom was a brilliant student, she had to give up her college plans and attend secretarial school to help support her family. She tried to go to college at night, but got pneumonia and had to give it up.

When Mark was 5, she returned to college. Knowing her only as a mother, not an intellectual, the family was staggered by her straight A average. In 1969 she got her master's degree in American History and taught high school. Fortunately, she was able to teach at our local school, just down the block, so she was available to my younger brothers when they came home from school.

I recently found all the A papers she wrote for college and graduate school. I might transcribe some of them.

Duck and Cover, McCarthy, Assassinations, Vietnam, Jail

 I was born the day after Trinity, the first atom bomb test. From age 5, duck-and-cover, hide-under-our-desks drills in my Catholic school were as frequent as tests. I was terrified of nuclear war. We lived one mile away from an air force base. Whenever I heard planes, I ran out into the backyard and tried to  to determine if they were American or Russian, using my library book on aircraft identification. When I was 7, Stalin died. I asked my parents if this meant  we would not be killed by atom bombs.

In 1954 I had a severe case of the measles, and my Grandma  came to help nurse me. Grandma was a lifelong Democrat since she voted in the first election open to women. With loathing, she was listening to the Joseph McCarthy army hearings. My eyes hurt too much to read, so I listened obsessively. Hatred of McCarthy's voice probably shaped my entire political development.

 In 1956, just turning eleven, I fell madly in love with Jack Kennedy as he made an unsuccessful bid for the vice presidential nomination. I was initially attracted by his Catholicism; ten minutes later I was smitten by his intelligence, wit, and charm. I was luckier than his other women. Loving Jack Kennedy was wonderful for me. From 1956 to 1963, I read everything I could about Kennedy, politics, American history.

What JFK 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. Kennedy's assassination,during the  fall of my freshman year in college, devastated me. I felt like there had been a death in my immediate family. I quickly transferred my political allegiance to Bobby Kennedy, who was the keynote speaker at my graduation from Fordham in 1967.

Planning to get Ph.D. in political science, I  attended Stanford University where resistance to the war was at its height. Almost every afternoon, David Harris, Joan Baez's future husband who was later jailed, spoke out eloquently against the war. I was studying political science as a quantifiable science. I  knew Harris and the protests were the real political science, and I dropped out, throwing away my free ride to college professorship.

 After Stanford, I worked for Victor Riesel, the blind labor columnist. When he was exposing  waterfront racketeering. acid was thrown in his eyes. He was too proud to learn Braille, so he hired bright young political women to be his eyes, so he could write his daily colulmn. I skimmed  8 newspapers and 40 labor newspapers and read to him anything that might provide column ideas. The Internet equivalent was a constantly running ticker tape. All day, everyday  I read and discussed the assassinations, the riots, Vietnam. The shattering world was my job.

I had gone to bed very late the night Bobby Kennedy won the California primary. As the radio woke me up,  I didn't understand what they were saying for several minutes. I thought they were talking about someone else. When I called my finace,  I was crying so hysterically he thought something had happened to my parents or brothers. JFK's assassination was 10 days before my wedding. The day after I had a final dress fitting. I cried the entire time, not caring if I had a wedding dress of tears.

 I became a pacifist. Opposition to the Vietnam War right from the beginning was the catalyst. My husband 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. I have mostly seen Washington behind a picket sign. Freezing,I stood in front of the White House I stood in front of the White House and shouted the name of a dead soldier during the March of Death.

My husband was turned down for Conscientious Objector Status, as most Catholics were, even though he appealed the decision up to the Presidential Appeal Board. We knew he was going to be jailed, probably for 3 years, for refusing induction. But  in 1969 the Selective Service instituted the  First Draft Lottery. The days of the year, represented by the numbers from 1 to 366 (including Leap Year Day), were written on slips of paper that were placed in capsules. The capsules were mixed in a shoebox and dumped into a deep glass jar. Capsules were drawn from the jar one at a time.

The first day number drawn was 257 (September 14), so all registrants with that birthday were assigned lottery number 1. Men of draft age (those born between 1944 and 1950) whose birthday fell on the corresponding day of the year would all be drafted at the same time. Only the first 195 birthdates drawn in the 1969 lottery were called to serve. The lottery night was among the worst of my life.  I arrived home from work when they had reached 50. As time when on and they didn't call out Chris's birthday, I was convinced he had been in the first five. His number was 339. He was spared jail.

Catholic Penguins

This  blurry picture from 1959 evokes many  vivid memories, whether fond or not I am still puzzling out. From first grade through high school graduation, I was taught by the Dominican Sisters of Amityville, Long Island. I never considered for a moment sending my kids to Catholic school; now I am not so sure that at least one child might have benefited from their academic rigor. 

Uniondale, our new post-World War II community, did not yet have a Catholic school. My mother carpooled, so I could go to Holy Redeemer in Freeport for first and second grade morning classes. With so many Catholics eager to send their kids to Catholic schools, they offered split sessions. Then I took a bus to the closer Queen of the Most Holy Rosary in Roosevelt for third through eighth grade.

Miss Carney, my  first grade teacher, taught two classes of 60 children, one in the morning, one in the afternoon. All of us learned how to read and write, both printing and cursive. She recognized better students and gave them additional challenges. I craved gold stars on both my papers and my forehead. Regularly, I was sent to the second grade teacher, Sister Paula Anne, to report my latest accomplishment. I was sister's teacher's pet before I started second grade.

The tall nun on the right is Sister Miriam Francis; she was the principal at both Holy Redeember and the Queen. She died 3 years ago at age 93, having worked into her late 80s. I wasn't surprised; in retrospect she was an amazing educator. A tall, elegant, brilliant 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 were in awe of her and  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, never was ordered to put my gum on my nose, never was compelled to bring my embarrassing private note up to the front, so Sister could read it to the entire class.  The nuns' reinforced my innate shyness. Good students only answered questions; they never asked them. Class discussion only occurred in high school history and English courses.

Most of the nuns were very young. Many had not yet been to college, were attending part-time, but were expected to teach classes of over sixty students. My young, beautiful physics teacher, who used to flirt with the boys, was one chapter ahead of us in the regents review book. None of my classes were chaotic; I can't remember how the nuns did it. The  habits must have disguised a superman costume. I loved grade school, but was critical of high school. I resolved never to send my daughters to strict Catholic school that prized obedience over creativity.

As the negative memories fade, I can appreciate the excellence and rigor of my education. Writing this post has been a revelation. I have never publicly appreciated the penguins. For 8 years I edited books on the basis of my grade school English grammar classes. I always enjoyed diagramming hundredsof sentences, especially at the blackboard. We had fantastic geography lessons. Every classroom had many world maps, rolled up in front of the blackboard. I loved drawing maps. A test would be a continent map with the outline of each country. We had to fill in the names. We were given a US map outline and had to fill in the state and its capital. We would never have been allowed to graduate from eighth grade if we could not fully explain Social Security.

The nuns were the only professional women I knew. As a group they were amazingly hard working and dedicated; most of them were warm, kind women. I remember only one mean nun in high school, Sister Jean Paul, who taught eighth grade, the nun on the left of the picture. She loathed FDR and made no pretense of being objective. The class wore black armbands the anniversary of his death and sniffed audibly whenever Sister mentioned his name. Too pull off such a massive group effort, we had to have learned lots of American history.


The high school curriculum was rigorous--4 years of English, Social Studies, Math, Science (Earth Science, Physics, Biology, Chemistry), Religion, Art, Music, Gym, and Two Languages, including Latin. As freshman, we had a half year library science course, mastering the card catalogue and the Reader's Guide to Periodical Literature. In English class, we loved reading aloud all of Shakespeare's major plays.We were expected to memorize the major soliloquies and sonnets as well as many English and American poems. We read Dickens, Austen, Elliot, Conrad, Dostoevsky, Hardy, Shaw, Ibsen, Hemingway, Fitzgerald, and Steinbeck.

Sister Grace Florian was the best teacher I ever had in my 20 years of education. She taught first year Latin and senior year English literature. She was brilliant, funny, and demanding. I still have the Jane Austen paper I wrote for her. It is rather good, but Sister Grace Florian incisively criticized the content, the typing, the organization, the grammar, the footnotes, the bibliography. Sister Mary Cyrilla, who taught senior religion, was a fervent believer in Vatican II. Questioning traditional Catholic beliefs were encouraged. She later spent 15 years teaching at the seminary, where men study to be priests. Sister Mary Luke was an excellent French teacher; Sister Gloria Marie taught me to love Math so much that I considered it as my college major.

My friends and I ran the high school newspaper, the Agnesian Rock, and were members of the Speech and Debate Clulb. Debate was enormously challenging, requiring countless hours of library research. We had to argue both sides of each years's resolution, always a major political policy controversy.

But all was not ideal. Science was very weak. Art and music were only given lip service. There were no female sports, because the champion boys basketball team needed the gym all year round. We had no choice but to apply to Catholic colleges. Those who wanted to attend non-Catholic colleges were refused recommendations. We were regularly taken to Church service; we had to go to confession once a month. In grade school, we had to report our attendance at Mass every Sunday; missing Mass compromised your religion grade.

My mother was an active member of the Women's Ordination Conference. I occasionally attended meetings with her, even though I had not been a committed Catholic after age 18. Many of its members were  fascinating older nuns; everyone seemed to have a Ph.D. There are very few young women entering the convent.  Sadly Catholic school kids aren't taught by penguins anymore.

Young Grandma

Mom was only 50 when Rose was born, 51 when Vanessa was born. I had to wait until 62 to become a grandmother. Look how young she looks. She was an incredibly energetic grandmother, the kind who takes their grandchildren to Europe. Teenage Vanessa once commented: "I could even visualize you and dad dying, but grandma is immortal." Sadly, she  died in 2004 and didn't meet her three great grandsons and her 6 great granddaughters.

The downside of women's having children after they are settled in their careers is that their parents are older. Their children might not be grown when the parents have to confront the dilemmas of elder care. My grandmother was 47 when I was born. She lived long enough to meet 23 great grandchildren. Of course, her children had their children much younger as well.

My mother, my aunts, and their friends had their children young, then went back to school and embarked on a new career in their forties. For the most part, they did well. My Aunt Rosemarie went to law school at age 40, and went on to be chief counsel to the president of Stonybrook University.

Joe: Love at First Sight

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

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

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

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

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

He did have a secret weapon. His job had been writing letters under constricting rules. He now could write letters without rules. She claims it was all platonic yet her first letter to him was a sixteen-page affair. Looking back he is smiling at the strategy of the salutation of his letter. First it was a proper Dear Mary--it’s possible to write the same two words so they are less proper but more warm. She should have realized what his plans were right from the very beginning. The first thing he did was change her name,, he first name that is. How could he ever have written letters beginning Dear Marie.

Three months of seeing her, three months of exchanging letters and she was sure too. A little later--less than a year after they first met, it was properly formalized. She got a ring (It was not in a car; it was outside on the sidewalk in front of her house). The ratio was changed. One kiss in three months to how many kisses in two weeks? Not enough, there will never be enough. His heart was just too full--that time was a blur to him. Did it happen to her as it did to him? There was no beginning. It just always was. Just two he and she.

Of course they were going to be engaged for a long time, and it was a long time. Six months and twenty-six days. One could say he was respoinsible. Too much of his heart got into one of his letters and now slipped in. But she was more direct and she knew her hussyness. She met his train and before they got home it was all decided. And then for a week they didn’t see each other, well hardly at all. A girl has a lot to do before here wedding. Some girls take months and months. This girl did it all in a week.

Married on Monday. What plain words. Rainbow isn’t a fancy word either. Nor sunrise,nor moonlight. Love and sacrement--a sacrament of love. "For this cause shall a man leave father and mother and shall cleave to his wife, and they two shall be in one flesh. Therefore now they are not two but one flesh."

Mary: Two Months Pregnant

My lucky steak ended today because I've been feeling sickish all day. I hate to miss Communion on Sunday, but I did this morning.. After all my talking last night, I didn't go to Wisdom (her alma mater) this afternoon anyway. I was afraid I might get sick on the bus or something. So I spent most of the afternoon sleeping and about 5 I got up feeling much better.

Let's buy the baby something for Christmas. If you're lucky enough to get a 5 -day pass, we can go shopping next Saturday. Otherwise I'll buy a baby dress or sweater or something myself. After all, Mary Jo should have a hope chest too. [I never got a hopechest.]

No, I didn't do any talking in the doctor's office--I just listened. You didn't think it possible, did you? Remember my telling you I could be silent and subdued some times? No, darling, doctors never embarrass me. They're so impersonal anyway. Most of the time you are covered with a sheet anyway. It's silly to get excited about going to the doctor's. That's just part of having a baby....

...Being a mother is just about the best thing that could happen to anyone. Darling, I guess you feel the same way about being a father. Joe, I still can't believe it really. It seems too wonderful to be true.

aww...She really does seem so relaxed about everything. Confident. And reassuring to her nervous husband--sweet!

Ginny Kaczmarek

May 19, 2009 10:30 PM

So matter-of-fact and yet compellingly intimate. Can't wait for more.

Sally Swift

May 20, 2009 09

Mary: Pregnancy, November 1944

I am not posting these letters in chronological order. I haven't transcribed them that way. My daughters have been pregnant four times in the last two years. They loved my mom's day-by-day description of her pregnancy with me. Unfortunately, I only kept a journal when I was deciding to get pregnant with my first child. My mother announced her pregnacy earlier than anyone I have ever known. Of course she only got a few opportunities to make love with her true love.

November 1-- Darling I am quite convinced that we're going to be proud parents in July. Four days late and still no sign of my period. (Grandma, like me, was regular as clockwork.) I'm still waiting two weeks though before I'll be completely convinced. Oh hon, each day I feel more certain that Our Lady has given us another wonderful favor. This is the bestest favor of all--a child of our very own.

Joe, I am sure it's true. I certainly haven't been feeling exactly normal. I can't say that I've really been nauseous, but I seem to have something very close to it. Maybe that accounts for my steady tired feeling too. All in all though, I feel fine, and I'm sure I'll have a normal pregnancy. Hon, it seems funny to talk about my being pregnant. Isn't it super?

November 8 , 1942-- Today I''m feeling quite chipper 'cause I talked with my husband last night. Dear, it was so exciting to share our secret. I like being a future mother awfully much. I love Mary-Jo's future daddy just millions of billions of times. [Somehow they knew I was a girl. I have never had to worry they wished I were a boy.] I love you more than all the babies that were born this year. Just think hon, ours will be one of the babies who'll be born next year.

It's really too soon to tell anyone yet though [two days later Mary told her mother].I wonder how the doctor will figure. I understand that they estimate one week after the first day of your last period and then say it'll be nine months from then. Which means that he'd probably say sometime around July 8th. My guess is about the 15th though. I've decided I'll wait until the 26th of Nov., which would normally be my next period and then if nothing happens, I'll arrange to go to the doctor the following week. I think I'll call Dr. Schanno and ask him to recommend me to someone.

November 10, 1944-- I told my mother she's going to be a grandmother and she wasn't even the least bit surprised. She said that it's really not necessary to go to the doctors until the end of the second month because he couldn't tell my anything until then anyway. It's fun being able to talk about it to mom though.

November 14, 1944--I haven't starting eating crackers in bed because I really haven't been too nauseous in the early morning. I usually feel worse about 10 or 11 o'clock.

Our secret is still a three-way secret although I don't know how I held back last night. Ginnie and Peg apparently thought that nothing happened [on her last visit] because I didn't say anything. They were teasing me that I'd have my last chance to make good when you get your 5-day pass. Ha, Ha, little do they know that our baby is a month old already.

Thanks for the post. My daughter is pregnant and expecting her first, and I'll pass this on to her.

john guzlowski

May 18, 2009 04:41 PM

John, I was blessed that my mom gave me such an entirely positive view of childbirth. When they showed us a film in senior year of high school on natural childbirth, some girls fainted, and I simply could not understand their reaction. My mom has a similar "no big deal" attitude toward her labor and delivery.

Mary Jo Koch

May 19, 2009 06:31 AM

More, more! These are fascinating on both a personal level and a historical one. It's so fun to read how the feelings and symptoms of pregnancy are so much the same across generations, even as the vernacular is different ("super" and "chipper" are so cute!). And love her relaxed, positive attitude. Can't wait to read more.

Ginny Kaczmarek

May 19, 2009 12:43 PM

You mom was right about your sex and your name -- Was she right about your birthday? Can't wait to find out!

Faith Paulsen

May 19, 2009 03:26 PM

Well my then two year old daughter was right about her sister's sex and birthday. The day Michelle was born, Anne announced that she was coming today. Once upon a time, an exciting time, we didn't know the sex of the baby.

Mary Jo Koch

May 19, 2009 07:12 PM

Joe: Army Life

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

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

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

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

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

You can almost hear his voice.

Faith Paulsen

May 19, 2009 03:22 P

Mary: Childhood Memories

Three years before she died, my mom emailed Her family 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 poor people. 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 , casting my first vote for Roosevelt.

Unfortunately, long before doctors had the modern medicines that control high blood pressure , my dad had very high blood pressure thatcaused 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 years. Around the time each of my youngest brothers was born she also had a sick husband to care for. Since I was in my teens I used to take care of them when she would be at the hospital

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 thinkin , maybe not now, but certainly some day.

Mary: December 7, 19942

Or should I begin--dear #32636308? Writing to a number is a unique experience but not half so strange I suppose as being one. Are you expected to startle everyone you meet by announcing that you are #----etc?

All joking aide for a moment, I was ever so glad to hear from you Joe and more than a little amazed at the length of your letter. Just goes to prove that it can be done. Now that you've spoiled me, I hope you intend to continue entertaining me in the future with such newsy and amusing letters. Already I can hear you muttering, "never again."

As you probably have already guessed tonight is Monday and my night to spend poring over volumes of school books. But of course writing letters is decidedly more pleasant than dashing off a term paper for English. Any excuse to get out of work you know. Incidentally I haven't as yet decided on my topic and the first few hundred words are due tomorrow--Happy day.

After reading your tale of the poor little rain soaked draftees, I'm inclined to choose a phase of army life for my paper, but then again what would I use for a bibliography. Or is J.J. Koch an accepted reference?

Your experiences have certainly been numerous as well as varied. No doubt they were both amusing and sad. At any rate there has probably not been a dull moment.

Of course it's to be expected that you would have a "soft" job. Everyone else goes out to Upton and slaves in the kitchen doing KP duty for a week, but Pvt. Koch sits at a desk for a few hours a day. How many days do you have off each week Joe: don't tell me you work on Monday morning and Wednesday afternoons. Well I suppose if I graduate from college and bring up my IQ to 151, I too could get a similar job with the Army. Before obtaining such a job though if I have to qualify to the above conditions, I quit. I was glad to hear though that my suspicions concerning you were based on facts and that you are a genius. Tell me were you ever a quiz kid? Again to be serious--I'm happy to see that they realized that here is a fellow who knows something.

The day you left for camp I saw by the papers (OK it was the LI Daily Press) that your draft board had been bombed. At least the bomb was just about ready to explore when Johnny Policeman dashed to the rescue. You weren't up to any Red Skeleton tricks before leaving, were you Joseph? To be truthful I was a trifle suspicious. At any rate by this time they've no doubt nabbed the culprit.

Jim really is having trouble with his draft board. As was expected he been reclassified 1A. Nothing much has happened on his application for v2 (?) so he's a bit edgy these days regarding his fate. Do you have any extra beds in that nice warm tent? In view of the President's little proclamation of yesterday, enlisting has become a thing of the past. Think of all the trouble you'd have saved. Oh but then there would have been that many more days to work.

Speaking of working do you miss answering letters of complaint? Had I realized sooner I could have done a bit of complaining. As a mater of fact I think I will. My teasing you about getting up early on Saturday morning was all in vain. LPG (her company) had something special to take care of and asked one M.N. to please come in one Saturday. Said M.N. worked until 5:30. I'm more convinced now that I should join the army or something.

By the way Joe I both resent and appreciate your remarks concerning that little garden spot of L.I--Queens Village. We do have sidewalks--so there too.

I decided not to send out the medal (with the long chain) until I am sure you are going to be at Upton for a while. It's really too bad that visitors are no longer permitted because I would love to travel out in the woods to see the number one reception center of the country. But perhaps you'll be around for Chrstimas and can wrangle a day or two off. Write soon again Joe, as I want to hear from you.

Joe: Professor Koch on Procrastination

It was my intent to begin this letter with a lecture on procrastination delivered in Prof. Koch's inimitable style. This is how I used to work it. In those days I got off at 4:30 so I would be home considerably before 6.

Since dinner would be ready at 6 it was hardly worthwhile to begin studying. So I would start reading the LI Daily Press. After supper it would be only a few minutes till Lowell Thomas comes on so I might as well wait. (Please excuse the shift of tenses to the narrative present.) Well, a fellow needs some amusement and what's fifteen minutes; so to WEAF for the Chesterfield program with Fred Waring. Time out to rest so now it's 7:30. The half hour from 7:30 to 8:00 was really the difficult time to waste. I usually couldn't think of a valid excuse for not studying. Since I wasn't a lawyer, I usually got by without one.

Of course, everyone knows that the good radio programs come on a 8 o'clock so I was saved. This was good for Monday and Tuesday nights. Wednesday was a tougher struggle for I knew if I could get by Wednesday, I was saved for the rest of the week. What would be the use of studying for the last two days of the week? Occasionally, though, I would lose on Wednesday nights and I would have to make some attempt at getting to work.

I usually got seated at my desk about 9 but I was still struggling. I could rearrange the papers on my desk for ten or fifteen minutes , but finally I would have to pick up my book. However, there was still life in the old procrastinator: instead of opening the textbook at the assigned chapter, I could skip a hundred pages or so and then begin reading there. If I was near the end of the book, there were always other ones to look over. At approximately 10:30 the struggle would be over. It always puzzled me why I felt so tired after studying for only three hours.

Joe: December 25, 1942

The eastern skies are a golden ocean that stretches from purple mountain to purple mountain. Over this glowing ocean, a halo of pale yellow reaches up until it is transmuted into the deepest blue. The shores of the golden sea are white sand, of course, but as they recede from the molten surf they become darker and grayer until a dull green color predominates. The cactus and yucca-studded beach stretches all the way to the brown mountains of the west which are roofed by the western sky trying to show that the Occident too is a colorful panorama. The blue-gray western clouds are blushing a genteel pink. Is it because they have seen the sun still beneath the eastern horizon or are they showing their anticipation of the home-coming moon--in all its white fullness sailing slowly serenely towards its western moorings?

The description is not so hot, but it is an attempt to show that despite the radio and the jukebox, a white Christmas is not the only kind. In fact, I’m pretty sure that the first Christmas was more like our New Mexico one than the wintry Christmases of Queens Village and points north. All right, the fact that I’m writing letters on Christmas shows which kind I prefer. I think that all twelve of us who came down from Camp Upton feel quite lonely and homesick today.

I myself can’t conceive of being 2800 miles away from you and the Koches. Next door the bugler is practicing, outside cactus is growing, and if I look out the window I can see the desert all around and yet I still think that all I have to do is catch that next bus at Parsons Blvd and have you help me play with the various games and toys of the Nolan younger trio until Frank says, “Whose Christmas presents do you think these are anyway?”

Beautiful. He's a poet. And letters like this one are treasures -- I hope you preserve them.

Faith Paulsen

New Years Day 1943

After making our beds and cleaning up the barracks, you can well realize why we don’t have to report for calisthenics until 8 o clock. The exercises are given out on the drill field and it certainly is cold out there because the sun has not cleared the mountains that early. For the first few days calisthenics were easy because the corporals giving the exercise would tire soon and we’d be through. Today, however, a new system was inaugurated--a shuft of four corporals put us through our paces. After briskly running about a hundred yards we then have to “police up” the company area (It’s now seven minutes to nine so this epistle will have to be continued tomorrow since we have lights out at nine. Oh well early to bed and early to....!)

Policing up consists of spreading out in a line and marching forward picking up stray bits of paper cigarettes etc. from the ground--street cleaning in other words. That is the theoretical aspect. Actually you walk along with your hands in your pockets studiously avoiding looking at the ground.

In My Grandmother's House

My daughter Katherine wrote this about the wartime letters:

In my grandmother's house, past a stone Mexican statue named Harry, up the front stairs and to the right there is a bedroom. In this bedroom there are a pea green carpet, a bed with yellow and orange flowered sheets, and a cracked blue dresser. This dresser, unlike every other bureau and closet in this house, does not contain any seventies-style ties, old scarves, or early feminist t-shirts. Instead every drawer is filled with letters.

Joe lived in Jamaica, Queens, with his parents and six younger sisters and brothers. His college yearbook said of him, "Even his own brilliance could not fathom the enigma that is Joe." Mary lived in Queens Village. She was the second child, and the oldest girl, in a family of seven. Her high school yearbook described her as, "Sincerity coupled with bubbling vivacity, scholastic excellence with literary talents, athletic prowess, sparkling wit." She would not have a college yearbook until many years later, because her father had died without much life insurance when she was seventeen years old. Her father's brother squeezed together the money for her older brother to continue school at St. John's, but Mary was just a girl.

Mary and Joe had met the summer of 1942, on a raft at Loon Lake in the Adirondacks. He was 28, she was 21. A week later, back in Queens, he took her to see Bambi. They saw each other often in the three months after Bambi became Prince of the forest, and before Joe was drafted. He kissed her for the first time on the day he left for the army.

They will get engaged the night before her 22nd birthday in August 1943 and will marry the next March. The wedding will not be fancy, since it was planned in about four days and no one had much money anyway. The reception will be in Mary's backyard. Joe will go off to war in Europe, though his bad vision will ensure that he never faces combat. They will have their first child while he is away. There will be short letters to Baby Mary Jo, my mother, enclosed with the longer ones to Mary. Then in 1946, when Mary Jo is eight months old, Joe will finally come home and the letters will end.

They will have five more children, and the children will have fourteen kids of their own. Joe will die of Alzheimer's disease in May of 1987. Mary will become a lobbyist and counselor for victims of the disease and their families. She will become even more involved with her church,
and even more of a rock for her distressingly heathen children and grandchildren. Mary will die in April 2004 of Progressive Supranuclear Palsy.

My grandparents' generation has been called "The Greatest Generation." They survived the depression, they fought Hitler. Yes, they did, but many of them also contributed to horrible racial inustice, and a few of them dropped the bomb. I suppose that talking about our parents' and grandparents' moral superiority is an improvement over not trusting them because they're over forty, but it's not much of an improvement. It would be far more honest to say that they did some very good things, and some very bad things. They had fewer toys, and certainly they wrote better love letters, but they were more or less just like us.

To put it another way, generation schmeneration. I'm not going to even try to judge. Instead I will sit here and read these letters. I will learn that my mother's mother is more than the grandma who babysat for us almost every week for ten years, and who is always inappropriately freezing things. I will learn that my mother's father was far more than the sick, confused old man I remember.