Posts filed under ‘Women of Worth’
Nana’s MY BOOK- memories of another time
ED NOTE: My mother, Violet Janet Gabbey 1919-2018
My mum had a long and amazing life. Mum was 99 when she passed and was loved by all her friends and family. However, 40 years ago she was going through a very trying and emotional time in her life. Her only child, me, was three thousand miles away in the United States at the time and was unable to do much of anything.
Mum had nights of not sleeping I suggested she use that time to start writing down her memories of being young for her granddaughter , Nikki . I have always found writing things down cathartic and still find that to be the case. Mum scribbled notes on scraps of paper every time she couldn’t sleep .( I still have those notes)
A few years ago we sat in the den and she and I put them in some sort of order. Mum then sent a copy of what she named “MY BOOK” to the oldest grandchild of each of her brothers and sisters and to some special people .
Please remember when reading her words and memories it was a very different time , especially in her young years, what was pretty much the norm then probably wouldn’t be acceptable today.
Cover Design Chris Ritchey
So , where is the beginning of it all? Upon reflection and trying to summon up the very first picture, there is a faint imprint in my mind. Can a child of three really retain, retell the event so many years on? Could I really see six or seven human forms lying on a mattress of black and white ticking strung between wooden frames? The box like shapes, the harsh sounds of human retching , the pungent smell of oil and vomit, that unpleasant fragrance still is in my nostrils. Some photo of that time with its sights and smells must have embedded itself forever in my mind
I can still feel still the roll and steady beat of a noise below. I was huddled, warmed and comforted by another little body next to mine. I can see my mother lying stretched out a short distance away from us; her long dark hair was damp and lying untidily on the pillow. I knew somehow she was ill too. My Father was on his feet , I see his arms with dark shapes and lines on them holding a cup to my mouth. He was telling me
“Drink this, you will feel better”
then oblivion and I remember no more .
Many years afterwards I made the discovery that my first recollection was of being in a cabin of a troop ship travelling home to England. The ship was bringing soldiers and their families, who had been serving in southern Ireland ( where the Anglo – Irish War – [1919-1921] had broken out after the Great War.(1914-1918)
My father was a soldier and a very good one. I fear, however he always drank too much and was forever shouting . He had scores of wonderful stories in him. He had a moustache which tickled and scratched when he would kiss you.
The dark shapes and lines were tattoos which he had subjected himself to in a far away land. When I was very little and asked about them he said the one said ” I love Betty” I used to wonder how could my mother bear to see that day after day , as her name was Charlotte! However, the “I love Betty” was just my fathers peculiar sense of humour . When I was older and could read and looked more closely I found there was only two hearts entwined with a lover’s knot and there was no wording there at all……
To be continued:
Oct. 3rd -Danse Macabre- Chris Ritchey
Bauhaus-Archiv Berlin /Source Once again, I am locked into a performance with death. I am exhausted and angry as I watch this thief of life steal everything that is and was your Nana and my mum, just as I stood helpless as you too were locked into this grim dance of reality that faces us all.
The purloiner of life has taken the light from her blue eyes, made them red ringed and pale, her smile just a memory , as she waits , she has disappeared within her own body as it stubbornly clings to life and the loved ones around her . She is caught between the notes as the music of death is played, no longer having the strength to walk , sit or feed herself without help , her pride of independence, privacy, modesty gone , slowly drained buy the vampiric interloper and yet it seems that is not enough- still the dance partner of death continues the performance, sapping her of what is left of her , cruel in its movements as the tune reels and swirls, no respite or quarter given.
The difference with you, my darling son there was another dance partner , who lent strength to my body and soul- that of HOPE. Hope was my partner, the hours of driving, the meals, the days and nights of care, the medicines , doctors and trials would work . Parallel days with the dance I am once again intertwined , unable to find escape cold grasping fingers refusing to let me go, crushing my heart. Another August, September , October and the dance continues , the music raucous and disjointed – a cacophony of jarring notes , breaking the peace.
October 3rd , the last time you were home with your family, filled with hope that Houston would be the answer to stopping the dance, but hope, although strong in our hearts, was not enough to combat the “danse macabre” …… and now once again the robber of life has entered our home and our very beings..
and ripped from us joy , hope and laughter. I love you Chris and I know you will be here for your Nana as this final dance ends…………
Chris Ritchey Source
Paula Tobias – A Woman of Worth- 2018
Paula Tobias, my dear friend, one who fought bravely the obscenity of ovarian cancer for 5 years.
https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2013/03/27/you-have-cancer-paulas-journey-shared/
Paula, had written about many varied things over the years just type Paula Tobias in the search box. My dear friend knew she would only be able to keep her fight going for so long, the disease and the treatments took their toll on her more than she let the outside world know.
A year before she passed she asked me to do two things for her, to write and give her eulogy at her celebration of life and to oversee the placement and landscaping of a bench which she had chosen . “Come Sit With Me” that would look out over her beloved Lake Erie and the east side of Lorain.
Following is part of the eulogy for Paula, so those that read this blog outside of this city will hopefully understand how we have lost a woman who was of “worth” not just to her friends and family but to her community :
“I loved Paula and she was “there” during my worst days- my strength-, helping me through my darkest hours
a self-portrait Chris Ritchey
https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2009/12/25/christmas-the-day-after-chris-miss-christmas/
Paula- kind, loving…… and there.
Her words “anything I can do? Were her mantra, it didn’t matter how busy or what was going on in her own life she was there.
The loves of her life Frank, Jean and Liz were always first in her thoughts and actions. Paula fought so hard to beat the obscenity that is cancer, not just for herself but for them, her mom and the rest of her wonderful family. Paula put up a fierce battle with grace and quiet strength just as she had done throughout her life.
A life that touched so many of us….. in such positive ways , she would see a need and would try her best to meet those needs. Paula saw a need in Lorain and the nurturer she was…. Ran in 2007 as mayoral candidate for Lorain……. She called me from her car ….
“Luvvey! I am on my way to the BOE to pull petitions for Mayor – this should be a surprise to some!!!!!
http://blog.cleveland.com/wideopen/2007/09/profile_paula_tobias_lorain_ma.html
Unknown in politics, she still managed a very successful campaign as an “Independent” running 2nd to the Democratic candidate and overtaking the sitting Republican candidate. Both parties having great respect for her – her commitment and love of her community. She added class to the campaign
Such was Paula’s influence and respect among all political parties she continued with soft-spoken strength crossing over and through political parties making a difference in this city she truly loved.
Always an advocate for Lorain… There she would be at City Council meetings and reporting on them …. holding up placards when the Bascule Bridge took so long in getting repaired to filling potholes…She researched a new machine and introduced that machine to Lorain by bringing ii into the city .. Pitch Patch Paula putting on overalls and her personal hard hat and filling the test pot holes herself. . It took a while but Lorain has now a similar machine.
Paula turned her hand to being a blogger….. her thoughts and hopes for Lorain are still there on the internet waiting to be acted upon.
Paula was also on the Board of Directors for the Lorain Port Authority bringing with her historical knowledge, passion and common sense. Paula was involved in so many of the situations good, bad and beautiful because she was “there for her beloved Lorain. She wanted the visitor to Lorain to be welcomed with inviting neighborhoods.
https://locophotogblog.wordpress.com/category/paula-tobias/
YES! Paula was there, her style was quiet determination, softly speaking sense – little notes baked goods and chicken soup if needed accompanying her lovely smiles/ .
I will so miss the lilt in her voice as she would call
“Luvey??? Do you need anything/”. I still hear her voice in my mind….
In all those terrible months after her diagnosis not once did she complain to me about her battle, the physical and emotional cost.
Paula, truly remarkable in her compassion for others asked not for sympathy for her own plight, putting on a brave face and smile. Paula became a volunteer to help other cancer patients through their journey as she fought her own battles, I remember saying to her-
I just don’t know how you are doing this you have much more bravery than I
she smiled and said I just want to help because I KNOW the journey they are on…..
How many times she offered me quiet respite from my life- to join her in her beautiful home for an afternoon by her fire or a summer evening on the lake .
Oh the days her dining room and sun porch tables fair groaned with the weight of delicious foods as she invited people to share the beauty of the lake and the hospitality of her family. Paula, nurturing, loving, protecting and intensely passionate with all she held dear.
I have–.. to remind me of her… and those times.. a small antique dining room side board,…… goodness knows where my husband purchased it……… BUT I realized whilst helping myself to food at one of those banquets that Paula and Frank had the rest of the dining room set…. my little side board was a perfect match for her set.
We laughed about my having the missing piece .. a coincidence or fate? the missing piece– her dining room set not complete…. and now my darling Paula is the missing piece., our lives will not be the same and we are now incomplete .
Paula my words cannot do justice to the gracious, inspiring , loving and kind woman the epitome of a “lady” I came to love so very much – I know your pain has passed— which is our only consolation as we have to say goodbye. I love you as does everyone who was touched by your very soul and that is a wonderful legacy … Fare well my friend…………
The Bench — to be continued.
Gonna Party like you’re 99 – !!!!!
I have been thinking about this post all week- how do I write about my mum and her life experiences and loves. I decided to let her words tell the tale of the time before – before she was my mum and a young child and woman in her mid twenties. I think she said it best in her book ( published for family only and written to my daughter when she was a wee one) in the foreword :
Cover Design Chris Ritchey
It is sometimes safer to write about other people than about oneself and easier to shape their lives into a consistent pattern. When you come to examine your subject, in this case my life, more closely the process is somewhat more complex and daunting than I originally thought. Every human life is at once so complex, yet simple, so perplexing yet clear, superficial and yet plunges to the depths that attempts to present it as a unified whole may take more talent than your Nana has but I will try.
The times before when she was a young girl scrumping apples with her brother Mark , that didn’t bode well as you will see:
“Parrot snout ( his nickname for her) , tell me whatever you do- if you see anyone whilst I climb to the top of that tree”
“Ok, Mark, I will stand underneath whilst you throw the fruit down”.
What a wonderful bag I collected. The sunshine was brilliant and I got caught up watching the butterflies, I seemed to be lulled with the peace and tranquility of it all. “ What was that I could see? Could it be the policeman’s helmet appearing over the fence and two eyes taking in the scene!”? My voice froze, I could not warn my brother, not a sound came from my throat. I tried and tried to make the sound come “ Oh! Vi don’t muff this one” but I took to my heels, the bag of lovely fruit spilling and scattering in the orchard joining the feast for the wasps. I made for the hole in the fence and bolted without ever looking back, leaving the policeman underneath the tree waiting for an unsuspecting boy to descend.I was terrified, would I once again be shunned and ostracized by all and sundry? My brother angry gave me clip round the ear and said “ I will never take girls along again!”
The opportunity for higher learning denied , although passing her exams and obtaining a scholarship, the family could not afford the extras .
digging for victory
Her first job at the Express Dairy when she was 15 as a window dresser and in charge of the shop – she too became one of the ME TOO – this generation didn’t invent sexual harassment…… https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Me_Too_movement
The visits of Mr. B { a travelling Superintendent for the company } grew more frequent, I grew more apprehensive. I longed to confide my fears to someone, my sister Renee was too young, my mother would have advised and helped me but I just couldn’t bring myself to tell her…what could I tell her as nothing had yet occurred. Events came to a head one afternoon, Mr. B called in; he had a very nice shiny new car and invited me to go for a ride with him that evening. I said I was unable to do so.
”OK then some other time maybe!” Meanwhile he made some coffee, opened a tin of pineapple chunks (4 1/2 d) and a carton of cream (2d) he offered me some. I don’t really know what happened then, but I was suddenly held in a vise like grip, the small table upon which the pineapple and cream were sitting went over, juice spilling all over me! The fingers with the hairs were groping and fumbling, I was shaking with fright, and my overall was off ….my brass buttons “pinged” as they hit the floor.
Sometimes the unbelievable happens, it did a customer came in the shop door. And the bell really saved me! The lady bless her never knew what she did for me that day. I didn’t stop to lock the shop up but tore off on my bicycle, not daring to look around. I turned in my resignation and applied for a position in the G.P.O. (General Post Office)
Mum managed to get a placement
The training school was in Holborn, with dummy switchboards. It seemed there were nothing but aged old dried up spinsters ladies were teaching us,( how unkind and thoughtless we are when we are young.) The wonder of it all when we finally finished our training and passed as “thirty six hour girls” ( you were only allowed to work for 36 hours to start with hence the expression). We were then directed to our “local” telephone exchanges. During this training time which took three months we weren’t paid. How my mother coped not only not having my wages coming in to help but to give me enough for fares and lunches must have been so very difficult for her but somehow she managed.
The meeting of the young man who would eventually be her husband and my father.
. After one of the dances, as was the custom then, we were standing clapping waiting for the band to start up again; a chap around 5ft 9, quite well-built with terrifically strong-looking shoulders and periwinkle blue eyes and with blonde hair, one curl of which had fallen across his forehead. He came over and whisked and danced me to the other end of the room.
Then War!! Mum volunteered for special duty and ended up at the Ministry of Information
Three of us would be required to man the emergency switchboard, which was housed in the basement of the building; this was called the war room. A big square room, around the walls were telephone boxes which were connected with a direct line to all the important ministries for example, the Admiralty, War Office, Air Ministry, Foreign Office, Ministry of Supply etc. etc.
In each telephone box sat a high-ranking official who would be in communication with his respective Ministry. The censors and press officials were they’re sorting and sifting through thousands of reports coming in from all areas of Britain and the world.
These people were tremendous and treated the operators extremely well Lord Reith had taken on the job of Minister of Information; he had been head of the BBC. Winston Churchill, who was then 1st Lord of the Admiralty, used to come through on his direct line “ Good Morning, give me the Minister please” short polite and always to the point. The town clerks and mayors of today in local council could well take a lesson from those gentlemen of yesteryear.
Sir Walter Monkton was there; he was a good friend of the Duke of Windsor who was in France at the time. The Duke would call quite frequently to have a chat with his friend. I enjoyed my work immensely it was extremely busy especially if any kind of action, naval air or army was taking place.
However all was not fun and games my 19-year-old mum working at the Ministry of Information you got the war news before most and one day:
HMS Southampton
her boyfriend’s ship
Damaged during air raid on warships in Forth Estuary.One bomb penetrated three decks. Casualties.
came through the ticker tape
NOTE: ” The Man who Designed the Spitfire” again little life coincidences. The Spitfire first saw action on that October 16th 1939 protecting the Royal Navy and my Dad.
On 16 October 1939, Junkers Ju-88s of 1/KG 30 led by Hauptmann Helmuth Pohle attacked British warships in the Firth of Forth. Nine of the Ju-88s were intercepted over Rosyth by three Spitfires of 603 Squadron, each of which attacked Pohle’s aircraft which was hit repeatedly and crashed into the sea
https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2010/09/25/long-time-passing-gone-to-fighting-part-6/
However she too was in peril and felt the Nazi Blitz…
It must have been only 9: pm. There seemed to be a great deal of activity outside. We used to be able to tell by the sound of the aircraft engine whether it was one of ours or one of the Germans.
The whistle of the descending bombs and the following explosions was terrifying. We sighed a breath of relief when hearing that explosion didn’t have our name on it. This night I did not hear the whistle nothing suddenly a complete and utter silence. The bricks seemed to be crumbling and falling all around. I tried to hold onto something. I only grabbed at empty space. The air was filled with dust. I realized the house must have received a direct hit and the three people who had been near me had disappeared. I tried calling the silence was eerie and shocking. I had bricks and wood and plaster all around me “was I going to be buried alive?”
There was one sound, a hissing sound coming from somewhere beneath me. “A fractured gas pipe perhaps”. I remembered hearing accounts of people being gassed to death before they had been dug out from all the rubble. I groped all around in that black darkness and found a pipe, maneuvered myself and sat over the leakage. Bricks were still falling but I had heard human voices Maudie and her mother and sister (Barbara) everyone was at least alive. Then came the sound of faint movements. These became clearer and what seemed to be hours later a chalky white face appeared, Mr. Cushing’s. He had been on ARP duty outside and seen his own house go up!
Many hands helped me out; I was the first and escaped with hardly a scratch but was holding a very sore backside and apparently hysterically asked the first aid warden “ can you get gassed in the posterior” he obviously thought I was a little balmy. Mrs. Cushing fared the worse and Maudie and Barbara were very badly bruised and shaken, seeing the remains of what was left of the house. Just one heap of broken bricks, shattered glass and matchsticks only remains of doors and beams. The marvel is that we escaped at all.
These things happened before I even knew this wonderful woman who was to be my mum.
After the war years came family years – chock a block full with uncles , aunts, cousins a lots of laughter. As always there were some bad and terrible times but always through it all was my mum constant , loving and keeping the wolf from the door and being there for me.
MY mum may not have amassed a fortune but I don’t know any other person who has, through the years gathered so many friends and such love, due to her just being her . Never a day goes by when there isn’t at least one card or letter coming through the mail from some far-flung corner of the globe. She is Aunty Vi or Aunty Janet, mother in law and sometimes the “Dame”
OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA
Best of all she is my mum, and her grandchilden’s
and her Great grand children’s NANA!!!
Happy Birthday Mum this one is for you !
Memory Lane – The Ladies who lunched and accomplished
I received a phone call yesterday from Barbara MacGregor and memories of good times in Lorain surfaced. I wrote about some of them in this post
https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2009/07/21/ladies-of-lorain/
I was in my very early twenties when I first arrived, a Mrs. Osmundson of the “Lorain Chapter of the Welcome Wagon” knocked on our apartment door and there followed the introduction to the Ladies of Lorain.
These ladies , some of whom have passed away , then introduced me to the “volunteer aspect” that was and is Lorain. The ladies that saved the Palace Theatre, built Lorain Community Hospital, literally ran the entertainment for Lorain International , planned the ” Hospital Follies” and fundraisers, celebrated the “anniversaries” and gently bullied administrations, newspapers and public servants to join in and refused to take No for an answer . They organized their projects and committees with a battle plan and strategy that would have made any General proud.
Ruth Calta, Jean Schaeffer, Marylou Connone, Lori Hoke, Barbara MacGregor, Corky Bruck, Charlotte Zakowski, Jane Baran, Jane Norton, Lou Kepler, Alice Weston, Phyllis Pfaff, Sally Bobel , Lilly Yuzon, Sally DeLuca , Mirium Schneider , Jean Anne King , Lee Mattei, Darlene Brown , Mrs. Robert Bostwick, Mrs. Dave Herzer , Carol Kramer, Frances Cellozzi, Marie Bonaminio,
and so many others whose names have faded with my memory . Some of these ladies are still volunteering and making a difference in Lorain everyday.
Barb had called to tell me of the 40th anniversary celebration of the Palace Theatre and of burning the mortgage
http://lorainpalace.org/theater/
“December 10, 1977 was a landmark date. On the stage of the theater that night following a Christmas musical program, the mortgage was burned ceremoniously, thanks to the generosity of many groups and individuals.”
Oh those were the days before the mortgage could be burned though fundraising took place at 319 Broadway ( the annex)
” Forty civic groups participated in this week long street fair, Stores soon to be torn down were converted as if by magic into an old fashioned ice cream parlor, a “Second-Hand Rose” shop, a casino, a book and plant store, an open air barbecue, international shops, etc. The Saturday night “Great Gatsby Party” at the Palace climaxed the week’s activities.
Civic Center Madness – Oh and it was, the ladies served lunches , painted poppies on pianos, sold artifacts-
I still have a little chair -was left after one auction in a terrible state – it was headed for the dumpster when Ruth Calta decided I should buy it for a dollar – and you didn’t say no! – rehabbed and upholstered is still with us – a memory of can do!
I was just a young newly married transplant when Jean Schaeffer decided I needed to be introduced.
There was so much joy- energy – a pushing ahead through problems- these were the “can do ladies” and they did and they pulled each volunteer along with them in their net of enthusiasm. These ladies who saved a theatre and built a hospital. The Great Gatsby Party – what great fun – The Palace Players and Henry 8th night- not to be forgotten-
Cover Arcade MJ
As Barb and I talked, I remembered a time of energy and of loss of those ladies no longer with us- 40 years of life tends to do that. Still the Palace is there a testament to perseverance and pride- still needed in this old town.
Lorain – History Mystery- Her name was Clara- Pt3
Part One https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2016/12/27/lorain-history-mystery-her-name-was-clara/
Part Two https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2016/12/28/lorain-history-mystery-her-name-was-clara-pt-2/
I have decided to put up the last pages of “Clara” that were written on the back of the Lorain Lumber and Manufacturing Co. letter head and then breaking until after the 1st of the year . This will give me and the “History Mystery Squad” time to delve into maps and census reports.
Also, the rest of the pages are written on paper that is tissue paper thin and not on the letterhead. The journey continues to Oklahoma territory ( before statehood) I have contacted the Oklahoma Historical Society to see if the places and names are familiar to them as an internet search so far has been less than fruitful- all except the connection of a name to an “outlaw”.
Dennis tells me the furnace was installed in 1926 into the home at 212 W 18th, so the papers were hidden away before that date. I have to wonder why they were secreted away and from whom? Were they forgotten until too late to retrieve them, and who if not “Clara” wrote them?
CLARA The continuing conversation in the woods : Page three:
” … But in.. spring everything seems to burst forth and have life. And that is the gift God has given all living things “To produce like” and reproduce their kind.
The birds find their mates and build their little nests “That is their home” And then in a short time there are tiny eggs and Mrs. Bird guards them and keeps them warm while Mr. Bird goes out and hunts food, worms and bugs. Finally there is a nest full of tiny baby birds. And dear it is the same with all living things, they mate and produce their kind.
And Daughter do you see all those Daisys ( Flowers) over their on the bank? Well they mate and produce their kind. The Bees go from (one crossed through) flower (to the other-crossed through) and they carry the pollen from one flower to the other and then the next year there are more and more (Daisys crossed through) Flowers. Now Daughter you are beginning to understand and see what life really means And I said “Why yes mother and you mean that human beings are just like the birds and flowers”. And she said “Yes Dear and their lives can be just as sweet and clean and pure. If they are fair and honest with their mates and keep their lives as God intended they should
Someday when you are older you are going to ……
PAGE 4
… meet some young man, and like all girls will fall in love and want to marry. But there is one thing I want yu to promise me and that you will always come to me with all your problems and I will always give you good advice, and there is only one rule I want you to promise to keep. And that rules is this, “When ever you are in doubt as to anything you are tempted to do as to whether it is right or wrong . Just stop and say to yourself “Would I do this if my mother was here with me “
And then as I promised she took me in her arms and kissed me again and again. And while in her arms I said ” I suppose one day your mother told you a story just like this one you have told me today?”
And then with tears in her eyes she said No (?)(torn) Dear my mother never told me the story . And for a long time my mother sat and just cried and then I said Why mother please tell me and I will understand. And at last she looked up and said sweetheart I did not intend to tell you this story until I really had to do so, but I think I can tell you now. (You remember dear 4 years ago when) crossed out)
You will see by the condition of the last page this is not easy, there are words missing gaps and this is in pencil . This is the last page written on the letter head
Page 5
( unreadable and missing) …. Clare(a)? was a small town in Iowa
(ED NOTE there is indeed a town in Iowa named Clare)http://www.celticcousins.net/irishiniowa/clarehistory.htm
Illegible ……one of those places where everybody knows everybody else . I can just remember my
(torn away and missing) my assumption is the sentence would have “mother – she”
passed away when I was six year ( torn) missing my Father’s sister came to keep house for us. I was the only child and I can remember my Father took me on his knee and explained to me about my Aunt Mary coming to live with us and that I was always to be a good girl and always to do as she told (missing)
I can see now that Aunt Mary meant “alright??” but she was one of the kind that I really believe never really loved anyone. You know there are people like that in this world.
( torn and missing assumption is the word Father?? was a Foreman in a Planing Mill
ED NOTE- from Clare History http://www.celticcousins.net/irishiniowa/clarehistory.htm
Other stores were soon completed and opened- Tom Cunningham’s Hardware,
Conway Lumber Co., John Hanrahan Hotel, Kelleys, the center I.C. Company
Coal and Crowley’s Shoe Store.
There was a Lumber Company ( there is that connection to lumber again) and where there is lumber there is usually a “Planing Mill”
The map below is the Lumber Company in Lorain from the 1888 Sanborn Fire Maps and look when it was “Forest: the older street name of 18th Street- Did Clara’s family come to Lorain for work???
and left the house each morning at 6:30 and came home each evening at 5:30. Every ( torn and unreadable) went to Lodge Meeting and torn and missing went down town and paid the ( unreadable) , Butcher and so forth other nights he was always home
the rest is torn and erased through water damage .
So many questions
One is this a family history of a girl named Clara ? OR perhaps a budding writer making notes of a story?
Why did she hide her pages in the basement on top of a beam. How old was the writer ?
Who lived at 212 18th street before the Greggs?
The rest of the pages take us to Oklahoma Territory in the year 1902 ….
The enhanced BW pages of 3,4,5
To be continued
Lorain- History Mystery-Her Name was Clara Pt.2
PART ONE : https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2016/12/27/lorain-history-mystery-her-name-was-clara/
The last 48 hours have sent me on a journey, and I am not alone, the History Mystery Squad have been delving into what little facts we can obtain on the subject of just who was Clara?
We have, I believe, solved the mystery of C.C MOORE – Vice President of the Lorain Lumber and Manufacturing Co.
My assumption as to the identity of C. C Moore – Vice President of Lorain Lumber and Manufacturing Co – 9th Street on the letter head may be that of his wife “Carrie Christine ( Friends) Moore” whom Leonard Moore married in 1895-
Carrie’s father was Charles F Friend – The information on Find a Grave has Charles F Friend as a tug boat captain and fisherman but also according to the history of Lorain County Charles F Friend was the Vice President of Lorain Lumber and Manufacturing Com organized in 1881 –
That makes sense to me, those earning their living on the lake need to have an alternative source of income during those months when all the lake gives up is ice and rough seas. The letter head definitely says C. C. Moore .
Was Lorain ahead of her time in having women in important positions? I was told that it was quite normal in that day and age , many of the wives of the ship’s captains, for instance, took over the roles of running the on shore businesses as their husbands, fathers and brothers were on the lake and needed elsewhere.
So I believe, the linkage as to lumber, the Moore of the letter head may be solved but on the other side of the page we still have Clara – what was her relationship with Lorain Lumber if any, the lumber company’s letter head used for her story?
You can see the paper mache replicas of the Moore family, including Carrie, at the Moore House on 5th street. However following the links below will take you to photos and more information:
Lisa and Mrs. Moore
Lisa of Lorain 365 Blog https://Lorain365.com meeting Carrie in 2014
Meeting the Moores
http://www.chroniclet.com/news/2014/11/29/Lorain-s-Moore-House-Museum-opens-to-public.html
We last left Clara going on a day trip with her mother for her 14th birthday
Page 2.
Mrs. Martin had been our House-keeper, sort of a nurse (for(crossed through)to me since I had been 7 years old (and I now to tell her-crossed through).
In a short time we were in Mother’s Roadster and drove to BrightonED NOTE: The only Brighton I could find in Ohio and in Lorain County – is Brighton Township and from Wikipedia ” Some say the community was so named on account of it being a “bright spot”, while others believe the name is a transfer from Brighton, New York, the native home of a share of the first settlers. A post office called Brighton was established in 1825, and remained in operation until 1904 The first country store at Brighton opened in around 1839.[4]
and there had a nice lunch and then into the car again and out into the country. Finally we stopped at a beautiful woods and mother said let us get out and explore. We were soon deep into the woods and finally came to the small stream of water. A beautiful day in June and we sat under a large Oak tree and then mother started speaking of the birds, the flowers the trees and spoke of their beauty.
Then she said “Clara I am going to tell you the story of my life and dear it is such a beautiful story if it is correctly told and daughter that is why I have brought you out here today , to this beautiful place.
You are at the turning point in life and will soon step from (girl-hood?) into womanhood (and then she pointed to a bird- crossed through) Clara if you and I had come out her last winter we would have found the trees bare, the grass dead and there would have been very little signs of life, (and-crossed through) But in ………………….
Black and white enhancement of Page 2
Lorain – History Mystery- Her name was Clara
Dennis Flores, 2nd Ward Lorain Councilman , knocked on my door before Christmas with a folder. Dennis has been rehabbing a home at 212 W.18th Street. The home, which at one point must have been a substantial family home, had gone the way most of these beautiful old dwellings have gone in Lorain- dilapidated and forlorn .
As Dennis was taking out the old cast iron ( coal burner ) furnace he exposed a main cross beam. Tucked up into the top of the beam was a shaft of yellowing and aged papers . The paper has ripped , fallen apart in some areas and difficult to read but as I read the first page written on the back of a company letter head paper my eye was drawn to the letterhead.
C.C. Moore (Vice President) of The Lorain Lumber and Manufacturing Co. East Ninth Street. C.C. Moore
Now I was aware that a Leonard Moore was a Mayor of Lorain was at one point on the BOD of Lorain Lumber and Manufacturing Company
http://danielebrady.blogspot.com/2014/05/monument-to-mayor-leonard-moore.html
and was instrumental in bringing about Lakeview Park
( readers will remember that was the original Gilmore Farm )
https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2014/09/17/generally-gillmore-lorain-part-4/
and that Mayor Moore’s home is now a museum of sorts on 5th Street . Leonard Moore according to the Lorain Historical Society ”
Moore’s daughter Helen lived in the home until 1980 when the Moore family donated it to the city, Zilko said.
Before passing in 1920 at the age of 51, Moore played an instrumental part in the city’s development, Zilko said. Moore began his working career at the Lorain Lumber and Manufacturing Company, which was located at the foot of East 9th Street, while he was a young boy.
http://www.morningjournal.com/article/MJ/20140310/NEWS/140309655
A quick search found that Leonard’s fathers name was also Leonard
Father: Leonard William MOORE b: 9 FEB 1836 in Black River Twp., Lorain, OH
Mother: Amanda Catharine MILLER b: 31 JAN 1836 in Avon, Lorain, OH
so I am unsure of the connection with CC Moore–
But the Lorain Lumber Company and its officers was not the main thrust of my curiosity – it was the hand written pages on the reverse side:
I have retyped ( as best I am able) the contents of the first page
CLARA?????
To tell the story of my life, I can see that ( torn) is going to be necessary to first tell of the life of my mother. And to tell of her heart aches and suffering and also to of her courage and fighting spirit.
My earliest childhood (memories( crossed through) recollection is that when I first realized that all the other girls and boys had a Daddy and I had none. And when I asked my mother about it , I was told that my Daddy had died when I was a tiny Baby. But when I reached the age of 14 years I was then told a story that (made me (crossed through)not only made me know and understand life, but also made me love my mother (in a bigger and better and (crossed through) more and more.
On the morning of my 14th Birthday my mother said “Clara I think it would be wonderful if just you and I could have the day all to ourselves” and of course I knew that she had made plans which would mean a trip somewhere and (torn) I was more than anxious to know all of the plans. Mother said ” Well (illegible) we will first tell Mrs. Martin that she need not prepare and (serve??) lunch or dinner for us as we shall be away all day
I held in my hands , gently , the words written over a hundred years ago by “Clara” as she started to chronicle her life, just as I have been doing a century on using the power of the blog. I have not read the other pages – some are in such bad condition but I am hoping I will find more to Clara’s life as I too, chronicle her story a century on in another time ………….
Page One scanned and cleaned up
In the pink- 97 years – and counting – Mum!!!
My husband swears they switched babies at my birth and Mum got someone else’s child, as I am nothing like my mum! My mum is gentle , sweet, never sees the bad in people ( sometimes a failing), can bake for Britain, loves people with a depth beyond knowing, always makes excuses for their not so nice behavior, and has a strength to her that has sustained her for 97 years.
Born after the Great War 1914-1918 – February of 1919- she realized that she was the result of a soldier’s homecoming from the trenches ( my granddad) that fact has always taken her a little aback – a product of a homecoming passion.
digging for victory
Mum has seen and lived through the Great Depression, lived through the bombing and times of World War Two- Korean War -the Suez Crisis- lived on two continents and three different countries but has always loved England – she is rooted in England. She is truly an English rose. She is never happier than when she is on English soil but as age creeps up and airlines get worse her dreams of another trip are probably just dreams.
Silver Cross Pram
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2476440/The-Silver-Cross-The-pram-loved-royals-century-fit-Prince-George.html
I have a vague recollection of being in my pram facing my mum as she pushed me away and let the pram slide back to her smiling- then being in a push chair at a shop and a man ( presumably the shop keeper) giving me what is known as a lady finger ( biscuit).
Other memories flash in an out but the one I remember most vividly was of a panicked little girl rushing into my parents bedroom , crying after a nightmare about dogs biting me. Mum calmed me by telling me she would never let anything bad happen but I was so scared
“what happens if you aren’t here?”
“don’t worry I will be “
and then I remember making her promise she wouldn’t die for 20 years – 20 years at the time must have felt like forever to my small child thinking. She kept her promise.
Her hands – I loved and love her hands- Oh they aren’t beautiful in the accepted sense of the word. They are comforting and strong hands ( even today) cool hands that stroked my fevered brow during , mumps, measles and chicken pox. Hands that held mine as she guided me through life. Hardworking hands that helped keep a roof over our heads when times were tough and they were extremely tough from time to time. My mum has made friends all over the world – hundreds of Christmas cards come through our letter box each December. My mum is loved by all who know her and knew her for the wonderful friend , aunt and person she is. When wrongs are done to her it is not she who complains but her daughter has no such compassion for those that would hurt her.
Ah my mum , she loves pink and she loves flowers
OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA
and I am reminded of that this morning as she cooks her breakfast dressed in a fluffy pink robe and her flowery pajamas .
It was another pink robe that reminded me of her strength. A trip to England and the return journey in 2006. Ten years ago – I thought she was a marvel at 87 and NOW 97 but she still had her English backbone! An excerpt from that trip!……
Gatwick Airport – the International gateway – HA! although a wheelchair had been booked and confirmed three times, there was nary a sign of one as I loaded my and my mum’s suitcases onto the wobbly trolley. I struggled and worked our way through the mass of humanity – all with trolley’s on overload – to the North West Airlines counter.
Here I had to prop mum up with our suitcases whilst I went through the “electronic” check in. What a joke! how they expect “we of the needing reading glasses” generation to juggle passports, e-tickets, purses and keep an eye on our all important luggage is beyond me
– I think they go out of their way to make life difficult at departure so you will be thrilled to finally get on the ”flying cattle cars” that are “pond life class” – and you are reminded constantly
KEEP AN EYE ON YOUR BAGGAGE AT ALL TIMES -UNATTENDED BAGGAGE MAY BE CONFISCATED AND DESTROYED!!!!-
all this in the midst of 2,000 of people all trying to do the same thing.Finally you get to the North West Airline’s counter – where you act as your own baggage handler – and STILL NO WHEELCHAIR for the 87 year old mother who is fading fast. I ask
where is the wheelchair?
Oh! said the “automated attendant”
you have to go through security first
and points in the direction of a line that makes the ones at Cedar Point look pathetic.
“Oh and Madam this airport’s security will only take ONE item on board you will have to combine your purses and carry-on bag into one.
Well ROBO – that is the name I decided fit the “automated robotic attendant” – best – 2 INTO 1 WON’T GO! Especially these 2 into 1’s.
“If you want to get through to the departure lounge you will have to ! Oh – and that is where you will get wheelchair assistance.” droned the automated man
ROBO – MY MOTHER NEEDS THE ASSISTANCE NOW not once I get into the departure lounge where there are seats DUH!!!
Nothing Nada just the blank robotic stare.“Don’t make a fuss, keep your mouth shut Loraine or this automated muppet will deny your boarding” thought I.
So doing what any good little girl should do I followed directions!
I sat on the cold granite type floor of Gatwick airport – like some 3rd world tinker spreading my wares for sale in the middle of this throng of humanity sorting through what I could throw away to make room.I threw away a pair of slacks and a sweater and managed to stuff, pull and push my purse into my carry-on. (it felt a bit like giving birth in reverse) My mother absolutely refused to throw anything away.
“I certainly will not throw away my pink dressing-gown – absolutely not! – that is a waste, I WILL WEAR it”.
And that is exactly what she did !We spent another 3/4 of an hour waiting to get through security. Mum, dressed now in her bright pink dressing gown with hood, clutching her sandwiches (she knows all too well how airline food has deteriorated to that of “cuisine de dumpster”) valiantly struggled through to the departure lounge – her British stiff upper lip intact! The generation that stood against the onslaught of the fascists once again stood her ground- had to- there was still no wheelchairs.
I can picture her whenever she wears a pink dressing gown- her little face defiant as she went through security, back straight the epitome of the English spirit.
I am lucky to have my mum- she has been with me through the very worst of times and still takes care of her child when the nightmares come.
Happy 97th Birthday mum – we love you …..
That Woman's Weblog 
March 3rd -It’s OK- Chris Ritchey
Reaching out- art work- Christopher Ritchey
It’s OK – (okay) the origin of OK has many theories https://en.oxforddictionaries.com/explore/what-is-the-origin-of-the-word-ok
but basically translated – Ok (okay) means it is alright, it is fine or will be OK – will be alright – will be fine.
When something traumatic happens either in real life or in tv / movie land – invariably , along with the hug and the patting on the back http://www.saywhydoi.com/the-back-pat-why-do-we-pat-on-the-back/ comes the words – “it’s OK”
No it isn’t OK really …. but like shaking hands when you meet someone it is something those who try to comfort do.
I found myself yelling at the television as yet another traumatized mother – having disaster over take her family – and the well-meaning friend , the “it’s Ok” tripping from their mouth for want of something to say – throw away words ….
but I am here to tell you when you lose a son or daughter nothing is ever alright, fine or okay in your world ever again.
OK! well I maybe be making a mountain out of a molehill… and bitching about the human condition when we are at a loss for words and trying to be kind and give comfort but it cuts me to the quick when I see and hear those words spoken
The flawed Hand of the Healer by Chris Ritchey
AND it is not okay that my wonderful, talented, loving son with his whole life ahead of him- is nothing more than a memory- and in some cases not even that – whilst the dregs of mankind and other sons cause terror and destruction to the world’s children.
AND it is not OK that once again I am losing from my life a sweet, caring , selfless , sparkling wine of a woman to the obscenity of cancer- another family waiting and watching as she leaves us slowly. It is not OK that she is leaving whilst the cruel bitches of this world thrive………
It is NOT OK Chris that I am here and you are not…….. I love you
March 3, 2018 at 12:20 pm 1 comment