My Wonderful Mother

Joan Joyce Schiavon (1928 - 1987)

My mother, Joan Joyce Schiavon
Age 26
Chicago, 1954

"So when are you going to write about my Grandmother?" 

A few evenings ago, my son, Michael, asked the question I have avoided for far too long.

I told him I was trying to work toward writing about my mother but struggled with it because we were so close.  The pain of losing her was holding me back, even now.  

Michael pressed for a better answer.  Born in 1988, just eight months after my mother's death at age 59 from lung cancer, he never had the chance to know her in person, as he had known my father and his paternal grandparents.  Nor, he reminded me, had his younger brother and sister, Kevin and Erin.

Michael added that she was not just my mother, but his and his siblings' grandmother, their Nana, too.  He wanted to know more about her - the story of how she got lost as a toddler in the Michigan woods; what it was like to grow up during the Great Depression;  her struggles and her triumphs; her sense of humor; her fascination with Mexico; and her passionate love for my father, her daughters, and her grandchildren.

It was then that I realized that this year will mark 25 years - a quarter of a century - since my mother died.  My mother would have smiled at me in her wise and gentle way and said it was high time to move forward.  She would have been right.   Silly me to not have heard her voice in my heart.  It is time to do this.  It is time to honor my wonderful mother and to share her life with my precious children and the rest of the world.  

I will do my best to do that, beginning today.  For Michael, Kevin, and Erin.  For my sisters, my family, and myself.  

And for my mother, Joan Joyce Schiavon, whom I love more than words could ever say and whose warm embrace I still feel, all these years later.  "I knew you could do this," she might have said knowingly. "Better late than never."

Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully

Did you know Joan (Schiavon) Huesca, or are you a member of the Schiavon/Schiavone, Huesca, or Tully families?  If so, share your memories and thoughts about this story below.

Amanuensis Monday: A Grand Aunt

[Note:  Amanuensis is an ancient word meaning one who performs the function of writing down or transcribing the words of another.  Derived from the Latin root manu-  manual, or hand, the word also has been used as a synonym for secretary or scribe.]

Benita Elizabeth McGinnis (1889 - 1984)

From my Grand Aunt Benita Elizabeth McGinnis' scrapbook - written when she was a mere 92 years young.

Born in Conneaut, Ohio, 5 years after my parents’ marriage and 3 years after the birth and death of an older sister, Mary Margaret, who only lived 3 days.

It is plain even in this infant picture that I was striving for balance.  I suppose this is because I was born under the sign of Libra, the Scales.  I’ll do anything to stay on both feet!

Benita McGinnis, age 3, 
Conneaut, Ohio, 1892

            

About 1902*.  The dress I am wearing was a lovely blue.  The goods were given me by my darling grandfather.**  My mother made it.  The aunts gave me the pearls.  I recall that Aunt Deal** carried me in the blue dress to gaze down at my grandfather in his bed.  He had just died.  I cried because he could not speak to me and tell me how he liked my dress.

For my fifth birthday, I got this this lovely blue, brown, tan and gold plaid with a puffed neck yoke of gold silk.  My hair was getting very long and I wore it in 8 curls. Each day Aunt Delia curled it and brushed the curls over her fingers to make them glossy.

Benita McGinnis in her 
birthday dress, age 5,
Conneaut, Ohio, ca. 1894

The words above were written by my Grand Aunt Benita (or Aunt Detty, as my mother, sisters, and I called her) in a scrapbook about her life she created when she was 92 years old.  Aunt Detty was one of the most fascinating persons I have ever been blessed to know.  She was born on September 30, 1889, the eldest of four children born to Thomas Eugene McGinnisand his wife, Mary Jane Gaffney.   Her younger sister, Alice McGinnis, was my maternal grandmother.

Although there was an age difference of 66 years between us, I feel we were kindred spirits who shared a love for and interest in many of the same things:  writing and traveling, faith and family.  She also was a renowned artist (though I missed the boat on that one) who was always trying new media and finding new ways of looking at the world.  We spent many hours together, drinking wine, sharing stories, poring over photographs, and solving the problems of the world.  A loving wife and mother and friend to all, she was my mentor and, in many ways, the role model of the kind of person I hope to be. 

*      Though Benita showed the date of her two-year-old self as 1902, it was in fact taken in 1892.  She always did look young for her age!

**   The (maternal) grandfather to whom Benita refers here was John Francis "Jeff" Gaffney, who died on February 28, 1892.

*** Aunt Deal was Benita's maternal aunt, Delia Gaffney.  Delia went by several nicknames, including Di and Deal.  

There will be more – much more – to come about Aunt Detty in future posts.

Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully

Did you know any of the people mentioned in this story, or are you a member of the McGinnis, McCormick, or Gaffney families?  If so, share your own stories below.

1940s Radio Days

Welner "Bing" Tully - (1922 - 2007)

This week, the 1940census.com Ambassador program has asked its "1940s Ambassadors" to write about technology, science, or transportation during the decade of the Greatest Generation.

And when the 1940 United States Federal Census is released in a mere 18 days, one of the first people I will look up will be my late father-in-law, Welner “Bing” Tully.

Amelia Tully, about 1940

Bing and his older sister, Vivian, went to live with their paternal aunt, Amelia (nee Tully) Moreno Binning as young children after both of their parents became ill and were no longer able to care for them.

It was middle of the Great Depression.  Amelia and her family lived in East Los Angeles.  Though the newly extended family lived in a poor section of town, Amelia managed to support her family with the modest earning she made from her small grocery store.  She loved Vivian and Bing as if they were her own children, and they were devoted to her in return.  Bing helped her at the grocery store after school and tinkered around the house, always trying to fix things for his aunt and make her life easier.

Amelia gave Bing a lot of freedom to explore new things and learn as much as he could, and she would encourage him read and do his homework when things were slow at the store.  He stumbled on an advertisement one day for a ham radio kit and became intrigued by the idea of being able to talk to others who shared his passion for science and technology.  With no money for luxuries, however, Bing figured out how to build his own radio set, taught himself Morse Code, and obtained a ham radio license to broadcast under the call letters W6RMQ.

Wooden sign crafted by Welner "Bing" Tully

The romance of communications and its many media appealed to Bing, a gregarious and affable young man who was fascinated by the boom of technology.  In 1940, at age 18, he took a job as a messenger delivering telegrams for Western Union, often riding his bicycle across long stretches of Los Angeles to deliver good news and bad to all kinds of people.  Though he never opened the envelopes, he wondered what kind of reaction they would elicit from the receivers – joy or jubilation, shock, or sadness.

Bing Tully’s career as a messenger boy was short-lived when a jealous man had him fired for what he misconstrued as advances on his girlfriend.  He thought the woman had asked Bing to wait while she left the room to get a pen to write down her phone number.  It turned out that she was getting her purse to give him a tip.  Unfortunately for Bing, it would be his last one as a Western Union man.

Welner "Bing" Tully, 19 years old
Los Angeles, Calfornia, 1941

Sunday, December 7, 1941, marked a turning point in his young life when, like most Americans, he learned from a radio broadcast of the bombing of Pearl Harbor.  Though families had gathered around their radio sets to hear the news and enjoy live music, comedy, and serial programs together for years, they did so purposefully and urgently now, listening to constant updates on the tragedy and on the ensuing American involvement in what was now World War II.  “Stay tuned,” was a familiar refrain that began during radio days and made its way into the culture of the time as a way of letting you know that something important was coming.

And something important came, indeed.  Radio took on new importance for Bing and many young men of his generation as it became a powerful – and potentially dangerous – wartime tool.  In 1940, the United States federal government had passed the Telecommunications Convention, prohibiting the 51,000 American amateur radio operators from communicating with other hams outside the U.S. and requiring all licensees to send their photo, proof of U.S. citizenship, and a set of fingerprints to Washington, D.C.

Once the U.S. entered the war in 1941, the government suspended ham radio operations completely in the interest of national security.  Full operation would not be restored until 1946.

Skilled amateur radio operators now became valuable resources for the U.S. military, and over the course of the war, about half of them – some 25,000 in all – signed up to serve their country.

Bing was one of these volunteers, entering the Army Air Corps at Hammer Field in Fresno, California, on February 4, 1943, as a Private First Class, Service Number V19100848.  Originally hoping to become a pilot, he was rejected some five months into his training when his instructor learned he had fainted once as a child during a Southern California heat wave.

The Army Air Corps reclassified him as a radio operator and assigned him to the 4th Combat Cargo Group in the China-Burma-India theater.  He and his fellow soldiers arrived in Sylhet, India, just after Thanksgiving 1944, where they joined a task force of Canadians and Australians, providing airpower support to the British 14th Army, which was retaking Burma from the Japanese.

CCG aircraft transported reinforcements and supplies for the Allies, moving supplies for the construction of the Ledo Road, carrying men, mules, and boats across the Irawaddy River, and flying soldiers, gasoline, and ammunition over the Burma “hump” to  China.

In May 1945, just a few days after the war had officially ended, Bing and 7 other men were sent to repair some runway lights at  Meiktila, a beleaguered airstrip and constant source of fighting between the Allies and the Japanese.  The lights always needed repair or replacing, because the Burmese liked to take the colored glass and melt it down to make it look like valuable stones or gems.  For some reason, before the men could finish repairing the runway lights, their pilot took off without them, leaving them stranded there for three days.

The war may have been officially over, but the area surrounding the field remained treacherous, with pockets of enemy troops here and there.  Bing tried radioing in code for help, using fake call letters, so as not to alert any remaining Japanese who might pick up his signal.  When his calls went unheeded, he decided to take a chance and used another American’s radio transmitter to radio to Chittagong in English:  “Tully here.”

“Hannan here,” came back the reply. Bing recognized the name as that of his bunkmate.  He could finally relax.  “8 men with runway lights stranded at Meiktila.  Require transportation back.”

A C-46 arrived shortly, and the men continued on their duty.  It would be some nine months before Bing left for Calcutta and departed on the troop ship Marine Wolf for San Pedro, California, stopping briefly in Honolulu, Hawaii.

The 4th CCG was inactivated on February 9, 1946.  Bing Tully was discharged as a Staff Sergeant a day later in San Pedro, after three years of service.  He would always remember his days with the 4th CCG with fondness.

I always thought I knew my father-in-law well, but like many of his “great generation,” he downplayed his role in the war.  He downplayed his life, too, preferring modesty to boasting about himself or his adventures and good deeds.  Perhaps I’ll find out more about him soon in the 1940 Census, which by the way, is looking for volunteer indexers in its 1940 Census Project.  Why don't you join me?  It should be a lot of fun.

Stay tuned.


Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully

Did you know Welner "Bing" and Vivian Tully or their aunt Amelia (Tully) Moreno Binning; or are you a member of the Hoppin, Tully, Moyer, or Moreno, or Binning families?  Were you or was someone you know assigned to the 4th Air Combat Cargo Group in the CBI Theater?  If so, share your memories and comments below.

Talented Tuesday: The Great Gene Sheebo

Francis Eugene McGinnis (1891 - 1961)


Because both Irish immigrants and Irish-American were, in general, looked on with disdain during the late 19th century and even into the early 20th century, many are said to have taken to appearing in vaudeville as a way of gaining recognition and respect. 


It is said that by appearing in blackface, Irish performers "hid" their identity and "became" part of the society and culture that otherwise had no use for them.  

Francis Eugene McGinnis, aka
"Gene Sheebo"

My grand-uncle, Francis Eugene McGinnis, who was known to family and friends by his middle name, Gene, was one of those who dabbled in this form of vaudeville.  Blackface had been popular for nearly 80 years by the time Gene McGinnis adopted the comic persona of "Gene Sheebo," singing and performing in various venues in Chicago and the Midwest.   (Blackface would die out in the 1950s with the advent of the civil rights movement.)


Unlike his older sister, Benita, and his younger brother, John, who had dark hair, Gene and his younger sister (my maternal grandmother), Alice, had bright red hair and freckles that sometimes made them the targets of relentless teasing by their peers.  Perhaps because of the paralysis on his left side and the back and leg pain he suffered as a result of a childhood bout with scarlet fever, Gene also encountered difficulty finding suitable employment.  It should be no surprise, then, that he might have found some comfort in the control he must have felt as he applied burnt cork to his face and hair before going onstage to perform in front of an audience as someone very different, comical and seemingly carefree.


His stint as a vaudevillian did not last past a couple of years.  Afterward, Gene became "Brother Francis Eugene" during a short career as a Trappist monk in Kentucky.  His draft registration cards for World Wars I and II show him later on as a salesman for the National Refining Company in Chicago and then as a senior clerk for the Works Project Administration (WPA).  

My Uncle Gene performing in vaudeville.
Photo by Walinger Studio, Chicago, Illinois

Gene McGinnis never married.  He was a loving uncle to his nieces and nephews, however, and he doted on my mother, Joan Schiavon, often bringing her candy and telling her magical stories.  


My mother worshipped Uncle Gene.  She often waited at the living room window, watching for his arrival and the wonderful sweets he would bring, always packaged in a white box tied up with a bow, from him, her "beau."  She would sit at his feet as the family listened to the radio in the evenings and tried to mimic him as he told jokes and sang songs.   Once, her cousin, Jack McGinnis (son of Gene's brother, John), who was a few years older than my mother, asked her if she would marry him when she grew up.  My mother, who could not have been more than about five or six at the time, replied right away that she would, but added that she would have to marry Uncle Gene, too, because that way he would always bring candy.  

Uncle Gene - with a broken
arm?  Chicago, circa 1950.

Cousin Jack shook his head gravely.  "You can't do that, Joan, because it would be bigamy," he said.   My innocent mother replied, "well, it may be big of you, but it'll be just as big of Uncle Gene, too!"  


As Gene aged, his aches and pains worsened, and he tried in vain to relieve his constant discomfort with medication and, eventually, alcohol.  Shortly after my mother and father married, Uncle Gene's health deteriorated, and he went to live with them for a couple of years at their apartment on the south side of Chicago.  He became ill in late January of 1961 and entered Cook County Hospital, where he died of a heart attack on February 3, 1961.  He was 69 years old.  He is buried at Holy Sepulchre Catholic Cemetery in Chicago, Illinois, next to his parents.


Some might say that Francis Eugene McGinnis led a sad life.  Though there may be some truth to this, he was also a man of strength and determination who strived in the best way he knew to overcome daunting obstacles with grace, humor, and courage.  And because of that, we, his family, will never forget him as the Great Uncle Gene.


Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully




Did you know any of the people mentioned in this story, or are you a member of the McGinnis or Schiavon families?  If so, share your memories and comments below.

Thankful Thursday: The Wonders of Modern Medicine

Francis Eugene McGinnis (1891 - 1961)

It was one of those trying weeks some years ago, the kind most families experience, when our three children, at the time preschoolers, came down with colds that developed into ear infections and strep throat.   Between calling the doctor and flipping through parenting books to check symptoms, my husband and I fretted over our little ones, taking their temperatures, coaxing eyedroppers of children's Tylenol and antibiotics into their wiggly little mouths, and rocking them late into the night to soothe their discomfort.

Like parents everywhere, we rejoiced when they bounced back to their sweet and silly selves, triumphantly running around the house with more energy than ever without any sign of having been feverishly sick days before.

A few nights later, after I had put the baby to bed, I opened an old family scrapbook and came across a familiar photograph of my grand-uncle Gene McGinnis as a toddler.  Next to it, his older sister, Benita (McGinnis) McCormick, had written an account of his own illness in 1894, some 90 years after the fact:


My brother Eugene caught scarlet fever and was later paralyzed on his left side, never really regaining full use of his left arm.  He was about 3 - 3 1/2 years of age at the time.

Called "Gene" after his father, Francis Eugene McGinnis was born on September 16, 1891, in Conneaut, Ashtabula County, Ohio, the second of four children, to Thomas Eugene McGinnis and Mary Jane Gaffney.

Francis Eugene McGinnis
1891 - 1956

He was an active, mischievous little boy with the curly, bright red hair of his Irish heritage and a keen sense of the famous McGinnis humor to match.  And he was always looking for the next adventure, as my Aunt Benita continues:

We, he and I, were playing Indians.  We had feathers in our hair and were going to capture our mother and John, the baby, in his playbox beside her sewing machine.

We ran in from the apple orchard, shouting at the top of our lungs. Just as we neared my mother, Eugene fell to the floor.  He was deathly pale.  My mother sent someone uptown for the doctor.

Dr. Upson came at once and put Eugene to bed.  He examined me, too, but said I could stay on the couch in the kitchen.  We had scarlet fever!

I can't recall that John ever got it, but Eugene became paralyzed before he was better of the fever.  My mother's hair was blue black then.  Before (Eugene) was better, her hair had turned pure white.

19th century parents worried about their children just as parents do today, but the stakes back then were higher.  Illnesses such as scarlet fever, diphtheria, and whooping cough claimed the lives of many children and left long-lasting effects on others.

My husband's and my efforts to coax flavored antibiotics into our children paled with the treatments most 19th century parents faced.  A family medical guide of the time prescribed home treatment according to severity.  My great-grandmother, Mary Jane, would have given her mildly ill Benita a recipe of Epsom salts and acetate of ammonia, along with a diet of mutton tea, toast, and barley or rice water for the first few days.  Luckily, Benita seems to have recovered fairly quickly.

Gene, however, worsened over the next few days.  It is likely that he became bald - not because of the fever itself, but because his parents had to shave his head, for fear that the presence of hair could cause brain affliction and eventual death.

In the cases of severe throat ulceration, parents were supposed to use a camel's hair brush to apply a solution of nitrate of silver to the throat, "morning, noon, and night."  If you ever have had to hold a sick child still while the doctor swabbed his or her throat to check for strep infection, you can only imagine what a trial this must have been - not only for the worried parents but also for their terrified children!

But this was not the worst of it.  For the sickest children, doctors prescribed bloodletting from the head or the arm.  Applying two to six leeches to each side of the head, just under the ears, was thought to relieve the brain of undue symptoms and presumably prevent death.

No wonder my poor great-grandmother's hair turned white.

Though we do not know whether Uncle Gene had to endure the latter treatment, it is certain that scarlet fever left an indelible mark on him.  He was partially paralyzed on his left side for the rest of his life and suffered from physical and emotional scars as a result of his left leg being shorter than the right.  His classmates teased him because of his deformity.   My mother, who was very close to him, said he never complained of his afflictions.

A self-effacing man, he tried to mask his pain in various ways, performing in vaudeville for a few years and later, living for a short time as a Trappist monk.   He had never quite recovered from his childhood disease, and as his health worsened, he came to live with my parents shortly after they were married.  He died in 1956 at the age of 65 and is buried with his parents at Holy Sepulchre Cemetery in Chicago, Illinois.

Thanks to modern medicine, scarlet fever today is not only preventable but highly treatable.  We have ready access to doctors, advice nurses, and antibiotics, all of which make it easier for children to be healthy and carefree and parents to breathe a little easier.  And that is something for which we all can be thankful.

Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully

Did you know the McGinnises, or are you a member of the McGinnis or McCormick families?  If so, share your memories and comments below.