My story begins - as most do - with my parents. My father came to this county from his native land of Palestine sponsored by the Christian group known as "Friends". A brilliant young man with a scholarship to the Friends co-ed school in Maine. At graduation, he enrolled in Haverford College where he studied law and became captain of the football team. Life held great promise for him then. An injury, a tragedy really, at practice; he was hit on the forehead by the ball with such force that optic nerves were shattered and gradually blindness. To obtain money for tests and possibly an operation he wrote a book "When I was a boy in Palestine", one of a series published each written by people from different countries.

Nothing could be done. Mother was from Montreal, a French catholic family. She was working in a pulp mill where paper was made. A sweet compassionate woman, Alma also had a mind of her own and she fell in love with Monsa and married him against the advice of the church and her family.

Mother and Father, 1919

He made a good living selling imported damask linens to the wealthy in those good old ostentatious years of 1918. He and his partner Hugh who drove the car were welcomed into their homes with their cases full of sample wares and orders flowed in for seamless banquet linens, napkins to match, etc.
Hugh McBrearty a lean red haired scotsman was his eyes for over fifty years. His wife, Lauriann was a dear friend of my mother's. Mother died when I was three and I had no recall of her until I was undergoing Dianetic thrapy years later. The room was dimly lit and I was lying in my crib. Mother was bending over and her long wavy hair was down. She whispered "Ma petit Cheri" then there was the door. They wouldn't let me in. I guess I threw a tantrum pounding on that door and crying. Now I knew why. Mother was dead in that room. Tuberculosis. My 6 month old brother George died too. Misdiagnosed a year earlier as a [illegible - end of sentence missing from photocopy].

Father -1

My father was a strong brave man. Blind from his early twenties, he died at the age of ninety-four. Born in Ramallah, Palestine, he attended a Christian school there run by the Quakers, better known now as Friends. He was an exceptionally bright student. He earned a scholarship there and came to the United States where he went to high school at Oak Grove Seminary in Maine, a coeducational school at that time, now an exclusive girl's school.

He went on from there to study law at Haverford College where he was the captain of the football team. It was due to football that he lost his sight; he ran to catch a pass and was hit by the ball on the forehead. Gradually the optic nerves deteriorated and there was nothing doctors could do for him. About that time he wrote a book:, "When I was a boy in Palestine", one of a series written by people about their early years in various countries.
He met and married my mother, Alma, in New Hampshire. The husband of her best friend became my father's partner in business. Hugh McBrearty was his chauffer, friend and eyes for many years. I recall a photo I once saw of the three of us , Mother, father and myself., probably age three, standing next to a Ford sedan. It was that car that enabled father and Hugh to travel to the summer homes of the wealthy and show their wares, fine linens from the. 'old country' which were imported by cousin Azeez Shaheen, father's cousin who had also come to the land of opportunity.

In the early twenties, they made a good living traveling through New England and the places where the nouveau riche lived in rural style luxuriously. Hugh and my dad loved to camp out by a little lake and cook steaks in an open fire. In his late eighties, father made us all nervous by wanting to barbeque alone in his backyard on Mt.Washington near Los Angeles. He lived alone there, etc.

Father -2

What's a blind man do do with a three and a half year old daughter?
Having just lost wife and six month old son. In the old country when a son is born it's joy and congratulations, when it's a girl, condolences. My earliest recollections are these; walking through meadows of tall grass, it seemed tall to me, I could barely see over the top, buttercups and daisies and Shep by my side. Shep the sheep dog followed me everywhere. He pulled me out of the shallow brook when I slipped and fell in face down. The fenced pasture with the sheep and a mean old ram who chased me when I crawled under the fence.
The apple trees in bloom, pink and white, feeding the chickens and gathering eggs. Filling the kindling box in the kitchen to feed the huge black stove, the swish swish of the kettle as it rocked on the hot stove and steamed. The feather bed upstairs in the old farmhouse where i slept with Granny. I loved to get in bed first because she was a large lady and when she got in my side of the bed lifted me up about six inches.
I had long fat sausage curls, my hair had never been cut, which hung to my waist. Granny wound each curl with strips of cloth, spiral-wise to keep them from tangling but I always yelled as she took them out next morning. I remember standing on a chair by the stove watching her fry doughnuts in a dishpan of hot fat. I got the holes from the centers.
I recall a beautiful doll someone called Daddy sent me from Chicago. China bisque head with real hair in long ringlets, just like mine, eyes that opened and closed, ttiny teeth that showed between parted lips, she was exquisite. She and I went for a ride in an old pan down the stairs. I didn' t get nurt but she, like Humpty Dumpty couldn't be put back together again. Then there was the team of horses, the sow with little piglets, the pigeons that cooed on warm summer afternoons when I was put to nap.I can still see the tiny holes in the thick green blinds where the sun peeked in.

Father -3

McLeod

Granny McLeod, good christian, hard working, hell-fire and brimstone Baptist woman took me to her heart and did her best to civilize me with the help of a willow switch she kept behind the mirror above the kitchen sink. It was the best place possible for me. I grew stronger and healthier on the fresh whole milk, good food and loving care. I used to watch the milking to see the wild barn cats and kittens get squirted now and then as they waited for their pan of milk. Then I was old enough to start school. I had to pass another farmhouse before I got to the village and their big bad turkey always chased me so I usually took a shortcut through the fields.
age 6 One day the teacher announced that anyone who wished dance lessons should go to the big hall after school. Did I want to dance? Oh, yes. No doubt about it. When I got home late and explained why, my real dancing began. The willow switch dance. Dancing was sinful, the work of the devil etc. I was almost six years old and well on my way to perdition, where ever that was.

Age 1 - 7

I was born in February in New Hampshire in the heart of the White Mountains. Winds there on Mt . Washington have been recorded at 231 miles per hour. Icicles hang from the eaves like huge stalactites, the snow plow turns up six foot hills on the road sides, perfect forts for snowball fights. The frozen mill pond empty of logs in the winter is a natural skating rink for the whole town. But winter passes and the ferns unroll and the wild flowers, arbutus, indian pipes, lady-slippers and violets return and summer's golden rod.
age 8 That was the summer .Daddy came back from Chicago. I remember sitting on his lap by the old dining room table while he and Granny talked.
I've rented a store in North Woodstock. She will live there with me. We'll be selling a line of novelties and souvenirs to the tourists. There's a screened porch in the back where we can put a couple of cots. She can help me in the store. Of course, I'll hire a girl to help, too.
In spite of Granny's misgivings, that's exactly what happened. Granny cried when I left but I was eager for the new adventure with my father. I realized then that Granny wasn't my "real" Granny after all.

Father - 4

Store in N. Woodstock

We sold ice cream, little birch bark canoes with the words "the White Mountains" painted on them. Balsam filled pillows, we got balsam needles by the barrel and the hired girl filled them and sewed them up, and all sorts of things tourists like to buy. At night, each in our own cot, cozy on the back porch we could hear the river, the ----- -- ----", flowing on it's way to the sea, while Daddy told me stories and we ate pistashio nuts till we fell asleep.

Summer was nearly over and Hugh came to take us to Chicago. We camped out a lot on the way. Hugh described things for my father as we drove along. It was a long way. The first days in Chicago, I stayed with My Uncle Jack. My father's brother, and his wife Miriam and the family, Nazbi, George Boola, and Nehbe, all boys. It was the first time I'd seen a male child when his diaper was being changed. I thought about it for days. Their home smelled of babies, a warm sweetish smell and Syrian cooking, rice, lamb, allspice. Very homey, and very crowded. Daddy rented a room from a quiet, nervous Swedish widow with two children. It was called a railroad flat. Daddy had the front room and I had a couch in the next room which would have been the dining room, except we all ate in the kitchen. She was a good cook. I wondered if Daddy and Mrs. Smith would get married, but l never mentioned it to anyone. I sort of hoped they would. I liked playing with Arthur and Lois, and their mother was sweet and soft spoken and smiled a lot. After a few months Daddy rented an apartment of our own, right by the lake in the uptown area and we set-up housekeeping. I was about seven and a half. I did the shopping for groceries and coming home one day with two heavy shopping bags l lost some of the money. Daddy accused me of lying, of having spent it for something or other. He sat in his big armchair listening to the ball game and smoking smelly old cigars. Sundays l got a whole dollar to go to the movies. Next door to the theater was a Fanny May candy store where I bought chocolates. A dollar went a long way in those days and Daddy never seemed to care what I did with the money

Father - 5

I saw Al Jolson in the first talkie, the Jazz Singer, and there was always vaudeville, Chinese tumbling acts, skits, a chorus line, a real live orchestra. I liked the dancing best of all. After I'd seen the show I would wander the theater fron top to bottom. Theaters were like palaces in those days, deep carpets, pictures on the walls with little lights over them, balconies, ushers with flashlights, it was glamorous. I was unaware that in Benny Meroff's band was George von Physter, playing bass, whom I would meet many years later.

Press Roll, 1938-1940 GEORGE VON PHYSTER (active 1930s; no birth and death dates available)Lithograph Von Physter played bass with jazz bands in Chicago and Kansas City in the 1920s, then turned to drawing and lithography. He illustrated Destiny, published by Downbeat magazine, with eight lithographs depicting jazz scenes. Press Roll was made while he worked for the Works Progress Administration/Federal Art Project (WPA/FAP).

So, here we have a child, nearly eight years old and a blind man trying to make a life together. I learned to cook, somewhat, I learned to eat, as he did, mostly with my fingers. .l wished he could see like other daddies. I used to pray he would get his sight back. He used to make me kneel down by my bed and pray, "dear lord give me brains."

School was teaching arithmetic one way and he tried to teach me his way. He would lose his temper with me and the result was an aversion to figures. Which has lasted the rest of my life. Knowing he couldn't see I sometimes wouldn't answer when he called me in from playing on the beach. But he always sensed when I was lying. One time he hit me when I didnt come whem he called and I yelled and cried louder than was really necessary. I had met two ladies who lived next door and they thought it deplorable that my daddy was blind and I had no mother. They called the police, who called a social worker, who was with the Illinois Children's Home and Aid Society.

Oak Grove Vacations - 1

I was not too many years out of the trees. Summer vacations I spent in Maine at the homes of fellow students, often one on scholarship who's parents could use the extra board money. The first summer ws memorable for riding on the hay wagon behind the team of horses while pitchforks full of hay were tossed aboard. I was eleven that year. Some boards nailed up in my favorite tree became my laboratory where I distilled tiger lily water into an elixir I was sure would cure all the world's ills. The lilies grew everywhere along the country road. I can't recall why I had been exiled to my room, but considered it unjust punishment so I decided to run away. Never mind where to. Anywhere but there. But my room was on the second floor and there was no way I could get out of the house without being seen. Fortuntely, the farm was miles from the nearest small town. Back at school I learned that the Mr. ___ had hung himself in the barn. He'd had cancer but I didn't know that when I was there.

OGV - 2

The hay was not in neat bales but loose and it was piled in the barn loft by a sort of claw on a pulley which picked up huge bunches fromt the wagon.

So(uth?) China, Maine

Thanksgiving vacation I was at the home of a senior from school who I barely knew but her mother made me feel very welcome. We had all just sat down to the festive dinner when I suddenly felt sick and uncontrollably threw up on the floor. A doctor was called and the diagnosis was measles. I recall some delirium and bad dreams and the pattern of light on the ceiling made by a kerosine heater as I lay in bed. No one had ever been so solicitous of me as that kind lady was. When I was better, there were paper dolls to dress and books to read and she asked me back for the next summer vacation. The town was one of those where a large dog slept in the middle of the main crossroads in front of the store and was seldom in any danger from traffic. That was the summer I learned to drive a car. Mr. Jones, the man next door, knew where the wild berries grew and sometimes, on graded dirt roads, he would teach me to drive his car. It was a summer of wild strawberries and blueberries. A summer of reading in the hammocks books which were way over my head, of church suppers which the Friends were famous for. Most of all, for learning what it must feel like to have a mother who loved you.

OGV - 3

My last summer vacation in Maine I was on a farm which had a huge black wood range in the kitchen, a well with a bucket on a rope and no plumbing whatsoever. There was a "two holer" papered with leftover wallpapers. The house was a well weathered grey with hardly a trace of paint but the barn was red. Barn red. They had one horse, two cows and lots of free scratching chickens. Also a spooky barn owl, who took care of the mice.

Hard working man and wife and maiden aunt. And Stella, the daughter. All typical Grant Woods types. In the parlor, which was seldom used, the drapes were drawn to keep the sun from fading the rug. There was an ornate pump organ which the aunt played occasionally.

The main room was the kitchen. A huge round oak table surrounded by oak chairs. Over the round oak table hung a large kerosene lmp which illuminated the whole kitchen. Bathing was done on Saturday night in a round galvanized tub before the stove. My chore on Saturdays was to fill up the water heating compartment on one side of the stove so there would be plenty of hot water. That meant many trips to the well. I could see myself reflected in the water at the bottom as I lowered the bucket. There was a room off from the rest of the house where Mrs. ___ worked occasionally oh her hooked rugs. A work in progress was stretched on a frame and strips of cloth in different colors were rolled into balls in a basket. No scrap of cloth or anything else went to waste in that household. Stella and I helped by cutting more strips from discarded clothing.

Stella -1

One hot summer day Mrs. Cates, Stella and I walked across the field to the wood. The woods were delightful, a carpet of shiny brown needles, the woodsy smells and wild flowers, jack in the pulpit, lay slippers pink and exotic, little waxy "indian pipes", til finally we came to a spring, a dark pool of water 4 or 5 feet across surrounded by shiny wintergreen with red berries. The water was cool and tasted of wintergreen. It was a magical place and I sometimes wonder if it's still there, calm and secluded deep in the pine woods.

They asked me back for Christmas vacation and we went to the woods again through the snow to pick a Christmas tree. On the back of the huge iron range, which was the only source of heat for the house, were three bricks. At bedtime, these were slipped into quilted jackets and put under the covers at the foot of the beds. It made getting into the cold feather bed much easier, knowing warmth was waiting for cold feet.