Coming to America

When I was a child growing up in Pennsylvania I remember my dad telling me the story of how my great grandparents emigrated from Germany to the United States. He would tell me about their struggles in Germany and how they had to save money in order to secure passage aboard a ship that was less than seaworthy and make the long arduous journey across the Atlantic Ocean.

When my great grandparents left Germany they were traveling with their three children. Martha was nine years old, Adam (my grandfather) was seven years old and baby Johann was just eleven months old. During the long journey, baby Johann died and was buried at sea.

The family arrived in New York Harbor in February of 1880, during a fierce snowstorm. From New York they traveled to Scranton, Pennsylvania, where they had relatives and they would begin their new life.

My great grandfather was a coal miner as were his brothers and several of his sons. Coal mining in the anthracite region of Northeastern Pennsylvania was and always has been a very dangerous profession. One of the few occupations in which a person could face a very real risk of death everyday from all four elements, earth, air, fire and water.

I remember hearing about my great grandparents struggles growing up and while I thought it was interesting; it wasn’t until later years that I realized what these people must have gone through. They had to leave their family and friends in Germany, travel across the Atlantic Ocean in the middle of winter, and they lost their infant son along the way.

I think of the struggles I’ve had in my own life and it’s nothing compared to the hardship my great grandparents must have endured. They not only lost their infant son at sea, but they also lost three of their daughters in the 1918 flu epidemic. It’s hard to imagine what not only my ancestors, but a lot of our ancestors had to go through a hundred years ago.

We take so much for granted today: airplanes, computers, cell phone, nice cars, air conditioning, medicine, good medical care, just to name a few, that I am humbled by what my great grandparents were able to achieve. Seven of their surviving twelve children went on to have good productive lives. Their children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren continue to grow, go to college and lead good lives thanks to their sacrifice.

For many years I took for granted the life I had, but in recent years thinking about the stories my father told me about my great grandparents, I am humbled and greatly appreciate what they did to have a better life.

Recover Your Soul

“Hey now, let’s recover your soul”, Elton John’s voice drifted through my conscientiousness as I struggled to wake up. I’d been floating on an air mattress in the pool for over an hour, feeling the warmth of the sun on my back, the cool fresh water on my hands and feet. “Hey now, let’s recover your soul”, there were those words again, telling me to recover my soul. I started to smile, my soul, exactly where was my soul? How does one recover their soul? Can you buy a new one? How do you repair the old one? As I drifted back off to sleep, I kept repeating the lyrics over and over in my head.

When I woke up for the second time, a new song was on the radio and Elton was long gone, but I couldn’t get the words of his song out of my head. “Recover your soul”. Maybe that’s what is wrong with me. I’ve lost my soul. I have a home I love and spent a lot of time refurbishing, a job that I adored and lots of friends. Was something missing? Oh yes, my marriage, it was as Elton John said, “torn and tattered”.

After eighteen years and one crisis after another, maybe it should be “torn and tattered”. Could it be fixed? Did I want to fix it? What would I do, where would I go? Recovering my soul would require me to leave, to go far away. With a husband whose middle name was “crisis”, I knew I couldn’t recover my soul and stay married.

As the days went by I kept thinking about my soul and how I would go about recovering it. I called my sister in New Jersey and told her about the song and how unhappy I was and how the words of this silly song would not leave me alone. She suggested I spend the summer in New Jersey with her and her family and try and put things into perspective. Fortunately I worked at a private school and had the summers off. In just three weeks the school year would be ending. I tossed the idea around for awhile and finally decided I was going to New Jersey for the summer.

My husband wasn’t too pleased and tried to talk me out of it. I tried to explain about “my soul”, but I knew he wouldn’t understand. The only thing he understood was that he would be alone and would have to take responsibly for the house and all that entailed, for the next couple of months.

As the days crept closer and closer to my departure date, I was becoming more and more excited, almost giddy. I felt like I was going away to camp, that for the next couple of months I didn’t have to deal with my husband’s endless problems, I could just think about me. What a novel idea! It’s been years since I actually thought about me and what I wanted and how I felt. I’d been sucked into a never ending drama that centered around my husband.

The day finally arrived, I packed the car with clothes and goodies for the trip and my two precious Yorkshire Terriers, Maggie and Abby, and off we went, to recover my soul.

Brodhead Avenue

Looking at this photograph of the house I lived in from 1961 to 1965 brings back so many memories. We moved into this house shortly after I graduated from 8th grade. The upstairs window on the left was my bedroom, there was also a master bedroom and one bathroom upstairs.

The front door led directly into the living room. Downstairs there was a huge kitchen and great room and another bath. There was a large picture window in the front of the house that you can't see because of all the bushes. Lots of sunlight would come in during the day and make the house warm and cozy.

The property that was adjacent to ours has an old stone house that is really beautiful but rather spooky. On that property there used to be a fort and it was there that the last Indian uprising occurred in our area. Several of the area settlers were killed by the Indians. I think their spirits must roam around the area as I never felt comfortable there at night.

After my son was born in May of 1965 he spent a lot of time with his grandparents at this house. To the left of the house there used to be a tree that my dad planted on the day my son was born. The tree is gone, this saddens me greatly. I wonder why the tree was removed? I had hoped that tree would be there forever.

I remember sitting on the front porch with my mom and our little dog Chico. It was a nice neighborhood when I was growing up. Now all the houses are neglected and falling apart. Mom and dad would be so upset if they saw it now. Dad took great pride in this little house. He put in a nice patio in the back and an above ground pool with a redwood deck. The yard was always mowed and there were flowers everywhere.

We had a lot of picnics in that back yard. Family and friends would come and dad would cook on the grill.

The house has been sold, new people live there now. I wish I could go back home and sit on the porch and visit with mom and dad one more time.   Mom and dad are gone now, but a little house on Brodhead Avenue still remains.