Italian Roots

Eleanor started this piece about her father during a writer's workshop session and read it to us after she wrote it.  One of the most enjoyable aspects of leading the group is hearing these stories read by the authors themselves.  As a group they provide respectful and important feedback to each other. 

                                      A Gentle Giant

                                               By Eleanor Bongiorno

     I recall my father as a strong, kind man who, despite numerous adversities, achieved much in his lifetime.

     The second oldest in his family, he was born in Italy.  His older brother died  of a childhood illness.

     He, age 7, his parents and younger siblings immigrated to the United Staes where, after learning English, he attended a one-room schoolhouse in the Pittsburgh area.  My grandfather worked the coal mines and the family lived in the "company house" and shopped in the "company stores."

     At age 14, because of economic necessity, my father left school to join my grandfather working in the coal mines.  Seeking a better future, the family migrated to New Jersey to work in the textile industry.

     My mom and dad were married in October, 1929, just before the beginning of the infamous Great Depression.

     They lost my younger sister in infancy.

     Though lacking in formal education, my dad read, and absorbed all he could.  I recall him reading poetry to me and my brother.

     When a failing textile business emerged, he seized the opprotunity, purchased it and truned it into a successful business.

     I will always be proud of his accomplishments in achieving the American dream. 

Thanksgiving: a time to remember grandparents

      Thanksgiving Story About My Relatives and Grandparents

                                                By Joann Petrovitch

     Mr. Hans E. Solum was my mother's father and lived in Marcus Hook, PA.  He was originally from Wisconsin and was from a Swedish and Norwegian background.

     He raised four children: three boys, Oliver, Eddie, and David and my mother Pauline.  He used to take them for a ride in a little red wagon like they still have today.  Every now and then one child would fall off the back and he would stop and pick them up.

     He met his wife, Mae, in Ocean City Maryland selling crabs at a crab stand.  Mrs. Solum was a good seamstress and hat maker, made all her dresses, and made and decorated hats for John Wannamakers.

     Mr. Solum worked at the American Viscoe in Marcus Hook, PA; he often called it the silk mill.

He loved children and was asked to be Santa Claus one year at, I believe, Wannamakers. Hans had a straight nose like Santa, blue eyes, and a happy face, his natural expression.  He refused the job because he said he could never give all those little children the presents he promised them because he couldn't afford it.

     One Saturday as I was driving down Faulk Road with my mother, she told me that her father would go into a wooden barn like structure in Boothwyn that we had passed on the left side of the road.  That was the place where he shoed horses.  Then we continued on down Faulk Road, a country road not far from here, sometimes singing "Over the River and through the Wood."   The same familiar Thanksgiving song many people enjoy at this time of year, just a week away.

     My uncle Eddie and Aunt Ruth lived farther down Faulk road and my mom, her mother and father the Solums often stopped and visited them.  We did this even when I was a school girl.  My two cousins, Eddie and Jane, also lived at the Early American style home their father, Uncle Ed,  built years ago.  The adults have long passed on, but Jane and Eddie are still living.  Jane lives in Maryland with her husband, Terry Innenmanne a former state trooper of Delaware.  Eddie lives in Delaware with his wife Susan.

     One memory my brother, Dale, mentioned at his last visit here to see me at Plush Mills was that Mr. Solum could bend a ten penny horseshoe nail between his index finger and thumb.  He was a strong Swedish man, my mother's father my grandfather.  

Tales of Family Romance

During our workshop time I asked the group to write a family story worthy of remembering.  Either a story they experienced first hand or one that should be passed down for generations.  Ken wrote about how his grand-parents first met and Eleanor wrote the story of how her daughter and son-law came to know one another with a nudge from a priest. Each worked on the story a bit more during 
the next two weeks and shared with the group.

                                  The Lord, Love, and Latte 

                                                          by Eleanor Bongiorno

My daughter Lynn was determined to put her Ivy League degree and grad school credentials to good use.  She relocated to Norwalk, Connecticut to further pursue her career.

Eager to involve herself in the community, she became an active member of er family oriented Church and sang in the choir.  She and her pastor developed a friendly relationship, and he offered her a bit of information:  "Young people usually attend Mass in Greenwich."

The next weekend, Lynn thought she'd give it a try.  During the service she noticed a young man seated in a nearby pew.  They made eye contact.  As they exited the church, Matt invited Lynn to Starbuck's for a cup of coffee, then a picnic lunch at the beach and "Shakespeare in the Park" evening.

This week they will celebrate their 20th wedding anniversary.

Starbucks was awed by their story and gave them small packets of coffee to use as favors at their wedding reception. 

 

A tribute to an amazing grandfather

Joan is a prolific writer and chose to share a story about her uniquely talented and inspiring grandfather.  She brought in the wonderful eggs he decorated to show our group his handiwork and flair for design.  Ken said that he could just picture Joan's grandfather and I think the rest of us would agree.

                                                Diddie

                                             By F. Joan Clelan 11/05/17

My grandfather was a very unique person in his later years.  His wife died the year I was born, and the only thing I know about her is that she was a Quaker by faith and what she looked like from a beautiful picture I have of her.

I called my grandfather "Diddie," and I loved him very much.  His occupation was a Painter and Paper Hanger, with his own business.  After he retired, he became Justice of the Peace for all of Bird-in-Hand, which was quite a large area in addition to the small town there.

On nice summer days he would sit on the porch of a large brick double house that he owned.  The policeman enjoyed stopping in to see him often.  He sat there with a cigar in his mouth, chatting with them for long periods of time.

We only lived down the road from him on the Old Philadelphia Pike.  As a young child I could walk up to visit him and he would always say gruffly, "What do you want?"  At that time he frightened me but I would reply, "I just came to see how you were doing and to say Hello."  Usually  he was in his study on my visits and there was always so much to look at.  He was a staunch Republican, and there was a very large bulletin board hanging on the wall with all the buttons for each Presidential candidate at least back from the 1900's.  Hanging with the buttons was all of the related paraphernalia.

He had many interesting abilities such as painting pictures of animals, houses, and flowers.  Beside that, at Easter time, he was well known for the hand-painted Easter eggs he designed.  For larger eggs, he obtained Goose eggs. On one I remember (and still have), he scratched the entire Lords Prayer with a penknife.  First he would paint them a solid color, then he would scratch designs such as Easter bunnies, chickens, stars, animals and so forth.

He carved many animals, some barnyard ones, a camel, a pencil-holder soldier, but mostly elephants.  On the elephants, he painted a cloth on their backs on which he would put individual names of family members.  He also made a set of wooden blocks which fit into a long rectangular wooden box that he made.  Today his great-great-grandchildren play with them.

One time when I was visiting him he asked me to pick out a picture that I wanted.  So I selected a house and when I look at it now, I think of him and what he would have to say about the world we live in today.

In earlier years he had a garden, which my Dad helped him with.  The two families canned many vegetables from that garden.  If you had a garden, Diddie would say "You have to plant sunflowers."

He had a good-looking black Ford automobile.  Each time it got dirty my eccentric grandfather painted it.  He became the talk of the town.

At Christmas, he always stopped by with a bushel of the largest Red Delicious apples I have ever seen.  My brother and I could pick out an apple and he always gave us both a silver dollar.

He lived with his 3 daughters, two of whom had careers, and he was proud of them.  I loved my Diddie who lived to be in his 90's.  There are many memories to hold dear in my heart.               

A game of darts that got out of hand...

Conflict between young boys typically ends in a bit of a brawl, but in the experience of many is over and done with as boys tend to move on or at least get other these things in a more timely way than girls.  The following true story was written by Ken Wright about a childhood experience involving his cousin.  We all a good laugh over it.

My cousin Scott and I really never got along. He was several years older than I and was bigger and tougher. Actually, he was a big bully. I didn’t see him often, but when I did, he was trouble. I never knew why he picked on me, but he surely did.

One Sunday when I was about 12 years, old my parents and I went to visit Scott and his family. After we greeted each other and the parents were talking in the living room, Scott and I went to play in the basement play room.

We played darts and Scott would keep hitting me and annoying me when I tried to throw my darts.

Oh, did I mention that he would cheat at everything?

Finally, I had had it. Scott and I were fighting for the darts on the dartboard, when I grabbed a dart and stuck it through his hand, pinning it to the board. He screamed, yanked the dart out of his hand and ran upstairs crying to his mother.

He never bullied me again, and I learned that when you are bullied, fight back. Hard. Bullies really are cowards!

Female friend or Foe?

The following story illustrates the age old problem of so many young girls as they struggle with that one other girl they are often competing against.  Typically they have similar interests and could be friends, however when one wins and the other loses jealously, anger, and hurt feelings ensue.  Thus enters what we today call, the "Tiger Mother"  to come in and defend her hurt cub.  I was fascinated by Joan's story from a different generation with this timeless theme.
  
When I was in High School there was a girl in my class named Lauren.  In extra curricular activities we had the same interests, namely piano, drama club and majorettes in the High School Band.

Lauren and I both tried out for majorette leader and both of us did very well at tryouts.  I was the chosen person and this created a very upset Lauren, but mostly her mother.  She called the principal of the school and demanded a meeting at the school that evening with the principal, my mother, myself, Lauren and her mother challenging my win over her daughter.

The principal stated that we girls were very close, however my academic record exceeded Laurens so I was the more qualified candidate.  He explained that there would be many times when it would be necessary for me to cut classes at various times to go to teach six, seven and eighth grade baton lessons in preparation for their experience to join the band when they were selected.

Needless to say there could be no argument so all went home.  The next day at school she would not speak to me and there was obvious resolution to the problem at this point in time.  However, she continued her challenge at every opportunity she could, but I also continued to perform to the best of my ability and I succeeded.

by Joan Clelan

Character and Conflict

The following story was written by Olive Padden 

     Small, and a year younger than her classmates she waited on the parochial school ground waiting for acceptance.  How was she to gain it from those bigger, older, wiser kids?
     She desparately wanted to be accepted so she decided to offer to do something that they all talked about but no one acted on.  It had to do with Sister Mary Martin's turned up shoe.
      Sister limped a bit when walking around the classroom in her heavy black nun shoes.
     One of the stories whispered among her classmates was that Sister had been married and in an accident where a train had sliced off the toes on her left foot.  That would explain the upward bend of her clunky black nun shoe, but no one knew how to kind out the truth.  What would happen if by poking around you brought on punishment, retaliation, even suspension.
     The stakes were high - finally acceptance or continual rejection.  Her thoughts were not obvious, so when she suddenly burst our, "I'll do it!"  The whole group listened while she told her plan.  Lollie, a teachers pet, would stay after school to help clean erasers and while there she'd find a way to step  on that curling left shoe.
     The group liked it.  They had their sacrificial lamb.  They could gain knowledge with no exposure.
     And now, classes were over.  Everyone gone but Lollie and sister.  She planned her route carefully.  Walk over to the blackboard, pick up an eraser in each hand, stagger a little, and land on that twisted left shoe ...would there be a reaction.
     Her heart in her throat, holding her breathe a little, she took the necessary steps down and down she came, as hard as she could on the ugly shoe.  No sound, not a facial grimace, or an ouch.  Sister merely cautioned to beat the erasers hard.
     When she stomped on the leather shoe it squished down flat.  The answer now she could make her report to the playground group.  Finishing up the erasers she quickly went to the waiting group to win her acceptance.
     "No toes."  She whispered.  The temporary mantle of acceptance fell on her small shoulder.  The spy had made her report.