The Economic Report of the President Transmitted to the Congress January 8, 1947 can be found online. President Harry Truman wrote: "...At the end of 1946...more than 10 million demobilized veterans...have found employment." "Prosperity cannot be the concern of one party or of one group. It cannot be attained without the goodwill and the cooperation of all." "As the year 1947 opens America has never been so strong or so prosperous. Nor have our prospects ever been brighter. Yet in the minds of a great many of us there is a fear of another depression, the loss of jobs, our farms, our businesses." Interesting to read our history, or was that historical predictions from the past.

After his service in WWII my father spent his entire work life at Kadin Brothers, aka Mohawk Novelty aka the 'Pocketbook Factory' as the locals called it. He stayed with that job during the company's growth and its' eventual destruction in the 'trickled down economy' of the 80's. My father worked there with many men and some women who served in the armed services during WWII. This written piece is with them in mind.

Photographs are from my personal collections. The soldiers are at Carlisle Barracks in Pennsylvania in the early 40's. My father, wearing his backpack, is the last one on the steps going down to the far left in the photo. The photograph of the factory at the end of the story is from 2001, many years after it closed down as a major employer in Hudson, New York.

If you read my story of the Good Friday Fire in 1965, then you have seen the name, Leo. Leo Hodowansky was our landlord at 330 Warren Street prior to the fire that destroyed his apartment building. A short, rotund man beyond middle-age, he was the sole proprietor  and bartender of his bar and grill prior to 1965. This story is about an encounter between Leo and myself some years before the fire. If you have read my story Bump in the Road to a Summer Reunion, this story will be enhanced more, but as a story it stands on its' own.

Photograph by Jean Schugart-Schild. It is a bar in Amsterdam.  

Quote below, and Photographic copies at the end of the story are from Hudson Register Star, Hudson, N.Y., Saturday, April, 17, 1965, EXTRA EDITION, Volume 11, Number 5742

"A roaring fire, described as the largest in the city's history, demolished five buildings in the heart of Warren Street yesterday, causing damages in excess of half a million dollars.  More than twenty families were forced to the street..." 

It was a difficult fire for the all-volunteer fire-fighting force. But they saved most of the block, which in the end, was quite a feat.

The first photograph is of me, the author, standing in front of Leo's in 2001, 36 years after the fire. Copies of newspaper clippings will follow the story. Kudos to the many family relatives that gave my parents photographs that were sent to them in earlier years before the fire. I recall it being the ultimate -returned-gifts to my late parents.

Photograph by Jean Schugart-Schild.

According to the CDC there were 56,000 annual highway deaths from drunk driving reported in the late 60's. At the website www.madd.org In 2012 drunk driving killed 10,322 people and injured 345,000. Better built cars? Better state legislation? Better education? Higher insurance? Still, in my opinion, it is not good enough. In self-reported episodes of drunk driving, the CDC reported that drunk drivers got behind the wheel an estimated 112 million times in 2010. This does not include text, or other drugs. Think of all the close calls.

Thinking back on the family reunion in Pennsylvania in 1961, I dedicate this piece to my late parents as I will always recall their immense heartache, and to my little sisters whom I've never had the chance to hug: Mary Elizabeth and Mary Ann Elizabeth, who were named by my father.

On June 7, 1967, I stood in front of the maternity glass-wall at Columbia Memorial Hospital in Hudson, New York, and peered in at my new twin nephews. My sister Zora had given birth June 5th, as her husband Mike served in Viet Nam. His children would be 2 years old before he would meet them for the first time. Standing next to me that day was the very handsome Ronny Rockefeller. He was in a summer white military uniform, holding his white cap behind his bended back as he peered in at his newly born son. I'll never forget the broad grin of joy on his face as he looked at his son. This is how I will always remember him. My sister had been school friends with his wife, Eileen (Kraft) Rockefeller. They were pleased that they gave birth to their sons on nearly the same day.

The image of Ronny in his Navy whites became ingrained in my memory even more so when I read his obituary a year later. Ronald Edward Rockefeller, a Navy hospital corpsman, was attached to the 3rd. Marine at DaNang. He arrived there May 30, and was in military action for only two days when he was shot in the neck, and killed in Viet Nam on June 7th, 1968.  https://navy.togetherweserved.com Here is a general link that leads to the next link on Ronny's service. I never will forget him, or the fact that Eileen had to raise their son without his father.

https://navy.togetherweserved.com/usn/servlet/tws.webapp.WebApp?cmd=ShadowBoxProfile&type=Person&ID=415062

I wrote this piece with Ronny in my heart. He did not come home as he did when he left us. The truth is, hundreds of thousands, just in the past twelve years, alone, who lived through service, do not come home as the person they left. Veterans need even greater support when returning home. Just waving a flag will not do. We need to wave money, jobs, and fully paid support services for the vets and their caregivers.

Photograph by Jean Schugart-Schild

Photograph by Jean Schugart-Schild. This butt can is a neighbor's down the street. I give her credit for not smoking in her house where her toddler son plays, lives and breaths. But I wish her and anyone who smokes, a release from smoking. www.smokefree.gov

On July 17, 1992, my mother sat alone at her dining room table with a cup of coffee and a pack of cigarettes. None of her five adult children where there; most of us were working. She may have felt physically off as she left the full cup of coffee and her pack of cigarettes. Maybe the walk down to Sam's Supermarket for a box of dry cat food for the felines she rescued as newborns in the back alley a few years ago, would make her feel better. But instead, while in the checkout line my mother had a massive heart attack at age 67. A dear old school friend, and owner of Sam's, Hy Miller, unlike myself, got to see the last living moments of my mother's life. He was such a sweet soul to have nearby her. I knew the EMT, as well, and he passed along to my family that my mother's last words were, "I'm a heavy smoker."  He told us she was very frightened, went under, and back again, but could not breath on her own. It pained me to know how scared she was at her death. It still brings tears to my eyes. Years of cigarette addiction. Many times she tried to 'kick the habit.'

I wrote this short piece in a sort of rhopalic verse, that is where the numbers of syllables per word increases steadily on every line, like each drawing in of my mother's cigarettes added up to her, too early, death. Genetically, she could have lived longer for one sister died recently in her 90's and another is still well and alive in to her 80's.

In ritual ceremony smoke is often used. I love the aroma of these spiritual offerings.