a happy wanderer

I was about eight years old at the time. Faith Community Church in Roslyn, PA had an old building behind its parking lot and that was my school. I attended a small Christian school and when I was in third grade, the school was moved to this facility. The attendance was small and probably half of the children and administration went to my church.

It happened that after school one day, Bonnie Black and I were waiting for my mother to pick us up. We waited and we waited and we waited.

Pretty soon we were waiting all alone.

Yep! Everyone left us. No one noticed we were still there. This was the 1950’s – pre-cellphones, pre-email, pre-stranger danger, etc.

Bonnie and I weren’t scared, just bored. So we decided to walk.

Actually it was my idea. I know, in the back of my mind,  my mother wanted me to wait, but it just seemed like a better idea at that moment.

I knew my mother was coming from my church a little over two miles away in Willow Grove and it was on the same main road as my school. I thought we’d walk and watch for her and then jump up and down so as to flag her down so she’d see us and pick us up.

Remember I was eight years old.

We headed out. It was a busy street and fortunately we didn’t need to cross the road until we got to my church. That’s right! We never saw my mother. We never had the opportunity to jump up and down so as to flag her down so she’d see us and pick us up. I was so sure, SO SURE it was a great plan!

After waiting for the light to change before crossing, we arrived at my church. No one was there!

So I decided we should go next door to my Pastor’s home. It was a big beautiful old home with a gorgeous back yard filled with amazing gardens. In the summer, Sunday evenings, we’d hold church in this backyard. Our organist would bring out a little portable organ and pump away as we sat on folding chairs singing hymns. I cannot imagine how many church weddings were held in those beautiful gardens.

Bonnie and I were pretty tired by this time but we had to find my mom! A touch of panic was beginning to set in. I rang the doorbell and, to my dismay, there was no answer. We went around back and climbed the deck stairs. There, thank goodness, was the Pastor’s son, an adult himself, painting the deck. He was quite surprised to see us and I was really relieved to see him. I didn’t have a third option!

Immediately he went inside and called his mom. Actually my Pastor showed up. I was a bit afraid by this time. I mean I was eight years old and my Pastor seemed like GOD to me, up behind that huge pulpit every Sunday, with the occasional pounding on that very pulpit to make his sacred point. He looked different though without his black suit and white shirt and tie on. I didn’t remember ever seeing him this way – in casual attire. It never occurred to me that he even owned casual attire! I had the feeling, judging by the frown on my Pastor’s face, that I was in a heap of trouble!

I played the sympathy card: my mom was lost, after all. But it didn’t fly so Bonnie and I were told to sit and wait while the Pastor drove back to my school.

And there was my mother, no doubt a wreck! She had arrived late, stuck in traffic and didn’t know what to do when she got there and we were not there! For a while mother waited and was contemplating driving to the police station when my Pastor showed up.

She drove back and picked us up. I was happy/relieved to see her, yet at the same time, fearing what was to come.

I don’t remember the punishment but, knowing my mother, I was probably grounded for a very, very, very long time.

Today, had that happened . . . a whole lot of folks would be in trouble and lawsuits would have ensued and jobs would have been lost, not to mention what could have transpired with Bonnie and me!Adventure

Back then – in the 1950’s – I had no fear, only a sense of adventure.

It’s a different world today. It’s a shame. But I hope we, along with our children and our grandchildren never lose our sense of adventure.

. . . but always, ALWAYS listen to your mother! 🙂




Grandpop was an Immigrant!

grandpopMy paternal grandfather was an immigrant.

I have a young friend who “follows” my blog and he lives in Ireland. This has had me thinking a lot lately about my grandfather.

I looked it up. My fellow blogger lives in southwest Ireland and my grandfather was from the north.

Grandpop was born in Ireland, in a small town called Ahoghill, which sits in The Borough of Ballymena, in Northern Ireland. He accompanied his parents to the United States as an infant, thereby making me a second-generation American on my father’s side!

In 1889, John and Elizabeth (my great-grandparents) left Northern Ireland aboard theGrandpop's ship ship Furnessia which docked in the port at New York City, a two-three week voyage. This was three years before Ellis Island was transformed into the major immigration station. They no doubt were processed at Castle Garden Depot in lower Manhattan. John and Elizabeth arrived with five children, ages ranging from ten years old down to 9 months old. Grandpop was the 9 month old.

For more than 50 years in Ireland there had been famines in the land.  More than a million people died of starvation and just as many immigrated to other countries. The Irish government subsidized their people in order to encourage them to leave and save themselves. The subsidy was a good thing because at the United States immigration stations, some folks were sent away and back to their country of origin if they could not prove they had adequate funds to support themselves and their families. My great-grandparents took the government up on their offer at the tail end of the blight.

Fun fact: Grandpop was named (first and middle names) after the minister who baptized him in the Presbyterian Church in Ireland, the same minister who married my great-grandparents. 

Grandpop’s family settled in the coal mining regions of Pennsylvania with many of their kinsman.  It’s interesting and kind of sad that they settled in the coal mining region as back in their country, Grandpop’s grandparents were farmers and his own father was a carpenter. Nevertheless, it was where they and many of their countrymen took up residence and made their home.

Eventually two more children were added to the mix.

The story is told of Grandpop having a bit of a skirmish in the 8th grade. Apparently he had an altercation with a teacher, therefore deciding (to himself) never to go back to school. He went to the coal mines and secured a job, something his father never wanted any of his kids to do. So while the parents thought he was attending school each day, he was working in the mines. Eventually the school contacted the family, and Grandpop was found out. Somehow, I imagine heated arguments ensued, he kept his job at the mines and never went back to school. (I have more character traits of his than I realized! 🙂 )

At some point, I believe in the late teen years, Grandpop and one of his brothers decided they would not live in the coal-mining region for the rest of their lives. They had the “world” to conquer. They left family behind and made their way to Philadelphia where they each met and married their wives, had children and settled down.

I remember Grammy and Grandpop living in a row home in Philadelphia. I loved to go there. It was inviting and friendly and fun. Grandpop was fun. (In my eyes anyway) Apparently even as a young child he was a handful. It was told that he was playing with fireworks (forbidden) and they exploded. He lost two digits on his hands. One is his thumb digit. As an adult, he always, always, smoked a pipe and he used that thumb, or what was left of it, to press down the tobacco in the pipe. I always though it was very clever of him as that digit was just the right size! 🙂 (Oh yea, I definitely am related! 🙂 )

When Grandpop settled in Philadelphia, he secured a job with Abbott’s Dairy. He worked there until he retired. He barely made enough to support the family (by now with three children) but it was a fun place to work so he kept at it. My dad (the oldest child and only son) tells of having to work at a very young age selling eggs, just to help make ends meet.

Grandpop was very creative and handy. He made his very own made-to-look-like Lincoln lincoln logsLogs and (I believe) crafted little cowboys and Indians, possibly made out of lead as they are heavy. He would be amazed and proud that even today, his great-great grand kids are still playing with the logs! (The little figures are put away as no doubt they are covered in lead paint!) Grandpop’s job at Abbott’s Dairy was as a mechanic and he put his skills to good use. Lack of formal education never seemed to hold him back.Grandpop's cowboy and indians

The following comes from The Philly History Blog: ” Abbott’s Dairy shut down in 1984, after 108 years. It is too bad. It sounds like it was a fun company. In 1937 they put out a book calledRaggedy Ann and Maizie Moocow, with an ice cream driven plot (meant to illustrate the healthful benefits of ice cream). It’s dairy truck drivers are remembered to have been known to throw kids free ice cream sandwiches. . .”

Yep, sounds like a good fit for Grandpop!

Their street of row homes was a delight. Each connected with the other and if you sat on the tiny front porch and looked in both directions, you could wave to your neighbors probably ten houses each way. There was an alley in back where all the cars drove in and garages were under each home. Overlooking the alley, in between each home, was a tiny porch off the kitchen attached to the neighbors kitchen door. (the expression “back-door neighbors” comes to mind!) The porch was big enough for Grammy to stand on and yell down to us kids as we played in the alley to “put away our skates and come in for supper.”

At one end of the street was a little shop of some kind where one could buy the necessities – milk, bread, eggs, etc. At the other end, we could always count on a street vendor selling hot pretzels! Philadelphia Hot Pretzels! YUM! I know the tradition was to eat with yellow mustard, but I was a holdout on the mustard. Just give me that big, soft, salty pretzel and I was good! Actually better than good!

Sometimes, if we were lucky, a little truck would come down the street playing a merry tune to get our attention. It was decked out in all pretty colors and on the back was a little tiny carousel with maybe four seats. I loved that thing and always begged Grammy for a ride. Money was so precious but she never said no.

Grandpop had a dog named Suzy.  That dog loved Grandpop and the feeling was quite mutual. Suzy knew Grandpop’s schedule and was at the ready when it was come-home-from-work time. Sweet little dog!

At one point in his career, Abbott’s Dairy sent Grandpop with a to Florida to give input on designing an ice cream shop for an extension of the company. Well, he had never been south of New Jersey before and fell in love with Florida! When he retired, he decided he and Grammy would move there.  She was heartbroken because their whole family was in the Philadelphia area – her two daughters (my aunts) with their husbands and children, along with my dad (their son) and our family. But Grandpop had made up his mind and off they went. I was in second grade.

Obviously we ourselves headed south a lot, at all times of the year, to visit. But Grammy only lived three years in Florida before her death.

Grandpop’s health and mind suffered in later years but he was surrounded by his family as he eventually moved back “home”.

The memories are sweet and I will always remember his “fun” influence in my life.

Another fun fact: my dad and his cousin (both sons of the two brothers who left the coal-mining regions) each bought houses across the street from one another in Willow Grove. Dad’s cousin moved out of state when I was two years old so I did not remember them but years later, my second (or is it third) cousin (our mothers were pregnant at the same time) was doing family research and tracked us down. I thank Janice for her research going all the way back to our roots in Ireland, which I’ve used here and for her new friendship. It’s really kind of amazing because she lives in South Carolina; our grandparents are buried in Pennsylvania; I live in Missouri!

I have fond vivid pictures of life in that row home in Philadelphia and my Grammy and Grandpop. I sure wish I had asked a lot of questions about them! But I was just a kid!!!

I’ll just have to hang on to my memories!