Memoirs of Catherine Myers

Mom asked her siblings to write down memories of their childhood for her volume on the Moran Family. Aunt Catherine organized her memories chronologically:

1927 ( August)
We lived at 19 Pike Street. Joe was born. I went to the hospital to see Mom and the new baby. The baby was in a crib in Mom’s room. Joe came home. Mom had him in a carriage. He was crying and I tried to push the carriage, leaned on the handle and dumped him on the floor.

1927-1928
I had a toothache. Mom told me to eat my potatoes and gravy and it would get better. It did!!

1928-1929
We lived (six??) months with Grandma and Grandpa Moran while Dad went to Schenectady to find work. He got a job in Locomotive Works. I watched Grandma trim the wicks and put kerosene in the lamps every day.

Summer 1929
Before leaving for Schenectady, Mom took us to spend a day with Romaine Myers and Dad’s Aunt Sara. Betty got stung on the neck with a bee. She also took us to Kingston to stay overnight with her Aunt Margaret and her boys. One outstanding memory of that trip was getting a bowl of oatmeal for breakfast with canned milk on it (I didn’t like it). Kate took me to my first movies at the Irving before we moved to Schenectady. It was Al Jolson. He sang “Sonny Boy’’ but I don’t remember the name of the film. Dad started calling Joe Sonny Boy.

1930
We went to Schenectady on the train. It was Mom, Aunt Kate, Betty, Joe and I. Dad was supposed to meet us but we didn’t get off the train at the right stop. Dad looked all over for us. We got off at the next stop and took a bus to Schenectady. Dad finally found us huddled in the hallway of the apartment at 19 Park Place in the wee hours of the morning. Dad had the key and let us in.

September 1930
I started to school in a public school just across the street from us. I was all dressed up: New shoes, new dress. When I told Mom I had to sit on the floor because there were no seats, she immediately took me to St. John the Evangelist School. We said our prayers and sang little songs in French. Mom started me taking piano lessons. We were only in that apartment a short time and we moved to 24 Park Place where we had a piano and our own furniture. We had a boarder in our apartment. His name was Mr. Hill. He played the xylophone and was a student at the Union Seminary Theological School in Schenectady. One night we had a fire. Dad said Mr. Hill turned his gas heater up too high and the curtains caught fire. Dad doused it with a pail of water and the fire was out before the fire trucks arrived. The thing that stands out in my mind is the fireman running up the steps with a big hose and an axe.

Thibodeux family lived in the apartment below us. There were a lot of boys in the family. Several of them played instruments in a band. They practiced in our house while mother accompanied them on the piano. Kate stayed with us for a while and worked in the Mohican Market. Then she married Jack Williams and lived for a while in Schenectady. Dad and Jack roomed with Jack’s sister, Mrs. Davis. Then Mary came to stay with us, met Carl Stock and married him. While Mary was with us Mom had a miscarriage and I remember that she was very sick. She thought Betty and I were standing someplace in her room and I could hear Dad trying to convince her that we were in bed. Later, when we moved back to Grandma Moran’s house, I heard Mom tell Grandma about hearing the little person all in white tell her she would be alright. She was convinced that it was her little sister Annie. (Near death experience??)

During one of the band practices, Joe was rushed to the Ellis Hospital where he had tracheal intubation. He had what Mom thought was croup but it turned out to be diphtheria. He was rocking in the chair saying, “Mommy I can’t breathe”. Aunt Mary nursed him back to health in a steam filled isolation unit. During my first year in school 1929-1930, Betty, Joe and I had chicken pox, German measles and flu. Betty started to school in September 1930. She wouldn’t be six until May but they took her anyway. She was a puny little thing and used to fall on the way home from school. Grandpa Moran came to visit us and took Better and her 21 dolls back to Finch Hill with him. When Dad was working he bought us a toy every payday. My favorite gift was roller skates. Mom told me I wore them to bed and she took them off when I went to sleep. Betty must have come home the Christmas of 1930. Mom took me Christmas shopping with her and I began my tree-trimming career (What! No Santa?). We bought two beautiful dolls at $5 each. Mine had brown hair and was dressed in pink. Betty’s had long hair and was dressed in blue. When Joe recovered and left the hospital, he had to stay in bed for two weeks so he wouldn’t get myocarditis. He was at the “terrible two “ stage and wouldn’t eat anything but puffed rice three times a day.

Jan-Feb 1931
The Moran’s big house on Finch Hill burned down and with it Betty’s 21 dolls. Also destroyed were Dad’s war souvenirs, table and chairs, ironing board and iron that dad bought Mom for Christmas when I was 2 months old, my beautiful teddy bear and many more valuable items, wedding gifts, etc that Mom and Dad had stored on the 3rd floor because there was no room for them on the truck when they moved to Schenectady.

April 28, 1931
Clare Ann was born. Dad had taken Betty and I to the movies. Mom was supposed to go to the hospital to have the baby. Aunt Gert was with her and she didn’t even have time to call Dr. Reynolds. We arrived just in time to hear a baby cry and Dad sent Betty and I to tell Aunt Kate and he called the doctor. Gert delivered the baby. It was the first time she delivered a baby. When we got back with Aunt Kate, Mom and baby were all fixed up and the Dr. was on his way out. My most vivid memory of that day was seeing the foot of Mom’s bed elevated on two kitchen chairs.

Summer 1931
We moved back to Carbondale. Dad was laid off, but before he left he had a piece of steel embedded in his cornea. He used to tell me the doctor had to take his eye out to remove the steel. When you see eye surgery it looks like that. We returned to Carbondale on the train. We had a lunch in shoeboxes. Clare Ann was six weeks old. She cried all the way home. We went to live with Grandma and Grandpa Moran on River Street in an apartment above Kaufman’s warehouse and store. We finally moved to Farview Street and Dad got a part-time job in the mines. I think it was in the Jermyn Colliery. We lived over the landlord. The No. 7 school started. I brought the measles rubella home to Betty, Joe and Clare Ann. Clare was six months old and she got pneumonia. She was very sick and Grandpa’s doctor Dr. Dixon wanted to give her the “new” sulfa drug. The nurses in the family, Gert, Mildred and Mary, were against it. So, Dr. Fineran doctored us through the measles. Sometime in November they started to give out diphtheria toxoid. I brought my slip home to get signed but the day before it was given out I got diphtheria. Aunt Mary took care of me and the house was quarantined. We didn’t get much school in that year. The doctor gave us all a dose of Diphtheria antitoxin and nobody else got it and it shortened my illness. For Christmas in 1931 dad made us a doll house out of orange crates and Mom made curtains for the dollhouse windows. It was all furnished, with four rooms of furniture. He also made us a little table and two chairs. Our big dolls got all new clothes. When we lived on Farview Street, Aunt Kate took me, Betty and Joe to sing on the Carbondale radio. I sang Ramona, Betty Springtime in the Rockies and Joe sang Pop Goes the Weasel.

Memoirs of Uncle Joe (Pt. 3)

These were stories Uncle Joe told of his childhood:

How to Weasel a Dog

I suppose during that particular time period in the early 1900s, there must have been an infestation or overabundance of weasels in the area. The long, thin rodents could find a way into a chicken coop at night regardless of how tightly locked it may be, stealing eggs and sometimes, killing chickens. To solve this problem the farmers would look for a dog, probably of the short-haired terrier breed. The dog was taken to a farmer or neighbor (who sometimes lived a great distance away) lucky enough to have trapped an elusive weasel. The squirming rodent was dumped from a burlap bag into a large steel drum. The dog owner then dropped his dog into the drum, and the action began. After a period of time, when they felt the dog was thoroughly weaseled, they tipped the barrel over, bagged the weasel (if he was still alive) for the next session and cared for the dog's wounds. Some dogs were so mutilated they had to be shot (a shotgun stood nearby). Those who survived became the best weasel dogs in the county. They could probably smell a weasel from half a mile away.
It was this particular story that made me lose grandma's favorite cat. He was a huge, one eyed, battle-scarred, gray colored tomcat. He would go in and out of the house anytime he chose; no other cat had such privileges. He would go to the door and yowl when he wanted out, and yowl again to come back in. When he was in, the tomcat followed grandma around the house and they talked to each other. On one particular day at 4:00 p.m., I took the pail to the barn where the grain was kept, in order to feed the chickens. The lid on the big steel drum was ajar. As I lifted the lid to dip the pail, I encountered the biggest barn rat I had ever seen. He evidently jumped into the drum and ate so much grain he could not jump out.  I shut the lid and went back to the house for the tomcat. Grandma was not around and the cat came to the door as I entered.  I carried him to the barn and dropped him in the barrel. As soon as he hit the bottom he sprang from that drum like a shot from a gun and ran straight into the woods without stopping. We never saw that cat again. Grandmother asked me a few days later if I had seen her cat around, and I told her I hadn't seen him for three days. I had to get that rat out of the barrel with a hayfork, which I would have done in the first place, if I hadn’t heard the weasel story.

The Cat Family

Domesticated animals on the farm were not always considered pets. Certainly there were favorites now and then who received special attention because of their appearance or disposition. Our cat family seemed to be the most ignored and self-sufficient animals on the farm. They dropped their litters either somewhere in the barn or underneath the back porch, nobody seemed to care much if they survived or died. I never saw them being fed, only during the milking in the evening and morning. At that time they would sit in a straight line approximately four feet from Dad's milking stool. When he was sure I was watching, he would give each one a squirt from the cow's teat. That was fascinating to see each one in turn rise on his haunches and catch that stream of hot milk in the mouth. This was the only time they appeared for a head count. If a cat didn't arrive for the milking, it was either dead or in labor. After the milking they would receive more milk in a large round pan. When that was thoroughly clean they were on their own.
It was the cat family's job to keep the rodent population down to a minimum; the family ranged from five to eight, or more. When numbers were reduced (bad timing on the roads, or just missing in action), one or two young kittens were introduced from another house hold. The first thing Grandma did before turning the new cats loose in the barn was very important. She put them in the hen house with that flock of fifty or so screaming, pecking, laying hens and the big mean rooster. The cats kept a good distance from chickens the rest of their lives and so did their offspring.

You Too Will Cry

We received the telephone call around 8 p.m. that night. Grandma said, “You have to walk up to your other Grandmother's house and tell her that her brother Denny is dead. He was found frozen in a snowdrift.” She gave me a flashlight to swing back and forth in my left hand as I walked up the right side of the road; Uncle Paul reported on my progress from the bar room window. Grandma Moran was alone in the house and knew something was wrong when she saw the light swinging down the road toward her. As soon as she opened the door, I casually gave her the message as instructed. When she sat down at the table and began to cry, I put my hand on her shoulder and asked, “Why are you crying, Grandma?” She replied, “You too will cry when your brother dies.”

Little Red Wagons

It's just not possible to buy a little red wagon for a five-year-old who has a three-year-old brother. We will never forget the pulling and shrieking that took place Christmas Day on Franklin Street. There was no other way but to come up with another dollar, hurry down to Shaws on Main Street, and rush back with another red wagon just like the first. I don't remember who made the run to Shaws that morning, but it probably was the same culprit who made the mistake in the first place.
Our little brothers felt very proud and important with their wagons. They finally found a way to contribute something to the family. They would circle around the field behind the house, loading the wagons with scrap wood and branches for the kitchen stove. This was very helpful to our little Mother, especially on bread baking day. The young ones were kept busy all day while the rest of us were in school, and could be seen from the kitchen window. The hungry stove took all the wood they gathered to bake bread. Mother would mix her dough in a very large silver pan, punching and kneading until it was right. Then it was put into the bread pans and placed high out of reach on racks and shelves around the kitchen to rise, and then put into the oven for baking.

Huckleberries

There is a unique skill and dexterity in berry picking. You only approach the bushes that appear to hold the most and biggest berries. It is a serious crime to pick on a bush owned by someone else, unless, of course, a brother or sister owns it. This could result in bloodshed. Ownership is immediately established by the first person to reach the bush. The right hand is held palm upward, fingers bent, and thumb rolling back and forth across the fingertips. The left hand is used to gently move the branches of the bush, or to hold your small picker. As your right palm fills, you fill the picker (a small cup or can). When the picker was full, it was dumped into a large pail, which was kept carefully in the shade, but not out of sight.
Cooking and canning huckleberries seemed to be a necessary requirement during the Great Depression. The whole family was involved, from old Grandfathers to pre-schoolers. If we left earlier than our brothers, sisters or friends, we told them which path we would take—Path No. 1 or No. 2. As the latecomers arrived, they sang out our names. When the pail was full we hurried home, usually with enough light for a game of softball. Our softball had been taped and re-taped so often, that it could not be hit much farther than the pitcher. Before each game I had to lock my dog Buddy in the cellar; otherwise, he would lurk behind a tree or in the tall grass, field the first hit, and take off for the woods with ball in mouth. When both teams failed to catch the dog, they began chasing me.
In later years we picked berries at Newton Lake. The pails were easier to fill because these were High Huckles (big berries on high bushes). The distance to the Lake was much greater; if we could not catch a ride, we walked five miles. My brother Art went with me, but only if I promised to take him for a swim after we filled the pail. That was not a hard promise to keep, since we both loved the water and still do. We would dig a hole in the ground for our berries, beneath a shady tree, and cover it with branches until we left.

Pee Gerard

My last chore at the end of the day was to supervise the emptying of baby brother's bladder. This was a very important task, since we had only three to four beds, and nine in the household; sometimes we slept as many as three to a bed. On my way upstairs, Mother would say, “Don't forget to pee Gerard.” I would lift the little brother from the bed, holding him underneath the arms from behind, and gently, but quickly walk him to the bathroom. Once there I dropped his drawers, aimed for the toilet, and commanded, “Pee Gerard”; little brother always complied after four or five commands. He never woke up, and we would have a dry night, but rarely a restful one. When the brothers were small there was no problem pushing them back to their side of the bed after one of their rollovers, but as they became heavier a push became impossible. I soon discovered that a quick pinch on the upper leg was very effective.

My Father: The Family Physician

He said his neighbors and friends often asked for his help when their mares or cows were having difficulty giving birth, or when any of their animals were sick:

• If a horse had the heaves (similar to asthma in humans), the prognosis was to wet the hay and make an adjustment in his grain intake.

• A dog with a dry nose that expelled everything he devoured had distemper. A mixture of raw eggs and whiskey was forced into the dog; very soon, the dog was able to hold food.

For those of us requiring medical attention, the following remedies were commonly applied:

• A shot of whiskey, one tablespoon of honey and the juice of a lemon were mixed for the night cough. One teaspoon of this elixir was taken as needed.

• Octagon soap with a pinch of sugar was squeezed into a paste and applied to bring out the infection in boils.

• Castor oil was delivered with a tablespoon (to those who didn’t gag), or mixed with orange juice (for those who did). The oil was mandatory for constipation anytime, but also deemed necessary in the Spring of each year to cleanse the system—whether or not it was necessary.

• One teaspoon of Mercurochrome was used to gargle the throat when it was raw and infected (but you couldn’t swallow any).

In the early days, the kitchen coal stove was allowed to burn out every night, to be restarted each morning; this not only conserved coal, but also eliminated the inhalation of coal gas during the night. Each night enough kindling had to be cut to start the morning fire. One cold winter evening on Franklin Street, I cut my second toe right to the bone, as I was cutting kindling with Dad’s small hatchet. I limped upstairs with a shoe full of blood; removing the shoe and sock, Dad cleansed the wound; pushed the skin together over the bone; taped it tight, and told me to walk to school on my heel for a few days. When we lived on Pike Street, my knee slipped out of the socket during a football game. Somehow he slipped the kneecap back in, and bound it with an ace bandage. Within two weeks, I was playing football again. On Willow Avenue, during a game of Kick the Can, I was too close to the kicker, and received a deep wound in the head. He calmly cleaned and closed that wound.

One early morning in the Autumn of 1954, Uncle Paul called and said his Mother fell down the stairs and could not get up. Dad and I drove out to the house and found her lying at the bottom of the stairs. Together we were able to move her to a chair underneath the kitchen light. While we were waiting for the ambulance, he began to work on her head, which was bleeding badly. He had her head shaved and the bleeding stopped before the ambulance arrived. Our Grandmother died in the hospital some days later as a result of that fall. It is still a mystery to me how Uncle Paul was able to climb over the top of his Mother on one leg to reach the phone. After the funeral as we walked together Dad said, “I wish I could have done more for her.”

Elizabeth A. Myers

Betty and Clare with John and Kathy Williams, August 1947



Betty in Detroit, 1947



Betty 1948



Betty and Clare, August 1948



Betty in Indianapolis, 1952



Myers Family, Christmas 1953



Betty, Leo and Clare in Heidelberg Germany, February 1956



Betty and Art in Heidelberg, Germany, March 1956

In Remembrance of Elizabeth A. Myers Hernquist

Elizabeth A. Hernquist passed away peacefully on January 18. 2011 in her home.

Born May 30, 1925 in Carbondale, PA she was the daughter of Elizabeth Moran Myers. On January 12, 1957 at St. Rose Church in Carbondale she married E. Theodore "Ted" Hernquist, Jr., who survives.

Mrs. Hernquist was a graduate of St Rose High School in Carbondale and of St. Joseph's School of Nursing in Carbondale. She was first employed as a registered nurse in Indianapolis during the polio epidemic. In 1954 she enlisted in the U.S. Air Force where she served as a Registered Nurse First Lieutenant for the 388th Fighter Bomb Wing at the Air Base in Etain, France. She then worked for a short time for the former Allegany Nursing Home and the Cattaraugus County Nursing Home in Olean after which she stayed home to raise a family.



She was a member of St. Mary of the Angels Church and the Olean American Legion Post #530. She was a charter member of the Women in Military Service for America. For several years she volunteered for Meals on Wheels. Along with her husband she traveled to Florida each year for seventeen years until 2008.

Surviving besides her husband are two daughters Mary (Don) Chuboff of Watkinsville, GA and Anne (Bob) Rueppel of Lancaster, PA; five grandchildren, Derek Chuboff, Sarah Chuboff, Kelly Chuboff, Katie Rueppel and Colleen Rueppel; one brother Arthur Myers of Owego; one sister Sister St. Gerard, IHM of Scranton, PA and several nieces and nephews.









She was predeceased by two sisters infant Mary Myers and Clare Jones and three brothers Leo Myers, Joseph Myers and Gerard Myers.

Memoirs of Uncle Joe

These first stories presented below were written by Uncle Joe regarding his father, Arthur Thomas Myers (Grandpa Myers).  I'm not sure what order they should be in, but here they are:

Hard Times

He went to all the saloons in Carbondale every evening selling newspapers after his Father died. It must have been a terrific shock for a 10 year old to lose his Father; I know it was for me and I was past 56. Grandma made him a little moneybag with a shoelace for a drawstring on top so he wouldn’t lose any change. When he came home at night they would count it together on the kitchen table and decide what they could afford to buy. There were so many young ones in the family to feed and care for; now he had become the provider.

The bars at that time were many and well occupied, mostly with black covered coal miners washing down the dust; no women were allowed. Saw dust covered the floors and cuspidors were placed here and there to catch finished tobacco chews. They served schooners of draft for a nickel, with huge trays of sandwiches spread around at various points to eat when desired.  He was not allowed to linger in any saloon too long, just one pass around the bar, after which the owner showed him out, shoving a handful of sandwiches inside his shirt. He would eat one or two and still had plenty to carry home.

Later, when he grew enough to lie about his age, he was able to find steady work in a silk mill. Whenever she could Grandma would send him to Uncle Henry’s farm to stay overnight, or perhaps a weekend. He told me, years later, he believed she did this because she felt he needed the companionship of a Father. As soon as he arrived he would begin asking his Uncle, “When are we going fishing?” His Uncle would say “As soon as the moon is right in the sky, we will go.” Whenever the fish question would arise, his Uncle would look at the sky and say “The moon is still not right.” Then one day while he was there, his Uncle said “Now the moon is right.” They caught so many; they were up most of the night cleaning fish. When Uncle Henry’s dog dropped her first litter, he was presented with one of the pups. This dog became not only his constant companion, but also a hard worker. The dog hauled all the coal he picked for the fires at home.

The Courtship

He said he worked for John Booth at that time between 1920 and 1922. He operated and maintained a large steam powered roller when the roads were being paved between Finch Hill and Clifford. He walked back and forth to the job every day, past the four corners toward Clifford. When he passed the Moran farm he could see this young girl working in the fields with her large sunbonnet and shiny black hair flowing in the wind. He looked for her every day as he passed the farm. He would see her driving the huge team of horses, walking the cows into the barn for milking, or working in the gardens. Then there were days, perhaps, when he did not see her at all and wondered if she were sick or had gone away.

He was determined to see this young lady close up, at least one time. One day, when he was sure she was in the house, he knocked on the door, introduced himself to his future father-in-law, and asked to borrow a tool he was in dire need of. After this incident, there began a constant borrowing and returning of tools (which he perhaps never used). Eventually, after a reasonable length of time and Grandpa's approval, he walked to the house in the evenings and sat in the parlor with Mother. She would play the piano for him and at times, Uncle John and Aunt Gert, the youngest of the Moran’s, would help entertain by singing. Dad always carried gum and candy with him on these visits; when he passed it to the young ones, they knew it was time to leave the parlor. At 10 p.m. every night Grandfather Moran would take the raker and shake down the fires, probably creating as much noise and hee-hawing as possible. Dad knew it was tine to leave the house.

Apparently after some time elapsed, Grandpa decided to take advantage of this strong, red headed light heavyweight. At the time, aside from farming, Grandpa was also a fight promoter and trainer. Whenever he needed a sparring partner for one of his fighters, he would take Dad into Carbondale with him and put him in the ring. Dad wasn't particularly interested in this sport, but he certainly wasn't about to disappoint his future Father-in-law. His game was baseball. On his tour of duty with the Army in the Panama Canal Zone, he was a very accurate fastball pitcher; he threw no fancy curves, just a quick fastball over the plate.

As time passed, and most likely after their engagement, they would walk together across the fields—a short cut, as Mother said, to the dances at Newton Lake. Mother liked to dance but Dad wasn't too interested. He would move away from her a little, at her request, so the other young men would ask her to dance. Sunday always seemed to be their special day together. Dad had a fast horse and a surrey he was very proud of (the story was he sold the car he had and bought the horse and carriage). They drove this surrey into Carbondale to Mass at St. Rose, sometimes racing other young drivers coming or going. Most of the time they would take the long way home around Crystal Lake. Dad always left the house an hour or so earlier for work so he could stop at the Moran's barn to help mother milk her cows. Each of the five elder Morans had their assigned cows to milk before school. He told me once I wouldn't believe the language and bickering he heard as he approached the barn, and Mother and Uncle Bill, the two oldest, trying in vain to keep peace.

In the Spring of 1922, Grandpa gave Mother a piece of land to use for herself. She put in potatoes and with the money she made in the Fall of that year was able to buy her complete outfit for her wedding. With her brother, Uncle Bill, and Dad's sister Loretta in attendance, they were married in St. Rose Church on November 22, 1922.
Many years later, as I drove our little Mother to Carbondale down Fallbrook Street, she would point and say, “Look Joe, there is the first house your Father and I lived in after our marriage. It is still there.”

The Dry Cow

He had an old cow in his dairy herd whose milking days were over. She still looked good for her age and moved with the quickness of a young calf. Somehow he heard of a man from Jermyn who was looking for a dairy cow. After the deal was made and before the buyer arrived to pay for his cow, Dad took a bicycle pump and pumped air into the cow's udder. When the man arrived Dad cautioned him to walk the cow home very slow, and again stressed this point as he was leaving. The next day the man claimed he couldn't get milk from the cow, only air.  Dad appeared very upset at this saying, "I told you to walk that cow slow – now you have ruined a good milking cow!”

The Churn Dog

He told me making butter from that top cream of the milk in a small churn took a lot of time and effort. One summer day, a salesman came along with a churn dog, and naturally, all the necessary equipment to make butter the modern and efficient way. He made the sale and unloaded the harness, treadmill and dog, with instructions to set it up. Grandma and Dad put the dog on the treadmill and when they elevated the treadmill the dog had no choice but to run and churn the butter. I suppose they would leave him on there for the one or two hours it would take, while they devoted their time to other chores. As she did with every chore, a certain day of the week was scheduled for this particular job. Everything went smoothly for several weeks. The old dog would hang around outside, following Dad around, perhaps in and out of the house, sometimes becoming a nuisance under foot. As time passed, however, the dog became harder to locate on churn day. Eventually he became lost for the whole day and churning had to be postponed until his return. This would upset Grandma's entire schedule. I can imagine that poor dog running continuously on that treadmill for perhaps two hours. Dad said it was uncanny how that dog knew when churning day was approaching. To solve this problem the dog had to be tied up the night before the scheduled day, and eventually, butter was churned on different days each week.

Measure of Wealth

He told me this was the measure of a man's wealth; I never understood why canning and preserving every Fall was so important. The cold cellar, built beneath the ground and house in a special way, maintained the same temperature all year.  Nothing froze during winter or spoiled in summer. The potato bins were full and the winter apples stored in the same manner. Quart and pint canning jars were neatly arranged on shelves with the date and contents.  Everything possible was cooked and carefully preserved, such as beans, beets, tomatoes, chili sauce, sauerkraut in crocks, pears, peaches, applesauce, berries, jellies and much more. Grandma was almost totally blind from cataracts. She would set up her jars on a worktable near the window in direct sunlight to pour. She would point with her finger to a line on the jar and tell me "When I reach here, tell me to stop." I was too young to pour the hot contents of the pots for her, during those early years, but pleased to be a part of the fall canning.

Clare Jones, A Life Story

Mom wrote this informal bio on January 18, 2005. I think it was prepared for Nikki as part of one her school classes. Judging by the way she organized her memories, it would appear that she was answering questions from a questionnaire. Since we don't have the questions, however, I rearranged the short dialogues in a chronological manner for better reading:

My first memory was being in a large crib in a room off the kitchen. My Mother and her sisters were sitting in the kitchen visiting and I was amused with their chatter. I was standing up in the crib with my hands on the rail looking and listening through an open door.

Another memory was at 5 years old when I had my first death experience. I spent a lot of time at my Grandma’s house in my young years, mainly because I was one of the children who resembled the Myers family. My sister Betty looked like the Irish Morans, so she wasn’t welcome in the English Grandmother’s house. The English and Irish did not get along well in those days. My Father’s sister, Aunt Loretta, gave me special attention when I was in the house. I remember standing on the kitchen chair while she fussed with my pretty dress and fixed my hair. One day when I was 5, I was in the kitchen of Grandma’s house with other people when the Doctor came down the steps and announced that Aunt Loretta died. Her casket was in the parlor in front of the windows. The men gathered on the front porch and the women were inside. The Funeral Director put a black wreath on the front door.

My Father’s Mother came from Gloustershire, England in 1889 when she was 15. I remember that she had a strange accent ‑ cockney it was called. She pronounced eggs, “heggs”, and hammer and house were “ammer and ouse.”

We lived in a small coal mining town when I was growing up. My Mother took me to Scranton on my first bus ride when I was about 10 or 12. On the way back home the bus driver had to stop a couple times to let me out to vomit. That was my first experience of car sickness. There were no black people in our town, and I was surprised to see so many on the streets of Scranton. Around those same years my Grandfather Moran took me on a special trip to Gettysburg. We went on the train to Wilkes Barre, and rode the bus to Gettysburg. We ate lunch in a café. The battlefield was huge and it seemed we were the only ones visiting. I still don’t know why Grandpa chose me out of all the other grandchildren living in town, but it was a very special time. Those were the days of the steam engines, and by the time we arrived at our destination we were covered with soot.

I don’t remember having any fears while growing up, we lived a peaceful and happy life even though we didn’t have much. I’m sure my parents had fears because my Father did not have steady work and we had to move frequently because the landlords didn’t like noisy kids or they raised the rent, which my Father couldn’t afford. I hated washing the dishes after supper. When it was my turn I left the pots and pans soaking. My Mother never complained and in the morning everything was washed clean.

My Mother gave us chores according to our age and gender. The boys filled the coal pails, emptied ashes out of the coal stove and furnace. My sisters took the smaller kids out for carriage rides so Mother could get the supper ready. I used to sweep the porches and sidewalks and sometimes scrubbed the porches with a pail of soapy water and the broom. We had a parade for every holiday and I was always excited when I saw one. It wasn’t much, lots of fire engines and some horses and bands and special marchers like the VFW and American Legion members.

My Mother was probably the one who had the most influence in my life. I watched her as she struggled to raise my siblings and me. She never complained even though she had to bake bread 3 times a week, drag the washer out to wash clothes 3 times a week, can fruits and vegetables all summer. She was a wise person, knowing how to deal with each child and his/her needs.

We always had a table radio and sat around the dining room table listening to special programs, but only after the homework was done. Some of the programs were The Inner Sanctum (that was scary); Little Orphan Annie; Jack Armstrong; The Lone Ranger; and Fibber McGee and Molly. On Saturday night The Hit Parade was popular, playing the top ten songs of the week.

In fourth grade some times I would be the first one in the classroom and the Sister brought out a big bowl of hot oatmeal and milk that was left over in the kitchen.

I think the best gift I ever received was my first book; a 25 cent Christmas gift from my brother Joe when I was 12. It was Little Women. I must have read it three times. He gave me other books for other occasions: Black Beauty, Little Men and Jo’s Boys. That began my love for reading that has lasted all of my life.

When Franklin Roosevelt became President he began the WPA (Work Projects Association). That’s how I got some of my clothes that I wore to school in the early grades. I called the dresses my WPA dresses: red and white checked, brown and white checked and black and white checked.

I used to play the piano until I was in High School, but lost interest, as I got older. I really don’t know what my strongest asset is, maybe the gift of understanding and intuition.

When I was dating I remember going to a movie, swimming at a lake, and double dating with my sister and her date. One day we went to a fancy restaurant called O’Brien’s outside of Endicott, NY. We ordered fried chicken. When the plate arrived I was shocked, thinking to myself, how do I eat this? It was my first time eating fried chicken. I did my best to cut it off the bones and did a fair job. I think the most extravagant thing I ever did was buy clothes with my first paycheck. It was a wonderful feeling.

My family was Democratic. When I turned 21 my Father marched me down to City Hall to register to vote. The first President I voted for was Eisenhower. (even though he was Republican, he was remembered as a great General).

When I was in the Air Force my sister and I were stationed in Etain, France, with temporary duty in Bitburg, Germany and Madrid, Spain. It was the most memorable time of our lives. We met our husbands in the Air Force, and we were able to travel in many countries and enjoy different cultures. Over the years I have collected some interesting coins from countries other than the U.S. Someday the collection will go to a Grandchild.

I always loved to travel, and that bug is still with me. I want to go to the land of my ancestors, to Ireland, England, and now Wales.
On my Wedding Day, the Mass was scheduled for 10 a.m. My brothers insisted on driving me through town tooting the horn, consequently I was about 20 minutes late and the Priest and groom were up at the altar waiting.

In my early days of marriage I did some amusing things. Bob worked at Bethlehem Steel in Seattle, on the open hearth. One day I put jello in his lunch pail and he came home laughing and showed me the liquid jello. Another time we had a couple visit us for the first time in our apartment and I made a huge bowl of dip. I must have used a pound of cream cheese. Well, we all laughed about that and had dip forever.

Bob and I had 9 children (2 of which were adopted). There are 7 living scattered throughout the country. Being a young parent was difficult at times, but I credit my Nurse training and experiences to its success. We rocked the kids until they were too big for the laps. Most of the time, Bob had one on his lap and one on each handle of the rocker.

My profession was Nursing, and if I had to do it over again I would still choose that work. It was very satisfying and rewarding. As a young adult I remember meeting many more friends, especially after we married and moved to Seattle.

I am satisfied living here in Phoenix, and would never want to move again. Our living arrangements are satisfactory; I find it easier to live on one floor where everything is handy. My husband is still working so we feel we don’t have to adjust to another way of living right now. There is someone in my life with whom I have a warm relationship. She is the young lady who calls me just to chat and find out how I am doing. She’s the other daughter in my life who calls me “Mom”.

I try to stay healthy by eating well, taking vitamin supplements, and exercising at Slender Lady. We have 7 grandchildren and 4 great grandchildren. Our children call us frequently, especially daughter Mary, who calls every day. The older grandchildren are not good about calling or visiting, but we see the younger ones more often. I’m the one who keeps in touch with other family members, getting and giving news. Maybe I do that because I’m the family historian. We aren’t alone much with the young grandchildren. When they visit with the parents, and the parents aren’t watching them and they get into mischief, all I do is lift them up and carry them to a safer place, or just snap my fingers and when they look at me I shake my finger, no, and they walk away. I have learned that Grandma doesn’t have to say a word.

I am very proud of all of my children and their successes, but most proud of the family history book that I put together three years ago. I feel that my grandchildren will know where they came from someday.

I love my main hobby, genealogy. It’s a never ending job. I have traced my English ancestors to 1709, and the Irish ancestors to 1809.

The most important rule I lived by was don’t offend God, don’t hurt my parents, and don’t hurt myself. With those three things in mind I was able to face all temptations in life, and I felt better mentally. It showed that a person doesn’t have to follow the crowd to be popular. My best advise for today’s youth is do good in school, enjoy your job, travel as much as you can, and remember that learning doesn’t end when you get that diploma.