Old proverb: "To speak the names of the departed is to make them live again."

Saturday, September 29, 2012

Ed Fieg Sr. Finally Gets a Job

If there is anyone in the family who has been working too hard, it is Ed Fieg Sr. and if you don't believe it, click on the link below and see for yourself!

Congratulations are the order of the day for this Fieg cousin who recently retired from the U.S. Air Force and moved with wife Barb to Ohio and landed a position as an assistant professor and associate residency program director at the Boonshoft School of Medicine at Wright State University in Dayton.

Your editor was overjoyed to finally meet Ed's family at our reunion at the beginning of August and to renew friendships with him and Barb.  His generosity toward them evidently necessitated his continuing to work after retirement from the Air Force.  JK, Ed, JK.  I'm amazed that you are even related to me!

Take a look at what talent lies in the Fieg family and give your congrats and kudos to Ed!

Doris Holm Celebrates 85th Birthday

Doris Fieg Holm's family is barring her from the kitchen at her California home while they cook up a spectacular barbecue celebration of her 85th birthday this weekend.

Writes Doris, in an e-mail dated Sept. 27, "Daughter Nancy and [husband] Gary Wiley are here from Queen Creek, AZ, and niece Dolly Rosenbaum (sister Helen's daughter) from Elkton, MD. ...Others will start to come Friday night.  We expect almost all my offspring and in-and-outlaws from Friday 'til Sunday, about 33 in all, for a barbecue bash complete with grandson's disc jockey music.  I have just finished playing in a golf tournament yesterday.  I wond the long drive and first place in my flight.  Feels pretty good for an older lady."

Doris was born on October 1, 1927.  Her mother, the former Louise Voorhees Stiles, married her dad, Max Fieg, after Max's first wife, Nettie Newman Fieg, died at age 33.  Max was the fourth child of Carl and Emilie Fieg who came to America from Germany in 1899 and established our line of the Fieg family here.

Felicitations and many happy returns of the day to Doris!  (Her address, by the way, is 8681 Mackey Rd., Elk Grove, CA 95624 if you want to shower her with gifts....)

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

Kevin Corkery to Open for Nitty Gritty Dirt Band

Just Throw Money, an upstate New York band for which Kevin "Stix" Corkery plays drums, will open for the Grammy-award winning Nitty Gritty Dirt Band during a Sept. 30 charity play date at the Oneonta Theater in Oneonta, N.Y..

The six-member band, which Stix joined last year, has been playing for seven years in various venues in the Catskill foothills region.  Nitty Gritty Dirt Band -- with its unique country rock sound -- has been playing for nearly a half century and has scored a number of hits on the Top 40, including the instantly memorable "Mister Bo Jangles," which was penned and originally performed by Oneonta native Jerry Jeff Walker.

Proceeds from the engagement will be donated to the non-profit Folds of Honor, a charity in support of surviving families of fallen U.S. soldiers, airmen, sailors, marines and coast guardsmen.

Kevin is the husband of Sarah Fieg Corkery.  They have seven children, two of whom, Collette and Grace Corkery, are studying violin.

 Kevin is a professional financial advisor in addition to being a performing musician.

Sunday, September 9, 2012

The Autobiography of Aunt Millie Part Seven: Kids and Cars


     That whole 20-year interval was one of hard hard work [and] worry about pregnancy. Another boy, Gifford, came in 1919, another, Richard, in 1922, another, Walter, in 1925.

     In May [1927], the Old Timer expected another baby, and when it was due, "her father" [i.e. husband] had to attend a meeting at the Grange Hall. Her labor pains began and she told No. 1 son [Stanley] she had to go to the village where she had arranged to have the baby at a friend's house.

     As usual there was [the] old truck, with no lights and no brakes. No. 2 son [Thomas, called Tim] had to hold a lantern, and as there was no traffic, so they reached the [Grange H]all and [her husband] was interrupted and so was able to get her there the remaining three miles in safety.

     The baby, a girl [Hazel], was born at 5 a.m. How glad they were, but what a nasty money-grubbing doctor! Before three days were up, he demanded his money in such a nasty way that the Old Timer cried, and her friend, a very religious girl, said: "God damn such a man, if I may say so!"

     How happy they were to have her! She was only with them a year and a half, and died on Dec. 16, 1928. The same year the other children all had chickenpox! A sad memory, how the bereaved parents were in a store to get a few things, how tragic as their eyes met over a display of dolls!

     The farm had no conveniences. All water had to be hauled up in a bucket on a windlass, and washing was done on a washboard. A bath was taken on Sat. night in a washtub in front of the kitchen stove. The bedrooms were cold of course. A privy and "toilet" sets took care of other needs. And of course every bit of water carried in had to be carried out again, -- as well as accumulated slops from overnight.

     Cash was terribly scarce, but when the boys' camp opened at Beaver Lake -- for eight weeks they sold their milk [to the camp] in a large can. Was it eight cents a quart? Also they all went down in the flivver to their Sat. night entertainment. As well as her own five boys, her sister's two boys, Victor and Lester Bonardel, spent some time on the farm. So the Old Timer always had 8 or 10 at the table every day. Potatoes were plentiful, but the only meat they had was smoked pork most of the time -- chicken occasionally and rarely fresh meat from the butcher. She always tried to have a dessert.

     The oldest son could milk when he was seven, a twice-a-day chore with cows. They bought a team of mules and he had to mow hay with them at the time his father had a broken bone. To eke out the cash he borrowed money to buy a wood saw outfit and go to neighbors to saw fire wood. He promised solemnly he would pay it back, but he never did. Oh well!

     The knobby club was wielded many times, as her husband broke his collarbone; he broke his elbow; besides, arthritis afflicted him, and sometimes she had to iron his back with a warm flat iron. The culmination for that knobby club was Jan. 4, 1924, when the husband had his left hand cut off in a corn fodder cutter. It's the only time the Old Timer had hysterics as he came running from the barn, the blood spurting in an arc from the arteries.

     The roads happened to be a glaze of ice, but Fred Kellogg, the taxi driver, took him to the hospital. By spring his brothers and sisters collected $90 -- and he was fitted to a hook and artificial hand. He tried it for a few months and finally gave it up. It still hangs in the attic. The Old Timer got used to cleaning his dentures and tying his shoes; all the rest he trained to do himself.

     Dr. Shannon once told her that the loss of that hand was a much greater tragedy than losing the [one]-and-a-half year old baby girl. Perhaps! In the meantime the boys were growing up -- going to High School. At the Union [School], Gifford was swinging on a grape vine -- he fell off and broke his leg.

     Money was terribly scarce, and as the hens laid eggs that could not be sold locally they would drive to Montclair [New Jersey] with a 30-dozen crate full. Once a car cut in ahead of them and they hit a light pole, so that the local police were called. Of course the locals were favored, and we were fined two dollars. We had to leave the crate of eggs in payment, and how the Old Timer's father [i.e. husband] "tied one on" at the [Max] Fieg home in Montclair [about 110 miles southeast of Milford]. Whenever he did that he would yell and rave all night in his sleep!

     The first car they ever had was a 490 Chevrolet, and since it was the Old Timer's money that bought [it], she was the first one to learn to drive, in early 1918. What a strange mechanism that car was! When it would not climb a hill, the remedy was to put razor blades under the leather wheel that transmitted power!

     The next car was a 1923 delivery truck, and a-tooling along one day a front wheel flew off into the woods. It proved to be a lemon. That was the only brand-new car they were ever able to buy. They had a 1929 Chevy, later a '36 Chevy, a Dodge station wagon (a '31 I think), a Studebaker touring (used later as a school bus), a Ford Model A pick-up.

     By order of the state department of highways, (... [husband Arthur's] employer), he was ordered to buy a new car, and he bought a Studebaker 3/4 ton pick-up. His sons chipped in and bought a radio for it, which he enjoyed.

     And speaking of radio, they bought a Zenith wind charger to place on the roof [of the house]. It did charge a battery so they could [listen to] "Amos and Andy," but what a rumble it made when the wind really blew. They finally sold it and patched that hole in the peak.

     About 1930 they got a school bus driving job, and the Old Timer drove that Dodge station wagon for some months. How glad they were to get the money. She drove it almost every day. No. 6 son, Arthur, was born. Some pleasure came her way, as her brother Lothar and she had a week's trip [in] the New England states in 1936. In a Dodge truck, he drove up to the top of Mt. Washington -- with one hand on the wheel, a sandwich in the other [making] wide gestures toward the scenery. The weather was perfect, azure sky and fleecy clouds, with visibility into Vermont!

     Several years later, #2 had bought a car for a little pleasure trip [and] took his father, mother, and seven-year-old little brother [Arthur, called "Mike"] to Montclair. At one stop the seven-year-old, as the [car] door was closed, gave a scream of pain! His fingers were caught in the hinge closing! They stopped at a nearby doctor, who diagnosed no bones broken. They expected to pay, and he proved to be one of the kindest men in the world. When they told him they were farmers from Pa., he said he knew how scarce cash was and they paid only one dollar! This was 1938 when a ride in a car was a sheer delight.

     With those six boys arriving at two year intervals they had many narrow escapes, some funny but all worth remembering. With the bread-winner rather accident-prone, the oldest, Stanley, matured very early -- learned to milk when only seven. One cow had a thing about women and was well-named Twister. They named some for birds: Robin, Oriole, Yellow-bellied Sapsucker. Of course, the Old Timer had to help milk, and to skim the milk ... they bought a hand-operated De Laval cream separator. No electricity until 1937. The acetalene [sic] plant proved to be a pain in the neck. What a burden it was to pay off that $631! They never went hungry, but the Old Timer recalls a Sunday dinner without meat. And company present!
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1918 Chevrolet 490 Touring Car
     The Chevrolet 490 touring car had a straight four-cylinder Chevrolet engine and was produced between 1915 and 1922. Standard equipment included a mohair-trimmed top, side curtains, electric horn and ventilating windshield. It was called the "Four-Ninety" because that was the original price!
     As for the Zenith Wind Charger, according to GlobalWarming.com, "
In the 1930s most farms across the United States either used 32 volt DC systems or were without electric power. Those without juice managed to get along by curing meats in a smokehouse and canning fruits and vegetables.
     "But what about entertainment? The thirties were the golden age of radio. Surely the farm community didn’t have to miss out on 'Fibber McGee and Molly' or 'The Lone Ranger?' America’s rural areas stayed in touch with the world by means of DC powered radios. Those on farms with direct current wired in did just fine and those without any power at all used large tube type battery powered radios. Check out an episode of 'The Waltons' and you will see exactly this type. These radios brought in signals from all across America and via short wave all across the world.
     "But like all battery operated devices are apt to have happen, the batteries ran down. And when that happened what was our depression era farmer to do? He hooked up the battery to a Zenith Wind Charger. A small generator connected directly to the shaft of a spinning pinwheel of a turbine rotated and turned cranking out both RPM’s and current. In a few hours the battery was charged for that night’s radio shows and the meaning of the term 'Wind Farm' was truly understood."
     Gustaf deLaval, a Swedish engineer, invented the cream separator in 1878. This device, without a doubt, did more to develop and revolutionize the dairy industry than any other. It allowed dairy farmers to sell not only the milk from their cows but also the cream, which could be quickly separated out and shipped to a creamery.
     DeLaval's Poughkeepsie, NY manufacturing plant churned out separators and, later, milking machines. One of their merchandising tactics was to create The Alpha Dairy Power Plant, a generator that provided power to the separator, the milker and the DeLaval Barn Lighting Outfit and, at the same time, it heated water for cleaning the equipment!
     The acetylene plant Millie refers to may have been a generator used to power lights in the barn.
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Monday, September 3, 2012

The Autobiography of Aunt Millie Part Six: Hard Times




     Every day, she walked the two miles to the school[.  The] roads were [usually] kept open.  But the year before on Mar. 1 it was a rainy Sunday afternoon, and the future husband drove to Milford for her.  On the way home, the rain changed to snow, a terrific wind came up and her hat blew off just as snow was beginning to pile up in front of the cutter (that is the name of a one-horse sleigh for two people).  We could not stop to pick it up.  The wind whirled it away, and it was never found.

     That storm filled all the roads with drifts of snow, and her school was closed for three days.  In 1914 they didn't plow the roads open, the traffic (no automobiles then) simply drove through a gap in the roadside fence and made a track in the fields where the snow was only a foot deep instead of three and four and five and six [foot] drifts in the road.

     School opened again on Thursday and every youngster that had a hand sleigh brought it to school and enjoyed the coasting, as the school sat on a hill just right for that fun.  Also when the nearby ponds were full of snow, the teacher brought her skates and they all went to "Nobs" Pond about a quarter of a mile away.  Most of the youngsters slid on the ice, but the teacher certainly enjoyed that skating!

     After the marriage, the Old Timer thought bliss was in store.  She came into a home with her husband, his father and mother, a divorced older son and his seven-year-old boy.  She was still teaching school.  In spring the garden, cows and housework made endless hard work.  For the rest of her life, the Old Timer has a feeling that fate is watching her with a huge knobby club, waiting to wield it in case she ever got to be too happy.  And it was wielded many times!

     Her salary of $40 a month was most welcome, as there was no Social Security then.  You lived on what you earned!  They sold fire wood and for food they had salt pork, potatoes, some canned goods, but no greens of any kind.  Were the two parents glad their youngest son married the local school teacher?  What high falutin' ideas she had of being a good influence; what a nuisance she made of herself!  Changed the wall paper, hated the fancy iron bed, oh! she felt so superior!  She wishes now she could have her father-in-law talk of his service in the Civil War!  But the young are so self-centered!

     The first baby, Stanley, was a fine ten-[pound] boy -- and she bathed and nursed him faithfully, and knowing nothing about babies had a book by L. Emmet Holt.  As the baby was born in January the book said:  "Don't wean your baby in summer" and so he was nursed, and in 1916, they never gave [him] solid food. 

     Besides, another lie:  you don't become pregnant nursing a baby, but she did, and how could there be any nourishment in the milk?  [Stanley] quit gaining, but she was afraid to give him anything!  The book said nothing about feeding anything, but was it better to starve him?  He would gnaw on his thumb by the hour!

     Baby food was not made in those days [1915] so at long last she gave him well-cooked oatmeal and he began to grow again.

     The next baby, Thomas, was born the following May -- a placid "good" baby.  A boy came along every two years till there were six boys, all full of pep, vim and vigor.  To keep track of the 2-year-old she tied a bell on him, as who had time to watch him?

     That whole 20-year interval was one of hard hard work [and] worry about pregnancy.  Another boy, Gifford, came in 1919, another, Richard, in 1922, another, Walter, in 1925, and a girl, Hazel, in 1927.  How happy they were to have her!  She was only with them a year and a half, and died on Dec. 16, 1928.  The same year the other children all had chickenpox!  A sad memory, how the bereaved parents were in a store to get a few things, how tragic as their eyes met over a display of dolls!

     The knobby club was waiting, as a cow and heifer got sick and died, a great loss.  They had eaten withered wild cherry leaves, which contained prussic acid.

     They made butter to sell at 35 cents a pound.  Money was very scarce (1917).  They raised potatoes to sell, they raised two pigs each year, cured and ate them.  They bought a five-dollar "dominic" rooster to improve their flock.  When inbreeding occurred they traded him for a neighbor's, traded again for a lesser breed -- and at last [traded] for a poor specimen they ate up!

     In two years the soldier father died, and his widow went to housekeeping by herself.   After that the two in-laws got along more amicably and grew fond of each other.
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      The blizzard that began on March 1, 1914 virtually isolated the greater metropolitan New York area from the rest of the nation. Passenger, freight and milk trains were temporarily lost during the storm and New York's barometer dipped to a record 28.38 inches. Asbury Park, NJ received 24 inches of the heavy, wet snow. 2,000 people were stranded in the Billy Sunday Tabernacle in Scranton, PA. It was the worst storm since the blizzard of 1888, when Max was born.
    Once again, Millie's hat -- was it one that she had worn for many years or a new one purchased with her teacher's salary? -- disappeared into parts unknown, just as her life as a single schoolteacher was about to end and her life as a wife and mother glimmered in the distance like a snowflake in the sun.     
     Luther Emmet Holt was an American pediatrician who published The Care and Feeding of Children in 1894. It became a best-seller very quickly. Holt was responsible for the introduction of milk certification in New York City, after proving that a large number of infant mortalities in the tenement districts were due to high bacterial counts in milk. Though the book and the one that followed, Diseases of Infancy and Childhood, were popular, it did not seem to be written to be easily understood by the first-time mother! Why should a baby not be weaned in summer, for heaven's sake? And why didn't her mother-in-law step in and tell her to feed that kid?
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