Thankful Thursday: Simple Pastimes of Times Past

Joan Joyce (Schiavon) Huesca

1928 - 1987

In her own words  (Part Nine)

My mother with Santa Claus, about 1931, Chicago

In this final episode from her (unfinished) book, Joan Joyce Schiavon Huesca: an Autobiography, my mother remembers her life as a child of the Great Depression in Chicago, Illinois. The footnote at the end of this passage was written by my father, Gilbert Huesca, who loved my mother deeply all his life.  He used to say that he thought of her "every fraction of a second." 

"Economy in those days was very sparse, and we spent our time in simple pastimes.  Ice skating in the winter...Two or three blocks away was a large prairie which the firemen would flood every winter, and off we would go with our ice skates slung over our shoulders, plodding through snow-covered sidewalks to our frozen pond.  Along the way, we would cross street-car tracks, where we would place a penny along the top of the tracks, and retrieve it, flattened out after a street car had passed over it.  Then, off to skate, and fall on the ice.

"I remember that one time, I wanted to save some pennies for candy, so when school was over, instead of boarding the street car home (the fare was four cents), I walked home eighteen blocks and froze my ears.  I can still feel how hot my ears felt from frostbite.

"I would play often up in the attic with my 'horse on wheels,' a large horse which I would mount and dream of galloping off to adventure.  I had named the horse 'Mussolini' after the Italian dictator, since my Daddy and I were the 'Italians' in the family.  Years later, my our little horse met with much the same fate as his namesake.  I found him hanging from the telephone wires, where some boys had thrown him.

"Christmas times we would awaken to find oranges, apples and nuts in our stockings hanging over the fireplace.  There usually was one toy for each of us, and of course clothing of one sort or another.  We were very happy with whatever we received.  My Father always decorated the Christmas tree and one by one, hung the silvery icicles on each branch. I would watch him, and dream of the day when I could decorate a tree, too.  Somehow, we managed a big Christmas dinner, which family and many friends (whom I later learned were without employment and couldn't afford a celebration) would attend.  My Father would cook a big turkey with all the trimmings.  My Mother, so artistically talented, would decorate a beautiful table setting.

My grandmother, Alice (McGinnis) Schiavon, with one of
her beautiful table settings, 8200 South Saint Lawrence,
Chicago, Illinois, sometime between 1948 - 1955.

"I never owned a bicycle.  My Brother Tom had one, and I supposed that my parents couldn't afford to buy another one, so to this day, I have never ridden a bike.  One time, I remember I was all dressed up in my Sunday best, and as we waited for my Mother, my Brother asked me if I'd like to take a ride on his bike.  I was placed on the handlebars, and off we went -- but not far -- just across the street where I was dumped into a prairie, and picked myself up, covered with peat-soil, black and sticky.  So went my one and only bike ride!

"Someone gave us a dog, part German shepherd and part wolf.  Of course, we called him 'Wolf!'  He was very mean, and would dash out the front door, and attack passers-by.  I remember one time, when we were all packed into the old Ford for a trip to our cottage, Wolf was stuffed in the back seat with me, and snapped at me.  I didn't hesitate, but with two hands, grabbed at his back, and bit him right back.  He never snapped at me again!"

                                                                                 - Joan Huesca

____________________________________

Footnote:

This is only a glimpse of a beautiful passage of her life.

Her wish was to write a complete autobiography up to the day before her departure.  If it could have been accomplished, I am sure that those written volumes would have enriched this world.

Because her mission on Earth may have been completed, the Blessed Mother called her, and she returned to the Heavens from where she left and always has belonged.

Indeed, I was honored to be her husband.

I pray to God to have His blessings to be reunited again.

                                                                                  - Gilbert Huesca

                                                                                     Modesto, California

                                                                                     May 3, 1989

Did you know Joan (Schiavon) or her family? Are you a member of the Schiavon/Schiavone, McGinnis, or Huesca families?  If so, share your memories and comments below.

Wisdom Wednesday: The Spanking that Never Was

Joan Joyce (Schiavon) Huesca

1928 - 1987

In her own words  (Part Eight)

In the episode that follows from her (unfinished) book, Joan Joyce Schiavon Huesca: an Autobiography, my mother recounts a poignant memory of the wise way her father, Ralph Schiavon, understood that sometimes the fearful anticipation of a consequence for one's actions is more effective than the consequence itself.  This was one of her favorite stories, and she told it often, adding that this event was, for her, a hallmark of the mutual understanding and love between her and her father.

My grandfather, Ralph Schiavon,
Chicago, Illinois.

"I had escaped spankings...but there was one time, that I almost received a firm hand on my bottom.  I don't recall what I had done, but I remember my Mother was very angry and threatened that when my Father would come home, I would be spanked.  

"All afternoon, I worried, my Father had such BIG HANDS!  'This will be some spanking,' thought I.  Finally, the hours passed, the front door opened and there was my Daddy...SO BIG!  He had a smile on his face, which quickly disappeared as my Mother told him of my misbehavior.  A stern, serious expression crept across his face, and I stood there, grasping my Mother's dress hem, trying to disappear behind her.

"My Father grunted, 'Come with me.'  I followed as slowly as possible, cringing inside with fear.  We entered the bathroom, my Father closed the door, turned to me, and asked if I was sorry for whatever I had done.  In a small voice, I replied that, 'Oh yes, I was very sorry and I promise never to do it again.'  

"In the meantime, my Mother, waiting outside in the hall, was having second thoughts about my punishment.   A smile appeared on my Father's face, and he plotted with me to clap his big hands together, and I would scream as loud as I could.

"My Mother called out for my Father to stop spanking me.  We opened the door, with big smiles, I in my Father's arms, and that was the tale of my only 'spanking-that-never-was.' Let me add that from that time on, I think there was a special bond between my Father and me.  My Father had been beaten as a boy, as my Grandfather was very stern, and through my life, my Father tried to shield me from harm."

                                                                                 - Joan Huesca


Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully

Talented Tuesday: A Knack for Mischief

Joan Joyce (Schiavon) Huesca

1928 - 1987

My mother, Joan Schiavon, 10 years old, at
Dixon School, Chicago, Illinois, 1938.

In her own words  (Part Seven)

My mother, Joan Joyce (Schiavon) Huesca, was quite the storyteller all her life, a skill most likely passed down by her Irish ancestors, the Quinns, McCoys, Gaffneys, and McGinnises. Two months before her death in 1987 at the age of 59, she determined to put down on paper as many stories of her own life as she could, for the benefit of her four daughters and her future descendants.  

Although she was unable to finish her book, what she managed to write was considerable and candid, even through her constant pain.  In this excerpt from her  book, Joan Joyce Schiavon Huesca:  an Autobiography, she remembers childhood adventures with her best friend, Rosemary Reize.

"We were living in the home that my Grandfather, Thomas Eugene McGinnis, had built in Chicago, Illinois.  The address was 8336 Drexel Avenue.  I remember the house as what was then called a 'bungalow,' with a large garden and yard in back of the house.  We had a large basement, which flooded almost every year.  One time, a client of my Father gave us a pet duck, which we named after a radio comedian of the time, 'Joe Penner."  On one of the flooding occasions, there was the duck, paddling along in the water almost to the top of the stairs!  We had an attic, too!  There were two rooms in the attic.  One was a bedroom for my  Brother Tom.  The other room as a 'catch-all,' with many wonderful things stored away.  I would spend hours there, playing many wonderful things stored away.  I would spend hours there, playing 'dress-up,' or putting on little plays and charging my friends a pin to attend these fabulous productions.

"My bedroom was opposite that of my parents.  I was just remembering the other day, how unique was my closet!  There was a little window in the closet!  I spent a lot of hours there playing with my dolls.  There were twin beds in my bedroom, one which later was shared by my Grandmother Schiavone when she came to stay with us.

"I was about six or seven years old when I met my 'best friend.'  I had taken my dolls for a walk, and wandered over a block from our house, and found myself in the back of a large apartment building, and saw a little girl through a basement window.  Friendly me, called out, 'Hello!' and my 'soon-to-be-friend' proceeded to drench me with water.  Thus began many precarious adventures with Rosemary Reize, my 'best friend'!  Rosemary was a very pretty little girl, with light blonde curls, and lovely blue eyes.  I was quite the opposite.  By this time, my mother had begun to bob my hair, and I was a brunette with big brown (meat-ball) eyes.  Rosemary was the leader, and I the dutiful follower, as you will see, as I tell you of our many misadventures.

"We collected milk bottles from the back porches of the neighborhood, with the idea of collecting a deposit for them.  We walked blocks and blocks to the nearest dairy, only to find that there wasn't any deposit.

"Rosemary's Grandmother had been given a scrungy little dog who apparently had been mistreated.  We took the poor animal down to the basement, to give him a bath, and put him in the old-fashioned washing machine!  The poor thing emerged, alive, but minus all his fur.

"Rosemary lived on the third floor of the big apartment building, and decided to see how fast the dog could get down the back stairs, so she put roller skates (one for his front paws, and one for his rear paws) on the poor little dog.  Then she gave a big PUSH!  Needless to say, the dog soon died afterward.

My mother, Joan Schiavon, first row, far right.
  I do not know who the other children are -
could one of them be Rosemary Reize?

"School Days in St. Joachim's suddenly became much more exciting for Rosemary went to school there, too!  We were preparing to make our First Holy Communion, and during our religion studies, we learned all about the Poor Souls in Purgatory.  Angels that we were, we dedicated much of our time praying for those poor souls.  Then, we decided that maybe prayers really weren't enough...so we would go to church early in the morning before school began, again at lunch time, and finally after school.  Each time, we would light ALL the candles in the church, kneel down and say a prayer as we lit each candle.  Father Hanley (the pastor of the church) would come in and find the church ablaze with candlelight, altar included.  We were finally apprehended, and our parents received a bill, 'For the Poor Souls in Purgatory.'

"One day after school, we stopped off at a funeral home.  Neither of us had ever been inside such an establishment, and we noticed a crowd of people entering, so we followed.  No one seemed to  notice two little girls, so we continued to wander through one door and found ourselves in a room with a couple of dead bodies stretched out  We ran out and emerged through another door which led us into another room.  There were heavy curtains from floor to ceiling in front of us, and on one wall, a panel of buttons, which of course we decided to push to see what would happen.  We pushed all of them at one time!  Lights dimmed, the curtains began to open and shut, and music started to play, 'When the Roll is Called Up Yonder'!  We peered from behind the curtains to see a casket directly in front of us, and a multitude of mourners, in a state of shock.  We must have set a record, running out of there, for we fortunately never were caught."

                                                                              - Joan Huesca

***************************************

Postscript:  I will add my own memory of my mother and her friend Rosemary's escapades here.  One Saturday afternoon, when I was about four or five years old, my father packed my sisters and me into the family car, and we took my mother to Rosemary's apartment, so Rosemary (who had married and now was Rosemary Mager) could color my mother's hair. At the time, the TV show I Love Lucy was popular, and Lucille Ball's red hair appealed to my mother, who was a natural brunette but dreamed of being a gorgeous redhead, like the comedic star.

We returned a couple of hours later, everyone excited to see the results.  As we waited in the living room, I remember standing near the door to the kitchen, waiting breathlessly for my gorgeous mommy to appear.  After what seemed like an eternity, she and Rosemary emerged, beaming.  But for some reason, she was unaware that her hair was a flaming bright orange, nowhere near red.  She did not look like a movie star at all.  In fact, to me she was unrecognizable.

Frightened, I began crying, "Where is my mommy?  What have you done with my mommy?"  My father looked back and forth from her to me, grinning, his eyes wide as he tried in vain to console me that this was my mother.  But I could not be persuaded.

My mother, who had expected all of us to love her new hairdo, just stood there for a moment in shock at our reaction.  She walked over to a mirror and looked at herself, turned around and wordlessly walked back into the kitchen with Rosemary following closely behind her.  My father, chuckling by now, scooped us up and spirited us out of the apartment again.  He took us to a movie this time, probably to distract everyone from the hair-dyeing fiasco. 

When we came back for my mother the second time, my father practically had to drag me into Rosemary's kitchen to see my mother, who was sitting with Rosemary at the kitchen table, drinking coffee.  Her hair had returned more or less its natural color.  I was so relieved to see my mommy again that I hugged her tightly.  She sniffled softly, her cheeks moist, as she squeezed me back. 

Our family moved in the mid-1960s from Chicago to Mexico City and a few years after that to California.  My mother and Rosemary kept their friendship alive, exchanging letters and Christmas cards.  Rosemary phoned my mother when she learned of her illness.  They talked for over an hour, catching up on their lives and reliving memories (one of these being something about them as teens, many moons ago, freeing some horses from the county fair and then running for their lives to avoid getting caught).  When she hung up the phone, my mother said she felt like a young girl again.  After all those years, Rosemary could still make her laugh.  

                                                                                - Linda Huesca Tully

 

Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully

Motivation Monday: How Could I Compete with a Genius?

Joan Joyce (Schiavon) Huesca 

1928 - 1987

My godfather and Uncle, Ralph Thomas
"Tom" Schiavon, United States Army
Signal Corps, Camp Crowder, Missouri

Ralph Thomas Schiavon

1924 - 1993

In her own words  (Part Six)

We have been following my mother's account of her life, written a couple of months before she died of cancer on September 11, 1987.  In Part Six of Joan Joyce (Schiavon) Huesca:  an Autobiography, she remembers her beloved older brother, Ralph Thomas Schiavon.  

My mother idolized Tom, who was four years older, and who in her view, could do no wrong.  She and Tom grew closer in adulthood, and my mother never stopped looking up to her "big" brother.  He, in turn, loved her back with all the tenderness an older brother has for his sister.  He and his bride, Angelina "Angie" Ciliberto, asked my mother to be a bridesmaid at their wedding in 1946 and later, to be the godmother to two of their four children.  She reciprocated the honor; Uncle Tom and Aunt Angie were my very special - and very treasured - godparents.  

Tom's name was one of the last my mother spoke shortly before she died, as she waited for his hurried arrival from his home in Chicago, Illinois, to her bedside in Modesto, California.

"Back to school again, but not to St. Dorothy's this time.  Instead I was sent to St. Joachim's along with my brother Tom.

"This will be your first indication that there was quite a difference between my brother and me.  But there was, and I might as well confess it now.  He was not only a boy (there's a lot of difference right there!), older than I, but even in his earliest years, everyone seemed to agree that he was somewhat of a genius, while I was sweet, quiet, and timid mischievous me!  Not really very bright, but appealing. (Well, I must have had some good qualities, don't you agree?)

Lazy Days at Big Blue Lake:  (left to right) Tom Schiavon, Elizabeth
"Lyle" Gaffney, and Alice (McGinnis) Schiavon.  Between 1929 - 1932.
Hmm...deep in thought.  Notice Aunt Lyle's curious expression.  Could
she be wondering what her nephew was up to with her in that canoe?

"Genius or not, Tom was a problem to the school and the Sisters who taught there.  My mother claimed that she spent most of her time traveling from the house to the Principal's office to see what Tom had gotten into almost daily.  One time, she arrived at Tom's classroom to find the Sister covered from head to toe with grease from an engine Tom had brought to school.  Another time, she was called to the Principal's office to find my brother and a representative of the Street Car Line. Seems Tom had decided to conduct a scientific experiment to see how awake and aware people were early in the morning, and had taken my Mother's clothesline and interlaced it between the handles on each seat, then sat and watched people on their way out of the street car, falling as they went, and deduced that they really weren't wide awake after all.  

"Still another time, when the Sister in charge of Tom's classroom returned there after recess, she found that he had turned the classroom around, and her desk and that of the students were placed in reverse order than they had been originally.  'Of course,' explained Tom, 'you'll all ruin your sight, as the sunlight is coming from the wrong direction, the way you had things placed before.'

"Now, back to  me, how could I ever hope to compete with that?"

                                                                            - Joan Huesca

Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully

Sentimental Sunday: If You Try Hard Enough, You Can Do Anything

Joan Joyce (Schiavon) Huesca

1928 - 1987

In her own words  (Part Five)

On June 24, 1987, a couple of months before she died of lung cancer, my mother, Joan Joyce (Schiavon) Huesca began writing the story of her life. Earlier, she described her earliest memories of life with her parents until the Great Depression cost her father his job and she had to move in with her grandmother, Mary Jane (Gaffney) McGinnis and Mary Jane's sister, Elizabeth "Lyle" Gaffney and life at the family cottage at Big Blue Lake, Michigan.

In this excerpt from her book, Joan Joyce Schiavon Huesca:  an Autobiography, she recalls her first days at school, her paternal grandmother, Emanuella Sannella, and lastly, her beloved father, Ralph Schiavon:

"Grandma [Mary Jane McGinnis] and Aunt Lyle [Elizabeth Gaffney] didn't want me to go to Kindergarten, as they wanted me to stay home with them, and that was just fine with me.  I was so happy there in that home of love, they petted and praised me all the time, and I loved every minute of it!

Emmanuella (Sannella) Schiavon,
Chicago, Illinois

"Finally, though, it was time to start first grade, and I couldn't escape from that reality.  My cousins Jane and Buddy* took me to St. Dorothy's School, dutifully placed me at the end of a long line of children, then got in their respective lines, and in all the confusion of so many children in the school yard, somehow, I would manage to break away and walk home.  There I would be found sitting on the front steps waiting for Grandma to come down and let me in.  I didn't want to leave my two darlings, and school became a terrible drudge to me.

"My Grandmother Emanuella Schiavone had come to live at my parent's home.  I remember that my parents took a trip to Cuba during these years, and when they returned, they decided that I should return home to live.  My Father had started his own business as a Tax Consultant, and was beginning to prosper once again, though we were far from being rich in those days.  I don't really remember much about my Grandma Schiavone at that time, except for one visit to my parents' home while she was there.  She was in the kitchen frying up what my Father called "ladyfingers," made of mashed potatoes rolled up, with parsley and garlic flavored.  I remember they tasted very good.  Grandma couldn't speak any English, so we really couldn't communicate very well, for I couldn't speak Italian, either.

"Let me take the time now, to tell you about my Father.  For all of my life, he has been a sort of hero to me, his early years were very humble.  He was born in a small village called San Sossio**, in Italy, just south of Rome, and north of Naples.  Through the years, Daddy would tell us a few stories about his background and his youth, and these I'll try to relate to you now.

"Daddy told us that there were records in the village church tracing his family back to the time of the early Romans.  But, he didn't seem to know where his Father, Emanuel Schiavone***, had originated from.  Grandpa turned up in San Sossio one day, and must have been a dashing figure in his day, dressed in a long black flowing cape with a gold earring in one ear!  He courted my Grandmother, who was Emanuella Sannella, and married her, and they lived their first years of marriage in San Sossio.  My Uncle Pat (Pasquale) was born, then my Father, and after his birth, since he was such a big baby, my Grandmother wasn't able to care for him, so he was sent to live with some maiden ladies, who sort of adopted him for the first few years of his life.  They were apparently very well to do, and my Father grew healthy and well fed.  He used to tell us, he especially loved goat's milk, and would go right up to the goat, for a fresh drink of it!  He even used to ride on the goat's back, until he got too big for that, and transferred to a donkey!  

Note the submarine
name, "USS South
 Carolina" inscribed
 in Ralph Schiavon's
sailor's hat.

"Daddy joined the United States Navy during World War I, and was active on a submarine.  He used to say how frightened he was, especially since he and his shipmates would be locked into a compartment when the ship was submerged.  Daddy...was stationed at Great Lakes Naval Training Station, near Chicago.  There, he met my Mother.  When they married, a few years later, Daddy got a job working in a shoe store, and he attended a night school, until finally, he received a degree to practice government tax laws.  The purpose of this long tale, is to relate to you, something which has always impressed me, with the drive and ambition of this great man who was to be my Father.  His example has been a part of my being since I can remember.  I guess I have believed, because of him, that if you try hard enough, and put your goals high enough, you can do anything.  

"Through the years, my Father prospered, and was quite well to do, but he never forgot his humble beginnings, and he had a devotion to his family, and his Mother and brothers and sisters, throughout their lifetimes...My Father adored his Mother, and his devotion to her was inspirational. Each year of his life, until her death, he would make two trips all the way from Chicago to Boston (one trip, always for Mother's Day), to spend with her."

                                                                                      - Joan Huesca

---

*     Jane and Buddy were Benita Jane and Phillip McCormick, Jr.  Their parents were Phillip and Benita (McGinnis) McCormick, and Benita was the oldest child of Thomas and Mary Jane McGinnis.

**   For reasons of accuracy, I have changed my mother's phonetic spelling of my grandfather's birthplace from "San Saucio" to  the official spelling of the village, namely, "San Sossio (Baronia)."  The village is located in the province of Avellino, Italy.
***   My mother, who never met her grandfather, believed his name to be Emmanuel Schiavone.  In fact, his name was Vito Isidoro Schiavone, and he was known as Vito.

Little Blonde Joan Lost in the Woods

Joan Joyce (Schiavon) Huesca

1928 - 1987

In her own words  (Part Four)

My mother at about a year old, Chicago, Illinois

On June 24, 1987, a couple of months before she died of cancer, my mother, Joan Joyce (Schiavon) Huesca began writing the story of her life, Joan Joyce Schiavon Huesca:  an Autobiography.  Here, she tells about getting lost in the  woods surrounding Big Blue Lake, Michigan, while her mother was out antique hunting.   

"My Mother was blessed with a 'happy-go-lucky' character, with a witty sense of humor shining through.  As the Irish would say, she was born with a 'gift of the gab!'  She loved antiques and beautiful things.  Of course in those days, since the Depression was in full swing, money was scarce and she would travel the farm roads, looking for bargains.  We had a maid who stayed in the cottage with us, and when I was about three years old, my Mother went off and left me with the maid.  When she returned, I wasn't in view, but she thought I was playing a hide-and-seek game with her as I often had done, finally, when the maid burst into tears and my Mother realized that I was gone...her baby was LOST!

"Faintly, I can remember, I had heard about fairies, and I recall going into the woods to find some.  I am told that I was clothed only in a bathing suit, and small rubber bathing shoes.  I don't remember anything about walking through the woods, but I do remember sitting down on a step, and I must have fallen asleep.

"I was awakened by a lady and a little boy.  I was in their house, and I remember sitting down and eating with them.  The  next thing that I remember is that I had an exciting motorboat ride across the lake to our beach where I could see my Mother and a large group of people waiting for me.  What I was unaware of at that time, was that I had been gone for more than eighteen hours!  In the meantime, the newspapers carried the headlines, 'LITTLE BLONDE JOAN LOST IN WOODS!'  The Forest Rangers had a plane out looking for me, over 1,500 Boy Scouts were searching through the woods, and my Mother was in a state of hysteria.  

My grandmother, Alice McGinnis Schiavon,
about 1935, Chicago, Illinois

"I was fine, except that my feet had worn through my light footwear and were badly blistered and cut.  The family who had found me had to calm their little boy, who had been praying for a baby sister and thought God has answered his prayers when I appeared on their doorstep.  God indeed, must have been watching over me, as the forest was inhabited by many potentially harmful animals, snakes, bears, etc.  There were also patches of quicksand in other areas not distant from the cottage, and had I wandered in another direction, I might have perished in the quicksand.  

"There is, many times in life, a humorous side to things, and one of those funny moments happened just the next day. Mother, the gung-ho antique hunter, was off down the roads for a new 'find' early the next morning! When she stopped to fill up the gas tank, she overheard two men discussing the big news of the day...ME!  One of the men was going on about 'how women these days were neglectful of their Motherly duties.  Just imagine how a mother could leave her child with a maid, and go out looking for antiques!'  Then he turned to my Mother and asked, 'What do you think, Madam, would be a fitting punishment for a careless mother like that?'

"Trying to control herself from laughing, my Mother replied, 'A woman like that should be tarred and feathered!' and off she went, blissfully searching for more antiques..."

                                                                                - Joan Huesca

Did you know Joan and Alice Schiavon, or are you a member of the Schiavon/Schiavone, Huesca, or McGinnis families? Did you spend summers at Big Blue Lake, Michigan? If so, share your memories and comments below.

Summers in the Wilds of Michigan

My mother, 18 years old, Big Blue Lake, Michigan, 1946

Joan Joyce (Schiavon) Huesca

1928 - 1987

In her own words  (Part Three)

On June 24, 1987, a couple of months before she died of cancer, my mother, Joan Joyce (Schiavon) Huesca began writing the story of her life.  In the first and second parts of this series, she describes her early years at home.  In this excerpt from her book, Joan Joyce Schiavon Huesca:  an Autobiography, she fondly recalls her family's summers at Big Blue Lake, Michigan, and their cottage, Bunny Rest.

"Memories are funny, especially as one grows older.  They don't seem to be recalled in sequence of time, so if I sort of "bounce" things about, please understand that one memory many times sparks another. 

Bunny Rest, so named by my grandmother, Alice (Gaffney)
Schiavon, because that was where the family went to rest
what she referred to as their "bunnies."
Big Blue Lake, Michicgan, about 1945

"My Grandfather's brother, William McGinnis, known to our family as 'Uncle Bill,' had retired in his later years to live in a house that he built at Big Blue Lake, about thirty miles north of Muskegon, Michigan.  He lived a hermit-like life there, living off the land, trapping mink and other small animals in the winter, and renting boats, selling bottles of water, and whatever else he could to people visiting the lake.  (I hesitate to use the term 'tourists,' as people in those days were hardly of a present day category of 'tourists.')  Uncle Bill's home at that time was quite small.  A tiny kitchen, combination living-dining room, a good sized room, used as a closet, stairs to a second floor with one big room, used as a bedroom, a screened-in porch along the front and one side of the house, a wood-burning stove for cooking, and a true-to-name ice box filled with the ice that Uncle Bill would cut from the frozen lake in the winter and store in a tiny cellar beneath the kitchen sink.  Outside to the back of the house was the privy.  No indoor bathroom here!

"My mother was the only one in the family who kept in contact with Uncle Bill, and when she was notified that he had fallen and was hospitalized with a broken hip, she drove the 200 miles from Chicago to where Uncle Bill was interned in a hospital.  From what I had been told, Uncle Bill died from his injuries, complicated by pneumonia.  He willed his property to my Mother.  This must have happened in about 1929, as I was just one year old when we first went to the "cottage" to spend a summer there.

"Surprisingly, I learned to swim before I could walk.  We had the nicest beach on the whole lake, and I would be placed in the shallow water to play, and one day, off I went, swimming!

"We spent every summer at the cottage.  When school was out, off we would go, packed to the hilt in the reliable Ford of the day, a high vehicle, narrow, and with narrow tires, and a running board along each side.  My Mother was the driver in the family.  Long before, my Father, who had purchased our first car, tried to drive it home, and found to his amazement that the salesman had forgotten to show him how to stop the car, so he just had to keep driving til he used up all the gasoline.  That must have frightened him, for he never really drove a car, so my Mother took over.

Back row, right:  My aunt and godmother, Angelina "Angie" (Ciliberto)
Schiavon.  Front row, center:  My mother, Joan Schiavon.
About 1946, Bunny Rest Cottage, Big Blue Lake, MI 

What a driver she was...FEARLESS!  She loved to speed, and would seem to be driving as fast as the car would go.  Roads in those days would be unrecognizable today.  There were no freeways, but one lane in each direction, unaptly called highways.  Fortunately, they were paved.  Ten or twelve miles from a little town near the cottage, called Twin Lakes, was a dirt 'lumber trail' to travel [as far as] about two blocks from the cottage.  (Later, this would become first a gravel road, then finally, a black-topped paved road.)  From this point, [another] lumber trail to the cottage (which still exists today).*  From Twin Lakes, one would enter a thick, pine forest.  The cottage was nestled in the midst of this forest, with sandy ground all about. The lake was just down the way, and we could see its sparkling blue water through the trees.

"What a wonderful place for city children such as we! Such a different life, and such wonders to explore! We adjusted to the lack of civilization nicely.  My Father would remain in Chicago, working to provide for us. On weekends, he would travel to Muskegon by train (must have been a 'milk-train' as it stopped at every little town along the way), usually a trip of eight hours.  We looked forward to his arrival, and would leave early in the day to 'go to town' to buy groceries and look around the stores.

My mother told me that her Great
Uncle Bill McGinnis also built
this (red, I think) log cabin on his
property, not far from Bunny Rest.

"On the way, we usually stopped at a wayside cafe where we would feast on barbecue beef sandwiches while my Brother would order a bowl of chili with oyster crackers.  Our big treat would be to attend a movie theater, and we would be just in time for the 10:00 p.m. arrival of the train.  

"I remember, standing outside the depot, watching the train light from afar, and then the engine chugging into the station, excitedly watching for my Daddy who always seemed to be the first person standing on the train platform waving with one hand and grasping a small satchel in the other.  I remember running to meet him, and trying to help him carry his bag which always was too heavy for me. We would all squeeze into the car, and on the long drive home (cars didn't travel as fast as they do today), I would fall asleep, and be awakened when we would drive alongside of the cottage, then sleepily find my way upstairs after a dish of milk, bread, topped with sugar, for a nightcap. Much of the time, we all shared the big room upstairs, but on mild nights, we children would love to sleep on a cot on the porch.  There, we would wake during the  night and see families of deer on their way to the lake. Usually, the moonlit nights would be clear and the beauty of the forest would be a breathtaking backdrop for this scene of nature.

                                                                             - Joan Huesca

Did you know any of the people mentioned in this story, or are you a member of the Schiavon/Schiavone or McGinnis families?  Do you remember summers at Big Blue Lake, Michigan?  If so, share your memories and comments below.