Family Intro – Charles Richard
April 30, 2025
Erudite is not a word I would use to describe the qualities expressed by any of my sisters. However, in their aspiration to achieve that level of sophistication, each one of them demonstrated an uncommon ability that would make them emerge as outstanding in any gathering they would grace by their attendance. I was slow to the realization that my three sisters were/are very special individuals, the product of a very special mother. I know that most every son believes that his mother will be the lead of the parade When the Saints Come Marching In. But I know my mom will be in the first row. Perhaps it was the survival instinct that first prevented my recognition of their exceptional qualities. I was the only male in a house full of women. After my father and grandfather passed away, it was just my grandmother, mother, three sisters, and me. My brother was never home long enough to make a difference in the male to female balance. Then there was grade school and eight years of nuns.
With all the joy and elation, pain and suffering each family goes through in a family cycle from youth to maturity to final dissolution, our mother traversed each transition carrying her load alone, with only pity for support. She instilled in each of her offspring the steel of her own individuality. Any time I would complain about my situation, she would say “This is what you’ve been given. This is life. Get on with it.”
Mom was the daughter of Clem and Mame Eck. Her twin brother died from what would currently be diagnosed as a neurological developmental delay or NDD. NDD is kind of a catch-all for anything for which smart doctors can’t find the cause of a medical condition. Although her father had no religious affiliations, her mother did, and she was raised in a strong Catholic tradition with deep Irish roots. As with all Irish lasses, she was a beauty. My father once said, “As pleasant to the eye as would drive any man to see naught but her in any gathering.” (I have pictures). She decided to become a teacher but my grandfather insisted, she was bound for better things. However, the Irish in her would not be denied and she graduated after two years of educational training allowing her to teach the early grades in the Public Schools. Her years as a young woman and courting by my father were discussions reserved for my sisters. I was too young to appreciate the intrigues of a young independent missy who could support herself in the early 1920’s. I did hear bits of how she loved to travel with her aunt and visit family throughout the country. However, I was never privy to details of how it developed and reflected her character. Even the details of how and when she met dad and how the two became a couple were unknown to me. Both of us were very squeamish about discussing sex. Even after grade school as I prepared to leave for boarding school, me and my brother decided to drive me there and to give me some heads-up since he had just graduated from the same school. Mom gave him the task of having ‘The Talk’ with me to assure her I was beyond the stork phase of my education.
When she married dad, she quit teaching to be wife and mother to her ever-increasing brood. The mid 1930’s was a period of uncertainty what with talk of war and the war itself in Europe and the isolation fever in the States. The country was still struggling to overcome the devastation of the Great Depression. Dad was working at the Delco Remy Division of GM by day and selling insurance in the evenings. The family was considered extremely fortunate. Then I was born in 1940. Just as the country was beginning to get a foothold on a recovery, the family began to experience major difficulties beginning with dad’s health issues. First there were reports from the neighbors that dad was coming home drunk and acting strangely. We already were the subject of negative views. Five kids in seven years seemed to be the definition of the pejorative ‘Pregnant in the summer and barefoot in the winter.’ Today the term ‘Trailer Trash’ would be used for which mom was blamed by the neighbors and family. Even after it was determined that dad was suffering from multiple myeloma, which was the cause of his physical peculiarity, people continued to condemn mom for having five kids. They determined that with the economic conditions being what they were (Social Services, Medicare/Medicaid did not exist), that five kids were too many and we should be split up and farmed out to whoever would take us.
A woman with a terminally ill husband, five kids ages 12 to 5, no income, and only a limited education was the formula for an intolerable existence. They thought they did, but they didn’t know my mother. She would say to herself “This is what I’ve been given. This is life. Get on with it.” She began working again but felt I was too young to be in the care of others. I remember holding her hand as we walked to a school after she got a job as a substitute kindergarten teacher. Then I stayed with her at night when she worked as the Canteen Lady for the night shift of the General Motors Guide Lamp factory one summer. The following Fall she became a full-time Public-School Kindergarten teacher. She worked several jobs to help pay my father’s mounting medical expenses. She had hired a lady to stay with dad in the daytime until the girls got home from school. The lady was wonderful, and she made cookies. She read me stories like mom used to be able to do before dad got sick.
Dad died in 1945. It was a bittersweet passing. His life had been reduced to living in a bed in the front room of our house, being cared for by family since we could not afford him to be in the hospital. However, he was with his family and got to be with his kids even in a diminished capacity. It was a financial relief for mom’s meager salary, but she had little time to mourn the loss of her life’s partner, even then funerals were expensive. To help with expenses, we moved into the upstairs rooms in mom’s parents’ home. Their daughter and her five kids, living in two rooms not including the bathroom and a small kitchenette. I’m sure they were thrilled. Who wouldn’t be? One very independent daughter, three girls becoming young ladies, one boy on the verge of manhood, and one young thief always stealing his grandfather’s favorite treat. Twinkies! The replacement for the cookies I no longer had at my disposal.
The eventual conflict of three generations living in such proximity began to take its toll and mom knew we had to find our own place sooner rather than later. Being unable to yet fly solo was extremely depressing. She was informed she could increase her salary if she were to get a bachelor’s degree and that it was soon to become a requirement for her to teach in the Public Schools at all. As if her situation weren’t enough with which to cope, she was now in her forties and tasked with going back to school and competing with students half her age. She had even met one of her former students who was to graduate ahead of her in the Spring.
The conditions were somewhat mitigated when my grandfather suddenly passed away just as mom was starting classes. This was a devastating blow to my grandmother who became totally dependent on mom. Now all thoughts of moving to our own place were banished. Once again, “This what you are given.”
The family seemed to settle into a period of calm for a few years. Having a full house available made an escape from potential conflicts more attainable. But the girls were growing and could not provide the constant care my grandmother required. Once again mom hired a lady who was capable and inexpensive. The lady was very considerate of grandma. She would lay down on the bed and talk to grandma before her nap. The problem was that the lady was infested with bed bugs and when mom found out, she was filled with rage. She kept crying “What have I done to my mother?” as she dragged all the bedding and mattress, and clothes into the back yard and set it on fire. This was the closest to insanity and complete loss of control I’d ever seen from anyone. It scared the bejesus out of me. I believe it was more than just the bed bugs. This is the first time “This is what I’ve been given” was too much. It took a few months for calm to replace frenetic. Mom never really got over the episode as she would always check the bed before she would let grandma lay down. Shortly after the period of frenzy, I discovered mom had a little help to relax when she came home after her day at the kindergarten and before performing her mom’s duties. When she returned each evening from teaching, she spent a few extra moments with her friend ‘Four Roses’ or on occasion ‘Old Forester.’ She was a bourbon girl. It was understandable. For almost thirty years, Monday through Friday, 8 to 11:30 AM instructing about 28 kids with ages 5 and 6. Then 1 to 4:30 PM a different class of about 25 kids ages 5 and 6. She loved her job but commented on regretting the loss of her adult vocabulary.
At the beginning of finals week prior to mom’s graduation, my older sister had announced her intentions to get married and before the week was out grandma had passed away. Once again, the demand to multitask at a critical point was the order of the day. The joy of her daughters’ pending nuptials and the pain of her mother’s passing combined with the requirements for matriculation and duties of a mother after the full-time teaching job, I questioned, just how does one do all that at the same time? Being the ever consummate educator, she just “… got on with it.”
The next few years leading up to her retirement seemed to be less perturbed. Not that there weren’t challenges. However, they seemed to come one at a time rather than the concurrent hurricanes, tornados, earthquakes, forest fires, and tsunamis of previous years. She was even able to purchase a car to drive the six miles she walked each day to and from school. Little did we know that the walks were healthy for her. She began to put on weight and developed high blood pressure and high cholesterol. A bad case of edema resulted in the amputation of her right leg below the knee. Even that did not stop her. I let her know I was planning a vacation to Ireland. To which she replied “I’m already packed. When do we leave?” That excursion has many stories of mom getting stuck in a deep Irish bathtub. Her tale of the fair rings she found and my sister, who couldn’t mount a horse, always arriving in the saddle facing the in wrong direction. I have often encouraged my sister to write a story titled ‘A View to the Other End.’ Mom had often spoken of how she loved to dance with dad when they were younger. With her amputation she thought those days were over. I would hear none of it. At the wedding of her granddaughter, I got her to try a few steps with me. She held on for dear life but dance we did. I believe she was proud of herself and thrilled to feel she was not done yet. Indeed, there were more weddings and opportunities to dance.
I had moved to New York, but I flew home to spend a weekend each month with mom. She was living in her own home with my sister. Mom essentially had to raise her granddaughter while my sister was working. I was aware of the slow deterioration of her health. Less the fighter than I had ever seen, I believe a great deal came from isolation. Just as the car had been a source of many health problems, so her solitude gave way to depression. When she had her stroke, I had come home and would sit at her bedside. She had tubes down her throat and was unable to speak. She used a notepad to communicate. At one point she wrote as best she could, “Am I dying?” How does a son answer that question? I thought for a moment as she looked into my eyes which were welling up with tears and I said “You’ll go as you always have done. When you get damn good and ready.” Then she wrote, “I’m ready.” Visiting hours were over. That night she passed, and I prayed she was not alone as she was when she buried her husband, her father, and her mother. But I know there will be many waiting for her, and she will never be alone again. I treasure the notes we last shared. I feel that they will come in handy when and if I stand at the gates seeking admittance.