Mary E. Pappalardo

Dad’s father, Salvatore, was born in Italy on December 12, 1878. (He died on September 2, 1957.) While I am uncertain as to the exact location of his birth, I was informed that as a boy, he lived in or near Catania, Sicily. He lived with his mother and father (names unknown), a brother Dominic, and a sister (name unknown). His father died while he was fairly young. It was his mother’s decision at that time to place him (and most likely his brother as well) in a nearby orphanage. This gave her the opportunity to work and earn money for the family. I do not know the name of the orphanage or its location, but I understand that in later years, after he had already become a successful businessman in America, he and Josie always included in their frequent trips to Italy a visit to this orphanage. A sizable monetary contribution was always given each time they went to visit.

From what I was told, Grandpa and his brother Dominic emigrated to this country when Grandpa was about 18 years old, leaving their mother and sister behind in Italy. Facts concerning his family beyond this particular time are unknown.

While Grandpa was still in residence at the orphanage, it was required that each boy living there had to learn a trade of some kind. This was compulsory so that the boys who eventually matured and left the orphanage would be well prepared to support themselves.

Grandpa often told us the story that while at the orphanage, his interests were quite varied, and sporadically changed from time to time. It became a real test of patience for the administrators in charge of the various programs. At first Grandpa tried his hand in music and joined their school band, which was tutored by excellent music teachers. He soon tired of that and switched to farming, working in the fields with the experienced farmers. But that apparently did not interest him enough for him to remain with that program. And so he decided he would try learning the skills of leather and shoemaking. Unfortunately all these areas of interest produced little or no results. Grandpa became more and more uncooperative on all fronts. Finally, in desperation, the faculty advised him in no uncertain terms that his privileges of choice were now terminated, and whether he liked it or not, he was ordered to become an apprentice in the art of marble. And in the course of time, a highly skilled master of marble is exactly what he became, thanks to the wisdom of those in charge who channeled him in the right direction.

In reflecting on his years at the orphanage, Grandpa spoke of how he worked alongside the marble masters in the cemeteries, as they very carefully chiseled the names of the deceased on the many white marble headstones. Marble is known to be very delicate in its composition, and as such requires the skill of a qualified craftsman to know just how to work it and handle it. Grandpa mastered the proper procedures in handling the marble slabs, and soon became gifted in his work. We were always so proud of his many accomplishments, and the skill of his work.

With this background of skill and accomplishment, it is easy to understand that in later years he developed a very successful tile and marble business. He enjoyed an impeccable reputation for completing high quality work in all his installations. His business, known as Nation Tile and Marble Works Inc., was considered at one time to be one of the biggest and best in New York State. They completed large contracts and installations for hospitals, banks, schools, apartment houses, etc. The administrators of the orphanage would have been proud to witness these successful accomplishments, and rightly so.

Grandpa’s business continued to grow daily, and the areas in which he worked expanded as well. Grandpa and Josie were living on Dean Street in Brooklyn, in a rather congested neighborhood. By this time, with the success of Grandpa’s business, they were financially able to make plans to leave the city. Accordingly, they purchased a beautiful corner plot of land on Woodside Avenue and Alnwick Road in Malverne. They felt the need for more open space and less noise and congestion, and moving away from the city was the perfect solution.

The home that was designed and built in Malverne was of Italian design and truly outstanding. It was a one-story all-brick home, soft tan in color, with a beautiful red tile hip roof and an attached two car garage. The floor plan included a large living room with a large tile fireplace. On either side of the fireplace were two windows which contained beautiful glass mosaic designs of the Pansini (Josie’s family) and Pappalardo coats of arms. Hanging from the ceiling in each corner of the dining room was a beautiful electric light fixture designed as a cluster of grapes. You can imagine the beauty of these glass fixtures when they were lit – the hanging grapes were dazzling. These glass fixtures were made and imported from the Murano glass works in Venice, Italy. The other rooms included spacious bedrooms, a large tiled kitchen, 2 ½ bathrooms completely tiled, and a large tiled outdoor patio. The entire basement was completely tiled, with an extra den and lavatory. This room was large enough to hold about 100 people, and many parties were conveniently held here. This room also contained another beautiful tile fireplace.

The grounds were lavishly landscaped. There were rock gardens and fountains, all made of lava from Mount Etna, which was shipped from Italy in trunks. The flowers and trees were carefully placed around the fountains and rock gardens, all of which enhanced the outdoor setting with much color and beauty. One of the trees that was planted was a Japanese cherry tree, which seemed to dominate the setting when it was in full bloom. It was definitely a perfect magazine cover for House Beautiful, and to the present day is admired by anyone who sees it.

Dad and his brother Joe followed Grandpa and Josie in their move from the city to Woodside Avenue and lived with them for some years. Both boys were still unmarried at the time. Dad’s brother Frank, however, chose not to make the move, but rather to remain in Brooklyn to be near his friends. Of course, the three oldest brothers were already married and living with their families in Brooklyn. Fortunately, accessibility to Brooklyn and New York City was easily afforded by the Long Island Railroad. The Malverne station was conveniently located close to the Woodside Avenue home. And so, despite the move and the distance, Dad’s family was able to use the train or (if they preferred) the car to travel back and forth, as the needs would arise.

The Woodside Avenue property was eventually sold in the mid 30’s, as Grandpa and Josie felt it was too large and too expensive to maintain. By this time, Dad and his brother Joe were seldom home, being occupied with the fire department, the Malverne Club, baseball, dating, etc. as well as their tile work. But Grandpa, being the sharp businessman that he always was, purchased a large parcel of choice lots on Chestnut Street in Malverne, at $150 per lot. It was a steal and too good a buy to pass up. Using six lots of this original parcel, Grandpa designed and built another beautiful home to replace the one he sold on Woodside Avenue. The Chestnut Street property that remained will be discussed later in more detail.

As for Grandpa and Josie’s new house on Chestnut Street, it was the traditional Pappalardo masterpiece like Woodside Avenue, but the architectural lines were different. This one was a two-story tan brick home. It was very spacious, with six rooms, two baths, a finished basement, two fireplaces, an attached garage, etc. It was set in a peaceful wooded area, preserving beautiful oak trees. There was a minimal amount of lawn, but a lot of green bushes, mountain laurel, and other foliage to complement the rustic setting. The house was set back off the road and a long driveway edged with stone led to the attached garage. Over the garage was a large screened-in porch, with a beautiful tile floor. This porch was well-used as a dining and sitting area, and was nestled among the trees in its own beautiful rustic setting. The address was 22 Chestnut Street; in later years there would be more Pappalardo homes on this same street, but as I mentioned, this will be discussed in detail later.

The facts concerning Grandpa’s marriage to Santa Distefano (who was also born in Italy) are practically unknown. Whether they were married in Italy or America is unclear, but as I understand it, Freddie (the oldest) and Teddy (third oldest) were both born in Italy. The other four sons were all born in America.

Grandpa and Santa (Grandma) had seven children. The first, a girl named Francescina, died at a very early age. The next six were all boys. Their names, according to age, are listed below.

The Pappalardo Brothers

Name	Born	Died
Alfred (Freddie)	Oct, 1901	1983
Dominic (Denny)	1903*	1950*
Theodore (Teddy)	Jan, 1905*	1989*
Frank (Frankie)	Apr, 1907*	1987*
Salvatore (Sal)	Dec, 1908	1974
Joseph (Joe)	May, 1911
* – approximate

Josie (Pansini) Pappalardo was born in Italy on January 26, 1889. I am not certain, but I believe she was born in or around Catania, Sicily. Her father’s name was Tito, and her mother’s maiden name was Santa Brusa.

Josie was a young girl of 15 when she arrived in America with her mother and her two brothers, Anthony and Mario. Her father worked for a bank in Perugia, Italy. While in Italy, he died at a very young age. This left Josie’s mother a widow at a young age, with the full responsibility of supporting a family of four.

Upon her arrival in this country, Josie was eager to attend night school where courses in English were being offered. But her maternal uncle, who had arrived earlier in this country and had sponsored his sister’s family to emigrate, protested loudly (out of envy, mostly). From Josie’s account, she implied that her uncle did not want to see his niece advancing her education in any way. As was the custom at that time, the place for girls growing up was at home.

However, Josie in her wisdom pursued getting a job in a nearby dress factory with the approval of her mother and her brothers. In a short time, Mario and Anthony also were employed. They worked in tile and marble, and were members of the same tile union to which the Pappalardos belonged. This turned out well for the Pansini family, as there were three wage earners who could contribute financially toward their household expenses.

As I understand, during this particular time, Grandpa and Santa and family were living in the same vicinity in Brooklyn as the Pansinis. It was at this time that Josie became aware of the many Pappalardo youngsters playing outside in the street. They seemed to be outside a great deal, and never seemed deterred by the weather. But what she was not aware of was that in due time, she would be the one who would help to raise them during their early years of childhood up to and until the time when they would be old enough to live on their own.

It is not my intention to analyze or elaborate on the complications of Grandpa’s and Santa’s marital situation. There have been a number of explanations and accounts given over the years concerning the breakup of the marriage, some of which are confusing, contradictory, and painful as well. But in fairness and truth, it is fair to say that Dad and all his brothers were the unfortunate victims of the situation, inasmuch as their years of growing up were at times tenuous, and occasionally there was a definite need for bonding and unity among themselves.

Josie continued to spend several more years at home with her mother and brothers, all the while noting that Grandpa’s marital problems were rapidly escalating. She especially noted the adverse effects this was having on the six boys. As Josie became more and more interested in Grandpa’s situation, her mother and brothers were very adamant in their objections to her involvement with this serious family problem. As a result, her family abandoned her, and she left her home abruptly. Despite the alienation she suffered, she joined Grandpa and was determined to help in any way she could.

They lived in an apartment somewhere in Brooklyn. Josie immediately began her new role of homemaker and caregiver. She made certain that the house was kept clean, meals were nourishing and well-prepared, laundry was done, and the boys were well-dressed and clean. Grandpa worked very hard doing marble work and trying to earn as much money as he could to support the family. Josie also helped; in her spare time she carried on a little business at home, sewing beautiful outfits for infants and babies. She was an excellent seamstress, having learned much from her mother. Little by little, she began to get more and more customers. With Grandpa’s salary and her little home business, their finances improved and things were looking better. The boys attended public school regularly, and they were beginning to enjoy a normal routine with regularity and discipline, which added much pleasure and comfort for them as they were growing up.

But as the years passed by (I was told), there were times that, due to financial hardship or lack of space to accommodate all the boys, it became necessary to split some of them. I know from Dad’s account that for a short while he and Joe lived with Uncle Dominic (Grandpa’s brother) and his wife Carmela, who were childless. Since Uncle Dominic’s apartment was very close to where Grandpa and Josie lived, it was a perfect solution, for the time being anyway. Nevertheless, for Dad and Joe, it was a transition they had to make, as temporary as it may have been at the time. I understand also, that at a later time, Dad’s brothers Freddie and Frank were placed in a special home for boys for a short while. The reason for this temporary move is not known. What is known is that broken marriages take their toll in many different ways.

As the years passed, Santa remained apart from her children and Grandpa as well. Later on, in the 30’s, she moved into a little house of her own located in Swartswood, New Jersey (near Newton). While living there she had a friend by the name of Sam. I do not know how long this friendship continued. After living in Swartswood for many years, she began to feel the effects of the severe winters. To make her feel more comfortable, with less responsibilities, Dad’s brother Freddie and his wife Mary arranged to have her live in an apartment over a garage adjacent to their home in Shawnee. Freddie had purchased large parcels of land in Shawnee along the Delaware River. Over the years he developed part of the land, and built several houses on various parcels, including a very lovely spacious one overlooking the river for himself and Mary. The apartment occupied by Santa was very bright, cheerful, and large enough to satisfy her needs. This move to Shawnee took place in the mid 60’s, and it proved to be a comfortable way for Santa to live out her remaining years.

Some years later, the US Government condemned all the property in the valley where we lived for the purpose of constructing the Tocks Island Dam and Recreation Area. This process affected a large number of the residents who lived in the Shawnee Valley, which include Freddie and ourselves. It meant we were all compelled to move, which was a blow to everybody. Our move from Shawnee will be discussed later.

As for Dad’s brother Freddie, his need to move because of the condemnation was solved by his decision to move to Florida. He and Mary purchased a very lovely and spacious home situated on a pretty lake in Clearwater, Florida. They arranged to take Santa with them, and provided her with a large room and private bath in the new home they had just purchased. She enjoyed the mild climate for which Florida is noted, and quickly adjusted to the change.

After living with Freddie in Clearwater for several years, she suffered a stroke. Because of its serious effects and her need for special care, it became necessary to place her in a nursing home, located very close to Freddie and Mary’s home. She remained in the nursing home for several years and received excellent care there. Meanwhile, Freddie and Mary visited her quite often, as did the rest of her sons, if and when they had the opportunity to arrange a trip to Florida. I do not know the exact date of Santa’s birth, but I know she was well on in years at the time of her death, which I believe occurred in the mid 70’s.

Despite the separation that existed between Santa and her sons, each of them, including Dad, always contributed financially toward her support and needs. They also completed many necessary repairs that were needed from time to time while she lived in Swartswood. By their good deeds, they truly lived and practiced one of the commandments we all must live by: Honor thy father and thy mother. With love and respect for one another, we not only can enjoy life together, but in so doing, we can achieve and find peace and understanding as well.

At the time of our marriage, all of Dad’s brothers except Frank had already married. Frank married Mae Connors a year after our wedding, in 1938.

Ironically, all five brothers went through divorce, one after the other, which was a devastating development for all concerned, especially Grandpa. He, having painfully experienced separation and divorce, was well aware of the hardships which a marriage breakup would eventually bring to all family members involved. The transition to the “second set” of Pappalardo marriages took place over a number of years. Three of these second marriages took place before I ever knew or met Dad. Many years later, after Dad and I were married, Frank’s divorce took place. Like his brothers, he remarried. Joe was the last one to go through divorce, after having been married almost 50 years. To this date, he has not remarried. Nevertheless, it was the newer set of sisters-in-law with whom I became acquainted. After our marriage, a cordial and warm relationship among all of us soon developed and grew as the years went by.

A record of the marriages and pertinent information concerning Dad’s brothers follows.

The Pappalardo Marriages

Brother	Married	Children
Alfred (Freddie)*	Perpetua (last name?)*	Alfred
	Vera Siracusano	Corinne
	Mary (last name?)*	none
Dominic (Denny)*	Marian Pitts*	Salvatore, Dominic*
	Mae (last name?)	Daniel, Earl
Theodore (Teddy)*	Philomena “Minnie”* (last name?)	Salvatore, Gloria*
	Anna	none
Frank (Frankie)*	Mae Connors	none
	Phyllis Sapienza (a widow whose 2 sons were already grown and married)	none
Joseph (Joe) (Divorced very late in life. Has not remarried.)	Anastasia “Stasia” Freel*	Joan, Peggy, Maureen, Stasia, Kathy, Mary Frances, Judy, Eileen, Joseph Jr.
Salvatore (Sal)*	Mary Edna C. Vecchio	Rosemary, Sal, Jean, Paul*, Peter, Frank
* – deceased

Of course, Dad and I were the fortunate ones to escape the devastation of having to live through a divorce or ever be threatened by it. We knew from the very beginning that our marriage and our life together was well reinforced with love and mutual respect for one another, and that nothing could ever shatter it in any way. As the years progressed, our marriage continued to grow with faith, gentleness and much caring, and remained that way until the very end.

As all well meaning parents still do today, unselfishly caring for and providing their children with much needed love and security, we too shared ourselves and everything we ever owned with all our children, for they were and still are our blessings from God. For these blessings we have always been grateful.

Immediately after our engagement, and with full approval from both our families, the date for our wedding was set for September 4, 1937. Needless to say, our minds were filled with the many tasks which were yet to be taken care of before the big day. We proceeded to execute the necessary plans and details during the time that still remained without too much difficulty. Of course, both our families were ready to pitch in whenever and wherever needed.

Although the wedding expenses were to be borne by Dad as was agreed, my mother nevertheless wanted to do something for us to lighten our load financially. Accordingly, she agreed to buy our living room curtains and drapes, bedspread, and a generous supply of towels and bed linen. It was greatly appreciated by both of us, and was put to good use immediately.

My brother Julie bought my wedding gown and accessories. On this score, it was my sister Rose who spent hours with me to help me select my “dream” gown. It was made of off-white satin, and had a long train attached to it. It was just beautiful. Julie also agreed to sing at my nuptial mass. Among the selections that we chose for him to sing was Schubert’s Ave Maria. We were all moved by the beauty of his voice, and it was remembered for many years by all who attended.

My brother Tony furnished our kitchen with a lovely maple kitchen table with four matching chairs. It was just the right size for our kitchen.

Our big gift form Grandpa and Josie, besides a monetary gift, was a complete four piece mahogany bedroom set. It was gorgeous. I could not help compare the size and accommodation of this spacious bedroom in our new apartment with the tiny bedroom and its small inadequate dresser which Rose and I shared at home. This all seemed like living in luxury as far as I was concerned.

Now the only thing left for us to buy was a living room set. Fortunately that was taken care of a month before our wedding. We were lucky enough to find an ad in the classified section advertising a ten piece living room set priced at $110. It was a steal and in excellent condition. The lady we bought it from was in dire need to sell in a hurry, as she had already purchased a new ultra-modern living room suite that was scheduled for immediate delivery. We were more than happy to take the used set off her hands, and so satisfaction was felt and appreciated by both of us. The wood trim on the chairs was rather ornate, but the furniture was solidly made, and it took care of our needs for many years, despite the hard use our kids administered to each and every chair!

Since Dad and I both wanted to have a full group of attendants to witness our wedding, we agreed to have four ushers and four bridesmaids in addition to our Best Man and Maid of Honor. After the selections were made, sufficient notice was properly given to each involved, and all gladly accepted.

Our attendants were:

Maid of Honor: Rose (my sister)

Best Man: Frank (Dad’s brother)

Bridesmaids: Mary Vecchio (my niece), Mae Connors (Frank’s fiancee), Gertrude Pearsall and Lillian Rainey (my friends)

Ushers: Frank and Louis (my brothers), Jack Kelly and Jimmy Kiernan (Dad’s friends)

In addition to the plans for the wedding itself, it was important for us to find an apartment. There were some questions which needed answering. Where should we locate? What size apartment should it be? How much rent can we afford to pay? These were questions that had to be carefully considered before making any rash decisions.

After much discussion, Dad and I finally decided we would prefer to live near both our families. This pleased me very much, as I felt the need to be as close to my family as possible. Living within a two mile radius of one another was ideal for all of us.

Fortunately, after scouring the newspapers, we succeeded in finding the apartment we were looking for. We located a newly decorated, upper floor, three room and bath apartment at 25 Aberdeen Street in Malverne, for $40 per month. The apartment was adjacent to Malverne High School, where I had formerly attended. The location was ideal, as it was within walking distance of church, stores, railroad station, doctors and professionals. The neighborhood was very nice; all the houses were well taken care of, and lawns were well manicured. The owner of the house was a widow, Mrs. Madeline Warreng. In the three years that we lived there, we developed a very close relationship, and remained good friends until her death.

Our apartment consisted of a large living room, a large bedroom, a bright kitchen, and a full tile bathroom. Imagine having a bathroom for just two of us, compared with one bathroom which the eleven of us shared at home in Lakeview!! Quite a big improvement for me. In addition, our apartment had hot water all the time. At home in Lakeview, we heated water as needed on top of the stove for such things as washing dishes, shaving, etc. We only lit the gas water heater for baths or some special reason. I was beginning to see a whole new world of space and comfort.

Our wedding was almost at hand, and we were kept busy with the details involved with the reception following the wedding. Marrying off a daughter can be very costly for those parents who have the financial means to supply a lavish reception. Such was not the case as far as our wedding was concerned, as we planned it on a minimal budget.

In addition to our large families, Dad and I had lots of friends. As we prepared our guest list, the roster seemed to grow and grow. Among those included, besides family, were my former schoolmates, members of the Legion of Mary, the church choir, the Malverne Fire Department, and both baseball teams (the Lakeview Ramblers and the Malverne Club). In addition, Dad and his brother Joe had developed a close relationship with the mayor of Malverne, Bill Gaddis, and his son Bill Jr. Both Bills were active members of the Malverne Club, as were Dad and Joe. In order to accommodate everybody and avoid slighting anybody, we planned what was identified as a “football” wedding – a far cry from today’s standards.

The refreshments we chose consisted of an endless number of ham and cheese sandwiches served on rolls, plenty of beer on tap, Italian cordials (liqueurs), a large tray of Italian cookies, and of course, a beautifully decorated wedding cake.

My oldest brother Charlie agreed to purchase the huge quantities of ham and cheese that would be needed to make the sandwiches. He had a friend in New York City who had a butcher shop near where he and his wife lived. The cost of the entire bill was remarkably low. Charlie also offered to buy the necessary alcohol and flavorings to make the cordials. As agreed, Dad reimbursed him for the cost of all the items.

We hired a five piece band to play for us on the evening of the reception. It was led by Maurice Pearsall, the brother of one of my wedding attendants. The cost was $50 for the entire evening, for as long as we wanted them.

The social hall we chose for our reception was brand new – the American Legion Hall on Franklin Avenue and Legion Place in Malverne. The rental cost was $25 for the evening (with no restriction on closing time), plus a $10 fee for janitorial services. We put a quick $10 deposit on it, in order to seal the bargain!!

In reviewing the arrangements we had just finalized, we were very pleased with the economical package we put together. The extra bonus was that everybody could attend, and no one would be slighted.

The day before the wedding was to take place, the hall was ornately decorated, the tables were conveniently set up, chairs in place, everything was in readiness.

On the eve of our wedding, all of us who were to participate went to the church for the customary rehearsal. As soon as rehearsal was over, we proceeded back to my house to join the rest of the family, who already had their sleeves rolled up and were busily stuffing the fresh rolls with generous slices of ham and cheese. There was no doubt in our minds that this wedding was definitely a family affair.

The morning of September 4, 1937 was finally at hand. Our nuptial mass was scheduled to begin at 11 AM at Our Lady of Lourdes Roman Catholic Church in Malverne. Father Lynch (the pastor) was delegated to marry us. Very early in the morning, by arrangement with my hairdresser, my sister Rose and I had our hair beautifully styled and set for the big occasion. We returned home in plenty of time to begin to dress, and to get into our gowns. Some of our attendants dressed at their homes, but those who lived out of town dressed at our house (all of this with one bathroom at our disposal!!!). We were to be dressed and ready to leave by 10:30 AM.

For some weeks before the wedding was to take place, there was much concern and discussion among those of us in the family as to the advisability of my father escorting me down the aisle as is traditionally done. All of us had noticed, as the time for the wedding neared, that my father was showing more evidence of withdrawal, with little desire to be tied down to any set formality. He did express his approval and enthusiasm for Dad and me, concerning the event that would soon take place, yet he preferred not to be in the limelight – center stage, so to speak. Instead, his preference was to be a proud spectator on the sidelines.

For this reason, it was agreed by all of us that my oldest brother Charlie would be the one who would fulfill my father’s obligation. He would and did play the dual role of loving father and oldest brother. This was the perfect solution to avoid any unwanted emotional stress or anxiety.

The hour had arrived. We were dressed and ready to enter the special cars lined up outside in front of our house, which would take us to the church. The day was sunny, and very hot.

As we, the bridal party, arrived at church, we assembled in the vestibule in proper order, ready to open the ceremony that was about to begin. Meanwhile, my father and family members and Dad’s family were properly escorted to their designated seats. The seating for all the arriving guests proceeded without flaws. After the guests were all seated, as tradition dictates, my mother was the last to be escorted down the aisle, next to my father who was already seated in the front row. This was the signal that the nuptial mass was ready to begin.

As the organ softly played the traditional wedding march, our wedding party walked deliberately and carefully, in step with the rhythms that accompanied us in our walk. My brother, in his special assigned role, carefully held my arm as we walked down the aisle together, and I cautiously held on to my beautiful bridal bouquet of fragrant white gardenias. The church was filled with sweet odors coming from the many floral arrangements. As I looked ahead toward the altar, I saw Dad anxiously standing with his brother Frank, waiting for his bride to join him.. With the traditional kiss, my brother gently led me to Dad. At that moment, our anxieties had vanished. Smiles of happiness were in full view to each of us and to all who were watching us. Our life together was about ready to begin.

The mass was beautiful, and the entire wedding party added much color and beauty to the entire ceremony. I spoke earlier of the beautiful music which my brother Julie agreed to sing at our wedding. His voice was so clear and so beautiful, and all of us who heard him that day agreed that his singing made the mass very special – particularly his rendition of Schubert’s Ave Maria.

But good humor always seems to fit into many varied occasions, including weddings. By mutual agreement among all the members of the Malverne Fire Department, they had plotted to pull a false fire alarm during our nuptial mass. As Dad and I solemnly knelt at the altar, we suddenly heard the loud siren going off. We immediately looked at each other in astonishment. He smiled at me, evidently sensing that this was one fire he was not about to go to. But truthfully, I was a bit shaken, being caught “off guard”, so to speak. In a joking but audible command, I said to him, “Don’t you dare leave!!” At this point we both grinned at each other and grasped our hands tightly together, which was our reassurance that we were definitely staying to get married. We could not and did not turn around to view our friends and family seated in the pews, but we could feel and almost hear their quiet chuckles as they witnessed the big joke the volunteer firemen had just executed, It was talked about and remembered by all of us for a long time.

With the completion of the mass and the beginning of the musical strains of the recessional, our wedding party proceeded to go up the aisle to the vestibule in back of the church. There we greeted all our guests, and sometime later proceeded to get into our cars to get the wedding photos taken at the photographer’s studio.

It seemed to be getting hotter and hotter as the day wore on, but we took it all in good stride. On arrival, we all got out of our respective cars and started walking toward the photographer’s studio. But true to form, my brother Frank was up to one of his unpredictable tricks again. Without any warning, Frank grabbed both Dad and me, one in each arm, and ushered us into the butcher shop next to the studio. Just picture, if you can, me carefully holding my train and my floral bouquet, and Dad trying to figure out Frank’s plan. We were firmly ushered into the shop, which was filled with the usual Saturday customers. By this time, our wedding attendants had followed us inside, and the customers were as confused as we were. After our grand entrance, Frank blurted out loudly, “It’s too hot outside. The bride and groom both need to cool off.” Frank continued his hold on Dad and me and led us to the large meat cooler, brushing aside the butchers who were busy cutting meat on their wooden blocks!! Needless to say, there were howls of laughter from everybody witnessing this farce. While the laughter was escalating, Frank gently led us inside the cooler and shut the door. There we were, the two of us, surrounded by hind quarters of beef, pork, long links of sausage, etc. It was hardly a nuptial setting, but in truth, the lower temperature felt great. After two minutes in the deep freeze, we were released from captivity. As we all left the butcher shop, we heard rounds of applause from the customers. They enjoyed it all, and so did we.

We soon composed ourselves, and proceeded in earnest to the photographers next door to get our pictures taken. The photographer sensed that this wedding party would be a bit unpredictable, and might perhaps pose a few problems. But we soon calmed down and cooperated fully with the man in charge.

Immediately following the photo session, we all proceed to Niederstein’s in Rockville Centre, where a wedding breakfast was awaiting us. The breakfast was just for the wedding party and our parents. The tables were beautifully decorated, the breakfast was nicely served, the musical background was softly played and in good taste, and generally the atmosphere was perfect.

Following the breakfast we all left to go back to my house in Lakeview. By that time it was mid-afternoon. Our house was already filled with our family members as well as some out-of-town guests. They were all busy reviewing the day’s events that had taken place thus far. Lots of coffee and cake was available for everyone to enjoy. There was music playing on the radio which added to all the conversation going on.. Everybody was keyed up and looking forward to the big reception yet ahead.

By 7 PM we all left in the designated cars and proceeded to the reception. As we had done for the church ceremony, our wedding party lined up in proper order, ready to make our entrance into the hall, which was already filled with guests. As soon as we filed through the doors, the band played “Here Comes the Bride”, and immediately there was a big ovation set in motion – applause, whistles, cheers, etc. The festivities had just begun.

Our wedding party began to proceed to our special table where we were to be seated for the evening. It was a slow process, as we were greeted, hugged, kissed and admired along the way by everyone. The hall was full of excitement, happy guests, good food, good music, and lots of camaraderie.

The band provided all of us with a full evening of good lively music and lots of fun. It did not take long for the floor to be full of dancing couples. There were lots of fast feet and a variety of rhythms in motion. As the evening progressed and the music continued, I was suddenly handed the baton by the band leader Maurice, so that I could continue leading the musicians!! With full confidence in myself, I accepted the honor presented to me, and played the role of musical director. I used very exaggerated arm movements to impress my musicians with my musical abilities (minimal as they were), and proudly swung the baton in every direction imaginable. It was funny to watch, as I was told by everybody who saw me swinging my arms non-stop, in my long bridal gown, train and all!! Weddings like this don’t happen every day.

As the evening continued in full tempo, Dad and I realized that everyone was having a wonderful time, including the Mayor. We felt grateful to know that our efforts and plans for this happy occasion had worked out so well. Dad and I, meanwhile, made it a point to go to each table to personally thank each guest for coming to our wedding reception and for sharing this special occasion with us.

The time came for the cutting of the wedding cake, and according to tradition, we served each other the first piece, after which the guests were properly served. The music and dancing continued, as the hours passed by. Before leaving the hall, my bridal bouquet had to bee tossed to some eligible young lady who was still a candidate for marriage. My flowers were caught by my bridesmaid, Lillian Rainey. However, the flowers were not very instrumental in her getting married right away; as it turned out, she married five years after our wedding.

Dad and I finally left the reception hall around 11:30 en route to my house in Lakeview, where our bags were already packed and ready to go with us on our honeymoon. Dad and I were upstairs getting dressed and ready to leave. Meanwhile the rest of my family left the reception hall and slowly began to return home. Needless to say, with all of us together again, Dad and I were delayed from leaving for another hour, as there were just so many things to talk about and to share with all of them. It was, in essence, a replay of our wedding in its entirety.

At last it was time for us to take off. Just as we all had imagined would happen, it was a send-off of mixed emotions. My mother and my sister Rose were having a hard time trying to hold back tears as they watched Dad and I getting closer to the door, ready to leave. But somehow they managed to recover their composure, smiled broadly, hugged us both, and wished us well. The rest of our family followed suit with a litany of good wishes that almost sounded like a chorus in unison. But the final farewell which my father gave us has always been remembered and never forgotten. True to his role as a loving father, he approached Dad and said to him as he shook his hand, “Take care of our daughter. She has always been close to us. And now that you are her husband, we have made space for you too. You are now part of our family. Welcome and good luck.” What a beautiful message. I held up stoically without tears, but I was filled with so much love and admiration for this wonderful man, my father. Dad and I both grabbed our bags and left, as we waved goodbye.

Our car was in the driveway, ready for our getaway. But now a problem arose – where we going to spend our first night together, and where would we spend our honeymoon? Ironically, neither one of us had given this any prior thought or consideration. And to make matters worse, how foolish could one be, considering that this was the Labor Day weekend!!

As we backed out of the driveway, it was almost 1 AM, and at that point Dad immediately headed for New York City. He decided on trying for a hotel in Brooklyn, since he was very familiar with that area, having lived there for many years as a boy and a young man. Lucky for us, we pulled up to the Hotel Granada at about 2 AM, and were able to get a room despite the holiday. The first dilemma in our married life had been solved satisfactorily.

Before leaving the hotel the next day (almost like obedient children!) we sent telegrams to my mother and father, as well as Grandpa and Josie, informing them that we were leaving New York City that day and were on our way to “parts unknown”. We truly had no idea where we would spend our honeymoon. We both decided to get into the car and just drive until we found something we liked. The second night we stopped at Darien, Connecticut, and from there we continued until we found the place that attracted us. It was actually a sports camp that happened to be closing up for the winter. It was situated on Long Lake, near Naples, Maine and Lake Sebago. It was owned and operated by Arthur C. Trott. It was a beautiful spot with lovely grounds and lots of trees. There were many separate cabins overlooking the lake, and the lake afforded everybody good fishing, boating and swimming. It was quiet and restful, and just a perfect place to spend a honeymoon. The bonus for us was that we were the only guests there, and so had the entire place at our disposal. The cost for Dad and me for one week was $40 per person, including meals, private cabin and all recreational facilities.

Our week there was filled with so many interesting things to do and see. We took many side trips by car to enjoy the beautiful Maine countryside.

On Sunday after going to mass, Dad and I decided to get in the canoe and go for a little sail on the lake. We did not bother to change into comfortable clothes, but instead we went into the boat in our church finery. The lake was like a mirror – very still, and the entire scene was like a picture post card. But almost in an instant, a squall came up. Now waves seemed to surface everywhere, opposing each other with extreme rhythms and movements. I had heard the word squall mentioned many times, but now we were in the middle of one actually happening. Dad appeared calm, but I sensed that he was aware, as I was, of the danger we were both facing, and without life jackets besides. Dad rowed the canoe with extreme caution, carefully avoiding any confrontation with the angry waves that were all around us. After a half hour had passed, and already late for lunch, Arthur Trott set out in his motor boat to search for the missing honeymooners. After spotting us, Arthur carefully guided us the rest of the way. We reached shore safely, and after getting ourselves out of the canoe, we thanked Arthur for all his concern and assistance. We proceeded to our cabin to freshen up before going to the dining room, where a delicious hot New England Sunday dinner was waiting for us, ready to be served. We were thankful for the food, but most thankful that we were there bodily to enjoy it, after escaping the ravages of the squall.

The night before our departure from Long Lake, we packed the car and telephoned our parents that we would be arriving home in a few days. We planned on doing the trip home in two days. We knew there would be a big welcome waiting for us, and we were right. When we arrived at my parents’ home in Lakeview, they were all on hand awaiting our arrival, including Grandpa and Josie. The dining room table was set for all of us, and it had all the makings of a real feast. Of course, everybody wanted to hear about our trip, and in addition, more talk and discussion about our wedding continued as well.

After a wonderful homecoming, and as the evening wore on, Dad and I thanked everybody for all their love and interest. At that point we were ready to leave the Vecchio household, to begin our new life together as Mr. and Mrs. Salvatore Pappalardo, address: 25 Aberdeen Street, Malverne.

In the interest of brevity, I have tried to minimize the events of my last 57 years, and accordingly have grouped them into ten-year periods. In each decade, I have expounded on those events which were most noteworthy at the time.

In contrast, you will note that I have devoted much detail of content to the events of the first 20 years of my life. The reasons for this are varied. First, one of my primary objectives in writing this journal is to describe to the reader what living accommodations were like for those whose families were large, yet whose financial resources were minimal. This was the environment in which I lived. Secondly, despite living under such disadvantages, I would suggest that a child growing up in a home filled with love and security could nevertheless enjoy a happy and healthy childhood, and could also achieve success in the career of his choice, whatever it might happen to be. Thirdly, living together as a well-knit family does help to develop traits of good character in each of us, while still gaining the ability to understand, to get along, and to share many things with one another. In essence, the family is the early beginning of community living, which later extends itself to the school, to the workplace, etc. I was most fortunate to have grown up in such a setting. And now, to continue with my story.

With our honeymoon now a wonderful memory, we were ready to begin our life together. Dad and I knew that there would be many adjustments for each of us to make. We knew also that we had envisioned many dreams and plans for ourselves in the years still ahead for us, in the hopes that most, if not all, would be fulfilled. With determination and high hopes, we were prepared to begin.

From the very first day of our occupancy, our little apartment was well used and shared not only by us, but by friends and family as well. I guess I inherited from my mother a love and interest in cooking dinners as she had done, and extending invitations to those who were available to come. What better way was there to fraternize with friends and family?

Of course, the first ones to be invited for dinner were my mother and father, and Grandpa and Josie. Because of the size of both our families and the limited space of our apartment, we could not have everybody at one time. But eventually everyone was invited as time progressed.

Dad and I both agreed that I would continue working at the real estate office, for a while anyway. Two salaries would help to add some extra dollars to our budget. Mr. Bisbee was happy to know that I would be coming back. However, the plan did not work too long. After six months of our marriage, I realized that I was pregnant, which pleased both of us very much, as well as both our families. Dad insisted that I quit my job after the first trimester, which is hardly the practice today. Most modern mothers work up until their ninth month. I suspect that Dad wanted me to be well-rested in preparation for our new addition, who was scheduled to arrive in early December.

It so happened that Dad and I were invited to my mother’s and father’s house for dinner on a particular Sunday, December 4th. It was while there that Mother Nature gave me notice that Baby Pappalardo was on its way. After telephoning our doctor first, he advised us that I should go to the hospital right away. Accordingly, Dad and I and my mother took off for South Nassau Communities Hospital in Rockville Centre. After I checked in and was properly assigned to a room, there were no immediate signs of a baby’ arrival just yet. On the doctor’s advice, Dad and my mother returned home, to play the waiting game there. On Monday they both appeared back at the hospital – still no baby. They both returned home again late Monday evening in the hopes that the baby would arrive momentarily. They waited patiently for the phone to ring signaling the good news, but to no avail. Finally, by early Tuesday morning, December 6th, the big event happened. We were blessed with a beautiful girl, Rosemary, named after her godmother (my sister Rose), and my mother. Of course, within the hour, Dad was at my bedside, as well as my mother and father and Dad’s family as well. It was easy to recognize that everybody was proud and happy to welcome our new addition.

Babies always bring about much celebration and excitement, and our firstborn was no exception. We had such a celebration for Rosemary’s baptism, which happened to be January 1st. The Pappalardos and the Vecchios were all present for the occasion. As for Rosemary, she slept through it all.

Without a second bedroom, we managed to make space for a crib for Rosemary in our bedroom, which was quite large and able to accommodate an extra piece of furniture.

From the moment we brought our baby home from the hospital, Rosemary was never lacking attention by any means. She was constantly being bounce from one lap to another. Family and friends made a fuss over her wherever we went, and she loved every bit of it.

Dad and I soon got into the routine of being a threesome without any difficulty, and I must say that Rosemary was a good baby. She did her share of sleeping, and when she was awake she was very pleasant. Meanwhile, our landlady, Mrs. Warreng, began to get very attached to her. So did we all.

In the late spring of 1940, I found that I was pregnant again. With a new baby on the way, we soon realized that, as much as we loved our apartment, it would not be suitable for four of us to live there comfortably.

Dad and I often thought of buying or building a home, but financially it was out of our reach. Our only assets were our car and a small amount of money in the bank. Grandpa and Josie were both very encouraging in this regard, and indicated they would help us to get started. I spoke earlier of the large parcel of property on Chestnut Street in Malverne, which Grandpa had purchased some years ago. They used a part of this parcel to build a new home for themselves to replace the Woodside Avenue home which they had sold. There still remained on this parcel ample room for two more homes.

Accordingly, after much discussion, Grandpa offered to finance and build a house for us according to our own specifications. Needless to say, we were overjoyed and gratified when we learned of this generous offer. We realized that this would be our golden opportunity to own a home at long last, a place that we would eventually call “ours”. The understanding was that upon final completion of the house, we were to get the necessary mortgage money from our local bank. In this way, we would be able to pay Grandpa back for the building costs which he had personally paid on our behalf.

The total cost of the house was $6,500. After applying at the bank for a first mortgage, we were informed that the maximum amount they would give us was $4,000. It was a 20-year mortgage, with monthly payments of $26.40, not including taxes. We gladly accepted these terms. Home ownership never looked so good!! As for the $2,500 balance to be paid, Grandpa agreed to carry a second mortgage to accommodate us. This amount was paid off in three years. Grandpa and Josie were proud of our dependability in the handling of our responsibilities, and we were most appreciative of all the help they had given us at this special time in our lives.

Our new address would be 44 Chestnut Street, Malverne, New York. Grandpa’s and Josie’s address was 66 Chestnut Street, since their move from Woodside Avenue had already taken place. We would really get to be close neighbors now. (Before this we were about 2 ½ miles apart.) How lucky for all of us. This move to Chestnut Street solidified the beatutiful and warm relationship we had always enjoyed since Dad and I married. As grandparents, they doted on and adored Rosemary, and this continued with each and every one of the babies that were born after Rosemary’s arrival. As for my ratings with Grandpa and Josie, I was loved and highly respected by both of them. They considered me more as a daughter than a daughter-in-law. I too held both of them in high esteem and loved them dearly. They were on an equal plane with my own mother and father.

With Grandpa in charge of construction, it was easy to understand how our home was so sturdy and so well built. It was a 1 ½ story brick home, built on a 80′ by 100’plot on the corner of Chestnut Street and Willow Place. Our kitchen was all tile, bright, sunny, and very large. There was a large living room with a tile fireplace. Also on the first floor were two bedrooms and a full tile bathroom. Off the kitchen was a huge screened porch with a beautiful tile floor. This porch was over the attached one-car garage. Later, after Rosemary’s first birthday, we finished off the upper floor with two large bedrooms and another tile bathroom. The basement was high and dry, and we later finished off a recreation room there, suitable for gatherings which we often had from time to time. Our home was all we had hoped it would be and even more. It answered all our needs and it was an ideal setting for raising a family.

We moved from Aberdeen Street in early January of 1941. It was a sad time for Mrs. Warreng to see us leave, as she had become very attached to us, and especially to Rosemary. The three years we lived there were very happy, and we had always enjoyed Mrs. Warreng’s friendship as well as her excellent baking. She was employed at one time as a cook at the local high school cafeteria, and was considered an excellent baker. We always enjoyed her coffee crumb cake with the big crumbs on top; it was mouth-watering.

In worldly news, this was a time of much concern for everybody. Adolph Hitler, together with Benito Mussolini, were already recklessly invading countries in Europe, including Great Britain, disregarding the honor and dignity of human lives. Then, on December 7, 1941, Japan executed her sneak attack on Pearl Harbor. The announcement of the attack, as we heard it on the radio, stunned each and every one of us. We all realized the seriousness of the attack, and the loss of lives of our American sailors and soldiers who, without notice, had given up their lives with no just cause. World War II for America had just begun, and the next few years would affect all of us in many different ways.

The economic picture of our country had begun its transformation. First of all, private construction was almost at a standstill, as almost all the building materials were given to or bought by our government for our defense and military needs. This meant the end of Grandpa’s tile business, which he later dissolved. The building that housed Nation Tile and Marble Works was deeded over to the mortgage company, as Grandpa could not afford to pay the overhead expenses that steadily accrued. It was a sad way to end the many years that Grandpa had dedicated to develop the thriving business that he once owned and operated.

Employment was high in the numerous defense plants. All those who were unemployed or recently laid off from companies that could no longer operate because of the lack of materials soon found employment at places like Grumman, Republic and Sperry Gyroscope, to name a few. Wages were good, and overtime added to the take-home pay. Dad’s brothers Frank and Denny worked on an ammunition fleet of ships in Baltimore. Dad’s brother Joe worked at Grumman’s, and Dad worked at Republic. I do not know where Teddy was employed.

In 1938, Dad’s brother Freddie has already purchased an 80 acre parcel of land along both sides of River Road in Shawnee, Pennsylvania for the sum of $4,500. At today’s prices this was a steal!! Some of the land sat along the Delaware River, and some of the land across the road was mountainous property. Freddie started constructing his first beautiful home for himself and Mary on land that overlooked the river. Because of war priorities, he was not able to completely finish it. They were able to live in it, but had to use a coal stove in lieu of a heating system.

They were also without electricity and had to use oil lamps. In order to get the electricity, he had to apply for preferential treatment by registering as a farmer. He chose to be a farmer who raised chickens!! In due time, after approval by the utility company, he constructed a barn with material he already had on hand and lumber from his neighbor who had a sawmill. Many trees from Freddie’s property were cut to size at the sawmill. With the aid of the barn to house the chickens, Freddie and Mary soon developed a thriving chicken and egg business during the war years. He was now a successful farmer and he also had acquired the electricity he would need for future development of his land.

Besides the priority of materials for the military, everybody’s consumption of certain goods was rationed and regulated by our government. This included shoes, gasoline, and food items such as sugar, coffee and meats. All of this was controlled with the issuance of ration books to each member of every family. Ceiling prices were in effect to curb the sharks that were out there trying to get rich quick. Nevertheless, those who had the money to buy illegal “black market” stamps were able to buy as much as they wanted without suffering any wartime restrictions or deprivations.

By the beginning of 1942 in the Vecchio household, five more weddings had taken place, including my sister Rose. The only one remaining single was my brother Louie. It was hard to imagine how a home once filled with so many people and so much activity was suddenly changed to just three people and little sound. My father was beginning to show signs of forgetfulness and loss of memory. As for my mother, she was fighting high blood pressure, as well as hiding worry over financial problems that would surface from time to time. With just about everyone married now, there were no more weekly contributions coming in toward household expenses as my brothers, my sister and I had given when we were at home. Nevertheless, Louie did more than his share, not only financially, but also in taking car eof whatever needed to be done around the house. He was truly a dedicated son.

With the war in progress, there were some changes of employment in the Vecchio household. My sister Rose and her husband Tony were employed at Grumman’s. My brother Louie worked for Sperry Gyroscope. My brother Julie obtained a position as social studies teacher at the local high school where I graduated. My brother Jimmy still retained his job with Knickerbocker Ice Company. My brother Tony was now driving a cab in New York City. Johnny was still employed with United Parcel. My brother Eddie enlisted in the Navy as a Chief Petty Officer and was stationed at Camp Le Jeune, North Carolina. My brother Frank was now the mechanic and owner of his own lucrative gas station and garage. He and his wife lived next door to the business. My brother Charlie was engaged in the operation of big road machinery in and around the area where he lived in New York City.

I have reviewed and updated the employment picture of both the Pappalardos and the Vecchios to show how national conditions can affect the lives of so many. Living through World War II taught us many things, including the need to sacrifice and to help in any way we could to attain victory and peace once again.

Our second child, a son, Salvatore John, was born on February 28, 1941. It was a happy time for us, despite the gravity of the events of the war. Grandpa and Josie had just returned from Florida, and were greeted upon their arrival home by a raging snowstorm. Telephone lines were down in the area where Grandpa lived; thus Dad could not reach them by phone to give them the good news. Dad solved the communication dilemma by delegating the Malverne Taxi to go to Grandpa and Josie’s house to deliver the message personally that they were once again grandparents, and to a namesake (Salvatore) at that. As soon as roads were cleared, Dad arranged to pick them up, and brought them to the hospital to see the new baby and me. It was a wonderful reunion, as we had not seen them for several months.

Returning home with our new baby was a happy occasion. Rosemary was eager and anxious to hold her baby brother, and when she did, all the grownups of the family were on hand to make sure that she had a firm grip on baby Sal. She handled her brother very well, and from that day forward took on the role of “big sister” with much confidence.

With the Selective Service Act in force, all eligible men up to age 40 (I believe) were required to register at their local draft board for military duty. Dad accordingly registered at the Malverne Draft Board. He was 33 years old at the time. The registration numbers allotted to the registrants were selected at random, and the quota that was dictated by the Department of Defense determined the amount of men selected by the draft board.

With this cloud of uncertainty hanging over us, we continued to go on as usual with our daily lives. Dad faithfully continued with his job at Republic, and from time to time showed signs of exhaustion. He sometimes worked, if needed, seven days a week, and some were ten-hour days. He never complained, and on days that he came home late, I always made sure, after serving him a hot supper, that Rosemary was still available to him, so that they could enjoy a little time together. Being two years younger, Sal was already in bed and fast asleep.

With working long hours, and with the promise of a raise always denied him or put on the back burner, Dad had threatened many times to resign from his job at Republic, but he was successfully appeased by his bosses. They cited many good reasons for him to remain with the company, one of them being that employment in a defense plant would excuse him from military duty.

When I informed Dad that I was pregnant again, he was happy to hear the news. But he was more than sure, now that there would be another mouth to feed, that he must have that raise or else resign as he had threatened. Before handing in his resignation, he was fortunate enough to secure a position with the drafting department of the County of Nassau in Mineola, New York. This was a wonderful opportunity for him to use the background of learning he had acquired at Cooper Union in architectural design. The County needed draftsmen, as they were designing all streets and roads to accommodate plans for the installation of sewers. The salary was a little less than Republic, but the hours were less demanding, and the camaraderie of the office personnel was super.

Dad properly submitted his resignation to leave Republic, giving them the required two weeks notice, and they in turn gave him a letter of recommendation for his high quality of workmanship. Dad was now ready to begin his new position. From his very first day he was extremely happy working in his new surroundings, and in a very short time he developed many good friendships there.

On February 19, 1943, we were blessed with a darling baby girl, Jean. Now Rosemary had not only a brother but a sister, too. She was thrilled, as was Sal John. Our family was indeed growing. Jean was of lighter complexion than both Rosemary and Sal, and her hair was blonde in color. As I recall from stories my mother told me, some of the Costandinis were redheads and of fair complexion. This was typical of families who lived in northern Italy, where my mother was born. My brother Johnny was a redhead with light skin and freckles, and looked somewhat Irish. My sister Angelina who died at age 2 was of that same coloring. I, too as a child had blonde hair and a fair complexion.

Our new home on Chestnut Street was comfortable and amply large enough to take care of our growing family of five. As usual it was always full of people dropping in to visit us and to see the new baby. On weekends we often played cards after enjoying a dinner together. Sometimes it was with Julie and Carrie, sometimes with Teddy and Anna, and sometimes it was men only – my brother Louie and Dad’s brothers Teddy and Frank. When the men played it was always poker; otherwise it was pinochle.

Meanwhile, whenever possible, my mother always managed to have my brother Louie drive her to our house to spend a little time with us and all our children. Josie also arranged to come from next door to join us as well. Josie and my mother got along famously, and continued to remain close as the years went by.

In due time the inevitable happened. Both Dad and my brother John received their notices that they had been selected by number to join our armed forces. They were notified to appear at the designated recruitment location in New York City to undergo the required physical examination. Both passed their physicals, but the fact that Dad passed is still debatable. When Dad and I went to our family physician prior to our marriage for physicals and blood work, Dad was informed that he had heart problems, brought about by an undetected bout of rheumatic fever he had suffered when he was eight years old. Instead of the bed rest which was required to avoid serious complications, he was doing what all eight-year-olds do – running, climbing trees, playing baseball, and everything else imaginable. As a result his heart was damaged, and he suffered its effects as he grew older.

After learning that our husbands would be soon inducted and would be leaving us for an indefinite period, my sister-in-law Marie and I slowly began to realize that we would soon have to adjust to a new way of life, both financially and emotionally. Marie had Johnny Mike, age 3½, to be concerned about, and I had three little ones, ages 5½, 3½ and 14 months. It was mind-boggling, but like everyone else we had to be strong.

Ironically, both Dad and my brother were inducted on the same day, April 29, 1944. Johnny joined the Navy and Dad, with a background in construction, joined the Army Corps of Engineers. Dad and I could very well see many changes looming for all of us.

That day, April 29, 1944, was a day I shall never forget. At various opportune times, he and I had often talked about his coming departure with Rosemary and Sal (Jean was too young), but I don’t think that the seriousness of it or its implications had made any kind of impression on them. From time to time they had been exposed to pictures in the daily newspaper of sailors and soldiers in uniform engaged in military offensives, and seemed to accept it all as normal.

Dad’s notice for induction stated that he was to report at a location in Mineola where there would be a fleet of Army buses lined up and ready to transport the men. They were scheduled to go to Camp Upton, Long Island for further briefing and assignment, and to receive their uniforms.

It was agreed among us that Grandpa and I would accompany Dad to Mineola and Josie would remain at home with the three children. Little did we know that on that very morning the two oldest ones had come down with chicken pox and were running the usual fever that goes with it.

As the time drew nearer for us to leave and for Dad to say goodbye to our three little ones, you can imagine the tears and emotions that followed. Tears rolled down little cheeks that were dotted with red spots. It was not a happy picture to look at, making it difficult for all of us as we huddled together, hugging one another and trying to wipe away the tears. The fever and discomfort of the chicken pox certainly did not help the situation in any way, making it hard to part under these conditions. Dad tried very hard to keep his composure and managed to hug each of the children and Josie with a last goodbye. We left the room and proceeded to get into the car en route to Mineola. The picture of Josie standing at the window holding Jean in her arms, with Rosemary and Sal clinging to her side, is as clear today as that day in April. Grandpa, Dad and I waved goodbye from the car, trying to hold back the tears. At this emotional time, the only comfort for the four we left behind was their consolation of each other. At 14 months, Jean was the bravest of all – she was too young to comprehend the whole situation.

When we arrived at the embarkation point in Mineola, we witnessed a wide variety of people, expressing a wide variety of emotions. One could easily detect the young unattached soldier showing much enthusiasm and national pride in being an important part of the U.S. Army. He seemed to be very much in control of his composure, and perhaps at that moment was already thinking very seriously of making the Army his lifetime career.

In contrast were those men who were in love and were now forced to leave their sweethearts behind in answer to their call of duty. It was evident that every minute that remained to them before boarding the bus was precious, as the coupled lovers embraced for the last time.

And then there were the husbands like Dad, who were also preparing themselves for this painful separation, not only from their wives (some pregnant), but from their children as well.

Soon the long line of buses was ready to depart and, one by one, the men boarded, bound for Camp Upton, where each of them would be processed, assigned and outfitted with their proper uniforms. Grandpa and I stoically stood by waving to Dad, who by now had seated himself next to a window where he could easily see us. As we watched the last bus disappear from sight, Grandpa and I got into the car. The ride back to our house was very quiet – almost void of conversation. Many thoughts raced through both our minds, as we tried to figure out what was happening. But from that very moment I knew that I had to be strong for the sake of the children, as well as myself.

Several months before, Josie and Grandpa had decided that they would sell their home next door to us, as it was too big and too expensive to maintain. With the war still in progress, they were aware that building a replacement home was out of the question for the time being. In a very short time they had a buyer and needed to make arrangements to move. With Dad’s induction a reality, they suggested using the upstairs finished floor of our home, if that was OK with me. With Dad away, I thought this was an excellent idea, as it provided each of us the much-needed moral support during this difficult time. In addition, the $35 per month rent they offered to pay me would help stretch the $120 monthly stipend that I was receiving for Dad’s service.

With this income I managed to pay for the mortgage, taxes, heat, utilities, food, clothing, medical bills, insurance, etc. Needless to say there wasn’t a nickel left over after all the bills were paid, but fortunately every bill was paid on time, never overdue.

About a month after Dad left for the Army, Grandpa and Josie officially moved in with us. They squeezed in as much furniture as was possible, in both of the rooms upstairs. They also bought and installed a small cooking range, a kitchen sink, and a small refrigerator to take care of the light cooking for breakfast and lunch. The main dinner meal always took place in our big kitchen. Grandpa had done much of the cooking in recent years, and insisted on continuing the practice. As for their excess furniture, it was properly protected and stored in our basement.

We had always been close neighbors, but now that we were living together, we were even closer. It was an ideal situation during the war emergency. Josie and Grandpa had a convenient place to live until such time that building a replacement home was possible. And for the children and myself it was a comfort to know that I was not alone. Should any emergency arise, there was ample family support, and in close proximity.

Josie was always generous, as was Grandpa, but she was also wise in her thinking and frugal. She knew that the money realized from the sale of their home at 66 Chestnut Street could very well diminish over the years, before the time that they would be ready to build once again. To insure against this, she decided to earn money by working in a factory in Lynbrook, where army jackets were manufactured.

Josie was an excellent seamstress and well qualified for the work. She sewed the pockets on the jackets and was paid a piecework rate. Because of her speed, she was able to earn a very handsome weekly salary. Her boss was in awe not only of her speed, but also of the perfect workmanship she produced.

Josie’s employment left Grandpa alone to a degree. But being the very active person he always was as a businessman, he immediately occupied himself with a vegetable garden, did light repairs around the house, and of course did the cooking as well. He took great pride in making pots of chicken soup, as he felt it was satisfying and healthy for his grandchildren and all of us as well. He was right. Many times he would take the Long Island Railroad to Brooklyn to buy fish, bread, cheese or vegetables at the favorite stores which he had patronized over the years. We savored and enjoyed every morsel as well as the crispy loaves of Italian bread.

As for his cooking, it was super, but the drawback was that he could never operate without Josie by his side to assist him, or else a qualified substitute to take her place. Needless to say, I automatically became the permanent substitute. This was not always easy, believe me, with three young children demanding my attention, all at the same time. With Grandpa, the timing of his needs was unpredictable. A plan to can tomatoes on a moment’s notice was not unusual.

I was told many times, by Josie and others who knew Grandpa and his ways, that I was considered an unusual daughter-in-law, endowed with an endless supply of patience. Whether their evaluation was correct I do not know, but I do know that we were taught while growing up at home to always respect those older than ourselves, and to conform to their wishes, regardless of our own personal feelings. I always accepted anything Grandpa suggested that I do or not do, resulting in a close harmony between us at all times. He loved me as he would a daughter, and the feeling was mutual. We were fortunate indeed to have Josie and Grandpa as parents and grandparents. Our relationship continued to grow more and more, with much love, care and concern for each of us.

The routine of each day was the same and, much of the time was run according to the specifications of the “Grandpa Plan”. For example, by 5:15 PM the table was properly set for the six of us. The children were washed, seated and ready for supper, as we awaited Josie’s entrance through the door at precisely 5:15.If she did not arrive on time, Grandpa’s standard request was for me to call the factory and inquire whether Josie had already left. To appease him, I would always comply, but down deep I felt that this was an unnecessary request, as in due time she would be home. Upon calling the factory, I would get the usual response, “She already left.” Within minutes, Josie would arrive. Of course she had to give Grandpa an explanation of why she was detained, which satisfied Grandpa. At that point we were all ready to eat supper, and things were running normal again!

Life for everyone went on as usual, despite the daily tragedies of the war, which were difficult to read and hear about. We had become accustomed to the rationing that was well in effect, and we were well informed as to routine measures for defense as outlined by the Civilian Defense Authority. Meanwhile, many volunteers donated much of their time to work in hospitals and many other agencies that assisted in the war effort. They knitted, they rolled bandages, they served food, they drove cars for the motor corps, and provided many other worthwhile services. Because of home responsibilities, I was unable to volunteer. My responsibility, with Josie’s and Grandpa’s help, was to keep our home safe, warm and comfortable, and to lovingly care for our three little ones, who needed all the support and love they could possibly get.

My closing activity each night, despite my tiredness, was to write a letter to Dad. He was stationed at Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri at that time, going through the necessary basic training. In each letter I recounted the day’s activities and assured him that all was going well on the home front. I am sorry and disappointed that these letters were lost during one of our various moves over the years. They would have supplied all of us with many interesting accounts of events that occurred at that time.

The big news in mid-September was that Dad would be granted his first 16-day furlough. Needless to say, we were all keyed up for this event. It was hard to believe that Dad would be on a train headed for home and would soon be sitting at the table having dinner with us once again.

We had no car of our own at that time. When a car was needed, I had the use of Josie’s two-door Chevrolet Coupe, large enough for two persons, three if they squeezed together. To eliminate any problems as to who would accompany me to meet Dad at the train station, I decided to go alone. I was there to meet the train as it pulled into the Malverne railroad station at 6:30 AM. Before the train had come to a halt, my heart started to race. Our precious moment had arrived. As he stepped down from the train I ran to him, and after he dropped his duffel bag on the ground, we embraced each other tightly, not caring about those who were walking about the station and witnessing our moment together. We were on cloud nine and in a world all our own.

By the time we arrived home the front door was already opened wide, and out came the children, running to Dad helter-skelter, almost knocking him over. They were so excited and happy to see their Daddy once again, and he was as happy as they were to be back home with the kids.

As each day passed, Dad and I and the kids did our share of visiting with family and friends. Each visit was a celebration in itself. We had a few reunions at our house as well. But as the saying goes, all good things come to an end, and as we had expected, it was now time for Dad to leave us again. We all handled the situation very well this time, and we were ready to resume our normal routine as we did before. Of course we all held on to our hopes that some day soon this war would come to an end, and that our servicemen could return once more to their loved ones at home.

Five months had already passed since Dad and my brother had left home for military duty. With all but one of my brothers and my sister now married and out of the house, life at our homestead in Lakeview was far different than it had been. The liveliness that once was present was no longer evident. My mother now cooked for three instead of eleven, which did not make her very happy. Cooking for crowds and serving them was her forte and always gave her much pleasure. But by now, hard work, worry and poor health had begun to take their toll on both my mother and my father. This gave all of us much concern, particularly my brother Louie who still lived at home with them.

On October 7, 1944 I received a distressing phone call from my mother’s neighbor, Gladys Matthews, informing me that while they were having their morning coffee together, as was their usual custom, my mother suffered a severe stroke. Louie had already left for work. His usual shift at Sperry was 5 PM to 1:30 AM, but he had been called in to work extra hours to fill some special orders for the defense department. This left my mother alone with my father, and Gladys.

Realizing the gravity of the situation, I telephoned my brother Frank at his garage, asking him to pick me up immediately. I arranged with Josie and Grandpa to keep an eye on the children while I was gone.

Frank must have put the pedal to the floor, because it seemed to me that he was at my door in minutes. When Frank and I arrived at my mother’s, we found her sitting on her favorite chair in the living room, with my father and Gladys standing on either side of her. Her first reaction on seeing us was to cry uncontrollably. I’m sure she already realized that something terrible had just happened to her. Her mouth was already twisted; she could not speak and her entire left side was completely paralyzed. It was a sad sight to witness. As for my father, he seemed very much confused and appeared to be in a daze, finding it very difficult to understand the things that were happening as each moment passed by.

Both Frank and I embraced my mother, trying our best to soothe her while reassuring her that she was soon going to be all right. In the meantime I lost no time at all in calling for a doctor to examine her. Yes, at that time doctors did make house calls.

As soon as the doctor arrived, he confirmed what we already knew, that it was definitely a stroke, which was triggered by the high blood pressure that she had been troubled with over the years. He informed us that with the war still in full progress, hospital beds were at a premium and were mostly reserved for emergency cases. In my mother’s case, her slow recovery would demand long time care. He suggested a nursing home where she would receive appropriate professional care, or, on lieu of that, keeping her at home with adequate home care and attention. Before leaving, he left prescriptions for medications to treat her present condition. In addition he suggested massage and therapy to be administered at home by a professional therapist, but it was a bit too early yet to start this procedure.

We thanked the doctor for his immediate response, as well as for his professional advice and suggestions. He assured us that he would be happy to take on my mother’s case for follow-up treatment, and we gladly accepted his offer. Having the doctor come to our home was a convenience for us, especially for my mother.

After the doctor left I walked over to my mother and held her hand tightly to give her reassurance. Looking directly at her with a warm smile, I said, “You’re coming home with me. I’ll be able to take good care of you. Just don’t worry, because everything is going to be all right.” These words seemed to comfort her, even though she couldn’t respond verbally.

At that point I put on a pot of coffee to help us get some renewed energy, and to help us come up with some idea as to how we were going to get this 185 pound woman into my brother’s car. After having our coffee, we decided to put my mother on an ordinary kitchen chair. It worked very well. We slowly pushed the chair to the front entrance. Frank pulled his car up on the lawn, right up to the doorway. Then we took the chair with my mother strapped in it and lowered her very carefully down the three steps. We opened the car door to the front seat, and lifted her from the chair to the front seat. My father and I sat in the back of the car with the empty chair between us. When we arrived at my house, we repeated the procedure with the chair. We were successful in getting her settled into her bed, and she soon fell fast asleep, exhausted. Josie and Grandpa and the children quietly looked on, coming to grips with the whole sad situation.

I knew that now, in addition to our three children, there would be the added responsibility of my mother’s care as well. As far as I was concerned, I was determined and prepared to give her all the love and comfort and attention which she justly deserved. But most of all, I wanted her to feel happy and “at home” in her new surroundings. The closeness my mother and always shared apparently contributed to her immediate acceptance of the idea of living with us. Having the children around her gave her much joy and helped her to forget her physical handicaps.

We all became accustomed to our new routine, now that my mother was living with us. After several weeks we realized that the stroke had been severe, and that she would never regain the use of her left side. She remained confined to bed until she died.

Besides doing the regular household chores, my typical day’s routine went something like this:

8:00 am – Breakfast for children.

8:30 – Bathe my mother, change bed linens, serve her breakfast.

9:30 – Wash and hang children’s laundry. For entertainment, my mother listened to the radio in her room. She thoroughly enjoyed programs such as Stella Dallas, John’s Other Wife, The Goldbergs, and many others. Josie and Grandpa would visit with my mother often, and of course the children were in and out of her room, making lots of conversation. By this time her speech had returned.

12:00 Noon – Lunch for children. My brother Louie would come for lunch, with my father, before leaving for work each day.

12:15 – Lunch served to my mother. After her lunch was finished, Louie and I lifted her out of bed into a rocking chair. We would then slide the chair to the back porch for her to enjoy the outdoor scenery: the trees, bushes, flowers, birds, etc. Before Louie left for work, he and I would return my mother to her room, lift her into bed, and freshen her up as well as her bed linens.

5:15 – The children, Josie, Grandpa and I (and my father, when he was there) ate supper in the kitchen.

5:30 – Supper served to my mother.

7:00 – Children bathed and ready for bed.

8:00 – Bedtime for children.

8:15 – After September 1945, my brother Johnny would come each night to help me get my mother out of bed just as Louie and I did every afternoon. This change of position made her feel more comfortable, and she particularly enjoyed the mobility of getting out of the bedroom to other parts of the house.

9:30 – Johnny and I returned my mother to her bedroom, and the lights in her room were out for the night. Johnny then returned home.

10:00 – Daily letter written to Dad.

10:30 – Finished undone tasks, soaked children’s laundry overnight. I had no washing machine, and did laundry by hand. All other laundry that had to be done was picked up by the laundry truck and returned the next day, washed and wet. I hung them to dry on the line. This was considered the economy plan. You could have them dried, pressed and folded, but that was too expensive for my budget.

11:00-11:30 PM – Bedtime.

Needless to say, my mother had lots of company, mostly family, who cam to visit with her. Many of them were from out of town, which kept me quite busy cooking and preparing food for all off us. But all of it pleased my mother, seeing everybody together.

Concerning my father’s care, I suggested to my brother Louie that he could stay with us during the day and go home at night just to sleep. We tried this for a few weeks, but problems soon arose.

As I mentioned, my father was beginning to have memory lapses, and was becoming more and more confused as time went on. He had several episodes of getting lost and having to be returned home in a police car. My brother Louie was worried, as there was no one at home in Lakeview to supervise and care for him. I, of course, was fully occupied with the care of my mother and our children. After a family consultation, we all agreed that my father should be placed in a nursing home. Arrangements were made and finalized. He responded well and became acclimated to the transition. He remained there until his death in 1949.

Needless to say, I immediately informed Dad by letter of the whole situation concerning my mother’s stroke and her stay with us. Dad wrote back right away, expressing his deep sadness that she was undergoing so much pain and suffering. But he was happy to know that I made the decision to bring her to our house. He agreed with me that that was where she belonged – with us. This gave all of us involved a feeling of contentment.

As time passed, the U.S. continued to make progress and to gain more and more success in our war maneuvers. By May 1945, Germany had surrendered to the Allies on VE Day, and by August, Japan had surrendered as well, on VJ Day. There were numerous celebrations and ticker tape parades taking place in every city and town across our country. Excitement and national pride everywhere was high. Our soldiers would once more be reunited with their loved ones, ready to resume living their lives as before.

My brother Johnny was discharged in September 1945, and Dad was discharged on December 9, 1945. We were overjoyed to have them home again, and it didn’t take our children very long to realize that their Daddy was home for good. It was such a wonderful feeling.

My brother Johnny resumed his job with United Parcel. Dad was offered his former job as draftsman with the County of Nassau. He chose instead to go back into tile work, working independently for himself. He also helped hi brother Denny in the construction of his new home in West Hempstead, which had just been started.

Upon Dad’s return home, he lost no time in having wonderful talks with my mother during her convalescence. You could really see how much she enjoyed the conversation and his support. She was also happy and relieved knowing that her son and son-in-law were both back home once again, safe and sound.

My routine in caring for my mother continued at the same hectic pace, with one exception. On the advice of my mother’s doctor, I was able to obtain a washing machine with the presentation of a letter written by the doctor certifying our need for this appliance because of my mother’s illness. Appliances, like building supplies, were still in short supply. Accordingly, it was necessary to be put on a waiting list, and wait your turn for the next available appliance. Of course we were delighted to have this modern convenience. It eliminated doing the children’s daily wash on the scrub board, as well as the need for the laundry man to pick up our soiled laundry each week.

By September 1945, Rosemary had entered school. Although we lived in the incorporated village of Malverne, we were a part of the Valley Stream school district. The school bus stop was located two blocks from our house. Rosemary did not seem to mind the walk. As most children do, she soon adjusted to the new beginnings at school.

Besides getting used to school, she also seemed very willing to watch over her younger brother and sister whenever they were playing outside. She always kept a close eye on them, and took on the role of mother hen voluntarily. Of course, I was there as well, but it was gratifying to know that she was seriously taking on her job as “big sister”.

After having suffered several other “mini-strokes” in the course of time that followed, my mother passed away in our home on May 7, 1947. It was a devastating blow to all of us in the family, especially to me and Dad and the children. We had always had a very close relationship, but over the past few years, our feelings grew deeper and deeper. It would take some time for all of us to adjust to the silence in the bedroom that once was hers.

Her mission in life was now completed, having unselfishly given, without measured limits, love and care and comfort to all around her. We indeed were the beneficiaries to have had her in our midst for the years that she lived among us.