On October 28th, the Lady will celebrate her 123 dedication anniversary as a gift from the people of France. The Lady is the Statue of Liberty, located in New York City's Upper Bay. She has been viewed by up to 12 million immigrants, including my Irish mother, as they debarked onto Ellis Island, gateway to the new world.
Mother traveled from Ireland at the age of 18 to join her two preceding sisters. Two events of that trip remained etched in her memory. Number one was her view of the Lady that made her realize that, indeed, she was entering a new world and a new life.
Number two, was a marriage proposal! A young Englishman who claimed "love at first sight," promised that he would give her a cottage in the country with a white picket fence covered with red "roseses." Mother would have none of that, proclaiming first of all that she was not in love with him, and secondly, she couldn't possibly consider such a thing without the consent of her two sisters. The crestfallen suitor disappeared, never to resurface.
As a member of the Ellis Island Association, I had my mother's name etched into a memorial stone. So, dear reader, if you chance to visit Ellis Island, look for Agnes Jane Fisher's name and give her a pat for me.
More, later.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
MY UNCLE ED
Uncle Ed was short, but stocky in build. He had the world's warmest smile and I loved him for it.
Two of my dad's sisters married men of Italian descent and lived happily thereafter. The Italian/Irish blend must be a good mixture. Both of these families had large numbers of children which made for entertaining visits. With a large number of mouths to feed, Uncle Ed was a busy man. He was a craftsman carpenter who could build a house (he built two of them), or design an intricate wood carving. He built some bookcases for me.
Even with his busyness, he and Aunt Kate always welcomed visitors. After a welcoming drink of anisette (ugh!), we would sit down to a baked chicken and spaghetti dinner, with chickens freshly killed by Uncle. I believe my love for spaghetti started in that kitchen.
After Aunt Kate's death, Uncle Ed moved to Florida to be near a sister and we lost touch for a while. One day I got a call from a cousin saying that Uncle Ed was back in town, but quite ill. I hurried to see him, got that same warm smile and spent several hours reminiscing. As I kissed him goodbye on the cheek, I somehow felt that it would by my last time with him. He died within days of that visit.
Thanks, Uncle Ed, for those memories.
More, later.
Two of my dad's sisters married men of Italian descent and lived happily thereafter. The Italian/Irish blend must be a good mixture. Both of these families had large numbers of children which made for entertaining visits. With a large number of mouths to feed, Uncle Ed was a busy man. He was a craftsman carpenter who could build a house (he built two of them), or design an intricate wood carving. He built some bookcases for me.
Even with his busyness, he and Aunt Kate always welcomed visitors. After a welcoming drink of anisette (ugh!), we would sit down to a baked chicken and spaghetti dinner, with chickens freshly killed by Uncle. I believe my love for spaghetti started in that kitchen.
After Aunt Kate's death, Uncle Ed moved to Florida to be near a sister and we lost touch for a while. One day I got a call from a cousin saying that Uncle Ed was back in town, but quite ill. I hurried to see him, got that same warm smile and spent several hours reminiscing. As I kissed him goodbye on the cheek, I somehow felt that it would by my last time with him. He died within days of that visit.
Thanks, Uncle Ed, for those memories.
More, later.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
MICKEY - MINNIE - PLUTO
Take your pick of these favorite cartoon characters from the Walt Disney Company, a company that began as Disney Brothers Cartoon Studio on October 16, 1923. The Disney Company has become one of the world's largest media and entertainment companies built upon Mickey and Minnie Mouse and other cartoon characters and eleven theme parks around the world, begun at Disneyland (Calif.), in 1955.
As a youngster, entertainment outside of my home was limited to summer activities. Our primary pleasure was the New Jersey seashore. Occasionally, my mother would pack enough food for the day and we would ride the Atlantic City express train ($1.00 per person, round trip) to the beach, returning late in the day with sunburn, itchy skin and sandy pants.
Our home entertainment was Clementon Lake Park, where we could enjoy a day of swimming. My greatest pleasure was jumping off of a tri-level diving platform. On one occasion my dad decided that "if the kids could do it, he could do it." Diving from the top level, he changed his mind halfway down and landed on his belly with a huge SPLAT - a sound that could be heard around the lake. My embarrassed father, his face as red as the skin on his body, never tried that again.
So, you see, dear readers, while we didn't have the entertainment extravaganses that you have today, we did, with limited funds, make the best of what we could afford, thanks to loving parents who helped us enjoy our world.
More, later.
As a youngster, entertainment outside of my home was limited to summer activities. Our primary pleasure was the New Jersey seashore. Occasionally, my mother would pack enough food for the day and we would ride the Atlantic City express train ($1.00 per person, round trip) to the beach, returning late in the day with sunburn, itchy skin and sandy pants.
Our home entertainment was Clementon Lake Park, where we could enjoy a day of swimming. My greatest pleasure was jumping off of a tri-level diving platform. On one occasion my dad decided that "if the kids could do it, he could do it." Diving from the top level, he changed his mind halfway down and landed on his belly with a huge SPLAT - a sound that could be heard around the lake. My embarrassed father, his face as red as the skin on his body, never tried that again.
So, you see, dear readers, while we didn't have the entertainment extravaganses that you have today, we did, with limited funds, make the best of what we could afford, thanks to loving parents who helped us enjoy our world.
More, later.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
SOMETHING IS BURNING
When I obtained my New Jersey driver's license at the age of 16, the family Ford became an integral part of my life and I soon had the opportunity to prove it.
My mother agreed. She wanted to visit her sister in Pittsburgh (Pa) and I would drive her there. So, straight west on U.S. Route 30, I drove for almost 300 miles. West of Harrisburg (Pa), we met the "beautiful hills of Pennsylvania," and it was then that I began to smell something burning. Not knowing what that was all about (I didn't have a mechanic's training), we found a garage and learned about burning brakes! Having driven in the flatlands of New Jersey, I wasn't used to hilly country and having to apply my brakes too often. With some advice from the mechanic, off we went without further trouble. The return trip was uneventful, the Ford proving its reliability all the way home.
Speaking of reliability, my dad said that there was no better-built car than the Ford. He was a life-long Ford man, beginning with a used Model A Ford in the early 30s. I was one proud teenager when he taught me to handcrank the engine. My enthusiasm dimmed when he warned me about the possibility of crank backspin. It could easily break my arm.
A recent survey of cars, by brand name in our village parking garage, showed Ford in third place after GMC and Toyota. Dad would have said that something was wrong with those numbers.
Enjoy your "crankless car," dear reader.
More, later.
My mother agreed. She wanted to visit her sister in Pittsburgh (Pa) and I would drive her there. So, straight west on U.S. Route 30, I drove for almost 300 miles. West of Harrisburg (Pa), we met the "beautiful hills of Pennsylvania," and it was then that I began to smell something burning. Not knowing what that was all about (I didn't have a mechanic's training), we found a garage and learned about burning brakes! Having driven in the flatlands of New Jersey, I wasn't used to hilly country and having to apply my brakes too often. With some advice from the mechanic, off we went without further trouble. The return trip was uneventful, the Ford proving its reliability all the way home.
Speaking of reliability, my dad said that there was no better-built car than the Ford. He was a life-long Ford man, beginning with a used Model A Ford in the early 30s. I was one proud teenager when he taught me to handcrank the engine. My enthusiasm dimmed when he warned me about the possibility of crank backspin. It could easily break my arm.
A recent survey of cars, by brand name in our village parking garage, showed Ford in third place after GMC and Toyota. Dad would have said that something was wrong with those numbers.
Enjoy your "crankless car," dear reader.
More, later.
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