AGGIE

((This was my very first post here back in February, 2007. I'm reposting it 
today to mark Womens' History  Month)) 

I’m a child of mixed heritage. On one side I’m
descended from a long line of Yankee settlers.
On the other, I’m descended from Irish Catholic
immigrants who came to Boston in the late
19th century.

Meet my maternal grandmother, Agnes McFarland.
In the family she’s known as Aggie. To us grandchildren
she was "Nanny". I believe the picture is for her Confirmation.

She was born in 1898, eighth child and third daughter
out of the ten children that would survive infancy. She
grew up in a Irish Catholic family, her father a laborer
on the Boston Elevated Railway.


She had rheumatic fever as a child in a time when it
was a deadly disease and although she'd survived it left
Aggie with a weak heart. In 1924 she married Edward F.
White Sr. They had two children before a third died, then
Edward walked out in the middle of the Great Depression
leaving Aggie to raise the children on her own.

Aggie divorced him in 1935.

It was hard for her; in those times the label "divorced"
was somewhat shameful for an Irish Catholic woman.


Work was hard to come by for a woman with children
so she scrimped and saved. Some nights dinner was
bread soaked in milk. My Mom and uncle were sent to
a nearby dental school to have their teeth worked on by
students. When Mom came down with what was known
as St. Vitus’ Dance in those days, Aggie somehow came
up with the money for the doctors and to buy liver to
serve at dinner to get Mom’s iron content up. I suspect
Aggie’s parents must have helped her out here and there
financially. My Mom once claimed that the legendary
Boston Mayor James Michael Curley helped out with
some problem as well.


But Aggie was no cream puff, either. One story my
Mom told was of the time she and Uncle Ed skipped
school to hang out at the cottage out on Houghs’ Neck
with their cousins. The place was owned by Aggie’s
younger sister Peggy and her husband Leo McCue and
was quite a distance away from the Jamaica Plain
neighborhood of Boston Aggie and her children lived
in.


Yet suddenly my grandmother was walking down the
beach towards them. She’d taken the trolley and two
different buses to get there. She stayed long enough
to let Mom and Ed get their things and then took
them home by the same route she’d used to get there.


Somehow she did it. She raised her children to adulthood
even though it meant sometimes ducking her rebellious
son's head in the sink when he used swears or nursing her
daughter through a case of scarlet fever. She survived
watching her son join the Navy at 18 to fight in WW2.
All this while living life as a divorced Catholic woman
whose husband had left her for another woman.


She never remarried.


I knew her as Nanny, my grandmother, and she lived
with us when I was a kid. My Dad and Uncle Ed had
bought a two family home after the war in Malden on
a GI loan and so Aggie saw all five of her grandchildren
everyday. But she spent most of the time with my sister
and I because my parents both worked fulltime.


I have memories of her.


She was a quiet woman, black haired with grey streaks
and usually wore those one piece housedresses. She’d eat
peas by rolling them down the blade of her knife into her
mouth and looking back I think she did it to amuse me
and tease my mom. She never yelled but I remember
her breaking up a knockdown fight between two Italian
ladies who lived in the houses to either side of ours and
doing it with a slightly louder than usual voice and a
disgusted tone at their behavior in front of children.


I remember her being upset when the goldfish got sucked
down the drain of the kitchen sink when she pulled the
sink plug by accident after cleaning the goldfish bowl. And
I recall how she kept me from looking out the window after
a worker fell off the roof when it was being reshingled.
(He survived by the way; he broke his back and narrowly
missed landing atop the picket fence that ran between our
house and our next door neighbor’s.)


As time went by her rheumatic heart got worse and she
needed an oxygen tank in her bedroom for when breathing
was hard.


Aggie died at age 58 on February 12th, 1957.


She lived a tough life but she always carried herself like
a lady.

"HONEY FITZ"

In Boston when St. Patrick's Day rolls around you'll sometimes here the stories
about the legendary Irish politicians of the city's history, and among them none
loom larger than James Michael Curley and John Fitzgerald. Both of them were
political bosses of the old school, always ready to help a friend or exact revenge
on an enemy. I've written a bit before about Mayor Curley, so in this post I'll
talk a bit about "Honey Fitz."

John Fitzgerald rose first to prominence in Boston's North End in 1892 when he
ran successfully for the state senate. He was keenly aware of his constituents' lives,
their weddings and funerals, and he mingled with them at dances and dinners. His
supporters were known as "Dearos" because he frequently referred to the "Dear Old
North End" in his speeches. Two years later he won election as congressman and served
three terms before running for Mayor of Boston and defeating an opponent from
the old Yankee establishment in 1905. His administration was famous for cronyism,
and Fitzgerald lost his bid for re-election but regained the office two years later when he
defeated another "Yankee", James J. Storrow. (I'm not certain but I think Storrow Drive
is named after him.)

One night during a rally of that campaign, a band was hired to play during Mayor
Fitzgerald's entrance. They finished two songs, "The Star Spangled Banner" and
"The Wearing of the Green" while Fitzgerald tried to make his way to the platform
through the crowded hall, then began playing "Sweet Adeline". When Fitzgerald
finally climbed up on the stage, he led everyone in singing the song and it became his
trademark. He'd perform the song at every event or rally he was invited to speak at.

"Honey Fitz" was also well known as a man with an opinion on nearly everything. In fact,
someone even wrote a poem about it:

"Honey Fitz can talk you blind
On any subject you can find.
Fish and fishing, motor boats
Railroads, street-cars, getting votes
Proper ways to open clams
How to cure existing shams
State Street, Goo-Goos, aeroplanes,
Malefactors, thieving gains,
Local transportation rates,
How to run nearby States;
On all these things, and many more,
Honey Fitz is crammed with lore."

There were other Irish political bosses in Boston. One was P.J. Kennedy from East
Boston, with whom Fitzgerald had ties through the marriage of his daughter Rose to
Kennedy's son Joseph. Another was James Michael Curley from South Boston who
eventually challenged "Honey Fitz" in 1913. Curley ran a tough campaign and
spread a rumor that Fitzgerald had an affair with a cigarette girl named "Toodles".
He even scheduled a public "lecture" entitled "Great Lovers from Cleopatra to
Toodles". Rather than put his wife through the wringer of such a campaign, Mayor
Fitzgerald withdrew from the race. He never again held an elective office.

But he did live long enough to see his grandson John Fitzgerald Kennedy win the
Congressional seat he himself once held. And when JFK was elected President of the
United States, he named the presidential yacht the Honey Fitz in honor of his beloved
grandfather.

Written for the 12th edition of The Carnival of Irish Heritage and Culture.

"THE HIDDEN HISTORY OF THE BOSTON IRISH" SIGNING

And now for a commercial message

I've mentioned Peter F. Steven's book "The Hidden History of
the Boston Irish" in a previous post, and thought I'd mention that
Mr. Stevens would be appearing at the Borders Books store where
I work in Braintree, Ma. next Saturday, October 4th at 2pm.

It's a great book with lots of information about our Boston Irish
heritage. So drop on by and get a copy and meet Peter Stevens!

"HIDDEN HISTORY OF THE BOSTON IRISH"

I've previously mentioned reading the story of Barney
McGinniskin in Peter F. Stevens' Hidden History of the
Boston Irish. I skimmed through the book on my first reading
but today I took my copy and a glass of lemonade outside to
the patio and spent the afternoon there rereading the book
more closely. It was a pleasant and informative few hours.

If you are of Irish descent and live in Boston or your ancestors
did this book will give you a better picture of the obstacles
Irish-Americans faced in 19th century America and will make
you better appreciate how they overcame them with talent
and determination. Mr. Stevens writes about people and
incidents that I've either only heard briefly mentioned or that
I had never heard of at all and makes learning about them
enjoyable.


Reading the book I was struck by how some of this "hidden"
history has touched my life. I lived in Dorchester as a child, for
example, not far from Gallivan Boulevard, and never knew
about the man in whose honor it's named. I attended Cathedral
High School as a freshman and saw the Cathedral of the Holy
Cross every day and didn't know about the architect, Patrick
Keely, who designed and built it. I know that John L. Sullivan
retired to and died at a farm right here in Abington, but didn't
know that one of his greatest opponents, Jake Kilrain, quietly
lived out his last years in nearby Quincy.


As I read about the Broad St. Riot of 1837 where Boston
"Yankee" firemen fought with Irish workmen I was struck with
the irony of how a little over a century later my three McCue
cousins and other Irish Americans would be proud members of
the Fire Dept. I read about Patrick Collins, the first Irish
American mayor of Boston in the 20th century and wondered
if that opened the way for my mother's grandfathers to find
jobs working for the city.


Hidden History of the Boston Irish is a $19.99 paperback and
is available from your local bookstore and online. My store
sold out of the original ten copies that were shipped to us fairly
quickly so you may need to have it ordered in but it's worth
the effort. (I reordered more for our store, of course!)

And, in the interests of full disclosure, I had the pleasure of
meeting Mr. Stevens a week or so ago and we're planning to
host a signing at the store in August.(details to follow.)

AGGIE

I’m a child of mixed heritage. On one side I’m
descended from a long line of Yankee settlers.
On the other, I’m descended from Irish Catholic
immigrants who came to Boston in the late
19th century.

Meet my maternal grandmother, Agnes McFarland.
In the family she’s known as Aggie. I believe the
picture is for her Confirmation.

She was born in 1898, eighth child and third daughter
out of the ten children that would survive infancy. She
grew up in a Irish Catholic family, her father a laborer
on the Boston Elevated Railway.


She had rheumatic fever as a child in a time when it
was a deadly disease and although she'd survived it left
Aggie with a weak heart. In 1924 she married Edward F.
White Sr. They had two children before a third died, then
Edward walked out in the middle of the Great Depression
leaving Aggie to raise the children on her own.

Aggie divorced him in 1935.

It was hard for her; in those times the label "divorced"
was somewhat shameful for an Irish Catholic woman.


Work was hard to come by for a woman with children
so she scrimped and saved. Some nights dinner was
bread soaked in milk. My Mom and uncle were sent to
a nearby dental school to have their teeth worked on by
students. When Mom came down with what was known
as St. Vitus’ Dance in those days, Aggie somehow came
up with the money for the doctors and to buy liver to
serve at dinner to get Mom’s iron content up. I suspect
Aggie’s parents must have helped her out here and there
financially. My Mom once claimed that the legendary
Boston Mayor James Michael Curley helped out with
some problem as well.


But Aggie was no cream puff, either. One story my
Mom told was of the time she and Uncle Ed skipped
school to hang out at the cottage out on Houghs’ Neck
with their cousins. The place was owned by Aggie’s
younger sister Peggy and her husband Leo McCue and
was quite a distance away from the Jamaica Plain
neighborhood of Boston Aggie and her children lived
in.


Yet suddenly my grandmother was walking down the
beach towards them. She’d taken the trolley and two
different buses to get there. She stayed long enough
to let Mom and Ed get their things and then took
them home by the same route she’d used to get there.


Somehow she did it. She raised her children to adulthood
even though it meant sometimes ducking her rebellious
son's head in the sink when he used swears or nursing her
daughter through a case of scarlet fever. She survived
watching her son join the Navy at 18 to fight in WW2.
All this while living life as a divorced Catholic woman
whose husband had left her for another woman.


She never remarried.


I knew her as Nanny, my grandmother, and she lived
with us when I was a kid. My Dad and Uncle Ed had
bought a two family home after the war in Malden on
a GI loan and so Aggie saw all five of her grandchildren
everyday. But she spent most of the time with my sister
and I because my parents both worked fulltime.


I have memories of her.


She was a quiet woman, black haired with grey streaks
and usually wore those one piece housedresses. She’d eat
peas by rolling them down the blade of her knife into her
mouth and looking back I think she did it to amuse me
and tease my mom. She never yelled but I remember
her breaking up a knockdown fight between two Italian
ladies who lived in the houses to either side of ours and
doing it with a slightly louder than usual voice and a
disgusted tone at their behavior in front of children.


I remember her being upset when the goldfish got sucked
down the drain of the kitchen sink when she pulled the
sink plug by accident after cleaning the goldfish bowl. And
I recall how she kept me from looking out the window after
a worker fell off the roof when it was being reshingled.
(He survived by the way; he broke his back and narrowly
missed landing atop the picket fence that ran between our
house and our next door neighbor’s.)


As time went by her rheumatic heart got worse and she
needed an oxygen tank in her bedroom for when breathing
was hard.


Aggie died at age 58 on February 12th, 1957.


She lived a tough life but she always carried herself like
a lady.