Although He Was Born In Hartford
By Ann Findlay
Although he was born in Hartford, Ct in 1900, my Dad spent the remainder of his 71 years in and around Springfield, MA. He thought it was a pretty good place to live. My Grandfather owned a butcher shop in the old North End of the city called Kingsley's Market. My Father worked in the shop when he was a robust young man, useful, I'm sure with the heavy lifting involved in such a venture. He hated it. When my grandfather's failing health dictated the shop should be sold, I'm sure my Dad breathed a sigh of relief.
Grampa's Doctor suggested that a change of climate might benefit his health, so for a short time my grandfather moved to Fisher's Island, N.Y. where some inlaws named Sears were managing a farm where prize game fowl were being raised. That didn't seem to help my grandfather's health, so within a short time my Dad and his parents moved back to Springfield. My Father went to work at Forbes and Wallace Dept. Store as a floor walker. He spent a brief time in Groton, CT during WWI working on submarines.
Dad always felt somewhat ashamed that he was too young during WWI to serve on active duty and too old and family-encumbered to serve in WWII. Sometime in the mid-twenties, he went to work as a factory Rep. for a family-owned cigar firm based in Manchester, N.H. When the Depression hit, he was among the few people we knew to retain a job which provided a steady income with a modest expense account and a large, flashy Buick to drive. The sales work suited my Dad's outgoing nature. He was a big, handsome young man who preferred the open road calling on clients to being cooped up in a store. He sold to Confectionaries, Smoke Shops, and markets all throughout Western MA and CT. He had friends in every hamlet and town. It sounds strange now with interstate highways everywhere, but Dad and many other factory reps would work the more distant area of their route while spending the work week in the Worcestor Hotel in Worcestor, MA, sixty miles from Springfield. During WWII with gas rationing and poor roads, I suppose it made some sense, but I suspect the "boys" had a rather good time eating in restaurants and playing a little poker at night. I'm not sure how my Mother liked being left behind with me and Dad's mother. Dad always had a fly fishing rod in his trunk to enjoy those beautiful New England roadside streams after work. Not a total profligate by far!
I do know that Mom, Gramma and I looked forward to Dad's homecoming on Friday evenings. We would gather in the living room to be regaled with tales of Dad's week's adventures. Often there would be friends, usually old neighbors from the North End Days, who would join us to listen to Dad's stories and eat my Mom's great dinners. The welcome mat was always out. Dad looked the part of a white-collar worker in his three-piece suit, necktie and always a beautiful felt hat. I'm not certain now whether his job description really qualified him as "white-collar," but he really appeared that way to me. He would usually make a few local business call on Saturday morning. At noon he was free to take Mom shopping and enjoy the rest of the weekend. Some of our friends were the vendors who came to our house to sell us insurance or milk, doctoring, or to pick up our dry cleaning. Everyone was treated a with a sort of friendly formality that is unheard of today. Sir names were usually employed. My Mother was a Catholic, and Dad's family was mixed as in mixed up, but most of the kids I palayed with were Protestant of one sect or another. I was being raised a Catholic. My best friend Martha went to the Congregationalist Church. Martha's Grandfather owned the largest independent shoe store in Springfield where Martha's dad worked, so by no means were they poor, just thrifty. Martha was always saying that they coundn't afford this or that because it wasn't in the budget. I wondered a lot about the meaning of that word "budget", before asking my Dad, "Dad, do Catholics have budgets?" I thought my Dad would explode, he laughed so hard. I was a little confused about my religion and my economics.
My childhood was sheltered, yet very happy because of wonderful paents. When I married young and produced three daughters, my folks were delighted. When we moved to Ohio, then Texas and then to Missouri, my folks gamely appeared for all holidays, even though my Dad detested flying. I'm sorry they were gone by the time the great-grandchildren arrived. They would have enjoyed one another.
