Mary arrived in America by herself on January 30, 1907, aboard the ship, Furnessa. She was 15 years old. Her father, Francis Delaney, and her older brother, Frank, were already in America, but her three sisters, Nellie, Kate, and Susan, and her two younger brothers, Peter and Leo, remained in Ireland. Her mother, Ellen Quinn Delaney, died shortly after Leo was born, and her sister Nellie took care of Leo after their mother died. Her brothers, Peter and Leo, eventually also came to America while the three sisters remained in Ireland, deciding not to join the rest of the family in America.
Mary stayed at St. John’s Cathedral in Paterson while attending school. She was painfully shy, and she told her father she wanted to quit school because the nuns were calling on her for answers and reciting poems, etc. He agreed to let her quit as long as she promised she would read every day, which she did, becoming a voracious reader. Later she learned that the reason the nuns called on her so much in class was because they loved her brogue and loved to listen to the charming lilt of her voice.
After Mary quit school, she worked in the linen mill where her dad worked. Interestingly, though we don’t know exactly what her dad’s role was at the mill, he was educated at St. Francis College in Dublin, Ireland, and his college diploma hung in the manager’s office at the mill.
Mary married Thomas Coates in the Lutheran Church in Paterson, New Jersey, in 1912. I have never heard how they met, but I believe he was 25 and she was 20 when they were married. Thomas was from Knockmore in Northern Ireland and arrived in America on August 28, 1910, at the age of 22. He was a racing cyclist who had won many ribbons and trophies back in Ireland. He had a very good job as a construction foreman, as well as a blueprint reader, and was paid very well. Unfortunately, in addition to being an alcoholic and drinking much of the money away, it seems he was a very selfish and self-centered man (that is my impression anyway). Thomas and Mary had nine children, and he did not share much of his earnings with his family. In fact, when Thomas took a fall at work and broke his leg, his supervisor came to the house to give Mary some money. At first, Mary thought this a gift of generosity that co-workers had contributed to for Thomas, but that wasn’t the case. The supervisor had brought Thomas’ day wages, and that is when she learned just how much he earned and how well he was paid. His family lived in poverty because of his lack of financial support.
Thomas and Mary separated, and the story Aunt Florence told me was that my father had physically thrown his father, Thomas, out of their house for being physically abusive toward his mother and sisters. Shortly after the birth of their ninth child, the state authorities removed Muriel, Mary, Charlotte, and Florence from their home and placed them in an orphanage. I am not sure how long they were there before Muriel ran away and came home to let Mary know where they were. A kind neighbor apparently took pity on Mary and let her and the children move into a chicken coop behind their home, which Mary and the children made into their home. Eleanor, the oldest daughter, was out on her own, and the two boys, Tom and Jimmy, got jobs to support the family. At some point, Thomas did return wanting to be forgiven, but they did not reconcile. I was told that Eleanor, in particular, was very upset that her mother would even consider it, and she threatened to never see her mother or family again if they reconciled. Thomas died on June 19, 1942, at the age of 55.
Mary’s children were all very attentive and very protective of her, and I know my father was a very devoted son. My mother shared a strong and special bond with her, and I think in Mary’s eyes, she was like another daughter.
My memories of my grandmother are of a very quiet, soft-spoken, and gentle woman. Hard to imagine her raising nine children especially as a single parent, but I realize now she must have been a woman of great strength and faith. When I think about her leaving her mother and sisters in Ireland at the age of 15 to travel to America alone, I imagine that not only was she brave, but she must have been very determined. I can’t help but wonder if some of her spirit wasn’t broken during those years with an abusive husband and then struggling to survive as a single mother trying to keep her family together.
My grandmother had twenty-one grandchildren, and going to her house for holidays stirs warm memories of the whole tribe piling into her small house, the adults in the kitchen and the grandchildren crammed in her living room. If we were lucky and the weather was nice, we could go outside in the courtyard or take walks. The importance of family ties was definitely the theme for us at this time.
A highlight of visiting my grandmother in Paterson was the wonderful Italian Deli down the street with its enticing aromas. Before heading home, we would walk to the corner deli to buy some bologna, fresh Italian sub rolls, pickles, salads, and potato chips. This would be our dinner when we got home that night and what a treat it would be! We didn’t have fast food joints back then, so this would be the closest thing to my mother’s night off from the kitchen for an informal dinner around the kitchen table. That bologna was the best!!! A number of years ago, I discovered that Boars Head was a wonderful, all-beef bologna which has become one of my favorite “comfort foods” and reminds me of our visits to my grandmother’s and those special dinners.
Grandma Coates, Aunt Florence, and Tommy came to live with us for a few years. My grandmother was deaf and used a magnifying glass for reading. She was an avid reader, and I used to enjoy climbing into the chair to cuddle with her while she was reading. Other times, I would sit for hours it seems, just to comb her hair as she had the softest hair ever. Oh, the patience she must have had. The night of the Kennedy/Nixon election, November 8, 1960, we discovered I was a sleepwalker as I tumbled down the stairs and was knocked unconscious. My parents and Aunt Florence were in the living room watching the election results. Though my grandmother was deaf, she felt the vibration of my falling down the steps, and she found me at the bottom of the stairs. When I regained consciousness, my first question was, “Who won the election?” You have to understand that my family were strong Kennedy supporters; and my father, in particular, was very involved with campaigning actively for JFK. As a union leader, he was one of those responsible for having JFK make a campaign stop at the Wright Aeronautical Plant in Paterson. That was very big news then; and at that time, politics was a popular subject in our house, especially at the dinner table. We understood the importance of this election.
When my grandmother died, that was my first experience with death and the first time I saw both of my parents cry, which was very distressing for me. Grieving and going through the funeral process was overwhelming, and the deep sadness I felt was very new to me. Aunt Florence helped me to understand that sharing stories and laughter were not disrespectful, but rather a step in the direction of healing. Remembering her life and happier moments helped to ease the loss and pain.
When times are hard, may hardness never turn your heart to stone.
May you always remember when the shadows fall you do not walk alone.
