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    Grandma’S House
    Grandma’S House
    Grandma’S House
    Ebook142 pages2 hours

    Grandma’S House

    By Andrew J. Arbuckle and Marilyn J. Arbuckle

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    About this ebook

    He was almost two years old when Black Monday the stock markets Great Crash occurred. Andrew recounts a host of memories he lived throughout its aftermath. Set in the years following the Great Crash he unleashes decades old memories that fleetingly linger in the mind and heart. Travel with him from pre-school days toward his teens reliving your own cherished experiences, sometimes happy, sometimes sad, and yes sometimes tearful and heart wrenching. Enhanced with original illustrations by his wife Marilyn, this book promises to be a delightful romp through personal memories for fans of all ages.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAuthorHouse
    Release dateFeb 11, 2011
    ISBN9781456722081
    Grandma’S House
    Author

    Andrew J. Arbuckle

    Andrew Arbuckle was born in Brooklyn N.Y. and even before he could read, he was fascinated by books.Frustrated, he would stare at a picture trying to figure out what was happening. This frustration became a driving force throughout his life. Unable to finish high school, because he had to get a job and help support his family, he knows firsthand the hardships of missing an early education. Eventually he graduated evening High School and immediately began nighttime college classes. At age 18, he wrote his first instruction manual while in the U.S. Navy in the Philippine’s during WWII. Discharged from the Navy, he joined the RCA Corporation and moved about the country training Air Force Servicemen how to keep their airborne electronics working. He was part of the team who installed the first Atlas Launch site at Vandenberg A. F. B. Retiring from RCA in 1979 he joined the Raytheon Company as Publications Quality Assurance Manager, responsible for the technical and grammatical wording of the Patriot Missile System technical manuals. Retiring from Raytheon in 1989 he and his wife Marilyn moved to Indialantic, Florida. A volunteer at the Brevard Zoo during their construction phases he later became one of their first docents in early 1994. As Assistant Docent Coordinator he wrote the Docent Training Manual and Docent Guide Book. In addition he trained new docents. It was here that hundreds of youngsters Brevard County met“Mr. Andy” who took them on tours, showed them the animals, explaining their habitats and how they lived. In doing so, he introduced them to the word environment, and how important it is to protect our world. In the summer of 2001, again as a volunteer, he joined the Space Coast Rolling Readers and now spends time each week inthe schools reading to children to help raise their reading abilities. The opening of each session is devoted to a fun game he invented called Words/Words/Words. This game challenges students by asking ‘what do you see in your mind’ or ‘what do you think this means or ‘can you define’ this word’ when introducing a word they will hear later in the story. “After all,” says Mr. Andy, “reading is nothing more than understanding the words in front of you and visualizing in your own mind what the author is telling you.” Marilyn Arbuckle has been painting watercolors since she and her husband retired to Florida in 1989. She is a signature member of three watercolor societies and has been presented with a number of prestigious awards. Marilyn remains active in the local art community, displays her works through the Brevard Cultural Society, and conducts semi-private lessons in her home studio.

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      Book preview

      Grandma’S House - Andrew J. Arbuckle

      Contents

      November 26, 1927

      Grandma and Grandpa

      Grandma and Grandpa’s Gardens

      Sunday Mornings

      Grandma’s Root Beer

      Grandma’s Birds

      Grandpa’s Friends

      Grandma’s Surprise

      Grandpa’s Aspirin Box

      Grandma Learns to Drive

      Grandpa’s Dog

      A Trip to the Beach

      The Baseball Game

      Grandpa’s Coal Bin

      Our Family Outing

      Grandma’s Kitchen

      Thanksgiving Day

      Grandma’s Attic

      November 15, 1936

      A New Grandma’s House

      Chapter 1

      November 26, 1927

      Friday started off as a typical November morning in Brooklyn – chilly with drizzling rain. A slightly erratic breeze slowly pushed the low dreary-gray clouds which hung over the city like soggy wool blankets. It was the 25th and shortly after dawn, Helen experienced what she believed was the first of her labor pains that would last throughout the day and continue long into the evening hours. Andrew, her husband, suggested they call the doctor and let him know what was happening.

      No, not yet, said Helen. This is our first child, and it could be just a false alarm. Besides, she added, hospitals cost so much that they are out of the question. So I’m going to have our baby right here at home, just like my mother had all of hers. That gives us plenty of time to call the doctor."

      Around lunch time, as Andrew made two sandwiches from leftover meat-loaf, the rain became heavier and the wind, now continuous, picked up. Large raindrops splattered against the kitchen window, and he could see rivulets of water pouring off the roof. He had taken the day off from his law clerk job over in Manhattan because he felt sure that today was the day Helen would deliver. She was already two weeks overdue! The cold seeped in around the dilapidated window frames of the furnished three-room apartment they rented. He knew the rooms were going to be very cold later on because the radiators in the apartment weren’t working right. He’d complained to the landlord about it and she promised him the janitor would be there shortly. But the janitor hadn’t arrived yet to drain the air out of the pipes so the steam-heat could do its job.

      He took the sandwiches into the bedroom and sat on the end of the bed and they slowly ate their lunch. After they finished, he suggested that she try to nap while he cleaned up the kitchen.

      Just before supper, the wind driven cold was leaking through all of the windows as the temperature plummeted toward the freezing mark. Helen’s pains were more frequent now, becoming more severe with each passing contraction. Unknown to Helen, her husband had quietly slipped down to the store beneath the apartment and phoned Dr. Leonhardt telling him of the short time between and the severity of her labor pains. He said he would be there at about nine o’clock, because he felt certain, that’s when he would really be needed. After supper, Andrew told Helen about his talk with the doctor. The couple stayed in the bedroom, timing the labor pains and waiting for the doctor.

      He arrived at 10:30 in the middle of a terrible thunder and lightning storm, which had caused his delay. A tree had come down across the road he was using to get to the apartment and that made him later than he said he would be. For the next two hours, Helen’s pains became erratic. Then suddenly at 1:20 the next morning, they strengthened and were getting closer together. Shortly after 2:00 a.m., Dr. Leonhardt attending, Helen gave birth to a boy. There were no complications during the delivery so a healthy son had been born to Helen and Andrew, the first of what would be their four children.

      Two weeks later on a Sunday afternoon, in St. Jerome’s Church in Brooklyn, New York, the Rev. John J. McCarthy, baptized me, Andrew Joseph Leo Arbuckle, after my father. I was sponsored by James Murphy, an uncle on my mothers’ side of the family, and Helen Dwyer an aunt from my father’s side. At the end of the ceremony a celebration was held in the Murphy’s house on East 45th Street, home of my grandparents.

      Many of the neighbors and friends came to the house to gawk and coo at the new infant and to wish happiness and prosperity to the new family. Later that evening, after the last guest had departed, Grandma insisted that we stay overnight rather than travel home in the cold darkness.

      Chapter 2

      Grandma and Grandpa

      Everybody has a Grandmother and a Grandfather. You may never have met yours, for one reason or another, but if you are one of the fortunate ones, you’ll surely have memories of them — some good — some, maybe not so good. I happen to be one of the fortunate’s because way back in early May of 1907 my Grandparents were married. On that day, James Joseph Murphy a stout lad whose family had recently fled the European continent and immigrated from Ireland, married Grace Mary Ribber, whose family had left Bohemia to come to the great melting pot of America just a few years before Grace’s marriage. The wedding took place in Holy Cross Church in Brooklyn, New York. The families didn’t know each other in the old country, or here in America, until both families happened, by chance, to move into an Irish ‘ethnic neighborhood’ in Holy Cross Parish where James and Grace first met at one of the Church Socials.

      A little more than a year after they were married, James and Grace were blessed with a daughter, Helen, my mother, on July 18th, 1908. She was followed by James Jr. in 1910 and their sister Mary came along in 1912. James and Grace’s last child, Howard, arrived in 1914 to complete the family. Little did James or Grace suspect on their wedding day that in less than twenty years I’d come along and make them the youngest grandparents in either family.

      Most of my fondest childhood memories have to do with Grandma’s house. It was the gathering place for holidays — like 4th of July and Thanksgiving — and for birthday parties. It was a favorite gathering place before heading out on special events such as picnics, boat rides, or even going to a ball game. There was always a pleasant air of mystery surrounding an unannounced summons to Grandma’s house because nobody knew what to expect until everyone had arrived.

      Ch 2-1 The House & Garden.jpg

      Grandma’s house was a huge wooden frame building with an upstairs containing four bedrooms and a bathroom while downstairs there was a parlor for entertaining guests, a large dining room, and a huge kitchen. An attic sat above the four upstairs bedrooms and a dark cavernous cellar under the first floor of the house. The house itself nestled in the quiet outskirts of Brooklyn, near Holy Cross Cemetery, and was bordered by a thick forest of trees which had a few small farms scattered throughout. The ground floor was white stucco, topped by a dark green clapboard sided second story which was accented by wide white windows with white shutters. An open, unscreened porch stretched completely across the entire front of the house and was preceded by a green hedge-lined cement walkway leading from the street right up to the front steps of the porch.

      On the west side stood a giant oak tree filling the space between the porch and the paved driveway. It completely shaded the house from the hot sun during the long summer afternoons. Stately elm trees - evenly spaced - bordered the eastern property line and stretched from the street almost two hundred feet back to the rear fence. An oversized wooden garage, that could hold three automobiles, sat well behind the house and a little to one side, leaving room for the vegetable and flower gardens. The rest of the backyard was divided by small trees and low rock walls into a play area and an outdoor eating place amid a grove of maple trees that turned scarlet red in the fall. Behind the play area was a dog kennel that Grandpa had built long before I was born. Still further back, beyond the rear fence the property edged on a forest which had almost every kind of tree you could think of. It made a beautiful panorama of shimmering red, yellow, green, and brown leaves in early October when the leaves began changing from solid summer green to the rich colorful splendor of fall.

      The most memorable rooms in Grandma’s house were the gigantic kitchen and the oversized parlor. There was enough room in the kitchen to dance, and sometimes we did just that! The parlor had one whole wall built of red bricks and a fieldstone fireplace with a granite hearth occupying the center of that wall. To one side of the fireplace, hanging directly over the dark oak beam mantle, was a plaque my Grandpa was awarded a few years before I was born, for having saved some people’s lives when he was a fireman.

      Grandma was a very proud woman. She was proud of her house, herself, her family, her husband, and of life itself. Although short in stature - just under five feet tall - her face displayed distinctively deep lined Irish-peasant features. Hard work had criss-crossed her sun tanned leathery looking hands with slightly bulging veins. Arthritis had long ago begun twisting her fingers and joints which caused her continual pains, though you’d never guess it from her happy-go lucky life style. She had a short pug-nose, which supported small square shaped, rimless glasses, and wore her hair swept straight back into a tight dark gray-streaked bun. She bubbled with the excitement of life and the pure joy of just being alive. But she was also a little prim, and insisted that everyone be dressed in their finest when leaving the house, even if it was just to run down to the store. You never know who you’ll meet - - including God! she’d say, So you’d best be ready. Over and over I heard her reminding my sisters that a lady wasn’t properly dressed unless she had on a hat and gloves.

      Grandma was the family peacemaker, and any squabble that erupted was generally short-lived and very quickly forgotten once she stepped in. She was also a great teaser and got immense pleasure out of pulling off one of her practical jokes. That is, whenever she could get away with it. Unfortunately, the merry twinkle in her bright blue eyes often gave away her forth coming attempts. But most of the time she’d get away with the prank.

      Grandpa, on the other hand was massive. Six-foot-four in his stocking feet, he weighed well over two hundred pounds, and it was all muscles. Glistening white teeth (his very own) and dark blue eyes were framed by a ruddy complexion and topped by a curly shock of wiry, unruly black hair that allowed streaks of silver here and there. His barrel chested torso housed a deep booming voice that rose above all else when needed. Grandpa held, that oldsters were here to look after and take care of the youngster’s, and that an adult should never lose patience with the little ones. I don’t think I ever saw him really get

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