Treasure Chest Thursday: Early Memories

Joan Joyce (Schiavon) Huesca
1928 - 1987

In her own words  (Part One)

On June 24, 1987, a couple of months before she died of lung cancer, my mother, Joan Joyce (Schiavon) Huesca began writing the story of her life.  The following is an excerpt from the first chapter of her book, Joan Joyce Schiavon Huesca:  an Autobiography, in which she describes one of her earliest memories:

Cover of my mother's autobiography,
1987, Modesto, California

"I have been told that I was a cuddly blonde with a mass or curly ringlets atop my head, crowned with a big pink bow.  My dress was of a pink satin tunic with a pink net full short skirt decorated with little blue satin rosebuds.  Dressed in all my finery, my parents took me to a social gathering at the American Legion Hall (Woodlawn Post)., of which my father was a member, having served on a submarine in the U.S. Navy during World War I.  I can remember their being very proud of their "doll-like" little girl.  There I was, standing right in front of two big doors which led into a large hall, filled with BIG PEOPLE!  I can remember so clearly, feeling so frightened, and I began to cry, as I seemed to be the smallest and only little girl there.  Tearfully and red-faced, I tried to pull back from those doors...but to no avail, as I made my entrance to society puffy-eyed and sobbing.  To this day, I feel that same bit of timidness in a large group of people with whom I am not well acquainted."

                                           - Joan Huesca


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

Wordless Wednesday: Joan and Tom Schiavon

Joan Joyce (Schiavon) Huesca 

1928 - 1987

Ralph Thomas Schiavon

1924 - 1993

Brother and Sister 
Tom (age 5) and Joan (age 18 months)
Winter 1929
Chicago, Illinois

Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully

Did you know Tom or Joan Schiavon, or are you a member of the Schiavon/Schiavone, Ciliberto, or Huesca families?  If so, share your memories and comments below.

Thankful Thursday: From the Angels in Heaven

Joan Joyce (Schiavon) Huesca 
(1928 - 1987)

It was still early morning on the Fourth of July, 1928, when my grandfather, Ralph Schiavon, still half asleep, rolled out of bed to answer the telephone.  Doctor Thomas Doyle, the McGinnis and Schiavon family physician, was calling with good news. 

My mother, Joan Joyce Schiavon, Chicago, Illinois,
about five months old, 1928

"Well, Ralph, you're the lucky father of a beautiful baby girl,"  he announced.  

Ralph, a big man who seldom showed his emotion, felt such a surge of happiness that he thrust his powerful arm forward in triumph. The force of his fist put a hole through the wall.

Meanwhile, John McGinnis, Alice Gaffney (McGinnis) Schiavon's older brother, was already driving through the streets of Chicago, celebrating the birth of his new godchild, Joan. Unable to wait for the city's fabled fireworks festivities to begin that evening, John stayed at the hospital just long enough to see his tiny niece and left soon afterward to buy himself some firecrackers.  He was so excited that he set these off under several overpasses in the neighborhood to announce his Yankee Doodle niece's birth.

Meanwhile, back at the hospital, my mother was making her own mark. Born one month premature and weighing slightly over two pounds, little Joan Joyce had the distinction of being one of the first babies to be born at Woodlawn Hospital.  A couple of days after she was born, a serious infection swept through the hospital nursery, and as a precaution the nurses moved Joan out of her bassinet and into Alice's room, where she spent the rest of her two week stay swaddled in the top drawer of the dresser next to her mother's bed.  It probably saved her from the deadly infection, which took the lives of all but two of the newborns.  My mother was one of those blessed miracle babies.

Joan at about a year old,
Chicago, 1928

Joan's arrival was great cause for celebration in the Schiavon and McGinnis households.  Mary Jane (Gaffney) McGinnis, her maternal grandmother, was beside herself with joy.  Looking at Joan's fair face and tiny brunette curls, she concluded that her beloved husband, Thomas Eugene McGinnis, who had died in 1927, had chosen my mother specially from the angels in heaven and sent her to his grieving family.  The thought of this was a great comfort to Mary Jane, and it formed a special bond between my mother and her Grandma McGinnis that would endure for the rest of their lives.

Fast forward to a warm afternoon in late July, 1987, some 59 years later.  A month earlier - and only two weeks before what would be her last birthday - my mother had been diagnosed with Stage 4 lung cancer.  She and I were having lunch together in a small cafe near my office in Los Altos, California, having one of our memorable heart-to-heart mother-daughter talks.  It was a luminous day, and the midday sun reached through the wide window, its rays enveloping us reassuringly in their gentle warmth.

We were all too aware that our time together had become precious and short.  We talked about many things, one of them being husband's and my decision to finally have our first child.  We had delayed this for the first three years of our marriage, but my mother's illness had put things in a new light.  As we sat at our table, drinking Diet Cokes, I confessed to my mother the sadness I felt that she might never know her grandchild.

She said nothing for a moment and then took my hand in hers.  Looking me straight in the eye, she said, "Linda, not only will I know your children, but I'll go up to heaven and find them among the angels there.  I'll play with them, and then I'll send them down to you."

My husband and I now have three wonderful children, and to this day, I believe my mother did just that.

Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully

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

Born Going Up in the World

Joan Joyce (Schiavon) Huesca 
(1928 - 1987)

1928 was a year of prosperity, hope, and bravado.

It was the middle of the Prohibition era, and Calvin Coolidge was president of the United States.  The U.S., along with 14 other countries, signed the Kellogg-Briand Pact, also known as the Pact of Paris,  a treaty that condemned war between two countries and advocated peaceful resolution of international conflicts (though some of the signers would violate it over the next decade.)

A page from my mother's baby book, showing
her arrival on July 4, 1928, at 3:40 a.m. and
her address as 6042 Stoney Island Avenue,
Chicago, Illinios.

General Douglas MacArthur, president of the American Olympic Committee, unabashedly boasted of the team's goal to "represent the greatest country on earth" and "win decisively" before his athletes swept to victory at the 1928 Summer Olympic Games in Amsterdam. Walt Disney introduced the first cartoon with sound: Steamboat Willie, starring a cheerful little dancing mouse named Mickey who went on to become the most famous rodent in the world. Alexander Fleming discovered penicillin and in so doing modernized medicine and saved millions of lives.

A first class postage stamp cost two cents.  The Soviet Union exiled Leon Trotsky. Amelia Earhart became the first woman to fly an airplane successfully across the Atlantic Ocean.

To me, though, the most important event of 1928 did not make the headlines.  It was the birth of my mother, Joan Joyce Schiavon.

My grandmother, Alice Gaffney (McGinnis) Schiavon, had spent July 3rd trying desperately to cool off from the hot and humid weather.  With her husband Ralph Schiavon at work downtown, Alice took their four-year-old son, Tommy, to visit her mother, Mary Jane (Gaffney) McGinnis and maiden aunt Elizabeth "Lyle" Gaffney, at the old family home at 8336 Drexel Avenue.  The mercury that day hovered near 90 degrees Fahrenheit, but the humidity in the air made the air feel much hotter.  Alice, with a month to go before her second child was born, felt itchy, uncomfortable, and huge.

Playing cards under the shade tree with her mother, aunt, sister Benita (McGinnis) McCormick, and sister-in-law Edith (Hoag) McGinnis, Alice watched as Tommy played with his cousins, Jack, Phil, and Jane.  She must have been as grateful as the kids were when the ice cream man came down the street, ringing his little bell, and she probably wished her final month of pregnancy would melt away as quickly as the cool treat.

It had been a long year.  Alice's father, Thomas Eugene McGinnis, had died the year before.  As much as she missed her father, she knew her mother, who missed him even more, welcomed the distractions of her children and young grandchildren. The ice cream and the Prohibition beer Alice's intrepid brother Gene had brought offered the adults respite and refreshment.  

Afternoon faded into evening.  The kids would have practiced marching for a block parade, and the men would have joined their wives and families at Mary Jane's house after work and reminisced together over dinner about holidays past, laughing and telling silly stories.  The women would have adjusted the pins in their hair to keep the stray strands out of their faces as they did the dishes, and they would have delighted in any whisper of a breeze as their cotton dresses produced as they brushed lightly against each other in the airy kitchen, while the men would have checked the ice box to make sure it had enough ice to keep the meat, coleslaw, and potato salad cold for the next day's picnic.

The Schiavons returned home to their Hyde Park neighborhood late that evening, sharing the gossip of the afternoon and eagerly looking forward to the next day. If Alice was starting to feel a combination of giddiness and fatigue, she probably dismissed it as simply anticipation of the Independence Day festivities all of Chicago would celebrate the next day.

The weather, in typical Chicago fashion, had hovered near 90 degrees Fahrenheit that Tuesday, but overnight it abruptly turned into a driving rainstorm.  Perhaps the thunder and lightning were nature's way of ushering in Independence Day with the appropriate fanfare.

During the early hours of Wednesday, July 4th, Alice Schiavon went into labor.  Whether she didn't take the signs seriously at first, thought she had plenty of time, or was waiting for the storm to clear, we will never know. Finally, she called her brother John to take her to the hospital while Ralph stayed home with their son.  Kissing her husband and her sleeping son, she climbed awkwardly into John's large sedan.

John McGinnis was thrilled that his soon-to-be godchild would be born on the Fourth of July.  Resolving to give the new baby a proper welcome to the world, he decided against taking the 10 block direct path to Woodlawn Hospital and opted instead to drive a circuitous route through some of the lovelier winding lanes of the city.  Never mind that the poor visibility of darkness and pounding rain interfered with the view!  In typical McGinnis fashion, brother and sister belted out old Irish ditties and  cracked outlandish jokes, seemingly oblivious to why they were out and about at three o'clock in the morning in a heavy electrical storm.  They barely made it to the hospital.

Reality kicked in as John pulled up to the emergency entrance to Woodlawn.  By now, Alice was  breathless from her advanced labor.  It must have been a confusing and chaotic arrival as John and the nurses struggled to help the young mother out of the rain and into the hospital. Thankfully, Doctor Thomas Doyle, the family physician, was already there to greet them.

Alice had barely settled down from her wild ride when things began happening much faster than they had four years ago when Tom was born. As the situation escalated and the nurses realized they had to move quickly, they shooed John away, eased his 30-year-old sister onto a portable bed and wheeled her into an elevator.

Mothers know that when it comes to their offspring, things seldom go according to plan and even babies have minds of their own.  And so it went with Alice.  She never made it to the delivery room but delivered a healthy baby girl right there in the elevator. It was 3:40 in the morning when little Joan Joyce Schiavon made her dramatic entrance into the world and into the hearts of her family.

Years later, my mother would say she was born "going up in the world."

Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully


Did you know Ralph and Alice (McGinnis) Schiavon and their children Joan and Tom, or are you a member of the Gaffney, McGinnis, or Schiavon/Schiavone families?  If so, share your memories and comments below.

Amanuensis Monday: "This is the Wish of their Mother"

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

Inside cover of my mother's baby book,
as inscribed by her mother, Alice (McGinnis) Schiavon
ca. July 1928

Joan is the dearest sweetest little girl I ever knew, and I consider myself a very lucky woman to be blessed with such lovely children and she and Tom.  I know they will both always be the joy and comfort to me in my old age as they are now, and I only hope and pray I may live to see them both grown to manhood and womanhood.  May God bless them and always keep them as dear and sweet as they were when they were little.  I hope they will always stand for what is right, be good citizens and keep their religion and respect old age.  This is the wish of their mother. 

                                                                                          Alice McGinnis Schiavon

My mother, Joan Joyce Schiavon, made her grand entrance into the world on the Fourth of July in 1928, the second of two children born to Ralph and Alice Schiavon.  Alice kept a small clothbound baby book, in which she shared her hopes and dreams for my mother and her older brother, Ralph Thomas "Tom".  

Her prayerful wishes were granted. Tom and Joan grew up to be people of faith and integrity.  They had loving marriages and good children, looked out for others, and cared for their parents.  My grandmother Alice always considered herself blessed to live long enough to see her dreams fulfilled.  She was 67 years old when she died on New Year's Day, 1963, not quite a year after the birth of my youngest sister, the last of her eight grandchildren.

Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully

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

Sentimental Sunday: Not Just Another Name on a Family Tree

My Mother, Joan Joyce Schiavon (1928 - 1987)

Far from being "just another name on the family tree," my mother was the reason for my passion for our family history and traditions.  She came from a long line of storytellers and entertained us with her tales of not only her own family but my father's as well.  She loved history and literature and faith and believed it was important to understand all three in the context of one's own family if one was to appreciate his or her place in the world. 

A year and a half after she died of lung cancer on September 11, 1987, my bereft father decided to publish her unfinished autobiography.  His introduction, below, shows his devotion  to his wife of 33 years.  

In the preface that follows, my mother shares the passion she had for life, faith, and family, which endeared her to all she met. She also shares a universal hope: that she be remembered.  Though the preface is relatively short, it speaks volumes about the person she was and the mother I miss.

My parents, Gilbert and Joan Huesca,
at my sister's home, February 1981, Santa Clara, California

INTRODUCTION

          This is a copy of the original preface written by my darling wife, Mrs. Joan Huesca.  She typed it on June 24, 1987, two days after she learned she was terminally ill with cancer.

          She wanted to revise the original copy, but as much as she wanted to, she never again got the chance.  However, I know she could have affixed her signature on this preface.

          Her autobiography was her gift of her heart to her family, and her legacy to the world of the thoughts and high moral values of a true lady.

                                                                                        Gilbert Huesca

* * * * *

PREFACE

I hope that I will not be just another name on a family tree, hanging precariously on some obscure branch.  I am dedicating this autobiography to you, my dear family; my darlings who are here now, and my precious ones to come, who may be able to know me, while I am praying for you in heaven.   I want to share my life with you.  For I have truly lived for you.  To you, my future descendants, I was here, I lived, I felt, I thought, and yes, I acted.  And as happens to all of God's creatures, I left this earth to join our Lord, Mary, our Blessed Mother and all the Saints in heaven.

I have not been gifted with a literary talent, so dear reader, I do ask your indulgence with my poor attempts as memories or thoughts may not be written in a correct sequence of events, but will be written as they are recalled.  Ideas and life styles may change as you read this, but I beg of you to keep your standards and morals on the highest plane.

In the years of the 1980s, much is said about "woman's independence." Remember, my dears, that one cannot ever be independent of another.  To some extent, through our lives, we must lean one to the other. Therein lies our strength.  We must support one another.  My dependence has been on my dearest husband, Gilbert Huesca, the companion and love of my life, and our four precious, darling daughters.  For me, they have all been a very special blessing and gift from God.  My life and my being have been enriched with their love.  Through the experiences that I have lived throughout my life, I pray that you will build your lives about your family.  My prayers are that you, too, will find that same love and enrichment and that God's blessing will be with you throughout your lives.

                                                                                          Joan Huesca

Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully

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

My Wonderful Mother

Joan Joyce Schiavon (1928 - 1987)

My mother, Joan Joyce Schiavon
Age 26
Chicago, 1954

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully

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

Amanuensis Monday: A Grand Aunt

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

Benita Elizabeth McGinnis (1889 - 1984)

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

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

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

Benita McGinnis, age 3, 
Conneaut, Ohio, 1892

            

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully

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

1940s Radio Days

Welner "Bing" Tully - (1922 - 2007)

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

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

Amelia Tully, about 1940

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

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

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

Wooden sign crafted by Welner "Bing" Tully

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stay tuned.


Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully

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

Talented Tuesday: The Great Gene Sheebo

Francis Eugene McGinnis (1891 - 1961)


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


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

Francis Eugene McGinnis, aka
"Gene Sheebo"

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


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


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

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

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


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

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

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


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


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


Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully




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