I grew up visiting aunts and uncles with my parents. I enjoyed these visits, if they had children my age, to play with. But, that wasn’t always the case. As a teenager, I didn’t have to go on these visits any more. Then I became a mother and was busy raising my own children. I really didn’t appreciate aunts and uncles until I had raised my own family. That’s when they became an important part of my life again.
Mom came from a family of seven. Like me, she was the youngest and told me, “I had to watch all my siblings die.” Her family lived on the Kohler farmstead, near Klinesville, on Kohler Road, in Berks County. Mom’s father believed in an education. All the children became teachers except Mom and Aunt Minerva. Mom had always planned on marrying a farmer.
As the youngest in my family of ten, I don’t recall most visits to aunts and uncles. Most died while I was still a youngster. Thus it was that I only recall two of Mom’s sisters: Ellen and Annie.
Mom’s parents moved to Macungie once she graduated from high school. Her sister, Annie, a school teacher, lived in this home and raised her family there. Aunt Annie, during summer months, took in two of my older sisters, and later, Gladys and I, when we were old enough. She had a gorgeous wrap-around porch we loved to roller skate on. Even if the skates, with old socks stuffed in, didn’t fit, we still did a lot of whizzing by. Inside the home, we loved sliding down the banister. Bathing was fun too. We had a large towel and didn’t have to share it. No matter how many times Aunt Annie did “this little piggy” we were still giggling in the bedroom. When I was raising children, I finally sent Aunt Annie a thank you for those memorable visits. I still have her letter of appreciation.
My Aunt Ellen was natured differently. She never married and taught school. The reason I remember her is because my parents left her live in the “old kitchen” (my father had a modern kitchen built in the front of the house) and the upstairs bedroom. I enjoyed having a play mate my age. I do know Mom felt Aunt Ellen was too strict with the three children she adopted, but she never voiced her opinion. Later, Aunt Ellen moved in with her sister, Annie.
Pop was born in a home near East Texas, Spring Creek Road, Lehigh County. He had four brothers and a sister. Later in life his parents moved to Macungie. Every Sunday was “grandma visiting day.” Grandma was the only grandparent I ever knew. I did not enjoy the inside of grandma’s home. We had to sit still. Outside was the fun stuff. We were allowed to walk up and down Grandma’s street which led to Uncle Cal’s (co-owned with a brother-in-law) bakery. We’d go inside just to smell the aroma of the bread. I lie. We went inside because we were always treated to a pretzel stick or bubble gum.
I never really got to know my Uncle Cal, except for treats. Alas, their only child died in early adulthood and Pop inherited the home and furnishings from his brother. Pop left us choose something from the house. My eyes fell upon a desk and bookcase. The writer in me grabbed them both. I still use the desk in my study.
Then there’s Uncle Rob – Pop’s twin brother. They joined the Army during WW1. Both returned safe. Rob moved to Indianapolis, Indiana. Like his brother, Cal, he got involved in the bakery business, working his way up. They had no children. He told me the reason: “Your father was a farmer and went to bed early. I was a baker and had to work nights when I was young!”
I got to know Uncle Rob better when my siblings and I did care-taking for Mom and Pop, after separate strokes. Rob flew in to visit a couple times a year, staying at my parents’ home. In the evenings, I’d sit with Uncle Rob and gather stories. He was very devoted to his wife. When she had to be placed in a nursing home, he visited two times a day “to comfort and care for her.” (I wrote up his love story, which was published after his death.) Before Pop had his stroke we had an 80th birthday celebration for the twins.
While taking care of Mom, Uncle Rob invited the sisters to fly to Indianapolis for a weekend. We were treated royally. He gave us a coin set with a printed card saying, “You are my brother’s daughters, which makes you special to me.” Most times Uncle Rob hired a chauffeur to take us places. One morning he arrived in his car to take us for breakfast nearby. On the drive, he asked us to tell him when the light turns green. Someone noticed a buzzer near the steering wheel and asked about it. He stated, “If I go over 45, it goes off. Just a safety precaution.” The sisters soon decided to take our own life into our own hands. We spend the day at his apartment and insisted Dorothy drives us back to the motel with his car. He agreed. I must say Dorothy did a great job. That buzzer buzzed all the way back to our motel!
The last of my living uncles was Pop’s youngest brother, Willard. My siblings and I started visiting him in his 80s. He lived into his 90s, doing his own house and garden chores at “his pace.” I know his life story because I asked him to write it up for my family newsletter years ago. He wanted more than a menial job after graduation. He entered Business School in Allentown where he learned typing and bookkeeping. Borrowing $400 (paying back later) from his mother, he attended Eastman College, in New York, from 1923-26. During his summer job, he met A. G. Smith, great-grandson of the founder of Smith Brothers black cough drops. They became friends. Uncle Willard ended up in the hospital for an acute attack of appendicitis. Mr. Smith visited him every day and paid for his entire doctor and hospital bill. After college, he did auditing for firms in New York City. The last jobs were Controller Secretary and Treasurer of Commodore Hotel and Empire State Club, before retiring.
While living in New York, he met his wife, Gladys. Together, they traveled 50 states, Europe, plus 15 cruises. They were traveling on the luxury liner, M.S. Prinsendam, when fire broke out. They ended up on a raft and were saved. Uncle Willard continued going on cruises after his wife’s death.
My fondest memory of Uncle Willard was “our smoke.” We visited and celebrated his 88th birthday (all of us were treated to dinner at a restaurant). Once back at his house, he asked, “Does anyone want to have a cigar with me?” I turned to look at my brothers. They shook their heads no. Even though they quit smoking, I couldn’t believe they wouldn’t have one for our uncle. Same with my sisters, who were trying to quit smoking. I was upset with the whole lot of them. Finally, I, who never learned how to smoke (but pretended as a teen), said, “Uncle Willard I’ll have a cigar with you.” I followed him to his den. There upon a shelf was a humidifier. He took the tin down, opened it, and gave me a choice. I took a big plump one. Back in the living room, I sat on the floor next to him. A large ash tray, on a pedestal, sat between us. Uncle Willard lit my cigar first. I puffed a few times until I saw red fire at the tip. Maybe I didn’t know how to inhale, but I was able to take as many puffs as my uncle during “our smoke.” It was to be our last smoke. He died a few months later.
Even though I didn’t get to truly know my aunts and uncles well, I’m grateful for the memories I have of the few I did know. Aunts and uncles are like sharing a good cigar, “they sooth the soul.”
Carole Christman Koch grew up in Berks County and has been published in numerous publications. She has a passion for writing and has many stories from growing up on a farm to raising children to humorous stories about her and her husband to everyday stories to season stories and more.
