A little red-haired boy was born in New Haven, Connecticut, in June of 1900. The turn of the century. His parents – Pat and Anna – were Irish immigrants. His father, a policeman. Little Frank Cassidy looked for ways to earn money and help out his parents. He sold lemons on street corners near his home on Lombard Street. He’d search for pieces of coal to bring home. One year, he found enough along the railroad tracks to heat their…
“Would you like to take this home? Mom kept it on her dresser.” It’s been more than a year since Dad showed me this souvenir: As I squinted to read the small print (the tiny dish measures four inches across), a familiar city name caught my eye. Pittsfield? “Her parents honeymooned there in 1929. They stayed at the Hotel Wendell. Mom was born nine months later.” And 32 years after Mom’s birth, our family moved to Pittsfield, Massachusetts. We lived…
As Valentine’s Day approached last year, Dad decided to bring back a tradition he and Mom started long ago: Mail giant chocolate hearts from Hawaii to loved ones back home. Their annual trips to The Big Island began when youngest son Bill was stationed there. My brother, the Marine: Mom and Dad liked their winter visits to Hawaii (with its depression-lifting sunshine) so much, they made it a habit. Even after Bill had long since returned to civilian life in…
Growing up, our family had a Christmas tradition of going around the dinner table and each naming our favorite gift. Not the gift of family, faith, talent, or brains. This was about what had awaited us under the tree that morning. A toy, a doll, a game. Looking back over the decades, I’d have to say my favorite unwrap-it gift involved multi-generational family members, plus talent. It was this painting: In short, this is a painting that Grandpa Vayo (Dad’s…
It’s National Hat Day, had you heard? Feels like a good excuse to pull together photos of family members and their fancy chapeaux from over the past 100 years. This first picture is of my great-grandfather Patrick Cassidy. He was a police officer, first in Belfast and then in New Haven, Connecticut. This photo is from around 1915. Here’s one of Patrick’s sons, Christy, looking snazzy: Another of Patrick’s four sons, Frank, was also a policeman. And my grandpa. Hopping…
I can just hear my Grandma Cassidy bursting forth with that staccato laugh of hers, and then chiding me for using the word “gospel” in the title of this post. But Grandma, it’s okay. I didn’t capitalize “gospel,” so I don’t need to go to confession over this. We’re good. My younger brother was crazy about Grandma, too. Six years younger than me, Bill had a few extra years living close to her once Mom and Dad moved back to…
“The Spirit of ’76.” That was the name of my high school graduation class. Yes, 1976 was a long time ago, but I remember it well. We all went a little nuts celebrating our nation’s bicentennial. By the end of 1976, the uber-patriotism fatigue was real. We were all more than a bit relieved when the calendar moved on to ’77. For two entire years, we gathered ’round “the tube” each night to catch that evening’s Bicentennial Minute. The pre-cursor…
Cameron and his great-grandfather have bonded deeply. Over Looney Tunes. During the eight years of Cameron’s life, there have been a few visits to Connecticut, some Facetime chats, and loads of phone calls. But Bugs was a game changer. In researching a bit, I’ve come to realize that Dad and Looney Tunes were born the same year (1930). It was, apparently, meant to be. Despite hours of viewing (Gary gets in on the act, too) and many discussions, it is…
Wreaths are a welcome part of our family’s Christmas decorations. Off the top of my head, I can count at least seven wreaths around our house, inside and out. Maybe more. I have a thing for wreaths. No doubt, I got it from Mom. Farmer Gary, however, is more than willing to take them down as we move into double digits during the twelve days of Christmas. Because, around here anyway, those wreaths make festive homes for birds. This afternoon,…
As odd as this year’s Christmas will be (given the pandemic), it’s not the first time history has gifted parents with holiday challenges. For example, wartime. I can only imagine how my grandparents went to extra effort to keep those Decembers jolly for their young children. In 1943, staples such as sugar, meat, and coffee could only be obtained via food ration books – and even then, only when the items were available. Even after the world war was over,…