Friday, June 11, 2021
Remembrances of Mom
Mom’s birthplace of Croton Falls was a very small town 50 miles north of New York City. Her family was poor, but lived in a large house on a hill. Her family was very loving. In the past year, when mom was often confused, she would regularly refer to her home in Croton. We visited the home each summer for a week when mom’s parents were alive (except when my poison ivy from the yard got too bad and we had to return home early) . While there, we visited with the relatives, saw Mantle and Maris play for the Yanks, and saw Arnie and Jack Nicklaus golf at Westchester. Mom’s dad was a semi-pro pitcher and an avid NY Giants fan (and then, by default, a Mets fan). He regularly saw the famous Giants teams of the early 20th Century play and when I was young he was able to recount their games for me. Grandma made sure we had plenty of food.
Mom was brilliant, in both a book sense and in a practical sense. Her scholarship to Keuka College from her small high school showed her academic skills. In later times she would have progressed up the corporate ladder like our father at Kodak, or run a not-for-profit like St. Ann’s. Ironically, in the last few weeks, she often said that Anne, John or I was the head of St. Ann’s.
Mom loved the neighborhood and Irondequoit in general and knew everyone. She formed a particularly close bond with the other mothers in the neighborhood and they all shared in each other’s family life. The kids in the neighborhood were favorites of hers. She took moms to the hospital for their births and assisted in any way possible with child-rearing duties. In addition to giving haircuts in the breezeway, she also acted as a de-facto triage nurse, often reviewing medical complaints before sending neighborhood kids through the backyard if necessary to Dr. Gertzog’s office. She also operated on my blistered and calloused feet at least three times during Christmas vacation, the last time being after the Notre Dame football trainer took one look at my feet and refused to proceed.
One of the regular activities in summer was golf. She would load as many kids as possible into her station wagon, drop us off at Durand Eastman Golf Course in the morning (where we played all day for $.50), and pick us up late in the afternoon (often without Rick who had walked home after the first hole because there were four groups waiting on the second tee). Mom and dad played regular bridge games with the neighbors and other friends for decades. At the annual neighborhood Fourth of July picnic, mom made baked beans every year, soaking the beans the day before. She made supper for our family every night, having it ready for the minute dad arrived from work. Desserts were a necessity for dad, and mom made the best pies, often berry or cream pies with berries on top. I often had to try them to be sure they were ok for dad.
Mom was a soccer mom before the term was invented, but it extended to much more than just soccer, of course. Mom was the loudest cheerleader at any sporting event and was always positive. I remember that mom and dad were only able to make it to Notre Dame once to see Rick play soccer and me run in a cross-country meet. I did not know they had arrived when the cross-country race started, as they were apparently on the other side of campus at the soccer game. As I came around a corner near the end of the race, mom had somehow found a prime location on the course and was screaming encouragement right in front of me. My current memory is that I won the race, and you will not be able to disabuse me of that. Also when I was at Notre Dame, I had a teammate from Utica. We got to talking one day about an inter-diocesean meet at RIT when the temperature was 95 and the running surface was even hotter. I did not know he had been at that meet. RIT had just put in a new rubberized/asphalt track, and unknown to the out-of-town teams, did not allow the usual running spikes. For some unknown reason, my Notre Dame teammate and others decided to run in their socks. They lasted about a lap or so, and had to retire with burned and blistered feet. My teammate described with gratitude how a mother of one of the Rochester runners had immediately come to their assistance, securing ointment, bandages, tape, water and ice. I proudly informed him that was our mom (to a tee)!
Mom loved her family. She always did anything she could for me, Rick, John and Anne, and our spouses Esther, MaryJo, Carol and Walter. Each of her grandkids was special, and after their birth she was quick to provide all necessary assistance, no matter where they were located. Paula was born during the great Rochester Ice Storm of 1991. Our house was without power. Somehow, mom and dad’s house was one of the few on Oakview Drive that retained power. When Esther and Paula were discharged from the hospital we all spent the first few days of Paula's life on Oakview with mom and dad, Anne, Allie and Anne’s dog. Esther and I are particularly appreciative of the assistance she and my dad provided for Paula and Emily as we continued our careers. We are also appreciative of the great assistance provided during Esther’s cancer treatments, when mom always took Esther to chemo and sat with her. Mom adored her great-grandkids and in the past year when she could not leave her room, thought the great-grandkids were visiting her when she saw pictures of them, or saw them on zoom. She always commented on how cute they were. She was eagerly looking forward to the upcoming birth of Caitlin and Derek’s daughter Clara.
Mom was opinionated. You usually did not have to ask where she stood on anything. It could even come out of the blue. A few years ago, when she was about 90, she was at a cookout in our backyard and one of the dishes we served was beans. Mom immediately blurted out that she hated beans and would not eat them (it reminded me of President Bush and broccoli)! This was quite a surprise to those of us who remembered 50 years of her July Fourth beans!
As John said, mom loved to watch sports on tv. One of the best rituals in our house involved the Ohio State football games. Dad was an avid Ohio State fan. We would all gather in the tv room for the start of the game. Dad would usually be standing as the rest of us sat. Dad had two theories about watching the games--both negative. He felt he was a jinx, or did not want to be watching if things did not go well. Mom, of course, was amused by this. Dad would watch until there was the first tiny hint of trouble for Ohio State (he always said “I knew this would happen”), and then would retire to the living room to pace or rock. The rest of us would continue to watch the game and mom would shout out updates to the living room from time to time. For the most important happenings in the game, be it a score, interception or Ohio State Coach Woody Hayes kicking a Clemson player, mom would always call dad in the same words: “Jim, you better get in here and see this!”
We are all saddened by mom’s passing, but also appreciative of her long life, the long life of our father, their long residency in their house on Oakview, and their years together with us. They encouraged and supported all of us in all of our endeavors.
Jeff
