Some Memories

by Marian Munson Pasquet

Anna Georgine Lee and Lawrence Josiah Munson were married on September 2, 1903. Their families had been friends for years, and Anna was one of Lawrence’s piano pupils. She was nineteen and he was twenty-five when they got married. In 1905, Lawrence went to Paris for a year to study with Alexander Guilmant (organ) and Moritz Moskowski (piano). They gave up their apartment at that time, and Anna went to live with her parents at 446-8th Street.


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When Dad returned, he joined Mother at the Lees, where they stayed until 1914 when Dada and Mormor sold the 8th Street house and built a lovely home at Hempstead Gardens on Long Island. Alexander (July 8, 1907), Marian (February 7, 1910), Henry (October 11, 1911), and Gertrude (Anna) (February 10, 1914) were born during the years at the eighth Street house, so our earliest memories are there. Amy helped Mother take care of us. She would take us to Prospect Park to see the sheep and play on the grass. Sometimes when we got home, she would fix a "party supper" for us at a small table upstairs. That may have been when the grown-ups were having guests, since I can also remember sitting in a high chair when the family was at dinner.

   Alex started School while we were at 8th Street, and I remember feeling very envious. In 1913, he and Henry were isolated with the measles. I felt put out because I couldn’t go into their room. One day, Mother said I could go in and stay with them. I had the measles, too! Some months later, I came down with scarlet fever. I remember being isolated on the top floor for a six week quarantine. Those brownstone houses on the Park Slope had a cellar, a ground floor (for the kitchen and dining room) and three more floors for the living rooms (parlors) and bedrooms. Christmas came and went during those six weeks, and Mother fixed a small Christmas tree in my room. She was the only one who could come in. My only request for a present was a pop gun that shot corks. I think the corks were attached to a string. I enjoyed it thoroughly. Toward the end of the six weeks, Mother scrubbed me with Sapolio to help get rid of the rash, so I could join the family again. When I finally got downstairs, I found a tricycle that Dada had given me for Christmas. I loved it, but I can remember being a little disappointed when my feet didn’t reach the pedals, but I grew into it, and we had many journeys up and down 8th Street.

   Gertrude Louise was born in February, 1914. She was the first of the Munson children to be born in a hospital. They allowed us to go and see Mother and the baby in the Norwegian Hospital (KMC: on 44th and 4th). The baby was in what looked like a clothes basket behind the door. As a teen-ager, Gertrude read "Anne of Green Gables," and decided she should be called "Anne Louise." We had to go along with it, because she wouldn’t answer us unless we did. As the second of five children, new babies were welcome and exciting additions to the family. Amy was partial to Henry. He was beautiful, with big blue eyes, and an abundance of curly hair. As we went on our outings with Henry in the carriage and me walking alongside, Henry attracted a good deal of attention. Years later, Aunt Helen (Mother’s sister) told me that I once asked, "Why don’t they say I’m pretty, I’m his sister?"

   When the Lees moved to Long Island, the Munsons moved to 9th Street (529). I had my fifth birthday there, and could start kindergarten. There were several long blocks to walk to get to P.S. 39, but I had Alex to escort me. Since he was two and a half years older, I was sure that he knew everything, and I believed him when he told me that at midnight my dolls came to life. I tried so hard to stay awake to see them, but I never could.

FiveOaks.jpg    Reminiscences must include Cragsmoor where we spent our summers from 1911 until we were grown up. It is a beautiful spot in the foothills of the Catskills. The mountains are called the Shuangunks. Through the influence of the Mumms who lived next door to us on 8th Street, we rented a cottage in Broadhead’s Grove the summer before Henry was born. The next summer they rented the lower cottage on the other side of the mountain, called "Five Oaks." It was a charming little house built on the side of the hill, with breathtaking views of the valley below. When Dad and Mormor came to visit, they loved it. It reminded Mormor of the mountains of Norway. There was another cottage up the hill, called the "Upper Cottage." When Dada heard that the cottages were for sale, he bought them, and had bathrooms installed. Before 1914, when Dada bought a Hudson touring car, we went to Cragsmoor by train to Spring Glen or Ellenville, where Georgie Wright would meet us with a horse and buggy. She was indispensable. She delivered milk to us from their farm until the law required pasteurization, and took an order for anything we needed. She would shop in Ellenville or Pine Bush, and deliver everything to us, first in her buggy, and later in her Model T Ford truck.

   There were two visits by the Norwegian Male Chorus. The first time, I was too young to know anything about their accommodations, but I remember that they wore white pants and blue coats and yachting caps. I can still hear them in my mind signing the Soldiers’ Chorus from "Faust." It was the first time I had ever heard it, and I have loved it ever since. Their next visit was some years later. Dada invited them and their families without first consulting Mormor. By that time, he had bought the Lee Vold Lodge, so I guess he figured that there would be plenty of room, but Mormor, Aunt Helen and Mother slaved for days making bread, cakes, pies, potato cakes, etc. to feed everyone, on kerosene and wood stoves! The Lee Vold Lodge was a summer hotel, formerly known as The Savoy House. It had been unused for a while when Dada bought it along with enough land to give him about 80 or 100 acres altogether. He had two nieces, Helen Lee and Mrs. Anna Larsen who were the daughters of the older brother who had befriended him when he was orphaned as a child. He arranged for them to run it as a summer hotel. We had many good meals there, and afternoon coffee on the big porch was a treat. We didn’t drink coffee, but we could share the goodies.

   Dada enjoyed driving his big car to Cragsmoor for weekends. He would arrive with a carful of people. He always brought lots of fruit, watermelons, honeydew, plum, and often presents for us grandchildren. Mormor (which is Norwegian for Mother’s mother) stayed at the upper cottage much of the time. Aunt Helen and Burton came sometimes, but Uncle Oscar didn’t care for it.

   Life at Five Oaks was delightful. Sometimes Mother and Dad would get us into the living room and teach us children’s songs, some of which I still remember, and also hymns like "Angel Voices Ever Singing", and "Thou Didst Leave Thy Throne". In the summer time, Dad (whom we called Papa until we grew older) had more time for practicing the piano. I enjoyed hearing him play. Whenever I hear those pieces now, I am reminded of those beautiful days in Cragsmoor. On Sunday evenings, people from the Lee Vold would come and fill up our living room and porch listening to Dad play. He seemed to play anything they asked for, but he made a specialty of improvising his own arrangements of Norwegian folk tunes. In the years before we had electricity, other evenings would find us sitting around the dining room table reading or playing games by the light of an oil lamp.

   Alex did a lot to make our summers memorable. He always put up a big swing, which we all enjoyed. Most of the time it was in the big oak tree for which the house was named, but once he put it in the woods and had to make a high platform to "take off" from. Sometimes we had friends like the Larsens staying at the upper cottage or the Lee Vold, and Alex would organize wonderful games like Ringalevio. That was played with two teams. One was the hunted and one was the hunter. In Cragsmoor we had huge boundary lines. When someone was caught, he was put into a base of some sort, but he could be freed by a member of his team running through and calling "Ringalevio". Some evenings, people came from the Lee Vold to play games and enjoy a bonfire, and roasted marshmallows and watermelon. We played "Jacob and Rachel" where two people were blindfolded, one with a bunch of keys, or something else that would jingle. Everyone else made a ring around them. If Rachel had the keys, she would shake them and then run in a different direction when Jacob said "Rachel, Rachel, where are you, Rachel?" It was amusing to see the near misses and collisions until one caught the other. Another game we liked was "Last Couple Out". Couples formed a line and the one who was IT called "Last couple out". The last two people would run around the line and try to catch each other before IT caught one of them The one not caught would then be IT.

   We were sometimes asked to show visitors the way to Bear Hill, a cliff overlooking our side of the mountain. It was a breeze for us, but grown-ups did a lot of huffing and puffing. When we got to the top, we thought it was fun to run ahead and jump down to ledges that we knew were there, terrifying our guests. When Alex was a teenager, he and his friends would shoot off fireworks from Bear Hill after dark on the fourth of July. It was beautiful.

   Before Lake Maratanza was made into a reservoir for Ellenville, we had some wonderful picnics there. There were four lakes on the ridge that starts with Sam’s Point: Maratanza, Awosting, Minnewaska, and Mohonk, all of them beautiful. When we went to Lake Maratanza, we would change into bathing suits in the shrubbery – blueberry bushes and scrub oak – and swim and enjoy rowboats. There is an Ice Cave up there, too, which we enjoyed climbing into. When we could no longer use Lake Maratanza, we had picnics at Shady Lake in the valley.

MunsonSchoolofMusic.jpgIn 1916, Dad bought a music school, known as "The Kellerman Institute of Musical Art", and changed the name to "The Munson School of Music". It was at 357 Ovington Avenue. We lived in the music school, and as it prospered, the only rooms without pianos, and not used for teaching were the kitchen, our parents’ room, and the girls’ room and the maid’s room. Henry’s room was a small room at the front end of the hall, and Alex’s room was the tower room in the front. They slept on day-beds. The bed rooms were all on the third floor. It was a wonderful house for hide and seek. On the second floor, there were three large studios with a short hall with cupboards on each side, between them. They all opened on to the main hall, where there were a front and a back staircase. Two of the studios had fireplaces with recesses above them for hiding. With four more rooms on the first floor, we had many good games. On Sunday afternoons, the Fedde boys often visited us, or Alex and Henry visited them, and I went along when I could. Dr. Fedde was our family doctor.




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   In 1917, Dada bought a Model T Ford which he later gave to Mother, although I don’t think she ever drove it. That meant that we could drive to Cragsmoor instead of taking the train, or riding with Dada in his Hudson. It was still quite an adventure. If we occasionally got up to 40 miles an hour, it was thrilling but scary. Every trip found us along the side of the road, with Dad fixing a tire. That meant vulcanizing the tube, so it was a real job. When Alexander was old enough to drive, he and I would go to Cragsmoor in the Model T with a lot of baggage, and the others would come later in the Studebaker touring car which we had by then. Sunday afternoons, we often took a drive around Shore Road and Fort Hamilton, or visited Aunt Helen in Flatbush.

   Lawrence arrived in 1920, and what a joy he was! I never noticed anything different about Mother, but one day I looked into her cedar chest and thought it was strange to see baby clothes there. A few days later, when I heard Dad excitedly talking on the phone to Dada on a dark January morning, I put two and two together. When he came into our room, saying he had some news, I asked if it was a new baby. Lawrence never seemed to need any discipline (the rest of us had our fair share), we all felt he could do no wrong. He gave Mother nine of the happiest years of her life. He enjoyed the Staten Island ferry, and I would sometimes take him to the ferry, and for a nickel each, we could cross the Narrows several times. The Narrows is the body of water between Upper and Lower New York Bay.

   Before we got too busy with homework, Mother used to call us in from play for a Mother’s Hour. She was often busy with the school, so she set aside an hour before dinner as a special time for us. I can remember making ornaments for the Christmas tree out of shiny colored paper. On Saturday nights we would have a Family Night, when we improvised entertainments of various kinds.

   The Ovington Avenue house had a large back yard, which was a gathering place for the children of the neighborhood. In the wintertime, Alex sometimes flooded it with the hose, making a satisfactory skating rink. Even living in the city, we had lots of fun. There were even some stables a few blocks away, and for Henry’s birthday one year, Henry and I went there for pony rides.

   A devout mother and father made God a very important part of our lives. I remember starting the day with "Devotions". Dad read a passage from the Bible and said a prayer, then we all said the Lord’s Prayer. As we left for school each morning, Mother gave us a Bible verse to repeat. Sundays were very special. We took the Fourth Avenue subway to Sunday School, which was at Trinity Lutheran Church at 46th Street and Fourth Avenue. We always stayed for church, and usually drove home to Ovington Avenue with Dada and Mormor. They drove in from Hempstead Gardens and stayed for dinner with us. When we were teen-agers, we went back to church Sunday nights and again on Wednesday nights, quite frequently. In addition, for each of us there was a year of Saturday afternoon Confirmation classes.

   I have fond memories of good conversations around our old round oak dining room table. We often had interesting guests, and I enjoyed listening to them talking to our parents. Sometimes Dad would use our time together at the dinner table to tell us the stories of books he was reading. That was my introduction to books like "The Last of the Mohicans" and "The Count of Monte Cristo". Mother told us lots of stories, too. They were usually original, and often had a lesson to teach. She told us stories at bed time, and would sit in the hall, so we could all hear.

   City life was much more simple then. I was sometimes sent down town on the subway to pick up some needed music from Chandler Ebel. The most memorable errand was taking a ‘cello downtown to a store that repaired instruments. I was only ten years old, and it took some ingenuity to get through the subway turnstile. Mother often took us shopping, and we noticed that she could say the magic words "charge it", and get things without handing out money. Henry and Anne Louise (whom we now call "Wiggles") went around the corner one day to a soda fountain on Third Avenue. They ordered ice cream cones, and as they reached for them, Henry said "Charge it". They were incensed when the man took back their cones. However we did get our share of treats. Dad often produced Life Savers or bags of salted peanuts from his overcoat pocket. He would also bring Mother her favorite candies which were chocolate covered cherries from Loft’s or Martha Washington creams. There were usually milk chocolates or molasses kisses at our Family Night gatherings.

   Recitals were a part of our lives. Programs were given at the school by pupils, teachers and visiting celebrities. The dining room table was pushed aside, and chairs were set up in the office and dining room. Alex and I were sometimes asked to set up the chairs. There was a button on the floor near Mother’s customary seat, which buzzed in the kitchen to call the maid when she was needed. I got the idea of putting the leg of one of the chairs on the buzzer button. I never heard what happened, and I never asked, but very soon the buzzer was removed. In June, we had the June Recitals – the climax of the season. For weeks, there were rehearsals of duets, trios, quartets, and sextets. In order to get as many pupils as possible on each of the three or four programs, there were many ensembles. When the weather got hot in early June, the windows were open, and the neighbors were bombarbed with sounds. As far as I know, they didn’t complain. I got a lot of practice accompanying violin pupils, and Alex was a most efficient stage hand.

   Besides music, the school also offered Elocution lessons. Anne Louise and I were enrolled, possibly to fill out the classes, and we did our share of reciting for guests and recitals. However, we didn’t always get our "pieces" learned on time. I once decided to skip the class, so I hid under Mother’s bed. The Elocution teacher, Miss Elsie K. Easton, was teaching in the Tower studio (Alex’s room) which was right next to Mother’s room. She came out in the hall and called me – but I stayed put. Then to my horror, she opened Mother’s door and called me again. I was terribly afraid that she was going to look under the bed, but luckily, she didn’t. Once she promised to buy an ice cream soda for everyone in Anne Louise’s class who learned her "piece". Louse didn’t learn hers but she went along to the soda fountain anyway, sure that Miss Easton would not leave her out. But she did!

           A Few More Recollections

 

I spent July, 1924 and July and August 1925 at camps in Maine. For camp and for gym classes in school, we wore navy blue pleated serge bloomers to our knees, and white middy blouses, although while I was still in high school, we started wearing shorts for basketball.

   While I was in my freshman year at Simmons College in Boston, I kept hoping that someone in the family would visit me there, but it was hard for them to get away. One day, between classes, some one told me that there was a note for me on the bulletin board from my mother! Some how we found each other, and she took me to lunch at the cafeteria. It was so good to see her. She had come up on the night boat to Boston, and had to go back to New York the same way that night. I had to cut our visit short because I was scheduled to play for my first rehearsal as accompanist of the Simmons Glee Club that same afternoon. I was so torn having to leave her! At that time there were several steamship companies, like the Eastern Steamship line, and the Fall River Line that sailed over night between Boston and New York. Going back and forth, I sometimes went by boat, and sometimes by train, also at night, in a Pullman berth. At the end of my somophore year, Alex Mother and Dad drove up to Boston to get me. I loved that.

I loved family reunions. As long as Mormor lived, they were at Hempstead Gardens. She left us in 1924, and then Uncle Henry entertained us about twice a year, for his birthday, May 10, and for Thanksgiving. He had a beautiful home in Bronxville, Westchester County, and Aunt Pansy served an elegant dinner, with about four waitresses, several courses – and finger bowls. When I think of family reunions, I remember the smell of the uncles’ cigar smoke, and the fun we had running around outside with Uncle Herman. I think he spent more time with us than with the grown ups, and we adored him. Aunt Helen was wonderful to us, too. She took us on outings to Luna Park at Coney Island, which sometimes meant riding in an open trolley car. At Christmas time, she took us to see the displays in the big stores, and sometimes gave Anne Louise (Wiggles) and me new dresses. She often spent afternoons at Ovington Avenue darning our stockings, to help Mother out.

Christmas was a high point of the year. For many years, we had family reunions at Hempstead Gardens on Christmas day, so we started having our own family celebrations on Christmas Eve. There was activity for weeks ahead of time. Alex sometimes made doll houses out of orange crates, Mother sat up late nights at the sewing machine making dolls’ clothes, Dad made his yearly trips to the doll hospital to renew our favorite dolls with new wigs, and repaired joints. The rest of us visited Woolworth’s with our savings. As soon as Lawrence was old enough he joined us. When he saw something he wanted to buy, he would say "How many nickels is that?". On Christmas Eve, we were supposed to take naps. That gave Mother and Dad, and later Alex, too, a chance to trim the tree and arrange the presents. When we finally got downstairs, Alex read the Christmas story from the gospel of Luke, and then we had our dinner. We followed the Norwegian custom of starting with a bowl of rice, served with a dab of butter, and sugar and cinnamon. One serving included an almond, which meant good luck for the coming year. The rest of the meal was the customary turkey with all that goes with it. When it came time to open the glass doors to the office, where the tree was, the excitement was at a fever pitch. Dad played Silent Night, and we sang as we went in, in order of age. For Wiggles and me, the beautifully dressed dolls were the main attraction. In the Norwegian tradition, the tree was placed so we could walk around it, singing Christmas carols. My earliest memories are of real candles fastened on the tree with clamps. It was much safer when electric lights were available.

   I didn’t mention the first World War, which was going on in Europe from 1914 to 1918. The United States became involved in 1916. We sang songs of the period in school, and saw many men in uniform. We entertained men from Fort Hamilton in our home. I didn’t know him then, but my future husband, Jean Pasquet was serving in the army as a sergeant in the field artillery. He was about to be sent overseas to Siberia, but had only reached New Orleans when the armistice was signed. We knew enough about what was going on to be afraid of Germans. I worried about German submarines coming into New York Harbor, and Wiggles looked under the bed every night to be sure no German soldiers were hiding there. The children in the neighborhood made trenches in snow and "played" war with snow balls.

   We were getting an education all through these years. From Ovington Avenue we went to Public School 102, and then to public high schools. In 1924, Dad started teaching music at a beautiful girls’ school on Shore Road, overlooking the Narrows (KMC: The school's name was "Font'Bonne Hall".. its' about 99th St. and Shore Road. Used to be a private estate donated etc.. very exclusive.. source: Walter Nelson) Then Wiggles and I had the good fortune to get scholarships to Shore Road Academy. Two dedicated teachers, Helen Redding and Theodora Goldsmith pooled their assets and started the school. It was a wonderful opportunity for us, with small classes and beautiful surroundings. It was there that I started organ lessons with Dad. College was next, and Alex went to Lehigh University and I went to Simmons College in Boston. During my first year in college, the family had a nightmare experience. Henry, Wiggles and Lawrence were diagnosed as having diphtheria. Because of all the coming and going at the school, they were sent to the King’s County Hospital for communicable diseases. Lawrence even had to spend his 8th birthday there. The nurses gave him a party and fussed over him, but it was still agonizing for us to have him there.

   That experience made Mother determined to have a home away from the school. She found a lovely house for us at 117 Meadbrook Road, in Garden City, Long Island. She and Dad moved while we were at Cragsmoor, so we returned in September to a lovely new house. Mother had only about ten months to enjoy it. On June 25, 1929, Mother and Dad were going to take the Long Island Railroad into the city to hand out diplomas at the graduation of P.S. 102, at the principal’s request. I was planning to take the same train into the city to look for a summer job. Henry was driving us to the station in our new Studebaker Dictator. Dad had left the car with the mechanic the day before to have the brakes adjusted. They returned the car and left what Dad thought was a bill, but which he learned later was a note saying the brakes were not fixed. There was a light rain falling, and the car skidded and turned over. Mother was thrown out and landed under the car. It was a terrible blow to the family. I thought we just couldn’t keep going without her, but of course we had to! (SPD: My grandmother sustained a injury on her lower left arm and had a large scar to remind her of that terrible day.)

   I transferred to Adelphi, which had just moved from Brooklyn to Garden City, and took over some young pupils that Mother had started. Later, Henry went to Rutgers, and Wiggles went to Pratt Institute for two years, and then to the National Academy of Design, where Charles Curran, who painted the beautiful landscape which is now in my living room, was a teacher. Dad gave the painting to Mother as a silver wedding anniversary present. She had always wanted a Charles Curran painting, and Dad thought the silver birches were appropriate. The silver wedding anniversary was September 2, 1928.

   Alexander married Bertha Geer in December, 1930. We were glad to have her in the family. More changes were coming. After a few years, Dad married Claire Tucker. No one could replace Mother, but he deserved the companionship of someone close to his own age. We gave up the Meadbrook Road house then, and Henry, Wiggles, Lawrence and I moved to an apartment, with Dad kindly paying the rent, while Dad and Claire lived in Brooklyn. After a while there were more changes. Henry moved to an apartment on East 72nd street, Manhattan, Wiggles married Charles Leake, and Lawrence went to Harvard. Then I moved to an apartment across the hall from Henry. (Wiggles and Charlie had three daughters, Anne Georgine (Geordie), Betsy and Susan).

   On August 22, 1938, I was at Five Oaks with Bert and her first three children. It was Lee’s seventh birthday, and I was making his birthday cake, when a car drove up. A man came on the porch asking for Dad, who happened to be in New York. He introduced himself as Jean Pasquet and said that he was interested in meeting Dad, who was the organist of the Old First Reformed Church of Brooklyn, because he had attended that church as a boy and had started his organ lessons there with Warren Hedden. This was his second trip to Cragsmoor, since he had been a member of a trio which had played dinner music at the Cragmoor Inn in 1913. He also played the organ at the Federated Church that summer. We must have seen each other, but he was seventeen, and I was three, so we didn’t notice each other.

   After a pleasant visit on the porch, he invited me to go to Sam’s Point with him. I refused because I still had the cake to finish. I met him again at an organists’ meeting in the spring. I was a little surprised to hear that he had been divorced for four years, and that he had a thirteen year old daughter, Mitzi (Jeanne), in New Orleans. It didn’t really matter, though, and we were married on June 29, 1939. We had a honeymoon at Five Oaks. George was born in 1941 – a precious baby. I had to teach afternoons and let a maid take care of him, which was quite painful, but I spent as much time as possible with him. He was baptized by Tallman Bookhout, a Presbyterian minister, at the Community Church of East Williston, where I was the organist. At ten months, he fell down the cellar stairs. He was frightened but not hurt, and was consoled with his first lollipop. (SPD: My father’s first memory was of this fall.) On December 7, 1941, George turned on the radio, and we got the awful news about Pearl Harbor.

   Our entry into the war resulted in Henry being called to active duty from the Reserves. He had been in the R.O.T.C. in Rutgers, so he went in as a Second Lieutenant. At the end of the war, he was a major, an aide to General Allen, who was on General Bradley’s staff. He met his future wife in Belgium. Monique was the daughter of a Belgian baron, who spent the war years in London with the Belgian government in exile. (Their children are Henry, Jr. (Happy), Anne, Nicholas, and Steven.) Lawrence was drafted just before his graduation from Harvard, but he received his degree "Magna Cum Laude" anyway. He went in to the Army Air Corps as a private, and came out as a major. He went though Harvard Law School on the G.I. Bill, and while he was there, he met and married Gretchen Thannhauser, whose father was a prominent German doctor, who had settled in Boston to get away from Hitler’s excesses. (Their children are Kitty and Shipley.)

   When George was fifteen months old, Henry was born. He was named for my two brothers, who were starting their involvement in World War II. We realized later, that while Henry Lawrence was being born, Lawrence was going past the hospital in a trainload of inductees, heading for basic training on a base at the eastern end of Long Island. Henry was a good natured little darling. He soon outgrew the bassinet, so George had to give up his crib for Henry, and move to a twin sized bed made by Jean, which had a railing to keep him from falling out of bed. Henry was also baptized at the Community Church of East Williston by Rev. Bookhout. When they were toddlers, Jean made them a small table and two small chairs, where they had their meals until they could sit at the dining room table in chairs high enough for them to reach their food comfortably.

   Children could go to the nursery at church when they were three years old. The first few times I left George there, so I could play the service, he cried bitterly. When he was a little older, I asked him why he cried, and he said, "I thought you were going away, and never coming back". When Henry was three, and I brought him to the nursery, he cried so much that I decided to keep him in church with me. He sat on a little chair by the organ, but it was an ordeal for both of us. In time, they both enjoyed the nursery.

   Before they started school, we could do things together mornings. They loved seeing the trains of the Long Island Railroad, especially when the engineers waved. Sometimes we visited Dad at Ovington Avenue, or Aunt Helen in Flatbush, or Aunt Nina Pasquet in Greenwich Village. By that time, Wiggles and Charlie were in New Jersey and we went there, too. Shopping was a little hectic. They would get bored and chase each other around the store. George started kindergarten a year before Henry and seemed to enjoy it. He would tell me about his day. When Henry started, he was not enthusiastic. When he got home, I would eagerly say, "What did you do today?", and once in exasperation he said, "Did your mother always ask you what you did?" Later, I asked why he hadn’t liked kindergarten, and he said "I don’t like to be bossed". He would get absorbed in some activity, like the sand box, and didn’t like having to stop to do something else.

   When George was in first grade, he was Joseph in a darling Nativity play in school. In my mind, I can still see him walking slowly down the aisle in his bathrobe, with "Mary". I had worn my best velvet hat, with a little veil, for the occasion, but he told me afterwards that he thought I wasn’t there because he had looked for my everyday hat, which had a feather on it. He was fortunate to have Mrs. Elliott. She was an excellent teacher, and gave him a good start. When Henry got to first grade, he had Mrs. Fury, who was a nice person, but not a very good teacher.

   Sunday afternoons, we enjoyed visiting the Tally-Ho Pony Farm. The owner understood children, and in addition to the ponies, on which the boys had riding lessons, he had old fire engines, small trains, and things the children liked to climb around. One day we brought them when Henry had a broken collar bone. Jean happened to look up at one of the barns, and was horrified to see Henry climbing around much too high for our peace of mind. He obediently came down without any trouble in spite of the broken collar bone.

   In June, 1952, shortly before the end of the school year, George’s leg was broken. A car hit him as he was riding his bicycle to the store, with a nickel, to buy a Milky Way. It was a hot day, and he was lying on a hot pavement which bothered him more than the leg. An orthopedic surgeon stopped and straightened out his leg before the ambulance arrived. It was an uncomfortable summer for him. I was afraid to take him to the beach for fear of getting sand in his cast. Henry suffered, too, because he didn’t want to go without him. That was George’s worst experience in Garden City, although it was amazing to see what he could do on crutches. Henry’s hardest time came in 1948 when he had his tonsils out. At that time, they did not allow mothers to stay, and it was agonizing to leave him. He walked off so trustingly with the nurse.

   In 1952, we began to think about leaving Long Island for more rural surroundings. My father had died in 1950. I don’t think we would have left if he had still been in Brooklyn. We moved to an old farmhouse with no conveniences in October, 1952. The first things we got were two stoves in the kitchen, an electric one for cooking, and a coal stove for heat. It took about six months to get a workable kitchen and bathroom, electric heating panels in some rooms, and to start the necessary plastering, papering and painting. There were 225 acres which seemed enormous after our corner lot in Garden City. George and Henry learned to milk cows, take care of chickens, ducks and guineas, and did some horse back riding. They helped the neighbors when they made hay, and learned useful things about running a farm.

   We stayed on the farm for eleven years. During that time, the boys finished eighth grade at Middletown school, went to James Wood for two years, and then to Randolph Macon Academy for two years. After that, George went to the Air Force Academy, and Henry went to V.P.I. where he was active in the R.O.T.C. They both graduated as Second Lieutenants in the Air Force. In 1963, we heard that Route 81 was going to cut off our access to Route 11. Since Jean and I had to go into Winchester regularly for church work and teaching, we decided to move. We found a house we liked at 714 South Steward Street.

   George married Virginia Fisher on August 3, 1963. We moved to Winchester just in time to have their rehearsal diner in our new house. They have two charming daughters, Susan Earle, and Anne Elizabeth. Susan was born during their first tour of duty in the Philippines. George was flying in and out of Viet Nam, but was able to be home when she was born. Anne was born while they were stationed at Fayetteville, North Carolina for the first time. (SPD: Grandmama waited with me while Dad went to get Mom and Anne, and she told how I entertained the other waiting people by dragging my balloon around and asking about the people in potty chairs, which were actually wheel chairs.) Henry married Wanda Rigby in Abilene, Texas, on October 4, 1968. Jean and I flew there for the wedding. Henry just barely got back in time from a TDY assignment. They have two wonderful sons, Henry Lawrence Jr. (Hank), and John Arthur. Hank was born while they were stationed in Taiwan. Henry was flying in and out of Viet Nam, too, but was able to be home on the day in 1969, when Hank was born. John came in 1971, while they were at Hanscom Field, in Massachusetts. Jean and I were very fortunate to have exceptionally fine sons who married exceptionally lovely wives. Needless to say, the grandchildren are exceptional, too, and a great source of comfort and satisfaction.

   On September 29, 1976, Jean suffered a severe stroke, and after some miserable months in hospitals, died on January 24, 1977. He is greatly missed, but I feel that he lives on in his sons and his grandchildren, and in his music, which is still widely used. I am glad that he had the satisfaction of success in his work, and the joy of knowing his grandchildren.

   This excursion into the past has only touched the highlights, and it may still be too long to read. It has been interesting to me to look back. I find I have two regrets. I am sorry for any impatient or thoughtless words through the years to people I love, and I regret being deprived of so many hours with my dear sons while they were growing up, in order to augment the family income. The only comfort that I get from it now, is that I can be independent as I grow older, and even help them out a little.

birth dates have been removed for privacy reasons
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Copyright © 2001 Susan P. Das, used by permission