Is Meets Was

Helen Elizabeth Nimmo, c.1908 I got caught in a time warp when I enhanced and colorized photographs of my grandmother taken when she was a child. Seeing the pain revealed on Grandma's face makes my heart reach for her in a way that it never did when she was alive. We spent a great deal of time together when I was young, mostly playing card games. Despite her physical proximity, there was always an emotional distance. Now I can feel her pain. If I only had understood then... College graduation, Spring 1967 Above is the last photograph taken of Grandma and me. © 2020, Cathy H Paris

Free download or a printed copy is available now at Lulu.com. The Epub version is coming soon to Amazon. com— Pioneers of Vanderveer Park . This is the true story of two people, Conrad and Augusta, who began their lives in Germany when the Civil War was raging in America and Otto von Bismarck was leading Prussia into wars with Denmark, France, and Austria. Conrad and Augusta lived the immigrant's dream of finding opportunity in a foreign land and culture—pioneers. Conrad and Augusta were among the leaders in the transformation of the farmlands in the middle of Brooklyn, New York into neighborhoods filled with homes. This development, whose name and whereabouts were familiar to all who once lived in Brooklyn, is now all but forgotten—Vanderveer Park. Vanderveer Park and its sister development, Bay View Heights, included most of the area between Cortelyou Road and Kings Highway and between Flatbush Avenue and Troy Avenue. Conrad was the builder of the Cortelyou Club ...

 Erasmus Hall High School's Class of June 1931, Brooklyn, NY   As I approach 70, I feel compelled to accelerate the process of digitizing family photos and home movies. To this end, yesterday, I dropped at Costco several reels of 8mm film, quite a few video cassettes, and almost 200 slides for digitization. This afternoon, I opened a box with rolls of oversized photographs. I checked the pricing online and discovered it would cost me $15-$60 per photograph to have them scanned by a service. Then I remembered my Flip Pal Scanner. Using the Flip Pal, I scanned roughly a dozen 3"x 5" inch overlapping sections of the largest photograph. The original photograph is about 7.5" x 40". I stitched the dozen scans together using the software provided with the scanner. The result is shown above. I only wish that the Flip Pal scanned at a higher resolution than 600 dpi. However, I decided to proceed with scanning the rest of my photos at 600 dpi....

Donna (front, center); Cathy, Leila, Pat Aronica, Mary Heilig, family friend, Richie (middle row); Gil (back, center). c. 1948 at Uncle Fred and Aunt Betty's place in Bergen Beach, NY. I can’t remember the year, or exactly how old I was.  Mary (Hanna) Heilig and I had convinced Aunt Dot to let us look inside the trunk which contained our grandmother’s belongings. Trunk shown in the Spring edition of Sear's 1906 catalog. [Our grandmother, Mary Elizabeth [Fitzgerald] Merrill  died from the Spanish flu when our parents were still young children. Her husband survived another forty-seven years, forty-seven years in which he never ceased to mourn his loss.] I can tell you that we were sworn to secrecy. We were never ever to tell “Pup” that Aunt Dot let us look inside the trunk.  The look of sheer terror on Aunt Dot’s face was enough to let us know not to breathe a word to anyone. Dorothy aka Aunt Dot (top), Mary [aka Lib & Pat's mother-to-be], ...

When I first became hooked on genealogy, I quickly focused on my mother’s side of the family.   Mom's grandparents  must have been an integral part of the first couple of years of my life. My brother and I about 1947 on East 35th St. near Flatbush Ave. I remember walking from our apartment on Flatbush Avenue to their home on Albany Avenue in Brooklyn, N.Y. It was a perfect summer day, and I was feeling very happy. I was walking with my mother and brother. I remember I was wearing one of my prettier dresses and my perfect, white, Buster Brown shoes. We were passing a neighborhood park with a wrought iron fence. I forgot to watch my steps, and I smelled my mistake. I had stepped in dog poop, and my little white shoes were no longer perfect. I looked up at Mom, and I could tell she was very annoyed. I began to cry. This was not my first misadventure with dog poop. I had been repeatedly cautioned to watch my steps, but I continued to get lost in the world around me ...

Jim and Fran with their first child, Jimmy (1951). Jimmy was my parents' first grandchild.  My brother, Jim, and his wife, Fran, got married and had their first child, Jimmy, when I was ten or eleven years old. I was delighted to have a child in the family who I could watch. Eighteen months later, Karen was born. Fran had to be hospitalized after only three days. The children were left with my mother until Fran was better and able to care for them. I can remember running home from school so I would get there in time to feed the baby. She was the color of peaches and cream. Just beautiful. Anna and Billy’s daughter was born a few weeks before Karen, but I didn’t get to see her very often. Anna’s mother watched her while Anna was at work.  Billy was still in the service and stationed in Germany. Dotsy and Lou weren’t married for quite a year when they had their first baby, Johnny. On their first anniversary, Dotsy and Lou went away for the weekend. They left Johnny...

Me, Mary (my cousin), and Freddy c. 1944. I guess it is time to mention education. I started elementary school when I was four, and apparently, I was not mature enough to leave my mother. On the second or third day of school, it rained. According to tradition at P.S. 137 , the children were to line up in the basement of the school. The basement was more like a cellar, and a very scary place. At least, I thought so. I objected to lining up as I was told. Push came to shove, and I kicked the teacher. My sister, Mary, was summoned to the scene. Very embarrassed, she took me home. Boy, did I get it from my mother for embarrassing Mary. The following September, I started school again at P.S. 137, and I still didn’t do well. The result was that I was enrolled in St. Benedict’s school located at Fulton St. and Ralph Ave. The good sisters did their best, and I did graduate with a Regents diploma in 1959. Although I went to high school on a scholarship, I told Sr. Thomas Angela, I wan...

Freddy on a hot summer's day on Chauncey St. c. 1948 Chauncey St. was designated a PAL street for the summer. The street was closed to traffic. Delivery trucks, fruit men, and junkies were all diverted. The city provided camp organizers, games, craft materials, permission to use the fire hydrants, and mostly anything needed to keep the neighborhood kids busy for the summer. We had use of pick-up-sticks, jacks, art supplies, playing cards, and a shower attached to the fire hydrant. We would be outside from early mornings ‘til the street lights turned on, unless, of course, our mothers called us in for meals. On especially hot nights, we were allowed to stay out ‘til 9:00, as long as we stayed on the stoop. My sister, Mary, was interested in dress design, and somehow she acquired “modeling dolls.” They were similar to Barbie dolls, which we didn’t have then. When I was sick or alone, I got permission to play with these dolls. Using scraps of fabric, scarves, and ribbons, I c...

I remember the blizzard of 1947 when the city was at a standstill. The mountains of snow piled along the sidewalks were this kid’s dream. I had a wooden sled. My brothers convinced me that it was far superior to the flexible flyers that the other kids had. I remember playing for hours on that sled. When our mittens got wet, we placed them on the radiators to dry. Meanwhile, we went outside with socks on our hands. This worked just fine. Maybe once a year in the summer, we went to Coney Island. I remember my father taking us one time. Mostly my mother took us on those safaris to Coney Island. We were allowed one ride each on the Steeple Chase. Since I was too young or too afraid to go on it, or on the racehorses, the cyclone, or on the slides, I got to go on the merry-go-round. Dotsy c. 1949. Mostly, we went to Cypress Hills’ swimming pool. We took the El train from Chauncey St. and Broadway Ave. After a couple of stops, we got off and were right by the pool. Most peo...

Our family c. 1945. Our first record player was a wooden box affair, with a handle on the side. This handle was turned and turned, spinning the disk inside the box onto which a record was placed. In the box, on a pivot, there was an arm that held a playing needle. We swung the arm out and down until the needle touched the record, and then let go of the arm. The music began to play. Eventually, record players used electricity to spin the records and move the arm. Years later, some record players held multiple records that automatically dropped down when the previous record was finished. Then came Hi Fidelity players. The sound was much improved, but they were based on the same principle as the original players. Then some genius came along and started recording music on tapes. For this to work, you had to have a tape player. Soon after that came portable, battery-operated tape players. Then came earphones, etc. Now there are iPads and iPhones etc. But none of that existed when we li...

Billy c. 1947 Our grocery store was an old A&P located on the corner of Howard Avenue and Chauncey Street. The owner was Mr. Horan, and his helper was named Percy. (Thus, the name of my current dog.) Mr. Horan and Percy were both from Ireland, and Mr. Horan was married with a family. I don’t remember much about Percy. My mother shopped daily at the market and had a running account. She paid the bill weekly when my father got paid. Charges were written in pencil by Mr. Horan on an old beer advertisement cardboard. Each week he manually added the amounts. No one ever questioned the accuracy of the tallies. We just assumed everything was correct. Once a week, on Saturdays, my mother would place a large order which my brother, Billy, would deliver to our apartment. Billy was the delivery boy for the store. He worked for tips and for storage space for his current “hot rod.” Billy always had some sort of motor vehicle. I don’t remember if, or when, he got a driver’s license...

Sitting on our front porch, wearing my Easter corsage c. 1947. (From left to right: Cousin Leila, me, Freddy, and Cousin Mary.) The holidays were wonderful! Every Easter my father would get us girls a corsage and a box of Loft’s chocolates. There were always colored, hard-cooked eggs, chocolates for the boys, and jelly beans of course. There was a bunch of daffodils, purchased on the way home from Mass, for my mother. My father always managed to make a little overtime just before Easter, so somehow there might be a new pair of shoes or even a new outfit. I especially remember a suit that my sister, Mary, made for me while she was in junior high school, P.S. 73. It was a hunter-green gabardine with a pleated skirt and an Eisenhower-style jacket. Another year she made a jacket out of grey flannel with a dark blue bow at the neck. Me and our Christmas tree draped in tinsel c. 1952. (This was a black and white photo that I hand-painted.) Christmas was always magical. Our ...

Freddy and me c. 1946, about five years before we had a TV. One modern convenience we did have was a television. We got it about the time that the “I Love Lucy” show started. When the show first aired (October 1951), my brother, Fred, was 14 and I was 10 years old. Freddy and I were the youngest of the 6 children.  Freddy was always tinkering with radios and the like. He became “friends” with a store owner on Howard Ave. who operated a repair shop for radios and televisions.  Somehow, Freddy acquired a console TV that needed fixing. It was a monstrosity. It was almost as large as the refrigerator, with a picture screen of maybe 4 inches by 5 inches. Someone had to hold on to the antenna from across the room, and even then, the picture looked like a canceled postage stamp.  Freddy with our nephew, Jimmy, c. 1953. In time, the television was moved into the back bedroom across from the bunk beds. We thought that sitting on the top bed was like sitting on t...

Mary at the candy store c. 1949. Here there was a public phone. We didn’t have a telephone in our apartment until 1951 or 1952. Until then, if someone wished to get in touch with us, they either wrote letters or in an emergency, they could ring the public phone in the candy store on the corner. Close relatives had the number on that phone. If the occasion was serious enough, they could call the pay phone. Someone hanging out in the candy store would answer the phone, talk to the caller, walk to our place, ring our doorbell, and deliver a message. We would then tip the person, a nickel or a dime, for the courtesy.  This arrangement worked out well until my sister, Mary, got a boyfriend who lived on Long Island. If she got a phone call from a boy, the entire neighborhood would know it.  As it turned out, this boy was a friend of my brother, Billy.   Billy (center) and Joe (on the right). Billy and Joe met on the first day of school for sheet metal work...

Growing up in Brooklyn, especially on Chauncey Street, we didn’t know there were people with anything more than we had. When we had holes in our shoes, we patched them with linoleum, the floor covering of the time. If our socks had a hole in them, we sewed them. (0nly to cause a blister.) We didn’t have sunblock. There was a lot of sunburn.  When we went to Coney Island, w e didn’t have coolers to pack our sandwiches in. We used cardboard suitcases instead, and we didn’t get sick. Cold cut sandwiches tasted toasted when left in the sun for a while. Flotation water toys were air mattresses left over from World War II. Those lucky enough to own one had to blow it up manually, but what fun we had. We swam in the water at Coney Island, under the Belt Parkway bridges at Bergen Beach, or at Gerritsen Beach, all in Brooklyn. We did learn to swim, without the aid of swimming lessons. One time my brother, Bill, dove off one of the pilings of the bridge at Bergen Beach. My mother, ...

This anecdote is not intended to be educational, but to make you aware of the significance of our Catholic faith.  Mom (front left) with her family in 1917. Mom's mother died the following year. My mother, Aunt Dot, Uncle Fred, and Uncle Gil were left motherless by the Spanish flu epidemic. Mary Elizabeth Fitzgerald Merrill was taken away from her husband and children in 1918. My mother was only seven, and Aunt Dot was not much older. Some of the aunts and uncles that aided our grandfather, “Pup”, in raising his children were Protestants. Nonetheless, Mom and Aunt Dot stayed true to their Catholic faith. Unless you attended Mass with my mother or Aunt Dot, you would never understand the devotion and love of the faith these two sisters had. I was not more than 5 or 6 when I realized the importance of the Consecration of bread and wine into the Body and Blood of our Lord. You just had to look into the face of my mother, and you too would believe. Sometimes my...

Back row - Jimmy, Dad, and Billy; Front row - Dotsy, Mary, and Freddy. c 1941 Sometime just after the war, my father was injured at work. The middle finger of his left hand was cut off just above the first knuckle. As a result, the union settled financially with my father for the injury, and my parents were able to buy a new living room set. Before this, the living room housed an iron bed with a feather bed mattress. That is where my brother, Fred, slept. I don’t remember a couch at that time, but there must have been some sort of place to sit. I was still sleeping in the girls’ room in an iron crib. When the new furniture arrived, out (to the Junkies) went the iron bed, mattress, and all. Out went the crib, and out went the stuff I can’t remember. In came a new couch and two easy chairs. Freddy got to move onto the couch to sleep, and I moved from the crib to the two easy chairs pushed together, to make a bed. Back row - Mary, Jimmy, and Billy; Middle row - a friend of ...

Felder’s Bar and Grill was in Brooklyn, on Howard Ave., between Chauncey St. and Bainbridge St.   The last time I was in that neighborhood was the summer of 2002 or 2003. The curtains in the window looked the same as the ones back in the 1950s. Felder’s Bar and Grill was just across the street and around the corner from where we lived. It was a place for the local parents to “hang out” and have a beer or two after dinner or on the weekends. Although the owner of the establishment was of German descent, most of the patrons were Irish. Irish music was always being played.   A television was installed (1952 or 1953), and the men would watch the ballgames. My brothers and sisters were older than me, and they were off with their social and married lives. This left me at home or “around the corner” with my parents. If Felder’s was crowded, I would sit at a table on the side and have all the soda I wanted. If it was not too crowded, I got to sit at the bar with my father and m...

On Chauncey Street, we graduated from an icebox to a refrigerator in the dining room.   My parents were married for twenty-five (25) years before they owned an electric toaster.   I remember the way we used to make toast. My mother had a wire rack that she placed on the gas burner of the stove. She placed the bread on the wire rack where it would get warm and finally toast on one side. Then Mom turned the bread over to toast the other side. To whip cream, my mother had a beater that she manually turned and turned. It took a lot of elbow grease to whip the cream until it was soft and fluffy and formed perfect white peaks. The used grease and lard didn’t go to waste. We sold it to the local butcher who used it to make soap for the American troops fighting overseas in World War II. The original stove we had was the same as the stoves in the other units. It was porcelain-clad iron. The color was cream and green. It was “T” shaped in appearan...

I am writing these anecdotes for all my children and grandchildren, and especially for Billy who asked how people kept things cold before there were refrigerators.    My earliest memory of iceboxes is of the white porcelain, two-door affair we had on Chauncey Street in Brooklyn, New York. Most of my earliest memories were formed there, at 324 Chauncey Street. The top level of the ice box, where many subsequent refrigerators have the freezer compartment, is where the blocks of ice went. The bottom compartment was where items such as milk, butter, meat, etc. were stored. Under the icebox was a pan to catch the melting ice. It had to be emptied daily. The iceman came around in a horse-drawn wagon, and a few years later he arrived in a motorized truck. He came a couple of times a week in the summer and maybe once a week in the winter. The amount of ice delivered depended on the amount of money our mother had on hand for such a luxury. For a quarter (25 cents), she could buy ...