During the period 1920-l923 I was working for my dad at The Cuban Cigar Company which had moved from 111 E. Sixth Street to 1421 Walnut Street. The cigar company occupied and rented the small building which had two floors in front, one floor in the rear. Our foreman, John Phennig and his wife lived on the second floor. I could probably write a number of pages about John who was a real character. He was an honest, hardworking immigrant from Germany, who really knew the tobacco and cigar business from A to Z. Simply by smoking a cigar he could tell just what kinds of tobacco it contained. When he spoke English he had a very peculiar accent which delighted me. I cannot possib1y illustrate it in writing, but he would say to my dad (they were both twenty-five cent betters on the horses), "Fritz, vy don't you put fifty cents on Belchen (Belgian) Queen for me in the second?"
Dad was the president and treasurer of this little cigar company, and I was Secretary. We had only hand-rolled cigars and we used good tobacco from The John Berger & Sons Co. Our principle cigar brands were called "The Lauery Club" and the "Luke McLuke." The Laurey Club was an actual club out near Lawrenceburg, Indiana, and Luke McLuke was the pen name of a comic writer for the Cincinnati Enquirer. We had a rugged time with our business for it seemed that every time we would get a few orders ahead or just before Christmas when trade was good, the cigar makers union would call a strike and walk out. Even so, Dad was able to keep his head above water until prohibition, a period which was impossible for him to handle because our cigars were sold principally in saloons. When the saloons had no real beer or booze to sell, they folded - and so did we! During the years that I worked for dad I was in just about every saloon in the City of Cincinnati delivering cigars. I disliked the places because of the noise and the rough, drunken people, but above all, because of the latrines. Dad had a first, or innovation with his cigars, i.e., he packaged them individually in paper containers which we called "pouches." Since then of course almost all cigars have been wrapped in ce1lophane. Working for my father gave me the free time I needed for music lessons and for doing, a little daytime courting with Marie who had finished business school and was working in town.
One day, in l923, perhaps, dad left the books (vital records of the business) open on his desk inadvertently, and took off for the afternoon. Although I was nominally secretary of the firm, I had never seen his profit and loss page. That afternoon I took a good look at it - a shocking experience for me - to see that our business was $7,000.00 in debt to the John Berger Co.! Realizing that Mom knew nothing about this debt, I had a big decision to make. I guess dad who was by nature a soft-spoken and soft-hearted individual did not have the courage to tell her, each day hoping, fore miracle. I felt that it was my duty to tell her - and so I did. Her heart was broken; she cried for days. Dad was so furious with me that he did not speak to me for months. Things happened, however - I found another job, and dad sold the business for whatever he could get. Mom paid the $7,000 indebtedness to her brother George from some money Grandma Berger had given her. Dad, who was an excellent bookkeeper, went to work for his friend Joe Boehnlein who had a flourishing chicken business on Findlay Marketplace.
Just to set the record straight about our family life at Cheviot and Urweiler Avenue, all was not gloom and catastrophe, in fact, we hid a marvelous home life. The house was large and my folks welcomed guests of whom we had many. There were folks from Peoria, and family members from other towns; Elsa's friends, as well as Herb's and mine were always around. Mother loved young people. We had many card games (usually Hearts) and dances. Our third floor had a very large room with a hardwood floor, just perfect for dancing. In those days we had our old phonograph up there (it was a Pathe) with many, many records. While on the subject of guests I must tell about our more-or-less permanent guest, Stanley Franey.
Stan was a good friend from our high school days. He belonged to S.K.B. fraternity, and played on the Lauery Club Basketball team with Herb and me. As it happened, he fell in love with Ruth Bywater who lived on Gamble's property and attended St. Catharine Church. Marie lived in Norwood, Stan in Walnut Hills, Ruth and I, in Westwood. So for the sake of convenience Stan and I exchanged keys. When he slept in my bed, I slept in his, an arrangement that worked out just fine. I knew his mother and father very well, and when. I showed up in the morning, Mrs. Franey would feed me. Mom did the same for Stanley. He was a great coffee drinker at breakfast, a habit which led my mother to present him with a huge, 4-cup coffee mug on Christmas, much to Stan's amusement. Another friend of mine was Courtney Zimmerman. Ruth Bywater's dad was Mr. Gamble's chauffeur; Courtney's dad, his farm boss. As I recall, my mother and father belonged to only one card club, known as the "cheese club"! I do not know what card game they played (perhaps 500) but the cheese part of the club was a tremendous midnight lunch. They were all heavy eaters, and (you guessed it) heavy people with the exception of my mother who had stomach trouble for many years. Just for the record the members of the club were: the Boehnleins, the Borgmans (undertaker), the Guenthers (retired) and the Trefzgers.
So, my home life was beautiful - I paid no board, and most of the time after the folks bought their first Ford, I was allowed to use it. The fact is, I had an accident with the Ford in Price Hill. The car had a hand throttle which on that occasion I evidently forgot or did not have time enough to pull back in order to slow down the car. I crashed into another one, full of baseball players, and my right arm went through the glass windshield. Someone got me to a local M.D. who fortunately for me was a good one, Dr. Moore, who sewed up my arm. He put seven stitches into the tendons, and eight into the skin. I must have been in a state of shock because as I recall it was not a painful ordeal, and the doctor did not use any painkiller. Evidently the accident was not my fault. Rich Powell, an attorney and a friend of the family, handled the affair.
Our old Ford was of much use because of the great distance between Westwood and Norwood, and by Decemher of 1921 Francis F. (now Franz) Trefzger had decided that the trip was nothing compared to the prize. So, a-courting he went, usually on the streetcar - the Westwood, then the Crosstown, finally the Norwood car. Winning my Irish sweetheart was not an easy task but I was always stubborn and not one to give up. To begin with I had to convince the young lady that she should consider me seriously. At first when I called her for a date, and said this is Fran, she would say "Fran, who?" To this day I do not know whether she actually did not remember my 1ast name, or was just playing "hard to get." My persistency finally got her interest, however. Marie was a girl who had plenty of dates and many friends - one of her boy friends was as persistent as I. He was called George Doll; he continued to come around until we became engaged.
In the early days of my courtship the Ni1and household mystified me because there seemed, always, to be a number of hanging around, even in the kitchen; furthermore, the absence of her father puzzled me. As time passed, however, I realized that the young men were friends of Marie's brothers (Jadie and Buddie), and that Mr. Niland was a travellng salesman who was at home only over the weekends most of the year. He sold hats and trimmings for a wholesale millinery house known as the Jos. Lazarus & Sons Co, located on Fourth Street between Elm and Plum. He was a big rough-talking Irishman, the last man in the world that one would associate with women's hats. His sales territory was central and northern Ohio. I became very fond of Mr. Niland, as the months passed. He was a man's man who never beat around the bush; he called a spade a spade, and sometimes put in a few cuss words for emphasis. Strangely enough, his swearing seemed to have no effect upon the other members of the family. Marie and her mother were perfect ladies; Jadie and Buddie were no worse than I, for swearing. I had the greatest respect for Mr. Niland because he was a self-made man, born in Maysville, Kentucky, he was forced to go to work at the age of thirteen - his schooling ended with the sixth grade - upon the death of his father. He, like my father, loved to play the ponies. On Saturday afternoon he would go to the phone and call his "bookie". At the top of his voice he yelled into the instrument, "Hello Gat, this is Niland. Give me__ in the first -$2.00." Gatto was an Italian bookmaker down on Opera Place. (Note: the Niland house was not one of the first to have a telephone, which was a fairly recent invention, but all through the years Mr. Niland felt the need to raise his voice over the phone in order to be heard at the other end.)
Mr. Niland's other love was his wife, Lizzie. Their's was a most happy marriage, and a beautiful home life. He traveled either on the train or the Interurban Electric, depending upon the distance involved, to call upon his customers. His samples wire shipped on ahead of him by the Shipping Department at Lazarus. He would arrive back home at 3949 Regent Avenue, in Norwood, usually on Thursday afternoon or night. If in the afternoon, he always had food with him, which he bought at the nearby grocery. For the weekend, he was the cook and, naturally, prepared what he liked. He would bring home the first strawberries. His favorite dish was fresh corn and beans prepared with ham; also roast pork, stewed tomatoes, and (in the spring) fresh peas and new potatoes. During the winter he often came home with a big bundle of home-made sausage. Now and then fresh mackerel was the dish of the day, much to the displeasure of everyone except the parents. Homemade bean soup was one of the family's specials.
On the big feast days, such as Christmas and Thanksgiving, Bill, as Mr. Niland was called, would prepare and cook the turkey (always between 20 and 24 pounds) accompanied by a choice of oyster stuffing or sage dressing, and frequently, a choice of rabbit, which was a favorite dish of Mrs. Niland's brother, Bud Hardy. After I was fortunate enough to be invited to meals at Marie's house, he (Bill) would fill my plate, and after I had consumed the food, he would insist upon my taking more. When I demurred, trying to be gentlemanly he would say, "Damn you, Dutchman, eat it!" At that time I was smoking cigars. He never failed to offer me one. He, too, smoked cigars but usually around the house he preferred to roll his own cigarettes, which were cheaper but with better tobacco. I never learned to roll one, myself, but he did - albeit a little messy. He was not bothered in the least by the tobacco he spilled in the rolling.
The real heart of the Niland household was Elizabeth Ann Hardy Niland, Marie's mother, who became 'Mammaw" to everyone in later years. Many books have been written about heroines who were not nearly so interesting as Mammaw. I cannot do her justice with a few words; no one could. At our first meeting she seemed to understand me because of our mutual love for music, especially singing. She played the piano very well, both by ear and by note. She had a pleasant singing voice, and always urged the group to gather 'round the piano. She had grown up as the accompanist for her uncle, James Condon, an Irish tenor. Mammaw was born in Paris, Kentucky, on a small farm. Her first schooling was in Paris, but later she came to Cincinnati where she lived with her uncle Jimmie, his mother, and sister. In other words, with the Condon family, she was well educated and a very well read woman - in fact, we have an edition of Shakespesre's Complete Plays which she won as the best speller in her freshman year of high school. Nothing remains of their home in Paris because it was burned to the ground (the year of the fire I do not know).
Elizabeth Ann and William Francis were married in Cincinnati in 1897. They moved to Norwood from Ingleside Avenue, in Walnut Hills, about 1904. In 1906 or 1907 Mammaw accompanied Uncle Jimmie to Europe, principally to visit Paris and London. It was his third and last trip. They were among the nightly entertainers on the voyage (which must have taken about two weeks in those days); she played the piano and he sang. Uncle Jmmie lived with the Ni1ands from the time they moved to Norwood until about 1915. A few years later Mammaw's father, Alexander Lindsay Hardy, moved in with them to spend the rest of his days. I got to know him quite well. He was called "Poppy."
Mammaw should have been an actress. I have never known anyone who loved the theater and movies more than she did. She was an avid reader and enjoyed reading aloud to her husband and family. Her pleasing voice and emotional rendition held any audience. On Christmas evening, after the group singing of customary songs and carols Mammaw would end the celebration playing and singing "A Little Bunch of Lilacs," a song very dear to the heart of the family. For years I have tried to find a copy of it, unsuccessfully. Mammaw, until she was almost ninety years old, played and sang the "Lilacs" as a finale to our Christmas celebration. It was the emotional high light of Christmas for the entire family - a beautiful but somewhat tearful moment!
At our home, the Trefzgers, in Westwood, this special moment came when all our family stood together and sang, in German, "Ihr Kinderlein kommet, o kommet doch all" (Oh Come Little Children, Oh Come One and All). Dad had his special solo which was "0 Tannenbaum" (Oh Christmas Tree). He sang this in a high tenor voice and to make it sound funny he added a southern German dialect to the pronunciation. Once or twice when I was very young all the Berger-Trefzger family celebrated Christmas at the Eckerle home. They had a large house, p1enty of money, and Uncle John spared nothing to make the day extremely jolly. In addition to Santa Claus (Kris Kingle) there was a lady giver of gifts, dressed like a fairy all in white with many jewels, and a lovely manner. In person, Santa was probably one of the Bauer men (or perhaps Uncle Joe Berger), and the sweet Christmas spright ("das Weihnachtsfee") was, I believe, Aunt Bauer, Christina, who was Grandma Berger's sister. She and my grandmother used to sing duets when they were young - one, soprano, the other alto. Surprisingly enough, when they were old they sang the same duets but changed parts. I have never been able to understand this voice change in women's voices, but so it was - and I can vouch that they made beautiful music together.
I remember that at one of the Christmas gatherings Pop was singing his "Oh Tannenbaum" when evidently he was either not in good voice or, perhaps, had had a few too many. Anyhow, when the high notes gave him trouble, Aunt Bauer came in with a small footstool and said, "Here, Fritz, get up on this then you will be able to make it."
The thought of Christmas, which has always been such a wonderful day in both of our families, got me off my story. So back to Elizabeth Ann. I have mentioned that her husband Will was a great cook, but that she did not particularly like the culinary art. However, she held up her end and, in addition, had a few specialties such as tasty cornbread baked in an iron skillet on top of the stove; delicious oven-baked biscuits (which she could whip up on very short notice); and a baked apple-pudding delicacy called Brown Betty. Mammaw outshone many housewives in preserving fruits and making jelly. I know of no one who made better catsup. I can still smell the pungent odor that permeated the house at catsup-making time. This was done once a year because Will did not like the "boughten" kind - it was not piquant enough. Mammaw was the only woman I knew in those days who could hang wallpaper, and she did the job perfectly. Prepared the paste, cut, pasted, and hung! One other surprise about this perfect little lady, five feet tall, was the manner in which she supervised putting in the coal. In this year of 1979 no housewife could even imagine what a filthy job that was. Early in the morning she would call the coal company and order the coal (later, after Marie and I were married and lived there, coke) six tons, I think. The coal company dumped it in front of the house, in the street. A laborer, usually a black man, came along on the wagon to what was called "put it in." Before she would allow the man to begin she would argue the price. When that was settled she would have the man sprinkle the coal pile with the hose. Then he started the tiresome job of shoveling coal into a wheelbarrow, wheeling it up a wooden ramp to the sidewalk, then around the house where he dumped it into the coal cellar through a basement window. (Every home had a coal cellar in those days.) While the man was working she worked too, in the basement, helping move the coal and keep the dumping area open. At noon she fed the workman who finished about 4:00 p.m. She usually gave him a tip if she was satisfied with his work. But her job was not finished. She had to do the final clean-up. I can still see her sprinkling the street, and sweeping and sprinkling the sidewalk. There was coal dust everywhere? It is not surprising that Marie was the wonderful, sweet and understanding young woman that she was - she inherited good solid characteristics from both her parents, and she was brought up in a loving home atmosphere which was conducive to character development.
The story of our courtship is long and involved. Unfortunately not being a writer, I could never do this beautiful period justice. Because of my singing engagements it was necessary for me to keep date books which I still have in my possession and which go back to the year 1922. I have decided, for the moment at least, to have the entries from these books typed on separate sheets, and simply to comment on a few entries specifically in this paper.
The S.K.B. referred to was my high school fraternity about which I have already written. Evidently we had a big dance on Wednesday December 22, 1922, followed by a New Year's celebration on January 1, 1923. At that time I was In the May Festival Chorus and a lady named Lily Finn played piano accompaniments for me. I belonged to the Sienna Club which was part of St. Catharine Church. On the 28th of January that year Dan Shannon, a friend and former neighbor, gave a party on Dirheim Avenue. The note in the book suggests that Marie and I forgot our manners, for it states, "We sat out in the car." At that time my folks had an open Buick and on January 28th in Cincy it must have been very cold in Westwood. I cannot imagine what in the world we were talking about in that car, while the party was going on inside. I will ask Marie if she remembers. By February of that year I was in the Zoo Opera Chorus, and on March 30th, the book says, I sent Marie roses.
On January 31st a note says "Trial - auto accident on Harrison Avenue." I will expound on that incident. Evidently I had a date with Marie to join Mother and me for a matinee performance at the Lyric Theater. Marie was to meet us at the theater. Mother and I drove down in the Buick. At Harrison and Knorr Avenues we stopped behind a streetcar, "Westwood #2l". One or two passengers got out and then the car started. So did I - when suddenly the car stopped again, the front door opened and a woman alighted carrying a baby in her arms. My car was right upon them, but I stopped it. The woman, however, fell; she yelled and screamed that I was trying to kill her baby. By that time there was pandemonium. I was out of the car; so was Mom. As I was picking up the woman and her child a group of five or six bully-boys, the conductor and the motorman got out of the car and decided to kill me. They beat me unmercifully, and knocked me to the ground, but I was not really hurt. By then, my mother showed her metal; she went after them like a tigress. When they finally cooled off, I said "We will take the lady and her baby home." We did. Later, at the trial, the woman said that I was speeding past the car because I wanted to get to the theater to meet my girl friend, Marie. Evidently, while taking them home, I mentioned to mother that Marie would be waiting and probably worried about us. Rich Powell won the case for us; we paid no-damages. I am still convinced that my auto never struck the woman. It was my opinion, as I told Rich Powell, that after the car had stopped to allow the passengers to descend, the doors closed and the motorman started his car, whereupon the woman called out that she wanted to get off. He stopped again to let her descend from the front door. I think she fell, in her hurry to alight. If I had been speeding past the car both woman and child would have been killed because there would not have been space enough between the car and a telephone pole for me to avoid an accident. This was my second automobile accident, and both of them taught me a lesson. For one thing, mobs or crowds are unreasonable, and secondly the defendant can never trust the reaction or memory of witnesses. I was not present at the trial. I think Rich Powell did not want me to see those persons who had attacked me. In cross examination of the motorman, the conductor, the woman, and several others, he (the lawyer) got so many conflicting stories that the judge threw the case out of court.
As youngsters, living on Lischer Avenue, near Gamble's pond, we learned to ice-skate, as well as to play our kind of ice-hockey - more like ice shinney. (I did possess a real hockey club at one time.) After I met Marie I thought we could have fun ice-skating together. There was an ice-house in Evanston, within walking distance of her home, where they allowed public skating several times a week. The ice-house was part of the Cincinnati Ice Company which manufactured 1arge hunks of ice for home use as well as for industry. The ice surface was about 50 x 100 feet; the room had a low ceiling, with no ventilation and just a few benches for the skaters to use in changing skates or to rest. Incidentally, I have never been in a damper place in my life - a far cry from the beautiful rinks and ice arenas of modern times! I do not know why Marie let me talk her into going. Not only did she not own skates, but she had never been ice-skating. In those days we fastened ice skates to our shoes in the same manner as roller skates. I felt that a girl who could roller-skate very well and who was a beautiful, graceful dancer, would do very well. I was wrong. The date was a disaster! Marie tried her best but her ankles were not strong enough. It was a short evening, and the last time we went ice-skating.
We had many dates in town to go to movies, which we both enjoyed and which were generally good. By that time the admission was no longer five or ten cents, more like thirty-five cents. During those years Marie was going to Campbell's Business School on Vine Street, below Fourth, and later, was working for her brother Jadie at Advertisers' Letter Service in the Lyric Building between Fifth and Sixth Streets, on Vine. Often we would meet in town in the evening, or on Saturday, at noon. Later Jadie moved his offices to Main Street, above Sixth. I must refer to the Lyric Building again before I forget a few incidents connected there-with. I ushered at the Lyric Theater (which was in the same building) one night a week. Ushers did not get paid, but were allowed to watch the show throughout. We wore little monkey suits which I disliked. Sometimes Marie would have a date with one of her other boy friends to come to one of the shows. I would watch for her, and hide when I saw her coming, until she and her friend had been ushered to their places. As an usher at the Lyric Theater, and a similar job at the Grand Theater across the street, I saw almost all the great shows at the time.
A strange co-incidence occurred in connection with the Lyric Building. I had a professional picture taken at Brand's Studio, next door to the building. The photographer was so proud of his picture of me that he placed it in his show window which every passer-by could see going up or down the east side of Vine. What a break for Francis F. (now called Franz) because now his new sweetheart had to look at his handsome "gesicht" at least four times a day! Working for dad on upper Walnut Street necessitated my making many trips into town either to deliver cigars to salons or to buy revenue stamps at the Federal Buildlng at Fifth and Main Streets. I never failed to drop in at Jadie's office to see how his lovely secretary was doing and, if he was not there, to try to "pitch a little woo", maybe put my arms around her or try to get a kiss or two. This kind of carrying-on was not to her liking, especially during office hours. One time, just when I was doing my best, the door opened and a typewriter ribbon salesman walked in and caught us. He got all excited, said, "Excuse me!" and left. I saw him many time after that incident and he always gave me a very knowing look.
Very often when I met Marie after work in the evening we would go to Caproni's for spaghetti. At that time Signor Caproai was alive and his Italian restaurant was on College Street, on the second floor. This famous street was really an alley, and if I remember correctly, led from Sixth to Seventh Street, between Vine and Race. (On Vine Street at about the same number, was Charli Pitton's pool Hall where Uncle Joe Berger earned a bit of money playing 3-cushion billiards.) Mr. Caproni was a very genial man with large black "baffi" mustaches. He greeted all his guests personally and seemed to have a special understanding of young lovers. After we were seated he, personally, would bring a large tureen of rich Italian soup, sometimes minestrone, and serve each one of us a large bowl. As Marie says, it was "piping" hot and delicious! The portions of spaghetti were so large that we split one between us, which did not bother Signor Caproni one bit. After the spaghetti we had coffee, and usually Italian Spumoni (ice cream). An elegant meal, candles on the tables, and the price right - perhaps $1.75 for the two of us. I was interested in Italians, in general, because of my love of opera, and that restaurant in particular intrigued me. After our meal we would go to a movie and then out to Norwood, usually on the streetcar. By this time I had pretty well established myself as a young singer, in both the May Festival Chorus and the Zoo Opera Chorus. In addition I was singing in St. Catharine Church choir, under Joe Seiwert. I learned that Mr. Edward Fehrimg, director of St. Mary Church Choir in Hyde Park was looking for a young tenor. On November 9, 1922 I tried out for the job and got it. It was quite a surprise when he told me I would be paid $4.00 a week for one rehearsal and a Sunday Mass. Weddings and funerals were extra. I hated to leave Mr. Seiwert, Father Teken, and my friends at St. Catharine's but I needed money to pay for my singing lessons. My first private lessons with Mr. Lyon cost $2.5O each. Later, at the Conservatory and at the College of Music they were more expensive but I had what were then partial scholarships, awarded for talent. The $4.00 a week seems as nothing today, but one must remember that my first job (eight I hours a day) at the Western German Bank, paid only $25.00 a month.
Singing in St. Mary's choir was a thrilling experience for me - mainly because of the excellent choral presentation as well as the real religious fervor of the Roman Catholic Mass. The principal tenor sololist there was Joe Schonke. I learned much from him. I was given some solo parts, and it was in St. Mary's Church that I first sang "Panis Angelicus" of Cesar Franck.
November 24, 1922, just a year to the day after my first date with Marie, was a memorable day. I took her to the Theta Phi Alpha dance at the Highland Country Club in Northern Kentucky. How we got there, whom we were with, whose band was playing nothing remains except the reminiscence of two young people in love! The night was beautiful, with a full moon - and I had as many stars in my eyes as there were in the heavens. I cannot remember dancing although I am sure that we did. The club was the situated on a hill, with dance floor surrounded by wooden terraces, overlooking green lawns and walls. We wandered in a trance, around talking about a future together, full of moon madness.
The year 1924 was particularly interesting from the point of view of great music. I was fortunate enough to hear Fritz Kreisler, Rachmaninoff, Heifetz, Padereski, as well as the operas "Madame Butterfly," "LaBoheme," "Cavaleria Rusticana," Pagliacci," "L'Elizir d'Amore", "Martha," and others. Some of the motion pictures were "The Eternal City," "Little Old New York," "Song of Love," (with Norma Talmadge) and "The Vwhite Sister." On the stage Marie and I saw the great Fritz Lieber in Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet."
At this time Marie changed her job; she left her brother's (Jadie) office and became Jack Hawkins' private Secretary at the Odorono Company on Blair Avenue in Avondale. I was working for Fred Procter as a salesman. As such, I had free time at intervals to pick up a couple of sandwiches, cokes, and potato chips - as well as my sweetheart - and drive out to a small park between Victory Parkway and Norwood. We both knew then, that we would get married, but the question was - when? We took every opportunity to be together, and enjoyed every moment of it - except when I was torn with jealousy over her dates with other young men.
On November 30, 1924 I left St. Mary Church and took a position as tenor soloist at the Mount Auburn Baptist Church on Auburn Avenue, next door to Christ Hospital. In December Herb and Bertha were married. Marie and I were in the wedding party. Al Jungkind sang the tenor solos. Bertha and I have a little joke about their wedding. I have always insisted that she was married to me because just when the priest said to Herb, "Do you take this woman as your wedded wife," Herb got all choked up and was silent, while I, as best man, prompting him, said "I do!" Which one is her husband?
Evidently during 1924-25 Marie and I did a bit of shopping for flat silver. The following are the prices we paid for our Lady Mary Towle pattern: Spoons $24.00 a dozen, Soup spoons $33.00 a dozen, Forks $37.00,Luncheon forks $34.00,Knives $ 45.00, Luncheon knives $41.00a dozen. (I might add that now, in 1980, you can't buy any one of the single pieces listed above for the dozen price. Silver is soaring!)
Grace Mathews during all this period was Marie's closest friend, and occasionally we would party at the Mathew home on Dale Road in Bond Hill. It was a beautiful old house on a farm plot, resembling in many ways the old house on Berger Hill. Someone of their family had a collection of old phonograph records which we played over and over. I recall one, in particular, "In the Baggage Coach Ahead." We played that record so often and so late at night that Net (Grace's sister) in a fit of pique threw it on the floor and broke it. We had many, many good times, without drugs and not too much booze. Talking about booze reminds me - of a party I attended at Joe Seiwert's home on Epworth Avenue. Joe was the organist at St. Catharine Church where we had an excellent choir for a long time. I did not remain a regular member of the group because I had become a semi-professional, and moved on to St. Mary's and the Mt. Auburn Baptist Church for Sunday services and pay. However, I was invited to the above party and for the first time in my life I became inebriated, drunk, loaded, stoned - whatever you call it? Evidently the host wined and dined us too well. All I can remember now is that we sang and drank, and that I was showing off my solo singing capabilities. Fortunately I walked home but even so, had difficulty finding 3450 Cheviot Avenue.
Early in 1925 I added the Rockdale Temple Choir to my singing work, singing at the Saturday morning service. Lillian Tyler Plogstedt, a gifted woman leader of the day, was organist. She was very strict about her rehearsals, and used to scold me for missing from time to time. Once she said, Trefzger, why did you miss rehearsal? I saw you mark it down in your little black book." Brilliant Fran answered, "Oh, Mrs. P., that's easy to answer. I forgot to look in the little black book.
In those days we played bridge with Marie's friends: Jack and Kathryn Hawkins, Babe and Buddy, Jadie and Merle Niland, and Verda and Loudon Hillhouse. We began our meetings with a meal, followed by cards. Jack, who really liked to eat, used to say of Verda's desserts, "That stuff is like a ray of sunshine down your throat - nothing but wind pudding? At that time Jadie and Merle lived on Lindiey Avenue (next to Regent Avenue) in a three-room apartment, with their first baby, Bettie Merle. As a matter of fact, I taught her to walk. Very often she was at 3949 Regent when I came to pick up Marie. Bettie Merle was what the Germans called a rutscher, she slid all around on her behind, refusing to walk. Whenever there was an opportunity I stood her on her feet against the door, admonishing her not to sit down. Then, from an ever increasing distance I would coax her to come to me. Finally, she walked!
To set the record straight for the moment, Marie was working for the Odorono Company, as I have mentioned, and I was the world's worst salesman working for the Fred Proctor Co. Fred Proctor, Sr., was a man of approximately sixty-five years of age; his son, Junior Proctor, about forty. They owned a bookbinding company and manufactured office ruled paper, bound books and binders. I began working for them in June, 1924, and continued there until we went to Europe. My territory called for routine trips to Indiana. I had expense money for my automobile - a Ford Sedan, Model T, which I bought second-hand for $450.00 - maybe ten cents a mile. As I needed an auto for my singing engagements, this was a big help. But I still do not know why they kept me on the payroll as I sold very little. The competition was fierce, and I refused to be dishonest in quoting prices. I did make my calls, and the people I called on liked me and liked to talk to me. One of my good customers later became our close friend, Al Wenstrup. It was very boring, going from office to office. Occasionally I would stray into a movie. In fact, one time Proctor Sr. saw me coming out of the old Capitol Theatre at Seventh and Vine. I thought that would end my tenure, but no, he did not even mention it.
In addition to my work at Proctor's, my singing engagements, my three church choir jobs, I was a registered student of Lino Mattioli at the College of Music, sang in the Zoo Opera Chorus, May Festival Chorus and Orpheus Club Chorus. Wow!
At the College I was working toward my certificate (1925) and my diploma in singing, both of which required some piano and theory lessons. Howard W. Hess was my teacher; he was a prince; he later became music critic for the Enquirer, and subsequently Director of the Cincinnati Conservatory of Music.
Marie and I had been going together since 1921, and enjoyed a wonderful courtship. I never let her forget me for a moment - wrote her notes, called her, showed up where I knew she would be, made dates, and tried in every possible way to make her fall in love with me. We became closer and closer to each other. By 1924-25 we knew that we wanted to get married. Because of our religious beliefs, our deep respect and sincere feelings for each other, and our love, despite our lack of money, we decided to tell Marie's mother of our plans. Marie told her mother on January 16, 1925. For some reason, they did not confide in Bill (her father). I knew that Marie wanted a diamond engagement ring which I promised her for later. By June I not only had the ring, but a platinum wristwatch, as well. During these months Marie bought several pieces of furniture, a radio, and together we bought a Howard apartment grand piano (the Howard was Ba1dwin's second piano).
On July 6, 1925, I drove Mother and Elsa to Chicago to see Herb and Bertha. Wally Sheblessy went along and we dropped him off at his aunt's house (Mrs. Binz). On that trip in Cicero, Illinois, I was caught for speeding. The cop, when he saw that we were gentle people said, "I'll let you go young man, but you must stop down at the corner and buy the ladies a box of candy." We found out later that Cicero was a speed trap run by Mafia and that they stopped all out-of-state cars, no matter at what speed they were travelling. While in Chicago I heard Martinelli sing "Faust" at Ravinia Park. I had (and still have, 1979) his record of "La fleur que tu n'avais jetee" from "Carmen". So it was a real treat to hear him in person.
As our wedding plans developed Marie informed me that before we became formally engaged and she wore her ring, I had to ask her father for her hand. On Sunday, June 19, 1925, Mr. and Mrs. William F. Niland had reservations on the Delta Queen for a river trip from Cincy to Pittsburg, Pennsylvania, then down the Ohio River to Louisville, Kentucky and back to Cincy. Marie and I drove them to the wharf, at the foot of Walnut Street in those days. We got them aboard about fifteen minutes ahead of time. I thought I would use those few minutes to ask Mr. Niland for his lovely daughter's hand. As it happened he disappeared below deck immediately. He was a travelling man who had had many unpleasant experiences with bed bugs. As a matter of tact, he had told me several times that he could smell them if they were in a hotel room. So he was bent on seeing his mattress and cabin. Evidently he was not satisfied with what he saw, and insisted that the Stewart change them to another cabin immediately. All of this took time, and I was getting more nervous by the minute. Finally he showed up on the deck just as the whistle for departure was blowing. I hurried to him and said, "Mr. Niland is it all right if Marie and I get married?" He said, "God damn you, Dutchman - yes!" With that Marie and I hurried off the boat, frantically waving good-byes.
During the courtship years my fraternity (Sigma Kappa Beta) was renting a so-called "Summer Cottage." I had gotten the idea from the Sienna Club fellows at St. Catharine Church who went every summer to Miamitown, Ohio. Our first SKB camp was on the Big Miami off Blue Rock Pike between Peach Grove and Miamitown. It was an old abandoned farmhouse near a creek which ran into the river. We were there for several years. (See picture in Trefzger album Then we rented a place at New Baltimore, Ohio, which was almost new, and had been built as a summer cottage. located on a high bank near the river and not too far from the N.B. bridge. On the same property was an old farmhouse which was being used as a saloon, general store, and on weekends (at least) as a cheap whore house for the country fellows. Up the river at Venice, Ohio, there was a fancy place where they had a nice dance floor and, on occasions, hired small orchestras. Our cottage had two or three rooms in addition to a large screened-in sleeping porch.
Usually the same fellows went to camp for the weekends; all were members of the fraternity. The girls came out on Sundays and did not spend the night at camp (at least not to my knowledge).
The guys liked to kid Marie and me because we spent so much time in the hammock. Every camp had a hammock in those days, and for two people to stay in the thing, took a bit of doing. To add to that difficulty our good friends would try to tip us over so they could enjoy use of the swing themselves. Stan Franey was our chief cook, for which he certainly had talent - particularly for preparing breakfast. That everyone had a specific job to do, and everyone did his share. We had all kinds of contests - swimming, canoeing, baseball, and in whatever sport we chose. One of the most memorable was a wrestling tournament. Eight fellows were entered and matched by draw, not by size or weight. Any holds were allowed, and the pair had no referee. There was no time limit the match went on until one fellow gave up. As I remember, this tournament took an entire weekend, with Carl Deifel and yours truly as finalists. We wrestled for at least three hours, and finally I got Carl to give up. To this day he cannot understand how I was able to subdue him.
In the river near our camp were what we called the riffles. Webster says: "Riffle n. a) a shoal, reef, or rocky obstruction in a stream, producing a ripple or a stretch of shallow, rapid or choppy water." These riffles were about the length of a football field, and the water gushed over large rocks covered with algae, which was very slippery. Our game was to walk up the river above the ripples, get in, and slide down until we arrived in deep water again. We had to bounce from rock to rock and, I believe. We descended at a speed which a swimmer could not have equaled. We boys did this regularly and thought it was great. So, I talked Marie into doing it with me - which was one of the most stupid ideas I have had in my entire life - and I have had many. Marie could swim but not too well for any distance. We got in the river and started down. Everything was all right for a few minutes, but then she panicked and could not adjust to bouncing on the rocks. By the time we reached deep water she was almost unconscious. But God was with me and I was able to get her to shore. What a tragedy it might have been?
At the cottage we had an old wind-up phonograph with a collection of jazz records. One of our favorites was Ted Lewis and his "Down the Old Church Aisle." The other evening on Lawrence Welk's T.V. hour Mr. Welk introduced his clarinetist, saying that the artist would play a piece made famous by Ted Lewis. What a pleasure to hear that melody again? Ted Lewis, incidentally, was from Chillicothe, Ohio, where Marie's Aunt Mayme lived.
I am sure that any person reading this account now, after the sexual revolution, the period of hippies, dope, rock and roll, feminine equality, do-your-own-thing idea, the birth control pill, public pornography, pictures of female nudes in "Playboy," and male nudes in "Playgirl," will wonder whether Fran and Marie reached their wedding day in a virginal state. The answer is, "yes." Four years is a long time for two red-blooded American young people to go together without getting into trouble, tis true, but we did it? I will admit that the first two years were not difficult because I had to convince the young lady that I was the one she preferred, and I had to more or less get all the other fellows out of my way. One George Doll hung on until the end. Marie had to tell him when she accepted my ring. Our third and fourth years of courtship brought with them all the difficulties that young lovers must live through because we spent many hours together and were very close. Judging from my little date books - marked with XXX -we had an unwritten rule. Evidently whenever I became too amorous I had to stay away for awhile. These periods of penance were marked with the XXX - and as time passed, more and more of these marks appear in my little black books. But with the help of the Lord we made it! Our married experience proved beautiful, and worth the self-enforced, self-control.
During the summer of 1925 our two families became better acquainted with a dinner at the Nilands on August 25, 1925. Earlier that month Marie went with Elsa and my mother to Ruggles Beach. I can still remember how lovely my fiancée was and how proud of her I was when I put her on the train to go away for a week. All of my family welcomed Marie with prenuptial parties. Grandma Berger, who was still alive, Gene Eckerle, Nannie Heintzman (Bertha's Mom), Aunt Anna and Aunt Teresa Sheblessy, not to forget Aunt Nellie Berger who entertained with a beautiful dinner party at her home on Hosea Avenue. The Nilands had already welcomed me into their family. I knew Aunt Kate, Rosie, Bud and Dina Hardy, and Poppy (Mrs. Niland's father). Undoubtedly both families were happy and relieved to know that the big day was close at hand. According to my little black book on October 4th and 5th (Marie's birthday) we were looking at apartments; on the 11th we were checking the names on wedding invitation lists, and on that same day we went to see Father Hickey at Saint Matthew Church to make final arrangements for the wedding. Marie did not want to go to confession to Fr. Hickey at that time, so she chose to go to St. Mark Church. As it happened she got a young priest who, when he heard that she was soon to be married, began asking her somewhat embarrassing questions. She told me about him on the way home; she was angry. I told her to forget it, that he was probably just jealous of me. Father Hickey also insisted upon giving Marie premarital instructions. The only information I could get out of her about that interview was that he said a wife should be responsive to her husband.
The wedding rehearsal was held in St. Matthew Church the night of the 23rd. Marie's only attendant was Grace Mathews, as maid of honor, her best friend. My best man was Gene Eckerle, my cousin, and long-time accompanist and fellow opera singer. The ushers were Buddy Niland, Charles Hermann (on Marie's side) and Stanley Franey and Al Berger on my side. The men in our party wore morning frocks with striped trousers. (I borrowed mine from Earl Koch who was married to Bertha's cousin Lucille Arnold.) At the rehearsal party I gave each of the men his tie for the wedding day, and a pipe as a memento of the occasion. The nuptial mass was read by Father Hickey at 9:00 A.M. on November 24, 1925, at St. Matthew Church. The soloist was Joe Schenke, my friend - and a great tenor. Everything was beautiful - the bride (especially) the music, the solemnity, the families. It was a most wonderful day for both of us -I must confess, though, that I do not remember much of what went on in church. I was too emotionally worked up. I do recall, however, that when the priest asked us to repeat our vows after him, I was suddenly shaken with the tremendous responsibility I was assuming -at that moment I felt as though the weight of the world had fallen on my shoulders. The wedding breakfast was served at the Alms Hotel. In traditional family style we had music, and speeches from everyone. Norma Richter and I, with Gene at the piano, sang several operatic duets, and I sang a love song, or two, to my lovely bride. The reception was held at the Niland borne on Regent Avenue in Norwood, Ohio. The Nilands went to no end of trouble to make the party enjoyable for all. Just getting the liquor was a problem for Bill Niland. It was still prohibition time. Marie and I were not at the reception - in fact, Franey and I had smuggled Marie's valise out of the house the night before and put it in my car. Where did the bride and groom go on their wedding day? What did they do? You will never guess. They drove out to Trefzger's home on Cheviot Avenue where the bride (still in her wedding attire, and freezing cold) took a hot bath and changed clothes. You are saying, "Oh, yes, and then they consummated their marriage. But you are wrong. Fran had read in the sex manual that it was very bad to have intercourse when the young woman was not ready, nor greatly inclined. She was not. So, that part of the union was postponed. Truthfully, I do not remember where we ate our evening meal, perhaps at Caproni's because our train for Chicago was not scheduled to leave until 11:55 p.m., I had reserved tickets for "The Student Prince" at the Schubert Theatre, Seventh and Walnut Streets. A great show, which we enjoyed thoroughly. After the show I parked my car in a garage on Sycamore Street, and we went down to the Pearl Street Depot to board the train. Did I hear you say, "Did the newlyweds sleep together in a lower berth?" No, wrong again! They would have been too embarrassed. Marie slept in the lower berth, and Fran in the upper. (What a waste of time!) Since that trip I have often teased Marie, telling her that I heard her calling me all night, over the chug-chug of the rails, but that I chose to ignore her pleading.
The train arrived in Chicago at 7:40 a.m. and we were met by Herb and Bertha who were living in Maywood, Illinois. Before going on with our honeymoon experiences I will add a word or two about Pullman train riding in those days. The cars were named after a Mr. George Pullman who invented them. They were sixty feet long and had a men's toilet in a small dressing-room at one end, and a women's dressing-room and toilet at the other. Each room included several washstands. The water for these facilities had to be pumped into overhead tanks while the train was in the depot in the different cities along the route. After using the toilet the water was flushed through, onto the roadbed below. Anything that was dropped or fell into the toilet was lost forever! Above it was a sign advising the riders that the apparatus was not to be used while the train was stationary. My recollection of trying to shave in a moving train is that only an acrobat could succeed. About 9:00 p.m. the porter (usually a charming black fellow) came along to make up the berths, the lower one of which was made up of the two double seats that faced other - the upper berth came out of the side of the car from above. The lower bed was comfortable; the upper, terrible. To undress and dress in an upper took a contortionist. Each bunk had a net-like hammock-style bag into which one jammed his clothes. Smart fellows placed their trousers under the mattress and slept on them. After the porter had made up the berths he pulled over the heavy green curtains for privacy. In fact, there was no complete privacy in the car. An active young man could elbow himself across to the opposite upper if there was a young receptive lady there for a little hanky-panky. Some people slept very well in these moving bedrooms; others could not because of the click-clack of the iron wheels on the iron rail. Each car had to have at least one wheel which had a flat part on it to keep electricity from building up. On most long distance trips with Pullman accommodations they had a dining car, and at the very end of the train, a bar car with observation platform. These first class trains were a delight as the service was excellent and the food and drinks comparable to any good hotel. Later, when we were in Europe we rode the European version of Pullmans called "Wagon-Lits." These were built in a slightly different, and better, style because their compartments were separated by sliding doors from the corridor which ran along the side of the car, not through the middle. In America the passengers were somewhat of a nuisance, walking up and down, up and down.
Herb and Bertha owned a little car, a two-seater, with a rumble seat which was very serviceable in Chicago where there was heavy snow and ice. The wheels of their car just fit in the ruts in the streets. As long as they did not have to turn, everything was great. We had a delightful visit with them in their home in Maywood, Illinois. They wined and dined us. The night of November 25, 1925 we went to the neighborhood movie, The Lido, to see Dick Barthelmess. The next day was Thanksgiving. We went into Chicago to see a football game at Soldiers Field (Loyola 6 - Haskell Indians 0). While in Chicago we visited the famous Fields Museum. As mentioned before, Fran and Marie were really in love as they say, on cloud nine! We had been going together for four years; we got along well, and understood each other. Finally the great moment had arrived. Yes, we had the privilege to snuggle up in bed, to sleep together and to have sexual intercourse which our civilization and church now granted us. I would not be truthful if I said that I was not worked up. I was, after four years, "rearing to go", and I am sure that my sweet young wife was at least willing to try. Herb and Bertha turned over their bedroom to us. Everything was conducive to love-making - the only flaw was that the young groom, despite his reading the Marriage Guide, was pretty clumsy and not too well informed as to how to handle his chores. Suffice it to say the honeymooners finally consummated their union! In all, our wedding was perfect, as was the honeymoon spent in Chicago. We left for Cincinnati at 11:55 p.m. on Saturday, November 28th, and arrived at about 9:30 Sunday morning. We attended Mass at St. Xavier on Sycamore Street, picked up our car, and drove to Westwood for several hours before going home - to 3949 Regent Avenue, to live with the Nilands. However, we spent the first two weeks of married life alone in Jadie and Merle's apartment on Lindlsy Avenue, a block away from Regent. They were out of town (purposely planned) and turned over the apartment to us.
Marie tried her hand at cooking. The first Saturday afternoon when I came home from work I went to the rear door of the apartment and threw my brown payrol1 envelope, salary enclosed, through the transom calling: "Darling, here's my money - may I come in now'? (In those days that was considered to be a joke, and very funny.) On the 12th of December we had Stan Franey and Ruth Bywater at the "flat" for dinner, just prior to returning to 3949 Regent Avenue to make our home there. On the 23rd I sang in the "Messiahs (chorus) at Music Hall. Christmas Eve was spent with Mother and Dad at 3450 Cheviot, Herb and Bertha were there, as well as Elsa. After taking Marie to Norwood, I sang Midnight Mass at St Margaret Cotona In Madisonville, 5:00 a.m. Mass at St. Patrick Church in Cumminsville, then back to St. Margaret for 10:00 a.m. Mass. That wasn't all - there was another performance of the "Messiah" Christmas Night. As a singer, Christmas was always a busy time for me - and especially so that year because I needed the money. From 1926 on I have kept regular accounts of our earnings and expenditures each month. Now, in 1950, they show just what has happened to the American dollar. My pay at Fred Proctor Company was $26.00 per week, approximately $132.00 for the month of January. But what I picked up singing amounted to $1l1.68 for the same month - a total of $243.68. My income for the year 1926 was $2,630.80, or about $50.59 a week. Our rent, or board, at Nilands was $50 or $60 a month. Just for the fun of it I will jot down the cost of a few interesting items listed in my records: One overcoat, $l5.00; admission to one basketball game, $2.00 for two; lunch, 34cents; movie tickets for two, 70 cents; one shirt, $1.55; a coat relined, $4.00; Lace powder and rouge, $1 .48; shoes repaired, $l.50 (leather soles and heels); floral piece for a deceased person, Mrs. Bird, $1.50. And let the figures rest right there. The whole subject of money is too painful!
I continued my studies at the College of Music with Mr. Mattioli, and I began to sing beautiful operatic numbers, among them the solos "Cieloe Mar," from La Giaconda; "O'Paradiso" L'Africaine; "M'appari," Martha; "Cujus Animam," Stabt Mater: duets, La Forza del Destino; trios, Faust; and quartets, Rigoletto and Martha. During 1926 I sang at W.L.W. Radio St5tion W.F.B.E., also on the Perry & Derrick Hour; with the Armco Band in Middletown. We had a good quartet from the College of Music: Norma Richter, soprano; Mildred Landwehr, alto; Franz Trefzger, tenor; and Eugene Eckerle, baritone. We did many enjoyable engagements. Now, in 1980, I enjoy listening to recordings of Caruso, Martirielli, and the late great tenor, Thcker, as well as Pavarotti. Under proper headings in my files anyone interested can find all my old programs, together with early newspaper clippings. At the graduation exercises in June,1926 I received my first award from the College of Music, a Certificate in Voice.
Our first year of married life was a beautiful experience. Even going to work was pleasant because I looked forward to coming home to my loved ones in the evening. When we moved back to 3949 Regent (after our short stay in Jadie's apartment) the family consisted of Poppy (Alexander Lindsay Hardy), Mrs. Niland's father, and Marie's mother and father. Poppy, probably in his seventies, was a very pleasant old gentleman, capable of doing manual labor around the house and prejudiced only in his strange hatred of the British. Mammaw, Marie's mother, was glad to have Marie around to help with the household chores. Furthermore, she was freer to join her neighbor, Lea (Mrs. Lee) Campbell and go to town for movies and plays which they both thoroughly enjoyed. Mammaw was never late for a show or movie but it was very difficult to get her to church on time - or any other place, for that matter. She was a very attractive woman who spent many hours at the mirror in cosmetic efforts. Mammaw had personality and, in addition, was full of life and gaiety. She was a good conversationalist because she was well read. She was not prejudiced against any people - being from Kentucky she had the old Southern attitude toward Negroes, but she accepted them. She had absolutely no religious prejudice. In her family they had all creeds. Her grandfather was a Methodist Circuit-riding Minister. Every, or just about every, tramp that came through Norwood came to Mammaw's back porch for a sandwich and cup of coffee. She never gave them money but never turned them away without food she had no fear of them.
Mr. Niland (Bill) was still travelling when we married - a wholesale millinery salesman, selling of all things, ladies hats! He left Norwood usually by train or interurban car on Sunday afternoon and returned on Friday. In those days Marie and I had the front, right side bedroom. Marie's mother and father gave her a complete bedroom set of furniture before she married, which is still in our home. Our grand piano and radio were in the living room downstairs. We were a happy, congenial group. We ate well and spent time at the table in conversation. During the early years of our marriage we did not drink cocktails, and very little beer as I recall. When Bill, or Granddaddy as we called him after Patricia was born, wanted to drink or check the horse races he went to the Pike, as Montgomery Road was called. One of the biggest differences in home life in those days (1920's) and now (l980) was first, the price of food, and secondly, the procurement thereof. The ladies simply called the grocer as often as necessary during the week and he de1ivered meat and groceries. The food was charged on a monthly basis. The ice and milk were also delivered, paid for usually by the week. If the lady of the house forgot to order or ran out of some item, which often happened, she would ask one of the children in the neighborhood to go to the store. This was a pleasant chore for them because the lady would give them a little tip -and in addition, if there was only one child, the butcher often would give the kid a wiener; or the grocer, a pickle or piece of candy. I will not comment on the absurdity of the modern system of driving to the supermarket; nor the accompanying anguish of mind and physical pain of filling food carts. The supermarket idea has been to no one's advantage but rather to the disadvantage of many. The American consumer has been 'brainwashed" by the media. Enough of what is wrong with today, and more of what was right with yesterday for Marie and Fran.
Three or four months had passed when Marie said: "Fran, you had better take me out to Dr. Dickson. I think I am pregnant." Well do I remember the visit to his office, and his answer - as if it were yesterday. She was right. We were both very happy. Everything went along well until the ninth month - in fact, until about two weeks before the baby was due. It was very noticeable then that vane's legs were quite swollen. She was not worried, believing it to be part of pregnancy. I was quite concerned and insisted that she go back to Dr. Dickson for another checkup. But the very next day Dr. Dickson showed up at the door at 3949 Regent to tell Marie that the specimen she had left with him on her last visit showed definite signs of euremic poisoning. He suggested that she report in at the Jewish Hospital (where he was on the staff) before six o'clock that night. Immediately upon returning home from work I drove her to the hospital in Avondale. She was under their care for about a week when, on October 23, 1926, Mary Patricia Trefzger was born. Marie was wonderful during this crucial period. She never uttered a word of complaint; she had utmost faith in Dr. Dickson. I am sure that she considered him the best doctor in the world! Now Fran's was a different story; he was worried, almost a "basket case." We, at the Niland house, were told not to worry - that the nurses would call us when the great moment would arrive. So they did, at 2:30 A..M. on the morning of October 23rd, to tell me that my wife was "going fast," and that I should get over there -at least, that is what I understood them to say over the phone. Unsteady as I was, I donned my clothes and hurried to the garage where I kept my car, about a block away, on Lindlay Avenue. I got into my Model T Ford Sedan and took off for Avondale. Although I had been to the hospital to see Marie every day, that morning - believe it or not - I could not find the Jewish Hospital, 1arge as it was! After a circuitous route I finally made it. I went directly to her room. It was empty! And I was panicky! I went to the nurses quarters where they calmly told me my wife had been taken to the delivery room. I rushed upstairs and observed through the glass that Dr. Dickson and his nurse had Marie on the delivery table. He let me in, for just a second, to kiss Marie and speak to her. Then he said, "You had better leave now - I don't want you fainting!" I went down to the Expectant Fathers' Waiting Room. I am sure that the Lord was never before so barraged with prayers. However, even my prayers were interrupted because of a woman's voice screaming and groaning. Naturally I thought it was Marie; Later, I found out that it was another young mother-to-be in her last labor pains. At about 4:45 A.M. Pat was born. They brought the baby down to show me at five o'clock. She was a sight to behold - just beautiful, perfect in every way. I cannot remember now, whether I got to see Marie after the birth that morning. I do know that I visited the hospital and saw her during my lunch hour. Marie and I were very close before our first baby came, but there is nothing in life which equals the feelings of young parents when they look at a new baby -their own flesh and blood!
Now, from the sublime to the practical. My account book shows that our bill at the Jewish Hospital was $144.70. (I do not remember exactly how many days Marie was there, but it was close to three weeks in all - a week before, and two weeks after the birth.) Dr. Dickson's bill was $75.00. I gave the nurses a $4.00 box of chocolates. The doctor told me that he had to cut Marie to prevent tearing at birth, but otherwise everything went well. I do not have the date of Mary Patricia Trefzger's baptism at hand but I know that Gene Eckerle and Grace Mathews were her God-parents and she was baptized at St. Mathew Church, Norwood, Ohio. My book tells me that Gene paid the $5.00 for the ceremony. It also lists the baby's outfit, and the item-by-item cost thereof. I continued my work, as well as my studies and my singing, but all of us at 3949 Regent Avenue were engrossed in our baby! We watched every move. It did not take us long to realize that our child would be bright, as well as beautiful. Her coming made little difference In our Christmas of 1926 - Christmas Eve at the Trefzgers in Westwood, and Christmas Day at the Nilands' which had been our home throughout. (My account shows that we paid $50.0O a month board. Certainly that was a great bargain for us.) I sang the Midnight Mass as usual, and had several other special Christmas engagements, such as one for The Church of Divine Science, held in the Walnut Hills Masonic Temple.
During 1927 I sang in Middletown, Ohio, with the Armco Band, as well as at Music Hall in that year's May Festival. Mr. Van der Stucken was the Leader (or Director). I remember so well because he taught me a big lesson in solo singing, at the rehearsal. I had a small but important part in Boris Godunow by Moussorgsky. I was standing in the chorus about twenty rows up. My entrance was preceded by some sixty bars of orchestral music, bars which were not in my chorus book so I could not follow the music. At the rehearsal, naturally, I did not know when to corme in. I watched him but he (I swear) gave me no sign to sing. When I did not start he yelled: "What's the matter? Why didn't you come in? Why didn't you watch me?" Of course I was greatly embarrassed, with some hundred people standing around me on the stage. When we went over it again I watched him, and that time as well as at the performance he really cued me in.
The College of Music was very fortunate during those years to have as head of its opera department Signor Italo Piccbi. He had come to Cincinnati from the Metropolitan to sing in the Zoo Opera and had become a great favorite in our town. I knew him because I had been singing in the Zoo Opera Chorus since 1922. Although still studying singing with Lino Mattioli, I also joined Picchi's opera class. Norma Richter, Mildred Landwehr and Gene Eckerle, members of our local quartet, were in the class too. How we enjoyed the work! On May 17, 1927, we presented a program at Emery Auditorium consisting of acts from Rigoletto, Aida, and La Boheme. I sang the part of the Duke in Rigoletto and was a big success except for my last high B, sung behind the scenes. It was not the greatest but I did not let that dampen my enthusiasm for grand opera. At the June Commencement I received my diploma as a concert singer.
Some time during that summer while making my rounds trying to sell office equipment for Fred Proctor I encountered a local tenor named George Weber. He told me that he had received a grant from the Fleischman Foundation to study singing in Europe. He informed me that the Foundation, supported by the big liquor company he1ped young artists of all kinds to further their studies, and was managed by Kr. Bernard (Barney) Kroger, President of the Provident Bank located at Seventh and Vine Streets. That evening I spoke enthusiastically to Marie about the Foundation, and she suggested that I go to see Mr. Kroger as soon as possible. I am sure that in our youthful ignorance neither of us had any idea of what we were heading into. Early one morning shortly thereafter I went to the Provident Bank where I approached a man who was dusting off the counters. I said, Please, Sir, can you tell me where I can find Mr. Kroger, the President?" He said, "I'm Kroger, what do you want?" Well, you could have knocked me down with a feather -but he told me that the Foundation was handled by a committee headed by Mr. Van Lahr and its secretary, Mr. Wehmer. I was told by the later that I had to write a letter to the Foundation. My letter and its answer are attached.
I was elated, of course, and felt as though everything was going to work out great for us. I gave them an idea of approximately what it would cost, including support of my wife and child. When they said they had not counted on three persons, but only one - me, I told them that my wife and daughter meant more to me than anything in the world, and that I would give up the whole idea if they could not accompany me. They reconsidered and finally agreed to send the three of us. We planned to leave in August of 1928, which gave us time to make all necessary preparations. Marie and I went to school at Santa Maria Institute on West 13th Street to study Italian. I had studied the language with Mrs. Giacento Gorno at the College of Music but, as with the Spanish I took in high school, I had not learned much more than pronunciation. I enrolled also in an Italian class at U.C., which because of my work at Proctors' I could not keep up.
Marie and I did learn something from Mr. DeGirolomo at the Santa Maria Institute. He was an excellent teacher who taught us conversational phrases. Fortunately for us Marie was well schooled in grammar and, incidentally had done well in Latin at Norwood High. I was miserable in grammar - I always said that I must have been absent; when the nuns tried to teach that subject. Or perhaps they themselves were not adequately prepared. At any rate, Marie taught me the rules and regulations needed to learn any foreign language correctly, which aided me tremendously in learning Italian, French, and German after we got to Europe.
I cannot remember what happened to my Ford automobile - whether I traded it or sold it outright. However, going back a few years, early in 1927 we bought a Willys Whippet for $735. It was a four-cylinder car, dark blue in color, two doors, built very close to the ground with a nickel-plated whippet racing dog insignia on the radiator. It had a four on the floor shift and got very good mileage. When we left for Europe we gave the car to Marie's brother Jadie. My expenses with the Whippet for nine months in 1927 were $5.64 a week. I kept it in Theobald's garage on Lindlay (rent $5.00 a month).
During the year 1928 I sang Bizet's "Agnus Dei," with the College orchestra; a behind-the-scenes solo in "The Jest" at the Grand Opera House with the Stuart Walker Company; a performance of Acts II and III of Verdi's La Traviata at the Odeon. After Norma and I did our Post Graduate Recital at the College in June I sang a program for The Peoria Woman's Club, much to the delight of the Trefzgers in Peoria - particularly Aunt Anna Trefzger who loved music and was a gifted artist in her own right. She did especially beautiful china painting. After the Peoria concert I appeared on W.L.W. Radio singing in the trio from the last act of Faust, as well as in a trio from La Gioconda. On Radio W.F.B.E. I sang an original composition by Sidney Durst on "The Cincinnati Composers' Series" and later, on the same station, "M'appari," from Martha by Von Flotovv, on the Perry & Derrick hour. The radio stations in those days were heavily draped with panels of cloth to kill the vibrations.
Our family life continued as usual but it was necessary for us to plan for the future, which we did. The details for our trip to Europe were worked out with a Mr. Reeves who was in charge of The Provident Bank Travel Bureau. He was a most pleasant man. He had, as his secretary, his daughter Ruth who was an accomplished pianist and accompanist. Subsequently Ruth Reeves, whose married name was Lyons, became probably the best known woman in Cincinnati. She was hostess of a W.L.W radio and T.V. show for years, until she was forced to resign because of a heart attack. Bob Brown emceed her show thereafter.
I must mention some special dates in l928. On June 8th at The Music Hall the 50th Annual Commencement Exercises of The College of Music were held. I sang the tenor solo in a Duxnler Mass and, on the same night, was presented with my Post-Graduate Degree and a Springer Gold Medal as a concert singer.
Norma Richter and I gave our Post-Graduate Recital on April 20, 1928, with Gene Eckerle as our accompanist.
'Autobiography' by Franz Trefzger