Chapter 3 - The Maher Family
Connection >William B. Maher /m./ Dorothy Merriamn /son/ William Maher /m./ L. Day
/dau of / Ira Reese Day 1921 and Ruth C. Dunn
Mary SMITH Endecott, born 1636: Puritan Project 1620 to 1633 Bay Colony.
Mary SMITH Endecott was my 7th great-grandmother.
Biography from Wikitree:
Mary Smith was a daughter of Samuel and Sarah Osbourne>(unsure) Smith of Great Yarmouth, England. [1] She was born about 1636-1637.
Mary Smith married Zerubbabel Endicott in 1654 at Salem, Massachusetts[2] or Wenham, Essex County, Massachusetts.
Mary (Smith) Endicott died in 1677 at Salem, Massachusetts.[3]
Children:
- John, b. 1657 d. 1684, London, England
- Samuel, b. 1659 d. 1694
- Zerubbabel, b. February 14, 1663/64, Salem. Massachusetts, d. 1706, Boxford, Essex, Massachusetts
- Mary, b. 1667
- Benjamin, b. August 21, 1674, d. 1735
- Joseph, b. July 17, 1672, Salem, Massachusetts d., Northampton, NJ
- Sarah, b. December 19, 1673, Salem, Massachusetts
- Elizabeth, b. February 12, 1674/75, Salem, Massachusetts
- Hannah b. 1676, Salem, Massachusetts, m. Unknown Gaskill. d. 1698, Northhampton Twp., Burlington Co., NJ.
- # Mehitable, b. November 18, 1677, Salem, Massachusetts d. 1698.
William C. Endicott in his book, Memoir of Samuel Endicott, states: "Family tradition handed down by William Putnam Endicott (1803-1888), who knew his grandmother Elizabeth Jacobs Endicott, who knew people who knew Governor Endecott and his sons John and Zerubbabel, says that Zerubbabel Endecott, his first wife Mary Smith and their three young children are buried within this enclosure" from FIND A GRAVE: Mary Smith Endecott (1636-1677) - Find a Grave Memorial
Provided Southwick Gaskill is 9 Degrees from The Day Family
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| Provided Southwick and her brother Daniel puritan governor John Endecott of Massachusetts Bay attempted to send into slavery in Virginia |
Provided Southwick Gaskill was born at Salem, Massachusetts Bay, in December of 1641, a daughter of Lawrence Southwick and Cassandra (Burnell) Southwick; she married Samuel Gaskill at Salem on the penultimate day of 1662.
John Greenleaf Whitter's poem "Cassandra Southwick" – while it bears, for reasons known only to the poet, her mother's given name rather than her own – in fact tells with reasonable accuracy the tale of Quaker Provided Southwick and her younger brother Daniel, whom puritan governor John Endecott of Massachusetts Bay attempted to send into slavery in Virginia or Barbados. Endecott's vindictive sentence, part of his wider punitive effort to banish or even exterminate the Quaker faith – as further witnessed by his lethal banishment of the senior Southwicks and the hanging of several Quakers, including Mary (Barrett) Dyer in 1660 – was thwarted only because he could find no ship's captain willing to become an accessory to the scheme.
From: https://www.wikitree.com/wiki/Southwick-71
The surname Southwick is of English origin, meaning "southern farmstead or village," and is derived from Old English elements describing a settlement in the south.
Etymology and Meaning
The name Southwick comes from the Old English words sūth, meaning "south," and wic, meaning "dwelling," "settlement," or "specialized farm" . It is a habitational surname, originally given to people who lived in or were associated with places named Southwick in England, including locations in Durham, Gloucestershire, Hampshire, Northamptonshire, Sussex, and Wiltshire . Essentially, the surname identifies someone as being "from the south village" or a southern settlement .
Historical Origins
Southwick has roots in both England and Scotland. In Scotland, the surname was first found in Kirkcudbrightshire, part of present-day Dumfries and Galloway, where the family held estates from ancient times, possibly before the Norman Conquest of 1066 . In England, the surname is linked to multiple settlements named Southwick, reflecting the medieval practice of naming individuals after their place of origin
Truth, As Strange As Fiction: Life In Riverside
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| The Great Falls of Paterson, NJ aka The Passaic Falls |
Riverside is a larger neighborhood in Paterson, New Jersey. Its boarded on three sides by the Passaic River, hence its name. My husband Angelo grew up in Riverside on Fifth Avenue. Everyone in the neighborhood was familiar with the mob’s management style learned from fearful whispers. From the 60s through the 70s the mob was in control of this Italian neighborhood. Like other ‘families’ in other places, in Riverside the mob owned most everything. They owned many types of businesses. Among them oil and textile, dozens of factories that had seen better days, the local lumberyard, a couple of bars and a few restaurants. Even the local laundromat and a whole lot of real estate – many run down houses which crammed the city streets. It was far from an upscale area.
Random crime was not done in Riverside without the perpetrator facing retaliation to set an example. And the only killings, shootings and stabbings, handled the ‘family.’
Between the police presence and the mob it was safe to walk the streets. Joseph D. Pistone aka FBi undercover agent ‘Donnie Brasco,’ said that growing up in Paterson he learned how local mobsters acted as he saw them hanging around, gambling, doing ”the basic things that wise guys do.”
The street rules were, don’t meet their eyes if you could help it, or if you did, look away as quick as you can. And if spoken to, be polite. You could see them at their local hangout in the back booth and a nearby table in the pizzeria on River Street talking, smoking and reading newspapers or the daily racing forms.
During the race riots that followed the death of a great uniter Martin Luther King (1968) whose words and deeds would be later hijacked for political gain, the Riverside area stayed untouched for this very reason.
| This is what the house Angelo grew us it looks like today. |
While Riverside escaped the turmoil, my part of town near Madison Avenue and Market Street wasn’t so luck. The riots brought nightly looting and fires to the businesses. We kept our doors locked and shades down through the curfewed nights. Each morning we’d wake and feeling jittery head out for school once the seven AM road barricades lifted.
National Guard lined the streets and manned the barriers while their military tanks (this was my first time I’d ever seen a tank) and jeeps parked nearby. My dad drove me to St. Joseph’s High School through these narrow cobblestone back roads. We meandered along those street to avoid any lingering problem passed an unkempt park.
This whole area was hundreds of years old. I asked my dad how he knew about these street. They were new to me. He smiled. In his college days, he said he attended William Paterson college then located on twenty-third Ave and worked for a beer distributor. He would deliver beer weekly to the St. Joe’s rectory for the priest’s Friday night deliver on these very roads.
Any murders in Riverside were not gangland killings, those between mob families over turf. But of anyone who betrayed or inform on the mob. Their bodies left in the open over night as an example to others. A few major cases were of a guy knifed on Fifth Avenue and left at the bus stop for the morning commute. Another was a man shoot threw the windshield and his car backed into a parking space in the A&P lot, The Great Atlantic & Pacific Tea Company-an extinct grocery stores chain. The third happened at 1:30 AM on October of 1966. A neighbor of Gabriel ‘Johnny the Walk’ DeFranco, (known for a limp when he walked), looked out and saw three men assail DeFranco on his apartment porch at the corner of Madison and 5th Avenues. DeFranco answered his doorbell to his killers. They beat DeFranco before slashing his throat. His killing would be later connected to an earlier murder of a young married woman shot twice in the head in February of that year. Her body dumped in a Garden State Parkway gully not far from her home. Her car was found in Newark doused with gas and on fire. Both murders were later connected to a wife-swapping club, amateur porno shoots, and counterfeiting.
Angelo was paperboy in the early 60s in the neighborhood and DeFranco was his best tipping customer. Angelo rode his bike to do his paper route after school. One time a couple of mob guys stopped him. They ask him to take a bag and ride down a block and throw it into the open window of a black sedan. Angelo murmured, “I got to get home,” and rode off. He knew not to do anything of that source.
Angelo and I married in 1970 and for a time we lived with my in-laws. Shortly we moved next door with our baby to the first-floor apartment of the corner house. Both my parents had died sixteen months apart and the rest of my family imploded in the squabbling aftermath. For me, my father was the glue. When he died my mother slipped away from the rest of the cracking paste which crumbled after her.
The mob boss drove himself around in a Cadillac. He would stop by for the rent money from my mother-in-law first of every month and have coffee with her. My husband’s family paid sixty-five dollars a month for as long as they lived there while most renters paid one hundred-fifty dollars and had to go to the lumber yard to pay it. If my father-in-law had a few drinks he would say the landlord was sweet on her. She got us the apartment next door.
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| THIS is the house we rented in the early 1970s. This is what it looks like today. |
I only met the mob boss twice and remembered all the rules of engagement barely looking at him while greeting him with smiling. I couldn’t have described him if someone paid me.
Both meetings were in my mother-in-law’s unattractive aqua colored kitchen. All the rooms were the same color. That included the walls, woodwork and ceilings of this early nineteen hundreds house remodeled for the 1960s.
Near the end of the four years we lived in Riverside Angelo begun interning as a nuclear medical tech . He was now lived near that Pennsylvania hospital. So it was up to me to walk around to the lumber yard where renters paid there rent on the first of the month. Lumber of all sizes laid around in neat stacks lining the driveway you had to walk down. I don’t think lumber in the yard or at else from those stacks ever moved. I would write the check out at home to be able to get in and out of the office fast. You didn’t know who would be in the office. Usually a few men hung around a water cooler off to the side of the front counter giving you the eye. But it you were luck it would just be the one nice guy there was working the office. He wasn’t much older than me and he was always respectful. Only once did one of the wise guys try to chat me up as I nervously looked away. But Mr. Nice Guy told him, “She’s married and a young mother,” to him and a smile for me.
Soon a new reason to leave arose. By this time muggings and worse began devastating the area. The neighborhood schools continued the downhill spiral they’d been on for years. My daughter was now a four year old and this was on our minds heading into the future. On weekday mornings I would feed my daughter, get ready for work and then get her dressed for another day with her grandmother. This one day, she couldn’t find her pink bow headband. It was a favorite for the moment, so I joined in her search. Earlier, she was playing on the couch in front of the TV. Thinking that was the best place to start, I moved a cushion and put my hand around it feeling to the beloved headband but pulled out a warm died baby rat. I knew mice from rats. I dropped it and drew my daughter away from the couch, leashed the puppy we took in after someone had dumped it in our backyard and ran to my in-laws. This was more than I could take! The lumber yard sent a couple of men right over in answer to my frantic phone call where I was told, “Yeah, we are have that problem in the area right now.” They gave me the all clear the next day, but that was it for us. While we packed to move we found huge lifeless relatives of the baby rat in the yard. We saw our future elsewhere now. The old Riverside mob was beginning to lose its grip and the younger guys, now heavily into the drug trade and the crimes that it brought with it. No more ‘safety’ from the horrors of life.
~JD Holiday/JD Amenta
© 2019. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
How Bud Amenta And Jan Met
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| Janice in the red coat. |
My friend, Judy was dating a friend of Bud’s, Dennis and they needed a date for Bud so they could doubled date. Judy and I were on the cheerleading team at St. Joseph’s High School in Paterson, NJ, so Judy wanted either me or their friend, Jackie to meet him. Judy, Dennis and Bud were sophomores. I was a freshman in 1966.
Judy pointed Bud out to me as we entered. One look and I thought, 'I could never get a guy like that.' Bud was so good looking. I agreed to go on a blind date to meet him anyway.
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| 1966 |
There must have been some talk among the boys where Bud said something like, 'Hope she doesn’t look like a frog,” because when I got into the car, Dennis said, ”clanged your magic twanger, froggy!” A clear reference to the Andy Devine’s children show from the 1950’s where a frog puppet would appear to have a conversation with Andy Devine. It was a fun night, though I felt awkward this being my first date.
One day not long after that, on the back stairwell of St Joe's, Judy and Jan were
going down the stairs to the exit door heading for the old mill and Dennis and Bud were going up having just come back from it. I was wearing a red duffle coat, that Bud still remembers. Dennis and Judy were commenting back and forth, and Bud and I remember it was something amusing though what was said we don’t know. Bud said that that moment is the moment he knew he loved me, though he didn’t realized that was the feeling at the time.
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| Bud and Jan, Eastside Prom, 1969 |
Ira Reese Day and Ruth Catherine Dunn: How my father and my mother met.
Ira Reese Day and Ruth Catherine Day
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| On the photo: To Ruth with Love, Ira |
The story I was told by my mother that she worked in a lab for Curtis-Wright Inc. and my father worked there too as an accountant, though she worked there first. This was in the 1940s. My father was a member of the Holy Name Society* in Paterson New Jersey along with his friend Martin Baron (who later, because my uncle). And at a parade in Paterson that my father was with the society and my mother and her sister Frances were spectators in the crowd. They met after the parade and they began dating.
Frances (Nicknamed, Babe, because she was the youngest child in the family until their brother, Ed was born,) Dunn Baron together.
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Ira, Babe and Marty taken at Pennington Park, Totowa, NJ Ruth took the photo. |
* The Confraternity of the Most Holy Names of God and Jesus (Holy Name Society) promotes reverence for the Sacred Names of God and Jesus Christ, obedience and loyalty to the Magisterium of the Catholic Church, and the personal sanctification and holiness of its members. Members are called to contribute to the evangelization mission of the Church and to make perpetual acts of reverence and love for our Lord and Savior. The apostolate of the society is to assist in parish ministries by performing the Corporal Works of Mercy: to feed the hungry, to clothe the naked, give drink to the thirsty, shelter to the homeless, tend the sick, visit those in prison, and bury the dead; as well as the Spiritual Works of Mercy: to convert sinners, instruct the ignorant, counsel the wayward, comfort the sorrowing, bear adversity patiently, forgive offenses, and pray for the living and the dead.
https://www.nahns.org/Ruth Catherine DAY 1916-1971: A Family Story
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| My mother is second from the left. Left Sadie Dunn Nichol, Ruth Dunn Day, Babe (Frances Dunn Barron – James Brennan (with hat on), tennis champion |
In the mid-1960s, my mother, Ruth, saved a toddler’s life when our family was a Lake Rick-A-Bear Lake, in Kinnelon New Jersey. She was heading for the snack bar on the beach and coming along the path of trees that ran beside the lake just past the picnic tables she saw it in the water apparently having fallen off the bank. No one else was around or watching the baby. She waded into the water and grabbed the child. I came along shortly after and one of the beachgoers rushed up to me and said, “your mother saved that baby over there from drowning.” I didn’t say a thing while looking to the side. I couldn’t see the baby with the crowd of people huddled around, many of them talking loudly.I kept walking back to your picnic table more off the path and in a secluded area of the woods. My dad was grilling burgers and chicken wings the rest of the family sitting either at the table or in Adirondack chairs smiling. For once no one was saying a word. I said to my mother, “someone said you saved a baby?” Mom just continued to smile, she blue eyes shining and gave me a shrugged. That was her. I discovered something else about my mother when I was in high school. I took French my first year from Mrs. Chackmanoff. She was a Jewish and fron France teaching in a Catholic school. The first day she called my name and asked me to stand. She told the class that she was honored to be teaching me because it was my mother who taught her English. When I told my mother this after school she just said, with her smile, “ Yeah, she didn’t speak English. They lived upstairs from us when you were a baby. We babysat for each other. Her husband was a Russian Prince.”
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| Ruth-my mother at 21. |
We lived on Madison Avenue in Paterson and we had lived on this block once before eight doors up from where we were living in a block of terraced rowhomes. Mrs. Chackmanoff’s family had the apartment above ours. At the end of freshman year, Mrs. Chackmanoff called me up to her desk and told me she was passing me even though I failed French because she used to change my drapers and for all my mother did for her when her family first came to this country. She told me she had been in a concentration camp in World War II when the Germans held France. When the Russian arrived her future husband was among them and they liberated the camp saving thousands. She later married him and came to America. At first, our two families could only wave and smile at each other. One day my mother went to the small grocery store on Market Street and found Mrs. Chackmanoff standing in the last aisle crying and looking at the change in her hand. My mother saw she was trying to buy bread and jelly. She pointed out the coins for the two items and from then the English lessons began. Mom didn’t tell me any of that. She was like that. She didn’t talk about others as I remember it. I told my mother what Mrs. Chackmanoff said about finding her in the grocery stores and she did her usual shrug with a smile. I felt such admiration for her. My mother never spoke badly about anyone. And she didn’t talk badly about her own mother. There were signs I suppose along the way. Though what did we, her children, have to compare it with? We know only our own bubble, our small safe and comfortable albeit lower middle-class sphere created by our two parents. My friends home life seen just like mine with else kids as far as I could tell. We had fun times at our house. Great holiday with wonderful meals. Getting ready for Christmas’ would be weeks of examining Sears and Spiegel’s catalogs to write our lists for Santa and then drives to toy stores to view what we wanted. Our father would come back later and buy the gifts though at times saving money with a cheaper version. There were board or card games on Saturday night after my mom’s weekly great fried chicken dinner. Some Sundays, long car rides, four kids stuffed in the back seat elbow to elbow after the kids went to church and then for dinner, sandwiches and a bakery layer cake, the special treat of the week. This was followed by watching Bonanza and the Ed Sullivan Show. Thursdays were chili dogs, known in Paterson as Hot-Dogs-All-The-Way, and fries from any number of hotdog restaurants around the city. In the summer, day trips to the lake to swim and a week at the Jersey shore. After school some days I would come home to find my sister, Doris having tea with our mother, the prized tea set all laid out on the dining room table. They would be talking and laughing. I spent some afternoons watching the Million Dollar Movie of the day with our mother. She would go back and forth to the kitchen cooking supper. Then my mother worked around the house more times than not she would be happily humming her favorite tunes. This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 56c1b-john-sadie-dunnsite-1.jpg I suppose some signs something was wrong was that sometimes lunch would be on the table when we ran in from school and sometimes mom would still be in bed. Then we would make our own lunch from lunch meat and cheese in the refrigerator or peanut butter and jelly. Sometimes we would find her crying in the bedroom. Her parents. She did not like conflict. If any of her five children were fighting and telling them to stop didn’t work she would fling one of her penny loafers at them usually missing. One time the shoe hit her china cabinet breaking the glass door and her prized china inside. I remember it. That was me and my brother, Ike. She sat and cried as we ran from the house only to return when we knew the heat would be out. All the glass was cleaned up and nothing was said about it, ever! I first learned about my mother’s early life from my sister, Doris, who spent time with her godmother, one of my mother’s close sisters, and years after the same accounts from a couple of her sisters in the few conversations I had with them. The story goes that my mother was her mother’s ‘whipping boy.’ Her mother beat only her even though she had six other children. No one seems to know why. And those we talked to said they knew not to intervene. Years later my parents would help two other members of my mother’s family elope with ‘unacceptable’ men drawing the ire of the ‘old battle-ax’ that my father called his mother-in-law. I think this was an act of rebellion, long overdue, by my mom inspired my dad’s self-assertive nature. Other things my aunts told me about my mother was that she was always kind, quiet, pleasant, smart, religious and always nervous. She like roller skating. She went to Saint John’s Grammar school in Paterson and then business school and became a comptometer operator, the comptometer being the first commercially successful key-driven mechanical calculators made in the United States back in 1887. She was so good at it she was in demand at banks.
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| 260px-Comptometer_model_ST _Super_Totalizer A comptometer |
During World War II my mother set up offices for Curtis-Wrights Industries who made plane for the military and where my father worked for all his life though the two did not date until meeting at a Holy Name parade one year. My father was a member of The Holy Name Society and my mother a parade goer. What I know about my parents’ wedding was that it was a judge of the piece ceremony. My mother wore a business suit. One of her closest sisters, Aunt (Frances) Babe and Uncle Marty, my father’s best friend, stood in for them. It was during the war and no other family members were present and there were no pictures taken.
My mother’s mother was forced on us each summer for two weeks. My father couldn’t stand her and so my parents tried any way they could to get out of it. Many telephone fights with her siblings went on before and after each visit. One year we all had the German measles and that included my father. Measles is a very contagious disease caused by a virus spread through the air when an infected person coughs or sneezes.
It fell on the week the ‘battle-ax’ was due for our summer visit from her. We lounge around in the living room where the TV was with our pillows and blankets, our father sat in the armchair. My mother came in from the kitchen and said in a worried tone, “We should tell them so someone else can take our turn. Old people can die from it.”
“Let her come,” my father said. “Maybe she’ll die and put an end to our misery.”
My mother threw up her hands, made a clicking sound and left the room. I was horrified he would say that until I learn of the abuse my mother had to deal with from her.
 MOM (Ruth Day) and me. |
When I met my future husband, Buddy on a blind date when we were fifteen and sixteen, he came over after school before he would go to his part-time job at the supermarket. One time was while my grandmother was there and she wanted to sit on the porch. She was frail now and walked with a cane. Buddy help her to the porch carrying a chair and walking behind her in case she fell. When he left, my grandmother said to me, “He’s a nice boy. Too bad he’s Italian.” One of her daughters married an Italian and this had been a bone of contention. Later I told my father what she had said and he laughed. He never liked any of the boys I or my sisters brought home but this changed everything for me and Buddy! Buddy became like a son to my father.
I once heard my father and mother talking in a way I never heard them do before. My father used to take trips to Washington D.C. as the accountant on a team of negotiators for Curtis-Wrights Industries working on government contracts. My parents stood at the pantry door. Dad was saying, “Why Ruth? Why?” The pain in his voice. My mother had drank all the beer and to try and hid it, filled the bottles with water. I didn’t know for a long time what that conversation was about until my sister Doris told me all she knew of our mother’s alcoholism.
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| Ruth Day (left) and her sister, Alice – (see the washing machine behind them) |
My mother was abused, persecuted as a child with a sick mother.
I wonder if she felt the beatings were her own fault. Was it the guilt her mother heaped on her. Maybe mom did feel being mistreated was her own fault; she was bad so that was why she deserved the mistreatment. Did all this lead to feelings that she had no room to talk or criticize others? Did she think she didn’t deserve to feel good about herself and so never talked about the good she’d done?
When she was twenty-three, she had a mental break-down. Her father who liked to drink gave my mother beer to get through it. So that was how she learned to cope with life.
I believe my father tried to take care of her in the best way he knew with the information and lack of support available to them.
In the nineteen fifties and sixties alcoholics with treated badly to say it mildly. There was little support for those with the disease and their families. It would be a year or so after my mother’s death before alcoholism was declared a disease and the understanding we now give it.
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| Mom and Dad, Ira and Ruth Day, 1967 |
My mother was persecuted by people which included her own family and my father’s mother. She received anonymous phone calls a few times a week as long as I can remember. All we knew about these calls were that they shouted names at her and she would be upset after one. In those days there was no way to find out who the caller was. I suspected it was a hostile friend of my father’s mother who did it at that grandmother’s direction. She was another piece of work.
My father died sixteen months before my mother of heart disease. I was nineteen at the time. We were all lost without him. None more than my mother. She stopped eating and just drink beer. These months were even more horrible than the year and a half leading up to my father’s death. With her being out of it all the time people disappeared from her life quickly. Some showed up for the money she was willing to give away just to have them talk to her.
One sister wouldn’t take her phone calls. This was the same sister that when her husband was cheating on her, my mother would drag us all over to be with and comfort her. Later, when my mother was dying in the hospital she came. She screamed at me, “Why didn’t you tell us?”
I said, “Where were you when she needed you!”
Another sister wanted her to still watch their mother for the two weeks that year, and without my father to intervene, that sister said to her, “He had to die to get away from you.”
I was standing next to her in the kitchen on Lake Avenue the house my father bought for us before he became ill. My mother began sobbing and I took the phone telling her sister to never call us again.
Places she shopped at for years and took her credit wouldn’t now and some told her not to come there again. She doctor offered no help. No one did. She was not in an acceptable condition and did not have an acceptable disease.
To this day some have nothing kind to say about her. Even many years after her death there were still people making derogatory remarks with disdain like, ‘She came to my house with a six-pack and wanted to drink it!’
My mother was dying. So what was their excuse for abandoning her?
I still miss her. Ruth Catherine Day. ~Jan
Ira Reese Day 1921-1970
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| Ira, 21 Years Old |
Ira told JD, his 3rd daughter, that he was laid of from his job at Curtis Wrights in 1951 the year JD was born. They lived in a cold water flat in Lodi, NJ. During that time, at 6 months old, JD had her first asthma attack and was in and out of the hospital until she was 2 and a half years old. Aunt Babe (Frances Dunn) and some of the others would help out with bringing food. After about a year, Ira got his job back.
He said that when he went back to Curtis Wrights Industries he deviced a
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| Ira, Babe and Marty |
One day LD, Ira's oldest daughter, was talking on the phone to EG and TG (best friends of Ira (Ike) Day ( b. Dec,11,1953). EG and LD were talking about their family trees and how the Day line was stopped about the 1820's with George and Sarah Day in Paterson, NJ and trying to link them to a Captain Samuel Day, a revolutionary was hero when EG's mother said, that we had a somewhat famous person in our family. That our father, Ira Reese Day was somewhat famous locally in Paterson because everyone knew that there was a man who would help people with their taxes and the IRS. EG mother also said didn't we remember how packed the funeral home was when he died. Many people wanted to pay their respects.
At a Dunn family reunion in 1991, which D and I, Jan, along with D's wife, C, their daughter, C M and my daughter, J W all went. There I was told by 3 cousins, things about our father. J N told me how my father helped him make a few decisions that helped him and how thankful he was for that help. B B told me how my father helped him in the same way and M B said my father helped his mother, my Aunt Babe (Frances), after his father died. He said she couldn't have made it without my father's helped. They all said they and others admired him and they had great memories of him.
At a Dunn family reunion in 1991, which D and I, Jan, along with D's wife, C, their daughter, C M and my daughter, J W all went. There I was told by 3 cousins, things about our father. J N told me how my father helped him make a few decisions that helped him and how thankful he was for that help. B B told me how my father helped him in the same way and M B said my father helped his mother, my Aunt Babe (Frances), after his father died. He said she couldn't have made it without my father's helped. They all said they and others admired him and they had great memories of him.
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| Ira and his daughters, DD and LD late 1950s at the Jersey shore. |
From the Paint Box: some of Jan's ARTWORK
Art by J.D a
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| Self. All of My Artwork is copyrighted. |
MORE of my Art can be seen at: https://gravatar.com/authorjdholiday
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