THE LAURENCELLE FAMILY

As I remember them for there is no way to verify my tales since most of the people whose opinions could not be disputed are gone.

I remember the little house on Navy street in Detroit where Grandfather, Joseph L. Laurencelle, and Grandmother, Johannah, lived and where Grandfather died. One died at home in those days: one seldom went to the hospital for everyone felt that a hospital was a place to which one went to die; a cure was almost an impossibility. So the grandparents retired from their lives of hard work and lived on Navy; across the street lived their youngest daughter with her family - Mabel Laurencelle Lewis. I do not know if the old folks were there to watch the young family, or whether the youngsters were there to take care of the old. They certainly were not there because it was a fashionable place to live. Actually the houses were small; the yards were handkerchief size, hemmed in by low hedges; the street was narrow and, as I recall, much torn up at one time as huge cement drains were installed. Of this I am sure for I played in those cement tubes. If the houses were small on the inside, the interiors were even smaller. I remember the interior of the grandparents house - it had small rooms - parlor, dining room, and kitchen with two bedrooms; there was a bathroom between the bedrooms, and a stair to the basement - which meant central heating. Detroit was sufficiently civilized then to have had a sewage system. I do recall an attic. Everybody who was anybody had a front porch. When the family gathered after dinner, on summer evenings, it was to sit on the front porch and watch their neighbors watching them. A back porch? The back porch was no more than was necessary with steps to ground level. A garage? I do not remember although Grandfather owned a Ford; that I do remember for I distinctly hear myself saying 'Faster, Grandfather, faster!' Some of you recall seeing speedometer needles hovering between forty-five and fifty. Such was speed in the early years of the auto and this century. You know what speeds were possible later on.

The interior of the house probably matched that of every house along the block for size, finishing, and furnishings. I still have the walnut parlor table, now marked by Jay's Christmas hammer - the table that belonged to both grandmothers - there is a story here which I should tell...later? The small parlor had a settee, a platform rocker in which I always pinched my fingers (never learned), a piano with a short keyboard, and upon the walls a large photograph of Grandfather and a couple of framed wreaths made of grains and grasses, which creations I found most fascinating and which were popular in those days. I remember the macrame hanging that divided the parlor and the dining room; the concept of making small rooms appear larger by not fully dividing them is not a new concept of our times - a heavy and elegant macrame hanging drew the distinguishing line. The dining area had a plate rail on which a few special plates were displayed. The table stretched to accommodate visitors. Chairs? I suppose. By the wall to the right of the parlor archway was the roll-top desk at which Grandfather spent a great deal of his time. Wonderful thing that roll-top desk; it had a secret drawer! Probably every roll-top desk had the same secret drawer; but youth never suspected. Against the opposite wall was a couch which cradled Grandfather's aged and dying body; he died of old age, hard work, and an endema which made that body most uncomfortable. He died at home with daughters coming in to help their Mother through a time that, while it had been expected and was to be quietly accepted, was traumatic. We may be prepared, but we are never ready for the end of a life.

Memory plays odd tricks upon us all. I opened the door at 3535 one night to be met by the odor which had always been associated with the house on Navy; it was a combination of Fels Naptha soap and Grandfather's pipe tobacco. But then I follow my nose where ever I go and that combination of odors is as easily identifiable to me as is the smoke of a burning house - that is the old style fire for I do not know just how a burning new plastic-filled house would smell and I do not care to know. Now a burning barn smells differently.

Memory plays odd tricks upon us all. I was certain that our French antecedents had come from Normandy; Mairiam Lewis Kreuger is as certain that they migrated from Alsace-Lorraine. Maybe one or the other. They left their homeland to come to that exciting new city, Quebec. They established themselves; responsible builders for I have had prints of a lighthouse which they were directed to build in the St. Lawrence. Pirates had been moving the lights placed at dangerous areas along the river to protect all ships that plied the river after dark. The papers were signed by one of the Georges - IV or V; I do not remember. The plans belonged to the oldest son of Grandfather Laurencelle's only son (Willard, son of William), but no one in that family wanted to have those plans. C. Allen borrowed (?) that paper and never returned it. It was taken to the office, I suppose; I have not seen it since. Almost the same story about the paper written by my Great-Grandmother. On it she had listed the names of husband and each of her children with their birthdates; I translated her notes. I cannot find the original nor my translation. It is easy to lose a slip of paper; almost as easy to lose two slips of paper; I hunted while I was still at 3535; I watched carefully as I prepared to move to Adams Woods; I have searched repeatedly since then thinking that I might have put it here or there. Do you know how disappointing it is to hunt and never find? I should like to find that paper for the woman who wrote it was my Great-Grandmother, Great-Great-Grandmother to my children and Great-Great-Great-Grandmother to theirs. The drawings for the lighthouse should go to the archives in Quebec; I had discussed that with C. Allen. Do you suppose that he actually had it sent there? Probably not.

When Grandfather came to Detroit, I do not know. Of this I am certain - there was no trace of a French accent in his speech and he sung to me a simple English ditty of sixteen verses: 'From Widdleton to Waddleton' - guaranteed to put a child to sleep. It did; I do not recall ever hearing the last few verses; perhaps it put Grandfather to sleep too. Grandfather owned a butcher shop from which he drew the amazing sum of ten dollars weekly. With that ten dollars he raised a family of five children. They moved several times; that I know from Mother's stories. I remember hertelling of bringing home a pitcher of milk from her Uncle Arthur's (Grandfather's brother - the only one whom I ever met; but Great-Grandmother's letter had listed other children.) Sent, one evening, to bring the milk home for supper, Violet walked the sidewalk beside a high board fence. Board fences were common in early Detroit for people fenced in their property, their horses, their dogs and their kids. As she walked she dragged the pitcher along the boards, the pitcher made such an interesting sound. Of course when she got home, the pitcher was cracked and the milk was gone. For punishment: 'Violet, back you go for more milk.' Punishment? I suppose the reality of the loss of the milk was all she needed ++ plus a word or two from her uncle.

The tales my Mother told: Grandfather and Grandmother, Annette LaVallee, had five children - Laura married a Johnson and mothered Vera and Earla; William married May (I never knew her last name) and were the parents of Willard and Wesley; Violet married Duncan Campbell; Florence married Lloyd Seefred and had Alice, Dorothy and Lloyd, Jr.; and Mabel, who married Roy Lewis - they founded a family of six. Now back to the past, Grandmother Annette had one more child; Grandmother hemmorraghed after that birth and died eight days later; the baby died too. Then Grandfather, born and raised a Catholic, left the church. I suppose that that happened to many people in those days of limited medicine. With a family for which he was responsible, Grandfather hired a housekeeper - Johannah, whom he later married. Perhaps when you were raising a man's family and a housekeeper's pay was very little, the security of being a wife would be a strong deciding factor - for the woman as well as for the father whose children needed care. Just imagine what the life of a wife or housekeeper must have been in those days. Walk around your house and think about it without Mr. Edison. It is small wonder that step-mothers earned their story-book reputation. Then to add to the family which marriage had given Johannah, something happened to Mr. Johnson who disappeared from the scene. Aunt Laura found employment sewing furs; Grandfather and Grandmother had two more children to raise. (Reading Rousseau's story of his life I was amazed to find that each time his live-in-girl-friend had another child, it was immediately placed into the care of a home for foundlings, an easy way out.) Grandfather and Grandmother assumed the burden with no thought of any possible alternative. There was not much understanding on the part of Laura's daughters, Vera and Earla; they were to young to wonder. I wonder if motherhood, family responsibilities ever changed their point of view; I wonder if they ever considered Grandmother's responsibilities and her point of view. How would the sudden addition of two young lives to all of the problems of limited means and declining energies affect the days of the grandparents? We seldom consider or understand the problems of life until it is too late. It is only now that I am aware that two new responsibilities must have caused immense problems. Youth realizes too late for youth had no yard-stick against which to measure. (Apologies to the Canadian cousins - 'youth had no metric-stick against which to measure.')

Being poor of purse does not mean poor of spirit. The ten dollars must have increased with the times; there was no other way that Grandfather could have done all that he did even with Grandmother pinching the pennies and stretching the dollars for, once married, that money was as much her's as his and some of it, they both knew, should be in hand to take care of them when they were too old to work - that they, both, understood. But things had changed as the years passed. There was a gas stove in the Navy kitchen; before that a wood stove with its continual appetite for fuel had sufficed. Laundry was done by the next-to-primitive system: a huge tub or two of water and a board on which to rub - all of the clothes of seven people! That is a rough way to wash clothes; believe me when I say that I know for that was the way I had to wash when we first went to Bremerton. Fels Naptha soap, elbow grease and knuckle skin were the cleansing agents. (I added a brush to help clean the tans of John and Cam during the Navy years.; C. Allen's uniforms were done by the Navy.) More than just the work styles changed; pleasures and customs were affected too. Once it cost a nickel to ride the ferry boat to Belle Isle - all day long if such was your pleasure. You could stop off to admire the rose garden, the horticulture building, the aquarium or to picnic and to wade at the river's edge; in that little paradise you were secure. The bridge came years later. The trip to Boblo was always a pleasant way to spend a summer day. Air conditioning was generally a cotton dress, a fan, and, perhaps a pleasant river breeze.

Then, on Christmas Eve, you hung your stocking (one which it was intended that you would wear) at the foot of the bed; in the morning there was a potato in the toe, an orange, an apple, some nuts and a piece or two of candy. Christmas was a great deal different then than now. But every Christmas morning, Grandfather woke his children with a gift of taffy which he had made that morning, early, and pulled until it shone silver. Mother remembered and often wondered at that gift of time and love for he had put in a full day's work at the store the day before; store hours were early morning until the last customer had left which was always very late.

Mother was given piano lessons from which she hurried home to teach her two younger sisters what she had learned that day. They each had a sense of rhythm and tone and played the popular music of the times. Mother was the only one who, married had a piano and I got to practice music for five years; maybe I can play Chopsticks today but I am not even sure of that.

Without any special education, they still did all right. From that background has come our often used expression: 'you have no bump of moderation'; phrenology was a popular pseudo-science then; the family recognized its quackery and made fun of it. Victim to their wit and good sense, too, was the fad of saying repeatedly 'day by day in every way, I am getting better and better'. It is good to know that idiocy is of ancient stock; we are not unique. Just wait; the next wave of whatever may catch us with our gullibility showing.

One walked where-ever one could; one used the streetcar for long distances - a nickel would take you where ever the trolleys went with, perhaps, a penny transfer to ride another line; the postman came to your house and left the mail in the box by the front door all for a two cent stamp; the milkman drove a horse drawn wagon to deliver your order; a vegetable wagon came by in the summer; and a sheeny, in a broken-down wagon with a spavined horse, followed the alleys and bought up your trash - old rags, old bones, and old clothes. A man who sharpened shears called; a man with brooms and brushes passed your door; you knew when to expect them and you waited for them to come. The lesser salesmen of the city were entrepreneurs trying to start their own businesses and to create their own futures. Most stores were within walking distance; you bought the basics and your meals were made of them and the few things which you could raise in a small garden; one survived. Those were the days when the grocer put his stock on his shelves behind the counter, in boxes or barrels; you asked for whatever you needed; the grocer brought them to you or delivered them later to your home. Life was full of simple needs and simple pleasures. You entertained yourself and shared your happiness with friends.

Every national holiday, Grandfather hung out a flag on the front porch while I recited all of the poetry I knew that was appropriate. Considering their past, comparing it to their present everyone was happy to be an American - and they showed it. The city was integrated, but it did not know it for the present meaning of the term had not been created. Differences existed for Mother told me of watching a next-door family at dinner; she spoke of the way in which the father always sliced the bread and served it, carefully balancing each slice of bread across the knife. Grandfather was so very blond that he was often accused, during the days of WW1, of being a German; far from it, his people had migrated early to Quebec. He was an American of French-Canadian derivation. Difference there were but they did not matter for everybody was secure in the all-pervasive Americanism.

The big stores were downtown - Hudsons, Newcomb-Endicott, People's Outfitting, Healy's, Tuttle & Clark, Grinnels, Fyfe, Richmond Bachus and a number of small elegant shops along Washington Boulevard. Of these names few have survived. Tuttle and Clark sold fine furniture; Grinnels had a multi-storied building all for themselves where they handled nothing but music: instruments, sheet music and recordings; Fyfes was a multi-leveled building, selling shoes from street level to the top; Richmond and Bachus handled office supplies - Mother always bought the paper which I needed for school there, a ream at a time; C. Allen and I went there to buy the family's first globe. Downtown Detroit was recognized as having special stores for special merchandise. The grand ladies from Grosse Pointe were driven to the north entry of Hudson's where a doorman waited to welcome them and open doors. Florence and Mabel worked downtown; you see even then women were liberated. They roller-skated to the end of the street-car line, removed their skates, boarded the car and rode to the job. For years, I always bought my gloves at Healy's; any other clothes I bought where ever the prices were best - lowest. Hudsons and Newcomb-Endicott merged to form one store a block long and a block wide; it was a wonder. Travelers were told to be certain to visit Hudsons and buy whatever was on their list. Hudsons was certain to have whatever anyone might want; they were certain to have it in stock, in multiples. Early on, Hudsons installed air-conditioning; the store was to be cooled to sixty-five degrees. Everyone loved it; everyone complained for walking into sixty-five degrees from a ninety degree sidewalk was a shock. I could write a book about the wonders of that down town store as every old Detroiter could. And Christmas was a wonder beyond any child's dreams.

To consider Mother's siblings, they were mostly long-lived which later was partially due to the improvement of medical care. Florence and Lloyd Seefred celebrated their sixth-third anniver-sary in the home in which they had lived since the early '20s; such a spread of years must be a family record. Mother and Father lost a son two years younger than I; the Lewis family lost a boy shortly after his birth; and 17 year-old Lloyd Seefred, Jr. died of a ruptured appendix. It was only after that that the life-saving death-dealing sulfas came to market; a little late, a little late for small Sylvia to live and to late to help Lloyd, Jr. All other children throve; it is amazing that none of them had poliomyelitis, rampant in those times. Alice Seefred, her sister, Dorothy, and I were the only ones to go on to college.

After Grandfather died, Grandmother came to live with the Campbells. Each summer she would spend a week or two with the Seefreds and the Lewises. There was friction, but Mother kept peace no matter how Grandmother complained. Her complaints were especially pointed when she returned from a visit to either the Seefreds or the Lewises. 'Mother had a party while she was gone; she just knew it; she just knew it!' The evidence was that the house was spic and span clean. Not that Grandmother wanted to share the party but she was certain that something had been going on of which she did not approve. There probably had been a party of old friends who had played Pedro, talked and shared an evening snack. It was only during the last years after we had moved back to Detroit from Plymouth, that my Father found her presence a problem; that was difficult to handle. Time took care of her problems and his.

Probably Laurencelle has the best memories of Grandmother. He never knew Grandfather. He was young and Grandmother was old when she came to live with us in the house on Northlawn. They shared much time; too old and too young together to be upset by one another's habits. Mother pampered them with eggnogs once a day. since Grandmother was old and Laurencelle's' health seemed delicate. I remember them sitting on the front steps at Northlawn enjoying their daily eggnogs together, slowly finishing their drinks in the sun. Then every small child had a red wagon; today's child has a Big Wheel, at least something more modern than a red wagon. Grandmother pulled Laurencelle in his, sometimes to the grocery store, sometimes not; they enjoyed their trips and often made a service out of their fun by bringing home the groceries, "too old and too young" together; there is a harmony in such disparity.

Time takes care of many things.