A Chronicle, Too
Marion and Llewellyn Wainwright
To the descendants of Dennis and Eva Gaylord Buckley from Bob Wainwright, currently the eldest surviving descendant.
Llewellyn and Marion Elizabeth Wainwright married June 6, 1922
Uncle Eddie had a wonderful idea when he urged his siblings to write their memories of growing up with the family. This ‘A Chronicle, Too’ is meant to carry on that tradition.
Some of my fondest memories were those of family gatherings at “the farm” at holiday time. After a big meal of favorites dishes, everyone would gather in the parlor to relax and talk. The youngest would sing a song or dance or recite a poem and the adults would tell a story or recite a poem also.
Poetry is part of our heritage! Grandma would recite “Over the Hill to the Poor House”, Aunt Eleanor told of the “Burglar Bold”, Mother recited “They Walked Down the Lane Together” and Dad would recite “The Village Blacksmith”. As time went by, other family members would write some poetry – Aunt Marguerite, Aunt Eleanor and others.
In school, many of our age had to memorize various poems, “If”, “Gunga Din”, “Breathes There The Man”, etc. As a result, several of our generation wrote poems of our own. June has written several, and I’ve been moved to try my hand at it. I’ve written some and have also “adopted” poems that caught my fancy over the years. I have included some of these poems in the prose and poetry page of this website.
My mother, Marion, was the eldest of nine children surviving children. Two boys died of childhood disease prior to her birth in 1903. She aspired to be a teacher. When she was thirteen years old, she had to leave school to find a job to help provide for her family. That ended her desire to become a teacher. Teaching is a wonderful profession. Many of our relatives became teachers and inspired their children to follow in their footsteps. We are very proud of their achievements.
Dad, Llewellyn Wainwright, was orphaned when he was about 10 years of age. He was the fourth of six children. When they were orphaned, the family was separated and sent to foster homes except for Hilda who was adopted and Elsworth who died of meningitis.
Dad enlisted in the U. S, Army and ended up driving an ambulance in France during World War I. I have seen pictures of the ambulance, a model T Ford that could transport seven wounded soldiers.
Due to his experiences growing up and in the Army, Dad was a disciplinarian. He had us trained to his whistle. Whenever we heard it we came running right away. One time at a dance at the Grange Hall he was sitting with some friends on one side of the room while we boys were sitting on the other side of the hall. Dad whistled and we all looked up to see what he wanted. He laughed to see our reaction.
When we were living in Mohawk, there was a hobo camp along the railroad tracks. Dad would go over and take them some food and visit with them. We kids , were worried that they would hurt him. In reality, they were victims of the Dust Bowl, who had lost their farm and stock due to the dust storms on the Plains. It was a devastating time for all affected. These hobos would hitch rides on trains headed east to look for work.
Dad and Mother were hard working and loving parents. We didn’t realize that we were poor. We always had enough to eat and a warm dry place to sleep. A neighbor, Henry Smallenberger, who raise rabbits would occasionally dress one out for us to eat. In those days, people looked out for one another! Sometimes Dad would bring home milkweed for Mother to cook for our meal. It tasted like asparagus.
I awoke one morning thinking of God’s many gifts to us; among them were memories. It seems that the weather is less severe now than it used to be. When we lived on the Fern Cliff Road, one winter we had a snow storm that lasted three days. The snow blocked the roads. At that time we had a small herd of cows, a team of horses and some hens. We needed grain for the animals, and groceries for the family, as well as containers for holding the milk. Dad hooked the team to the sleigh, loaded in the milk, and headed for town about five miles away. He took the milk to the “station”, bought some grain for the animals and some groceries for us. He fed the horses and got something to eat. By this time, the storm had increased and it was starting to get dark. He started home, up Vickerman Hill. Visibility had decreased; the temperature had dropped to freezing. Dad had to walk out in front of the horses, leading the team to keep them on the road. It was a struggle to keep moving and it was well after dark when he finally arrived. It showed the determination and bravery that was needed in that period of time. Even everyday tasks necessary to life could become death defying in the brutal weather I remember from my boyhood.
One time Mother was sick and nearly died, after having four boys too close together. Dr. L. P. Jones saved her life even though antibiotics were nonexistent at the time. We, boys, were sent to stay with various relatives until she recovered.
Mother was very friendly! She used to walk down to the “old ladies home” in Mohawk to visit and play cards with the elderly “inmates”. Both my Dad and Mother were active in the the local VFW and American Legion. They were officers in the VFW and had many friends. Dad marched in parades with the American Legion Drum and Bugle Corps. He looked very elegant in his blue and white uniform.
At one of the holiday gatherings, Uncle Maurice brought his girlfriend, Mary Welch, to meet the family. During the day she danced with me and I was smitten. She was my first crush! I’ve liked the girls ever since!
Maybe it was because Mother and Dad had four sons and no daughters that Dad seemed to favor his nieces. Susan and Christine Wainwright. Betty Pettengill and Sue Buckley were his among his favorites. When we lived on the farm the female cousins seemed to visit more often than the boys!
Sue Buckley was a frequent visitor. We had great fun with her because she was eager to join our activities outdoors. One time we were playing ball, Sue didn’t catch it and it hit her right in the eye. She had a beautiful shiner for a few days. Another time we were removing “fertilizer” from the barnyard. She was standing in the back of the sleigh. Suddenly, the horse started up and she fell into a puddle. What a mess! Dad took her to the house and Mother cleaned her up and dressed her in clean clothes. she was ready to rejoin us without any hesitation.
As she grew older she wasn’t afraid to defend herself. I was in the Navy by that time and had sent her a dress naval cap which she wore proudly. One day she was wearing it back from school when a boy knocked it off her head. She carefully picked it up, placed it on a snowbank out of harm’s way, and then proceeded to “clean that bully’s clock”. He didn’t bother her again.
When she graduated from high school, she decided to enter the convent. Her parents were proud of her, but Dad was heartbroken because he thought she would be “locked away” and that he wouldn’t see her very often. He later accepted the fact and attended each of the stages of her progress to becoming a Sister of St. Francis. She is still “special” to the family and is responsible, I’m sure, for the many blessings we have shared.
Uncle Maurice and Aunt Mary have always been special to us. During the Depression we lived on Warren Road in Mohawk. They gave us a Majestic radio. Boy, that changed our lives. We listened to “Major Bowes”, “Fibber McGee and Molly”, “The Green Hornet”, “Ghost of Lake Tafaho”, etc. That gift opened a whole new world to us.
The Burrs were very generous and willingly shared their time and goods. Aunt Eleanor was very thoughtful, she always remembered her nieces and nephews. We looked forward to our birthday cards and gifts. When they came for a visit, Uncle Morris usually had a bag of candy he shared with us. As time went by we, Fran and I, frequently visited them in the winter to go skiing at Snow Ridge. This was after Fran and I married and after I graduated from Cornell. Later they frequently welcomed the four of us, Mary Beth, Kathy, Fran and me, to stay with them and go skiing at Snow Ridge.
Uncle Eddie used to come to Little Falls for a massage at Henry Schiavi’s. Frequently, we had dinner and a nice visit before it was time for him to start home. This may have been in the early 60’s. When Kathi Buckley died of cancer I wrote a poem for the family. It was entitled “Weep Not for Me”. I hope it brought a sense of comfort family.
Aunt Norma had a small restaurant in Boonville, the Cozy Corner, I think. Whenever we stopped by to say hello. She would insist on feeding us and would not accept payment. She had a personality that drew the customers and she usually traded remarks with them, which they all enjoyed.
Aunt Monnie came down to look after us boys, when Mother became ill. “Monnie was athletic and could very frequently be found in the apple tree in the backyard to obtain a snack. She and Bea were only a few years older than me (6 or 7). They would delight in playing tricks on me as we were growing up. One time they “taught” me to play ‘Honeybee’. The idea was for me to say “Honeybee, honeybee, give me your honey”. Unknown to me, they had visited the watering trough on the other side of the house. So when I came to the back of the house and said my line they spit their mouths full of water on me. They thought this was quite a joke to get me wet. The joke only lasted for one time. We had a lot of fun.
Bea had pneumonia one time. We were all very concerned for her health. She did recover after several weeks and many prayers.
Grandpa wasn’t comfortable around the sight of blood, so he would hire someone to butcher the hogs. He would arrange to be somewhere else when butchering time came around. He was also afraid of mice and managed to influence Uncle Maurice and Mother. Mother would get hysterical if she saw a mouse. I remember one time she screamed and climbed onto the kitchen table after she opened a drawer and one jumped out.
Fran and I enjoyed Modern Western Square Dancing. The Sisters of the Retiro invited us to visit and stay at their nearby “camp”. The camp was given to to them by a grateful son whose mother they had cared for during a long illness. Monnie andVince joined us there. It was a beautiful place in the woods. Several times we saw flocks of wild turkeys go up the road. While we were there we taught them how to square dance. I had brought some records along. We all had a great time! They later entertained the elderly sisters by dancing for them.
Vince demonstrated his ingenuity when their dog, that we had left inside at the camp while we were at the convent, tore up the floor tiles near the door. What were we to do? We had no way of matching the tiles. Vince moved the the refrigerator and used those tiles to repair the area by the door. We then replaced the refrigerator and everything looked fine. We’ve occasionally wondered what someone would make of things when they had to replace the flooring years later.
Bill and June Wainwright hosted a family reunion one time at their home outside of Mohawk. We ran a suitcase race that the children enjoyed as much as the adults. One suitcase had men’s clothing while the other had women’s clothing. The rules were that the couples would pull on the opposite sexes’ clothes to run the to the finish line, repack the suitcase and then run back to the starting line. The first back was the winner. There was a bit of cheating but everyone had a good laugh.
An addition by June Wainwright helps us to better understand and appreciate how special our Grandma Buckley truly was. It is a shame that her younger grandchildren have either no memories or very few memories of this warm and caring lady.
It Was Time
The train pulled in, right on time. On the platform, stood Bill, right on time. It was time for me to meet the family. Once I lit onto the platform, Bill grabbed my hand and hustled me out of the station to where our chariot awaited.
No bejeweled prancing white stallions; instead a perky, orange and black, Model A truck! Bill yanked open the door and hoisted me up into the seat. I’d never ridden in a truck before; this should be fun! On the road to Mohawk, we bounced, shook and shimmied down the old Route 5. (The truck wasn’t very kind to my kidneys.) Finally, Mohawk. Now, just a few more miles to Fort Herkimer.
At last: the house, the driveway, the door! Bill escorted me to the kitchen door and opened it. Music was playing and two little old ladies were swaying their hips as they worked at the sink. Before Bill could say to me “This is my Mother and Grandma Buckley”,the cute, little perky one of the two, turned around, wiped her hands on her dishtowel and without a word grabbed me around my waist. She then proceeded to waltz me around the kitchen until the music stopped. My partner then stepped back, curtsied, and chuckled. Finally, Bill was able to introduce me to his mother, Marion, and to my dancing partner, his Grandma Buckley.
It was a fine time meeting the family.
J.D. W.