Jill's Stories

Speaking to the progeny, to the many that arrived, I would like to list the treasures that came from another continent to rest in the hearts of the aforementioned ones.  There are the creative minds, the work ethic, the artistic slant, the introspection, the inherent beautiful faces, the strong muscles, the kind gestures, the endurance edge, the dry humor, the silent voices, the hearty laughter and of course, the eyes…the deep, gazing eyes.  These gifts came in the form of the gene pool, given to the progeny with gusto.  Now, the tactile treasures would be the wood carvings created by Grandpa, the needle point and craftiness of Grandma.  The collection of clocks, the fine jewelry, the designer clothes, the landscaping and garden creations, the fine linens and tapestries were so uniquely Deutch.  Red cabbage, rouladin, blood sausage, potato pancakes, streussel, plum cake, butter cream torte were some of the delicacies available for the tasting.  Plentiful treasures.  Who would have imagined that a family from Orbke, Germany would cross the Atlantic ocean in a boat, arrive in two weeks’ time, begin a new life in a new land, establish a career and family enduring for generations to come? Who would imagine that families would blend and new lives would flourish becoming the future that began over 60 years ago? And so the progeny continue to create dreams of their own….unfolding with the ribbons of the past.

My Grandmother, Katie Murphy, whom I called Mom Murphy, repeatedly said:  “Show me who your friends are, and I’ll tell you what you are.”

My Grandfather, John Murphy, whom I called, Pop, never said an unkind thing about anyone in my presence and in anyone else’ presence as he would comment when negativity entered the conversation:  “Do you think it will rain, Katie?”  We all knew we had better change the subject quickly or Pop would quietly leave the room, thus detaching himself from any gossip.

My own mother, Mary, said many times, “Remember who you are and where you came from.”  Thus, the admonition to act in good character where ever you are.

My own dad, Charlie, spoke not a word when it came to witnessing gossip of the unkind variety. He would stand up, leave the room and distance himself from such talk.  I believe that one of his most admirable traits is that he never spoke an unkind word about anyone, and he would not tolerate participating in gossip.    I remember that one thing he always told me was that “girls aren’t supposed to do everything” with regard to fixing up things. He was referring to auto repairs, tire changing, heavy work etc.  He also told me that there are two things that people should not lend.  One is the car, and the other is the lawn mower.  Isn’t that funny that I recalled those items? Wisdom.  He also told me that the age of 50 through 60 are the best years of one’s life.  I am beginning to see that is true.

One final car ride from his house to the hospital, was uneventful and quiet.  The hope was there that comfort would come shortly.  It did.  The room that beckoned was freshly cleaned. The bed was crisp and white covered. He undressed with the assistance of nurses, he climbed up into the resting place.  Three days and two nights shuffled by.  He talked.  He smiled. He laughed.  He cried.  He laughed again.  He talked to his granddaughter,  during his last afternoon of alertness.  He said the love words.  He smiled the love look.  He whispered his wishes.  He did not eat.  He did prove bravery.  He breathed his last.  Father, Grandfather, Husband, Child….he was all of these.  Rest easy, Dad.

Finding the hill is the first order of business as soon as the snow falls.  Thinking back, the hill was located in “the woods”.  Whenever my Mom said to me and my brothers and sister, “where are you going?” we would always say to “the woods”.  Now, that phrase really meant, we are going into the garage, then into the attic, then grabbing the sleds, the ones that have metal rudders, and trudging down Pinewell Drive, home of the Pfau Family, and enter the “woods”.  All of the neighborhood kids would race to the hill.  We had to cross over the barbed wire fence.  Throw the sleds over first.  Then look down into the uncovered well (if my Mom had known that detail, we would have been banned from “the woods”.) I always shivered when I looked down into that well.  Wondered what would I do if I had fallen in.  The shiver turned to chuckles as we raced again up the hill.  This was old farm land at the end of our street.  Of course my brothers Dave and Jack got there first.  My sister, Janie and myself got there eventually.  Since we didn’t have four sleds, we had to take turns.  We had two sleds and some garbage can lids without the handles.  Guess who got the garbage can lids.  Then flying down the hill. Then trying to steer with our legs.  Then trying really hard not to hit the tree stump at the bottom.  I hit it too many times to tell.  I’m sure we had eaten breakfast on those sledding mornings, and I am just as sure we did not eat any lunch. … except for snow balls.  We got wet but didn’t care.  Our gloves would have ice crystals on them.  Too bad. We stayed all day.  Eventually, we walked back home and brought all of our gear with us for tomorrow’s fun.  When I think back to that time many years ago, I can’t help but wonder who dried all of those snowy clothes.  Probably the person who said “Where are you going?”

Later in my life when I had my own family of five children, we repeated some of that history: all of us went to “the hill” behind Fort West Subdivision where we lived.  This was a long, probably one mile walk and then some to reach the highest of hills covered with snow unpacked but so inviting. This was farm land.  There was a fence to cross, sleds to pull, the plastic kind that looked like saucers and oblong plastic sleds that carried two or more sledders.  We wore the coats,  the scarves, the dunsil caps,(  I heard they call them toboggans here in Tennessee. ) I had as much fun as the kids displayed.  They didn’t seem to mind my tagging along as the youngest sledder was just a toddler.  We flew down the “hill”.  We stayed all day.  We didn’t eat lunch.  We ate an early dinner.  I dried the clothes.  What goes around come around.  We did it all again on the next day.

And now for the story of Mom Murphy’s last day…..so happy, so sad, so mysterious… so fitting.  A cold, chilly winter day in December brought my Mom, myself and two of my children,  Susan and baby Michael to my Grandmother’s house for this special event.  We were told that the doctor expected Mom Murphy not to live through the day.  As  I approached my grandmother’s bedside, which by the way was now situated in what used to be her dining room [as she became unable to walk upstairs, she was 93 years old and becoming frail] her children created a new bedroom on the first floor of her home, I touched her hand and whispered “hi Mom”.  Her eyes were gently closed, her breathing was indeed faint.  The room was dark.  Now, my Grandmother had a collection of dolls that were of the newborn variety and she always arranged them on her bed.  Even into her 90’s she enjoyed looking at those dolls.  Part of her joy was in the holding of newborn and young infants, much like our own joy over the years.  Since she had “grown up” children now, the great grandchildren were the likely candidates for the cuddling.  My Mom told me to take my son, Michael over to my Grandmother.  He was just four months old.  He was sleeping in my arms, wrapped up snuggly in a warm blanket, when my Mom asked me to do this.  I kissed him on the forehead.  He stayed asleep.  I carefully laid him into my Grandmother’s arms.  She held him closely, the best that she could, as weak as she was.  It was a beautiful sight to see this aged and accomplished woman gently hold this new child.  The breath sounds were so peaceful.  Michael was the last infant that “Katie” held in her experienced arms.  I reached over and took him again into my own arms.  My Mom dropped a few tears onto the blanket as she watched.  She looked at me and said, I cannot watch Mom take her last breaths, would you stay by her?  I nodded yes.  I stayed.  Susan, my little girl who was then eight years old, held Mom Murphy’s hand and then went to the solarium to look at plants.  The doctor came.  He listened to the sounds.  My Grandmother died.   December 23, 1981.

Summer evenings were so full o f adventures for me and my brothers.   We planned all day for camping out in the backyard and hanging out up in the apple tree.  My Dad planted two apple trees in the middle of our back yard.  Years went by and the trees grew rapidly.  We hammered nails into the trunk to  fasten our steps.  Jack, Dave and myself built a tree house using any boards that we could find. The tree house had a floor and sides, but the roof was the wide open space of sky.   Jack and Dave spent a lot of time up there planning things, and my job was to be the water girl.  I was the gofer.  I didn’t mind because if I did my job I was allowed to go up there and stay there as long as I wanted to.  We had a tent that we could sleep in. We always had a fire and did marshmellows and hot dogs and in the morning, sometimes we fried eggs.  I usually went back inside the house around 11:00 p.m. as mom would never lock the door.  As a matter of fact, she never locked any of the doors. That’s how it was back then.  (in the 1950’s).

Catherine and John Murphy began their family of 12 children after they married at age 14.  Here are their names:  William, Raymond, John, Alfred (later to find out his name was really registered as Ross)  I am the only niece that identifies Uncle Alfred as Uncle Ross.  Margaret, Mildred, Mabel, Evelyn, Laura, Sue Mae, Mary Catherine, Jeanette.  ( the order of the girls is not exactly chronilogically correct but almost there)  My mom is Mary and I know that Aunt Sue Mae and Mary were born in the middle of the group.   All of the children were born naturally and at my grandparents’ home with the assistance of a midwife.  I can remember my grandmother telling me that my mom was born quickly and held on to Mom Murphy’ s stocking when she “slid out and down”. I always thought that was a funny story.  Mom Murphy told it many times.  She also often said she worried about my mother as she was so tiny and weak. The family always had plenty to eat as my Grandfather was a butcher for Kroger. Friends and neighbors gave clothing to all of the kids.  Every day after school, my mom would come home and it was her job to scrub the steps.  So every day she came home from school, not to play but to start the scrubbing. Aunt Peggy was in charge of the work force as she was the oldest and carried out the punishment if any of the kids did not do their jobs correctly.  She had a cord from and old iron and that is what she used to whip the siblings.  This certainly sounds harsh. The story was told many times also and verified by my aunts and uncles.  Needless to say, Aunt Peggy was type casted as the Villain.  My Grandmother had had a slight heart attack when she was in her 40’s and that is why she turned over the discipline to the oldest daughter.  Or so it was related to me.

Uncle Bill married Cecil.  Uncle Ray married Thelma.  Uncle John married Beatrice (Bert), Uncle Ross married Betty.  Aunt Peggy married Dumar Smith, Aunt Mildred married (unfamiliar with his name), Aunt Mabel married (I think his name was Ron), Aunt Jeannette married Ed Holtke, Aunt Sue Mae married Lloyd Payne, Aunt Laura married Jim Arthon, Mary married Charles Pfau and Aunt Evelyn died in the fire when she was two years old.

My Grandparents, Mabel Waters and Denman Pfau married but I don’ know their ages when that happened. They had two children.  Here are their names:  Charles Denman and Evelyn.  My Dad is Charles and he was the first born I think.  My Aunt Evelyn was their only daughter and my Dad was their only son. Charles married Mary and Evelyn married Charlie Flynn.Now that I think about it, how incredibly odd it is that my mom’s sister-in-law was named Evelyn. But then I am always looking for different planes of existence. So so.

Remembering past New Year’s Eves:  When I was growing up, we always, and I do mean always observed New Year’s Eve in a big way. It was the one night when I could stay up past midnight and have lots of fun doing just that.  We would make snacks of all sorts and watch T.V.  and when it was just about 11:55 p.m., we would drag out all the pots and pans we could carry to the front porch and start banging on them at the stroke of midnight.  Fireworks would be going off in the neighborhood, and yelling and such was also going on.  Then we went back inside and ate some yummy snacks and then off to bed we went.   Quite the night!  As I became older, I ventured out with friends but I always called first, my Grandmother, Mom Murphy from where ever I was to wish her a happy New Year.  Then I would call my mom.  Now this went on until each of them passed on.  Those two calls were at 12:01 a .m.,believe it or not.  My Grandmother was always awake as was my Mom.  One New Year’s Eve, I was out with friends and we drove past my Grandmother’s house and I put a small box of chocolates in her mailbox that was mounted on the front porch.  She found it the next day.  Random memory.

My Dad wasn’t much into the New Year’s celebration.  He was usually asleep at that hour.

When I had my own family with kids, I perpetuated the pan banging.  They seemed to like to do that as much as I did.  That later evolved into fire crackers and noise makers and such.  Party supplies and hats and various snack concoctions were added to give a flair to the night.   (to be continued)