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Tales from / about Locals

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Stories of our Grassroots

Dot and Johnny

This is a short, but sweet, story about my uncle Johnnie Boyan, and our perennial teacher of the English language, Dorothy Keefe.

Johnnie was the typical Irish lad; in a bit of a fog and almost always late for scheduled appointments or tasks. At Highland Falls High School on Mountain Avenue, morning classes began promptly at 9AM; and on the day in question, Johnnie was sneaking into the side door, hoping to get by any teachers while sneaking to class. Yes, he was late, but it was not unusual. Climbing the stairs, he rounded the corner, and ran headlong into his English teacher, "Dot" Keefe, as she looked at him and said ...."Late again, Boyan!". As Johnnie was quick with the Irish Wit, he answered with the words...."Yeah, me too"!

Well, that's the story.

Kevin Childs (12/19/17)

"Crazy" Teacher

Teachers can have bad days, just as kids have bad days. This is a story of a bad day that was saved by the most unlikely person of all. Two teachers, one hallway, and one kid; that was the cast of characters on that school day morning.
The class at Highland Falls High School was one of the first in the morning; a class called "Civics", which taught us the way our government worked. On this school day, the sequence of United States Presidential succession was being discussed, and a definite point of contention emerged in the discussion. The teacher pointed out that in his opinion, after the fourth level (Secretary of State), the competence of any further proposed presidents should be in question. The confrontation would soon follow.

Little Kevin (about 5 foot 4 or so) sat in the first row right near the door; and as the teacher uttered his opinion, two short words were uttered. "You're crazy", said Kevin. Instantly, the teacher pounced and started slapping. Kevin covered himself, and gradually made his way out through the door and into the hallway. The teacher was enraged that a mere student would dare to say those words; words that were in a way, prophetic. As the teacher continued to lightly pummel Kevin with definite but light slaps about the head, the equally scary English teacher (Mrs. Keefe) emerged from her room next door. Mrs. Keefe quickly wrapped her arms around the slapping teacher, and yelled the words "run Kevin, run". Kevin did exactly as instructed, and ran....all the way to the quiet library at the end of the hall. The scary English teacher had saved little Kevin, and calmed down the "crazy" teacher....who wasn't really crazy...just a little peeved.

- kc -

Benjamin and Andy

After attending the University of Chicago, he entered the United States Military Academy at West Point, New York in 1932. He was sponsored by Representative Oscar De Priest (R-IL) of Chicago, at the time, the only black member of Congress. During the entire four years of his Academy term, Davis was shunned by his classmates, few of whom spoke to him outside the line of duty. He never had a roommate. He ate by himself. His classmates hoped that this would drive him out of the Academy. The "silent treatment" had the opposite effect. It made Davis more determined to graduate. Nevertheless, he earned the respect of his classmates, as evidenced by the biographical note beneath his picture in the 1936 yearbook, The Howitzer:

The courage, tenacity, and intelligence with which he conquered a problem incomparably more difficult than plebe year won for him the sincere admiration of his classmates, and his single-minded determination to continue in his chosen career cannot fail to inspire respect wherever fortune may lead him.[1]

He graduated in 1936, 35th in a class of 278. He was the academy's fourth black graduate (and the first graduate since Charles Young in 1889). When he was commissioned as a second lieutenant, the Army had a grand total of two black line officers — Benjamin O. Davis, Sr. and Benjamin O. Davis, Jr. After graduation he married Agatha Scott.

The preceding information refers to General Benjamin O. Davis Jr. during his silent years as a cadet at West Point.

Being an Irish father, Andrew "Andy" Boyan found it necessary to hold more than a few jobs in and about Highland Falls...and one of those jobs was as a West Point cadet "barracks policeman". Now, a barracks policeman was not a law enforcement officer, but was a fellow who saw to maintaining the cadet "quarters" in a neat, clean and orderly manner. In other words he could also be called a custodian, caretaker, or janitor. Andy was an affable working class Irishman; one who appreciated his own place in life, as well as that of others around him. Cadet Davis lived alone, and found that "Andy" would readily talk with him without being prompted or even required to do so. Over Benjamin O. Davis Jr's four years of cadet life, the one person who became a true friend was not a fellow cadet, but was this affable fellow from Highland Falls who, while leaning on his broom or mop, engaged Cadet Davis in friendly conversation that would be recalled in letter form many years later. In 1954 Benjamin O. Davis Jr. received his first star. Shortly thereafter, a letter made its way to Andrew "Andy" Boyan at 22 Drew Avenue in Highland Falls, New York. It was a thank you note for the friendship shown to him during his years as a West Point cadet. The newly minted Brigadier General never forgot the kind words and friendly banter that brightened the barracks room two decades before.

Kevin Childs - September 2015

The "Necessary"

John Shelley was the husband of Mary Brennan, and the proud builder of seven homes in a village with the colorful name of Buttermilk Falls. The village name had been changed to Highland Falls when incorporated in 1906; a fact that I find sad, as the former name had been attached to the area since being noticed by the Dutch explorers during the early settlement years. Since this memory is about my great grandfather, I'll address the village name at another time.

John and Mary lived in their home near the end of Redoubt Street at the north end of the village. A turnstile type entrance to the United States Military Academy at West Point existed a short fifty feet or so, north of their home, and it may be interesting to note that Redoubt Street in Highland Falls became Wilson Road in West Point when the large gate was opened for events at the academy. This information is given so you may visualize a few of the events that took place in and around this home.

It was early September in the year 1912, and numbers wise, a gallon of gasoline was priced at seven cents, you could buy a loaf of bread for a nickel, and Pius the 10th was our Pope. Wars or skirmishes were being waged in various places around the world, with United States forces engaged in Cuba and Nicaragua. On the evening in question, a war was also being waged in the Shelley home, particularly at the card table. The game being played was Euchre, a popular card game at the time, and the jokers at the table were the typical group of Irish friends gathered together for a few friendly, and not so friendly hands.

One of the friends from the "Old Sod" was Martin Maher, Sr., patriarch of a clan that included his five sons...all engaged in military service or employment at West Point. Others sitting at the table included Mr. Shelley's neighbor Jack Cody, as well as another friend, Bill Bennett. There were one or two other locals in attendance, but their names don't come to mind at this time. The game was "Irish friendly", which means the craic or banter was flowing, and each of them intended on being the one possessing a majority of coins at the end of the evening.

For those not familiar with the game of Euchre, simply think of Bridge. It was an earlier version, and was widely popular across Europe and America in the late 19th and early 20th Centuries. Of course, refreshments were provided, and a bottle or three were undoubtedly available and readily consumed during the games. Card games don't have innings or quarters or halftimes, and if one has to take leave to care of bodily needs, one would simply stand and indicate that they would shortly return by stating the words "seeing a man about a horse", or some other similar phrase.

The "Necessary" or "Facility" was located outside, and a proper distance from the rear of the house in order to accommodate the bodily elimination needs of the household and guests. Martin stood, and making his way to the back door, stated that although he'd be taking his leave at that time, he'd soon return to the Euchre card game wars. As the game continued, each player stared at the cards, the table, the walls, or whatever distraction used to gain the small advantage. In time, John stood and declared that they should take a break, and await the return of Martin from his duties in the facility.

Ten minutes turned into twenty, and soon more than thirty minutes had passed since Mr. Maher had made his necessary jaunt to the small, rickety one room building. John rose from the table, and stating that "business" shouldn't take that long, walked to the backyard. I a few short moments, John walked back to through the door, muttering that Martin would not be returning, and they may as well fold his hand.

Martin had played his last hand, and a few days later, the family held a service for the late Martin Maher, Sr., also attended by more than a few of his local friends as well as quite a few who had known him from their days back on the old sod. It was a celebration of an Irish life, well lived.

Kevin Childs - 2015

Purple Heart Day
8/27/68

   "Shot Day"

My name is Thomas Louis Gruno (Ray). I was a First Lieutenant of an infantry
rifle platoon when I earned my Purple Heart in Viet Nam. I was Bravo 26m (2ndPlatoon, Bravo Company, 2nd Bn, 39th Inf., 9thInfantry Division). My Infantry men were the best of the best, and still are.

We got back from the field after two weeks of heavy combat. It was the evening of the 26th of August, 1968. The next day was my birthday, 8/27/68. I thought how nice it would be to sleep in a bed, clean up, eat hot chow, and not be in combat on my birthday. This was not to be.

Charlie Company, 2/39, was involved in a big firefight when my company, Bravo, was ordered to go out to support them. We had to make a combat assault by helicopter into a hot LZ (Landing Zone). During the battle, I was ordered to advance into the jungle. I called in artillery and fast movers (F-4 Phantom Jets) to soften up our assault. As we advanced into the jungle from our position, the NVA opened up with machine gun and rifle fire about ¾ of the way across the rice paddy. Three of us were immediately hit. To my left, private Dyson, from Tacoma Park, Maryland, was shot in the chest, KIA. I was wounded in the lower leg by a Chi-Com type 56 machine gun..7.62, breaking my tibia and fibula. To my right, within an arm's reach, Sgt. Ray Registar of Valdosta, Georgia, was shot in the head, and KIA also. I guess the enemy thought I was dead too, because they shifted their fire to my other squads. When I realized this, I pulled the pin on my grenade and threw it into the machine gun nest, about ten yards away. I knocked out the nest, killing the two NVA.

Specialist Fred Benson, Detroit, Michigan, and Sgt. John Nelson, New Jersey, pulled me back to our last position, behind the rice paddy dike as my medic looked at my leg. I told him to cut off my boot because I thought I was hit in the ankle. Actually, I was hit in my leg even though it felt like the ankle. After he stopped the bleeding and gave me morphine, I called for a medevac. Waiting for the helicopter, I called in some more artillery on the enemy position. It must have been effective because we stopped receiving fire. When the medevac came in, several of my men carried me over to it. As we said goodbye to each other, I thanked them and gave them a thumbs-up sign, because I knew they had to R.O.N. (remain over night).

I thank my platoon every day for their fighting spirit and loyalty to each other and their lieutenant. I thank God, too, for the American Fighting Infantryman, the greatest in the world.

When I received my Purple Heart in the 3rd Field Hospital, I read the certificate. It stated that George Washington (who conceived the Purple Heart medal) awarded the first one in Newburgh, New York. I never knew that, even though I graduated from St. Patrick's High School in Newburgh in 1963.
How about them apples!

“Lest we Forget”
1st Lieutenant Thomas L. “Ray” Gruno
Call Sign - “Mad Dog 26”

The Governor & the Waitress

Harriman was his name; and he had recently been elected Governor of the State of New York. Margaret Childs (one of the little Boyan girls) was her name; a young wife who helped the family finances by working as a waitress at the Hotel Thayer. The Hotel was located just inside the United States Military Academy main gate, and was the place that visitors ranging from the general public to celebrities, rested their weary heads. Governor Harriman had higher political aspirations, and the stop at West Point was but one of many of what were called "whistle stops" on that day.

As background to this little story, I should tell you that Margaret always seemed to have a way with words, and was usually the one to come up with a little "ditty" or poem, if the occasion warranted such. This day would be such an occasion.

Living less than a few hundred yards from West Point's main gate, Margaret would usually show up to work quite early; she found the "employee lounge" in the basement of the hotel a nice place to relax before the dining room shift began. When checking the table assignments on the bulletin board, Margaret was surprised to see that "The Harriman Table" had been placed in her section of the dining room, and that she would soon be waiting on her own Governor who was possibly a nominee for President of the United States!

Reaching into her handbag, Margaret found a passable piece of lined paper, a pen, and an idea that would soon make its way to televisions across the nation. A spark had kindled her Irish mind along with a bit of Irish wit. Hunkering over her scrap of writing paper, Margaret first wrote the lyrics to a traditional Irish song that had often been sung at her home which was also known as the Boyan homestead. After recalling the lyrics of the refrain, she proceeded to infuse the one word that was appropriate to Governor Harriman's quest, that quest being his seeking election to the office of the President of the United States. By inserting that single word, Margaret created a new song which was very appropriate to the campaign being waged by the Governor's faction of the New York Democratic Party.

It was now time for Margaret's workday to begin, and she made her way to the Thayer Hotel dining room, and to the area known as her "station". As the dining room opened for lunch, the Governor's entourage entered, and was led to their table by the maî·tre 'd or headwaiter. After allowing the table a few minutes to peruse the menu, Margaret made her way to the table, and performed the ritual of happily greeting the group, asking how she could make their lunch experience a memorable one. Sidling to the side of the Governor, Margaret slipped the paper from her apron pocket, and whispered, "Here's a little Irish ditty I wrote for you". As this possibly happened quite often to Mr. Harriman, he smiled and quietly acknowledged the gift, slipping it discreetly into his pocket.

The luncheon proceeded as a script, with each course of food and drink interspersed with laughter and discussion; as these WERE politicians to the core. Alas, all good things must end, and the entourage was quickly out the door and on the way to the next event of the day. Margaret finished her workday, with life returning to what was considered normal to her; with mornings spent getting the kids off the school, and seeing her husband off to his job at West Point, before spending her afternoons waiting on the non-celebrities of the world.

It was now two weeks later in the early evening when the family was startled by a sound coming from the television in the living room. They were having dinner at the kitchen table, as a song began to play....a song that was quite familiar to her family and Irish folks around the world. The song was what some people called a simple "parody", with the original lyrics being replaced by appropriate ones to the occasion. The Harriman delegation at the convention, and possibly the entire nation (at least the Democrat Nation) was now hearing and singing the words penned by Margaret.

Note: Another version had been penned fours years earlier by Denise Taft, a student at Vasser College, but the simpler and to-the-point Margaret Boyan Childs version was the one that was sung by the delegation on national television.

The refrain from both versions are listed below:

The Original Harrigan
by George M. Cohan

H-A double R-I-G-A-N spells Harrigan
Proud of all the Irish blood that's in me;
Divil a man can say a word agin me.
H-A double R-I-G-A-N you see,
Is a name that a shame has never
been connected with, Harrigan, that's me!

TModified
by Margaret Boyan Childs

Submitted by Kevin Childs

Uphill ..... both ways!
I'm sure you've all heard this from the "old" folks.

Growing up in Highland Falls gave many of us the opportunity to declare....."When I was a kid, we had to travel to school on foot, through raging snow storms, up hill, for about a full mile........BOTH WAYS !" In Highland Falls this was actually true for many of the kids who lived at the North end of the village. Picture this scenario. It was a day in January, and the kids on Redoubt Street awaken to five inches of snow, with the depth steadily inching upwards as newer flakes fell from the sky. During these times, a "snow day" seldom happened, and kids actually looked forward to the walk to school. The walk, however, was one that put credence to the previously stated description.

Here's the lineup. Pudgy Kurek, Butch Phillips, Sandy Salerius, Madeline Salvani, and trailing the bunch was little Kevin Childs. Fighting the raging snowstorm, the kids made their way over Redoubt Street, and continued UP the hill that was Drew Avenue, until reaching South Street. Please note that they had actually walked UP a hill to get to South Street.

Continuing to school, the five bundled kids made their way across South Street to Prospect, ending up at a building that housed Vic Galu's Bar and Grill. Being under the age of 18 (legal drinking age at that time), we walked past the entrance, to the rear of the building, which revealed a short path...DOWN the slope to their classes at Highland Falls High School.

At the end of the school day, the same five kids walked to the West end of the High School building, and made their way UP the small hill, to the rear of the Vic Galu's Bar and Grill building. The reverse has just taken place....and the kids were returning home to Redoubt Street, by going UP the hill to Prospect Street; continuing across to South Street and Drew Avenue, and then turning right and DOWN the hill to Redoubt Street.

The kids in Highland Falls had truly traveled to school and back in a raging snowstorm; trudging uphill, both ways!

Bing...the Wonder Horse!

Mr. Keller owned him, and he was stabled at the rear Joe Zint's house on Church Street. Mr. Keller's daughter was named Ethel, but she wasn't the exclusive rider of "The Wonder Horse" as all the kids in the neighborhood got their own chance to ride the great steed. This story is a brief description of what happened along Route 9W on one lucky day, and also where Bing spent his final years.

A "Paint" is a beautiful horse, with markings that could often be described as islands, or shapes of countries across the world. "Bing" was an American Paint, standing a full 15 hands of calm and gentle horseflesh, often nibbling a sugar cube or a crunchy carrot from the palm of a child as he or she looked up in wonder. A gentle clip-clop could be heard most days along the roads of the 1930's village as Mr. Keller gave the horse a daily walk and sometimes run. Once each week, the exercise session was delegated to an area where Mountain Avenue met Route 9W, across from the base of a hill that had the descriptive name of Bald Rock. This section of the highway was quite level at this point, running about three quarters of a mile to the West before veering sharply North to the Storm King Mountain near West Point. Since there was a grassy median between the North and South lanes of the highway, it was an ideal location to give the children a chance to ride atop an actual living and breathing horse! Traffic in the 1930's was sparse to say the least; and a quarter hour or so would often pass between the appearance of an auto, a truck, or even a horse drawn wagon along the highway.

(Edits and additions made on June 26, 2016)

notes: ride to St. Louis,

...to be continued

Benny Havens
...a True Picture

Benny Havens was a man---indeed an institution---a lovable, good-hearted raconteur who ran a tavern in nearby Buttermilk Falls. There he had been selling spirits and viands to cadets, thus corrupting them, for more than two decades. Getting caught off post and at his establishment was a dismissal offense for cadets or undergraduates at the United States Military Academy. There was said to be three compelling reasons for taking the chance and going anyhow.

First was the character of the drinks Benny served, particularly a kicker called “hot flip,” which he knew just when to flip for perfect flavor. Then there was the quality of the food he offered at his board, particularly the buckwheat flapjacks, which Benny could also flip to perfection. Sometimes when they had no money and their mouths watered for Benny's flapjacks, the cadets made out requisitions for Mackintosh blankets and smuggled them to the tavern as coin for supper. Benny knew just where to convert such contraband to currency. The third reason for going to Benny's was Benny himself, a host of the old school, a friend and crony to cadets he favored, entertaining them with his ready smile, quick wit, and compelling stories. Though he had little formal schooling, he was inexplicably an able mathematician who also offered timely tutoring with his hot flip and flapjacks.

As a cadet who regularly and illegally patronized his establishment in the 1830's, poet-to-be Edgar Allen Poe considered Benny “the only congenial soul in the entire God-forsaken place.”

Benny was a native of the Hudson River valley, who had fallen into his congenial calling as a sideline. He had served as a First Lieutenant in the volunteer army in the War of 1812 and afterward returned to enter the business of cutting “hoop poles,” the young saplings from which barrel hoops were made. On the side he turned his cottage into a tavern of sorts and began filling and emptying a few barrels of his own.

The main source of spirituous and contraband drink at West Point at that early time was an off-limits but close-in establishment run by another congenial soul named Gridley. But Old Grid became such a nuisance that the authorities simply bought him out and turned his place into the Post Hospital.

'What was Gridley's loss was a great gain to ”Benny Havens oh!'” said professor Church, who occasionally noticed more than sines and cosines. To Benny's tavern, after Gridley was bought out, “there was at once a rush”, and for years after he had a monopoly of the business'

A fine business it was. Even the Marquis de Lafayette, in his triumphant hero's return to America in 1824, stopped in at Benny's for a hot flip, paying his tab with two gold gilt buttons bearing his image.

Benny's most valued and faithful clientele, however, were no the rich and famous, but the thirsty, hungry cadets who slipped nights under the threat of academic execution if caught. Many of these would one day become famous if not rich in their own right, and would always have a place in their heart for Benny.

George Edward Pickett, a fellow-plebe whom William Gardner thought 'a jolly good fellow with fine natural gifts sadly neglected' was rapidly becoming devotedly addicted to Benny's enticements. He was stealing away regularly now to lift a glass in good fellowship and his superb singing voice in Benny's anthem, set to the music of 'Wearin o' the Green' .”

John C. Waugh “ The Class of 1846”

....and a thank you to Bill Mahoney for providing this narrative

The Approach

The streets were dark; devoid of humanity, while a lone figure took tentative steps to
a predetermined destination.

Was it, whatever “it” was, worth the effort? Perhaps; but
it was that very fact that would soon be determined.

Houses lined each street in the village, but all that was seen by the small figure was a poorly maintained road beneath his feet with a flickering light just ahead and above. It was a streetlight reflector swaying in the wind, making a creaking sound that was not welcomed on this dark night. Was he actually invited, or was the coming meeting an intrusion that would destroy a friendship; and reinforce the teen’s perception of a quickly deteriorating future? The approach was indirect, as the initial tentative steps were taken toward the north, a direction that was opposite his destination. Why? The mysteries of the approach were accumulating with each step and direction. Reaching a small elm tree lined road, he turned right, taking 113 steps to traverse the sloping hillside. Forward progress was halted by a fence, albeit a small fence, but still...a fence! A decision was required. Shall the next direction be left or right? A nanosecond of thought brought about a decision, and Homestead Avenue was reached in another 111 steps. Now, a choice loomed, would a reversal of direction or a turn to the right be the next requirement? Was he now actually approaching the destination, or had the required route taken him away rather than towards? A quick choice of a turn to the right was made; the decision seemingly coming from his inner self or subconscious. After a few steps, a glance to his left revealed a stately residence, once inhabited in the 19th Century by a well-known local pub owner named Benny Havens. “That was part of history, and in the distant past”, he thought. “This is the present and I must move on, because they're expecting me!” …but were they? Perhaps so; but he would find out only by persisting in his trek. Walking quickly, as he now realized that he actually could be a bit late, the base of the short hill was reached. He now stood beside an establishment known as The South Gate Tavern, while to his left and across Homestead Avenue was a large building named A. Bosch & Son's; housing a taxi service, a bus service, and an automotive garage. Emulating the cadets who marched and studied at the United States Military Academy to the North, he mouthed the words, "Right Face"...and then did just that. He now faced South on Main Street; a street which looked dark and menacing at this hour. A wooded area loomed far to the left, across lanes devoid of traffic. Keeping closer to the buildings on his right seemed the safer choice, and he took one tentative step, then another...and then quickly ran about twenty feet; halting at a short picket fence in front of a
clapboard house. A light wind emanating from the North was now at his back, and an aroma of bleach mixed with dirty clothing washed over him, since he had just passed a business called Henry Louie's Shirt Laundry. "Less than one hundred yards, and I'll be there", he thought, as he reached into his pocket and tossed the handy breath mint into his mouth. Even though his mouth had to deal with pocket lint that was on the mint, it would readily perform its function. “Be prepared”, he thought.

The destination business establishment was at the south corner of Main Street and Parry Avenue; an establishment that had had various names over the past one hundred years or so. It was now called Gasthaus Tiroler, a restaurant and drinking establishment that had recently joined the ranks of many similar businesses lining the streets of the village. Closing to within fifty feet of the building, he sidled toward that final destination with trepidation.
Suddenly two right arms, two bright smiles and three people stepped to the sidewalk, waving as he approached. Identical twin girls were standing in front of the restaurant, waving to him, while a local guy named Bob stood to the side. It seems as though the invitation had been true; and he would soon be accompanying this wonderfully beautiful teen twin; the one on the left, to the local cinema for a midnight movie. This early in any relationship, a double date was all one could hope for; but the promise of a very interesting future was now forefront on his mind. The journey, or approach was indeed well worth the angst and the effort.

A memory - Copyright 2017, Kevin Childs, All Rights Reserved

Anna aka Babs?

--- (A true story.....some locals will know the last names of the players)

Little Eileen wsat with a smile on her face in her 2nd grade classroom, happily anticipating a new teacher and a new school year. The first day of class was always the most exciting, when you met the "new" kids in town, as well as your friends from the year before. As the new teacher had yet to enter the room, the kids were their usual loud selves, sitting in the proper seats; but yelling to each other across the room.

Suddenly, the door opened with a subtle squeak that instantly quieted the air. The kids sat forward, with their hands clasped on desktops; looking straight forward at what could be said was a seated attention. The new teacher cleared her throat with a little cough, and said "Good morning." Thirty voices sounded what seemed like an echo greeting, followed by absolute silence.

The teacher looked at a paper that listed the name of each student and their desk assignment. Starting at first seat of the first row, the teacher asked a single question, and the student stood, giving his or her answer. The question was simple and to the point. "What is your mothers name?" The question from the teacher and answers from each child went on, until it was little Eileen's turn. The proud little girl stood and stated in a loud voice..."My mother's name is Babs". The teacher looked to Little Eileen and said.."Oh, no. Your mothers name is Barbara". A tear fell from Eileen's eye, and she said..."...but my mother's name is Babs". The exchange went on until the exasperated teacher told the child to go to the blackboard and write...."MY MOTHER'S NAME IS BARBARA, over and over, until I say you can stop". With tears streaming from her eyes, Eileen stepped to the blackboard and began the task at hand; writing over and over....."MY MOTHER'S NAME IS BARBARA", as the rest of the class continued with their studies. When the school day ended, the teacher told Eileen to go home, and that she hoped she had learned her lesson.

The next morning, two people appeared at the school; and made their way to Little Eileen's classroom. "I understand that you didn't believe my daughter when she told you my name", said the mother. The teacher defended herself, saying that she had corrected Eileen because she thought it would be better to use the actual name rather than the nickname, and that her daughter had refused to use her mothers name of Barbara.

The mother smiled and proceeded to inform the teacher that her name was NOT Barbara, and it was actually Anna. Her nickname to family and friends was, indeed, Babs or Babbie. A lesson was learned that day, not by the child; but by the teacher.

Kevin Childs (9-4-16)

Our Little Village
on the Hudson

Aerial view of Highland Falls (1950's)

Prologue

When talking with friends from Highland Falls, I find that not everyone knew of all the neat little aspects of thecommunity; or that they've either forgotten specifics or remembered them in a skewed way. I would have to put myself in the skewed category. I believe we create a past (ideal or not) from things that happened to us during the formative years. Every little twist and turn, every - little comment from a relative or acquaintance affects who we become, and how we remember. The reason I say this is as a way of explaining why my little stories may be remembered in other ways by other people. I welcome corrections and comments, although I may choose to ignore same. I also reserve the right to correct or comment regarding others submissions. I'm starting to remind myself of the debtor who had not a farthing; but at the beginning of each year forgave all debts to him, and expected the same of others. Well. it's now off to the health food store for some B6, B12, Lecithin, Choline, Iron and Zinc ...all supposed memory enhancers. The next thread ...below, begins the journey to each of our unique pasts.

Highland Falls – The 1950's

Highland Falls has a population that has always given more than it has received. In the 1950's the bustling downtown area had businesses ranging from an appliance store, a movie theater, a dry cleaner, two hardware stores, and three or four clothing stores, to a couple of department stores (small but useful), two bakeries, a few deli's, some wonderful luncheonettes, many food markets, and all the smaller businesses that are provided to fill the needs of a small community.

I've often said that people remember what they want and how they want in their own unique way. Thus we continue our travel down the "main" street of Highland Falls, which is appropriately named…..Main Street. In an overgrown hamlet, nothing seems to be wasted, and you may often note that every nook and cranny of space is utilized in some way. I'm sure visitors to Highland Falls during the 1940's and '50's were astonished to find that the local pool hall and bowling alley was actually located........at the end of an alley. If I remember correctly, the alleyway was next to "The Highland Falls Restaurant".... which didn't come close to describing what it actually was. We'll return to Main Street later, after our jaunt down the alleyway. Brogi's was the village version of the pool hall in "Music Man". The establishment was an entertainment (gambling?) venue, which had a few pool tables (and I believe a billiard table ...the one without the pockets) available for the patrons. The main focus of the clientele was on the bowling alleys, which were of the traditional type, operated by human beings rather than machines. For locals, it was years before the Pine Terrace lanes appeared about an eighth mile south of the Mountain Avenue/Main Street intersection, with their modern and automated pin setting machines. When talking with classmates and acquaintances from town, I’ve found that Mr. Brogi must have employed every kid (male) as a pin setter (or spotter) at one time or another. During the properly politically incorrect era of the 1950's, we were called "Pinboys". For those of the female persuasion, or those not of this mid-century time period, the earliest pinboys were kids who did just that; they placed a bowling pin on each of the the painted spots at the base of the alley. Since Brogi's was a "modern" bowling alley, there was a "rack" (invented in about 1936), that allowed the pinsetters to pick up the scattered pins, throw them into the raised rack, place the 16 pound ball into a return-chute, thus clearing the way for the second ball to be thrown. After the second ball was thrown, the balance of the pins were picked up and placed in the rack; the ball once again returned via the chute, and a button was pressed, activating the "re-rack" of the pins. Sounds complicated, right? Not really...... as even the most inept kid was able to earn a few extra bucks performing these rote tasks. To use a play on words, the pay was sparing, but the tips could be substantial. Now we get to other things that went on at our local den of iniquity. Although I never observed them myself, I was told that games of chance were being played in back room areas. I'm sure this wasn't true, as the citizens of Highland Falls would never stoop to such bawdy behavior. It was also probably not true that some pinboys increased the size of their tip by using a very active foot to assure a "mark" rather than a "miss" for an errant bowler. I wonder how many a "700" series had actually been a "650"? Brogi's filled a definite need in Highland Falls; and it was a sad day when the alleyway next to the restaurant led to a closed building, rather than our own bustling nest of games and bawdy behavior.

Let's now take a few steps back, and look North and South along Main Street.

Does every village have a sandwich shop that takes care of the very basic culinary and sweet tooth needs of a majority of citizens? The answer has to be a resounding yes! At the South edge of the Brogi bowling establishment down the little alleyway opening that we’ve just discussed, a sandwich shop that existed (and still does) serving basic, stick-to-your-ribs food. Every town has at least one establishment of this type, but Highland Falls was blessed with a good number of them. A few stores to the North, The Pickwick Luncheonette had been positioned perfectly, as it lay directly across Main Street from the very active movie theater (the inappropriately named City Theater). Each eating place had their “regular” clientele; but crossovers (Northenders at the Pickwick.....Hilltoppers at the The Fireside....or Southenders at Jimmy Cullums, for example) happened quite regularly. The luncheonettes with swivel type seats were, The Highland Falls Restaurant, The Pickwick, The Terminal, and Jimmy Cullums. We were always well fed in Highland Falls, with the hamburgers being much tastier than anything a present day McBurger has to offer.

Moving back down Main Street to the bustling downtown area of Highland Falls, we'll delve a little deeper into what The Pickwick was all about. The Pickwick Luncheonette provided the village with a gathering place to nosh, and hold court ...in a setting that became an extension of the home. The seats were wooden and hard on the rear end, as cushions were unheard of; but being a "kid", we didn't notice. Actually the wood was a good thing, as our presence was memorialized via carvings with a pocket knife on and beneath many a table. I can remember carving KC loves JC during my first year in high school. (I wonder if it's still there ...and I wonder where JC is ?). Describing the interior; the ceiling was high ...at least 20 foot to a kid's eye, but probably quite a bit lower. There were the aforementioned wooden booths all along the north wall, and a classic confectionery counter fronting the cooking area on the south wall. By the way, as previously mentioned, counter seats were the swivel type, making each lunch a potential carnival ride for the younger set. The Pickwick even had an up to date air conditioning system installed! This 1950's version of A/C consisted of a series of ceiling fans that moved the inside air along with the delicious aroma of food to all areas of the establishment. Now that comment brings me to my favorite subject .... food. The Pickwick had burgers (cheese and otherwise), franks, deli sandwiches, eggs, bacon, sausage, ham, milk shakes, malts, sodas (mixed right in front of you with a squirt of flavor and some bubble charged water), lime rickey's (non-alcoholic) in tall skinny glasses, and to top everything off, chocolate egg creams (there are no eggs in an egg cream). This was the original "Cheers"... because everybody DID know your name ...and they knew what you wanted to eat, too! All in all, during those years, "The Pickwick" was a safe and comforting place to be.

My memory of The Terminal Restaurant is scant. The Terminal was just that; the terminal point for buses traveling from or to destinations often dreamed of by the citizens of the village. The name was somewhat appropriate, but perhaps the connotation of the name "Terminal" prevented a greater number of locals from becoming regulars at the restaurant. 'Mohawk' was the name of one of the bus lines serving the village. Others I remember were Continental Trailways, Greyhound Bus Lines, Storm King Bus Line, and the ever present A.Bosch & Son...also known as West Point Tours. The restaurant itself was light and airy, with white being the dominant exterior and interior decorative color being utilized. Swivel chairs along the counter made for quick and efficient service while waiting for the next departure. My memories of The Terminal were of a sometimes destination....such as when I suddenly had need for a soda on a hot summer afternoon; and just happened to be passing by.

Jimmy Cullum's (Later to be called Rafferty's, after it was acquired by cousin Joe Rafferty) was the North End confectionery or snack shop, as well as a place to find the odds and ends that were needed when other stores were closed. You could buy cigarettes, cigars, aspirin, band-aids, sewing kits, West Point souvenirs, ice cream (great ice cream!!), newspapers, magazines (perhaps an etcetera should be inserted here, as the number and variety of items could go on for a few pages). Being closer to the West Point South Gate, this Highland Falls institution was a regular stop for tour buses destined for a tour of the United States Military Academy. My introduction to Mad Magazine came one day in 1952, as I sat on the floor of Cullum's near the newspapers. Of course, Jimmy chased me out that day, as he did many days before and after....but I had been properly infused with "Mad" humor at the age of 8, and would never be the same.......thank God. Even though a local newspaper existed, it was often not needed, as at any time of the day or evening (right up until closing) one would find locals milling about while talking with each other about those who didn't happen to be there at that time. Talking across the "backyard fence" extended to all areas of the village.

Well, we've traversed a small portion of Main Street in Highland Falls, but have skipped over many of the businesses that made up the village during the middle part of the last century. Let's now put it in reverse, and travel to the South end of the Village, between Crystal Lake and Pells Pond. We're now at Walker's Furniture, a local furniture store that saved many a buyer the trip over the Storm King Highway, when a basic (or not so basic) need arose. The Walker Furniture location had a later rebirth as Moscotto's Restaurant. Traveling North on the beginnings of Main Street we encounter the U.S. Academy Motel, the Band Box Drive-In, and about a quarter mile of scenic approach to the main village. Back in the 1950's there were fewer businesses; but those that existed were well known to the villagers. On the West side of main Street, Hogan's Funeral Home greeted visitors with a well manicured lawn and a serene presence. A few yards further, Stroppel's Restaurant appears, and directly across the street, the "Ultra Modern" Pine Terrace Bowling Lanes and their automatic pin setters made their debut during the mid 1950's, supplanting the previously mentioned Brogi's Bowling Alley as the area's evening "non-pub" gathering place. Graber's Florist was the next business, sitting conveniently near the entrance to our serene Peacedale Cemetery.

(latest edits and additions made on June 26, 2016)
©2013-2016 Kevin Childs with emembrances contributed by Ray Gruno, Linda Dyroff, and Don Gruno
….to be continued.

Hybrids
not a new concept

Way back in the 1950's, we had the original Hybrid vehicles along Redoubt Street and Drew Avenue. The front fork of our cheap hybrid came from a 24 inch bike, the rest of the frame was from a 28 incher....and the wheels were whatever size we could get at the moment; ranging from 24 to 28. The last one that I remember owning was a combination of seasick green and faded red (sometimes called rust). The motor for our bikes worked just fine; until we ran out of Grandpa's old playing cards and a clothespin. I wonder how many other kids made the Highland Falls version of the Go-Cart? They were seldom 'store bought', and most were made from various parts scrounged from baby carriages, lawn mowers and the wood pile. The small lawn mower engine that was often used actually got us going at a pretty good pace; but with the hills all around us, we really didn't need the engine....except when going UP the hill. Riding down the l o n g stretch of both the West Point dock hill road...and the twisty and turny Highland Falls version, made for some very exciting adventures.

- A too short story...submitted by Kevin Childs -

New Stories
List of stories in development

Hereafter - Jack Cody and John Shelley
Dan Carroll, marty maher, Luke T. Rafferty, brother of Ed Rafferty and Ella (nee) Gillfeather. Garage - Bungalow - House
Johnny the Dog - Luke T made the headstone
Piermont Boyan's
White shoe polish - Ann and Clair wedding - Olive drab car - 1940 wedding
Horseshit Andy - Bullshit Tom
Snowball in face - Alphonse Bosch - 1944 after wedding at SH, cab to West Point train station. - McAlpine Hotel in NYC. Moved to Brooklyn -42nd street (Aunt Hellen culprit - December 29th.
Babs Finnen story - Eileen Finnen - my mothers name is Babby. No, your mother's name is Barbara.
Benny "Kid" Paret story.
One Flew over the Cukoo's nest story with Kirk Douglas.
Chita Rivera and Father Bill Shelley

Tommy's Stories
...Continued

Welding Up the Crack of Dawn

A smirking "Tommy" Donnery

"Now that my son Kyle and his wife Corinna have got their own apartment and the baby is almost here. I have noticed that while helping them paint their new apartment that my hands do not shake as much now as in the past. It must have something to do with my giving up the old ways, no more drinking or smoking. I guess if I had done this 10 or 20 years ago I could have made the jump from good Welder to great welder. I knew I was a good welder when I heard my name was mentioned of people that might be able to fix the crack in the Liberty Bell. But when the Lord came to me one night with the offer to do that job for him I said, Lord I am only a good welder what you need is a great welder someone like Jim Tracy or Ed Dunn. Then he said Jim and Ed are truly Great Welders but Jim was already doing a job for him, teaching Davie Crocket and Daniel Boone how to shoot these new guns they keep coming up with. Ed on the other hand was doing a job down under, something to do with getting the number 3 boiler back on line. Seeing how they were going to have their hands full doing those two things for some time maybe I would be willing to do this little job for him. Well it seems that he wanted me to weld up the crack of dawn! I said Lord I am good but are you sure you want me to do that. I told him a lot of people get up at the crack of dawn to go fishing or to go to work and that I thought it might be a good idea to leave the crack of dawn alone after a little thought he and I agreed and to let the crack of dawn alone.

Well anyway that’s my story and I am sticking to it. Tommy D.

"Catcha Da Horse"

This story comes from two sources. My Aunt Helen Boyan Mooney, from Redoubt Street, and from Marian Steffin Hoyle, who lived in Highland Falls from 1936 - 1952. I've combined the tales, as they are extremely similar.
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This story is quite short, and is also quite visual. The subject of the story is an Italian man who lived on Mountain Avenue in the area near where the present Firehouse is located. Well, as the story goes, the man owned a horse...and one day, the horse bolted and ran down the street. The man ran after the horse, yelling to everyone who would listen..."Catcha da horse"..."Catcha da horse"..."Catcha da horse". Needless to say, the village wits called the poor guy "Catcha da horse" from that day on. Thus...a nickname was born.
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Bill Mahoney has added a bit to this story...and his rendition
is confirmed by Charlie Durning's uncontrolled laughter.

As told to me by the late, great Bill Murphy:
As a young kid, he hung around with Charlie Durning on Cooks Lane, at the end of which lived the man known as "Catcha da horse". He had a horse tethered in a field where the Regency Apts are now. Every so often, the horse got loose and he offered the kids a nickel to retrieve him, which they did regularly. The poor fella didn't realize the whenever the kids needed money, the horse somehow got loose! "Murph" introduced me to Mr. Durning one evening at the Bear Mtn Inn. First thing I said was "Bill told me about you & "Catch da horse" and he laughed until tears came to his eyes.
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A big thank you to Helen, Marian, and Bill....and if you check on the "Nicknames" page, you'll find the real name of "Catcha da horse".. - kc
- Submitted by Kevin Childs and Bill Mahoney -

West Point Swims
in the moonlight !

Note from the author:
"Some stories are best left unsaid for a long period of time, allowing the long arm of the law to forget and reluctantly forgive. Now I'm sure everyone is now saying....'see, I knew Kevin was up to no good. It's not that bad...but it is fun to remember." Kev

Swimming parties at West Point were hardly ever held during daylight hours. Locals all knew that they had a choice of indoor or outdoor pools to use, and the choice of the day (or night) depended on the season. The swimming hole that was closest to Redoubt Street was the Artillery pool; located about 200 yards from Wilson Gate, and about 300 yards from the 'Homestead'. Daytime entry was usually no problem for townies, as the gift of gab more times than not, gained us entry for a day at the cooling cement pond. Now, nighttime was another matter! Hot summer nights....a title of a Neil Diamond album, but also a time to seek methods of cooling one’s body in those pre-air conditioned times. The first time I ever journeyed beyond the 'fence' at 3am, was probably at about age 11 or 12, which translates to 1955 or '56. The group making this early trek to coolness was probably Pudgy Kurek, his cousin Bobby Tracy, an older guy who was probably Clayton Hager, possibly Sandy Salerius, and yours truly. I'm sure Ray Gruno started dating at about age 10, so he was probably too busy to be in on our earlier late night swims.

Climbing a chain link fence (quietly), and slipping into the water (quietly), was not something that pre-teens or even teens do well. Needless to say, we were often caught by some soldiers, and chased to our point of entry...Wilson Gate. That's where we lost them, as we leapt over or crawled under, depending on our size. When I got back home, I was greeted with a presence that terrified me. Dad was standing on the top step of 20 Redoubt, glaring at me as I approached the house. I thought I had slipped out without being seen, but no...very little got past my dad. The next few days were quite unpleasant, as I was subjected to the wrath of the famous "Chuck" Childs' guilt trip. Dad wasn't a hitter, but I often wished he was. He would sit me down and quietly start talking, explaining why my disappointing the family was the worst thing I could have done. How had I drifted so far from the straight and narrow....and so on and so forth? With tears welling up with each word, I silently wished for a smack, and no dinner...instead of the torture I was enduring. Due to this psychological onslaught, I rode the straight and narrow...for a time, but you can't keep an adventurous kid down!

This initial plunge into the late night pool party scene was followed by many more, and not just during the summer seasons. West Point does and did have indoor pools...many of them, mind you....and the fine facilities were well used by scores of townies over the years. We were raised in a simpler time, one that had many advantages over today. I'm sure each generation says the same; but I feel that the gap between then and now is wider than ever before and growing each day.

Submitted by Kevin Childs

A Notorious Saloon at 22 Drew

Image will have to do until I find the real one

In the later part of the 19th Century, a structure was built at a location along what is now called Drew Avenue in Buttermilk Falls, New York. During the early years, the "Family Homestead" served as the home, but also as a boarding house and a saloon. To this day, residents are well aware of the notoriety of the Hudson Highlands as a location to quench ones thirst, to imbibe with friends, or to simply hoist a few when the occasion fit. This is a very short story of the very short history of a very small tavern. The three story home (actually two stories with a living space also available in the expansive attic) was truly multipurpose, serving as a home, a boarding house, and a saloon. That was the way families survived in the day; maximizing the function while minimizing the expense. Neighborhood saloons served a single purpose, and that would be satisfying a thirst or a need, and very often the two purposes at the same time. As the family story has been told, the establishment had a short but colorful reign as a respite for a thirst. I'm sure the saloon had its regulars as well as the occasional drifter; but one day (or possibly one evening) a patron who had had a few, stood, turned and marched toward the exit to make use of the "facilities" located in a small house "out" at the rear of the building. To reach the yard and the outhouse, one had to go through the saloon door, turn to the right and proceed down the stairs. Well, this is where the 22 Drew Avenue tale ends. When staggering to the facility, a left turn was taken instead of the proper right, launching the patron through the wrong door and head-first to the storage cellar which was many feet below. You, the reader, must write your own conclusion to the wayward walker's fate. Perhaps he rose, dusted himself off, and laughed at his own buffoonery. Perhaps not. To help you along a bit, let me tell you that a very short time later, the saloon owner decided to permanently close the establishment, making the entire homestead into an expanded residence and boarding house. The final pint had been lifted....or so goes another Irish tale.

A family story passed on to you with a proper dose of Irish blarney by
Kevin Childs

Meeting Pete......

This story was conceived years before the Art Linkletter network television show "Kids Say the Darndest Things?"

The village of Highland Falls is unique, but then again, perhaps not as unique as it may seem to the people within. Villagers generally take on the characteristics or perhaps caricature that a closed community gives; allowing people to be bigger than life by way of their names, actions, and idiosyncrasies. Perhaps it's a remnant of the time when the barber was named Barber, and the performer was named Singer. This is a short little story of the day my older brother opened his mouth with a revealing greeting, caused by the colorful ways by which people referred to each other in small closed communities.

It was a summer weekend just after World War II, and Mom, Dad, and my big brother Freddy were out for a walk while I, being the resident family baby, had to stay home with babysitter Grandma Boyan, at the old 22 Drew Avenue homestead. Well, the blocks in the village were, and still are, quite short; making this story equally short.

People in small towns are quite familiar with each other, often referring to each other by a nickname rather than a given name. Such was the case with a fellow named Pete. Pete was the owner of the village movie theater, and held court daily, sitting in his chair at the front of the establishment; greeting people with a nod and a word throughout the day. As mom, dad and barely four year old Freddy passed the village Post Office, they peered into a few of the storefront establishments along the way. Precocious Freddy was between mom and dad, and was proud to be an equal part of the Childs family. The family finally reached the Grand Union Market, and were just passing a small package store, when dad spotted Pete. Pete looked up, rose from his chair and greeted mom and dad, saying...."Hello, Margaret, Chuck...and who's the little one with you?" Proud mom performed the introductions by saying..."Why this is our oldest son Freddy. Freddy, say hello." Freddy puffed up his chest and rose to his tallest, greeting Pete with the words..."It's very nice to meet you, Mr. The Greek."

Needless to say, mom and dad turned twelve shades of red in embarrassment, as Freddy's innocent words spilled from his lips. Of course, the initial seconds of silence was followed by much laughter from all; but it was many years before Freddy himself understood why.

- A small touch of Highland Falls - Contributed by Kevin Childs -

Mr. 10%

Again, from the memory of Peder Hansen when referring to our great uncle Sam Graziano - "here's a little story that suggests his nickname "Mr.10%" wasn't JUST a nickname.

When we first moved to 23 Center Street and when I was in the seventh grade, I discovered a light switch between the back bedroom windows (her brothers room during my mom's childhood). It controlled an old fashioned goose neck single bulb light fixture attached to the outside wall of the house. My mother told me it was installed during Prohibition. As you can see from all the porch and garden photos, there used to be a couple of buildings behind 23 Center Street, the one with the porch at the end of the garden that you see in most of the photos and next to it, straight behind the main house and shielded from the street, was another house, the first floor of which was a big double sized garage on a stone foundation. The second floor was an apartment. During Prohibition the garage was a staging site for "deliveries" from Canada. At three in the morning a truck w/New England plates (varied) would back up to the garage and "the boys" (sons of Lucia and Luigi Graziano) would get up and help unload it into the garage. Then a night or two later, also in the middle of the night, an empty truck with New York plates would pull in and it would be loaded up. My mother didn't tell me how long it went on, only that it was during Prohibition. When I asked why our family was involved in this, she said it was something that had to be done for (great) Uncle Sam (Graziano). I often wondered if it was the return of some favor from earlier in their lives or just a blood thing. Anyway, it was interesting to me at the time. I put my grape arbor inside the old garage foundation when we lived there. Seems appropriate now."

Submitted (and some minor editing) by Kitty M. Helm Padgett

Brogi's
Down the "Real" Bowling Alley

The name was Brogi’s, and the game was bowling. To the kids in 1950’s Highland Falls, the coolest place in town was at the end of an alleyway. The alleyway was next to a luncheonette, which was endearingly named “The Greasy Spoon” by the local kids. Hidden in the building was a magical place that was often a “forbidden place” by parents; but was often frequented by the Highland Falls teens. Mr. Brogi was the proprietor of a village version of what were then called a bowling alley. I seem to remember there being about 8 alleyways, with a manually operated rack that re-positioned the fallen pins during each frame. If you’ve never bowled, kept score, or even observed bowling, it would now be time for you to google, or ask a friend for some information. Becoming a “PINBOY” (It would probably be Pin-Person, now) was a right-of-passage in the village. I was now 14 years old, and could legally work in New York State. Of course, most kids in the village had held unofficial jobs at a younger age; but this was the big step!

A “Pinboy” sat on a stool at the “business” end of the bowling alley. When the ball was rolled and hit the pins, the boy jumped from the stool and picked up all the pins that had fallen; placing them into a “rack” that had been raised above the set-up pins. The ball was placed in a slot that returned it the bowler. This left the remaining pins for the bowler to try to knock down, and he or she rolled the ball a second time. After rolling the two balls that completed the “frame”, the pinboy would return the ball, and place the remaining pins in the rack. He would then pull a lever to lower the rack of pins to the alley surface. All 15 pins were now set up for the bowlers next frame. In my convoluted way of describing the game, it probably sounds complicated; but it’s not. As I said earlier….google it! If I remember correctly, we were paid a specific amount per line or completed match. Tips were always accepted. As long as I had enough money in my pocket to grab a “lime rickey” and cheeseburger at The Pickwick, and enough to catch a movie at “City Theater”, I was quite happy.

-Corrections invited- Kevin - 2017

Stories of
‘The Venice'

Running a bar…or drinking establishment in Highland Falls comes second nature to most; and a number of ingenious ways to control tipsy patrons had been introduced over the years. At The Venice, when the closing hour of 3AM approached, my mother Sandra, the oldest of the Gruno daughters always contemplated the available ways and means of emptying the pub of the pleasingly tipsy turnout. One of the more laughable ways occurred when Sandra ran upstairs to the apartment, and brought Ringo down to the bar. Ringo was an absolute master at emptying the establishment without lifting a finger...as he had none. Ringo poised at the bar’s end, looking left then right, contemplating his next move. With the flick of a Sandra's finger, Ringo the Iguana scampered down the bar, alerting the inebriates that it was time to take their final sips, and to slip quietly out the door….....which they did with a smile on their faces.

Another pet related story features an animal that many people of the era tend to associate with actor Jimmy Stewart. Our pet rabbit, Harvey, was kept in a large cage in the screened back porch of The Venice. He was a master escape artist, leading to a memorable episode as told by my mother, Sandra. One night while she was working, she noticed Harvey hopping up the street right in front of the bar. One of the regulars, of whom we had many, and who had had more than a few too many that night, looked to my mom and said, “Sandy, I have to get out of here, I mus' be too drunk, I saw a big white rabbit hopping up the street”. In the typical Sandy way, and not batting an eyelash, my mom said,” Yes …..that’s silly…now go home”….......and he did.

Here’s another true tale about The Venice. On New Year’s Day, which was one of the busiest at the Venice, the regulars included a married couple who were fairly well tanked up. As it was snowing quite heavily, the wife said that they should go home, and proceeded to walk out and get in the car. A while later the husband agreed that it was time to leave, and walked across the street, got into his car, backed it out and went home. A while later, when he came back to find his missing wife, we discovered she had gotten into the car in the driver’s side and slid across the slick vinyl upholstery to ultimately fall into the snow on the passenger side. She was found lying safe and as sound as could be expected in a snow bank, quite unaware of what had happened. The drink she had consumed had kept her from freezing and she was doubly fortunate that her husband hadn’t run her over when he backed out.....as God looks after the drunks and fools.............yes He does.

-submitted by Linda Dyroff-

John A. (Jack) Graziano - Remembered

Jack Graziano was born in Highland Falls, N.Y. on October 19, 1919, the son of Louis and Lucia LaDelpha Graziano. After high school graduation he enlisted in the US Army with a view toward winning an appointment to the US Military Academy. He left the army in 1941 to play football at NYU where he was a 165 pound fullback on a scholarship majoring in Social Studies.
World War II intervened and he reenlisted in 1943, and assigned to flight training in the Army Air Corps, the predecessor to the Air Force. After qualifying to fly, he was assigned to the 8th Air Force 100th Bomb Group at Thorpes Abbot in northeast England. While other units in the 8th Air Force had a higher casualty rate, they did earn the nickname The Bloody Hundredth for their 6 missions to Berlin during the spring and summer of 1944. He flew 35 missions over Germany, including the 6 Berlin missions, and occupied Europe as the bombardier on the B-17 "Return Ticket." He also participated in the ill-fated Poltava Affair where nearly every B-17 was lost. On June 6, 1944 (D-Day) he flew two missions over Normandy. At age 23, the oldest member of the crew and a commissioned officer, he was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross, the Distinguished Unit Medal and various other campaign and victory medals including the European African Middle Eastern Campaign and was one of the very first Americans to set foot in Saudi Arabia while on a military exercise. He was particularly proud of his certification into the Luckye Bastardes club.
After the war he made the Air Force his career and was assigned to the Strategic Air Command based out of Carswell AFB in Fort Worth, Texas. He flew on the B-36, the " Peacemaker," and retired after serving a total of 20+ years.

Upon retirement he joined AMF Bowling Division and became the National Director of Public Relations, shortly thereafter becoming a member of the Bowling Writers Association of America. He moved his family to Tuxedo Park, New York and had spent the last 33 years living in the Carnegie Hill district on Manhattan's Upper East Side where he was known and loved by many in the neighborhood. Shopkeepers, bankers, neighbors walking their dogs and children were accustomed to seeing Jack on his daily shopping rounds and exercise jaunts into Central Park and stopping for friendly conversations. On September 11th, 2009 he was hospitalized after a fall from which he never fully recovered. He kept many lifelong friends and treasured them all - never forgetting the names and faces of even casual acquaintances. He always spoke admiringly of his friends and relatives. Jack Graziano's heart and his door were always open and he made strangers feel like they were part of the family. A true American Hero and a great family man, he will be missed.

Jack Graziano is remembered, and is a fine example of the ways that natives of our community continue to put a unique and positive stamp on the world around them.

Submitted by Kitty Helm

Sipping From the Spring

A remembrance from Kevin Childs
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The painting that accompanies this narration is named 'The Mountain Spring'. It's at the base of what is sometimes referred to as a mountain, and since it is a spring, I imagine the name could be construed as being accurate. If the painting is somehow missing from this page, then try to imagine water dripping from the overhead granite rock of a grotto-like area at the base of a two hundred foot sheer cliff. Got the visual? Can you hear the drip, drip, drip or gurgle of cool water flowing into a small pool? Are your eyes closed as you visualize the scene? Obviously they're not, since you're reading these words......so let's continue,

This type of "spring" appears throughout the Hudson Highlands, but this one is quite special because this "Mountain Spring" belongs to us, the villagers of Highland Falls. During my formative years, spanning the 1950's to the early 1960's, the advantage of living in a small town included the belief that the world was pure and natural...and that included the water. At that time, water from every source in Highland Falls was probably as pure as natural spring water can be. From my earliest years, family walks often included a jaunt down the twisting road past long abandoned homesites, and the remnants of a small reservoir from the previous century. The walk terminated at the colorful Highland Falls train station, a building design that was reflected at the depots in small towns across the nation. The Hudson River to a child is a watery expanse that may instll fear, dread, and awe; but seems to always draw them to its shores again and again. People from the village are well aware that the shoreline of a river near a railroad track is not the scene one see's in photo's of vacation destinations; however, that fact doesn't detract from enjoying the experience. Backing up a bit, we return to 'The Mountain Spring'...and the drip, drip, gurgle that I was talking about. With spring water this tasty coming from a natural tap in the mountain, the Childs family took advantage of the spring's close proximity to the family home on Redoubt Street.

I remember having to walk two short blocks east on Drew Avenue before having to cross the double obstacle of Main Street and West Point Highway and eventually meeting the beginnings of Station Hill...with Gallagher's Woods to the north, and the Ladycliff College Campus to the south. I should point out that during these walks, our family usually carried containers of various sizes and shapes, in order to be able to return home with water, precious water, precious spring water to be enjoyed during the days following. Travelling down the hill was an easy jaunt, but the return taxed the growing muscles of the Childs children. After reaching 'The Mountain Spring', and often having to wait in a short line of familiar water seekers from adjacent neigborhoods, we filled the jugs and containers to overflowing and gathered for the return to Redoubt Street. What was at first an amble, was now a trek. Going up Station Hill, we paused quite often; placing the jugs on the road to the accompanyment of exasperated gasps and theatrical gestures. The walk up the hill actually wasn't that hard, but then again children do tend to be overly demonstrative when airing minor complaints. This simple joys of youth and family enjoying life made the Highland Falls experience what remains a wonderful memory today.
...
- A small touch of Highland Falls - Contributed by Kevin Childs -

As a final note to this remembrance, I do recall being told in the early 1960's that the spring water from 'The Mountain Spring' had been tested and found to unfit for human consumption. Does anyone have a copy of that report? Was this a case of water that was available to the general public, but not subject to fluoridation, being declared unfit due to that very fact? If anyone has the answer to my question, please post, email, or contact me in some way.

Luigi & Lucia

Kitty Helm Padgett submitted the following:

"For anyone interested, the following is a little history re: Luigi and Lucia Graziano as told by a cousin (Peder Hansen) in his words. Note: I have only edited this slightly from the original
e-mail."

"Luigi and Lucia Graziano had boarders for years, who were largely stone masons from Italy that worked on many of the West Point projects as well as Old 9W. It is believed that either one of Luigi's brothers or cousins (in Brooklyn) was a baker and Luigi spent time with him before getting work at West Point. So, when he arrived in HF, one of his earliest entrepreneurial projects (after buying the house at 23 Center St., which had had a serious fire, was available at a discount, and rebuilding it) was to bake bread, selling and delivering it locally. For a while he delivered as far as Beacon (on the ferry). Apparently, winter was a more profitable time for his business because in those days the Hudson River used to freeze over quite a bit (no icebreakers then) and he didn't have to take the ferry to make deliveries.

The neat thing about the house at 23 Center is that it still had so many reminders of how hard our grandparents, and their kids, worked. There is (and since the house is still there (re: Zillow.com)) a wonderful old large brick bread oven in the rear of the basement. It's the kind with the big domed interior. In the middle part of the basement was a large double concrete containment where Luigi and his brothers would make wine each year from the grapes growing on the arbor (it is visible in many of the old photos taken in the garden). At the front of the basement there was a butchering room, lined with cork for insulation, with large hooks all around high on the walls and a sloping floor with a drain in the center. This is where the beef cows were slaughtered. Apparently what was the parking lot at 21 Center Street was a pasture, extending down to McCullum's Lane, where the barn building was. The best memory I have of our grandmother (Lucia Graziano) while she was still living, when I was about 3 or 4, we, my mother (Mary Graziano Hansen), grandmother and myself were in the driveway next to the house and our grandmother grabbed two ducks that were in the yard. We followed her into the basement to the area by the meat room, where she laid them out on the chopping block, grabbed a large hatchet and quickly cut their heads off. It was weird to see their heads on the floor, initially still quacking. So anyway, I guess between the garden, the cows, the bread making and running a supermarket, the boarders were a natural, or maybe it was the other way around. What's a few kids added to the mix? A different time of very hard working people.

There is one more interesting thing about house that you may not know. I recall when I was quite young, before or just after our grandmother died, that there was an old player piano on the north side porch. It was the now very rare kind that had all the instruments inside. No one wanted it, and I seem to remember someone (an adult, with money) actually paying the junk man $5.00 to haul it away. I'm thinking that it was probably left over from the earlier days of the house. The entire second floor had been turned into lodging for the boarders by our grandfather, then into apartments for rent, but before that it had all been open, because the entire space was a theatre. When you go into the attic you can see it, a nice big arched plaster ceiling stretching high up and over the apartment ceilings, from one side to the other. There were three very large diameter (2' or so) beams that stretched from one side to the other to help the walls support the ceiling, I guess. The stage was at the east end, and in the attic you can see the top of the proscenium stretching from one side to the other. The whole big square portion of the house on the east end of the main house had been added onto the main building. It was the backstage and dressing rooms area. When I was a kid I drew up many plans for restoring it someday but, of course, they were never to be."

- Submitted by kitty Helm Padgett-

The Scott Family - Remembered

Richie Scott - Tom Scott - Dave Whittier

From the pen of Tom Scott:

I can do this now, because these guys would kill me as I never heard a peep from the Scotts about their accomplishments. All information is newsprint, and recollections from my Mom, and others who knew. The three guys pictured above are my Dad on left, and his brother on HIS right (Richie Scott). Standing alone is their nephew, my cousin Dave Whittier who was the Grandson of the poet John Greenleaf Whittier, and was pretty much raised as a brother to the Scotts. Adding to his notoriety, Dave was the first High School kid to throw the javelin 200 feet! He was also a multi sport star at NYU, and my Mom's first College boyfriend there in the East Village. Moving along, my Dad was a multi county, and state track champion, who entered NYU, as an Olympic hopeful in the discus. When dad applied for entrance to West Point, he was denied due to his size. When he made all East at NYU, West Point finally relented and took him in. He did well in three sports for Army at West Point, highlighted by his play in the famous Army / Notre Dame football game at Yankee Stadium. He and his teammates were in the process of laying the foundation for Army as multiple National Champs. The years passed, and as a disabled Battle of the Bulge vet, dad played pro ball briefly, coached, and eventually turned down the job as Director of Player Personnel, for the Miami Seahawks; soon to become the Baltimore Colts. On the Navy side of the family, my Uncle Richie was inducted into the College Football hall of Fame with Pete Dawkins. Click HERE for a connection to the Hall of Fame website. The notice in the local paper (Middletown Times Herald at bottom right) was small, probably due to Uncle Richie being Navy. Richie Scott from up on Schneider Avenue, was the MVP of The Army / Navy Game that was voted the first 100 years of college football's best game. This was over the exploits of Blanchard and Davis, also known as Mister Inside and Mister Outside. He was Captain on the Navy Football team, President of his class, and Midshipmen Brigade Commander #1! By the way, he also starred in Basketball and Lacrosse, and I believe that his five Associated Press Lineman of the Week awards in a single season, still stands as a record. One last note about the photos; the hockey picture is obviously taken from the Big Rock on Long Pond.

-Contributed by Tom Scott-

Tom Scott (2nd from left)...one of the "Beef Trust" of the 1941 Army Team

More "Tales of Tommy"
- aka - A Boy's Got To Know His Limitations"

When I was on the freshman track team, I was scheduled to run the 1/2 mile in the freshman Orange County track meet. Frank Wisniewski and Mike Benner say to me that they're going to run an easy 2 miles to get in shape. Well, to me there is nothing easy about a 2 mile run so I tell them that I am going to stay at the track and work on some wind sprints. Well I never did get around to running any more than a couple hundred yards to get in to shape for that 1/2 mile race.

When the big day comes, I think that I am ready. The gun goes off and I take off running as fast as I can. I am out in front of everyone, and at about 3/4 through the first lap I start to hear footsteps; so I go into the tank to see what I have left. Well, the tank is dry. I guess I should have listened to Frank. By the end of the race I am dead last and on all fours and sick. No more 1/2 mile races for Tommy.

I took up the pole vault where you run 60 feet, stick the pole in the ground, and then jump, Nothing to it!

*This story was submitted between gasps for air, by Tommy Donnery

A Nickel Goes a Long Way

Tom liked to tipple; but that fact wasn't unusual, as he was as Irish as a priest named McCarthy at St. Patrick's, but not nearly as holy. Highland Falls' version of St. Patrick's was and is called Sacred Heart...not a Cathedral, but a finer place on which to place your knees couldn't be found in all of Orange County. This tale doesn't have a thing to do with religion, so it would be best if I move on.

Tom was a part-time guest in the attic, or third level as he called it, of a stately home sitting in the North End of the Highland Falls village. The part-time status was dependent on how much work had been available as a laborer, building the skyscrapers in the metropolis to the South, New York City. As work dried up, the ability to sate an ever present thirst also dried up....and a dry tippler is a sad thing indeed. Tom then used the nearest and cheapest transportation that was available, to travel the fifty miles north of the city. Making his way by hook or by crook to the west side of the Hudson River, he would determine which train would be traveling to Highland Falls and destinations north by asking the hobos and tramps who lived in itinerant camps near those West Shore rails. The wait was usually short, and boarding the empty boxcar was the most dangerous thing he did over the next three to four hours.

Mini Chapter 1 - The arrival...nearing a beer

It was a "milk train" that pulled into the Highland Falls train station at about 4 AM, with a single non paying passenger sauntering with a stumble off the boxcar with an attitude that was purely Irish. To the sound of items being offloaded, Tom hefted a small parcel of belongings to his shoulder, and made his way up Station Hill to the main streets of the village. Save two wayward tipplers, both well known to Tom, making their way Southward from the West Point Gate; he was the only soul to grace the streets of this silent overgrown Hamlet. Of course, being a small town, Tom made his way up Drew Avenue to his upstate quarters in a few short minutes; opening the creaking door to the hallway, and up two flights of stairs. Falling to the welcomed bed, Tom smiled at how everything was always neat as a pin when he arrived. Sleep was on the agenda; the deep sleep of a weary traveler.

The household was mostly unaware of Tom's arrival, as he tended to make his travels unannounced, on the spur of the moment, and with a modicum of stealth. As the Eastern skies lightened with an approaching dawn, the manager of the household, Grandma, sat at the kitchen, sipping a morning cuppa tea and fully aware of Tom's arrival.

Mini Chapter 2 - The rooster crows

Morning for Tom could be before noon or quite a bit after, depending on whether he was in the state of employment, and also whether when he closed his eyes the previous evening, he was in a state of inebriation. Yes, there was a rooster at the rear of the stately home; but Tom had made sure that his bedroom was the one farthest from the backyard window. That, and a fat pillow over his head made for peaceful sleep right up through the noon hour. It was now approaching 2 PM, and a growling voice, as well as a bit of hunger roused him from his sleep. "Tom, get your Irish body outta the sack and down the stairs this instant." Grandma was Tom's sister-in-law, didn't care much for his style of living; but she still cared for him. Tom's brother, Andy was off working at one of the multitude of jobs that were required to feed and house his ever growing family. Tom's visit would be welcomed in the short term, tolerated in the longer term, and terminated when the appropriate time came about. Reaching the kitchen, Tom greeted Annie with a nod, and Annie greeted Tom with a harrumph, a plate of hash, and a cuppa tea. "Are you not workin', Tom?", asked Annie. Tom explained as best he could about his losing his job for the time being, and looking to start again as soon as he could. There wasn't a lot of conversation, as the Irish tend to talk to others a bit more than they talk to each other. The gift of gab seems to begin outside the home.

After finishing the meal, Tom took to the porch, as Annie didn't allow fags or even the Irish clay pipe that he enjoyed, within the house. Puffing away, the afternoon passed, and the special time fast approached. When evening arrived, Tom glanced to the East and saw his brother Andy approaching; with what looked to be an accusing eye. "Did you get canned again, Tom?" The question was asked with an Irish smile, as Andy was truly glad to see his brother under any circumstances. "No, Andy; I didn't get canned, just laid-off for a time. Could you see clear to advance me a nickel to wet me whistle." Andy reached to the watch pocket of his sweater for a nickel. It was the pocket that had never, and would never enjoy the company of a watch. Out came a nickel, which was flipped in the air to the waiting hand of Tom. "Don't spend it all in one place", said Andy. Tom nodded to his brother, and with a knowing smile, walked East, and then North, toward a pub by the name of 'The West Point Arms'.

Mini Chapter 3 - An artist at work

It was a science, exacting in every action and detail. Tom arrived at 'The West Point Arms' with a boisterous greeting to all within, as well as a smile adorning his Irish face. The bartender was a friendly fellow named Norm, who labored as a soldier at the West Point post during daytime hours. Three regulars populated the bar, with two more customers sitting at a nearby table. Not being a true Irish Pub, when Tom slapped down his coin and asked for a beer, he got just that....a mug of beer, instead of the pint of Guinness that would be forthcoming at a pub on the "old sod". That was satisfactory to Tom, as his thirst wasn't discriminatin' this evening. Taking a sip of the head and bit of the beer, he proceeded to engage those around him in a bit of craic; with laughter soon heard up and down the bar. After a time, Tom motioned Norm to the side, and whispered that he didn't want to bring it to the attention of the others in the establishment, but a fly was doing the backstroke in his beer. Indeed, a fly was in Tom's beer, and a third of the brew was yet to be enjoyed. Norm quickly swept the mug from the bar, replacing it with a freshly drawn mug. A good ten minutes passed, with Tom, Norm and the others enjoying the usual barroom banter. Once again, Tom motioned to the cordial bartender, and whispered once again. "Seems that the fly has a family of swimmers living here at the "Arms." Yes, another fly could be seen not swimming, but floating within the mug of beer. Not wanting to disparage the reputation of the bartender or the establishment, Tom simply asked for the return of his coin, and with a nod, a smile, and his lone nickel, made his way to the exit. At least three more stops were to be made along Main Street before he ran into a perceptive bartender who caught onto his "pocket full of flies". At least the thirst had been satisfied; but he would be sure to remember to start at a different "Village Pub" the next time the weakness overcame him.

- Finis -
Kevin Childs, 2012

Definitions:
Craic (pronounced crack)- Laughter and comraderie at an Irish Pub
Tippler - A person who regularly tipples....or indulges in drinking alcoholic beverages.
Fag - noun (CIGARETTE)/fæɡ/ UK slang for a cigarette: a packet of fags
She's gone outside for a quick fag.

Brown's Hill Racing

_________

Don Gruno noted that we should remember the snow days in Highland Falls. His suggestion spurred this tale to be told.

___________

The "Northenders"....the village kids who lived North of Sacred Heart School, always waited in anticipation when any snowfall was predicted by Tex Antoine, who was the weatherman on WNBC Channel 4. The initial prediction was all that we could get from television because back then, we found out about local school closings by word of mouth, since the only Television stations were fifty miles away in New York City, and they were more concerned with the schools across the five boroughs. Locally, word of a school "snow day" travelled quickly and efficiently from the far reaches of Fort Montgomery to West Point's Wilson Gate at the end of Redoubt Street and beyond. I've always been told that school closings on extreme snow days were meant to keep the children safe; but judging by where the kids ended up, this could be considered a fallacy.

A winter wonderland it was, more often than not, during the snow days of the mid 20th century. The Northenders had their play area staked out well prior to, during, and subsequent to every snowstorm. This play area is formally named Drew Avenue, but the highest level of this avenue is named Brown's Hill, a small tribute to Judge Mike Brown and the family living just opposite the hump in the road. I'll tell you about the hump a bit later, but for now ..... back to the story. Drew Avenue is one of the wider lanes in Highland Falls; able to easily handle two way traffic without either direction having to give quarter. Beginning at Main Street, the climb is gradual until reaching the intersection of West Street.....and rising dramatically to finally end at Kleitz Avenue. Whew!

Any kid who started his or her trek on Kleitz was admired, as the hump across the road then had to be navigated at a pretty good speed, making the hump a jump! Now, having a jump of any kind during a snowstorm was something that Town of Highlands locals appreciated, due to the close proximity to Bear Mountain, and the ski jump tournaments that were held beside the wonderful Bear Mountain Inn.

- As suggested by Don Gruno....to be continued-

West Point Baseball Bleachers

!915 USMA baseball Team - Omar Bradley, second from left

"The baseball bleachers anecdote.

Around 1915, the West Point Department of Public Works acquired a pre-fabricated assembly kit for baseball bleachers. For some reason known only to
God, my grandfather, Luke Rafferty, an Irish immigrant unskilled laborer, was put in charge of the project. Luke was assigned a crew of Italian immigrants, given the book of instructions the day before and told simply to "assemble the bleachers behind home plate." My grandfather spent all night studying those instructions until he could recite them. When the motor pool opened the next morning he was standing at the gate with the truck requisition. When the DPW opened, he was there with the truck to pick up his crew. When the warehouse opened he was there with the truck and crew to pick up the pre-fab bleacher kit. He drove the truck, crew and kit to the baseball field on the plain (see picture) which may or may not have been called Doubleday field then. He carefully checked the contents of the kit and had the crew stage them precisely according to the instructions. Everything had gone so well that Luke began to think that he would finish the job ahead of schedule and be fast-tracked to a supervisor position in the DPW. Then he announced, "Now we'll assemble the bleachers behind home plate." The Italian immigrants looked quizzically at each other. Then one of the old ones replied, "Okay, Luke. Where is the home plate?" My grandfather had never seen a baseball game in his life. They did not play baseball in Ireland anymore than Italy. Surely, he thought, it would be obvious if he examined the playing field. Nothing had the words "Home Plate" on it but everything seemed to be centered on this small hill with a flat board on it. Could that be home plate? Where would "behind" be? There was a thin path from the small hill to a pentagon shaped thing. So, logically, "behind" would be the opposite side of the hill from the path. But, there was a wider shaped path that also went behind the hill. Should the bleachers be between that and the hill or behind that also? Luke panicked. He made a series of bad decisions beginning with having the crew reload the kit onto the truck. He didn't trust them enough to leave it behind with them. Then he drove the truck, crew and kit to the DPW and told his boss he didn't know where home plate was. Couldn't he have asked someone other than his boss? Now the project was behind schedule. Grandpa Luke was a laughing stock in the department.

He was never promoted to supervisor. But he had an interesting little anecdote to pass on.

-Submitted by Thom Rafferty

My Uncle, The Pope

I'm happy to bring you an appropriate story regarding an equally appropriate subject on this day (March 13, 2013); as Pope Francis I has just been elected to lead the Roman Catholic Church.

This is a story about the election of Pope Pius XII, many years ago.

________________________________________________________________

We travel back to 1939, and a time when little Helen Boyan was proud to be six years old and a first grader at Sacred Heart of Jesus School in Highland Falls. The little girl was also very proud to part of a typical extended Irish family, consisting of mom, dad, and her eight siblings as well as a bevy of uncles, aunts and, as they say, cousins by the dozens. Patrick Shelley from Astoria, Queens was just one of her proud uncles; but he would play a prime, but passive, role in this little story.

Being the typical child of a large family, Helen would often be underfoot, while passively taking in all that was being said above and around her. Does a child hear everything? Yes! Do the sounds, as they say, "go in one ear and out the other"? Yes, once more. Are small remnants of the sounds retained and reformed to be very unique thoughts? A final and emphatic, YES! Little Helen was aware that something big had happened that morning, as the adults talked among each other. She heard names such as "The Pope"...and "Cardinal"...as well as the mention of her uncle. All of this information entered the ears of Helen, and she properly processed it; coming to a wonderful conclusion!

Wow! Uncle Pat....that's great, she thought! Since it was early morning, her day at school was next. With a broad smile on her face, she grabbed her book bag and raced down Church Street toward Sacred Heart School. Helen was sure her teacher, Sister Bonaventure, would love to hear the news; and she wasted no time running to her side. "Sister, Sister", she said, "did you know that the new Pope is my uncle?" "What do you mean, Helen? The new Pope is Cardinal Pacelli." "That's right", said Helen, the new Pope is my uncle, Pat Shelley".

And that's how an Irishman became Pope of the Roman Catholic Church....at least in the eyes and ears of little Helen Boyan.

Election notes:
Cardinal Pacelli received 35 votes in the first ballot, with other votes going to Luigi Maglione, Elia Dalla Costa of Florence, and Jean-Marie-Rodrigue Villeneuve of Quebec. On the second ballot, Pacelli obtained five more votes, reaching a total of 40.

Tommy's Letter

Edward Tom Donnery, aka
Tommy came upon a large H
signifying athletic prowess and achievement.

Regarding acquisition of the various pins, Tommy's explanation follows:

________________________________________________

(The corrected version...updated by Tommy)
....NOw lets see if I can remember how I won all these Pins.

Well I finally got the cheer pin thanks to Linda Matz. She gave it to me for dating a cheer leader but I really dated three. Arlene Spellman, Pat Tupacz, and Peg Sorge RIP. THREE of the loveliest young ladies that ever shook a pom pom for good old HFHS. I hope that Arlene and Pat are still cheering their family's and friends on to do good. I know Peggy is up in heaven cheering us all on to be better husbands, wives, parents and grandparents.

Now every time I look at that big H, I will have a smile on my lips and love in my heart for everyone I knew on high school. I want to thank Linda for giving me her cheer pin, as it makes the whole letter come together. I hope we can all get together again soon. Let's not wait to long.

Kevin Childs, you can now add this to make the story about the H have a happy ending. Hope to see everyone soon. I hope everyone can remember High School as the good days from long long ago. (Done...kc)

The End.

With love to everyone....Tommy

Albie's Car & Cigarbox Stories
(The way I remember one and heard another)

All true Highland Falls natives knew Albie Moglia. Personally, he gave me my first job, which was dusting the bottles and straightening up the shelves in the liquor store which was located at the corner of Main Street and Parry Avenue. I was about ten of so when I was first unofficially employed, having been introduced to Albie by my father, Fred "Chuck" Childs. The job was semi-regular, as Albie didn't require me to clock-in or even check-in. He was a trusting person, and when I told him I had worked, he knew that I had worked and he paid me accordingly. One day, while I was dusting and straightening, Albie was standing at the door with a customer. He looked over and asked me to get some change for the customer. I was happy to comply, but when I looked around, I didn't see a cash register. Albie said for me to just open the little box in front of me, and find the change. I opened the little box, and saw that it was filled with money, ranging from small change to twenty and even fifty dollar bills. I found that Albie had his own money management system; but it was one that I never figured out. There were cigar boxes hidden on and under shelves, behind and under bottles, and under the counter; all filled with various denominations of money. He once showed me a box that had money from foreign countries, and I wonder if he ever bothered to cash the foreign money in? It was, truly, a strange way to do business; but it worked for Albie.

The second story is one that was told to me by many different people over the years. Albie had a heft about him, and was a bit larger than most people; but nevertheless, he drove himself everywhere. I was told that one day, deciding to purchase a new car from a dealer in Newburgh, he drove to the dealership, intending to trade in his old car and drive home in his new model. It's been said that he parked his car, and walked into the Broadway Buick Dealer and was subsequently totally ignored by every salesperson on the floor. After asking to be waited on, and waiting for an extended period of time (he wanted to give them a chance), Albie simply left the dealer, climbed into his car and made a u-turn to the Cadillac Dealership that was directly across the street. At the Cadillac dealership, he was greeted and waited on immediately. He quickly selected and purchased a large new Caddy, with lots of legroom, and all the bells and whistles, paying with the cash that he had taken from a few of his cigar boxes. He then drove back to the Buick dealer, and parked the new Cadillac in their driveway, informing the salesman who approached that he just purchased the Cadillac with the cash he was going to spend at the Buick dealer. Yes, Albie didn't dress the part of a well-to-do businessman; but one should never be judged by appearance alone.

- Another string of thoughts...submitted by Kevin Childs -

Tipsy in their Teens

A tale of two teens in
a tiny town, and their introduction to demon
rum. A few names have been properly changed, and few haven't, as a reputation or two had to be protected.

It was an early evening and an even earlier fall with the proper nip in the air. To a couple of teens it could be said that something else was nipping at them; puberty and curiosity. Kevin was a bit smaller, lighter, but a year older than his friend Ray. Being perfectly honest, Kevin was what was considered, in the jargon of the time, a "runt". Making up for his stature was the fact that he had an Irish heritage behind him, in front of him, and beside him. Even with the physical inability to excel in certain ways, his Irish attitude helped him out of many a negative situation, including the occasional fight. Ray had a mixed heritage that was just as combative, and was proud to be the Irish/Italian kid in town. His red hair attested to the Irish in him, with the surname revealing an Italian father. They were the best of friends, with mutual adventure and discovery a part of each day.  This day and evening was to be one that would be remembered for a number of reasons; not all of them good.

It was late on a Friday afternoon when Ray called Kevin. "Hey, Kev, whatcha wanta do tonight?" "I don't know, whatchoo wanna do?", answered Kevin. This was the typical way a conversation between members of the barely-teen crowd began; and after three or four exchanges of the same phrase, they were no closer to a Friday evening plan then before the call. "Wait!", said Ray. "Marcia said that she was babysitting tonight with her girlfriends, over at the Benson's. I bet we could go over there, and who knows what could happen?" Kevin wasn't as confident, and said "I don't know if that's a good idea. What if the Benson's catch us.....and the girls won't even let us in." "Well, I know what we can do; and the girls are gonna think were the coolest", said Ray. After he whispered his plan to Kevin, the two teens went in opposite directions, agreeing to meet up again along a little road called Tobins Lane.

Night fell quickly in the village, as the sun set behind the small mountain to the west, and with buildings on both sides of the narrow road, Tobins Lane would be soon be a dark alleyway. Kevin waited nervously, just a few feet from Main Street; holding something close to the chest, just under his jacket. As was the usual case, Ray was late, and Kevin was about to give up and go home. "Psst...hey Kevin...over here." I seems that Ray had decided to approach from a different direction, and was sitting on top of a trash can, just up the lane. He had a paper bag in his hand, and quickly pulled out a bottle that looked like it was meant for people just a bit older. "I got mine, did you get yours", asked Ray. As he walked up the hill, Kevin motioned Ray to keep his voice down, and pulling out his own bottle of adult beverage, said "yes, it's right here". Two bottles of courage, one was rum and the was whiskey; and the forbidden beverage beckoned to the teens. The evening events would soon get quite interesting.

Unbeknownst to Kevin, Ray had other intentions in addition to sampling the foul tasting beverages. The teens opened both bottles, and took tentative sips. Each tried to avoid making a face while lying through their teeth, assuring the other that the liquor tasted great. After a few tentative sips, the teens got a bit bolder, taking in the liquor in greater gulps.  Ray looked over to Kevin and said, "...Wait here, I'll be right back". By this time, Kevin was beyond hearing or even caring about what was happening....and continued to take sips that were less and less tentative.

Ray turned, and was off to the other evening adventure he had in mind, and was soon visiting the girls who were babysitting across the alleyway at the Benson apartment. Kevin was highly focused on the bottle of rum and was soon sitting atop a trash can, which subsequently became the ground next to the trash can. Historically and actually, teens have little tolerance for liquor...also known as demon rum; and since rum was the actual liquid being consumed, Kevin had no control over his actions or wanderings.

As there was no one to witness the goings-on, a good portion of the rest of the evening must be surmised.

After spending some time with the babysitters, Ray stumbled back down the alleyway to Tobins Lane.....finding Kevin sitting in the middle of the road. A car was approaching from the direction of Main Street, and being the good friend he was...Ray pushed, pulled, and dragged Kevin from danger. Thinking they were invincible, a barely conscious Kevin, and a stumbling Ray, continued to imbibe freely from the bottles; but only until officer Dan rolled up in the current edition of the Highland Falls police cruiser. The evening was quickly ending for the duo, as officer Dan loaded the two into the vehicle....instantly recognizing Kevin, but not so sure about Ray. As the village is just that....a village, Dan was soon sitting in front of 20 Redoubt Street, the home of delinquent Kevin. Dan turned to Ray and said "What's your last name"? Ray answered "Gordon, sir, Ray Gordon." Satisfied, but not fooled, Officer Dan helped Kevin stumble to his front door, being greeted by his bewildered parents. The next few hours, as well as the next few days would not be all that pleasant for Kevin; and the lessons of the evening would last for a long time.

In the meantime, Ray, aka...Ray Gordon had slipped from the rear seat of the cruiser, and was hiding in a discarded refrigerator in the yard across the street. After a few minutes of looking up and down the street, officer Dan gave up the search and returned to his patrol duties.......but not before making a short stop at a local Italian/Irish Bar. It seems that Dan wasn't fooled by the claim that "Ray Gordon" was his name. A small town, and smaller village allows the local officials to know virtually everyone, as well as their kids. Dan told Charlie, Ray's father, of his transgressions, and Charlies version of punishment would soon rain down.

This was one of the first of many adventures the duo, along with other friends, would embark upon during their formative years. Ray and Kevin had tasted demon rum, Ray had a short liaison with a future girlfriend, Ray had saved Kevin from the wheels of a speeding car, and they both were subject to discipline over the weeks to come.

Overall, it was a good adventure!

- Submitted by Kevin Childs with factual corrections by Ray Gruno -

Grandpa Boyan takes a Walk

__________________

These few words about Grandpa Andrew Boyan, reveals his dedication
to the work ethic and to his family.

__________________

Grandpa Boyan was a hard worker who never shirked his duty to provide a meal for the hungry mouths of his family, as well as a roof over their heads at 22 Drew Avenue. He was a professional worker; someone who shows up, does the job with nary a complaint, and expects fair compensation. One of the positions held by Grandpa Boyan was quite interesting, in that it involved the opposite of mountain climbing; a feat that could be called mountain descending.

During the 1930's, each day, Grandpa would walk East on Drew Avenue to Main Street, and board the daily Storm King bus. The route taken by this particular bus as it travelled toward Cornwall and points North, was through West Point and out Lee Gate...making a right hand turn on the Storm King Highway section of Route 9W. The rickety bus continued along 9W for about a few hundred yards; stopping within sight of the dramatic high point of Storm King Mountain. At this point, Grandpa stepped from the bus, and climbed over the short granite wall, waving goodbye to the driver and passengers. Just over the wall, a rope was tied securely to an anchor in the ground, and lay on the ground, waiting. Grandpa took hold of the rope and lowered himself a good distance to the railroad tracks along the West Shore of the Hudson River below. Reaching the railbed, Grandpa began to perform his job...and it was a job that is well explained in the few sentences that follow.

Quoting a Railroad Discussion group, "Trackwalkers played an important role in maintenance of the line. Foremen were admonished to send an experienced and reliable man, every morning, to walk over each section, to examine carefully all joints and rails, and look for any dangerous condition that may exist."

The route that he was assigned to inspect ranged from the area about one mile North of the West Point train station, through the West Point Tunnel, and further South to the Highland Falls train station. Each Track Walker was required to clock in at various locations along their assigned route. When the task was complete, Grandpa Boyan walked up Station Hill to Highland Falls' Main Street, and began his next job at Moglia's Liquor Store. Work never ended at a single job, as there were mouths to feed, and a family to care for.

- From a story told by Aunt Helen Boyan Mooney to Kevin Childs -

Drive-In Dinner

Let's make venison the subject of today’s recollection. If the older cousins think back, and the younger ones ask the older ones, we all have either heard of venison steaks being served, or actually tasted them. For the 'Vegans' in the family, please stop reading, as these steaks definitely don't come from Soy Product.

It all began with Bambi............no, that's cruel....let's start again.

I really don't know if Uncle Rusty ever actually hunted for deer, but he sure brought home quite a few carcasses over the years; draped over the fender of his green car (not sure of the make (Plymouth?), and also shoved into the cargo space of his blue Ford Country Squire station wagon. A shotgun or a Winchester 30-30 wasn't used to fell the beasts; but the result was always the same. There would be venison steaks for any member of the family that asked.

Uncle Rusty worked for the Mayflower Moving Company, and later, for the Ford Motor Company. Both were located in New Jersey, and accessible via the wonderfully scenic and twisting back roads that headed south to the Garden State. During the course of working for these companies, his work shifts were often late night, or early morning, requiring a drive along dark roads that were bereft of light or civilization. When it came to creating a scenario for passive steak acquisition, this was The Perfect Storm.

The speed limit on these roads tends to range from 25 to 45 MPH, but even if you were travelling a slow 20 MPH and a deer charged at the approaching lights of your car, there was little that could be done to prevent a meeting of antlers and metal. When this happened, you'd pull to the side of the road, exit the car, bend the fender back to a position that would allow you to continue your drive; and tie the steak-on-the-hoof to the offended but mangled and properly restored fender. Next stop, the Olde Boyan Family Homestead at 22 Drew Avenue....and down to the basement.

I could never do what Rusty and the other uncles did...and that was to hang the deer from the rafters in the basement, let it bleed out, and then do all the things that were required to ultimately end up with a load of frozen steaks for the family, extended family, and friends. Rusty told me that Tony Galu helped him butcher the animals. I guess having Tony's Market, which was a neighborhood fixture about one half block away, made this arrangement quite handy.

I was never in the car with Uncle Rusty when he hit a deer, but we did come within inches of hitting one quite a few times. Even though I eat very little steak now, I do remember totally enjoying the venison steaks that were acquired along these backwoods scenic routes.

- Submitted by Kevin Childs -

John Ford and Mom
(...a story about "The Long Gray Line")

The following is listed information about John Ford on the internet. The story told here relates a short encounter between Margaret Childs (Mom) and Mr. Ford.

On IMDb...the internet source:
(The Internet Movie Database)

Prior to making The Searchers (1956), Ford entered the hospital for the removal of cataracts. While recuperating after the surgery, he became impatient with the bandages covering his eyes and tore them off earlier than his doctors told him to. The result of that rash action was that Ford suffered a total loss of sight in one eye, which is how he came to wear his famous eyepatch.

From the Colorado Springs Fine Arts Blog....the following:

Ford had a notable personality: tough, eccentric, and stubbornand, he expected things done his way. He once punched actor Henry Fonda in the face on the set of “My Darling Clementine” for trying to tell him how his character should play a scene. Ford even fired his own brother from a production for saying “no.” His stubborness left him wearing an eye patch for the remainder of his life starting in the 1930s. Follwing cataract surgery, Ford was too impatient for his eye to completely heal, and he removed his bandages early, ruining the sight in his left eye.

Which version is true? I'd go with the second, as my mom's encounter, described below, tends to back it up.

___________________________________________________

My Mom (Margaret Boyan Childs) was typical of many others in Highland Falls as well as those from similar towns and villages across the nation. These hardworking people all seem to have not one, but more than a few jobs to get them through the seemingly endless stream of bills each month. From the earliest babysitting jobs as a teen to the multiple jobs held in her early 30's, Mom had always insisted on helping to provide for her family. Dad also had a few extra jobs too; but this particular story is about my Mom.

In 1954, West Point was invaded. This particular invasion was by a contingent that included, among others; grips, best boys, gaffers, wranglers, cameramen, more than a few actors, and a larger-than-life director. Exterior filming, with many scenes featuring members of the cast, was scheduled to be completed at the academy for the feature 'The Long Gray Line'....which was the film version of Marty Maher's biography, 'Bringing Up the Brass'. The Thayer Hotel served as residence for many of the cast and a few of the crew during filming, causing the main dining room to be quite overflowing each morning. Mom's part time job was as a waitress, and she was fortunate to be assigned a station that featured a larger-than-life director sitting at what must have been considered the head of a table that included actors Donald Crisp and Betsy Palmer. Being totally Irish, and in addition....being a Boyan girl, she was typically undeterred by Director John Ford's fame or notoriety.

Being a very professional waitress, mom waited until the people at the table were settled before approaching with offers of coffee and juice to precede their breakfast fare. Menu's were placed before each of the celebrated "VIP's", and mom discretely backed away in order to allow them to view their options. After a proper period of minutes, mom approached; taking the orders for Miss Palmer, Donald Crisp, and a young Peter Graves, who had just rushed in to join those at the celebrity table. In his usual total control mode, and easily containing the collective ego's of the table, Director John Ford was then approached by mom for his breakfast order. The black patch beneath his eyeglasses was readily evident, as he was believed to have had recent surgery on his left eye. Lifting the menu from the table, Mr. Ford quickly removed his glasses, allowing him to also lift the black eye patch from his face, surprising not only mom, but all the celebrated "movie stars" at the table. Mom chuckled along with the entire table, as Mr. Ford gruffly scanned the menu, and placed his breakfast order. Mom would always remember her surprise and the Irish chuckle that escaped her lips at Mr. Ford's nonchalant lifting of that notorious black patch. As he walked from the Thayer Hotel main dining room that morning, and with a twinkle in his good eye, John Ford requested that when possible, the waitress named Margaret be assigned to his table.

Note:
Whichever story is true regarding the origin of the "black patch", John Ford wore one, off and on throughout a good portion of his career.

Thanks to my mother, Margaret Boyan Childs,
for the many colorful stories of her life.

---Finis ---
Kevin Childs - 2013

Linda's Adventures

I can remember as a young girl I would love to escape to Ladycliff campus, right across Main Street and West Point Highway from my grandparents place,The Venice. At Ladycliff, we would sit in their giant gazebo and disappear into books. It was my "getaway", and I loved walking around the campus.

I also used to go into the woods across from Rafferty's and wander around what was called 'Gallaghers Woods'. It was so much fun, and great adventure.....(and so sad kids can't do that today).

One day, my friend Kathy Hegney and I were bored and hot and for some reason we thought it would be fun and funny to hide in the giant ice machine up by Rafferty's Confectionary (at the bottom center of the photo above). We took turns hiding, and one of us would go in and the other would be a "look out". Well, once when I was the one in the ice maching, someone came along to buy ice and proceded to open the door. Needless to say, they were quite surprised to see me standing there amid the bags of ice. The surprise and embarrassment showed, but I kept my cool, just stepping out and walking away (kinda like those funny video shows).

Another time.....Kathy and I (seem to see a pattern here, bad influence!)......were wandering across the Ladycliff College grounds, and noticed that they were building the new cafeteria/dorm building. We found lots of coin shaped metal pieces laying around, and didn't know what they were. They looked like quarters to us, so we proceeded to be good Samaritans and inserted them into all the meters along Main St. on our way back to 78 Main and The Venice. When we entered the screened porch at the back of the building, my Grandfather (I called him Daddy-O) was sitting there with a friend. We were quite anxious to tell him what we did (how cool we were, paying for everyone's meters)....we were so proud. My grandfather had a weird look on his face; and then proceeded to introduce us to his visitor (a town judge). We were formally informed that what we did was illegal. Being kids, we thought we were going straight to jail, and needless to say...we never did that again.

-submitted by Linda Hill Dyroff 3/11/13-

Our Christmas Tree

Kathy Childs, Tommy Boyan, Andy Boyan, Mary Ann Boyan

The year was 1950, and my family had taken that definite step that was required when the number of members rose to more than three or so. My mom and dad had purchased a home at 20 Redoubt Street, which was conveniently right across the street from the home where my mom, Margaret, was born. The property was quite large, with a spacious back yard, as well as a side yard that was quite filled with a wonderful "Christmas" tree! The history of the "tree" goes back a few years, and was related to me by my father. He understood that the brother of the former owner, Mr. Ed Rafferty, had planted the tree many years prior. His brother Luke, who lived in a small bungalow at the rear of the property, had whimsically placed a tire on the ground, beneath the few branches that made up the fledgling tree. To tell the truth, at the time it could have been mistaken for a bare "Charlie Brown" Christmas tree, if they had even existed in the early 1940's. Well, year by year, the tree rose....first growing to the height of the front porch at 20 Redoubt Street, until gaining a height equal to the roof of the home in 1950! It was a magnificent tree....and STILL carried a tire, now captured, around it's now substantial trunk.

In 1950, my brother Fred was about eight years old, and I was around six. Our little sister (at the left in the accompanying photo) was about two or so. One of the first things we did, to the chagrin of our parents, was to explore the lower branches of our wonderful Christmas Tree...and as we grew, it grew...allowing us to reach higher and higher toward the sky.

Our family loved the tree, and as the years passed, we watched the tree grow to a height almost twice that of the house. By that time, the trunk had expanded to the point of being much too large, and the wonderful tire that encircled it gave way to a combination of extreme age as well as a lack of girth. Even without the tire surrounding it, our Christmas tree proudly towered over the many yard gatherings and neighborhood barbecues that were held over the years.

Sadly, the Childs family Christmas tree is now gone; but you can be assured that it's wonderful branches that reached toward the sky, created a magnificent memory for us all.

-Kevin Childs - 2015
____________________________________________________________________________________

The following has been added by cousin Teri Barna Dodson.
Thanks Teri, for remembering the many parties!

I've never seen this picture - it's priceless! So cute! Didn't think about the tree till I read Ronny's comment. That tree was a conversation piece, for sure. Those parties in that yard were so much fun with all the cousins. Uncle Chuck (Childs) would have the sodas in the shiny 'garbage cans', as well as the beer - filled with ice. I remember ice water - don't know if it started off in the morning as 'all ice' & just partially melted as the day went on; the soda was always icy cold & I remember that from plunging my hand in to find the flavor I wanted. Those parties were sugar 'free for all' events as we were mostly left to our own devices as the adults played cards, horseshoes & music, while regaling each other with stories & blarney from days past. Those parties were magical to me. My first order of business, after watching Uncle Chuck filling the soda 'containers', was to visit Aunt Margaret (Childs) in the kitchen to test the deviled eggs. She made the best deviled eggs & always let me have 2 or 3 before taking them out. I must've kept my mouth shut about that or I'm sure other kids would've been right behind me. Of course, in those days , we could play in the street - dodgeball & kickball were favorites. The playing field was the street right behind the kids pictured on the bench. We got to stay up extra late on party nights since it was a holiday & a family get-together. Yeah, those parties were glorious &, after all the running around, we slept soundly those nights - while visions of the fun 'danced in our heads'. Wonderful memories.

Thanks, Tim (The photo from your collection really worked)

Two Cup Sadie

It's been said that the underside of a neighborhood provides it's true needs. The overt versus the covert. The saint versus the sinner. Darkness versus the light. There are often two sides to a story or two being part of the story itself. It could be considered well illustrated in this short tale
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The summer assignment was a dream come true for Jesse. Coming from the Tennessee Back Country, and now assigned to summer training at the Academy; Jesse was proud to be part of a training Company now assigned to turn yearlings, known at most schools of higher learning as sophomores, into something that more closely resembled members of the military. As is the norm with the young "drafted" military during the mid 20th Century, Jesse was quite young; having just turned the magic age of 18, and could now enjoy the libations offered at the many pubs or watering holes in and around town. While spending time at said pubs, he shyly inquired about the availability of female companionship during his off duty hours. As the village was upstanding in nature, adherence to local laws was upheld at all times by the bartenders; and Jesse continued to be quite dejected as well as quite frustrated.

The bars, pubs and taverns had served their last drinks prior to closing as he stepped to Main Street, wandering North toward the South Gate of the military post. "Psst, hey buddy, over here", came a voice from between two buildings. "Yeah, whatta ya want?", said Jesse; mostly ignoring the voice. "Listen", said the voice, "you can find what you're lookin' for if you walk a couple of blocks up this street". He pointed West, and then said. "Just go three blocks up that way, and when you get to a brick house on the South corner, look at the window on the second story. If you see two coffee cups sitting side by side in the window, she'll be busy; but if you see just one cup in the window, she'll be real friendly, and waitin for you. Let me tell you, Sadie is quite the Lady; if you know what I mean."

The phrase..."....being in ones cups" was now quite the case in more than one way for Jesse. He had a smile on his face for that entire summer, and looked forward to being assigned to the next year's "summer training".

Note:
Twas a very short story, indeed.........enhanced a bit, and told to me by more than one soul;
so it must be true.

Kevin C. 6-26-16

A
Faded Reminder
(A Wedding Story)

Margaret was the fourth eldest of the gaggle of children in the Boyan clan at the stately 22 Drew Avenue homestead. The Irish are competitive, argumentative, playful, loyal, boisterous; and are never at a loss for words or opinion. This fact sets the tone for this little tale of truth. It was sister Ann who was getting married, or tyin' the knot as they say. A sister's love is special, but it sometimes causes one to act in what would be considered a "rash" fashion.

to be continued.......

About 38 additional stories are presently being written or contemplated about family
history as well as the town history along our part of the Hudson Highlands. As always; your
recollections, remembrances and flickering memories are welcomed. You may use any of
the many links on this site to send your own pictures or scribblings.

kevinleechilds@gmail.com