Being one of the younger cousins, I have only one memory of my grandmother. I remember sitting on a porch, maybe at Aunt Eleanor’s house. Grandma was in a rocker, I think, and I was looking up at her. I remember not really knowing who she was, perhaps because I was so young and also because I may not have seen her much. I remember my grandfather a little bit better. I saw him at family reunions. We had moved to Texas and were separated from the larger family. He was at the Burr’s and I walked by him. I didn’t know him very well and I wondered if he knew who I was. I don’t remember ever seeing him without a hat.
So I’ve always been interested in family stories because I felt as if I had missed a lot, being born so late. I was fascinated by all my cousins and wished that I had been a part of the life that was so familiar to them, but so foreign to me. I was shy at the reunions which were the once a year opportunity to get to know my mom’s family. I wanted to be a part of this big family but felt like something of a stranger. However, the highlight of our year was going to New York to see the relatives.
Mom
My mom was a complicated person. She could be very understanding and kind in times of trouble, but she could also be very angry and you just needed to stay out of her way. However, there are a couple of things I remember her doing which have always stuck with me that speak to an aspect of her character, which I greatly admire. When we first moved to Winchester, Virginia from El Paso, Texas my parents had a difficult time finding a house to buy. They were used to the prices of houses in El Paso, which were much lower than in Winchester, much to their surprise. While they looked for a house to buy, we lived in an old motel run by a rather grouchy old couple, Mr. and Mrs. See. When my parents were out looking at houses, we kids stayed behind and were told to play quietly. We had a room about the living quarters of the See’s. One or the other of the couple would remind us frequently to keep it down. We really wanted to get out of there. Mom and Dad would go out daily to hunt for a house. When they told the realtors their price range, which they had thought would be sufficient to purchase a nice home, they ended up being taken to most of the rough neighborhoods of Winchester. One time a realtor said to my parents, “Now this is a good neighborhood. There are no black people here.” Only he didn’t say “black people”. My mother was in the back seat and she said, “Well, I’m a negro.” The realtor said, “No you’re not!” But she insisted that she was and wouldn’t back down.
The other occasion had to do with a house also. This was years later when my folks were buying a little house in the mountains for weekends. The people who were selling the house were a couple that were somewhat hard to deal with. There was some dispute about the price and Mom said something that made the man think that she was questioning his honesty. He got very huffy and said something like, “Are you questioning my honesty? I’ll have you know that I was a major in the army!” Without thinking much, Mom said, “Well, I was a colonel!” He looked dubious and said, “Oh, yes? Well, who did you serve under?” Mom said that first name that came to her mind – General Chenault. She said she never knew where that came from. But the man backed down and they ended their negotiations.
Mom couldn’t tolerate racism or people acting superior to other people. She always went out of her way to make waitresses and service workers feel comfortable and respected.
Mom also liked to go to auctions and liked the whole process of bidding. One Saturday she was downtown and there was an auction on the courthouse steps of a house whose owners had defaulted. So Mom got into the spirit of things and began bidding right along with everyone else. Before she knew it, she was the last bidder and had accidentally bought a house. When she got home and told Dad, he wasn’t too happy about it. But they worked together to paint and fix it up a bit and ended up selling it. After that we would say that Mom wasn’t allowed downtown by herself on a Saturday mornings.
Dad
Mom told me once how she met Dad. This was before WWII and Dad was the principal of the elementary school nearby. Mom was in college and had come home on break to stay with the Burrs. She said that Aunt Eleanor kept telling her about Mr. Doyle and how she wanted her to meet Mr. Doyle. When she arrived at the Burr’s house, my Dad was out skiing. He finally arrived home and my mom told me, “He looked like a Greek god.” Well, this description was the last thing I expected from my Mom. I never once saw her treat him anything like a Greek god!
Dad really enjoyed Mom’s family. He loved them all and I think that he especially enjoyed the excitement of such a big family. My Dad came from a much different family than my Mom. They really seemed like the odd couple to me. He had just one sister whereas Mom had eight brothers and sisters. There were many old photos of my Dad and his family from when he was a child, but I have just one of my Mom. My Dad was rather proper and sedate and my Mom – not so much. Things could be tumultuous in our home because of the misunderstandings. However, they weathered a lot of storms together. It wasn’t always pretty, but somehow it lasted.
Dad was the rock that we could always depend on. He wasn’t perfect, but he came very close at times. My husband Jeff once said that my Dad was the most patient person he knew. When I shared this with Dad, he was quite surprised. He said that he struggled daily with patience.
My Dad was not one to tell many jokes or to make up his own. But once he, Mom and a friend, Blanche, who lived with them for a while, were taking a walk in the fields behind our house. Mom and Blanche were talking about what would be on TV that evening. One of them said, “ ‘The Bastard’ comes on at 9:00.” That was a series on television at the time. Then my Dad said, “Yes, and ‘The Son of a Bitch’ comes on at 10:00.” Coming from my Dad, that was hilarious.
Aunt Eleanor
When we went to New York we always stayed with the Burrs. Aunt Eleanor was more like a grandmother to me than an aunt. I loved her so much. Once she and Jane came to Texas to visit us. It was in the summer, so it was really hot. We lived in the desert there, which is so different from the fresh air and greenness of Turin. I think it was a hard trip for them, coming by train such a long ways. But we were so excited that they had come. I remember once that we wanted to take Aunt Eleanor to the shopping center near us. There was the long way around and then there was a short cut, through the drainage ditch. Those ditches were very deep and lined with cement. We used to ride our bikes up and down them. On the rare occasion when we got much rain, the ditches would fill up fast because the sandy soil couldn’t absorb the water fast enough. Anyway, we explained to Aunt Eleanor that we could go the long way in the heat, or take the short cut. She was game for the short cut. When we got to the ditch we decided that we would run her down one side in order to have enough momentum to run her up the other side. And that’s just what we did. Two of us took her by the hands and down we went. We had someone stationed behind in case she needed some help going up. But she made the trip like a trooper. When we got home, mom was amazed (appalled?) that we had done this to Aunt Eleanor and that we had made it home with her in one piece.
On that trip out west, we decided to take Aunt Eleanor and Jane to the Grand Canyon. It took a day and a half to get there. So there were six of us, plus Aunt Eleanor and Jane, which made eight people in the car. Like most of our trips, it was delightful. During our cross-country trips after a couple of days, mom would always say, “This is just like The Grapes of Wrath!” And it was – except we didn’t have to wait till we got to California to bury Grandma. Well this trip had something of that flavor. Dad and Aunt Eleanor sat in the front seat with someone would sitting on the floor at Aunt Eleanor’s feet (right in front of the air conditioner), and the other five would be squeezed into the back seat. I remember my time of sitting on the floor in the front. It was really, really cold, and the people in the back complained of the heat. I can’t say that I remember much of the Grand Canyon, but I do remember fighting frostbite while traveling across the desert in July.
I’ll have to say that we never had any inkling that it was anything but sheet pleasure for Jane and Aunt Eleanor. They were very good sports.
Traveling
We traveled a lot when I was young. We moved to Texas and then traveled back and forth to New York each summer. Those trips would take usually four days. You can imagine what it was like traveling all day and some nights with four children and the occasional animal. We would usually start off pretty well, with comic books, some snacks, and games to play. My Dad would sing a lot and we would sing along. But things rapidly deteriorated in the Midwest. Hair would be pulled, people would get poked, Mom would declare that she was going to have a nervous breakdown. And, of course, she would compare our trips to The Grapes of Wrath. All of our messy trips were inspired by John Steinbeck. Once we got older, it was really hard for our parents to persuade us to even get into the car to travel 5 miles. I got in the habit of stashing a jar of water in the car whenever we went anywhere. You just never knew if stopping for water would be on the itinerary.
My family has weathered a lot over the years – like most families. I read a quote by Desmond Tutu the other day that stuck with me. He said, “Dear Child of God, I am sorry to say that suffering is not optional.” But somehow we make it to the other side, one way or another. When my sister Denise and her daughter Norah were injured six months after my Mom died, I didn’t see how we could bear it. Denise was left quadriplegic and Norah suffered greatly emotionally. But Dad stepped up and led the way. He spent the last ten years of his life looking out for them and helping them as much as he could. I used to wonder how we would manage if Dad should pass away. Then when Dad had his stroke, John, Pat and I took up the slack and tried our best to look after him, Denise, and Norah. None of this was without turmoil and occasional losses of temper. We were not graceful, we were not always wise, and there are some regrets. But we made it through those years and did the best we could to love one another. Now Norah is a mom and Jeff and I are “Grandma Kathy” and “Grandpa Jeff”. I’m so happy that I have this relationship with Norah, her husband Dan and their new baby Teddy.
I’m also grateful to the extended Buckley family. So many cousins were so supportive and kind during those difficult years. Some of the cousins visited Denise and many kept in touch. That meant a lot to her and to us.