there too?" Charlie nodded yes. Our father gestured for him to come close. Charlie went over with a look like go ahead and hit me. And of course, my father obliged. Charlie just held his hand on his face and moved back. The blood from my finger was soaking my dress, even though I was holding it so tight.
Margie, like me, was terrified of him. He screamed at Margie to get over to him. She was not even inside the building, she was outside with Betty. It did not matter though, everyone was getting a beating. This was his entertainment for the day. I looked at Margie and she looked so scared. Here again, everyone was getting punished for me. She went forward with her hands clasped together in front of her, like she was holding them together so she could not protect herself. Maybe then she would not get him mad. As little as she was, she realized if she took her beating the right way, his way, then it would not last long for her.
Joey was next, and my father said to him, "You went in a abandon building?" Joey did not answer and just walked over to him, almost like, let me get this over with. Joey put his hand to his face, maybe to just to piss my father off. Instead of getting one crack, Joey got a few more. How dare he protect himself? Joe went down just as Betty did.
I was next and I tried my best to be brave, but I was not. I went over, one step at a time, so scared I did not hold my finger, and blood was pouring out with my heart pounding so fast. When I got close enough for him to grab me by my arm, I closed my eyes and did my best to not let him hit me directly. I was screaming that I was sorry. And he was screaming back, "You want to be bad? You're going to get it every time."
I opened my eyes and I looked at him. I saw a smile come over his face. He said, "I have no problem beating your asses every time you don’t listen." He told us to get upstairs and told Betty to change me. I felt so bad. I caused this, and everyone had to pay for me. My body was shaking from crying so hard . My chest was convulsing, and when I passed by him to run upstairs, he asked if I wanted something to cry about. I just ran up the steps. When we got upstairs, Betty grabbed an old, torn shirt and made strips from it. She wrapped and wrapped until no more blood could be seen. She then changed my clothes.
I told her I was sorry and she said it wasn't my fault. Charlie said it was no one’s fault. We were just playing – it was an accident. Joey was quiet. I thought he was waiting for the next beating to come. Margie also was quiet. When we were close to our father, getting our beatings, he smelled of alcohol. We knew it was not over until he went to sleep. We all sat on the bed. Quietly. We were waiting for the next problem to start. I caused my siblings beatings time after time. For stupid things I did; peeing the bed or taking the last piece of bread.
Betty checked my finger again, and when she first took the bandage off it was not bleeding. But within seconds, it started again. She held her finger over it and then wrapped it even tighter than before. I was scared it would not stop and we all would get another beating. We heard him coming up the steps and laid perfectly still as he walked up the stairs to the third floor bedroom. I swear I could hear my heart beating. Betty put her arm around me and said it will stop. Mom came home later and took me to get stitches, six of them.
If school was in session, everyone who went cleaned themselves up for school from the water heated up on the potbelly stove. Uniforms went on, and off to school everyone went. Our parish was Saint Michael’s, and our priest was Father Burke. He really helped us out a lot. He would give the nun’s clothes for us. Sometimes my sister’s came home with left overs from the convent or rectory. We were not the only poor in the parish, there were many.
Tuberculosis, polio, and influenza were prevalent in our area. Fathers and mothers would have to leave their families and go into a sanitarium if they developed tuberculosis. This caused a hardship for the families. My uncle Joe suffered for years with this disease. I believe he tried to hide it whenever it returned. Once you contracted the disease, it was a life long struggle.
My family was very lucky. We had none of the deadly diseases. Many children had polio in our area. It seemed common for me to see children with braces. Influenza was also a killer, and so were measles at that time. Scarlet fever and many other illnesses would be life threatening years ago. I did have pneumonia several times as a child, and mustard plasters were used to treat me. I always seemed to have them on my chest and back. I suffered for years with lung conditions, like bronchitis, yet I can rarely remember seeing a doctor. None of my brothers or sisters went either. When we were sick, old fashion remedies were used.
Charlie always had chapped hands from being out in the cold and rain. His old fashioned medicine was to pee on his hands. If you had an earache, salt tied up in a rag was put on the potbelly stove to get warm, and then hold it on your ear. Paregoric was used a lot for pain. Whiskey was also used, you'd put some on a small piece of bread for a toothache. Tar soap and lye soap were used for skin conditions and lice. Bedbugs were also a problem, and the cure for them was to burn the springs on the bed.
We traveled all over the city, never worrying about our safety. We were up as soon as the sun came up. None of us slept late. You couldn’t because winters were wicked, and the cold penetrated your bones. The only thing that helped was the heat from each other’s bodies. Once anyone woke up, everyone did. Down the stairs, to another day of figuring out what we had to eat, or where to get it.
Bread was our mainstay. We all gathered around the potbelly stove. The red bricks on top would radiate some of the heat. We had a big, black, iron frying pan. We would wet some bread, or put lard on each side, and cook it until it was brown on each side. It was something like a toaster. If we had apple butter, that was our breakfast. Oatmeal was a real treat. Mornings with oatmeal always stood out for me. I loved it, and still do. I always get a warm feeling while eating it. Our day would be planned by what we had. If we had some food or not. Missions in the area were usually the first stop, and then off to a day of adventures.
The worst night of our lives was September 15, 1948. My brothers and sisters and I were in bed asleep. Instead of being woken up by our father, it was our mother’s cries we heard. She had been sick for a few days and had stayed in bed. I could not recall a time prior in which my mother stayed in bed sick. She was moaning and rolling back and forth in bed, obviously in pain. She asked Helen and Mark to go to gram’s house and let her know mom was sick, and to please come.
Within a half hour, our house was filled with aunts, uncles, and our grandmother. They took our mom to the hospital. One of our aunts came upstairs to check on us. She said everything would be alright and to go back to sleep. The next morning, gram returned with our aunts. Everyone was crying. I heard my uncle say, "If l get a hold of him, I will kill him." I was pretty sure he was talking about our father. I did not know what happened, but I knew it was bad. Everyone, including my sisters and brothers, was crying when I came down the steps. I asked my sister Helen what was wrong, and she just said everything would be alright.
2 Without Mom
Joe and I continued to ask what was wrong, and if mom was still in the hospital. I wondered why everyone was in our home. It worried me, because not long ago a truck had hit our brother Joe, and everyone came to our house. I knew instinctively that something was not right. Our father was nowhere to be found. My sister, Helen, was so upset, it was making me cry. I did not know why, but Helen's and Mark's faces were like nothing I had ever witnessed before. Lyda, Charlie, Betty, and Margie had a look that I will never forget. Joe and I were beginning to understand that something horrible had happened, but never realized how awful it was.
Helen took Joe and me out into the court. She explained that Mom was taken to the hospital last night because she was very sick. The doctors could not fix her, so she went to Heaven to be with God. Joey asked when she would come home, and Helen said she couldn't. I asked why she could not; our young minds could not understand that our Mom was dead. It was sad that sixteen year-old Helen had to be the one to break the news to us. Our mother was gone.
Helen let us absorb what she had told us, and said that we would be okay. Gram stayed the night and then returned to her home the next day. Our father came home and went back out. Our mom was out a lot, so I was used to her being away for the day or night because she worked. But as days went by, and she did