I know our family can go back as far as the Spanish-American War, one not taught in school anymore. My great-grandfather Bernard Grogan fought for the US, in both the Navy and Army before he was even an American. He was also the first in the family to come over from Ireland. Others would follow, some would fight before they came over to the US, some fought for the US after coming over.
Two of my great uncles died during the "troubles" in Ireland after Bloody Sunday. They were two of 1,200 that died within the week following that fateful day; while their sister, my grandmother watched. It was not spoken of in the house.
My grandfather, whom I have written about, Thomas B Connolly was a stretcher bearer or medic in WWI for the Royal Army Medical Corps, Territorial Force (UK) with honor and distinction. He then registered for WWII in the US, but was not called upon.
My other grandfather, who was too young for WWI, was not allowed to fight for the US during WWII, because his youngest daughter had polio. He tried everything he could to go and fight, but a three man committee of officers decided his family needed him more. One of those officers was a black man, and he spoke eloquently about how a father's place is with his sick daughter, did more for race relations than anything the sixties ever did.
I did have two uncles, by marriage, fight in WWII. One brother is laid to rest in France, the other came home. My mother-in-law is dating a dear friend who served in the 5th Mountain Division, US Army during WWII, then served the US Navy as a see-bee. A career man, he still carries himself as a military man, and he's 78 years old.
My father was called up for the Korean War, but in truth, he spent his whole time in France. This was not his doing in any way, just his luck in the draw. The Korean War, what we now call the forgotten war, was horrific. After what his father went through in WWI, maybe God spared him from any further battle time.
I served as a medic and nurse in the US Army, both Reserve and Regular from 1980 to 1989. I left the regular Army, 1989, for a family illness, and by the time that was taken care of, Desert Shield started. My wife said, "God got you out to help my dad, who still needs your help, and I will keep you out." I still count it as a shame for not going back in, but as with my grandfather, family had to come first. I served instead with NYC EMS as a paramedic. I think I saw more shooting in the South Bronx!
My brother served a four year enlistment with the Coast Guard, part of his duty was the rescuing of "boat immigrants" during the 1990's.
I have two daughters, and I would be proud if they choose to serve their country. In 1775 our forefathers fought to be free of tyranny, and it has been proven over and over that freedom is still not free. A blessing to all those who have served on this Veteran's Day.
11 November 2009
02 November 2009
How Hard IS a Hard Candy?
Since I was rather serious in my last posting, one I usually save for my www.blessingsinpain.com for certain moments, I thought I would go ahead with a lighthearted story from the family time in the Bronx, NYC. This happened around 1958, before my parents were married, and in those days, that meant my mom was still living with her folks, oh, and she wasn't my mom yet!
One of the great things about the Big Apple, is that within its Burroughs, each one has its own different smaller neighborhoods that contains a few blocks around. You may have heard of some of these, Little Italy, Hell's Kitchen, Harlem, Chinatown, and Washington Heights to name a few. Not all have names, they just are what they are. We lived in Kingsbridge, but that actually covers a lot of ground in the Bronx. Still and all, within our neighborhoods, it was like its own little village, and everyone knew what was going on with whom. Come to think of it, it's almost like a middle school with all ages and streets. When you would call for someone, you literally called for them. You'd walk to under their window and yell up, "Hey, Joey! Yous cumin out?" So maybe this is why secrets were never all too secret for very long.
OK, so that is how it was, and in some cases, still is. Be that as it may, there was a little guy that almost always seemed to get himself into trouble. No matter what, if trouble was to be had, there you'd find Billy (names have been changed to protect my failing memory). My grandfather, having a similar boyhood, was a sucker for the under-dog. Well, one day it came to my grandpa's knowledge that old lady McGuffey (again, who cares about her name, she was a nasty old Irish woman, better I don't remember her name) claimed that Billy broke her window by throwing a piece of hard candy at it. Certain facts were undeniable, the old lady's window was broken, she lived on the second floor, and a piece of hard candy (butterscotch) was on the floor, and it was trouble-so that meant Billy.
Hearing about this at the watering hole on his way in from the docks, (translation: he went to the local pub after his shift as a longshoreman), my grandpa couldn't believe Billy did it. I mean, how could this kid, not all that big, throw a piece of candy through a window? No one even saw him out on the street. Well, this bothered him all the way back to the apartment, and during dinner. He talked about this with his wife and two daughters, the daughters agreeing readily with their dad, never a day they wouldn't. After dinner, the youngest girl left, and my grandpa and grandma shared a glass of beer while my mom cleaned up from dinner. "I'm tellin' you, you can't throw a piece of candy through a glass window," says he. Up from the table he got and went into the living room and over to the candy dish. Taking a piece of butterscotch candy, he returned to the kitchen. "Tootsie, (my mom's nickname, and I am now out of the will) hold that curtain to the side."
As the dutiful daughter, my mom dried her hands, walked over to the kitchen window and pulled the curtain to the side. Himself stood all the way across the kitchen, wound up and let it rip like Whitey Ford. Sure enough, right through the window the candy went, out into the street, and six floors below. "Well I'll be damned" he says. "Silly ass" is all herself had to say as she lifted her glass of beer to her lips. As my grandma drank only one beer an evening, this was probably one night she thought about having another. My mother, being daddy's girl, could do nothing but hold the curtain with one hand, and her mouth with the other.
As he went about covering and taping the window for the night, before having to go to the super the next day, he still couldn't believe the candy broke the window. Granted he was a bull of a man, but Billy was still a kid, and was probably across the street, since no one had seen him out. How could this young kid possibly throw a candy that hard, and if he had, sign him up with the Yankees.
The next day at the docks, as they were talking about the candy throw, it came to be known by Billy's downstairs neighbor, that young Billy had used a slingshot he got, and did it from his bedroom window. So, if you ever wonder if a hard candy can break a window, remember two things: Either get yourself a longshoreman at somewhat close range, or get any little bugger with a slingshot. It worked for David too, come to think of it!
One of the great things about the Big Apple, is that within its Burroughs, each one has its own different smaller neighborhoods that contains a few blocks around. You may have heard of some of these, Little Italy, Hell's Kitchen, Harlem, Chinatown, and Washington Heights to name a few. Not all have names, they just are what they are. We lived in Kingsbridge, but that actually covers a lot of ground in the Bronx. Still and all, within our neighborhoods, it was like its own little village, and everyone knew what was going on with whom. Come to think of it, it's almost like a middle school with all ages and streets. When you would call for someone, you literally called for them. You'd walk to under their window and yell up, "Hey, Joey! Yous cumin out?" So maybe this is why secrets were never all too secret for very long.
OK, so that is how it was, and in some cases, still is. Be that as it may, there was a little guy that almost always seemed to get himself into trouble. No matter what, if trouble was to be had, there you'd find Billy (names have been changed to protect my failing memory). My grandfather, having a similar boyhood, was a sucker for the under-dog. Well, one day it came to my grandpa's knowledge that old lady McGuffey (again, who cares about her name, she was a nasty old Irish woman, better I don't remember her name) claimed that Billy broke her window by throwing a piece of hard candy at it. Certain facts were undeniable, the old lady's window was broken, she lived on the second floor, and a piece of hard candy (butterscotch) was on the floor, and it was trouble-so that meant Billy.
Hearing about this at the watering hole on his way in from the docks, (translation: he went to the local pub after his shift as a longshoreman), my grandpa couldn't believe Billy did it. I mean, how could this kid, not all that big, throw a piece of candy through a window? No one even saw him out on the street. Well, this bothered him all the way back to the apartment, and during dinner. He talked about this with his wife and two daughters, the daughters agreeing readily with their dad, never a day they wouldn't. After dinner, the youngest girl left, and my grandpa and grandma shared a glass of beer while my mom cleaned up from dinner. "I'm tellin' you, you can't throw a piece of candy through a glass window," says he. Up from the table he got and went into the living room and over to the candy dish. Taking a piece of butterscotch candy, he returned to the kitchen. "Tootsie, (my mom's nickname, and I am now out of the will) hold that curtain to the side."
As the dutiful daughter, my mom dried her hands, walked over to the kitchen window and pulled the curtain to the side. Himself stood all the way across the kitchen, wound up and let it rip like Whitey Ford. Sure enough, right through the window the candy went, out into the street, and six floors below. "Well I'll be damned" he says. "Silly ass" is all herself had to say as she lifted her glass of beer to her lips. As my grandma drank only one beer an evening, this was probably one night she thought about having another. My mother, being daddy's girl, could do nothing but hold the curtain with one hand, and her mouth with the other.
As he went about covering and taping the window for the night, before having to go to the super the next day, he still couldn't believe the candy broke the window. Granted he was a bull of a man, but Billy was still a kid, and was probably across the street, since no one had seen him out. How could this young kid possibly throw a candy that hard, and if he had, sign him up with the Yankees.
The next day at the docks, as they were talking about the candy throw, it came to be known by Billy's downstairs neighbor, that young Billy had used a slingshot he got, and did it from his bedroom window. So, if you ever wonder if a hard candy can break a window, remember two things: Either get yourself a longshoreman at somewhat close range, or get any little bugger with a slingshot. It worked for David too, come to think of it!
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