Thanksgiving(s)

Thanksgiving 2016 may be one we always remember, mainly because of what it was not. Unlike the Thanksgiving Days we have grown accustomed to and enjoyed over the years, we stayed home. That was not the plan, of course, but life happens. Dad Mateske is laid up, and had Jeff, Andrea and the boys not stopped by for a quick visit, it would have been just us. We didn’t even have a turkey in the freezer, so it’s the Thanksgiving chicken this year! A nice, fresh, warm apple crisp took the place of the lime dessert which the Pilgrims introduced to this country ... oh wait, that's right, they didn't have Milnot back then, so we will give credit to my Mom.

Of course, being me, I got to thinking and conjured up the Ghost of Thanksgiving Past. Funny thing is that I don’t have many Thanksgiving Day pictures, and the ones I have aren’t of very good quality. There’s this one – which is all I could find today.

Gramma Dolan, David, Aunt Estella, Grampa Dolan, Uncle Ernie, ?, ? or Daddy, Mary, Mom, Me, Cousin Kathy

 

If you were to ask me about my earliest memories of Thanksgiving, this would be it. Getting together at the home of my Uncle Ernie and Aunt Estella on Eschol Avenue in Zion. They weren’t big gatherings, just the Harry Dolans, the Ernie Dolans, and Grampa/Gramma Dolan. Except in this picture, there is someone else at the far end of the table. The quality of the photo is so bad, that I can’t tell who it was. And I don’t recall.

What you can see is that my Aunt Estella was a classy lady who set a lovely table – even a table with kids who likely didn’t notice or appreciate it much (aka me). I remember very well the turkey in the oven in the small kitchen from where this photo was taken. My memory says that it was always a huge bird. It probably wasn’t, but that’s what I remember. But the best part was after the meal. We got to go into the basement to play, and in the basement there was a ping pong table. I thought that was the cat’s meow!

Yeah, I know, it doesn’t sound like much, and it was a pretty basic Thanksgiving. But it was good, and I’m glad to have the memory.

It’s a funny thing though. I don’t remember how many times we actually did this. I don’t remember thanksgivings at home at 1904 Elim. I don’t remember thanksgivings in Kenosha with Mom’s side of the family. It’s only the Ernie/Estella thanksgiving that I remember in Zion. The reality is that is was probably only a few occasions, but I guess it doesn’t matter. In my mind, that was thanksgiving growing up. (There was the one year we out to to eat at a restaurant. Don’t know why, but that was a big dud!! It was in Kenosha, just past the Keno Drive-in, on the west side of Sheridan Road.) Never did that again.

We’ve had any number of good turkey days in a variety of places over the years. Like the one pictured below in Palos Heights in 1978. It’s not a good photo either, but it was handy and it’s all I could find today. Yeah, I know, everyone looks so glum, and Carol looks pretty uncomfortable with Amy under her maternity top, but I love little Sarah smooching up cousin Paul.  That was a good day too. And there were other good days – all with a story or two to go along with it. What stories do you remember?? (This is where you are suppose to respond and tell me!!!)

I am sure I have forgotten some but whether in Zion, Wilmot, Palos, Fond du Lac, Watertown, add Montello last year, and now Crivitz, although someone else will have to tell that story (unless what happens in Crivitz stays in Crivitz), but "we done good", huh!? 

God has been good, and his mercy does endure forever!

SCHMERSENREICH

Not every picture found portrays someone from our immediate family. There are quite a few that show some distant kin that most of us never knew, and about which only a few know anything at all. What follows is one of those. In fact, the story didn’t start with a picture. It started with a name – a middle name. Even if you don’t know him – and even if this story is not about someone from your branch of the tree - I encourage you to read on. I thought it was interesting. It was fun to discover. And without a doubt, it is (in my humble opinion) the most descriptive name in the family tome.

His name was John Manthey. He is the Great Great Uncle of my wife, Carol (“Tootie” around these parts. There’s gotta be a story in that name too!)  John Manthey’s middle initial in all the records I have found is simply S.  BUT … and here’s the story – what did that S stand for? In the hand-written family tree written by Granny Schultz and Mom (Schultz) Mateske, I found my answer.

His complete name was:

JOHN SCHMERSENREICH MANTHEY

How’s that for a handle! Here’s a picture, and then I’ll tell you the story behind the unusual name.

The John/Minnie Manthey Children

(sitting) Charles and Emilie (our Great Gramma who married a Schultz)

(Standing at each end) Emma and Gustav

Standing center is JOHN SCHMERSENREICH

Obviously, schmersenreich is a German word – actually two words. Schmersen means “grief, sadness, heartache” and “reich” (with a small “s”) means something like “extreme, great, deep” - so, “extreme grief or deep heartache.”  

Wow, I thought. Who would name their child “Deep Heartache” – and what does that mean? I had to find out who this guy was, and why he caused so much grief (and had to carry it around his whole life – not to mention write it down whenever a middle name was required.)

Dates tell the story. John Schmersenreich Manthey was BORN on May 3, 1872. Okay. Then I noticed that his father, also named John Manthey DIED on May 1, 1872. So Mrs. Manthey (Wilhelmine or “Minnie”) gave birth to her son while at the same time burying her husband. So it wasn’t John Jr. who caused the grief, but his Dad, John Sr.! But his name was going to ever remind everyone of what must have been an unbelievably difficult time – a time of schmersenreich  = “extreme grief and sorrow” and “deep heartache.”

Interesting, isn’t it?? (I love this stuff!)

BONUS PICTURE

 (one of my favorites and worthy of a story all by itself)

This picture is LOADED, but that’s John SCHMERSENREICH Manthey,

the man standing farthest right.

BTW, this silo can still be seen from Hwy 23 as you drive by just west of the road that leads to the Mecan church.

The Many Faces of Delores

As you have been told, I found a boxed filled with a cornucopia (nice seasonal word!) of pictures from several branches of the Mateske family. There were some very old ones, including three “tin type” photos. Those are old! There were a few recent ones too. But then I found this wonderful collage. I’ll call it “The Many Faces of Delores.”

This collection was interesting in a couple of ways. The frame was nothing special, and it was pretty beat up and held together by a couple of small, poorly placed nails that were too big for the job. The photos were from a variety of years and were in various stages of wear and tear. Some were carefully trimmed and placed in the frame, a couple of others not as much. They were glued on the back-board of an old calendar which had been roughly trimmed to fit into the frame. In a way, I am surprised that this little collection, put together as it was, survived this long.

But it doesn’t take much effort and imagination to see that there was meaning and purpose, and love and pride behind this project. Maybe Granny Schultz put this arrangement together; maybe it was Delores herself. Don’t know that. But what a simple and fairly complete story it tells of the early life of Delores Schultz Mateske!

Mom Mateske has been gone six years now. That’s hard to believe – at least for some of us. That’s probably because her presence is still sorely missed around here by many – and especially for those who live in the house where she grew up (286 E. Montello), and the house she made a home for three score years (60 Church).

The closet where I keep my clothes is the closet that was hers growing up (I think). I think about that occasionally. I even found a little wooden door plaque in there that I keep around as a reminder. There’s not much heat in the closet, and in the wintertime, putting on cold clothes is … well, I’ll say invigorating, to say the least. I wonder if she experienced that too. You can think of her in other places in the house and the yard as well. If you look at the background of some of the pictures you can see it as it was.

Last week I was in charge of getting supper started for the deer hunters. As I rummaged around her kitchen at 60 Church Street, I thought of her and could hear her voice in that hallowed place where she spent a lot of time and made many a meal. Really, I could hear her saying, “Whadya need, John?” which probably was a nice way of saying, “Whadya doing in my kitchen!”

Anyway, I’m happy I found this collage in that box, and I think I will leave it as it is – old frame and all. I enjoyed it. I hope you do too.

(How about some audience participation! :) Let's make this an interactive blog post this time. Here's the question: Which is  your favorite of the many pictures above? And why?) 

Bob(by) Mateske - Sr - That Is

Faithful Followers of JD's Jottings,

Here's one for the Mateske side of  things.

Most of you know Dad/Grampa Mateske, or at least have heard of him anyway. He has been featured in a couple of previous posts in the Jottings. There are a couple of Mateske family shots that I enjoyed and shared with you like What's In a Picture on 08-16-2016 and A Rare Mateske Find on 02-10-2015. And how could you forget him in They Don' Make Uniforms Like They Used To (Thank Goodness) on 12-11-2014. Add this one to the mix.

If you had asked me before to show you a picture of Bob Mateske Sr as a little boy, I would have been hard pressed to find one. Until now! A recent excursion into the hitherto unexplored recesses of the master bedroom at 60 Church Street, Montello, has unearthed a genealogical treasure trove of goodies. Underneath the really neat antique wooden desk in the corner I found a box filled with old photos. (Yeah, I know. I hear ya! I need a couple hundred more family photos like I need a hole in the head.) Of course this discovery pretty well shot the rest of the day, and it was worth it. 

Among the dozens of photos covering almost 150 years, I found this little gem, circa 1930. Skinned up knee and all, little Bobby Mateske, posed nicely for the  camera. The shorts with knee-high socks set off by a pair of shiny shoes was a classic little boy outfit. Nice chair too. And I think I've seen a planter like the one in the  background somewhere in the 60 Church Street basement.

Enjoy.

LBJ/HHH vs. AUH20 and Me

It wasn’t the first national, presidential election that got my attention. The Kennedy/Nixon 1960 race would probably have been that. Being 12 years old, I didn’t even have a vote, but the 1964 election certainly was an unforgettable one for me. One day in the fall of that year, it was sealed in my memory.

It didn’t have anything to do with ideology, political persuasions, or party platforms. I would have known precious little about any of that. Still reeling from the JFK assassination, this election pitted the formidable ticket of Lyndon Baines Johnson (LBJ) and Hubert Horatio Humphrey (HHH) for the Democrats versus the Conservative from Arizona, Barry Goldwater (AUH2O) and an unknown, William Miller on the Republican side.  The bumper stickers were everywhere, including in my desk at school (hey, they were free!) – the dark green “LBJ/HHH” and the red, white and blue “AUH20”.

For me though, it was just a matter of a 12 year old boy who got the chance to get out of school for a few hours to become part of the election campaign hoopla that had come to my little city of Zion. In the end, I got to shake hands with the governor of the State of Illinois! His name was Otto J. Kerner. He was somewhat famous back in those days, and he became rather infamous before his political career came to an end.

The Zion-Benton News reported the events of the day, as you would expect, and the story in the paper included the picture you see below. No, I was not in the picture, but I was there, believe me. I will never forget it.

I wasn’t in the picture, but you might recognize one man who was. That’s right, that my Uncle Ernie Dolan “smack dab” in the middle of the picture. It doesn’t surprise me to see him there. It was like him to be in the thick of such a major local event. That’s Governor Kerner, front right shaking hands with Zion’s Mayor Bruce Dunbar (who also ran the local Ben Franklin store on the corner of 27^th and Sheridan Road.) The woman peeking out between the two was Mrs. Berg, also a member of our church, a sweet lady. That’s her husband you can see over the governor’s shoulder, wearing the hat. I also remember the big, bald-headed man in the back left. I just can’t remember his name. (David? Kathy?) Uncle Ernie knew him, in fact, he was one of the guys that went to a Cubs game with us on one of those occasions when my uncle took me to Wrigley Field. This picture was taken at the Democratic headquarters set up in Zion for the election. It was located in one of the buildings on the east side of Sheridan Road just north of 27^th Street.

But none of that explains what I was doing there. So, here’s the scoop. One of my buddies from school and church was Donny Rawhoof. His Dad was Gene Rawhoof, who was one of the “big-wigs” of the local Democratic Party. If that name sounds at all familiar, that’s because the Rawhoofs owned and lived downstairs in the big house on Edina Blvd, where Mom and Dad lived upstairs years later. Anyway, Mr. Rawhoof arranged to have his son, Don, get off school and be there to meet the governor. Donnie asked me to go along. So naturally, I went. Believe me when I tell you that this was a BIG deal.

What I remember is this. There was a lot of standing around and waiting for the governor to arrive. I saw Uncle Ernie and lots of other folks there. I even think Daddy showed up too, but I’m not sure of that detail. But finally the small motorcade arrived, the governor came into the little office and all the political hand-shaking began. At some point in those few brief moments Mr. Rawhoof (bless his heart) made sure that Donny and I got up to the front. My moment had arrived. We were introduced by name, shook hands with the Governor, who looked me right in the eye and smiled. He said something, but I don’t remember what, and then just like that it was over.

A couple of things stand out in my memory of that brief  moment of glory. First, Mr. Kerner looked and acted just like a 12 year old boy would expect him to look and act. I remember his suit – one that would not have been purchased at Bruce Dunbar’s Ben Franklin store. His hand-shake was firm. He had bright, piercing eyes, and his look into mine seemed genuine, not just the mandatory, political glad-handing it was. He was shorter than I expected, but he still exuded a stature and aura befitting a state and national political figure. And he smelled good – and powerful! (Yes, I remember that.)

The other thing I remember is this. Accompanying the governor was the long-time Waukegan mayor, Robert Sabonjian, the charismatic, outspoken, controversial, and somewhat popular Democratic Party leader in Lake County. He was sometimes known as “the Mayor Daley of Waukegan” after the powerful and famous major of Chicago. He was a short, stocky man with dark, heavy eyebrows. He was a Waukegan boy about the same vintage of Dad and Uncle Ernie. In fact, they would have been acquainted, I’m sure. When we were introduced, and Mr. Rawhoof said, “this is John Dolan,” I’m sure I heard him say, somewhat as an aside, “he looks like a Dolan.”

In 1973 Otto Kerner, then a federal judge, was tried and convicted of mail fraud, conspiracy, perjury, and other charges. The prosecutor was an up-and-coming Republican who himself later became governor of Illinois, James Thompson. Kerner resigned his position on the bench, and was sentenced to three years in prison. Granted early release when it was revealed that he was suffering from cancer, he died in 1976. It is believed that the conviction was unfair, and had he lived, it likely would have been overturned.

No matter. Back in 1964 he shook my hand. As small and insignificant as it was, it was still a huge, memorable day for me.