I Believe – My Values

Wow! Where to begin?! What an unusual year!

During the winter, after Jade went back to Lewiston, Idaho to continue college, Marya and I traveled to Oregon to spend two months of the winter in a town called Sutherlin. We stayed at an RV park called Timber Valley. It was a wonderful experience. We were surrounded by lovely green grass and trees. It rained regular but not so often we felt trapped inside. The entire time we were there it only got cold enough once to freeze the hose coming to the trailer. There were deer, turkey, and rabbits that also called this RV park home. We met some wonderful people. We played games in our neighbor, Daphnie’s, trailer, and at the club house. We participated in other activities at the club house also: pot-luck socials, exercises, morning get togethers over doughnuts, among other things.

Together we visited the Oregon coast regularly. My favorite place was Shore Acres State Park. It had a wonderful variety of rocks and cliffs for the waves to crash on, a small, secluded, sandy beach, and a botanical garden. We also hiked to water falls at Silver Falls State Park, and along the North Umpqua River. That is until we reached about four thousand feet above sea level, and snow prevented our access to some water falls. We also were able to visit Kenny and Bonnie Coombs, my uncle and aunt, in Florence, Oregon.

It wasn’t all fun and games. I did continue to work while in Oregon. Most days I would work at the club house. Meagan Spaulding did most of the paperwork data entry back in Idaho. If there was something we could not resolve about the paperwork over computer or phone connection she would mail me the documents. Caleb also mailed me documents from home.

While in Oregon, my dad, Albert Reed Moosman, needed hospitalization. He developed an infection in his toes that was not only making him very sick, but also threatened to cause some toes to be amputated. With all his other health challenges: diabetes, heart issues, and a failing liver it looked like he might not make it. I drove from Oregon to be with him, my brother Wade, sister Julie, and my daughter Sapphire so we could unitedly support each other through what ever was going to happen next. Dad was transferred from the hospital in Preston, to Pocatello where pain and nausea caused him to be so weak, that for awhile it did look like the end. His kidneys took a beating during all this and he began dialysis while in Pocatello. After about a week, he started on the mend. We decided to have him transferred to Logan to a care facility so he could be closer to home, and to where Julie, Wade, and Sapphire lived. Once I felt like the situation was, for the most part, under control, I left to be with Marya back in Oregon again.

The Covid-19 virus hit the United States while we were in Oregon. Before heading back to Idaho we were hoping to visit the northern coast of Oregon one more time, but all the state parks were closed. Originally, we had hoped Jade would be able to get a ride home for her college spring break, and we would just drive straight from Oregon to Driggs. But, no. Out of caution with covid-19 being declared a pandemic the college was being closed to all on campus courses. The students were sent home to finish the semester, so we went to Lewiston, Idaho to pick her up.

Once we arrived back in Idaho, I did not spend much time in Driggs. I had stayed in touch with my brother and sister regarding my dad’s health. Kidney dialysis would now be a permanent part of his life three times a week, and other doctor’s appointments were occupying much of the rest of the week. Wade had taken on the role as primary care giver and companion to my dad. Julie had taken over the financial part. We decided it was time to move him permanently to an apartment at the Williamsburg Senior Center where he was closer to the dialysis treatment, other medical services, and didn’t have to worry about his yard. This was a very tough time. I moved the RV down to dad and mom’s property in Preston, Idaho. Dad didn’t want to go. I think he felt in some way by moving that he was failing in his ability to provide for himself. We gathered in a park on a sunny day in Logan to share with Dad what we felt was the best course of action. He didn’t fight the step, but he cried, and we cried. After that meeting I took on the task of cleaning out the house  and shop in preparation to sell the property. Sapphire was still living there. She had moved in just before grandma, Gail, had passed away. There were several little miracles that took place through this process of settling the property. Sapphire found a place to live near Logan, Utah and closer to her work. A friend of Trevor, Julie’s son, recommended that we try using an auction service in Pocatello, Idaho to sell much of dad’s shop items, and many house hold things rather than have a garage sale. We followed that advice and made, what I feel, was a good amount of money for dad even after they took their commission. It was WAY easier than trying to do our own garage sale.

Dad’s neighbor across the road, the Crookstons, had always helped my aging parents with snow removal and other things. While I was there I informed him we were preparing to sell. Within 24 hours he had talked to someone in the ward he knew was looking for a home. We ended up selling the property without ever having to put in on the market. As I said, there were several small miracles. But, the thing that I was most touched by was the way I, Wade, and Julie communicated and cooperated to get things done during this difficult time. There was no arguing, or fighting about possessions. There was communication, kindness, and understanding. Hard choices had to be made where love prevailed. I was so very grateful for that. Marya joined me during the last few weeks and helped a great deal on the final clean out. Besides what sold, I took ten loads to the dump in my truck, and we took some to donate to the local thrift store. My mother had saved A LOT of things to use again and repurpose.

I cried. The last 24 hours was hard. I don’t get attached to things, not usually. This was the home that dad and mom brought me home to after I was born, and where I lived until I graduated high school and ventured out into the world on my own. So many memories in its walls, and in the yard and garden. When I did the final walk through before leaving, the rooms were empty. Goodbye…my Preston home…it will never be the same again.

By this time the covid-19 pandemic was causing upheavals across the nation and the world. Large gatherings were being discourage and in some places considered unlawful. The Church of Jesus Christ suspended all Sunday worship service meetings, all temples closed, and most foreign missionaries returned home or were reassigned. Businesses suffered because they could not operate normally. What was interesting is businesses associated with outdoor recreation began to see double and triple the sales. Boats, bikes, RVs, four-wheelers were hard to keep in stock because people were getting out into nature as opposed to staying cooped up indoors. Travel abroad became very restricted, so vacations stayed local.

Covid-19 caused sever symptoms similar to the flu but with greater intensity. Initially, because the health care profession was sure how to treat it thousands were dying weekly. Overtime treatments became more effective and the death rate subsided. The elderly and those with other health problems were at the greatest risks. When public places did open back up, most of them required face masks and had hand sanitizer available for more frequent use by customers and employees.

This situation was made even more severe by the way many governments and media handled the situation. Challenging times allows fear to become more predominate in people’s lives, and some intentionally use fear to influence people so more control and power can be gained.

This year was also the presidential election between the current President, Donald Trump, and Joe Biden who had served as Vice President under Barrack Obama. It was a circus. There is a big difference between good politics and good government, and our country is lacking in the latter. The two main political parties, the Democrats and Republicans, spend more time jockeying and manipulating for power and position than they do striving to serve the people. I have listened and observed enough about both sides to come to the conclusion there is subversiveness, power, and greed in high places. It is just a matter of your view point where you think it is.

I am so grateful for the stability the gospel of Jesus Christ brings. Several months before the covid pandemic the church began to emphasize a home centered church supported by the church organization. This heaven-inspired direction helped immeasurably during this time. We held sacrament meetings in our home. We invited and felt the spirit. We remembered, and renewed covenants. It wasn’t the same as meeting with our ward brothers and sisters, but we still felt close to God. It was during this time that the Church came out with the new official church symbol of Jesus Christ in an arch symbolizing the resurrection from the tomb, and the name of the church in a rectangle symbolizing Jesus as the foundation and chief cornerstone of worship.

In connection with world conditions the work in the oilfields of North Dakota slowed way down. During some months my client’s trucks were doing half of what they hauling before covid and other factors hit. Because my income in connected to a percentage of the work, my oilfield income also dropped. But, more blessings came. Stephen Grover had bought a six-thousand square foot home,  with six bedrooms, and four and half bathrooms, on five acres with the intention of remodeling, modernizing, and reselling it. I offered to help and he accepted.

For the summer I moved my RV onto the property of this home. (Yes, during 2020 I lived in our RV much more than I did the walls of our home.) I still continued to do the oilfield computer work, but helped Stephen about twenty hours a week on the house, and then went home to Driggs on the weekend. I really enjoyed working with Stephen and his nephew Melvin. (Melvin has a disability, and Stephen has him help him two days a week, so he just doesn’t sit at home.) I got to know Stephen, his wife Diana, and their family well. They were kind enough to feed me a lot. By the end of the summer I felt like one of the family. When the colder weather hit, Josh Grover, Stephen’s son, and another client of mine let me stay in an apartment in a shop he built.

Not only did I enjoy working with Stephen, but I enjoyed watching the house evolve with his craftmanship. The tasks I did were physically challenging but rewarding. I did a wide variety of things. I cleared trees and branches from around the house. I hauled in topsoil. I put in window wells. Using a metal bender I framed windows, and wrapped decked posts. I helped with decking and installed rails. We changed the roof line to cover a porch. We installed tile, and cabinetry, and flooring, baseboard, and trim work. Many a day I was sore and worn out, but it was a very satisfying soreness.

During this time, my friend Chris Harris, was having some significant marriage challenges. As a result he needed to move out of the house. I owned an older RV and he moved down to Idaho Falls to live in it for a while. However, he was still working in Driggs, and would spend the nights in between his work shift in the log part of our home. As time moved on I became worried about him being alone and cooped up in that trailer alone during the winter. Marya and I talked it over and decided to build a wall for more privacy in the log part of our home and create a small study apartment space for Chris there. He moved in with us in September.

What other things happened? Oh a lot. But here are just a few more things….

In the fall, Marya and I took a trip to see Crystal who was working in Rocky Mountain national park. She had been on a study abroad trip in New Zealand when the covid pandemic hit. She was required to come back early. When she started working for the summer, she decided not to return to college for the semester because her school was only taking a very limited number of on campus students, so she worked until the end of the season in October.

Scott and Crystal Hansen added a new son to their home…Ranger Scott Hansen. Truly a bundle of joy.

In December bought an acre of ground in Madison County, Idaho as investment property. I will talk more about that in another chapter. But, I will say it was the result of six months of searching, and it was the cheapest acre of ground in the county.

 

 

 

 

I went to Mahwah High School for my freshman and sophomore years.  I then went to Northern Highlands Regional High School for my junior and senior years, where my cousin Art and I were part of the first graduating class of Northern Highlands in 1967.  My class had the privilege of being the “seniors” so to speak for two years, and because of our status of being the first graduating class of NHRHS, we were able to initiate many of the school’s practices and traditions.

I had some adventures that were typical of a not-so-smart teenager.  For example, many Sunday evenings when Nana was living with us, my parents would take her out to dinner, a movie, and then maybe a stop at the Dairy Queen;  and guess who would be left in charge of babysitting her younger siblings?  I recall getting them situated in front of the TV with a snack; and then feeling daring, Cheryl, Art, and I quietly pushed Nana’s car up the driveway not wanting my siblings to hear the car engine, so we could taken turns at the wheel cruising neighboring towns because we were too known in Allendale.  When my parents got home and wanted a report on how things went, I kiddingly told them that I took Nana’s car out for a drive while Darlene, Kevin, and Maureen watched TV.  They rolled their eyes and snickered, thinking, of course, that I was joking.  I thought we were so smart and we had all bases covered, until the next time we felt brave and adventurous, but Mrs. Kiss was standing in the middle of my driveway near the street with her arms crossed like a military guard, waiting to greet us.  That evening ended our Sunday night excursions and started a grounding period for Cheryl and me.

A few years later, when I told my mother that we actually did take the car out, she was completely surprised we would do that.  Unfortunately, my brother Kevin, who was in high school at the time, overheard our conversation, and he took it a step further.  He had a spare key made for mom’s car, and walked to the nursing home to take her car out while she was working.  Well, he got caught by the Allendale Police. When they went to the nursing home to let my mother know the situation, she told them to take him to jail to spend the night, and she would pick him up the next day.  And, that is what they did.

At Mahwah High School, the presidency of the student council was a teaching tool for the students to learn about the US presidential election process including formation of parties supporting candidates, election caucuses, campaigning, speeches, and then the victory celebration at which time all candidates and parties came together to celebrate.  This was probably the social event of the year for most students, and campaign parties were probably our parents’ worst nightmare because of the underage drinking.  I went to the parties, but drinking wasn’t my thing at that time.  That might be hard to believe, but when you are living with an alcoholic, trust me, that is the last thing you want to do.  I was your “designated driver” long before that became a trend and popular in our culture.

I would have to say that for the most part, my elementary and high school days were happy and somewhat carefree.  At Brookside School, I participated in the annual talent shows and concerts, had a leading role in our seventh grade play, was on the student council, and was a majorette in the sixth, seventh, and eighth grades.  I was also kept busy with dance lessons, being in the Brownies, and then continuing on to being a Girl Scout.  In high school, I was also on the student council; but then in my junior and senior years, I decided to run for class secretary.  I was a cheerleader all four years, so I worked at balancing school work, extracurricular activities, working at the AB&G, and maintaining a social life, which was pretty typical for a high school student then.  

A favorite hangout as a teenager was the Ram Room in Ramsey.  There was a jukebox, teen-friendly food, and a welcoming place for teens to gather and socialize.  During the summer months, we would meet there before the block dances.  The township of Ramsey would sponsor summer block dances for the local teens.  A live band would play, and we would meet our friends—and whoever our love interest might be at the time—to dance the night away.  It was great entertainment, and we really looked forward to the dances.

When I was old enough to date, I was first allowed only to double date, and the drive-in movie was definitely off-limits.  I recollect when my father, being friendly but not too friendly, took my date out to the garage to talk and get to know him.  Slipping on his boxing gloves and then while punching the sandbag, he would share with my date his expectations of how his daughter was to be treated and what my curfew was for the night.  Then with a handshake and smiling as we left, he would emphasize that he would be waiting to greet us when the young man brought me home.

I dated a number of guys in high school, but by my junior year, Mike Marozin became my “steady” as we would call it then.  He was a year ahead of me in school, and after Mike graduated, he was drafted and became a member of the United States Marine Corp.  Before he was sent to Vietnam, we got engaged.  After high school, I went to Katherine Gibbs Secretarial School.  When I graduated, I had two interviews and received two job offers; one with UPS and the other with IBM.  After some thought and discussions with my parents, I decided to go with IBM as they were not unionized and offered a comprehensive benefits package that really impressed my parents.  My father’s skepticism of the labor unions began a few years earlier when he started witnessing some corruption within the ranks. 

Mike was in Vietnam, and I started my new job at IBM.  In fact, I worked three jobs at that time, saving for our wedding and also for a trip to Hawaii to meet Mike on his R&R.  Of course, my full-time job was IBM, but I worked evenings and weekends splitting my time between Irv Lerner’s Men Store and the Dairy Queen.  I did save enough money to go to Hawaii, at which time IBM surprised me by giving me two weeks paid vacation even though I had not been with the company long enough to qualify for this.  My manager and director appealed to Personnel, and I was given a special “once in a lifetime” paid leave and a Bon Voyage Party.  I was so surprised, overwhelmed, and grateful for this gesture as I never expected or imagined IBM doing something like this.  My plan was just to take the leave without pay.

Many young men were lost in Vietnam.  Some were killed, some were captured becoming prisoners, and some came home; but many of those soldiers returning were not the same young men that left to fight that war.  Though many men returned home from Vietnam and previous wars suffering from shell shock of the appalling conditions they experienced in the trenches, there was no diagnosis of “PTSD,” post-traumatic stress disorder.  This disorder was not created by the American Psychiatric Association until 1980.  Consequently, many soldiers came home physically, mentally, and emotionally damaged, with no support nor knowledge of how to deal with this disorder.  Furthermore, the Vietnam War generated such controversy at home that these soldiers did not come home to the “heroes welcome” they rightly deserved.  Mike was one those young men who returned home a different person.  Though not apparent at first, with time, he started showing subtle hints of personality changes.  As we spent more time together planning our wedding and as the wedding date got closer, I became more worried and uncertain of our future.  The fact that I had any doubts whatsoever made me very nervous and had me feeling very guilt-ridden that I even had these thoughts.  I was distressed thinking Mike didn’t deserve this, and though he didn’t receive a “Dear John” letter while in Vietnam, I felt like that is exactly what I was going to be doing.  It was definitely one of the most difficult decisions I have ever made, but eventually, in my heart, I knew it was the only decision I could make.  It wouldn’t have been fair or right to go forward with our plans knowing how I felt.  Breaking our engagement was not easy, and it shocked everyone, throwing everything into a tailspin.  We took a step back from each other and worked through the mess.  Not only did I shock Mike, but I surprised myself when we finally did go our separate ways.

After a while I started dating a bit; and some months later, I started dating a guy pretty steady for a while.  It didn’t take long for me to recognize that it wasn’t a healthy relationship and not a good choice.  I think this was one of the most confusing times of my life, filled with guilt and uncertainty.  It was about this time that my brother Jimmy was discharged from the Army and returned home.  He was settling in and getting involved with the family business.  I think the combination of things— my father’s drinking, my broken engagement, and knowing that Jimmy was going to be there for my mother and younger siblings—got me thinking about making a change.  At IBM, our director was opening an office in Westport, Connecticut.  I went for an interview and visited the area which was very appealing to me as it wasn’t far from home.  It was a beautiful area on the water, and it was less than a two-hour drive from my family.  Seriously, who wouldn’t want to be neighbors with Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward?  I was offered the job, and the timing seemed perfect for making a change in my life. 

Like the warmth of the sun,
 And the light of the day,
May the luck of the Irish shine bright on your way.

 

 

I was born on April 11, 1949, in Hackensack, New Jersey.  I was given the name of Denise at birth, but it was changed to Eileen on May 7, 1949.  The story goes that after seeing the Hollywood star Denise Darcel in a movie one night, my father decided he did not want his daughter to have the name of one of Hollywood’s sexiest glamour actresses.  Apparently, she was a buxom and alluring French siren after WWII, so the name change was made.  He had visions that I might be the first of the “Een Sisters” (I am not even sure how he would spell it) who would form a singing group much like the McGuire Sisters.  I am sure he was very disappointed that this did not happen, as not only could we not harmonize, but I don’t think any of us could even carry a tune.  I was the second child and oldest daughter.  There were five of us: Jimmy, Eileen, Darlene, Kevin, and Maureen.  There were four years between Jimmy and me, four years between Darlene and me, but then Kevin and Maureen followed Darlene within a shorter time span.  We were raised in Allendale, a small borough in Bergen County located in northern New Jersey.

It was a much different and simpler lifestyle when I was growing up.  Every school day—remember this was a public school—began with the Pledge of Allegiance, a Bible verse, and praying the Lord’s Prayer.  We didn’t have as many choices in many things, and our exposure to the larger world was much more limited and controlled, as we didn’t have 24/7 TV entertainment and news.  Though I was fortunate to have made two trips to Florida when I was younger, my travel experiences were comprised of mostly northern New Jersey, New York City and New York area near NJ, and the Jersey Shore area, with some points in-between and thereabouts.  We entertained ourselves with reading, board games, outside activities, and of course, playing with our friends. The outdoors was our preference.  We didn’t have organized sports and activities through clubs like today’s world.  I was active in sports, but they were more limited, intramural sports organized by my grammar school, not a sports club.  I ran track and played field hockey, basketball, softball, or volleyball, depending on the season, as well as swim team in the summer.  Another summer activity was attending vacation Bible school at our church, and I spent many hours working at my grandmother’s tavern and restaurant.  

Our garage was never used for housing the cars but was a combination workshop, bicycle barn, and gym with a punching bag and sandbag, as well as a collection of boxing gloves.  In our backyard, you would find parallel and chin-up bars, a basketball hoop, and probably the only large, self-created fighting ring/playpen which was built by my father. This pen, I believe, was made with black chicken wire and 2 x 4’s and probably measured 14 feet by 14 feet, if not larger.  This was built as my younger siblings came along, one after the other, and it was large enough to corral not only all of us but also cousins and young friends who would be visiting.  I am sure this was very welcomed by my mother and aunts especially when everyone gathered at our house for family picnics.  I don’t think it was uncommon for our squabbles to be settled by putting on boxing gloves to fight it out, fair and square.  Our yard also had at least one old military tool shipping box that was lined with heavy plastic used as our swimming pool.  We eventually got a real plastic pool, but I don’t know when one replaced the other.  

I had forgotten how handy and thrifty my father was.  One summer, in addition to painting our house, my father, Uncle Leo, and cousin Tommy built a cinder-block wall along our front and side property lines and driveway.  The wall became our balance beam which we would climb on, and the wall along the side yard was just the perfect height to allow us to spend many hours climbing the large punk tree.  We had a field in the back used for football, tag, badminton, and other children’s games; and along the front and side property lines were woods to hide in, large rocks to climb, streams to jump over, and areas filled with skunk cabbage that we did our best to avoid.  I remember all of this was through the eyes of a young child.  A number of years ago when Jessica and I took a bike ride through Allendale, we went to see 133 West Crescent Avenue, and as we stood there looking at my house and play area from the new church parking lot next door, it all had shrunk considerably!

Our family seemed to have a tradition of breaking bones.  When I was in the sixth grade, I fell down the stairs sleepwalking, dislocating my left arm and breaking my right wrist.  Both arms were in casts, which excused me from certain school tasks being that I couldn’t write, so I had to take tests orally, and I had to rely on my classmate to take notes for me.  I dislocated my left arm a second time that summer teaching my brother Kevin how to dive at Crestwood Lake.  We went from practicing racing dives to doing Jack Knife dives.  Unfortunately, it wasn’t until I was coming down after jumping off the wall, bending to touch my toes that I remembered we were not in the deep end of the lake.  I went straight down into 3 or 4 feet of water, and the force of hitting the lake bottom dislocated my elbow again.  I was babysitting that day.  My poor mother was at the Veteran’s Hospital in East Orange, New Jersey, visiting my father who was there “drying out” after a binge.  Unfortunately, the ambulance took me to Suffern Hospital in New York.  For the next week, my mother was traveling back and forth between those hospitals and home until I was released.  

In addition to being hit by a car while vacationing in Ortley Beach, Darlene broke her arm when Kevin let her go while she was hanging on the parallel bars.  Darlene shared with me that Mom told her that she got up and started chasing him so she could beat him up.  Kevin broke his leg once on his tricycle, and his foot twice.  The first time, a brick from the school building came loose and fell on his foot during recess, and the second time, he was playing football. Maureen dislocated her shoulder falling from a bike.  

Though Jimmy dislocated his shoulder in the Army, I don’t remember him breaking anything as a child.  I do remember though, my parents talking about how he swallowed a very small piece of metal from a tuna fish can.  This was when you opened cans with a key that was attached to the can.  It would unravel a strip of metal around the top of the can, and apparently a tiny piece fell off getting mixed in with the tuna.  I believe as he swallowed the tuna, it cut his throat causing him to cough up blood.  Thank God my mother was a nurse because she always reacted to any emergency in a swift and efficient manner, never being emotional at that moment.

We were surrounded by most of my cousins on the Connelly side of the family; the Kunisches, the Dillons, and the Coateses; all 12 of us cousins attended Allendale’s Brookside School where we all had many of the same teachers.  There was only one kindergarten class each year, so all 12 of us had Mrs. Baxter.  In fact, even my uncle Frank Dillon had her as a kindergarten teacher.  Brookside School contained kindergarten through 8th grade, and from there, we went to and graduated from different high schools, some from Ramsey, some from Mahwah, some from Waldwick, and the rest of us from Northern Highlands Regional in Allendale.

I spent much of my younger childhood days with my cousins Cathy Dillon and Art Kunisch.  They were two of my closest companions in Allendale, as we were close in age and could easily walk or ride bikes to each other’s house.  Art and I went through school together.  Being Catholic and because we were public school students, the two of us also attended religious education classes one day a week after school at Guardian Angel Catholic Church taught by the nuns from St. Luke’s Catholic School, which was located down the road in Waldwick.  We were both baptized at Guardian Angel and together we received the sacraments of First Reconciliation, First Holy Communion, and Confirmation, which were all celebrated afterwards with a large family gathering.  I actually received all my sacraments to date at this church, as Bill and I were also married there.  To tie it all up nicely, Bill stayed with Art the night before our wedding.  Bill said that Art was more nervous than he was.

My best friend since kindergarten was Cheryl Kiss, and the Kisses lived right across the street from us.  Cheryl, her parents, her sister, her grandparents—and we can’t forget her Uncle Ernie—lived in a large, old, three-story house with a basement, which her dad and uncle renovated through the years.  In one of my selfish teenage moments when I ran away from home, I hid in Cheryl’s attic, her family completely unaware, until I finally decided it was time to go home and face the music.  They were a very close family, and they included me in that circle, giving me another haven of love and support.

Cheryl was one of my other constant companions growing up.  At times we were somewhat competitive but loyal to each other. Though we had our childhood tiffs, we had so many escapades together right through high school, some good and some not so good. For the most part, we always ran with the same crowd and seemed to date boys who also were good friends. We shared a memorable childhood and some unforgettable times in high school.  Unfortunately, Cheryl died at a young age from alcoholism leaving behind a husband and three boys.  Her twin boys were born just a couple of months after my twin girls.  Our summers in Avon with my mother provided us opportunities to get our families together and spend days at the beach.

When I think about my years in Allendale, I can’t help but think about the many holiday town events that I participated in growing up, but I now realize I took for granted.  The Holiday Observers of Allendale has provided special patriotic observances and traditions since 1919, and they certainly played an important part in my childhood.  From the Christmas tree lighting and Christmas caroling downtown to the excitement of waiting for the arrival of Santa Claus on the town firetruck.  From the July 4th field events giving kids the opportunity to compete and possibly win a trophy or ribbon in a variety of athletic events to the 4th of July fireworks display that night, bringing the townsfolk to the ball field.  You wanted to get there early, so you would be able to park your car in a good spot on the field.  Then we would climb or be lifted up to the car roof to enjoy the show.  For Halloween, we participated in the Poster Painting Contest.  Large poster cardboards were taped to the windows of downtown merchants’ windows.  Groups of kids would compete painting their scariest, funniest, most frightening, or happiest Halloween scenes.  That night there would be the Costume Parade where we were given gold coins and other prizes.  As a majorette in 6th-8th grades, I would march in the Memorial Day parades.  One of the stops to perform would be right in front of the AB&G where my grandmother would proudly line up chairs for her customers to sit and watch her granddaughter twirl.  We also had Easter egg hunts, and it seemed like we just transitioned from one holiday to another before realizing another year had gone by in Allendale. No wonder my childhood years seemed to fly by, and what a great way it was to pass the time.

Thinking of spending summer vacations at Ortley Beach also stirs some wonderful memories.  It seems there was always extended family there as well as other friends and guests.  My parents would rent a bungalow on the beach, and my Aunt Margie and Uncle Walt would rent on the bay side.  There would be mornings of crabbing, fishing, boating, and water skiing with the Kunisches, and then we would shuffle to our place to spend afternoons at the beach.  It seemed that no matter which direction we walked on the beach, north or south, we would have family to visit along the way. 

The Kunisches usually stayed there for three weeks, a week longer than we did. One summer my mother packed all five kids into the car, and we headed down to visit them for the day.  Well, that day trip turned into a two- or three-day visit, so a run was made to the nearest discount store to purchase toothbrushes and other necessities for us.  The two-bedroom bungalow just did not have enough sleeping space for all ten of us, so Art and I were farmed out to Uncle Walt’s friend staying up the road, Bobby and Jimmy slept in the car, and the others slept on the couch or cushions on the floor.  A highlight of this visit was returning in the morning to the inviting smell of Uncle Walt’s famous home fries coming from the bungalow.

Winter brought snow for sledding and frozen waters for ice skating.  We had a few places that we went to for ice skating.  The Celery Farm was one of them, where you could find us skating up and down the canals and on the pond.  It wasn’t far from home unless you fell through the ice and got wet or waited too long to head home as you were cold, damp, and freezing.  At that point, it felt like a five-mile walk home, and you couldn’t walk fast enough because your toes were so cold and hurt so bad.  Cheryl, other neighborhood kids, and I would also skate on the swamps back along the trolley tracks.  They were more challenging because of large rocks, tree stumps and limbs, and small trees growing in the water that you could trip over.  We would sled down Van Houten’s hill, which was very conveniently located just two houses up from Art’s house, so we could frequently run in for a snack and warm our feet, socks, and boots on the radiators at Aunt Margie’s.

Because of my father’s position with the UAW, we were fortunate to all go to Radio City Music Hall for shows, and Madison Square Garden to see events like the Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey Circus, which was billed as The Greatest Show on Earth; the Ice Capades; and probably one of the most memorable shows being the rodeo with Roy Rogers and Dale Evans because we got to meet them personally after the show.  It seems to me it was always a family affair with aunts, uncles, and cousins making a day of it with dinners beforehand.  We would go to some of the most popular restaurants in NYC at the time, but I think the one the kids were most excited about was when we went to the Horn and Hardart Automat, where we could walk around and pick and choose our food.  We thought that was the best!  Even better than two of our other favorites that we all loved, Mamma Leone’s and Tad’s Steak House. 

When I was probably in the sixth grade, my friends and I would take the train to Ridgewood to go to the movies.  We walked from the train station to the movie theater, but sometimes after the movie we would have to run back to the train station to make sure we didn’t miss the train home.  I think after we proved to our parents that we were responsible and could handle the train to Ridgewood, we probably started campaigning for trips to NYC for the day.  I guess we were probably thirteen or fourteen, and it is hard to believe now that our parents let us do this.  But as I said earlier, it was just a very different time.  We would take the train to New York to walk around exploring the city, go to the village or central park, etc. then get a bite to eat before heading home.

An interesting fact is that when I was growing up, the TV didn’t have the wide channel selections and streaming options that we have today.  There were maybe four or five TV stations to choose from.  The stations did not start broadcasting till 7:00 a.m. each morning, and they shut down at 11:00 p.m.  I would wake up Saturday morning and quickly get my bowl of cereal, so I could be sitting in front of the TV when it came on.  There weren’t many arguments over what programs to watch because we didn’t have many choices.  When I think about some of the shows like the Three Stooges and some of the cartoons, I realize they were pretty aggressive.  Certainly they would not be acceptable today and would probably be blocked by all parental controls.  But then we did have shows like Howdy Doody Time, Captain Kangaroo, and the Mickey Mouse Club.  The “Spin and Marty” series on the Mickey Mouse Club was a favorite, as well as American Bandstand.  My siblings and I also enjoyed watching Roy Rogers, Annie Oakley, The Little Rascals, Our Gang, and family shows like Ozzie and Harriet, Father Knows Best, and My Three Sons.  All these shows featured loving and strong families that at times made my family seem abnormal.   Looking back, I believe we were dysfunctional, but years later, I also learned there were quite a few other families that were also dysfunctional.

Some of the family shows were the Ed Sullivan Show, Lawrence Welk, and Million Dollar Movie which featured one movie a week.  It was aired every night at 9:00 p.m., and one of my favorites being Yankee Doodle Dandy starring James Cagney.  Interestingly, though there were some news shows, our daily news really came from the newspaper which most households had delivered to their homes.  Some families might even have had two different papers delivered, a local paper and a New York paper.  Though the news might not have been as timely as today, I believe most people trusted the written word more than TV news at that time.

Going to the movies was a special treat back then; and for me, a very special occasion was seeing my first musical, South Pacific, with my parents.  I wasn’t aware at the time that this show triggered such powerful reactions and nearly inspired a race riot in Long Island, New York, because of its strong progressive message on racism.  Racial prejudice would not have been tolerated in our house.  Being about 11 at the time, I was just so taken with the love story and music that I was totally unaware of anything that would have been controversial.  As we drove home, my father was singing some of the songs from the show.  In fact, he did so for quite a time afterward as it was such a popular show then, and my father loved to sing.  I chuckle thinking of my mother because she was more the humming type, which I now understand because I can’t carry a tune either.  Another favorite musical was West Side Story starring Natalie Wood and George Chakiris.  I was in love with George.  My parents also really enjoyed the show and the music, but they totally overreacted one morning when I was blasting the music from the show on my stereo record player, which was in my bedroom on the far side of the house while I was showering in the bathroom, waking up just about the entire family.  They actually forbade me to play my music in the mornings just because others were sleeping.  Can you imagine?

My favorite Christmas gifts when I was about seven were my Annie Oakley holster with guns, rifle, hat, and I think I even had a skirt.  My dad had sawhorses that Cheryl and I would throw towels or blankets over for saddles, make stirrups out of rope, and get all decked out with our Annie Oakley paraphernalia to ride our horses.  We would spend hours playing Annie Oakley, riding horses, and running through the yard shooting at the bad guys.  We would climb in the tree and jump down to ambush them.  Another favorite pastime was playing school.  The kitchen was the classroom and the students were usually Darlene, Kevin, and Maureen as well as any visiting cousins or friends.  My favorite part of teaching was writing on the blackboard and grading papers.  My mother shared with me once that she really thought I might become a teacher because of the hours I would spend playing school.

Recently, I came to the conclusion that my brother Jimmy was stuck with me a lot.  I think as the other siblings arrived, my mother would make sure he took me with him wherever he was going.  That is why I had my first puff of a cigarette at probably the age of eight or so because one of his friends had gotten hold of his parents’ cigarettes, and they met on the trolley tracks to give it a try.  He insisted that I take a puff, so I couldn’t squeal on him.  This was also true for my first taste of liquor as Jimmy and his friends were experimenting in my father’s bar.  Those younger years, I was Jimmy’s shadow, and I guess that is why I was referred to as Coatsey’s little sister and maybe why I was a tomboy.  I don’t think his friends knew my first name.

Apparently, he was a much more kind and patient older brother than I was as an older sister.  I am sure Jimmy did things to try and ditch me, but luckily, they didn’t leave me scarred in any way.  I never really thought of myself as a “mean kid,” but I have to admit Cheryl and I put my sister Darlene in the garage, tried to lock the door, and then take off so she couldn’t catch up with us.  One time we just told her she couldn’t play with us because she wasn’t really my sister.  Another time Cheryl and I tried to hang upside down by our legs, not on the parallel bars outside, but on the shower rod in our newly renovated bathroom.  Of course, it was not strong enough to hold us and came crashing down.  We quietly snuck out of the house, and later when questioned about it, I simply told my parents Darlene did it.  Of course, she wasn’t tall enough to pull herself up there, but that didn’t factor into our equation when trying to decide what we would do.  We did confess eventually.  My parents were waiting for us to do so as they knew exactly what happened, and they knew it didn’t involve Darlene.

Life was simpler in my small town. For instance, when I was about four or five, I released the brake of my mother’s car, which was parked on the hill in front of Aunt Margie’s house.  Our car rolled down the hill with me in it as it crashed into the patrol car belonging to Allendale Police Chief, Frank Parenti.  I really don’t remember the details following that incident, but I know it was a lesson I learned and have never forgotten.  To this day, I get anxious when I see a young child being left in a car unattended, even for a few minutes, especially parked on a hill.

Life was certainly full of surprises in a small town.  Like the Saturday morning I thought my parents set me up for one of the biggest surprises of my life when they asked me to hop on my bike to ride to town for some hard rolls. When I entered the garage side door, I was totally shocked to find a beautiful horse standing in the middle of our garage.  At that moment, I realized that I had the greatest parents ever!  I had been pleading to have my own horse ever since I earned my Girl Scout Horsemanship Merit Badge. Once I got over the shock, I ran into the house shrieking, shouting, and thanking my parents, who looked totally stunned.  As I babbled on and on, they understood my excitement, but now they were totally confused as they played no part in having this horse appear in our garage.  After we all ran to the garage, they were convinced that I had not exaggerated or lost my mind, but they quickly and correctly put the puzzle pieces together.  Apparently, as a practical joke on our neighbor Janice Hatrich, some of the local high school boys decided it would be amusing to kidnap and hide her horse in our garage.  Disappointing for me but a great relief for Janice.  To show her appreciation, I was given an open invitation to help groom and ride her horse, of which offer I did take advantage.  In fact, that probably turned out to be a better deal all around as other crazes became more of a priority in my life.

Shortly after the excitement of finding the horse in my garage, my interest and enthusiasm shifted from horses to boys.  It was probably also about this time that I outgrew being a tomboy and became more of a typical adolescent girl.  After hanging out so much with my brother and his friends as well as my cousins Bobby and Art, I was now more interested in wanting to socialize and hang out with guys from school.  I can’t remember if it was Mark Haltof or Bobby Turner who was my first boyfriend, so to speak; but at that age, you know how long those romances lasted—maybe a day, a week, or an hour!  I really enjoyed rainy school days because after lunch, the 6th, 7th, and 8th graders got to dance in the gym.  These occasions gave students opportunities to socialize and mingle with other students in our grade outside of our class and also with the 7th and 8th graders.  It was during these dances that I got to know a special 7th grader, Scott Jordan.  To this day and probably always, I will think of Scott whenever I hear the song “Earth Angel” because it seemed whenever that song was played, he would ask me to dance.  I had my first kiss playing spin the bottle, and it was with Scott.  Such a sweet memory of innocence that still brings a smile to my face whenever I think of those days.

May the blessings of each day,
Be the blessings you need the most.

 

My parents met at Crestwood Lake, a very popular summer spot not only for Allendale residents but for families from all over northern New Jersey and New York City and State.  The swimming lake, surrounded with sandy beaches, had two large water slides, 16 rafts, a 30-foot diving tower with a platform as well as other, various height diving boards.  Features there included Sunday diving exhibitions, a 40-foot water spray, picnic areas in the apple orchard, a couple of playground areas, basketball courts, and two dance floors with jukeboxes.  Crestwood had its own Water Polo Team (1933-34 State Champions) drawing big crowds for the evening water polo matches.  On Saturdays and Sundays during the war years of the 1940’s when gasoline was strictly rationed, the Erie Railroad assigned special trains that ran to and from Jersey City to Allendale to pick up hundreds of passengers along the way from cities like Paterson destined for a day at Crestwood Lake.  On the summer weekends, you could always tell when the trains stopped in Allendale as the crowds would make the short walk from the train station to Crestwood.  In addition, there would also be carloads of people arriving from different directions creating lines of traffic throughout Allendale.  The Allendale Police would be directing and moving traffic along as residents maneuvered their way around town and to church.

Luzzie Cappell was the head lifeguard at Crestwood for years, and more than once he told me that he introduced my parents.  He said, “Your father would do handstands and flips off the high dive boards aiming to get your mother’s attention.”  I guess he did get her attention; and after a while they weren’t just seen swimming together but would spend time together at one of the most popular spots at Crestwood, the dance pavilion. The young people would keep that jukebox playing all day long as they danced to the music.  As a young girl, I remember sitting there on the rocks near the dance floor watching folks dance and dreaming about when I would be old enough to join in the dancing.

There is no doubt in my mind that dancing probably sealed the deal for my parents as they both loved to dance, and they were excellent dancers.  One of my fondest memories is my parents dancing in our kitchen some Sunday mornings after church, and I know one of their favorite pastimes was going out to dinner and dance clubs with family and friends to dance the night away, which was very popular back then.  Those Sunday mornings in our kitchen is where I learned to dance.  When I was older, I enjoyed attending some of the UAW dinners with my father as his dance partner when my mother couldn’t attend because of her nursing schedule.

While in the Navy, my father was stationed in San Francisco, while my mother was stationed in Norfolk, Virginia.  After months of letter writing, my mother resigned from her post in the Navy.  Their plan was for my mom; her mother, Maude Connelly (Nana); and my father’s mother, Mary Delaney Coates (Grandma) to travel by train to California for the wedding.  They were married at Mission San Francisco De Asis, or “Mission Dolores,” its more popular name, (founded 1776) on January 13, 1945, as my father was stationed nearby at the Naval Base.

My mother returned to Allendale to give birth to their first child. My father was discharged from the Navy on February 7, 1946, at which time he returned to the east coast to join Bea and their three-month old son, Jimmy. Their first and only house was bought in Allendale, and it literally looked like a red barn at that time.  Eventually, my parents added on a large living and dining room area with a full finished basement below it.  Through the years, many of our relatives (grandmothers, aunt, various cousins) lived with us at 133 West Crescent Avenue.  It was not an extremely large house, and we only had one bathroom that was shared by all seven, eight, eleven, or however many family members were living there at the time.  The kids’ bedrooms were frequently shuffled around to accommodate and adapt to our additional family members.  It was much later (probably after Jimmy left for college) that I had my own room, so to speak.  When I think back, I realize that my mother basically ran an extended-stay hotel with meals, and it is hard to remember a period of time that someone wasn’t living with us.  In addition to our extended-stay guests, we would have cousins coming to visit for a week at a time during the summer, and as we got older, there were various friends who resided in our basement for periods of time.

I would say my father’s parenting style was strict but warm with high expectations of his children’s behavior, manners, language, and personal appearance.  He was loving and encouraging, and maybe a little shy about giving praise to his kids.  My mother was firm but more lenient.  My mother was also loving and supportive but more reserved.  Both had a good sense of humor and a strong sense of fairness.  My father was more the extrovert, and my mother, more the introvert.  Both believed in natural beauty (“Use very little makeup.”) and modest dress.  Neat, clean, tasteful, as well as flattering, clothing was emphasized.  In other words, taking pride in oneself.  My father’s belief was you should dress not to take the attention away from your natural looks and personality, and you leave something to a guy’s imagination.  This was preached often, especially during the preteen and teen years, and it certainly made an impression on me as I preached the same and tried to instill this attitude in my kids.

Bea “runs a tight ship” as Fr. Tom would say when he visited and was our houseguest.  Fr. Tom was a distant relative from Ireland.  He was a priest stationed in England as well as other European locations through his ministry, but he spent a great deal of his missionary years in Japan.  He would come to visit every so many years, and when he was in town, there were always family gatherings and picnics, in addition to the adults taking him out on the town.  Fr. Tom was a good sport, and my father and uncles would have a lot of fun at his expense whenever they were together.  My mother taught Fr. Tom how to dance which I believe also became one of his favorite pastimes, especially when he was visiting.  Dancing was a form of entertainment that was enjoyed by most of my family.  I also remember my mother giving dance lessons to my cousin Mike and our neighbor Tom Fallon.

My mother didn’t raise her voice often, but she had certain expectations of her kids; we either met them or she followed up with us.  One summer day, I hopped on my bike heading to Brookside Park (one of the local swimming places) to spend the day with my friends.  Unfortunately, I forgot (whether on purpose or not, I can’t quite remember) to do all of my chores.  My mother drove over to Brookside to get me, as this was way before cell phones.  She walked out to the beach, pulled me aside, and said I needed to head back home as I did not do all of my chores.  I am sure I fussed and promised her that I would do them when I got home, but that wasn’t acceptable.  So I had to hop on my bike and head back home.  I am sure I did this with an “attitude” and felt a sense of unfairness about what was happening.

Both of my parents were compassionate and shared many of the same values, especially their Catholic faith, as well as a strong sense of family responsibility.  I have no memory of hearing my mother complain about the many guests that lived with us, although their care became mostly her responsibility.  Each of my parents loved and had a high regard for their mother-in-law, being very kind and caring, and sharing a strong bond with them.  I remember my parents being there for each other when they lost their mothers.  It was a very sad time for each of them.  Their mothers, in particular, but also their siblings and extended families, played a very important part of their lives.  Looking back now, I realize how fortunate I was to have grown up in the midst of a very strong family unit.  Not that there weren’t disagreements, arguments, and family struggles, but there was also an atmosphere of love and support for each other.

 

A world of wishes at your command,
God and his angels close at hand,
Friends and family, their love impart,
And Irish blessings in your heart.

My father was James J. Coates, Sr., known as Jimmy to family and friends.  He was born on April 2, 1920, and raised in Paterson, New Jersey.  He graduated as president of his class in 1939 from Eastside High School and was outstanding in the sport of football.  He also starred as an amateur boxer and won several championship tournaments.  It was his brother Tom, though, who won the Diamond Gloves in Paterson.  I believe he inherited Tom’s ring after his death.

He could not take advantage of a college football scholarship because he had to work after high school to support his mother and sisters.  He was the youngest boy of nine children.  The lineup was: Eleanor, Muriel, Mary, Tom, Jimmy, Charlotte, Margie, Florence, and Pat.  As I recall, Margie drowned in the Passaic River, and Tom died at a young age from a heart attack in his early 30’s leaving behind his wife, Anne, and four young children, Tom, Colleen, Terry, and Mary.  Each of these cousins lived with us at some point.

But my father’s education did not stop at high school, as he was a self-educated man.  He would sit at the kitchen table on weekends with his pen, pad, and dictionary.  Throughout the week, he would jot down words from conversations, the radio or TV, or at meetings etc. that he wasn’t familiar with; he would look a word up in the dictionary, write down the definition, and make himself use this word frequently in his conversations.  At times he would share this new knowledge with me if I were sitting at the table.  Other times, he stopped me as I passed through the kitchen to have a conversation using one or more of the words appropriately in our chat, often creating humorous scenarios to help him remember the words.  He was also a reader, and I am pretty certain that is how he learned about the unions, labor contracts, etc.  His personal books would have his notations in them, either questioning something or emphasizing a point. Being an Irishman, he also had a way with words and enjoyed writing, whether it was letters to my mother and/or his mother while in the Navy, or writing poems, which he did for Bill and me when we got married.  He would just scribble on whatever was in his possession and create some very memorable prose.  My father was the main correspondent when I moved, keeping me informed of the home front news.

After graduating high school, he was employed at Wright Aeronautical Corporation in the inspection department and soon became active in the labor circles.  He was elected representative of the inspection department, serving in that capacity until February 1943, when he was elected Executive Board Member at Large.  In May of that year, he entered the U.S. Navy and served his country for two years.  Upon re-entering Wright, he was elected representative of the Inspection Department and Chief Steward.  Eventually, he became the Financial Secretary-Treasurer for the Local 669 UAW-CIO.

He was an amateur boxer/fighter and a personal trainer long before it became a trend, like in today’s world.  Boxing and physical fitness played a major role in my father’s life.  He probably started boxing in high school or maybe even in middle school, as this sport was very popular and encouraged back then to keep kids off the street, much like basketball and soccer now.  He remained active in that sport as a referee in amateur circles and was a member of the AAU as well as a boxing instructor at the YMCA.  My brother Jimmy and I have reminisced about going with my father to Asbury Park when he was refereeing a fight.  I remember going to the beach and to the hotel pool during the day; that night the gentleman, who I believe operated the hotel elevator, stayed with Jimmy and me while Dad went to referee the fight.  I think I fell asleep watching the fight on TV.

I imagine my father, as a young married man, spent many weekends working around the house.  He finished the upstairs into two rooms, one a bedroom and the other his office for a short time until it became another bedroom as the family grew.  He then finished off the basement, converting one area into his office and another area into a bar room where my parents entertained frequently.  He built cinder block walls around our property as well.  

Like his dad, my father was an alcoholic, although not abusive.  My aunts said that my father idolized his dad when he was younger, and they felt he never got over the pain of having to physically throw his father out of the house to protect his mother and sisters.  Unfortunately, his alcoholism defined much of our family life, especially for my younger siblings who weren’t fortunate enough to have as many of the memories I had before his drinking seemed to take over our lives.  My father was a “true alcoholic” whose personality completely changed when he was drinking, and once he started drinking he couldn’t stop until he passed out.  Though my mother explained, and I understood that alcoholism was a disease, I struggled with the fact of my father taking that first drink after he had been sober for an extended time.  The well-groomed, articulate, principled, and disciplined man disappeared; we were left dealing with a person who would scheme, lie, and sneak around to get his hands on any liquor.  He would hide bottles all over the place, and then come up with reasons why he would need to go to the garage, car, office, or who knows where else to sneak gulps from his hidden bottles.  There are so many stories here.  Though my dad turned to God for help and his faith was strong, I think sadness, regret, and pride interfered.

My father passed away on February 28, 1983.  One of my most disturbing memories was after my father’s funeral, my siblings and I sitting around the kitchen table sharing our encounters with our dad when he was on a binge.  Each of us had very upsetting, as well as embarrassing,  instances.  Unfortunately, none of us knew what the others had experienced; though we were all living under the same roof, we were dealing with this problem individually.

 

May you enjoy the four greatest blessings:
Honest work to occupy you.
A hearty appetite to sustain you.
A good woman to love you.
And a wink from the God above.

My mother was Beatrice Elizabeth Connelly, known as Bea to family and friends.  She was born on December 31, 1920, and passed away on April 22, 1994, at the age of 74.  My mother was the middle child in her family, and the lineup was: Margorie, Vera who died at the age of seven, Cecelia, Beatrice, Shirley (Mickey) and Cornelia (Connie).  There was another sister who died at birth, but I am not sure where she was in the lineup, and I never heard her name.

Her family moved to Allendale, probably when she was 14.  Prior to that time, they lived in Passaic where my mother attended Passaic Grammar and High School.  She was a graduate of Ramsey High School and Hackensack School of Nursing, where she then became a member of the Hackensack Hospital staff.  She eventually became a Navy nurse.  About two years after moving to Allendale, her father, whom she was very close to, died suddenly of a stroke or aneurysm.  Of the five surviving sisters, Bea was the only one educated beyond high school.   

When her father was still alive, Bea, her sisters, and their mother, Maude, would spend much of the summer at their cabin at Budd Lake.  Maude was very close to her family, especially her sisters, and mom said extended family members also spent time there with them, so there usually was a large group.  She shared with me that in their teenage years, she, her sisters, and cousins would go out in the row boat to smoke cigarettes.  I don’t believe my mother was ever a real smoker, so I am just writing it off as a typical teen experimenting.

My mother was a strong woman with a very generous and compassionate heart.  She was more reserved, where my father was more gregarious and “the life of the party” much of the time.  My mother had a great sense of humor and enjoyed having a good time but didn’t like being in the spotlight.  She was a very practical woman and had a real knack and eye for spotting and picking out inexpensive garments on a hanger that would look like a million bucks when put on.  When I shopped with her, I would pass up a garment not seeing the possibilities and potential it had, but she would pull it out and say, “Try this on. I think it will look good on you.”  It usually did.

Like her mother, she eventually also had to raise her family as a single parent.  Regrettably, she lost her husband to alcoholism when it took over his life and took a toll on our family life.  I am not exactly sure when my father’s job changed, but I will never forget when we didn’t see him for a couple of weeks.  After leaving the UAW, his new job required him to travel, I think mostly to Pennsylvania, so he was out of town often.  On one of his trips, he started drinking and getting lost in his own world with the bottle.  My mother contacted my father’s friends, asking them to go and bring him home.  Sure enough, Cupo and Johnny Hayes went to Pennsylvania to get him.  My father’s friends were very loyal and always there for him, as were many folks who knew him.  The Allendale police, as well as other local police, would even drive or escort him home if they found him driving after being on a binge.  I was stunned once when my brother Jimmy stood in our kitchen yelling at a couple of officers telling them that they weren’t really helping him when they did this.  When he wasn’t drinking, my father was a very likable and good, decent man who was always helping others, and I think that is why his friends, family, co-workers, and acquaintances were always so willing to cover for him.  My father was active in AA and there were times he would go away for days, maybe a week or so to “dry out” and shape up.  As the situation became more unpredictable and unreliable, my mother started brushing up and studying to return to nursing.  I can remember her spending evenings at the kitchen table studying to get updated and knowledgeable about new drugs and medical processes and procedures.  She eventually went back to work as one of the head nurses at the Allendale Nursing Home.  

My mother dealt with my father’s drinking like most folks did at that time, as it was not considered a disease but more commonly thought of as a social flaw.  It wasn’t typical for people to discuss family and personal problems, and she just didn’t talk about it from an emotional standpoint.  In the worst of times, one of my vivid memories of my mother is her kneeling and praying to St. Jude for help. (His statue was kept on her bedroom dresser.) Catholics believe he is the patron saint of desperate cases and lost causes and pray to him asking for his help, by praying to God on our behalf.  As kids, we were trained to get my father’s wallet, keys, license, and money, and help him to bed.  Then “the watch” would begin, with us keeping an eye on my dad making sure he didn’t get his hands on any liquor, so he could start “drying out” and sober up.  This was quite a challenge because when he was drinking, he was a very different person who was sneaky and would easily lie about what he was doing.

Knowing what she had to do to protect her family, my mother eventually started proceedings for a divorce to avoid liability for any car accidents my father might have.  She was especially trying to prevent the possibility of losing our home.  Through everything, I know my mother always loved my father, and I believe she was always hopeful that he would recover, so they would be able to rebuild what his drinking had destroyed.

 

When the first light of the sun, Bless you.
When the long day is done, Bless you.
In your smiles and your tears, Bless you.
Through each day of your years, Bless you.

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.

Maude McKinley Connelly was born in 1892 and passed away on January 1, 1967.  Maude’s mother was Bessie Price (Jewish), and the story goes that when she married her McKinley husband (Catholic), she was disowned by her family.  At that time, there were such strong feelings that you stayed with your “own kind” when it came to marriage to preserve your identity and heritage.  So it wasn’t common for blended marriages between ethnic and/or religious communities such as a Jewish and Catholic marriage back then.  

Sadly, I don’t remember hearing many stories about Michael and Maude Connelly.  What I do remember being told is that Michael was a very successful businessman owning a trucking company and a restaurant that I believe was located in Woodcliff Lake; but all was lost during the Depression.  Consequently, in 1935 the Connellys moved to Allendale from Passaic where Michael and Maude became the managers of the Allendale Hotel, which became the new home for Michael, Maude, and their girls.  This was the original site for the Allendale Bar & Grill.  A couple years after making this move, Michael died suddenly of a stroke or aneurysm.

In September 1947, the Allendale Borough Council voted five to one to approve the transfer of Maude’s liquor license from the Allendale Hotel premises to the address of her new bar and grill, 67 West Allendale Avenue, following a stormy public hearing attended by more than 300 residents in the Fire House.  Mrs. Ethel Braun Maratene, owner of the hotel property sought to prevent the transfer on the grounds that the “right” to the license was vested in the property.  It was reported in The Sunday News that the hearing was heated and filled with recriminations.  The audience was openly hostile to Judge Dwyer who represented Mrs. Maratene interrupting him with frequent boos. A former mayor also accused the councilman who voted against the transfer, of authoring the anonymous “Citizens Welfare Committee’s letter” urging residents to oppose the license transfer. 

Threat of eviction from the hotel and eventual loss of business and livelihood prompted Maude to purchase the new property and construct the bar and grill addition.  When being cross-examined by Judge Dwyer, she admitted that she took a gamble in going ahead before being granted the license transfer but said that under the law there was nothing else she could have done.  She had been assured, however, that because of her good record during nine and a half years in the hotel there could be no bona fide reason for refusing the transfer.  Construction permits issued by Federal authorities gave her added encouragement.  So the Allendale Bar & Grill moved to its current location; Maude and her daughters lived in the house that was attached to the tavern.  Through the years, the house was renovated to expand the dining room and kitchen areas, as well as adding another bar.  

From the very beginning, Maude “Mom” Connelly was well-known for her generosity to those down and out.  It was customary for the Allendale Police to bring drifters and hoboes lingering in town or along the railroad tracks to Mom’s kitchen door.  I have memories of them being served a hot meal in her family dining room and then leaving with a bagged lunch for the road as the police moved them along.  She also started the tradition at Mom’s Allendale Bar & Grill of a free corned beef and cabbage dinner every St. Patrick’s Day which continues today.  Maude was also “Barracks Mother” of the local State Police detachment when located in the borough and then later Ramsey, and she also served as an air raid warden for Allendale during World War II.  As a young child walking through town with my grandmother, she would be greeted by those passing, “Hi Mom,” and I can remember thinking, why don’t I see all these people on Thanksgiving?

“Maude Connelly, 75, Belle of Firemen” was how her death notice was listed in the New Jersey Bergen Record.  The article reported that she was the only member of the Allendale Fire Department Auxiliary.  The Fire Department did not have a regular auxiliary but made Mom Connelly a special member in view of her personality and service to the community (she lived in Allendale for over 30 years).  There wasn’t a fire in Allendale that she didn’t provide hot food and drink to the town’s volunteer firefighters, either delivering to them at the fire site or serving them in her personal dining room following the fire.  Because I spent many summer nights at her house, I recall as a kid helping to prepare the food.  She attended the Firemen’s Conventions, and I have fond memories of the Firemen picnics and parades that we would attend in Allendale as well as surrounding local towns.  These picnics and parades were very popular back then as a means to raise money for the volunteer firehouses.

I can’t help but think of some of her trusted and loyal staff and friends.  Annie, who was so loved by my mother and aunts, was a young immigrant girl from Germany who was taken under the wing of Mom Connelly.  She worked in the AB&G kitchen from the beginning; but more importantly, she became family.  Legend has it she was a wonderful baker and very loyal to Mom.  She vacationed at the shore with us and attended family gatherings. Casey Mahoney became Mom’s sidekick after Annie, and she seemed a permanent fixture there until Nana retired.   

Schultz, the evening bartender, is a vivid memory for me as he was a happy, fun, and kind gentleman; and he is the only other person I remember seeing behind the AB&G bar besides Mom and Uncle Walt when I was younger.  One night while I was helping Nana in the kitchen, I had a terrible toothache.  She sent me out to the bar to ask Schultz for a shot of whiskey for my tooth, which I did, and he gave to me.  I then proceeded to drink that shot standing right there at the end of the bar then returning the empty shot glass to Schultz.  I remember his expression changing to a combination of surprise and fear, I think.  Returning to the kitchen, Nana asked me where the shot of whiskey was.  When I told her that I drank it, she became so upset and said, “You weren’t supposed to drink it!  You were to bring it back here to hold the whiskey over your tooth to kill the pain.”  She was so worried about being closed down by the ABC (Alcoholic Beverage Control).  I was then sent upstairs to lie down so it could wear off.  

I grew up working at Mom Connelly’s AB&G.  In fact, many of her sixteen grandchildren earned money working in some role at the AB&G.  When we were really young, our work was mostly making pizza boxes.  When we needed spending money, we would go to Nana’s and make boxes.  Even when most of the rooms in her house were already filled with piles of boxes stacked to the ceiling, I don’t ever remember her refusing me the opportunity to earn money.  I believe we got paid by the box; what we wanted the money for determined how many boxes we would make at that time.  I advanced from pizza boxes to washing/drying dishes; to cleaning the boarders’ rooms; to serving meals to her boarders as well as the members of the Allendale Chamber Commerce who met monthly in her personal dining room; to making pizzas, sandwiches; to waitressing for her customers; and eventually to running the kitchen on Saturday afternoons and other times when needed.  Did I mention that Mom’s pizzas were hailed as among the best pizzas in Bergen County?

During the summer when Art, Cathy, and I worked in the kitchen, we would spend the nights at her house.  In fact, we probably spent many of our summer nights at Nana’s.  I don’t think we ever got bored there as we were busy working and just being kids hanging out with friends and doing things around town.  When we were younger, one of the highlights of working in the kitchen was getting to ride in the back of the beer truck after the delivery.  I believe the driver’s name was Red, and we would watch him roll the large beer barrels down the ramp to the dark and damp cellar below the tavern.  If he wasn’t behind in his deliveries, he would let us climb into the truck, and with the large sliding door left opened, he would let us ride in the cargo area while he drove through town, as we waved to folks we knew along the way.

Thinking about it now, beer was a theme for us growing up and provided us some amusement, like the Miss Rheingold Contest. I recently read that this contest was one of the most successful advertising campaigns in history, launched in 1940 by Philip Liebmann, great-grandson of the brewery’s founder.  Later, to up the excitement, the brewery allowed any young woman in America to audition, a kind of American Idol before its time.  In 1957, the six-week campaign vote total was an astonishing 23 million, almost as many as in the presidential election the year before.  Printed voting ballots were dropped in bars, liquor stores, and wherever else Rheingold beer was sold—like Mom Connelly’s Bar and Grill.  This became an obsession for us as we felt a great responsibility to help “our girl” win.  Sometimes it was a team effort as we wanted the same candidate to win, and other times, it became a competition between us because we each chose a different candidate.  In the mornings, when we were helping to clean the bar room, refill condiments and silverware bins, etc., we would stuff the ballot box with slips for our girls.  Not wanting to be too obvious, we would do that a couple of times throughout the day over the six-week period.  I know we certainly did our part, as we had a few winners.  Interestingly, in 1964 Rheingold was sold to new owners and that was the year of the last contest.  I think a couple of years later, Rheingold disappeared.  I also read that the “Miss Rheingold Contest” was probably missed more than the beer.

The cellar below the tavern was quite large as it stored the beer barrels, liquor, supplies, etc.  We actually shied away from going down there because it was so dark and scary with many unidentified reflections.  One summer, we must have been feeling particularly brave because we spent quite a bit of time down there when we weren’t helping in the kitchen.  We moved things around, swept up the dirt and dust, and set up crates for people to sit on.  As I remember it, there were large pallets from the beer deliveries that we used as a stage area, and one or maybe two light bulbs hung by a string over that area.  That is where we decided to have a talent show.  When Art and I were reminiscing about this, he reminded me that we got this idea from The Little Rascals, Our Gang show.  I can remember practicing our dancing and singing, making flyers advertising the performance, making tickets to sell; and it seems we poured our heart, soul, and energy into this.  We walked around town handing out flyers and feeling the excitement of getting ready for our grand production.  No surprise here, but my memory is a complete blur when I try to remember who was in the audience for our final performance.  No doubt, Nana was there, and I would venture to say maybe our mothers, but I can’t remember other members of the audience; and we certainly didn’t receive any bouquet of flowers after the final curtain.  Art wasn’t much help remembering either.

Another part of Nana’s house that was a mystery—yet so inviting—was the attic.  There were wardrobes filled with party dresses, wedding gowns, my mother’s naval uniform and other military uniforms, as well as photo albums, suitcases, and many other unidentified items.  I wish I could go through that attic today, as I am certain we would find many family keepsakes and photographs that unfortunately were lost with the change of ownership.

Maude Connelly loved to make Christmas special for all of her family, to the point of hocking her jewelry at a pawn shop in NYC which would then be reclaimed in February/March.  I was told this was a frequent habit depending on business.  When I was very young, we would gather at her house on Christmas Eve where the younger kids were put down to sleep while the adults and older children went to midnight mass.  The non-church-going uncles were left in charge of the kids sleeping.  After mass, a spread would be put out on the dining room table where the adults gathered while my grandmother distributed her gifts.  There would be stacks of presents everywhere throughout the living and sitting rooms, as you can imagine, since she had sixteen grandchildren, in addition to her five daughters and sons-in-law.  What excitement we felt as she took each of us to our pile to open our gifts and enjoy the moment.  At that time, I never thought about all the other grandchildren, because she made me feel like it was all about me—as she made all of her grandchildren feel, I am sure.  That was such a memorable and happy time that I will never forget; but I also won’t forget when that tradition stopped, because her daughters disagreed as to whether the tradition should continue.  When that tradition ended, my grandmother was broken-hearted and very sad.  It was one of the few times I saw my grandmother crying, which upset me very much, and I thought I would never forgive those who made her cry.

When I think of Mom as a business woman, I think she managed her business more with her heartstrings and faith than directed by her business sense.  Making money was not her bottom line.  I believe she was happy and content as long as she made enough money to make Christmas special for her family and to make her annual trip to Miami, Florida, each January through February, for her rest and recreation.  At that time, her daughters Margie, Cecil, and Bea took over for her.  She probably also wanted enough funds to play the slot machines which she really enjoyed.  Though she didn’t do it often, it was a pastime that brought her some hours of entertainment and fun.

I can still see her overseeing things in the kitchen and directing me to put more meat or cheese on that sandwich.  She would say, “These men are working hard and need to be fed.”  That was true for each customer, whether the person worked in construction or in the bank.  That was her business plan:  good food, generous portions, and reasonable prices.  I smile when I think of her and today’s business standards and controls.

My grandmother was also very generous in lending her grandchildren use of her car.  She maintained ownership of her Black Chevy Nova long after she stopped driving, and as we reached the age of 17 and got our driving licenses, we were allowed to borrow her car when she wasn’t using it, especially on the weekends when we wanted to go out.  As long as we always brought it back by a set curfew and made sure gas was left in the tank, we had this privilege.  She kept her car so her grandchildren could drive her to do errands, visit friends, go to the Jersey Shore, or into New York City.  She liked having that independence and ability to get around.

Nana was born and raised as well as worked in NYC, and she loved it!  She would take her grandchildren by train into New York for the day.  First stop was always St. Patrick’s Cathedral to light candles and pray, then some shopping especially for her shoes and dresses, then Radio City Music Hall, a carriage ride through Central Park, the Empire State Building, or some other landmark or place of interest that she thought we would enjoy.  Sure wish I could remember the name of a certain Chinese restaurant she enjoyed visiting for afternoon tea or an early dinner.  She really came alive in NYC and had such energy as she would walk everywhere, until we would ask if we could take a cab to our next stop.  Mom also enjoyed having her grandchildren visit her when she was in Miami.  She would fly a few of us down for Spring Break to stay with her at the Park Hotel, which was a very modest establishment.  Cathy, Art, and I made the trip together, which was my first time flying.  Of course, Art was whispering in my ear the entire flight that we were going to crash, and I was a nervous wreck!  I was praying the rosary like nobody’s business.  We had a fun week of deep sea fishing, days at the beach, and dinners out.  Cathy, a few years older than I, somehow got Nana to agree to let us go dancing at the USO one night.  All was fun and well until Cathy stepped outside with a sailor, and my grandmother was there to greet them.  She was upset, and we had to leave.

When Mom Connelly retired in 1963, she wanted the AB&G to remain in the family; and for that reason, she urged and actually pleaded with my parents to become partners in this transition of ownership.  Uncle Walt was a full-time printer but worked at the bar on weekends; my Uncle Neil was a full-time employee at the tavern, which became his livelihood after he returned from WWII as an injured vet.  He enjoyed telling the story to his bar friends and other patrons of how he lost his leg serving under General Patton.  I know that his handicap did not stop him from becoming a bicycle enthusiast and he was well-known in the area for Sunday jaunts around Bergen County.  It wasn’t unusual to drive along the road and see him riding his bicycle.  My cousin Mike was working full-time at Mosstype in Waldwick but was also bartending part-time on weeknights and weekends.  

I don’t know exactly what was discussed, but I know there were many conversations around our kitchen table.  My parents were not keen on the idea of becoming partners in the AB&G, as my father, at the time, traveled during the week with his job and was home only on the weekends.  Well, Nana made a hard sell to my parents, and they finally agreed to it, so she could retire.  Mom retired, sold the business to three of her sons-in-law and grandson, and moved to 133 West Crescent Avenue.  I am certain that her vision of the future did not entail the hurt and ill-feelings within the family that grew stronger through the years as the partnerships changed.  Unfortunately, somewhat of a dividing line grew between her daughters’ families, even those not involved in the business, the first of many wounds, as feelings were hurt that all of the sons-in-law weren’t asked to be a part of the business transition.  When my brother Jimmy returned from the Army, he bought my parents’ share, which I know was a relief for them.  Eventually, Jimmy decided he wanted out of the business.  He decided to move to Vermont, so he sold his share to Kevin.  He was not the first to leave the partnership though, and through the years as ownership changes took place and differences developed between the partners, Mom’s family became more divided.  I often wondered if Mom Connelly looking down regretted her plan and wished she had done things differently.  Can’t remember exactly when, but after Mom retired and was living with us, she went on a trip to Atlantic City probably with her good friends, the Wilsons.  Anyway, I believe it was there she had her first heart attack and was hospitalized there.  It wasn’t common practice for our Allendale Volunteer Ambulance Corp to transport folks in a non-emergency situation, but because it was Mom Connelly, they made the trip to Atlantic City to bring her home to Allendale.  I distinctly remember this because my best friend’s dad, Joe Kiss, told me what an honor it was for him to be chosen as part of the team that made the trip to bring Mom Connelly home.

To this day, I have regretted the night I didn’t stop in to wish my grandmother a Happy New Year and give her a good night kiss, which I did every night on my way to bed.  Being that her bedroom was near the bathroom, my ritual was to stop in to see her.  Some nights I would sit with her and chat as we watched her shows, and other nights it would just be a quick catch-up and good night kiss.  The next morning, January 1, 1967, excited voices and commotion woke me up as the Allendale Ambulance Corp arrived to take Nana to the hospital as she was not feeling well.  I was sitting at the kitchen table when they took her on the stretcher to the hospital with my parents following them.  That was the last time I saw her alive.  I remember my parents returning later from the hospital upset, and my mother going into her room, throwing herself on her bed, sobbing.  Within hours, my aunts, uncles, and cousins arrived, gathering in the kitchen to discuss funeral arrangements.  That was one of the saddest days of my life that I will never forget.

I was so blessed to have her as a grandmother and role model.  It wasn’t till years later as a young woman and mother that I realized how invaluable the life lessons were that I absorbed and learned from this woman.  “Mom Connelly” is a legend at the AB&G in Allendale, and she continues to be an inspiration to me.

The magic of Christmas lingers on,
Though childhood days have passed,
Upon the common round of life,
 A Holy Spell is cast.