There are 11 Shopping and Fun days to get out and do something Christmasy! Be Grateful, Thankful, Patient, Kind, and Charitable. Take it slow and enjoy the season with a smile. It’s infectious and free!
Simply put: My dad, Joseph L. Donahue Sr., a man whom I miss with every fiber of my being, passed away in 1976, just days before our first child was born and buried on the same day. He was part of what everyone calls the Greatest Generation, and that has never been disputed. Born in September 1915 between the beginning and end of the First World War, aka The Great War, and the start of WWII. Well, at least they thought so at the time, but, as history often does in such matters, men’s thirst for more of things that aren’t theirs proved them wrong.
He was one of eight children, two of whom died during the Spanish Influenza. They lived in an area of South Philadelphia known as “The Devil’s Pocket,” or Schukyll, between 24th and 25th, and between Catherine and Christian streets, on the East side of the river, along the train routes. His parents struggled to make a living and had very little, especially after the Great Depression began on October 29, 1929, just a month after my dad turned 14. Around the same time, his father needed help with his painting and paperhanging work, which had become inconsistent. I remember him and his siblings talking about walking the tracks not far from their house to pick up a bucket of coal that would fall from coal-laden trains before going to school at St. Anthony’s. As a result, just as he was starting his freshman year, he had to drop out of school to assist his family.
In the spring of 1933, shortly after his 16th birthday, he joined the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC). He would spend the next two years working alongside grown men in a CCC camp in Pine Furnace, Pennsylvania. He was taught to set and detonate dynamite since young, unmarried men were considered expendable in the event of accidents. I remember him telling us a foot of fuse would give you about a minute, so you would need to take great care in setting the explosives, giving you enough time to get far enough away to take safe cover. Also, you had to keep the dynamite cool as it would sweat nitroglycerine. Living in the camp, he received three meals a day and earned $27 a month, of which he sent $22 home and kept $5 for his personal necessities. This helped his parents bring money in and have one less mouth to feed.
In 1935, he returned home to help his father, who had fallen ill, while my grandmother began working as a housekeeper at the University of Pennsylvania Hospital. By 1940, my father enlisted in the Army and achieved the rank of Staff Sergeant. He became engaged to my mother and wrote home about being offered a commission in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, roughly six months before the attack. He often remarked, “Your mother probably saved my life by persuading me to turn it down, despite my pleading, ‘When will a guy like me ever get a chance to go to Hawaii?’” While stationed in Nova Scotia, he developed a foot rash and was sent back to the States. Upon his return, he was released and assigned to a POW/AWOL camp as a Military Police officer under the Provost Marshal, which was also an artillery camp in Bangor, Maine.
He and my mother would marry in September of 1942, when he was on leave. They married, and I am the next-to-youngest of 7 siblings born between 1945 and 1958. Point of note on February 10, just 15 days before I would turn two, my dad had a stroke while driving the El out of 69th Street for PTC (Phila. Transit Company, now part of SEPTA). He would need to learn to walk/talk and, once better, manage a household of 7 children. My mom was 5 months pregnant with my kid sister at the time. My dad wouldn’t get home until a month after my sister was born in September of 1958. Needless to say, Mom’s story is one for the books. Through it all, they managed it all, and we never once heard them complain, for it wasn’t in their nature. Needless to say, I have been very blessed in life, and who could or would ever complain after living in my small part of their story? FYI! The picture of my dad holding my kid sister, Annemarie, with my late brother Larry (L) and me (R), both in cowboy hats, was taken at Christmastime a few months after he got home from the hospital.
May you and your family have a safe and blessed Merry Christmas or Happy Chanukah!
The Holiday Season has always been special, especially now as an author of two Philadelphia Holiday Stories. The window of time to offer my esteemed customers my two written contributions to the literary world is short. So please consider Liking, Sharing, and Reviewing.
Both are cheaper than a pizza pie, and your family and friends will enjoy them for years to come. Heck, even the E*read and Audible versions are under $4, and cheaper than a bottle of water at the movies.
Please consider purchasing the book, e*read, or the Christmas story on Audible. I’ve included a FREE LISTEN for you and your family to enjoy. Click on the below Link –
http://www.A-Glimpse-From-Christmas-Past@Audible.com
Amazon Store URL
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FT5W5NZ9
Google Play Store URL
https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=kdGLEQAAQBAJ
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