Drifting in a sea of reminiscence, filled with nostalgia, I am reminded that I have been asked how far back I can remember. My earliest recollection takes me back to 1884, the year my sister Agatha was born. I had the whooping cough that summer, when I was four and a half years old, and I felt it to be a real punishment, when I had to look at the baby from the doorway. (the first door to the left at the top of the stairway.)
At six months, she was a strong, well developed child, and yet when she developed scarlet fever, it proved fatal. Although she was the fifth daughter, she had in that short time, made a definite place for herself in the family. Two years later, my brother Joe was born, christened Joseph Philip. Of him, I remember little, until he was of school age and he became my charge. That long treck home together! I can feel tired just thinking about it, especially that pull up the hill.
When I was less than two years old, my brother John, the oldest in the family, was stricken with rheumatic fever. He had been fifteen years old in January, and was ill until May when his suffering was over.
Our father was a kindly, sympathetic man for whom this cross was a heavy one. All his plans and high hopes came to naught.
Father was lovingly called Papa. He was a man of integrity, industrious, enterprising and persevering: Upon these virtues, he built a successful business. Another great loss came to him in the death of his younger brother. He often said: “If Leander had lived, we both would have been rich men.“ They worked well together.
Papa despised any deviation from the truth. One day, when a cousin visited with Anna, she falsified a statement, and Papa did not want her around again, insisting that she was a liar.
On a visit to brother George, when he was in the hospital, we spoke of this trait in Papa. His comment was “He surely instilled the love of truth into my heart, I have never been able to tell a deliberate lie,” to which I candidly responded: “Neither have I.”
I do not recall ever having seen Papa in careless dress. He wore the white shirts with the starched fronts. His high shoes were of the laced, heavy soled, square toed variety and always shined. It was one of my chores to keep them so. An occasional nickel to spend, as I pleased, was my reward.
Papa was devoted to his home and family, and the house was enlarged accordingly for this need. The last addition, was the large kitchen with pantry, the bedroom and the large cedar closet and the bathroom. To provide bathroom facilities, a tank was installed in the small room in the northwest section of the attic. The pump was in the big kitchen, so designated because there was always a summer kitchen.
One of the duties of the hired man was to keep the tank filled with water from the small cistern, but we took turns working off some of our excess energy and pumping was fun for a short while. After the completion of this improvement, there were many parties, because there was dancing space. Papa personally supervised every party, and had a wonderful time in so doing.
This last addition, formed a big white clapboard, old fashioned country home which we all loved.
Papa was bald as long as I could remember. I am amazed at the patience he had, when time after time, I would examine that head, looking for a wisp of new growth, or I would braid his beard to my great enjoyment. Needless to say I was quite young, but all the youngsters who came, loved him. His love for animals was apparent by the many and various kinds that were around.
Papa found feeding the animals a helpful relaxation and restful pastime. There were colorful peacocks, with gorgeous tail spread, which at times showed a mean streak when one attacked my sister Amanda, and left her and her new dress bloody. She had been readied to have her picture taken, but there was no photography for her that day.
The peahens were mostly docile. There were also about 40-50 chickens. Some turkeys which were more difficult to raise, rabbits which multiplied too rapidly, a goat, pigs, a cow or two, a horse, and of course dogs and cats.
For years we had a Virginia deer which Papa had sent from Florida. He was my pet, and Pet became his name. In the winter, he was kept in a compartment off the wagon shed, and in summer, he had a long runway between what is now the parking space and the picnic area, but was at that time, the vegetable garden.
At the far end, an attractive log cabin had been built for him as a shelter house for him. He was quite contented until he saw a cow, which somehow frightened him, and he leaped over the high fence with the proverbial grace of a gazelle and ran to the top of the opposite hill. When he did not return at dusk, I fortified myself with several slices of bread to bait him and he followed me home. It always worked! The antlers of a deer are interesting. When they first appear, they are soft with a velvety covering which later shrivels and peels off. During this process, they rub the horns on trees or anything that comes into their way.
One day, when sister Tillie was lolling in the hammock, Pet tossed her out with great ease! Once when niece Viola was quite young, she was the target, she was more frightened than injured.
At another time, Papa brought a tiny baby pig. The butcher had discarded it as a runt. With all the attention it received from all of us youngsters, it grew and grew until it provided lard for several years. It too became a pet and followed us all over the place. Even a pig can be trained!
One summer afternoon, I begged the hired man to let me try my hand at milking. The flies were so bad, he threw a burlap sack over the cow, when it slipped off, I stooped to pick it up which scared the cow, and she accidentally kicked the bucket splashing the milk all over my nice clean pinafore.
We became very fond of our horses too. One in particular was especially gentle with children. One day, when we needed old Charlie for an errand, I was sent into the pasture to chase him up to the gate. When I found him lying down, I jumped on his back, slapped his neck several times, hung to his mane and guided him to the barn to be hitched to the buggy.
I was reminded of my early days at home when visiting with Al, Florence and their family one late summer day. Our table too was usually set for twelve. A bench across the back could always accommodate another guest. We always kept a hired man or two who had to be included. When Papa took pity on an old soldier and gave him a home for along spell, longer I am sure than Mama cared to have him, his name was Kaufman, and that is what everyone called him, old and young. No wonder Mama was such an excellent cook and baker, she had so much practice.
Oh, then there was Nauni, Papa’s half sister, another one to be housed and fed. She was a character. She had had scarlet fever when only three years old from which she had lost all her hearing completely. There was no St Rita’s at that time, so she grew up as a deaf mute and yet she was not mute in as she could make vocal noises. She loved dogs and cats and had several around her at all times. She loved us youngsters too, and on occasion, we were entrusted to her care. Mama taught her to knit at which she became proficient and knit most of the socks that the men wore. The winter before I was married, mom and I went to California which left Nauni alone with Anna: one day she wandered over the hill to Eckerle’s after a heavy snow, she missed the edge of the wall and had a bad tumble. So, the next year, when the doctor again advised a more equitable climate for mom's bad bronchial condition and Anna had to accompany her, it was decided to take Nauni to a home for the aged. It took some conjoling and maneuvering to get her there. She had lived through a famine and became penurious. Papa had given her money at various times which she sewed into a bag. Upon entering the home, this was taken away from her, and she cried noisily for days. (There were also some old coins which she had brought from Germany.) After that however, she became tractable and friendly and the pet of the place. She lived to be eighty three years old. Her name was Maria Anna Bruegger, born in 1827, she was 10 years older than Papa. He never lost patience with her.
I have been asked to mention our 4th of July parties, and parties they were for young and old, only the dogs did not like them, they ran for shelter, preferably under the beds, maybe the animal instinct suggested a clamor for cover to our present day scientists. We always took benches and blankets upon the slope between the two houses, which was a vantage place for the city’s displays of fireworks which in those days were plentiful and beautiful. John Eckerle,
like Papa had done before him, provided many of every available variety. There was much singing of patriotic songs, much gaiety and enjoyment of a tempting repast. One night however, there was a serious threat to our safely, when one of the Roman candles backfired into a large box of unused fireworks and they began spewing flames into all directions, narrowly missing the children. John’s hat was pierced and blown from his head. That put an end to the previous
light hearted enjoyment of the display of explosives. After that, we were content with only a few of the less dangerous.
Now for the weddings: the first one of which I have heard much, but was not here to witness, occurred in 1875, and was celebrated on the hill. John Rauch, a friend of Papa’s, married Catherine Schoen. Katie as she was called, was the daughter of another halfsister of Papa. There was a loving devotion between them, his as uncle was that of protection and hers of appreciation. The Rauchs moved to Indianapolis, raised a family of three. Emma, Edward, and John. Emma married Gus Kevers, they had two sons Robert, the older, died at 20 from tuberculosis contracted because of carelessness after playing ball, “Nothing could happen to a strong guy of 18. Norman married Alice Fulton, they had two children, Sandra and Norman, and they all lived in Miami Beach. Edward Rauch and his second wife Peggy live in Los Angeles. John Rauch married Gertrude Snull, they have three children. They all live in Indianapolis. After Emma was widowed for a number of years, she married William Wemmer from Lima. When Emma was in her teens, she spent every summer with us. We were her family too. Ed was my age and also spent many weeks here. Those were our climing years, the hayloft, roofs, no trees were too high....fun years. (Ed died in 1964).
My sister, to many Aunt Anna, often visited Kate Rauch who was a very particular house keeper. Anna was impressed and learned much from her. When Anna returned home, her glowing accounts of the latest cleaning devices, a carpet sweeper and a wash machine, soon persuaded our mother to provide them for us. Although they were hand operated, they were quite an invention. Anna was an understanding, discerning person, always the confidante, the chaperon and comforter of her younger sisters. She loomed large as a moral force and competence and conviction were expected of her. After taking a course in dress making,
for which she went to the city, and where she learned to draft her own patterns, she was our seamstress, and soon we were the best dressed girls in our circle of friends. Anna was an equestrienne, road side-saddle and was stunning in her long riding habit. When she was teased about being a man hater, she objected emphatically with “I just don’t want to be married.”
John Eckerle, was one of the swains who began coming around quite often. His fair skin was a contradiction to his dark eyes and black hair. Added to his good looks, he was kind and considerate and became devoted to Mama and she to him. He had left his mother in Germany. As soon as he felt ready to carry the responsibility of marriage, he asked for permission for court the second daughter of the household. Amanda was the only blond member of the family, a lovely girl, she liked to cook and was Mama’s standby. We teasingly accused her of being Mama’s favorite. It became apparent that she gladly accepted John’s attentions, and soon the wedding date was set for September 25, 1895. She was born July 30, 1873. She was 22, and he 24 or 25.
Great excitement followed. Plans were made and carried out. A rainbow wedding was fashionable. With Nellie in Peoria and Emma in Indianapolis, there was much correspondence as to color and style. Finally, it was decided that Emma would wear lavender, Tillie pink, Nellie yellow, and Margaret Spaeth the blue. As maid of honor, I wore white chiffon. With all the colors of the same intensity, it was really beautiful. Emma was engaged to Gus Kevers, so he too was in the wedding party. They were married the following year, in 1896. Anthony Metz was Mama’s brother John’s son and he in turn was a cousin on the maternal side to Margaret Spaeth. Robert Bauer was Mama’s sister ‘s son. Brother George was best man, and a handsome man he was.
As an outlet for creative expression, the four boys had formed a vocal quartet. John a tenor, Tony second tenor, George baritone and Robert base. There is none on the radio nor television that I enjoyed as much. Grandpa Metz, musically talented, took great pride in directing them. They were much in demand and contributed to the day’s entertainment.
Jacob Metz is a name indelibly seared into my memory, although I was only 13 when he passed into eternity. He was my maternal grandfather, a lovable old gentleman. A good disciplinarian, kind yet firm, the thought of not carrying out his expressed wishes, never occurred to me or to anyone else. He was a widower at 31 with four children to rear himself. He remained in the house he had bought when a young man, and continued to make his home there, even after his oldest son, George, brought his young wife to live there. He was particularly devoted to his daughter Mary, my mother, his third child. When he was 80 years old, he asked to move in with us and we all were happy to have him. At 84, he had to have an eye removed, luckily it was a successful operation because he liked to read. He lived to be 87.
The outdoor space we now know was covered with buildings. The two story carriage house was added when the new barouche joined the other conveyances. Upstairs there was a hired room for the hired man. The entrance to the stairway was also the door to the coal shed. There was much excitement connected with the ‘laying in’ of the coal for the winter. Because of the steep hill, two loads were always ordered at the same time. At the foot of the hill, the four horses were hitched to one wagon. This always was planned for the driest time in mid-summer. The giddiaps of the drivers carried far and echoed over the hills. Sometimes, it was the first try for both horses and drivers for a double team. The narrow road created another hazard. What an ordeal!
The center of the building was the wagon shed divided by two posts, one side housed the buggy, the other side the spring wagon. To the right, the stable with four stalls. The hayloft which was reached by a ladder (built in and firm) covered the whole floor above. Attached to the right of the stable, was a rabbit hutch. Those bunnies had their way of digging their way out which kept us youngsters in suspense. One morning, when we went out to feed them, we found a few had been killed either by a wild animal or some stray dogs. There was weeping and wailing. They were brother Joe’s pets. He was 6 years my junior. The deer was kept in an enclosure which had originally housed the chickens also under the same roof. In the rear of the stable, under separate roof, was the chick-sale. It had two open seats, one large, one small. Anna kept the windows curtained and it was scrubbed as often as the kitchen floor, those were the days before everything was painted and re-painted so often. The wood pile was back there too, where the logs were hewn into handling size for the grates. Those were pre-furnaced days. We also had an anthracite stove, the hard coal really kept it’s glow and emitted heat throughout the house. With the help of a register in the ceiling, even the back bedroom was comfortably warm. Another little house in the rear of the stable was the smoke house. Here the hickory logs smoldered to cure the bacon and the hams. That was an enticing aroma all its own.
Our outdoor entertainment took place in front of the house in connection with the porch. The summerhouse was much in demand. Tan bark was spread heavily to prevent the grass or weeds from growing. Hammocks hung from tree to tree. The walks were of screening, a coarse gravel. There were several flowerbeds but mostly blossoming shrubbery. The walk which led to the foot of the hill, where Mama’s sister, our loved aunt Christine Bauer lived, was well maintained. Trees of luscious cherries, choice pears of every variety were plentiful and bordered the walk. The quince trees were further to the north side. We ate quince honey to our hearts content. For canning, they were sliced very thin and often used in combination with apples.
The apple orchard grew over toward where the Meyer home now stands. Grand old trees, easy to climb, and limber our limbs we did, if only to boast our agility. What a harvest of delicious fruit!
Mama made the best apple cake. She used a slightly sweetened yeast dough which when padded into an 18” square baking pan had many sink holes and provided the choice pieces for which there was always a scramble. Mama was generous in the use of good butter and cream. No wonder it was so tasteful and disappeared so fast. Wild cherries were plentiful, some were always soaked in whisky to be used for medicinal purposes. A stomach or intestinal disorder was quickly disposed of. Mom also made salve from the jipson weed and lard whick seemed to cure all. When I stepped onto an upturned rake, it was applied and there was no need for a shot. In fact, doctor’s visits were few, but the doctor’s book was always in evidence. The soap for family use, that is, for washing and scrubbing, was also home made. Lye and lard was used.
Once when Mama set a pan outside to facilitate the hardening, after which it could be cut into bars, the cat decided to have a taste, and burned its mouth so badly that it lost it’s whiskers. Such moaning, one would have thought that it happened to us!
At one time, in payment of a business debt, George took over a racehorse. A beautiful, spirited animal. After a while, she was bred and produced Dolly who was even more spirited. She was raised by a Swiss hired man, we had at that time, who really loved her. Brother Joe, who was then in his teens, was determined to break her in into harness. A new two wheeled sulky was appropriated and it was fun to watch, how much more so to hold the reigns. From a lamb, she turned into a fury. Stood up on her hind legs, almost toppling over backwards, or she would work the bit to the front of her teeth and run. Such excitement! When Joe subdued her he felt like a hero. We lived in the country, but seldom a dull moment. Papa’s business friends loved to come to spend the day, which created a hustling and bustling in preparation. A great treat for some of the older city children guests, was to pick the tomatoes which they thought had been thrown haphazardly over the garden. They also loved to gather the eggs. Our surplus eggs were bedded down in coarse salt in one or two gallon crocks. For winter storage, turnips, beets, potatoes, carrots, in fact all root vegetables, were spread in the corner of the deep cellar and covered with ground. The vegetables were dug in, according to the term used. The exception was the onions which were hung for drying. Beans were par-boiled and dried in the sun to be cooked with pork. Cabbage and some turnips were salted. Our sauerkraut was always the best. Turnips too were often cooked with pork and very tasty. Some corn was used for a delicious relish. Cucumbers were prepared with sweet, well seasoned vinegar after par-boiling, served with the meat course. Lima beans, a favorite family vegetable were usually all consumed. After an especially generous crop, some were hulled and dried.
The Trefzger and Berger families became closely associated. Grandpa Trefzger was a great friend of Papa’s for many years before he moved to Peoria, Ill. Where he became a successful baker. When he decided to take his wife and his two unmarried daughters to Europe, he urged Papa and Mama to come. Papa declined because of business pressure and ill health, but invited them to stop here on their way. Petronella, or Nellie as she was known to us, the baby of their large family, was then 16, her sister Anna, eight years older. When they came, Papa sent George to the depot to meet them. Right then and there, fate stepped in and George decided that Nellie was intended for him. It was a long courtship, but six years later, in 1897, we all went to Peoria for the wedding which was celebrated in their old homestead. The nuptial mass was entoned in St. Boniface, their parish church. Anna Trefzger, Ottilia Berger, and Francis Meyer from Pekin, Ill., and Fred and Rudy Trefzger, Allie and Tony Metz, were the attendants.
My sister Ottilia, (our Tilllie) (Grandfather called her “Tillilie mit Roelele” (little Tillie with curls)) was the only one of the four of us who had long black curls. Fifty years later, her granddaughter was brushing the same type of curls. Ottilia was my senior by 3½ years, she was a beautiful young lady when she attended Hughes High School, and accordingly had many admirers. When two men came home with her, Mama recognized one of the names and upon questioning, learned that he was her own cousin’s son, Charles Lammers. He remained a devoted friend to the family throughout his long life. Papa was ill much of that time, and left us for his Heavenly home the day she was eighteen. It seemed as if he waited until she became of age. She had celebrated her birthday on the previous Sunday, and he still enjoyed meeting her young friends. Without insulin, diabetes was a fatal illness, and when peritonitis complicated the condition, a few days of intense suffering was all that Papa could take. He died July 13, 1894, not yet fifty-seven, having been born 10/19/1837. Tillie became very depressed, so when the Trefzger’s invited her to come to Peoria for a visit, Mama advised her to go. It did not take long for Fred, the young son of the family, to realize that he loved her (she was quite lovable) and he wooed her ardently. That I can vouch for, because whenever he came to Cincinnati, I found myself in the way, the unwanted. If I did not absent myself, Fred would say: “Teresa, don’t you hear your mother calling? I think she needs help.” They later became engaged and were married October 18, 1899.
Again, there was much excitement. The upstairs had to be readied for the expected house guests. Sister Anna was a pillar of strength upon which Mama depended. Allie Metz, the son of Mama’s brother George, had previously moved to Peoria, so he came on with Fred to act as his best man. Both were houseguests. Tony Metz and Robert Bauer, the two cousins, who were also in Amanda’s wedding party, and John Bauer, brother of Robert, were the ushers. I in a beautiful shade of green crepe de chine and Ida Wetterer, my girlhood chum, who wore a dress in pink of the same material and pattern, were the girls in the party. Ida was a vocalist, a pianist, an all around musician, obliging with her talent. We attended the Conservatory of Music together and were usually the hub of the gathering of our friends. Fred took Tillie to Peoria where they made their home for many years and were returned there to be buried in the large Simon Trefzger plot. Francis and Herbert were born in Peoria, but Elsa Marie, found her welcome in Cincinnati.
When upon invitation, I visited Anna Trefzger, she entertained for me. Among her guests was a Chicagoan, John F. Sheblessy, Architect. I noticed that he was singling me out all evening. With him was Dudley Chaffe, a fellow architect from Louisville, KY. On their way home from the party, he said, “Dudley, I met my wife tonight, if she will have me.” Both men had gained attention with their artistic drawings and caricatures, even resorting to palm reading, a suttle way of holding hands. After I returned home, he was persistent in writing to me. When he heard of an opening in the McDonald office in Louisville, he applied and was accepted. That brought him much closer to Cincinnati, and made more frequent visits possible. Mama liked him, and when I mentioned that he had written himself into my heart, she said: “I think the twinkle in his eyes had something to do with it to.” He did write beautifully, both as to sense and penmanship. However, I still had ‘convent’ in my mind, and it took quite a bit of persuasion to convince me that my future happiness depended upon sharing it with him. I never had reason to regret having set the wedding date. We were married June 21, 1905, a hot summer day. My only attendant was Eva Deisel from Lima, Ohio. She was beautifully attired in white. I wore white lace over white chiffon. There is a picture of me wearing it, in the old homestead.
Michael Sheblessy from Chicago, from that day forward, my devoted brother-in-law was best man. He was a likable man who really loved life. He sang, he recited and entertained any group. He was a pharmacist and like my husband, wrote beautifully. Again, they were house guests. Martha Binz, the groom’s niece from Chicago, Catherine Kells from St. Louis, some of the Peoria and Indianapolis folk and the Siefermans from Danville, Ill. Like my sisters, we were married at St. Bonaventure Church on Queen City Ave., at 10:30 in the morning. Like they, I walked down the isle with the bridegroom. Knowing I would be away from home for a long time, I declined a honeymoon trip. Instead, we celebrated after the wedding. The out of town guests had to be entertained. The following day, we engaged a sightseeing streetcar, which was the popular thing to do . We stopped at Mecklenburgs where a delicious dinner awaited us. In lieu of a stork, a China duck placed in the center of the floral table decorations, created much merriment and embarrassing teasing. The next day, we all went to the ballgame, then to Krollman Gardens, where we ate, danced and had a gay time. After almost week of festivities, the guest, all homeward bound, Jack and I left for Louisville, by boat, to begin our life together. After two years, a little voice from within, announced that he wanted to be born in Ohio. I came home in time for the 4th of July celebration, and on August 7, 1907, John B. was born. Shortly afterward his father, severed connections with Mr. McDonald and formed the partnership for the artictectural firm of Des Jardins and Sheblessy, and that necessitated our moving to Cincinnati. I stayed with Mama and Anna until the apartment which a relative was building was ready for occupancy. By that time, Tillie and Fred with their two boys had decided to take the upstairs apartment, and we lived there for five years. When we required more living space, they bought a house in Westwood and we built a new home in Clifton on Morrison, (1914).
