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.

Mystery Monday: The Railway Men of Orizaba, Part 2

Edward Joseph Organ (1859 - 1893)

Looking over the collection of photographs that belonged to my great-great grandmother, Catherine (O’Grady) Perrotin, I found one that was especially compelling and have been wondering about its subject for some time now. 

Though he was not my ancestor, he certainly was related to someone, and it seems only fitting to honor his memory, out of respect for the friendship he shared with Catherine and her family.

"To Dear Mrs. F. Perrotin, Mater in Mexico"

Edgar Joseph Organ dedicated this cabinet card photograph to Catherine Perrotin on February 27, 1893.   Taken at the Lucio Diaz Studio in Orizaba, Veracruz, Mexico, the photograph is addressed to her as his “Mater in Mexico.” 

Catherine, who would have been about 51 at the time, might indeed have been a mother-like figure to many of the expatriate railway men in Orizaba at the time.  Most likely, many of these young men, originally from England, Ireland, France, and the United States, had embarked on their great adventure working on the fledgling Mexican railway, Ferrocarriles Mexicanos, as bachelors, while others may have left wives and children behind for several years.  Catherine already had been living in Mexico for at least 25 years.  She would have been able to offer wisdom and counsel to these young men on the local customs, manners, and language. 

In this portrait, Edgar strikes a somewhat casual pose.  His broad hands appear strong from years of physical work.  He is dressed either as an engine driver, leaning against a half column on top of which are stacked three or four books.  Perhaps these were to indicate that he was an educated man and enjoyed reading.  This would seem to be borne out by his strikingly beautiful handwriting on the reverse of the cabinet card.  He also seems to have had some artistic talent, evidenced by the flower, leaves and feathers he incorporates gracefully into his capital letters.  

Edgar Joseph Organ

The great care that Edgar took to dedicate this to my great-great grandmother aroused my curiosity about him.  Documentation varies, but he was born in the southwest region of the United Kingdom in about 1859, in either Cheltenham, Gloucestershire, or Monmouth, Wales.  Cheltenham lies some 22 miles east of the village of Ruardean - where Timothy Bennett lived with his own family - while Monmouth is about half that distance to the west.  

According to the England and Wales FreeBMD Marriage Index: 1837 – 1915, he and Elizabeth Maria Woodward registered their marriage in Gloucester between October and December 1879.

They appear two years later in the 1881 England Census, living at 18 Salisbury Street in Cheltenham, with a six-month-old infant daughter, Elizabeth.  By this time, Edgar is identified as a 22-year-old railway fireman. Both he and his wife are noted as born in “Gloster” – the abbreviation for Gloucester.

Did Edgar and Timothy Bennett know each other before they went to Mexico?  It seems likely, especially as both had been railway firemen before they advanced to engine driver.  They probably trained together on the double Fairlie steam locomotive in Bristol, down the River Severn, where the Avonside Engine Company manufactured some 53 of these for Ferrocarriles Mexicanos to navigate the steep grade from Cordoba to Orizaba, Veracruz, until the railway converted to electric engines in 1920.  

Though it is uncertain when both men left for Mexico, we know that Timothy married Maria Dolores Perrotin at the railway station in Orizaba in September of 1885.  A year or two after Dolores’ father, Francois Perrotin, died of meningitis in 1891, she and her husband and their two children left Mexico for England to join Timothy’s mother and family in the Forest of Dean.  Catherine would join them in 1895.

Two months after dedicating his portrait to Catherine Perrotin, Edgar appears as an engine driver on the passenger manifest of the ship Aurania, arriving in Liverpool, England, from New York on April 25, 1893.   

Tragically, he died some six months later on November 28, 1893, in Cheltenham, Gloucestershire, England.  He was only 32.  The entry in the National Probate Calendar (Index of Wills and Administrations), 1861 – 1941 does not list the cause of death, but it does indicate that he left a widow, Elizabeth Maria Organ, who received his effects in the sum of £178 when the will was administered on December 23, 1893, just two days before Christmas.

Was Edgar ill before he left Mexico?  Did he become ill after arriving in England?  Or did he die accidentally?

Where was Edgar and Elizabeth Maria’s daughter, Elizabeth?  Unless she died before her father returned to England, she would have been about twelve years old in 1893.  The other possibility is that she could have been living with relatives during this time.  In any case, I cannot find her after her initial mention in the 1881 England Census and wonder whatever became of her.

Any extra money that Edgar might have brought home from his adventurous sojourn working on the Mexican Railway would have come in handy for Elizabeth Maria, though it could have not lasted long after she became the sole breadwinner.  In a sad turn of events, she reappears in the 1901 England Census in Barnwood, Gloucestershire, working as a storeroom servant at Barnwood House, formerly an estate that was later converted to an insane asylum.   Listed as a widow, Elizabeth was 39 years old.  Had she not only lost her husband but her daughter, too?

What happened to her after that?  I only wish I knew.   

Next:  The Railway Men of Orizaba - Part Two


Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully

Mystery Monday: The Railway Men of Orizaba, Part 1

Who are these men?

These two cabinet card photographs are part of a larger collection of “mystery pictures” that belonged to my great-great grandmother, Catherine (O’Grady) Perrotin.  From the dates on the back, it appears she received the photographs while living in Orizaba, Veracruz, Mexico, perhaps as she was preparing to move to England in 1895 to join her daughter, and son-in-law, Maria Dolores and Timothy Bennett.  At that time, she would have been about 53 years old.  Of course, it is also possible that the pictures were sent to her after she arrived in England.   Both pictures were taken in Orizaba, at the Lucio Díaz studio. 

The photograph above, taken at the Lucio Diaz Studio in Orizaba, Veracruz,
Mexico, is identified as an "Instant Portrait."

The men appear to have been friends or co-workers of my great-great grandfather, Charles Jacques François (“François”) Perrotin, who was a mechanic for Ferrocarriles Mexicanos, the Mexican Railway System, at Orizaba Station. (François died in Orizaba on May 25, 1891, of meningitis.) Timothy Bennett, Maria Dolores's husband, also worked for Ferrocarriles Mexicanos as a train engineer.  All appear to be either American or European, perhaps British, French or Irish.  This is especially plausible, given that these groups engineered and built the Mexican Railway line from Veracruz to Mexico City.  

In the first picture, the two gentlemen appear to be dressed in conductors’ uniforms, wearing ties, pocket watches, and pinstripe suits.   The bowler hats they are wearing would suggest that these are not their official portraits, as they would be wearing conductor’s caps instead.  There is no identification or dedication on the back of the card, except for the name of the photography studio.

The second picture, below, is dedicated to Catherine: 

“Le endorso a la Señora Perrotin este retrato en prueba del cariño que le profesa su amigo, Cook.” 

 “I dedicate this portrait to Mrs. Perrotin as proof of the affection of her friend, Cook.” 

The dedication is dated June 29, but the year is illegible.  Cook appears to be wearing the uniform of a railway worker, perhaps a conductor, but we cannot be sure.  I am not good at guessing ages but would estimate that he was somewhere between his late thirties to early fifties - a wide range, to be sure.

In an intriguing coincidence, a father and son with the last name of Cook appear  in the 1860 United States Federal Census, as neighbors of the then-newly marriedPerrotins in Shreveport, Louisiana.  Thomas Cook, age 74, appears to have been a gardener (though the writing on the census form is unclear) who came to America from his native England in 1808.  His son, Robert Cook, was 18 years old and a native of Indiana.  Interestingly, he is listed as a “Gin Maker.”  

Perhaps the Cooks and Perrotins were good friends.  Could the son (and possibly the father) have gone to Orizaba with the Perrotins?  If Thomas Cook did go to Mexico, even at his advanced age, it is unlikely that he worked there.  But Robert, who was about a year older than Catherine, would have been young enough to embark on such an adventure, either working on the Mexican railway with the others, or in another profession...

If anyone reading this has any thoughts on the identity of these men or suggestions for where to look next, I’d love to hear them.

Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully



Do you know these men?  Did you know, or are you a member of the Cook, Perrotin, Bennett, or O'Grady families?  Or did someone you know work on the Mexican Railway in Veracruz?  If so, share your memories and comments below.

Sentimental Sunday: "Do Not Give In": Part 2

Full Circle

Second in a two-part series - Continued

My great-grandfather, Enrique Huesca (about 1850 - 1920)

Jose Enrique Florentino Huesca, known as "Enrique," lost his wife, Maria de la Luz Merlo, whom he called “mi Lucecita,” or “my little light,” some time before 1912, about three years before the death of his young grandson, Gilberto Huesca.  My father, Gilbert Cayetano Huesca, and his brothers and sisters recalled hearing stories of their grandparents’ unwavering devotion to one another, so it would not be unlikely that Enrique was still grieving for his beloved wife even as he was consoling his daughter-in-law.  Upon reading these tender and feeling words, however, one wonders whether he ever really recovered from the burdens of his own crosses.  He was about 70 years old when he died in Cañada Morelos, Puebla, on August 20, 1920.

Enrique’s son and daughter-in-law, Jose Alberto Gil Cayetano “Cayetano” and Catalina Huesca welcomed a baby son on November 1, 1915, in Tierra Blanca, Veracruz, seven months after the death of their beloved toddler Gilberto.  It is possible that the new baby reminded them of the child they had recently lost, and that may be why they gave him the same first name:  Gilberto. 

Gilberto Cayetano (his middle name was given for his father) Huesca – my father – was called by his middle name, “Cayetano” (or “Tano” for short) by all.  Perhaps his parents decided not to call him by his first name because it might remind them of the tragic loss of the first Gilberto.  This may be the reason my father never learned of his first name until he was in his 40s, when, living in Chicago, Illinois, he obtained his baptismal record for his naturalization application to become an American citizen.  Upon seeing his full name for the first time, he asked his family and friends to call him Gilbert from that day forward.

Enrique Huesca’s words to my grandmother came full circle some 82 years later.  It was 1997, and my father, by then 82 years old, was still mourning the loss of my mother, Joan (Schiavon) Huesca, a decade earlier.  Like his grandparents, he and my mother had been deeply in love, and her absence now permeated every aspect of his being.  He used to tell my sisters and me that he thought of her “every fraction of a second,” and we never doubted this. 

My father was visiting us for dinner one Saturday evening when we called my grandmother Catalina at her apartment in Mexico City.  She was 104 years old but was as sharp as ever and would continue to reign as the respected matriarch of her large family until her death in 1998. 

I turned the speakerphone on so we could hear each other, and after the usual greetings, she asked my father how he was.  My father, in an emotional voice, told her of the profound sadness he still felt without my mother. 

Catalina and her son, Gilbert Cayetano Huesca
Mexico City, about 1948

My grandmother initially expressed her sympathy but then stopped abruptly.  “Hijo mío – my son,” she admonished him in Spanish, “ya basta – that is enough.  Of course you love her and of course you miss her.  But what has happened is done.  You had a beautiful life with my daughter Joan, and she left you four beautiful daughters.  The time of mourning is over.  If I had done that when your father died at such a young age, I would have dishonored his memory and done a disservice to our family.  I still had so much to do, and so do you, my son.  You must not give in to the pain, but live for the living.  You must not forget Joan, but it is time for you to live for your children now.”

It would be inaccurate and unfair to say that my father turned his sadness around right after that.  Yet his mother’s heartfelt wisdom reverberated within him in the coming years as he began to live more fully for his children and grandchildren until his own death in 2009 at age 93. 

His brother Gilberto had, in a strange way, given my father his name.  Maybe in another roundabout and mysterious way, the memory of the first Gilberto also gave his younger brother and namesake a renewed lease on life, even in his final years.

Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully 

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

Sympathy Saturday: "Do Not Give In": Part 1

Condolences

Cañada Morelos, April 25, 1915

                       

Mrs. Catalina Perroton.

Tierra Blanca

My Dear Friend,

As I send you my greetings together with all the well-deserved attentions to you and your kind family, I want to send you my deepest sympathies on the death of the Child Gilberto, and you must not believe that it was caused by a Cold, but by the bump he had on his head, which sooner or later would have a sad ending.  It happened…there is nothing you can do but have patience.  Now do not give in to the Pain; but Look at this news with some calm, understanding that it is better to grieve over the dead rather than wish  them alive again; as I did, for I have spent my life in tears wishing they were alive.  The conjugal bond offers us flowers and pleasures…but the cross of marriage, offers us a world of woes.  No matter how much a family may possess, all must go through that world of woes…but all you can do is have a big soul, a Heart that neither denies the truth nor gives in to tears but Sees that this is part of life.  Calm, my friend, calm, do not give in and do not carry this burden around with you.  Give my kisses to all the children.  Your friend who esteems you,

Enrique Huesca

At left, the original letter (in Spanish) from Enrique Huesca to 
Catalina (Perrotin) Huesca, 1915

The above is my English translation of a letter that my paternal great-grandfather, Jose Enrique Florentino Huesca, of Cañada Morelos, Puebla, Mexico, wrote to his daughter-in-law – my grandmother, Angela Catalina (nee Perrotin) Huesca, in Tierra Blanca, Veracruz, Mexico, shortly after the death of her young son, Gilberto Huesca. 

Gilberto was about two years old when he died.  The exact cause of death is unclear; many of the civil records of the village of Tierra Blanca from 1915 were burned in a fire, and most of those who might have known the details have gone on to their heavenly reward. 

Maybe he fell or suffered a blow to the head while playing or pulling down some heavy object from above.  Maybe he had a tumor of some sort.  We may never know, but we can only imagine the grief Catalina felt at losing her sweet little boy.  Enrique, as he was known, gently tells his daughter-in-law that she must not believe that her toddler died of a cold and adds that “sooner or later” the lump would have a sad ending.  In what must have been nearly unbearable for Catalina to conceive, he goes on to reassure her that the child’s fate might have been worse had he lived. 

His words today might sound terribly fatalistic, but they came during a trying period in Mexico.  The country was in the throes of a revolution, and Tierra Blanca and surrounding areas not only experienced the heavy casualties of that conflict but also lost many people, young and old, to outbreaks of measles, diptheria, and smallpox. 

It would have been easy for a young 21-year-old mother to “give in to the pain” of losing her child when she was scarcely an adult herself.  But her father-in-law’s words must have given her the strength she needed to go on and care for her husband Cayetano and their three children, Enrique, Eduardo, and Victoria, even as she was in the first trimester of yet another pregnancy.  Like many of the women of her time, Catalina would prove to be strong and resilient.  She and Cayetano would have 17 children in all, 11 of whom survived into adulthood. 

Catalina and Cayetano Huesca and sons (left to right) Gilberto, Eduardo, and Enrique,
in front of their home, Orizaba, 1913.

Enrique’s letter hints at his own trials and tribulations.  We know little about him except that he was born between 1847 and 1850 in Puebla, Mexico, to Jose Calletano de la Trinidad Huesca and Josefa Rodriguez.  A devout Catholic, he followed in the family trade as a carpenter, crafting interior furnishings for the cathedral and churches of Puebla, a city known for having as many churches as there are days in a year.  He taught his children to do good for others but to keep their acts to themselves, often reminding them to “never let the right hand know what the left hand is doing.”  This was a refrain that his children and their children would carry with them all their lives.

Born at the end of Mexico’s civil reform war, Enrique lived through some of the most turbulent eras of his country’s history.  Before he had even reached his teen years, he undoubtedly witnessed the Battle of Puebla between the French and Mexican armies.  He would have rejoiced wildly with his family at the Mexican victory on May 5, 1862, only to be devastated barely a year later when the French regrouped and defeated the Mexicans in a second battle at Puebla and went on to topple and replace the Mexican government with what Napoleon III referred to as his “Mexican Empire.”  He and his parents would have discussed the resurgence of the deposed Mexican president, Benito Juarez, who with the backing of President Abraham Lincoln, reclaimed his government and had the puppet Emperor Maximilian Hapsburg executed by firing squad in 1867. 

The uncertainty of the times and their severe impact on the nation would continue for many years as subsequent regimes rose and fell one after the other, culminating in the Revolution of 1910 and indelibly scarring the psyche of the Mexican people with the ironic realization that the only constancy in their lives was that  - save their faith in God and their love for one another - nothing, including happiness, could either be certain or last forever. 

Next:  Sentimental Sunday - "Do Not Give In" Part Two

Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully 

Sentimental Sunday: "...Wise unto Salvation"

Inscription in bible by
Catherine O'Grady Perrotin
to her grandson, Edward Bennett, 1893

The small bible pictured here was a gift from my great-great grandmother, Catherine O'Grady, to her three-year-old grandson, Edward Bennett, eldest child of Maria Dolores Perrotin and Timothy Bennett. 

Cover of bible given to Edward Bennett.  The bible has
been passed down to my cousin, Dorothy (Meek) Stephens, 
daughter of Jane Bennett, Edward's sister and 
the youngest child of 
Maria Dolores and Timothy Bennett

Edward also was Francois and Catherine Perrotin's first grandchild. He was born in Orizaba, Veracruz, on October 21, 1891, just a few months after Francois' death.   His birth must have been quite a comfort and source of joy to Catherine, who was grieving for her beloved husband.

The inscription reads,

Edward W. Bennett

by his Grandmother

Catherine with Love

Search the Scripture

which is able to

make you wise

unto Salvation.

1893

Catherine would have sent this to Edward, now in Ruardean, Gloucestershire, England, with his parents, from her own home in Orizaba, Mexico.   Two years later, she would leave Mexico forever to join Maria Dolores, Tim, and their family in Ruardean.  Surely Edward and his brothers and sisters must have enjoyed the blessing of their sweet and loving grandmother Catherine.  As she was now widowed, the children must have been blessings in return to her.  

Graveyard at Saint John the Baptist Church (also known as Ruardean Church). The family graves are located  just behind the church, along with quite a few graves of the Bennett family, many of whom lived in the area.  The graves at center are those of Timothy and Maria Dolores (Perrotin) (rectangular grave at front)  and Catherine (O'Grady) Perrotin and two of her grandchildren, Edward and Mary Clements Bennett (rear).  Rose Marie Bruton, the widow of Catherine's great-grandson, Leonard Fisher, still lives in  Ruardean Woodside and regularly brings flowers to the graves.

Edward Bennett died in Ruardean on June 3, 1899.  He was only eight years old.   Catherine is buried with him and with his younger sister, Mary Clements Bennett, who died at two-and-a-half years old in 1895. 

The marker on the left side of the grave reads,
 "Catherine Perrotin  1840 - 1901"

The marker in the center (front) of the grave reads,
"Edward Bennett 1891 - 1899"
The marker on the right of the grave reads,
"Mary Clements Bennett 1892 - 1895"

At the invitation of our English Bennett cousins, my husband and I travelled to Gloucestershire and the Forest of Dean in August of 2011.  We visited Ruardean a couple of times with Jennie and Don Murray and Dorothy, Bob, Tim, and Peter Stephens, who graciously endured our endless questions and my non-stop photography.  We also met new Bennett cousins:  Eileen, Linda, Susanne, Pearl, Marlene, Rebecca, and Joanne, among others.  It was such a wonderful feeling to know there were so many of this branch of our family, when at one time we thought there were none.

Rear view of Saint John the Baptist Church, Ruardean, Gloucestershire

It is one thing to see a picture of where your ancestors are buried.  It is another thing altogether to actually be able to stand next to the graves and touch them, knowing these same ancestors worshipped at this church, they walked the grounds at one time, that their remains are there now, and that generations of descendants like Rose Bruton (Jennie's mother) and Jennie and Dorothy have tended them and visited them over the years.  It overwhelms the senses.

I felt incredibly close to my great-great grandmother Catherine at that moment and still do.  The love of this family truly endures.  I feel so blessed - and grateful - to be a part of it.

Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully

Did you know, or are you a member of the Perrotin, O'Grady, or Bennett families?  If so, share your memories and comments below.

Marriage Record of Charles Jacques François Perrotin and Catherine O'Grady

26 January 1860

Shreveport, Caddo Parish, Louisiana

This week marks the 152nd anniversary of the marriage between Charles Jacques  François Perrotin and Catherine O'Grady (also known as Catherine Grady), on January 26, 1860, in Shreveport, Louisiana.

Here is a copy of their Certificate of Marriage.  A transcription follows, along with a short background of a legendary Catholic priest who united the couple in Holy Matrimony.

Transcription

State of Louisiana   }

Parish of Caddo      }

I hereby certify that on the 26^th day of Jany 1860, I being a minister of the Gospel and authorized to celebrate the bonds of matrimony have celebrated the marriage between François Perrotin and C. Grady in the presence of the undersigned witnesses.

Nancy Petters                                                                         François Perrotin

A Cook                                                                                                 

J P. Brinck                                                                                Catherine Grady

                                                                                                       X her Mark

                                                (illegible)

Recorded 9^th

(illegible) 1860

            Shreveport the 26th of January 1860, I the undersigned J. Pierre, Catholic parish of Shreveport have joined in holy and lawful wedlock after license of the Court has been obtained Mr. F. Perrotin and Wife Catherine Grady.  In testimony thereof its parties François Perrotin, Catherine O'Grady, N. (illegible)     A. G. Cook, Prof. Dr. Casiez Cte, Beaumont have hereunto affixed their names. 

                                                                                                J. Pierre

                                                                                                C. V.

Father John Pierre, French Missionary

"J. Pierre" was Father John Pierre, the founding pastor of Holy Family Church, the first Catholic church in Shreveport.  As a seminarian in France, Pierre had been recruited by Bishop Augustus Martin of the then-new Diocese of Natchitoches, to do missionary work.  He arrived there in 1854.  On his ordination date one year later, Bishop Martin appointed Father Pierre as pastor of the first parish of the diocese, Holy Apostles.  When he became aware that the Catholic families in the nearby city of Shreveport had no priests or places to worship,  Father Pierre persuaded the bishop to let him expand his missionary work. He bought land on the corner of Fannin and Marshall Streets in Shreveport, where he built a small wood frame church (the first in Shreveport) in 1856.  He replaced it with a larger brick church three years later.  This was Holy Family Church and most likely is where he married François and Catherine.

Father John Pierre, center

Thirteen years later (and long after  François and Catherine had departed Shreveport), the beloved Father Pierre died of yellow fever, one of five Catholic priests to be stricken during a tragic epidemic.  It was a sad day for the people of Shreveport, who had known Father Pierre as a tireless evangelizer for the Church and a devoted minister to the sick.  Another priest of the time, Father Joseph Gentille, wrote of Father Pierre, "His death was a public calamity.  He was loved and esteemed by all."

In a fateful coincidence, yellow fever would go on to claim the life of the Perrotin's only son, Francisco, some 26 years later in Orizaba, Mexico.


Copyright (C) 2012  Linda Huesca Tully

Are you a member of the Perrotin, O'Grady, or Pierre families?  If so, share your own thoughts and stories below.