Alcohol in my family

Alcohol in my family has been a big, if under recognized player. I look at the landscape right now and the affects of it spread from generation to generation. In some places it effects are light. Some places it hangs heavy.
     The Story of Alcohol, as far as I've discovered on my father's side of the family go to his father, Joseph August Muller. I have heard no stories about his father Leonhard, though, my dad might of had some if I'd thought to ask.
     Joseph August Muller was born in 1891 and was the forth or fifth of six kids. He was born in Williamsburg Brooklyn as far as I know.
     He didn't seem to have a career in mind when he ended going to school, most likely at sixteen. Back then children of immigrants were not expected to go to College and leaving school at sixteen was acceptable. Joseph August worked at several different jobs. He was an Office boy in 1910, a machinist helper in 1915.The 1920 census hasn't been found yet, but in 1930 he sold insurance.
     He went to the Presbyterian Church in Williamsburg, Brooklyn where he might of met his future wife. There is no marriage certificate yet, but I believe they were married in the early 1920's.
     Him and his wife moved up to Rockland County in the early 1920's. I don't know if his brother Willie was first or not, but Willie bought a house on Route 59 in Nanuet at the time and Joseph, built a house on what was then called Benson Ave. Benson hooked around and came back up to what is now called West Nyack Road, then it was Route 59.
     His first son, Joseph Leonard was born in 1920. My Dad, was born in 1922, Uncle Ken was born in 1924 and Doris was born in 1929. There are rumors of another child or two. One named Estelle, according to Lucille Lanzer Hoeberline and a boy named John, according to my Dad. My Dad said he was born in a camp house (A Camp House was a summer cottage for city people to rent during the hot summer months) near Uncle Willie's house as well as his brother Ken. I guess the house was still being built.
    It's easy to blame the depression for people turning to alcohol. It's also convenient. I don't know why he drank. Maybe it's the same reason everyone drinks, why I drink. I enjoy it and there are times where I need it and there are times where it relaxes me after a bad day or a busy day. Or maybe I want to celebrate something. Or the reasons I used as a kid when I started drinking, it was not allowed and it was dangerous. Maybe my grandfather drink for none of these reasons, maybe all of them. Did he get his girlfriend pregnant and have to marry her and they didn't love each other. I don't know and probably never will.
     My first drink, whiskey, I think, I remember taking at sixteen. I got caught after a while, but I never stopped. I didn't like beer at first, but it was expected that as a guy you'd drink beer, so after a while I developed a taste for it.
     I don't know why Joseph August started drinking, but he continued to drink until the late 1940's, early 1950's. My Mom, who came on the scene in the early 50's said she never saw him drink or ever drunk. He was said to be a mean drunk. Harriet, who was his first grandchild remembers him living in Nyack in the forties and when her family would visit, he would call down from his Apartment window on the second floor telling her to catch and he would spit tobacco juice at her. His drinking would get so bad that my father and his brother Ken tried to get him to go away to a sanitarium so he could quit drinking.
     In the home movies of him later in the fifties, I see a man maybe trying to make up for being a lousy father, husband and grandfather. Taking an interest in his seconds wives grandkids, helping his son build an extension on his house. He built the two workbenches in the cellar of 19 Klein. The big workbench stood in the same place against the eastern wall never moving as long as I was alive until 2016 when the drain system was put in to stop the water from collecting in the basement. The Big Workbench stood up to over sixty years of water damage before the legs gave out when it was moved. The small Work bench fell apart earlier in the 2000's.
     The effects of his drinking as I said before run deep. His Oldest son, Joseph Leonard, the only one to go to college became an accountant. One of the stories about Uncle Joe was told to me by Lucille Lanzer Hoeberline, she said that when they were younger he wanted to date her. Being Cousins, she didn't see much future in it. Uncle Joe, married and moved to Queens. I was told he didn't like Jews, but his best friend was Jewish. My Uncle smoked continuously. He would light oa new cigarette from the end of a just finished one. I remember him standing in the living room, near the sun porch and he starts to cough and he coughs until his face turned a beet red. I think that was a short while before he was diagnosed with cancer. He died at the age of 45. His Wife had died a few years earlier. When We went to his house to clean it out it was packed high with junk. He was a hoarder.
     His children are Joseph and Miriam, she is called Terry, both had problems of their own. As Adults, Joseph is very secretive. He has a house, somewhere, I think. He has a sister who got married and moved to Virginia. When her husband, Gary contracted Lou Gehrig disease and died shortly after she never recovered. She disappeared and We went looking for her and Karl was able to locate her, Joe knew where she was and didn't tell anyone and afterwards cut everyone off who went looking for her.
     It is too convenient to blame all of a families problems on alcohol. In my Uncle Ken's family, his children have suffered several divorces of their own, a brush with drugs and the law and the death of two grandchildren from drugs. Hell, You could blame the 60's for all the turmoil, or just life.
     Our Family was quieter then my Uncle Ken's, and not as nutty uncle Joe's. We'll get to Aunt Doris in a minute. In our Family, people took drugs, hung out with people who took drugs, all three boys drank, but for some reason we all survived it and maybe having kids a little later in life then our cousins has helped our children. As of 2017, all are kids are amazing people, destined to be great Americans.
     That doesn't mean that we were all innocent. No it just means that we were lucky. During the late 70', early 80's I didn't think one of us was going to be alive much longer. He had his death car and death friends and it seemed he was trying real hard to die. Thank God something changed.
     My drug use was limited to pot, you know weed, marijuana. I smoked it during the late 70's a little. The first time we were driving and smoking, The Police come around a corner behind us, lights flashing, sirens blaring. I had the joint and crushed it into dust on the floor as we pulled over and watches the cars pass us by. God must of had a real laugh over that.
    In my family, there has always been an undercurrent of fear about Alcohol. My mother's Father was an Alcoholic.
     I have been told Milton R. Moffett was an amazing man....when he wasn't drinking. His father James was an amazing man and a tall order to live up to.
     James was born in Philadelphia PA. He married Gertrude Stickland in about 1899 in York PA. He was big into advertising and truth in advertising.
     He moved his wife and three kids to Baltimore MD sometime around 1910-13. He started Moffett-Lynch Advertising company. During his time there he contracted TB and moved to El Paso.
      Starting over in El Paso he sold oil leases, crossed the border to Juarez Mexico to buy or sell things and finally he got a job at the El Paso Herald. I have a few articles from the Herald about things he did and interests he championed. He ran for a spot on the school board, wanted to build camps for people who were driving cross country to stay in. Remember it was before interstate and McDonalds. James wrote about things that interested him. One article was about his son Gilbert, another was about his daughter and her school play. And one about Milton when he graduated High School. He wrote a column under the pen name Ren Wick. Milton, I assume wanted to follow in his extremely large footsteps. Footsteps that from one-hundred years away seem easy and practiced, effortless. Not footsteps I'd want to try and fill.
     Ruth Darrow Smith was born in 1901. Sometime in the early 1920's her brother Dudleigh was dating a girl named Helen. Somehow Helen contracted TB. Ruth's mother Mary Ann Harden Smith decided to nurse her back to health. During that time Ruth  and Cornelia, 'Babsie' contracted TB. Ruth went to El Paso for her health, Babsie stayed in New York dying in 1928, Ruth in 1947. Mary Ann, their mother died in 1925 from unknown causes, maybe it was also TB.
     Ruth got a job in El Paso, I think at the El Paso Herald and I think met Milton there. They married in 1929 and their first child was born in 1930.
     James died in 1928 at forty-four years old. I don't know when Milton started to drink or when it started to get out of hand.
     When Ruth got closer to death, her sister Emilie and Emilie's son Wally come for a visit. In the late 40's, this is an event. It is not like now when you can pick up a phone and call across the world to see and hear someone far away. Ruth's father, Walter Smith had not talked to Ruth in eighteen years. A Phone call was a dollar a minute back then and that was big money when an average person might make $30.00 a Week.
     Milton promised to quit drinking around this time and he did until after Ruth's death. Milton would die eighteen years after his wife from effects of excessive drinking. Milton's son Milton, nick named Tonny joins the Air Force in 1947 at seventeen.
     In 1948 Cornelia, Milton's daughter goes to her Aunt Emilie in New York meeting her future husband William Muller when he delivers bread to Cornelia's aunt's house in Sparkill house. Emilie will look after Cornelia for the rest of her life.
     Cornelia and Bill have three boys and one girl. Alcohol will play a role in their lives to a lesser extent.
     All three Boys will marry wives with strong personalities. The lone girl, Ruth will marry twice, the second one possibly being an alcoholic.
     Bill's brother, Joe will marry have two kids, Miriam and Joseph, both will have issues in their lives from the way they were raised. Their Father seeming to have issues, maybe from being raised by an alcoholic.
     Bill's other brother, Ken will raise one girl and two boys and one will be an alcoholic.
     Maybe none of the above paragraphs have any bearing on why this latest generation of Muller's are like they are, maybe so...






















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Easter early 1960's

A very stylish bow tie on that kid, for the early 1960's, Yes that was me in our backyard in about 1962. It was most likely March and I was dressed up for Church. Looking at the picture the house would be to his left, your right. The big Maple Tree that has been gone since somewhere around 1985 is out of the picture also to the right. Under that tree there was never any grass, just dusty light brown dirt. We would build tree forts where the tree split into about six separate massive trees. It was either a handful of swamp maples growing tightly together or someone tried to chop it down and swamp maples are tenacious and don't die easily. As of 2016 there is a tree, must be a relative of the monster we had that is further back on the property, on the property line between what used to be Uncle Ken's and Aunt Elsie's house, near the garage. It grew through the fence that was there and I tried to chop it down several times only to see it grow back stronger and more determined. It was south of my garden then and it would always shade it. After a few years I gave up and trimmed it up as high as I could get it. I remember that tree growing along the fence line back in the 1970's. What a monster.
     Easter back in the 1960's always involved Church. I never really liked church and quit going to it as soon as I could. When the girls were young I always threatened to take them to church and never did. I'm sorry I never did. Growing up too many people used and still do use religion for the wrong reasons.
     It started with Jim and Tammy Faye Baker scamming senior citizens out of their life saving in the name of God so they could live lavish lifestyles and I think they were finally brought down when they tried to build an amusement park for all their followers. Yes they'd pay to get in.
     Then there were the Catholic Priests and the alter boys a mess that dragged on for more than twenty years and finally the religious wars of the early twenty-first century. They seem like there never going to end.
     On Easter Sunday,
my Mom would get us dressed up in our new clothes and depending on what year it was Mr. Fisher and his daughter, Trudy would pick us up or my mom would drive us over.
     We went to the Dutch Reformed Church. My Mom was a member of the Unity Church in New Mexico, Her mom was a Baptist I think and my Dad's family is unknown. Though my great grandmother Katherina Wind was Catholic. The Wind side of the family always seemed to get involved with the Protestants, but remained Catholics.
    One quick side story about Katherina Wind, my great grandmother. She was involved with a man in Germany and I think it was out of wedlock and had a baby that died soon after its birth. Not long after she moved to America.  I think on the boat  she met my great grandfather, Leonhard. Katherina is also named after her great grandmother Katherina Wind who fooled around or something else out of wedlock and got pregnant with her only son in 1822. Germany was in the midst of a political revolution the commoner would lose. No father's name is on the birth certificate. The child has his mother's last name, Wind.
   
 Easter, again.We would go to the usual Sunday school. Afterwards we had to go to church and in addition to being bored to death, I had to smell the overpowering smell of the flowers that filled the Church. To this day I can't stand those flowers. I don't remember their names, but if you go to Church on Easter Sunday they'll be there.
     On Palm Sunday, the Sunday before We received Palm leaves. It was nice and yes it was related to Jesus entering Jerusalem, but it never meant too much to me. I would spent some time shredding the leave before throwing it out.
     Then there was Easter Dinner. In the Sixties, it would be held at our house on Klein. It was usually Ham, mashed potatoes (from potatoes boiled then mashed up using a hand mixer, adding whole milk and butter. Not saying it was better than instant, just that was how it was done.) The Spread was quite impressive and it would be always be served on china. That fancy stuff that you might see in your grandmother's china cabinet. It was actually used. Someone in the family, maybe Carol Hood's family got the China set from the Hardens.
 The Picture on the right is the early 60's. Wally hadn't moved to Maine yet, I think and Eric is the baby on mom's left closest to Karl and I.
     The Tapestry on the wall was bought from Germany by Uncle Tonny and later bought upstate and put over the fireplace there. One day some townies found the place and broke in and among other things stole it. I always liked it. The Clock over Wally's head also came from Germany and was given to my Mom by Uncle Tonny. I have it in my attic. Someone took the works out of it one day and tried to 'update' it and failed. I know the works are around here somewhere.
       Easter dinner always included my Aunt Emilie, Uncle Hon, my Dad, Mom and the four of us. I really don't remember anyone else joining us until the 70's.

A letter to Mike on his 58th Birthday July 5, 2016

Mike,
     I don't know if you look back as much as I do, but I woke up this morning thinking about the past. It's hard to believe it's forty years since High School. And it is fifty four years about since we walked to kindergarten at West Nyack Elementary. I'm not even sure we did that it was so long ago. I remember walking to the School for kindergarten, then walking home with someone and always wanting to walk home without a parent meeting us to walk us home. I remember making it to the corner of Klein Ave one day, thinking we had walked home on our own only to find my father behind us in his truck. I don't know how long he followed us. I remember you telling me that God lives on the biggest cloud and the green speckles in the water of the swamp meant there was quick sand under the water. You were such an expert on life at such a young age. I was soo impressed.

    

     One memory I am sure of were the pedal cars you and your brothers had. I always wanted one, and never had one. I used to go over to your house and You and Steve and I, I think Steve was there, at least some of the times. We would drive the cars up and down your driveway, around your father's station wagon, it seemed like forever ago. Was Your Dad's Car gray colored then?
     I remember sleeping out in the tent. I was sleeping out in the tent with Steve and one night he didn't want to and said maybe I should ask you to sleep out with me. I did and we had a great time and I think we kept doing it for the rest of the summer. That was some were around 1968, I think. You introduced me to WHN 1050, I think? There was a song about a bird in a jungle or something that was playing on that station . The Singer made bird sounds during the song. It sounded like a MaCaw or something. That was the year I became a real Yankee fan. I started watching the games and suffering through their loses. Which only got worse with Ralph Houk's  five year plan and the Daily News 'Bill Gallo drawing Ralph Houk 'Stairway to Heaven'

     The Concept of only watching a few games a week on TV and listening to the rest on the radio is so foreign to kids these days. We'd listen to most of the games on the radio, usually in the tent over at my house and when they Yankees switched from WHN to 570 or whatever it was, we were introduced to talk radio. Malickey McCourt, Leon Lewis and others. Malickey McCourt wrote a book about part of his life. He did some wild stuff. I think it was called 'A Pope walking on water'. I have it, if you'd like to read it.

       I could never figure out why Leon Lewis put the Masked Marauder on at 3:45 in the morning. Trying to stay up until then became part of the fun listening to the 15 minute show. 

     Then We discovered Girls and our fun became less innocent. But I'll save that for another birthday.  

Enjoy you day, and have many more

Joe 

Bicycles in the 1960's

When I was a kid in the 1960's everyone had a bike. Every Kid had a bike.
   
   In 1966, I was eight and the neighborhood was filled with kids. The Neighborhood was Klein Ave from what was called Old 59 ( Now West Nyack Rd) to West Street where it turned and went a little way down West St. Everything else was the 'Development'. It was the development because in the early 1960's someone came in and built all the houses on lower Klein Ave. (from the third house on the right after Benson Ave. that was once the Ruddens house.) Hunter Place, Sable Court, Adele Rd. They even sprinkled some in along West Street and even more on Theresa Dr.
  I really never associated with the development kids, they were from the city. Back to bikes.

 Being one of the youngest kids on the block, I was always behind the other kids in everything I did. I had training wheels on my bike when everyone else including my older brother had learned to ride their bikes. To this day I can still hear the training wheels on the back of the bike clicking as they came in contact with the pavement, as I leaned one way or the.
     The Day I first rode my bike without training wheels maybe just my imagination, but I swear this is the way it happened. It's spring I imagine, early one evening. The sun hasn't touched the tops of the trees yet. I'm sitting on my bike, my feet just barely touching the ground. Our gravel driveway on the southern side of the house is still in full sun light and empty.
      My Dad, I don't remember where he comes from, but he asks me if I want to have the training wheels taken off my bike. I say, "yes". Once off the anticipation begins to build, or maybe it's fright, I don't know. My dad holds the bike and I get on. He tell me he will push the bike and I should start to pedal. He starts to push, my feet come off the ground and on to the pedals a little early, the bike wobbles a little. My dad picks up speed as I pedal harder. I'm pedaling harder and harder going fast. I'm suddenly alone. I continue to pedal fearing that if I stop, I'll fall off the bike. I don't know for how long I ride, but when I stop I think it's a combination of stopping and falling off the bike. As the days go by it gets easier and easier to ride my bike.Every kid worth his salt had a bike. One of the new style of bikes that was modeled after motorcycles, I think. They had the high handlebars and the banana seat, short or no fenders and were the coolest bikes ever made. Every kid had a bike. I don't want to over state it, but every kid had a bike. I used to ride my bike up to the Clarksville corners, when it was a gas station to get free air in my tires. I always felt like I was stealing something when I'd just go up to the air pump. I'd take the hose, without asking and put some air in my tires. I'd always put too much in the tire and make them rock hard which would cause them to puncture easy.
  The Elementary School had a bike rack back then. It was between the teachers parking lot and the circular driveway to the front entrance. I always wanted to ride my bike to school, but my father never let me. He said it was too dangerous. Years later they moved the bike rack closer to the front door, then one day the bike rack was gone. Changing times kill another perceived staple.
  Late one school year, I think I was in fifth or sixth grade and everyone was setting up for the school carnival. It was a half day and I went home and rode my bike back to school. I helped set up the carnival and went to go home. I sat on my cool Schwinn Racing Bike at what I imagined to be the very top of the hill and wondered how fast could I go if I started pedaling as hard as I could going down hill. I backed up a few yards because that would make all the difference. I started to rolled forward, because a rolling start would help me to go faster and I started pedaling as hard as I could. The first one was a hard downward push of my left. My right leg came off the ground and found its place as it had been trained to do over all the years. It pushes down as my left circles up on its side. Each rotation growing easier and quicker, the bike moving faster and faster. About half way down the hill I lean into the soft bank of it's curve, as the road leans to the left, with no problem, my feet an effortless blur on the pedals. Coming out of the turn I view the four corners. Even in that year and time of day traffic was expected. I begin to break and then felt I'd ruin it if I did. I caught between chanceing God's good graces and the grille of a solid gas guzzling 1960's All American car. So I play it half way and coast under the red light with no consequences. I'm feeling lucky and exhilarated. I've just sped down the school hill. At the end of the Clarksville corners property there was a creek and near the road was a bump. I knew about the bump having hit it with my bike before, but at much slower speeds, but I'd hit it. I'm coming up on the bump now, should I go left into the road or right and squeeze between the creek and the bump? Left, right, which way?  I hit it straight on. I think the bike does a front wheel stand as I go A over T, head over heels, slide for home. My left forearm hits the gravel first, I think that only because of the long red robe burn with the bits of gravel still in it I discover later. I don't know if I crumble into a ball, do a flip, or a belly flop. I do remember sitting up and brushing myself off. I don't remember if my jeans were torn or if my shirt was ripped. I do remember thinking, I rode the school hill and lived to tell about it. The funny thing about it I don't think I ever told anybody about it.
  I did try the school hill run again, but the next time and the time after that there were cars in the intersection and I thought God was telling me I'd pushed my luck enough on that hill.
     Like every permanent thing in the world, bikes have mostly disappeared. No longer do you see kids out riding their bikes to the store or their friends house. It's a different world now.