by William Roles Kelly
My Paternal Grandparents
My Maternal Grandparents: Milton A. Kelly and Charlotte R. Kelly
I don’t remember a great deal about my grandfather, for he died in ’32 when I was barely 4 years old. But I do recall him as a smiling and gentle man. My memory is of a strong featured, rather handsome man, wearing glasses, and with wavy, grey-brown mixed hair.
He too would always slip your father and me a dime (a fortune then) when he visited. I remember a day with him, and my father, fishing at a place called “Green Creek” but not much else in the term of events.
He was the father of Milton E., Lillian (Jayne), presently living here on the island in East Hampton, and Edgar M, living in San Diego. I talk to them on the phone, and visit with Lillian periodically during the year. They were all close as brothers and sister, perhaps setting the priority for a later generation.
My 'real’ paternal grandmother, Mary Skilman, (Milton’s mother) I never knew for she died of pneumonia shortly after watching a New Year’s Day parade in Philadelphia when my father was very young.
My grandfather, Milton A., remarried — a young Charlotte Raynor from Manorville, Long Island. From that marriage came Lillian and Edgar. Charlotte was a sweet, gentle person with a remarkably keen mind. She could quote chapter and verse on all aspects of family history. She loved antiques and would make gifts of beautiful little things to Carole and Doreen which they cherished.
She would speak in a measured, precise manner, considering each word carefully before dispensing it. Her diction was equally precise so that it was rarely necessary for her to repeat anything. Following the loss of her husband in ’32, she spent much of her life as a companion and practical nurse to elderly ladies. I shall always remember her in a starched, white dress that she would invariably wear while 'on duty.’
Again, I don’t have ready date references, but I would guess that we lost her about nine years ago. I’m sure she went straight to heaven.
My mother, Eva Mae (Roles) was married at age 16 in 1923, definitely without the blessings of her parents. While always a little unsure of the exact circumstances, to my knowledge, my father saw some danger in a rival suitor, a young Mr. Hudson, who was not only tall and handsome, but had his own car. (My father had a bicycle.) He (Dad) pursued her ardently and was somehow able to persuade her to marry him. One day they took a trolley to Philadelphia, and then a train to somewhere on the outskirts, where for some reason a waiting period was not required. I believe they were wed in a brief ceremony right in the station. They got back on the train-returned to Camden and each to their own home. –Married in name only.
That same day, Will and Eva somehow found out and with fire in their eyes, came to the Carman Street house to confront my father, and of course his parents. I have no idea how, but they were persuaded to allow the marriage to continue. With that, Mae moved into Carmen Street with Milton and his family.
My father was 19 with a 16 year old bride. Your father was born 8/4/1924 barely lasting out the 9 month 'watching period.’
It was a good marriage. My father was a very mature 19, and my mother had a great sense of humor, with the ability to laugh at herself.
As children, we didn’t have much in the way of material things, for it was during the depression- but Dad always had a job and we were never hungry even if we had holes in our shoes.
In my later years when I could look back from the vantage of age and experience, I was amazed at some of the things I put them through and still somehow retained their love and understanding.
Mom always enjoyed being around young people, and 3007 Carman was always open house to our friends. She was so youthful in spirit that she was welcomed by our friends to join in our conversation, and indeed provided much of the laughter. She fed them, scratched their back and egos and listened to their problems with the girls. To this day, these same friends speak of her with much affection and the shaking of heads. We lost her in ’63, only 56 years old. We all were cheated.
Dad was different. His was a serious world. He had a family to support while doing a job that he came to despise. He was the comptroller in a Philadelphia dept. store -– confined to a desk all day, and a stand up ride on the bus coming home. He would often arrive exhausted. It was standard procedure for him to take a short nap on the sofa before dinner, and we children didn’t make any noise at that time.
He always wore a suit, tie and fedora hat. I can see him even now, turning the corner, walking toward the house, slapping the inevitable “Philadelphia Evening Bulletin” against his leg as he walked.
Later, after he retired, and by now married to Doris, he really mellowed out. The tie went the way of the suit and hat. The only tie he would ever willingly wear again would be a western bola with a large turquoise set into a heavy silver mounting. Then living in Arizona or California, he dressed in jeans, soft collared shirts and either loafers or boots. The 'real’ Milt came out in his obvious love and appreciation of family. He adored Carole, and she, him. It was a rather remarkable transformation in a short period of time and the subject of more than a few conversations with many chuckles.
He thoroughly enjoyed the time spent with his painting and gardening. He taught Doris and she too became quite accomplished.
As your father was closer to his mother, I in turn became closer to my Dad. We had a warm and wonderful relationship, never afraid to hug and say 'I love you.’
I could enjoy the pleasures he had attained in his retirement -– the painting, the good friends, the nearness to family on the West Coast, and of course Doris who added years to his life.
And so when he died, I shed few tears, for I knew how he felt about all of us, and he in turn knew how much we loved him. As with Carole, I can think about your grandfather and smile.
Written by Bill Kelly for his niece, Carol Kelly, in the mid-1990’s and available online in February of 2015. Bill died in 2002. Carole was his wife. Kevin, his son and Robin, not mentioned, here, his daughter.
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