Showing posts with label Francis Eugene McGinnis. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Francis Eugene McGinnis. Show all posts

Friday, January 30, 2015

Friday's Faces from the Past: The McGinnis Family Portrait


Mary Jane (Gaffney) McGinnis (1858 - 1940)
Benita (McGinnis) McCormick (1889 - 1984)
Francis Eugene McGinnis (1891 - 1961)
John Charles McGinnis (1894 - 1944)
Alice Gaffney (McGinnis) Schiavon (1895 - 1963)


Some time during the late 1930s, the now-adult McGinnis children: Benita, Alice (my maternal grandmother), Gene, and John, gathered at the family home at 8336 Drexel Avenue in Chicago, Illinois,  with their mother, Mary Jane, for a family portrait.



The McGinnis family in the living room of the family
home at 8336 Drexel Avenue, Chicago, Illinois.  
 Clockwise, left to right: Alice (McGinnis) Schiavon,

Eugene, John, Benita (McGinnis) McCormick, 

and Mary Jane (Gaffney) McGinnis.  Circa 1936 - 1939.



As far as I can tell, this was their last portrait together.  Diminutive matriarch Mary Jane died on July 13, 1940.  By early 1963, Benita, the eldest, was left, her two brothers and sister having preceded her in death and leaving her to succeed their mother as the head of the now-extended family.  

As with another photograph of the family at Sunday dinner in the same home, this picture resonates with me because of its uncanny similarity to the living room in the first home my husband and I owned, in San Jose, California.  Just by looking at this photo, I know the half-height bookcase was one of two that sat under small windows and framed a simple yet elegant Craftsman-style fireplace.  

We did not have a similar decorative screen in our own front window, however. I suspect the  photographer might have placed the one in the picture there for aesthetic purposes, to block out the street view and not distract from the subjects. I wish I'd done something like that when we took pictures in the same spot in our own family home so many years later!
  
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Copyright ©  2015  Linda Huesca Tully

Sunday, April 27, 2014

Sentimental Sunday: Sunday Dinner



Making Memories Around the Table


Left to right:  John Charles McGinnis Mary Jane (Gaffney) McGinnis, Alice
McGinnis, Thomas Eugene McGinnis, (John's wife) Edith (Hoag) McGinnis,
cousin  Eileen Kelly, and Benita McGinnis.  Photo taken at the McGinnis home,
8336 Drexel Avenue, Chicago, Illinois, sometime between 1914 and 1920.

Like many a family in the early twentieth century, my maternal McGinnis ancestors reserved Sundays for family gatherings and dinners.  It was a ritual, understood by all that no matter what everyone did during the rest of the week, they came together at the family home on Sunday afternoons.  

It was the weekly after dinner custom of Thomas and Mary Jane (Gaffney) McGinnis and their children Benita, Eugene, John, and Alice, to linger for hours into the evening to tell stories, read aloud correspondence from far-away relatives, share personal news of the week, and debate politics. 

Extended family and other guests were always welcome. More often than not, my great-grandfather, Thomas, held the room spellbound as he recounted dramatic stories of his adventures around the world while he was a merchant sailor on the high seas. 

Someone must have told a joke right before this picture was taken, because everyone is smiling or laughing, seemingly unaware of the camera.  The exception is Eileen Kelly, a cousin, who is looking at the photographer.  We can surmise that the person taking the picture was a member of the group, as a chair has obviously been pulled away from a place setting at the end of the table.  My guess is that it was my great-uncle Gene, who is missing from this picture.  

I will never forget the first time I really looked at this image.  It was in the mid-1990s, and my husband, our three small children, and I were living in a tiny 1925 Spanish bungalow, our very first home.  It was well after midnight, and despite having tucked our three children into bed, washed the dishes, and started a load of laundry, I was still wide awake. I pulled out my scrapbooking supplies and some old family photos and sat down at the dining room table.  

When I came to this picture, I stared at it in disbelief.  Except for the McGinnises, it could have been taken in our very own dining room.  It had the same built-in buffet and the same large window to the left of the table. Looking at the door next to the buffet, I knew it led to the McGinnises' kitchen, just like ours.  And I was certain that there was a large opening into the living room, right about where the photographer would have stood.  

I thought back to when we bought our house, when something about it that I could not pinpoint seemed oddly familiar, and I knew I wanted to live there right away. It was quaint but looked nothing like any of the homes I had lived in, except that it had a breakfast nook that reminded me of the one in my childhood home in Chicago.  Despite living far away in California, I felt an inexplicable closeness to my ancestors in that house.

Left to right:  Erin, Kevin, Charles, Welner "Bing," Patricia (Fay), Michael,
and Linda (Huesca) Tully.  Photo taken by Gilbert Huesca, at the Tully home,
San Jose, California, in November 1996.


That evening, as I studied the photo of the McGinnises and another of them from roughly the same time, I understood.  Though my great-grandparents' home had been a Craftsman bungalow, its interior design and floor plan was roughly the same as our little house, even down to the built-in furnishings in the dining room, living room, and kitchen.  The funny thing was that as far as I know, I have never been there.

I framed that old photograph and kept it on our buffet in our look-alike dining room while we lived there, next to a similar, more recent photo of us at our own Sunday dinner, some 70 years later.  

We no longer live in that house, but to this day when I see the pictures, I can still hear the laughter of our families as they meld together through time and tradition, the stories still as earnest, the news just as urgent, the political debates just as fervent, and the laughter around the table still hearty and memorable.  

Surely some day, our children will think of these as the good old days.


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Copyright ©  2014  Linda Huesca Tully


Tuesday, March 06, 2012

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.

Thursday, March 01, 2012

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.

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