For weeks now, I’ve had a hunch that there was at least one more letter from Granda Willie to Grandma Cassidy in the great stacks of letters that still await me in boxes and baskets. Sure enough, Grandma‘s distinctive penmanship caught my eye. She had tucked several letters into an envelope and then written a “Keep This!” command to the future on the envelope itself. The envelope contained one letter from her father, one from her mother, and one-and-a-half letters…
I’m not sure any one piece of paper ever made me as sad as this. It’s the receipt from my Uncle Robert’s grave: The receipt’s date is June 3, 1929. The amount of $2.00 would cover the care of the infant’s grave. Another $10 was paid the next day to Edward McCarthy, who dug the tiny grave. If that’s not sad enough, there was a note from one of Dad’s sisters in his wooden keepsake box. It explained that Grandpa…
This is the story of Thomas Edward Regan. Sadly, I don’t know much about him, but I’ll share everything I’ve been able to piece together. We’ll start at the beginning: Thomas Edward Regan was born in New Haven, Connecticut, on June 27, 1946. He was his parents’ only child. He was born two months and a day after his namesake and grandfather died. Thomas Edward Regan was only 44 and had suffered from tuberculosis for years. Sadly, the grandson wasn’t…
“Oh Mom, he looks like you! Your great-grandson has your smile.” I couldn’t wait to tell Mom that baby Cameron had the same sweet smile as the one in her baby picture. I knew that portrait well. It hung in her parents’ living room for decades. It now hung in Mom and Dad’s bedroom. Today, I came across this poem Mom wrote in 1996. She was just a year younger than I am now. ‘The Good Child’ She is the…
While fluffing out Dad‘s side of the family tree this week, I came across an interesting fellow by the name of Harry Melbourn Nightingale. He was born in New Brunswick, Canada, on August 21, 1883. One of 11 children to Enoch and Martha. The family immigrated to Maine in 1890 and settled in Aroostook County. Harry went to school, grew up, labored sometimes as a farmer and sometimes “in the woods.” He worked at several shoe shops and the Turner…
“Bunny, I wish you were my godmother.” I’ll never forget the look on Bunny’s face. We were standing at the bottom of the stairs in my parents’ home. It must have been around Christmas and I was home from college. Indiana to Connecticut didn’t happen too often; it was good to be around family. My Mom’s younger sister’s face brightened into a beautiful smile. She told me she’d have been glad to be my godmother. (For some reason, my parents…
Her first crossing of the Atlantic was in 1905. At that time, the RMS (Royal Mail Ship) Caronia was the largest ship in the Cunard Line fleet. Caronia’s maiden voyage departed Liverpool on February 25th of that year, destined for New York. On April 14th seven years later, Caronia transmitted the first ice warning to the Titanic, reporting “bergs, growlers and field ice.” It was more than a decade later that Irishman William John Kelly stepped onboard Caronia. Willie was…
“Did I ever tell you I’m a Colonel?” Jerry’s baritone voice boomed out the question to his unknowing victims. After maybe the third time he asked me that question, I knew to reply: Of course! You’re Colonel Sanders! Jerry’s face would break out in a huge smile and he’d move on to another topic. Probably some obscure – but fascinating – fact about Abraham Lincoln. It was the truth, the colonel thing. Jerry was named a Kentucky Colonel decades ago…
Farmer Gary‘s great-grandmothers just can’t catch a break when it comes to obituaries. First it was Mary Wigger (she of the snuffly expiration) and now it’s Mary Werne’s turn. Excuse me, but did the local paper hire Dr. Seuss to write this headline? Mary Elisabeth Hedinger Werne passed away in her sleep on July 10, 1938. And according to the newspaper, it was a “gruesome sight” to confront. According to hand-typed notes Gary’s uncle Arch left us, although Mary was…
As I sat down to write this story, it seemed fitting to tune in to one of the Irish music channels on my satellite-radio app. The first song? Molly Malone. That was one of Dad‘s favorites. When I’d gingerly play it on the piano as a kid, he’d burst in from wherever he was in the house or yard, singing: In Dublin’s fair city … Pardon me while I wipe my eyes. What have we here? Another letter to Grandma…