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The honeymoon letter

The honeymoon letter

There was never any question about Joseph Malachy Regan: He was the family patriarch. One glance at this photo says it all: The newly married couple is Cecelia Margaret Regan Cassidy and Francis Raymond Cassidy, my maternal grandparents. The setting is New Haven, Connecticut, on June 24, 1929. And who is that white-haired gentleman sitting between the newlyweds? That’s Grandma’s beloved father, Joe Regan, called “Pop” by his descendants. I guess the seating plan makes sense, as Grandma’s attendants (Grandpa’s…

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The West Virginia Hillbilly

The West Virginia Hillbilly

Thank you for your concern about my getting a new heart. I really am eager for them to call me up and tell me to get to the hospital right away. At the same time I am full of fear and anxiety. It is a hell of a way to live for an extended period of time. I find that the best way is to get busy reading, going to movies, or even coming down here to the fisheries and…

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A Tuesday wedding in 1852

A Tuesday wedding in 1852

Now that I’m buckling down and finally watching the tutorial videos Ancestry.com provides, I’ve learned the fancy genealogical terms “brick wall” and “breakthrough.” And so, with a bit of a blush and definite tongue-in-cheek, I must proclaim: We’ve scaled the brick wall and experienced a breakthrough! Let’s go back a week, when the luck of the Irish arrived via an email. It was Adrian (who, it turns out, is my third cousin), who had wandered across this blog post from…

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Den of recovery

Den of recovery

“We’ll give you a call tomorrow as soon as the doctor is done fixing Mom’s plumbing.” Oh, Dad. He hid his nervousness about the surgery with goofy humor. Mom came through the operation and recovery with flying colors and never regretted taking the step. She wrote this during her wintertime recovery in early 1982: The Long Christmas Early February: I am home from the hospital – it is heaven! Days, I camp in the den with many quilts and pillows…

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The matchmaker

The matchmaker

February 10, 1981: It was a dark and stormy night. George Stuteville and I were seated at the Press Table, half bored out of our skulls. He was the newspaper reporter; I was with the local radio station. We’d each been tasked with covering the regular school board meeting in Tell City, Indiana. There was nothing exciting on the agenda, just paying bills, accepting resignations, negotiating teacher contracts. As the meeting wound to a close, I whispered: “Hey George, are…

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The invitation

The invitation

“What do you think this is? A candy dish or an ashtray?” My younger brother was looking at a small copper tray that was among mementos our late mom had tucked away long ago. Measuring not quite 4.5 inches by 5.5 inches, it was certainly intriguing. When held at a certain angle, Dad noticed, it looked like there was etching on the surface. Words, certainly, in a delicate font. He slipped it into my hands, “Take it home. You’ll figure…

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The tuberculosis house

The tuberculosis house

Farmer Gary’s grandfather on his dad’s side was George Werne. A good name. The name George means “farmer.” The farmland we live on now – and on which Gary continues to grow crops – was once farmed by George. He bought the “home place,” which was 40 acres, from his parents and later added the “back 40,” where Gary and I built our home and raised our family. George added to the property over the years, bringing the total to…

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The tree

The tree

Growing up on Chatham Street in New Haven, Connecticut, Mom loved her “little room.” Nowadays, we might call it a walk-in closet. Back in the 1940s, it was a room with a window and a desk. For writing, for studying, for dreaming. Even more special was the view. The window looked out into the front yard, where there was a spruce tree. And as Mom grew up, so did that tree. A year ago, I asked Dad if Mom had…

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The missing year

The missing year

Did you see the news story the other day involving the sudden wedding of two members of the Ukrainian Defense Forces? Lesya Ivashchenko and Valeriy Filimonov weren’t planning to hold their ceremony during war time, but decided to make their vows on Sunday at a checkpoint on the outskirts of Kyiv. This year would have been my parents’ 70th anniversary. They were married in New Haven on a Tuesday, while Dad was on leave from the Army. Dad had a…

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The Maine man

The Maine man

“Are you saying my grandfather was an arsonist?” No, Dad, I can’t image that’s the case. But this Boston Herald article from 1896 sure seems to stir the pot … “Oh, boy! Ever since I was I kid, I’d hoped there was a criminal somewhere in our family tree! Not a murderer, of course. But maybe a stage-coach robber.” Gosh, you think you know somebody. I’d purposely held off telling Dad about the article in the Boston Herald‘s archives that…

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