June 18, 2014
Plattsburgh, NY
There were three people present at the moment of my birth: my mother, of course; my Uncle Bill—my father's first cousin, Dr. William Ladue who delivered me; and my aunt Kay—my father's middle sister, Catherine Keyes who was, according to my mother, a “trained nurse.” I never did
Back in the day, a long time ago, I'd be invited to Montreal with Earl and John. In my memory it was always a Sunday afternoon when we'd take off. Our Mission: Cinerama. Cinerama was a type of film production popular in the 1950's and 1960's and it was only shown at theaters with a specially designed screen. Films were so popular that they roll into town for months on end. In those days, before 1967, before the days of Oh Canada as the country's national anthem, Canada still paid loyalty to England. Before the film the British National Anthem would play. We'd stand and people would sing God Save the Queen. Only then did the curtain to the screen open and the film begin.
Afterward, we'd walk over to Joe's Steak House. "Listen to what they order," my mother would tell me. "Then check the menu and order something that costs less." A good lesson.
The end came on June 10, 2003. I remember my cousin calling me at school to let me know. And while I was sad, I wasn't sorry. She'd been very unhappy for a very long time, and I knew this is what she wanted.
I still miss you, Kay. But I know you're better than OK and that's all that matters.
Happy Birthday!
Happy 100!
Plattsburgh, NY
There were three people present at the moment of my birth: my mother, of course; my Uncle Bill—my father's first cousin, Dr. William Ladue who delivered me; and my aunt Kay—my father's middle sister, Catherine Keyes who was, according to my mother, a “trained nurse.” I never did
understand that term, and I think it's
long gone out of fashion.
Had my aunt lived beyond her 88 years,
she'd have turned 100 today! A century.
My aunt's name was Catherine Ladue
Keyes and, like my dad, her older brother, she was born “on the
farm” on the Durand Road in Beekmantown, New York on June 18, 1914.
Her parents had both been born and
raised in Beekmantown. Her dad, Charles, was one of two
brothers—both born in the 1880's. William left the farm for medical
school and Charles stayed on, bought a nearby farm, and settled down
with his new bride—Maude Boutillier—a.k.a Butler. Even today,
the Butler Road is a 21st century reminder of my
grandmother's family, Acadians who'd been expelled from Nova Scotia
years earlier. Ultimately, her branch of the family emigrated south
from St. John, Quebec and settled in Northern New York.
In May of 1910, my grandparents, then
in the 20's and single-handedly working the farm, brought up from New
York City a young Willie McGuth. Willy had been trained in agrarian
skills at the Westchester branch of the Great Catholic Protectory.
Not all boys had stellar experiences on the farms of New York State,
but this young man did. When my dad was born in 1912, Willie had
been living with them for two years and was, for all practical
purposes, my grandparent's son. Both my dad and Kay, as we all knew
her by, only knew Willie as their older brother, and not a farm hand.
(Many years later, in the twilight of my aunt's life, when her mind
would slip in and out of dementia, the memory of this young fellow
was strong and positive enough to have her tell me...”I always
loved Willie.”) He was, and always would be until his death in the
mid 1950's, their older brother. That love would flourish for almost
90 years.
Early in the 1990's, when most of my
elderly relatives were still well, I took Kay back to the family
homestead in Beekmantown. It had recently been remodeled and probably
looked better then than it did 100 years earlier. The property
extended past Route 11 and beyond the Tastee Freeze. Kay told me
they had fields of corn and dairy cattle. For some reason, at that juncture of her live, she still
had that peculiar French Canadian patois, “We malked the cyous,”
she happily told me. Her first cousin, Dr. Bill Ladue, was also with
us. “Tell him how we used to spend summers with you.” Life on
the farm stayed with Kay and my dad and their cousins, until the end
of their lives. It had been a happy place and an important part of
their lives.
Five years after Kay was born, a third
child came along—Margaret. It was shortly after that that my
grandparents moved into Plattsburgh.
My aunts and my dad went to St. John's Academy and
Kay would have graduated sometime around 1932. She went on to nursing school
in Plattsburgh and for all my life Kay worked at the local hospital in
Plattsburgh. Four times in my young life I was hospitalized—first
in 1956 when I broke my leg, and three times for surgery. Each time
I remember Kay being with me. I took it for granted that she would
be there, never appreciating what a gift that was. I'm sure she
pulled a few strings to be present with her nephew in his time of
need.
Sometime in the early 1940's she met and married my Uncle Earl Keyes. Today, I have regrets about this man. I never really knew him. How did they meet? He was originally from Fulton, NY, so why was he in Plattsburgh?
In their living room on Palmer Court were two small photo albums of pictures taken during World War 2 when he was stationed in the South Pacific. Never once did I have a conversation about his time in the Navy and I never once asked him his story. He died in 1987, long before I even thought of wanting to know the stories these men carried.
In 1949, two weeks after I was born, their son, John, came into their life. He was an only child and because we were the same age, I was often included in family outings.
Sometime in the early 1940's she met and married my Uncle Earl Keyes. Today, I have regrets about this man. I never really knew him. How did they meet? He was originally from Fulton, NY, so why was he in Plattsburgh?
In their living room on Palmer Court were two small photo albums of pictures taken during World War 2 when he was stationed in the South Pacific. Never once did I have a conversation about his time in the Navy and I never once asked him his story. He died in 1987, long before I even thought of wanting to know the stories these men carried.
In 1949, two weeks after I was born, their son, John, came into their life. He was an only child and because we were the same age, I was often included in family outings.
Kay was fond of cats, golf, gardening,
skiing and Florida Every summer she'd have tomatoes growing on the side of
her garage and I think she spent as much time as possible on the golf
course as possible.
My fondest memories of Kay involve
Drive-in movies and skiing. Summer nights, she'd pack me and my
cousin John into the car and we'd head to one of the summer-only
theaters that surrounded Plattsburgh. This was the late 1950's into
the 1960's when the Drive-in was at its zenith of popularity.
She'd pack drinks and popcorn and we'd
happily spend a summer's night watching some double feature.
Back in the day, a long time ago, I'd be invited to Montreal with Earl and John. In my memory it was always a Sunday afternoon when we'd take off. Our Mission: Cinerama. Cinerama was a type of film production popular in the 1950's and 1960's and it was only shown at theaters with a specially designed screen. Films were so popular that they roll into town for months on end. In those days, before 1967, before the days of Oh Canada as the country's national anthem, Canada still paid loyalty to England. Before the film the British National Anthem would play. We'd stand and people would sing God Save the Queen. Only then did the curtain to the screen open and the film begin.
Afterward, we'd walk over to Joe's Steak House. "Listen to what they order," my mother would tell me. "Then check the menu and order something that costs less." A good lesson.
In the winter, she'd take my cousin and I to far away places to ski—Whiteface
and Jay, places I never went with my parents, who had less
discretionary income than my aunt and uncle who both had professional
jobs and an only child.
Once, or maybe twice, I was invited on a family weekend to ski in the Laurentians. We'd leave early on Saturday mornings, ski both Saturday and Sunday, then head home. One of those times fell on February 2nd and for whatever reason, I still remember it each year. I remember the thrill of staying in a motel, of skiing trails I'd never skied before and of John and I sledding in the evening.
Such pleasant memories!
During out Senior year in college, both Kay and Earl retired. That first year they left after Christmas. The next year it was after Thanksgiving. The following year they left after Election Day. Each year they'd leave earlier and earlier.
They lived in St. Petersburg and it was only after my uncle died that my aunt moved permanently back to Plattsburgh, a move I don't think was necessarily a good one.
By the early 1990's it was evident that she should not have been living on her own. She moved into an assisted living facility, but by the end of the 1990's she was at Meadowbrook Nursing Home.
I'd visit here often and, as one year led to another, I'd have to determine where she was in space and time. Mostly she was at the end of her career, still happily working at the hospital. Both John and I were still in college. For the most part, thankfully, it was a good place she was in.
It wasn't easy visiting her. She was deeply unhappy and often prayed to die.
But I know that is not what she wanted. She prayed to die, long before she died. She spent too many years in a nursing home, so when the end came it was a blessing.
One day, in late May 2003, I got a phone call from the nursing home. Kay had had a heart attack. It was Memorial Day weekend and I was free of work for a few days so I stayed with here in the Emergency Room. Her prognosis wasn't good. I called my mother and the two of us gathered around her as the priest administered the Last Rights.
But Kay was tough and she lasted for almost two weeks. I'd go to the hospital after school and I think I was one of the few people she still knew. I'd hold her hand, pray with her and spend some time. She'd lost the ability to speak, but the ability to stay connected with me.
It was hard to watch this, but I knew it's what she wanted. Her prayers were being answered.
Once, or maybe twice, I was invited on a family weekend to ski in the Laurentians. We'd leave early on Saturday mornings, ski both Saturday and Sunday, then head home. One of those times fell on February 2nd and for whatever reason, I still remember it each year. I remember the thrill of staying in a motel, of skiing trails I'd never skied before and of John and I sledding in the evening.
Such pleasant memories!
During out Senior year in college, both Kay and Earl retired. That first year they left after Christmas. The next year it was after Thanksgiving. The following year they left after Election Day. Each year they'd leave earlier and earlier.
They lived in St. Petersburg and it was only after my uncle died that my aunt moved permanently back to Plattsburgh, a move I don't think was necessarily a good one.
By the early 1990's it was evident that she should not have been living on her own. She moved into an assisted living facility, but by the end of the 1990's she was at Meadowbrook Nursing Home.
I'd visit here often and, as one year led to another, I'd have to determine where she was in space and time. Mostly she was at the end of her career, still happily working at the hospital. Both John and I were still in college. For the most part, thankfully, it was a good place she was in.
It wasn't easy visiting her. She was deeply unhappy and often prayed to die.
But I know that is not what she wanted. She prayed to die, long before she died. She spent too many years in a nursing home, so when the end came it was a blessing.
One day, in late May 2003, I got a phone call from the nursing home. Kay had had a heart attack. It was Memorial Day weekend and I was free of work for a few days so I stayed with here in the Emergency Room. Her prognosis wasn't good. I called my mother and the two of us gathered around her as the priest administered the Last Rights.
But Kay was tough and she lasted for almost two weeks. I'd go to the hospital after school and I think I was one of the few people she still knew. I'd hold her hand, pray with her and spend some time. She'd lost the ability to speak, but the ability to stay connected with me.
It was hard to watch this, but I knew it's what she wanted. Her prayers were being answered.
The end came on June 10, 2003. I remember my cousin calling me at school to let me know. And while I was sad, I wasn't sorry. She'd been very unhappy for a very long time, and I knew this is what she wanted.
I still miss you, Kay. But I know you're better than OK and that's all that matters.
Happy Birthday!
Happy 100!
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