Nana and My Dream

I used to have nightmares of my dad screaming at me, close up drill sergeant style, which he used to do, veins in his neck bulging out. Haven't had them in years.

The other week he was in one, about to go off on me, and Nana; who rarely is in my dreams at all; was hovering there, right next to him, and told him; just by her presence,  to leave me alone! 😁 What a great dream!

She was there several times in real life when he did that, though never directly interfered. This was around 1964 and 65. I was 10-11years old at the time.

I had gone grocery shopping, one of my many chores because Mom was always sick or in hospital etc. This particular day Nana and Aunts Gloria and Gladys took me to the bungalow at Breezy Point and when Nana took me upstairs at about 10 PM my dad was waiting, fuming!

In my haste to leave that day I had left out a package of bologna so it was no good anymore. He hit the roof and wouldn't stop yelling, screaming.....

Nana wouldn't leave and he finally calmed down. Gloria was waiting downstairs for her and kept ringing the intercom, wondering what was taking so long.

Nana; what a saint she was and still is. You know at one point I was forbidden to go see her! Now, imagine not being allowed to see your own grandmother! She was only 15 streets away at 2807 Kings Hwy. We were at 1310 Ave R. So, it was only about 1 mile.

I used to take my bike and visit her and had to lie about where I'd been. I didn't want to put this on the wall at first and wrote it as an IM to cousin Patsy, but decided to share it anyway.

They say when you speak lovingly of the departed they live forever. Kind of like the Saints. Nana doesn't need to be Canonized by anyone or thing. I did that long ago in my heart.

Photo is cropped from my wedding album. Aunt Gloria made sure she was there for my wedding....

Sneaking In.

When I was a kid visiting a parent in the hospital was not allowed. I don’t mean that as in visiting hours only, or accompanied by an adult. It was No Children, period. It was considered to be too unsettling for the patient to see their children; or so the patients were told. Of course that was a load of crap; the most unsettling thing for a parent when they are in the hospital is not seeing their children. And the children feel the same way. Somewhere around 1970 that all changed; and now hospitals are probably too full of visitors for anyone’s benefit. But that will have to be someone else’s story. My story takes place in 1960 when I was about 6 years old.

Everyone should have an Aunt; or two; like Aunt Sissy in “A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.” It seems like childhood would be incomplete without someone like that in your life; an adult, but not subject to the usual rules. I was fortunate enough to have 2 such Aunts; my father’s sisters Gladys and Gloria. I've written about them before. They were just the right age to be Aunts; being my Dad's younger sisters. That's them with my grandmother "Nana" before I was born. 

In 1960 my mother began a series of illnesses which would color my childhood, and later on take her life. But not before she gave everyone a run for their money; and not until she was ready. Mom was tiny, but formidable. The point is that she was always in the hospital and I couldn't see her. My Aunts thought this was absurd, and so a plan was hatched, whereby we would be able to see our mom.

I remember the turquoise walls of the hospital; it seems like they painted all the health related buildings in that color. They may have called it turquoise, but I called it “puke green”. The plan was fairly simple; my brother and I would go up the stairs to the floor my mom was on. The only hitch was that at each floor the stairway entrance was directly opposite the head nurses station; making detection very likely.

I think it was Gladys who would emerge from the stairway and engage the head nurse in conversation, or question, as Gloria, my brother and I slipped past to the next flight of stairs. When we got to the next floor we would repeat the process until we got where we were headed. Once there Gladys had to do a prolonged version of diversion as Aunt Gloria quickly hustled us down the hallway to y mom’s room. Hey, sometimes we actually made it!

Other times we failed dismally. My brother could never get it right when we would pass each floor. The sequence went like this; Gloria would go first, and then call to one of us, who would then dash across the opening in a streak so as not to be seen. But my brother had a hard time with doing the quickstep and we got caught; and thrown out; more times than we got in. Ah, but you should of seen the glow on my mom’s face when we did.

St. Patrick's Day - Nana and the Orangmen

Growing up with my Irish grandmother only about a mile away on my bicycle, I used to ride over there to see her. She used to tell me stories about how she met my grandfather; who I never met, he died before I was born; and about growing up. But, I was always confused about her stance concerning St. Patrick’s Day. Moreover there seemed to be something going on about “orange men” that confused me even further.

Of course, at the time I had no idea about the religious and political differences which divided Ireland over a thousand years ago. And, even now; at 60 years of age; it is still something I am trying to understand.

First off, that’s Nana above. Born Mary Burke, she was the daughter of my great great grandparents Thomas and Ellen Burke, who moved from Ireland to Brooklyn in the 1850’s. He was a blacksmith and a wheelwright. She stayed home and idid what women did back then; had kids; one of whom was my grandmother “Nana.”

Even my Dad used to joke about not wearing green on St. Patrick’s Day and that orange would drive the average Irishman to drink. Later on I got the joke, but as  a kid I couldn’t understand the thing at all. And then when the Irish-Protestant Troubles kicked up again when I was about 13, I gave up trying to figure it out. I mean if these guys; who both worshiped the same God as far as I could see; were going to kill one another who was I to interfere. As for the orange men; well they sort of faded away into a fairy tale; more of a family joke type of thing.

But this year I resolved to find the answer to that ancient question which has tugged at me since I was a kid; what is an Orangeman and why does his mere existence drive the average Irishman to drink? So, with the help of Aunt Gloria; who is an expert on Orangemen; and the assistance of Wikipedia, this is what I have learned.

I figure that the Williams family didn’t want to be considered Irish; but then my Welsh great grandfather Isaac married an Irish woman, my Nana, pictured above. So, it probably started as a joke between them, but then that wouldn’t explain why Nana no longer wore the green after he passed away. Nor would it explain why my Dad especially used to deny being Irish; stressing the English part of the family tree instead. So, we turn to history.

There is an organization called the Orange Institution which holds hundreds of parades throughout Northern Ireland annually. The biggest one is held on July 12^th, in honor of the Battle of the Boyne. Okay, so what was the Battle of the Boyne? Guessing it has something to do with the English and also the division between the Irish Catholic and the Anglican Church. There are also others throughout the year to commemorate the Battle of the Somme. Some of the parades are confrontational, depending on the routes they take.

There are different “neighborhoods” in Belfast where the sentiment runs strong as to whether or not you are an Orangeman; or a Nationalist or Republican. Many of these divisions go back earlier than the Troubles of 1916.

There are also many parades on St. Patrick's Day in Northern Ireland, not just Belfast. Mainly the parade commemorates the Patron Saint Patrick and his place as Patron Saint of Ireland. He is also recognized as the Patron Saint of both Unionists and Nationalists. So now I am totally confused over this Orangeman stuff and besides, Nana was Irish right down to the way she inserted r’s into words like “beirl” and “toirlet”. And if that ain’t Irish, then I’ll eat that hat.

Aunt Gloria - Everyone Should Have One

This is my Aunt Gloria, actually, my favorite Aunt Gloria. Everybody should have one. They play a special role in your life, sometimes without even knowing it! This picture was taken, and this is a guess, on the steps to the brownstone in Manhattan, on the Upper West Side, where the family moved from Brooklyn after my Grandfather passed away. Gloria was only about 4, or 5 at the time, so she must be about 8 years old in this photo. I could be wrong though, and this may have been taken at Aunt Katy's in Park Slope, Brooklyn. She'll let me know. She looks a bit like Judy Garland here, with her nose kind of scrunched up, looking at the camera. Even at that young age you could see the joy inside of her. That inner joy was what made her special to me when I was growing up.

One of my favorite memories of Aunt Gloria involves her sneaking my brother and I into the hospital to see our Mom when she was sick. Back in those days children were not allowed to visit their parents in the hospital. My mother didn't like this rule, and so Aunt Gloria decided to do something about it.

Sneaking into the hospital stairway was easy enough, the hard part always came when we had to exit the stairwell, and then make our way down the hall to my Mom's room. Gloria would usually have my Aunt Gladys with her, so Gladys would go to the nurse's station and distract the head nurse, waving us on behind her back when the time was right. We would then go single file, with Gloria blocking the rear so we wouldn't be seen by the nurse, down the hallway to my Mom's room. They weren't private rooms, so the visits never lasted that long before we were "discovered", and then ejected, by the hospital staff. But those few minutes meant the world to my Mom, and Aunt Gloria knew it.

While re-reading "A Tree Grows In Brooklyn" recently, for about the hundrenth time, I was struck by the similarity between those real life visits to my Mom, and the part of the book where Johnny enrolls Francie in a school out of their neighborhood. They both know that it's wrong - but it's done to right a greater wrong. And, in some cases, the ends do justify the means.

Anyway, this is just a very public rambling about my favorite Aunt Gloria. Today is her birthday. She's younger than me, in heart, and spirit. She and her husband, my Uncle Bob, aka the "Fork and Spoon", reside in Florida and sometimes in New York. They can also be found at all points in between. Happy Birthday, Gloria, from your favorite nephew!