Not-So-Wordless Wednesday: It's All Relative

Phillip Eugene "Bud" McCormick (1927 - 2004)
Benita Jane "Janie" (McCormick) Olson 
                                                          (1927 - 2011)
Joan (Schiavon) Huesca (1928 - 1987)

My great-aunt "Detty," or Benita (McGinnis) McCormick, and her younger sister (my grandmother, Alice (McGinnis) Schiavon), lived several blocks apart on the South side of Chicago, both from each other and from their mother, Mary Jane (Gaffney) McGinnis.  Their children - my mother, Joan Schiavon, her brother Tom (Thomas Schiavon), and Jane and Buddy McCormick, played together happily most days.  

Usually, my uncle Tom, ever the bookworm, kept to his inventions and scientific experiments, while my mother, Joan, was a tomboy and usually played outdoors with Buddy and his best friend, Jack O'Brien.   Jane, on the other hand, was more ladylike, preferring books and dolls to climbing trees and catching bugs.  They also acted in a children's play, Darby and Joan, at the Medinah Chidren's Theater in downtown Chicago.  

This photograph, taken in about 1931, during the height of the Great Depression, must have brought many a smile to Benita, Alice; their husbands Phil McCormick and Ralph Schiavon; and their extended families. Jane and Bud look to be about five or six years old here, while my mother would have been about four.  

Nothing is cuter than small children, except maybe small children with small animals. One can easily imagine people who desperately needed to make money to feed their own children, bringing their domestic animals up and down residential streets, perhaps borrowing cameras, and offering souvenir snapshots to those who answered the door.  

My mother, Joan Schiavon, and her cousins Jane and Bud McCormick, pose
on a billy goat and cart.  Chicago, Illinois, circa 1931.

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Copyright ©  2014  Linda Huesca Tully

Treasure Chest Thursday: The Walk Home

John Terrence Cherry  (1907 - 1956)

The third of four children born to James W. and Frances (Gaffney) Cherry, John Terrence Cherry seems to have been named after his maternal grandfather (John Gaffney) and maternal great-grandfather (Terrence Quinn).

John Terrence Cherry

He was born between 1906 and 1907 in Conneaut, Ohio, and from family accounts, was a handsome and charming man who inherited the creative gene. He became a graphic artist and watercolorist.  He also was an art professor at Case Western Reserve University in Cleveland, Ohio, where he lived with his maiden aunts, Lyle, Delia, Agnes, and Margaret Gaffney. Toward the end of his life, he moved back home to Conneaut with his mother, Frances (Gaffney) Cherry, where he lived until his death in 1956 at age 49.

My mother, Joan (Schiavon) Huesca, remembered him with fondness.  He was a regular visitor to the Schiavon home in Chicago, Illinois, and their summer cottage at Big Blue Lake, Michigan.

From all accounts, everyone loved him, though he never married. My godmother, Angelina (Ciliberto) Schiavon, once told me a story of his wicked sense of humor. She and her husband, my Uncle Tom Schiavon, were visiting the Schiavon to the Cherry home in Conneaut.  John offered to paint a portrait of Angie and invited her to his studio in the attic.  

As he worked, he looked skeptically from Aunt Angie to the picture.  "You're too sweet to paint," he said.  "You need to look at little meaner!"  As Aunt Angie laughed, he gave her a cigarette (though she didn't smoke).  "Pretend you just shot someone and take a drag on that cigarette," he suggested.  My aunt did her best to oblige.

Although John didn't own a gun, he painted one into the picture.  Aunt Angie thought he must not have been satisfied with the result, because she never got to keep the painting. 

I have only seen two of John Cherry's watercolors, and neither is a portrait. One belonged to my second cousin and was a scene of the view from the Cherry home on Mill Street in Conneaut, done in blues and browns.

The Walk Home, Conneaut, Ohio
Watercolor, John Cherry, date unknown.

My mother gave me the other watercolor many years ago.  Shown above, it measures about 16" x 20" and depicts a procession of sorts by the Nickel Plate Railroad (NKP) workers trudging home through the snowy woods on a mid-winter's day.  Many of these workers probably rented rooms from John's maternal grandparents, John Francis and Bridget (Quinn) Gaffney, who built and ran the large Gaffney House, also on Mill Street.  

I imagine that this picture was special to John not only because of his grandparents' home but because his own father, James W. Cherry, was an NKP railroad engineer.  It is special to me because it soothes me with a lasting and treasured connection to a loving family, my family. It hangs in my living room, hinting of stories yet to be discovered and beckoning me to a place from my family's past I have never known but dream of visiting some day.  

For this, John Cherry, I will always be grateful to you.

**********

Copyright ©  2013  Linda Huesca Tully

Are you a member of the Cherry, Gaffney, McCormick, McGinnis, or Schiavon  families? Share your memories and comments below.

Wisdom Wednesday: Good Things Come to Those who Wait

Joan Joyce Schiavon (1928 - 1987)
Gilbert Cayetano Huesca (1915 - 2009)

                                    

My mother,
Joan Joyce Schiavon, about 1947

1947 was a time of joy and excitement for the Schiavon family of Chicago, Illinois, as they anticipated the wedding that would join Ralph Thomas "Tom" Schiavon and Angelina "Angie" Ciliberto.  

My mother, Joan Schiavon, having just graduated from Aquinas Dominican High School the year before, was proud to be a member of the wedding party for her brother and surely wondered when her own turn at the altar would come. 

My father,
Gilbert Cayetano Huesca, about 1947

Little did she or her family know that during that same year, the young man who would years later sweep her off her feet and become her own Prince Charming - and my father - was being admitted to the United States at Laredo, Texas, and was on his way to Chicago.

They would not meet for another eight years.

Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully

Did you know Joan (Schiavon) and Gilbert Huesca, or are you a member of the Schiavon/Schiavone 

Wedding Wednesday: Tom and Angie Schiavon

Ralph Thomas Schiavon (1924 - 1993)
Angelina (Ciliberto) Schiavon (1923 - 2004)

Mr. and Mrs. Ralph Thomas Schiavon exiting Saint Philip Neri Catholic Church, 
Chicago.   The man behind Angie is her brother, Joe Ciliberto.  Angie's father
is on the far right, beaming with pride at his daughter.

The wedding took place inside the exquisite gothic church of Saint Philip Neri, 
on Chicago's South Side.

The happy couple flanked by their wedding party.  Far left, my mother,
Joan Schiavon; far right, John Eubanks; second from right, Joe Ciliberto.

My mother, at 18 years old, hoped she would catch
the bouquet.  Her turn - and her prince - would come,
but not for another eight years.  He was worth the wait.

My mother's older brother, Ralph Thomas Schiavon, known as "Tom," married his sweetheart, Angelina Ciliberto, a lovely young woman from Iacurso, Calabria, Italy, in about 1946.  

My mother, Joan Schiavon, was a bridesmaid of honor at their wedding, which was held at Saint Philip Neri Church in Chicago, the family parish.  The two of them got on famously.  She loved Angie and felt she finally had met the sister she had never had.

Tom and Angie had a long and happy marriage, raising four children and living in the Chicago area for many years.  Tom worked as an engineer for the Chicago public schools.  He and Angie loved boating and the outdoors and were officers of the United States Coast Guard.  

They were my baptismal godparents and were always very loving to me.  As I grew up, we spoke on the phone from time to time, and our conversations sometimes would go on for hours.  Both of them would be on an extension telephone, laughing and reminiscing about times past and present.   They were especially proud of their children and grandchildren and told many a story about the latest visit or accomplishment.

They retired to Knoxville, Tennessee, where Tom died of a heart attack one day as he was working outside in the garden.  Angie buried him under a lovely magnolia tree at Greenwood Cemetery in Knoxville.  Angie lived another nine years and died in 2004 in Bradenton, Florida.  She is buried beside Tom.

Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully

Did you know Tom and Angie (Ciliberto) Schiavon and their family, or are you a member of the Schiavon/Schiavone, Ciliberto, or Huesca families?  Do you remember Saint Philip Neri Church?  If so, share your memories and comments below.

Talented Tuesday: Domestic Goddess

Mary Jane (Gaffney) McGinnis (1858 - 1940)

My great- grandmother, Mary Jane
(Gaffney) McGinnis, wearing a dress she  made
for her engagement.  Conneaut, Ohio, circa 1884.

Known for her generous heart and her delicious pies, Mary Jane McGinnis held a special place in the memories of her descendants who knew her.  My mother, Joan Joyce (Schiavon) Huesca, was sent by her parents, Ralph and Alice  (McGinnis) Schiavon, to live with Mary Jane, my mother’s maternal grandmother, when she was about 3 years old.  It was the middle of the Depression, and her parents could not afford to care for both her and her brother, Tom Schiavon. My mother remembered “Grandma McGinnis” with great love and respect, especially the way she never turned anyone away from her door hungry or cold.  At the time, Mary Jane’s sister, Lyle Gaffney, lived with her and my mother.

Mary Jane, known as "Janie", was the eldest of ten children born to John Francis Gaffney and Bridget (Quinn),  Gaffney, both Irish immigrants from Drumbrick and Cootehall, Ireland, respectively.  She arrived in the world on December 2, 1858, in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, and was baptized at the Cathedral of Saint Mary in that city.

The family moved shortly after that to Conneaut, Ohio, where John made a living as a peddlar, according to the 1860 United States Census.  He and Bridget saved their money and were able to buy a large residence that was big enough to house their growing family  and rent out rooms to the men who worked on the burgeoning Nickel Plate Railroad nearby.  Located at 51 Mill Street in Conneaut, the home became variously known as the Gaffney House and the Conneaut House. And yes, their family grew:  Nine more children would come along:  Margaret, Elizabeth, Delia, John, Frances, Thomas, Agnes, Clara, and Edward.  The two youngest children died in infancy.  

Jane (McCormick) Olson, daughter of Mary Jane’s and Thomas’ eldest child, Benita  (McGinnis) McCormick and another of their grandchildren, recalled Mary Jane describing the way she and the young girls of her day learned Irish step (or “clog,” as it was called then) dancing, noting that long boards would be held up against their spines to train the girls to maintain a very straight posture for this style of dance.

Gaffney House, also known as Conneaut House,
51 Mill Street, Conneaut, Ohio, ca. 1880

One day a young railroad worker by the name of Thomas Eugene McGinnis arrived at Gaffney House to rent a room.  Recently returned from several years at sea as a merchant sailor, he had decided to settle down in the Conneaut area, drawn by the promise of a good job offered by the railroad.  Checking in with Bridget Gaffney, he was greeted by the divine aroma of a warm and freshly-baked pie.  He asked to try a piece, and he found it so delicious that he insisted on meeting the person who had baked it.  Bridget excused herself momentarily and returned with her 25-year old daughter Mary Jane.  

Tom could not believe his eyes as he talked to this young woman.  The slender young brunette had deep blue eyes, long, dark eyelashes, a rosy complexion, and a sweet, quiet confidence that intrigued him.  No longer smitten by just the pie, he fell in love with her on the spot.

Tom and Janie were married a year later on May 19, 1884, at Saint Mary's Church in Conneaut.  Janie, who was not only a superb baker but also an accomplished dressmaker, made her own wedding gown.  Her sister Lyle, a milliner, made her headpiece.

Tom and Janie moved just down the street from her parents to 78 Mill Street and began their own family.  They lost their first child, Mary Margaret, in childbirth, but they went on to have Benita Elizabeth, Francis Eugene, John Charles, and Alice Gaffney, all born in Conneaut.  

Tom continued to work for the Nickel Plate Railroad until a train derailed near Conneaut, killing several men.  Shaken by the tragedy, he decided to move his family to Chicago, where he could find another job.  They arrived there sometime between 1895 and 1900. 

Tom found a job as a cement inspector for the City of Chicago.  He built the family's two-story, Craftsman style family home at 8336 South Drexel Avenue in 1912.

Tom and Janie were fiercely devoted to each other throughout their lives, and when Tom died at age 71 in 1927, everyone thought Janie would die soon after of a broken heart.   

Sustained by her Catholic faith and her love for her five grandchildren, Jack (John McGinnis' son), Ralph and Joan Schiavon, and Buddy and Jane McCormick, Janie McGinnis surprised them all and went on to live another 13 years, devoting herself to her family and looking out for her siblings, friends and neighbors.  Her home was the hub of her family's lives, and all would gather there every Sunday afternoon to share a delicious meal and hours of stories, songs, and laughter.  

Mary Jane (Gaffney) McGinnis, surrounded
by her four children, (left to right) Alice,
Eugene, John, and Benita. In the living room
at 8336 South Drexel Avenue, Chicago,
ca. 1939.

Besides her baking talents, my great-grandmother Mary Jane was remembered for keeping a pristine home and was expert at the domestic arts so valued at the time.  She made many lovely clothes for her children and grandchildren, including my own mother. She taught my mother to love sewing, especially embroidery. My mother loved the creative outlet she found in sewing.  She went on to become an accomplished seamstress herself and taught my sisters and me to sew so that you could never see the stitches in a garment.  I was quite proud of this accomplishment and always credited it to my mother and great-grandmother.

The pie-making was another story.  Mary Jane was said to make pies with just the right flakiness, warm and light and picture perfect.  After so many stories about those wonderful pies, I was certain that her talent would have to rub off on me.  I was determined to be just as good a pie baker as my great-grandmother.

Unfortunately, I would find out that I was not to inherit the pie-making gene, though I tried in vain to learn every secret technique for baking pies to perfection.  To this day, my pies are more crunchy than flaky, the filling is fair at best, my attempts at crimping the edges are clumsy, and the edges themselves almost always fall off the pan before the pie is even done.  Thankfully, my family still eats them, and no one has died from them yet.

I have had to learn through fits and starts that I will never be a domestic goddess in the tradition of the Gaffney women, though I hope I at least get points for trying. 

On the other hand, my sisters have the Gaffney gene, especially my youngest sister, who is known for her delicious meals and baked goods.  These seem to come naturally to her, as do those long Gaffney eyelashes.

Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully

Mappy Monday: The Schiavons and the McCormicks in the 1940 Census

Map shows the walking route that sisters Alice (McGinnis)
Schiavon (House "A") and Benita (McGinnis) McCormick
(House "B") might have taken to visit each other's families
 in 1940 Chicago, Illinois.  (Courtesy Google Maps, 2012)

Visiting the 1940s Chicago of the Schiavon and the McCormick families, we can see the beginnings of a decade of change for a people who have been living in the midst of the Great Depression.  World War II has begun barely the year before with Germany's invasion of Poland, followed subsequently in the spring by invasions of Denmark and Norway.

Franklin Delano Roosevelt is campaigning for his third term as President.  Unemployment, which had topped 20% in the mid-1930s, is now on its way down, though it hovers at a dramatic 14.6% with over 8 million people still out of work.  The minimum wage is 43 cents an hour, and the average worker makes about $1,300 per year.  It costs 3 cents to mail a letter, 8 cents for a loaf of bread, and 34 cents for a gallon of milk.

And yet, hope and sentimentality reign.  It seems that everyone is humming and jiving to the number one song on the charts, Glenn Miller's  In the Mood.  And lest there be too much levity, there is still lots of room for epic romance and nostalgia in Gone with the Wind, which wins 10 Academy Awards, including Best Motion Picture of 1940.

The United States 1940 Federal Census, showing the Ralph and Alice
Schiavon family living at 8336 South Drexel Avenue, Chicago, Illinois

We find Ralph and Alice (McGinnis) Schiavon and their children, Tom and Joan, living at the old McGinnis home on 8336 South Drexel Avenue (Point "A" on the Google map above).  They now own the home, valued at $9,000, about $3,000 above the average house of the day.  Ralph, at age 42, is a tax counselor in private practice.   He states that he worked all 52 weeks in 1939, yet he does not report any earnings from it during that time.  He does tell census taker John Quigley, however, that he made some $50 or more from sources other than the income from his  (current) job.  Had he been working in some other capacity prior to 1940 and recently gone into private practice?  Or was the "zero" salary simply an oversight by the census taker?  We may have to search a little more to find out.

My grandfather Ralph also tells the census taker that while the highest education Alice had was high school, he only got as far as the sixth grade.  Being a proud man, this admission must have been somewhat uncomfortable for him, but what he does not say is that he managed to go to night school to study accounting after serving in the Navy during World War I.  Too bad there is no space on the census form to indicate determination.

Ralph, who is noted on the census form as the informant (see the "x" by his name), gives his age and that of his wife Alice as 42.  Young Tom and Joan are listed as 15 and 10, in high school and fifth grade, respectively.  But there are some discrepancies.  Alice was not 42 but 44 years young.   My mother was actually 11 - and in the sixth grade.

Ralph refers to my mother as "Joann." It is one of her nicknames, the other being "Joie."  Truth be told, she is not fond of either and for that reason years later gives my sisters and me names that typically would not have nicknames attached to them.  In fact, I think that just about the only thing she really likes about her name was that it gives her something in common with Saint Joan of Arc, to whom she has a great devotion.

Barely under a mile and about a 20 minute way away are Alice's sister, Benita (McGinnis), her husband Phil McCormick, and their own two children, Philip Jr. ("Buddy") and Benita Jane ("Jane").  They, too, own their home at 8052 Vernon Avenue (Point "B" on the Google map above), which is valued at $6,000.  Unlike the Schiavons, they have been living in their home for at least a decade.

Though Benita is the informant here, the census taker, Catherine Doran, misspells her name and that of her daughter as "Vanita."  Perhaps the poor census takers had so many homes and people to cover in a day that they simply took names down phonetically to save time.  

Not far from the Schiavons, the United States Census finds the Philip
and Benita McCormick family residing at 8052 South Vernon Avenue
in Chicago.

Unlike many women of her time, Benita does not lie about her age, though at 50 she is a full three years older than her beloved Phil, 47.  Her children, Bud and Jane, are both (nearly) 13 (they would have their birthdays a month later) and are in the seventh grade.

Though it would appear here that Bud and Jane were twins, they were not.  In fact, both were adopted from different families but at the same time, hence the same birthdate.  Jane's mother was a young German-American farm girl from Wisconsin, while we do not have information on Bud's birth family.

Like her younger sister Alice, Benita is what today we would call a "stay-at-home mom." In reality, she and her sister do not stay at home much but keep busy visiting relatives, friends, and engaging in their various pursuits:  Alice with her stamp and doll collections, and Benita with her painting and writing.

Phil works for the railroad - a healthy business during the Depression, and the railroad has been good to him and his family.  He worked 50 weeks last year - likely having taken two weeks off for vacation - and made a higher-than-average salary of $5200.

Mary Jane (Gaffney) McGinnis, the anchor of this family, does not appear in the census with either of her daughters.  Now 81 years old, she has been in failing health for a couple of years and is suffering from kidney disease. Her sister, Elizabeth "Lyle," has been gone for six years now, having died in 1934 of heart disease. Census records for April 1940 do not show Mary Jane residing with her son, John, and his family on Minerva Avenue in Chicago, or with her sisters, Maggie, Agnes, and Delia, on Woodbury Avenue in Cleveland.   It is unlikely that she would be living with her son, Eugene, whose has been changing jobs and apartments for some time.

A more plausible theory is that Mary Jane has been living with one of her daughters but is in hospital at this point.  Which hospital, though, is the question, as she does not appear in the census at Woodlawn Hospital, only a few blocks from her daughters.

Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully 

Looking Back: The Schiavons in the 1930 Census

In a snapshot of Ralph and Alice Schiavon and their two children, five year-old Thomas and 21-month-old Joan, the 1930 United States Census shows us that less than a year after the stock market crash of 1929, the Great Depression had not fully impacted the family yet.

On April 8th of that year, we can see that they were renting a second-story apartment for $95 a month at 6044 Stony Island Avenue in the middle-class neighborhood of Hyde Park, on Chicago's South Side. 

Ralph and Alice Schiavon and their children,
Ralph Thomas (Tom) and Joan,
appear here on the 1930 U.S. Census

Ralph and Alice (my maternal grandparents) were one of the younger couples in the complex. Only two other couples were anywhere near their ages, and the rest were mostly ages 50 and above.  Alice must have lied about her age, as she claims to be 32 years old, the same age as Ralph.  According to her birth certificate, she was born in 1895, making her, in fact, two and a half years older than Ralph.  At the time of the census, she was two months away from her 35^th birthday (June 14).  

The Schiavons were part of the 40% of Americans who owned a radio at the time.  This was something of a luxury, as radios were fairly expensive, even during the early years of the Great Depression.  Only a year earlier, a radio set cost about $139 – a fairly steep amount of money for a family struggling to pay their bills and put food on the table.  For this reason, many families paid the cost in monthly installments.  Despite the sacrifice, the payoff was rewarding:  radios provided news and entertainment to families on a tight budget and brought them together nightly to share experiences as they listened intently to serial dramas and comedies, musicals, and concerts.

Though the census clearly indicates that Alice was the homemaker (see the “H” beside her name), it goes on to list her occupation as “none” – something we would never find in our modern-day census.  Today, most women would object loudly to having that “H” made a part of their very identities, yet I remember hearing from my mother and my aunts that there was a time when women took great pride in this emblem.

When it came to my grandmother Alice, the "homemaker" label would have been a bit less traditional in nature.  She disliked cooking but loved a good meal, and she enjoyed many of these thanks to my grandfather Ralph, whose mother, Emanuella Schiavone, had taught him to be a gourmet cook. 

My mother, Joan (Schiavon) Huesca, used to tell me that Alice also appreciated beauty and kept a meticulously lovely home.  She was independent in mind and spirit and taught her children to "dare to be different."  Although she tried her best to be a good homemaker, she could not stay at home for long but needed fulfillment elsewhere. She had many interests that grew over the years:  doll and stamp collecting, crafting, antiques, and traveling – and all the adjunct activities that went with these hobbies.  She became a renowned expert on dolls and stamps and amassed large collections of both.  

My mother and her sister-in-law, Angelina (Ciliberto) Schiavon, used to say that my grandmother was happiest when she was writing one of her newsletters, speeding around Chicago in her Ford, or out and about on one of her shopping expeditions, always in search of the perfect addition to her collections.  Perhaps today Alice would have called herself a “multi-tasker,” curator, and connoisseur – neither being occupations per se, but accurate descriptors, nonetheless.

The census also confirms for us that Ralph, who was born in Italy, came to America in 1905 (when he was 7 years old), was a naturalized a citizen of the United States, and a World War I veteran.  It lists his occupation as an “income tax expert” working in "government" (in his case, the Internal Revenue Service, where he was a supervisor).  The “expert” qualifier demonstrates some ambition.  Was he already preparing himself to go into business for himself?

Whatever the case, his chance was to come soon.

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

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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