Amends (December 18, 2020)

[Bernard A. Handler is my brother-in-law (husband of my sister Susan).  He has been a guest blogger here before https://filiopietismprism.blogspot.com/2014/12/searching-for-ernest-by-bernard-handler.html.  In fact, back in 2014 he was the first ever guest blogger here at The Prism.  This time Bernie shares a short story about a Christmas long ago and his mother's yearning in a time of Depression hardship to provide a little holiday cheer in her family's home.  It is a story of understanding and amends that captures the spirit of the season.]

Ellen Forbes circa 1930 with possible nephew and dog

Amends

by Bernard A. Handler

My grandmother Sarah Clay Forbes departed Leicester, England in 1908 with six kids in tow. She and her children sailed from Liverpool on a ship named the Hartford and arrived in Philadelphia to join her husband, Thomas Albert Forbes, a loom operator. The family settled in Germantown and grew: six more children, and in 1921 a seventh, my mother Ellen, the baby of thirteen. 

During the Great Depression the family managed - a rented roof overhead, food to eat, clean clothes to wear, but little else. As the Christmas of ’33 approached Ellen decided to find a Christmas tree for her family’s home on Bringhurst Street. One evening with the help of a friend, she snuck onto the grounds of the First United Methodist Church on the corner of Germantown Avenue and High Street and cut down a tree which she and her accomplice carried back to the Forbes’ household. 

First United Methodist Church of Germantown (circa 1905)

Six years later Ellen became the first in her family to graduate from high school, Germantown High, right across the street from the church, the same school from which my sister Beryl and I graduated in ’65 and ’67 respectively. Ellen first told me the story of the stolen tree several years before she died in 2009. My initial reaction was, “Geez Mom, a church. Why a church?” Her sheepish reply, “They had quite a few so I didn’t think they’d miss one.”

Certainly Esther, the current United Methodist Interim Office Administrator, nor the present pastor, Bob, missed the tree since they were unaware of Ellen’s 87-year-old transgression until Monday, July 27, 2020.  On that date, my wife Susan and I stopped by the church office to make a voluntary donation to the church and to confess Ellen’s crime–perhaps in hope of absolution.  Judging by the looks on the faces of Esther and Bob, and their positive reception of the background story, Ellen can rest in peace. 

Ellen Forbes Handler, thank you for guiding me with love and teaching me that through forgiveness peace is found.

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Copyright 2020, Bernard A. Handler

Published with the permissionof the author.

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The Christmas Tree of Memories

EDITOR'S NOTE: 

Now that we are firmly within the Christmas season for 2017, I am reprising a wonderful guest post that ran here back on May 14, 2017. The post is authored by Carol Kerr who, with her husband Neville, runs a wonderful Bed & Breakfast (pictured above) in the Forest Park section of Springfield, Massachusetts.

I am thrilled and honored to be able to share Carol's story and photos once again and during the Christmas season. As I noted back in May, I suspect that -- like Carol and Neville's house last Christmas Eve -- there will be many a moist eye in the blogosphere after reading . . .    

The Christmas Tree of Memories

By

Carol Kerr

My parents didn't have much when they came to America by boat from Germany in the mid fifties. They had a few suitcases, two children, a violin.  There was never much in the way of possessions or heirlooms to pass down.

Mom lived with me for almost 20 years. When she died in August, there was really no inheritance to pass on to her children. She owned no car, no home,  no insurance money. She had a small amount of savings, but even that was not in her name.

What Mom did have was stuff. Lots of it. Old photos, items she had knitted (she was a prodigious knitter), mementos, dishes, stemware, books, tchotchkes, things that her children had given her over the years, paintings she had painted, travel souvenirs. In short, the story of her life in ephemera, trinkets, glass, and costume jewelry.

For the last couple years of Mom's life, my husband and I turned our dining room into a large bedroom/sitting room for her and provided her with a storage room upstairs and parts of several other rooms as well. Mom had lots of stuff, and we had a home large enough to accommodate all of it. After she died, it was time to repurpose the downstairs to a dining room again, and create a guest room upstairs from the storage room.

Then, I had a dilemma. I had all of it . . . everything my mother possessed. I didn't want to keep everything, yet I couldn't bring myself to just get rid of so much. Her possessions represented so much of her life . . . and so many memories. Plus, in my mind was the thought that the other children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren she left behind had nothing of her.

At some point in my mind I made a decision to give stuff to my three siblings. But then the question was what to give and to whom. And what was a fair division? Should the brother with three daughters and a new grandbaby get more than the sister with one son? Or, should the other sister who already had a son, granddaughter, and three great grandchildren receive a larger share? Would they even want any of it? There was nothing of value beyond sentimental.  

In the end, I decided to give something to everyone, and let them decide what (if anything) they wanted to keep. And with Christmas just a few months away, I had an idea to give them this stuff when we were all together for the holiday. And from there, Mom's Last Christmas came to me.

I bought 10 moving boxes (3 siblings, 4 grandchildren, 3 great-grandchildren = 10 boxes) and set them all up in a side room. Then, I started going through all Mom's things while at the same time converting rooms. As I came across her things, I would put them in the boxes. I tried to evenly distribute as much as possible. Everyone got some old photos, everyone got something she knitted, everyone got something from her china cabinets, everyone got one of her cookbooks and some jewelry. I distributed evenly and randomly, so that even I wouldn't know what was in each box.

Then I found a series of cassette recordings. Mom married for a second time in her early sixties. For their honeymoon, they went on a tour of Germany to travel and to introduce Richard to all the family. Each night they would turn on the recorder and just discuss the day they had. It was wonderful to hear their voices. My husband, Neville, transferred all the cassettes to disk and I put a disk into each box.

Filling these boxes took about three months. Seems like every room I cleaned, there was more and more. Every room had bits of Mom in it. I think that going through it all helped me with the grieving process too. At some point it occurred to me that if I stacked the boxes 4, 3, 2, 1 it made a large pyramid which could easily look like a Christmas tree if decorated. 

When the boxes were filled, I wrapped each in festive holiday paper, added lights, garland, large balls, and a few ornaments. It turned out to be, by all accounts, a beautiful Christmas tree.

On Christmas Eve, after dinner and after all the other presents were distributed, it was time to open the gifts from Mom. Box by box we dismantled that Christmas tree as each person took one.

Opening each box was full of joy, surprise, and memories. People kept holding things up to show what they got in their box. Mom's signed photo of astronauts from her visit to Houston, her framed wedding invitation, her paintings, her knitted and crocheted hats, sweaters, and throws, her special wine glasses, her old family photos from Germany, her handwritten recipe books, the small bibles that she saved, photos of all of us, little statues, all things Egyptian, dishes, servers, cups, her favorite books, letters, cards, everything and anything. I encouraged everyone to feel free to trade amongst themselves.

In the end, there wasn't a dry eye in the house. We cried together, we laughed, and we all felt very close to Mom and to each other. Everyone agreed it was an amazing Christmas and a fabulous way to remember Mom.  As we headed up to bed, in place of the tree was just a heap of lights, garland, balls, and ornaments left for Christmas Day. It was beautiful!

I like to think that years from now as the grandchildren become adults, this will be the Christmas that will be remembered and they will tell their children about the Christmas Tree of Memories.

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All photos by, and courtesy of, Carol Kerr.

Copyright 2017, Carol Kerr.
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The Christmas Tree of Memories (May 14, 2017)

EDITOR'S NOTE: Recently I attended the 2017 NERGC (New England Regional Consortium) genealogy conference in Springfield, Massachusetts. It was my first genealogy conference and during the four-day conference I stayed at a wonderful Bed & Breakfast (pictured above) in the Forest Park section of Springfield run by Carol Kerr and her husband Neville .

One morning before returning to the conference center for another day of genealogy immersion, Carol asked me and Nancy -- another guest who was also attending the NERGC conference -- how the conference was going. As part of my answer I mentioned attending a session titled, "Planning a Future for Your Family's Past: Where Will Your Research and Collectibles Go?" by New England blogger Marian Wood. Carol then shared with Nancy and me the touching and wonderfully creative solution she came up with when faced last year with her mother's passing and the need to collect and deal with her mother's possessions. Upon hearing Carol's story I immediately asked her if she would be willing to write up her story for a guest post here on Filiopietism Prism. She agreed. 

I am thrilled and honored to be able to share Carol's story and photos with all of you on this most appropriate day .  .  . Mother's Day. I suspect that -- like Carol and Neville's house last Christmas Eve -- there will be many a moist eye in the blogosphere after reading . . .    

The Christmas Tree of Memories

By

Carol Kerr

My parents didn't have much when they came to America by boat from Germany in the mid fifties. They had a few suitcases, two children, a violin.  There was never much in the way of possessions or heirlooms to pass down.

Mom lived with me for almost 20 years. When she died in August, there was really no inheritance to pass on to her children. She owned no car, no home,  no insurance money. She had a small amount of savings, but even that was not in her name.

What Mom did have was stuff. Lots of it. Old photos, items she had knitted (she was a prodigious knitter), mementos, dishes, stemware, books, tchotchkes, things that her children had given her over the years, paintings she had painted, travel souvenirs. In short, the story of her life in ephemera, trinkets, glass, and costume jewelry.

For the last couple years of Mom's life, my husband and I turned our dining room into a large bedroom/sitting room for her and provided her with a storage room upstairs and parts of several other rooms as well. Mom had lots of stuff, and we had a home large enough to accommodate all of it. After she died, it was time to repurpose the downstairs to a dining room again, and create a guest room upstairs from the storage room.

Then, I had a dilemma. I had all of it . . . everything my mother possessed. I didn't want to keep everything, yet I couldn't bring myself to just get rid of so much. Her possessions represented so much of her life . . . and so many memories. Plus, in my mind was the thought that the other children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren she left behind had nothing of her.

At some point in my mind I made a decision to give stuff to my three siblings. But then the question was what to give and to whom. And what was a fair division? Should the brother with three daughters and a new grandbaby get more than the sister with one son? Or, should the other sister who already had a son, granddaughter, and three great grandchildren receive a larger share? Would they even want any of it? There was nothing of value beyond sentimental.  

In the end, I decided to give something to everyone, and let them decide what (if anything) they wanted to keep. And with Christmas just a few months away, I had an idea to give them this stuff when we were all together for the holiday. And from there, Mom's Last Christmas came to me.

I bought 10 moving boxes (3 siblings, 4 grandchildren, 3 great-grandchildren = 10 boxes) and set them all up in a side room. Then, I started going through all Mom's things while at the same time converting rooms. As I came across her things, I would put them in the boxes. I tried to evenly distribute as much as possible. Everyone got some old photos, everyone got something she knitted, everyone got something from her china cabinets, everyone got one of her cookbooks and some jewelry. I distributed evenly and randomly, so that even I wouldn't know what was in each box.

Then I found a series of cassette recordings. Mom married for a second time in her early sixties. For their honeymoon, they went on a tour of Germany to travel and to introduce Richard to all the family. Each night they would turn on the recorder and just discuss the day they had. It was wonderful to hear their voices. My husband, Neville, transferred all the cassettes to disk and I put a disk into each box.

Filling these boxes took about three months. Seems like every room I cleaned, there was more and more. Every room had bits of Mom in it. I think that going through it all helped me with the grieving process too. At some point it occurred to me that if I stacked the boxes 4, 3, 2, 1 it made a large pyramid which could easily look like a Christmas tree if decorated. 

When the boxes were filled, I wrapped each in festive holiday paper, added lights, garland, large balls, and a few ornaments. It turned out to be, by all accounts, a beautiful Christmas tree.

On Christmas Eve, after dinner and after all the other presents were distributed, it was time to open the gifts from Mom. Box by box we dismantled that Christmas tree as each person took one.

Opening each box was full of joy, surprise, and memories. People kept holding things up to show what they got in their box. Mom's signed photo of astronauts from her visit to Houston, her framed wedding invitation, her paintings, her knitted and crocheted hats, sweaters, and throws, her special wine glasses, her old family photos from Germany, her handwritten recipe books, the small bibles that she saved, photos of all of us, little statues, all things Egyptian, dishes, servers, cups, her favorite books, letters, cards, everything and anything. I encouraged everyone to feel free to trade amongst themselves.

In the end, there wasn't a dry eye in the house. We cried together, we laughed, and we all felt very close to Mom and to each other. Everyone agreed it was an amazing Christmas and a fabulous way to remember Mom.  As we headed up to bed, in place of the tree was just a heap of lights, garland, balls, and ornaments left for Christmas Day. It was beautiful!

I like to think that years from now as the grandchildren become adults, this will be the Christmas that will be remembered and they will tell their children about the Christmas Tree of Memories.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ 

All photos by, and courtesy of, Carol Kerr.

Copyright 2017, Carol Kerr.
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Family Recipe Friday (January 23, 2015) -- Clear "Rhode Island Clam Chowder"

[Like her husband (our older son, Jonathan), our daughter-in-law, Pamela Booth Winkler Tew, has family roots in Rhode Island. When Pam told me not long ago about the clambake club her extended family ran for decades in Newport -- and the wonderful clam chowder that they produced there -- I immediately thought a Family Recipe Friday guest post by Pam was needed in order to capture her memories and to preserve the recipe.  I am delighted that Pam agreed to do a post about her family food memories and that she could share the family clam chowder recipe that is so cherished. I think readers will be delighted too if they are fans of the clam chowders of New England and clear Rhode Island clam chowder in particular.  Thank you Pam!]

When I think about my family history and what kinds of things have been passed down through generations, all of my memories, along with the stories I’ve heard, are centered around food.  

My father was born in Newport, Rhode Island, where his mother, Elsie H. [Booth] Winkler (1919 - 2002), my maternal grandmother, was raised.  Most years we gather in Newport for a Booth family reunion with as many of the descendants of my grandmother and her four brothers as are able to attend.  

Some of my fondest childhood memories happened at these Booth family reunions, not the least of which was indulging in the amazing seafood sensations of Kempenaar’s Clambake Club.  Kempenar’s was run for 20 years by the Booth Family - first by my Great Uncle Donald, and then by Cousin Jack.  The star of the show at Kempenar's was Kempenar’s Clambake Club Clam Chowder -- not creamy, not tomato based, just pure clam chowder -- the clams were the star of the show! 

Jonathan and I were lucky enough to have my father and my Uncle Richard (supervised by Newport native, Cousin Ed) make Kempenaar’s Clambake Club Clam Chowder for our wedding in July 2012.

For Christmas 2011, my father created a family recipe book and gave it to my siblings and me - it chronicles all of the recipes that warm my heart.  And at the center is the Kempenar’s Clambake Club Clam Chowder recipe.  I have to say, I thought this was a secret that was to never be revealed, but surprisingly (and thankfully) - he had it all along!!  And here it is . . . 

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Photograph of example of a Rhode Island clear clam chowder from http://www.amancooks.com/rhode-island-clam-chowder

Photograph of Kempenaar’s Clambake Club photographer and date unknown.

Recipe courtesy of the Booth family and Jim Winkler's recipe book gift to his daughter Pam.

N.B.  “It must be noted that while Kempenaar’s Clambake Club Clam Chowder was a definite hit at Jonathan and Pamela’s wedding, the stars of the show on that occasion were the lovely bride and her groom!”  John D. Tew

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Copyright 2015, Pamela Booth Winkler Tew

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Searching For Ernest by Bernard A. Handler (December 31, 2014) -- Samaritan Sunday on Wednesday

[Today is a special day in many ways.  It is New Year's Eve day and thus the last day of 2014. Today also marks 24 years since I joined the federal workforce. And today is the second anniversary of the start of this blog. Filiopietism Prism was first published on December 31, 2012 and as the initial post stated, the inspiration to begin was an invitation from Heather Rojo of Nutfield Genealogy blog to submit a guest post to her blog. 

Today is also special because for the first time I have a guest post on The Prism. 

It has been some time since a "Samaritan Sunday" post has appeared here, but even though today is a Wednesday, the story posted below is too good to wait until next Sunday. This is a true story that happened just within the last couple of weeks. It is the kind of heartwarming story that I think is perfect to present as we end one year and ring in a new one full of promise and hope for us all. People like Connie are to be celebrated and appreciated and I am sure you will all enjoy this true tale about serendipity, kismet, and the acts of a kind and generous genealogy Samaritan! 

The author of today's post is Bernard A. Handler, my brother-in-law, and a new genealogy enthusiast who I am encouraging to take the plunge and start his own genealogy blog.]

Ernest F H Grothe and Edith Forbes on their wedding day in 1929.

Searching for Ernest by Bernard A. Handler.

     The drive from the historic riverside town of New Hope, Pennsylvania, to the bucolic borough of Schwenksville, Pennsylvania, takes about an hour.  When I arrived at _ _ _ Haldeman Road and saw the new “estate” home beautifully decorated for the Christmas holiday I thought about turning around and heading back but I figured, “What the hell.” So I pulled into the driveway, parked the car while observing the “Beware of Dog” sign and proceeded to the front door. I rang the bell, stepped back a few feet just in case and watched a middle aged woman’s approach through the glass. She opened the door a foot or so.

     “May I help you?”

     “Yes. My name is Bernie Handler and I’ve been doing some ancestry research. A couple of on-line documents indicated that a cousin of mine, Ernest Grothe, is or was the property owner at this address. His mother, Edith Forbes (1906-1995), is my great aunt.”

     The woman closed the door behind her and stepped out onto the front porch.

     “Well, it was Ernest’s brother Clarke who owned this property, but he died a few years ago. He inherited it from his parents who purchased the house and acreage years ago. We bought the property from his estate, and had the house demolished. It was quite run down. But I did save many of Clarke’s possessions.”

     “You saved his possessions?”

     “Yes, well some of them. My daughter thought I was crazy. She said Clarke’s ghost would haunt us, but I’m on ancestry.com and I knew how much his keepsakes could mean to someone.”

     “You knew that neither Clarke nor his brother ever married or had any children?”

     “Yes.”

     “And you still saved his stuff for four years!  Wow, it’s as if you’ve been waiting for me to show up on your doorstep. Well, here I am.”

     “Won’t you come in? I have to be careful that the cats don’t sneak outside. My name is Connie D_ _ _ _ _ _ _.  Have a seat in the office while I run downstairs and get Clarke’s box.”

      When Connie returned she had an 18” by 24” clear plastic storage container with a white lid in her arms. She placed the box on the desk.

     “Before Clarke’s house was torn down his brother came out here. We told him to take anything that he wanted, but he said he wasn’t interested. The only thing he took was a bottle of vinegar and a case of lightbulbs.”

     “So he was a bit batty, heh?”

     “Yes, definitely a bit batty. He had food stains on his shirt.”

     “Hoo boy.”

     “Well, let me show you Clarke’s parents’ wedding photo. Beautiful, isn’t it? There are lots of other photos I’m sure you’ll like. And here is his father’s 1924 diploma from Gettysburg College, mechanical engineering. And in this shoebox are his military memorabilia including his dog tags. I think he was a lieutenant.”

     And then Connie showed me a newspaper clipping, “Six Sisters in Happy Reunion” from Friday, June 26, 1964, which included a photograph of the first time all six sisters had been together in 38 years. The caption contained the names of Edith and her five sisters whose married names I had not known. Holy smoke, the names and faces of my great grandfather Thomas Forbes’s (1854-1924) daughters!

     I thanked Connie profusely, and before I departed we exchanged phone numbers and email addresses.

     On the way out I asked her about the “Beware of Dog” sign on the fence. With a twinkle in her eyes she laughed, “Oh, we just put that there to keep strangers away.”

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The 1929 photograph of Edith Forbes and her husband Ernest F H Grothe was provided by Bernard A. Handler through the kind and generous acts of a true genealogy Samaritan known only as "Connie D."

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Copyright 2014, Bernard A. Handler

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