December 19, 2005

Book Worm


This picture was taken at Grandma Nolan's house, February 1, 1947, the day before Richard was born. I was 18 months old. Patricia was three when she read regularly to her kitten. In my baby book Mom wrote: "A book worm--she loved all books. At 2 years her favorites were Dumbo, Children's Garden of Verses, Alice in Wonderland. Was always eager for Cinderella, Goldilocks, etc." Under my favorite books, she listed Daddy's and Uncle George's yearbook, Mother Goose, all magazines, ABC book. Later I wrote in Nancy Drew.

Are book worms made or born? Mom and Dad were consummate book worms. People who say they don't have time to read baffle me. How do they stay sane? How do they escape? How do they figure out stuff? My first library card seemed magical. Jacqui Blackstone once paid me the supreme compliment: "Your idea of domesticity is putting your books in alphabetical order." Reading always took precedence over housework in my family. I was enchanted when three -year-old Elizabeth crooned to her doll: "Don't cry baby; mommy will read to you."

Mom introduced me to my favorite author, Jane Austen, when I was 12. Jane Austen introduced me to Andy Graves. I made a Austen literary allusion on an internet support group, and Andy made a witty comeback. I was instantly smitten. Little did I know how much reading about green cards awaited me.

Penguins

This picture brings back many memories, whether fond or not I have to puzzle out. From first grade through high school, I was taught by the Dominican Sisters of Amityville. Richard was in St. Martha's first graduating class, and all my brothers graduated from St. Martha's; I was too old. I went to Holy Redeemer in Freeport for first and second grade and then Queen of the Most Holy Rosary in Roosevelt for third through eighth grade. Richard and I both went to St. Agnes High School in Rockville Centre; Stephen went to St. Mary's in Manhasset. Peter, Michael, and Mark went to Maria Regina in Uniondale.

The tall nun on the right was Sister Miriam Francis; she was the principal at both Holy Redeember and the Queen. She died last year at age 93, having worked well into her 80's. I wasn't surprised; in retrospect she was an amazing educator. A tall, elegant woman, she effortlessly ruled her 800 students with a clicker; she never had to raise her voice. One click, and we were instantly silent and attentive. She knew the name and the history of every student in the school. We all both feared and admired her, were willing to work hard for her praise.

I was a very good girl. In seventh grade Sister Miriam Francis told me I could not have had a more perfect record. So I was never the victim of a nun's wrath, never had an eraser hurled at me, never was hit by a pointer, never had to stay after school to clean the blackboards. My innate shyness was reinforced, however. Good students only answered questions; they never asked them.

The nuns were very young; many had not yet been to college but were expected to teach classes of over sixty students. Everything I know about English grammar I learned from the nuns; we must have diagrammed a thousand sentences. As I get older, my memories get better; I had more good teachers than dismal ones.

Koch Hair



These pictures beg to be shared with everyone. The top one of Mark, Stephen, and Michael was taken June 16, 1974 at Peter's wedding to Merce's mother, Jacquelyn Blackstone. They got married at the New York University Chapel; Jacquie had just graduated from NYU. Mark was almost 15; Michael was 18; Stephen was 25. Richard has rejoiced in his good fortune at not being able to come and be included in this lineup. The family first met Michelle at this wedding.

Thankfully, the groom had cleaned up for the wedding. This picture of Peter and Vanessa had been taken only six months previously.

Politics

This is a picture of Robert Kennedy speaking at my graduation from Fordham University in 1967. Do I have to explain who he is? The younger brother of President John Kennedy, he served as Attorney General, then became Senator from New York. He was running for president in 1998 when he was assassinated June 5, ten days before my wedding to Chris Hawkins. I remember I had a final wedding dress fitting the day after the assassination, and I was in tears most of the time.

In the midst of a heated debate between Uncle Ken and the younger generation, I posted this account of my political evolution. I would love to hear everyone else's stories.

My first specific political memory centered around the duck and cover, hide under our desks, exercises that were a regular feature of my early school life from age 5 on. I knew enough about nuclear war to be terrified. We lived near to an air force base and I used to go out to the backyard, look up at the planes, and try to determine if they were American or Russian. I remember getting a book out of the library on aircraft identification. When I heard Joseph Stalin died, I remember asking if that meant no one would drop bombs on us.

In 1954 I had a severe case of the measles and Grandma Nolan came to help nurse me. She was listening to the Joseph McCarthy army hearings. Hatred of McCarthy's voice
might have shaped my entire political development. The other determining force was my obsession with John F. Kennedy. I first took an interest in political conventions in 1956, when I was 11. Kennedy made a brief try for the vice presidential nomination, and my mom mentioned he was Catholic, that there had never been a Catholic president. From 1956 to 1963, I read everything I could about Kennedy. When I was 15 I did volunteer work for his presidential campaign.

In high school we had political debates to imitate the famous Kennedy/Nixon debates and I represented Kennedy. What he believed in, I believed in. Gradually I moved to the left of his pragmatic liberalism. Certainly Kennedy was responsible for my decision to major in political science in college.

I cannot precisely date my interest in and commitment to civil rights. When I was a freshman, I joined my college's Interracial Understanding Group. I was envious of those college students who have the affluence to spend the summer down south registering voters and didn't have to worry about money to pay their tuition. Kennedy's assassination, occurring in the fall of my freshman year in college, devastated me. I felt like there had been a death in my immediate family. I quickly translated my political allegiance to Bobby Kennedy.

Gradually during college I became a pacifist. Opposition to the Vietnam War right from the beginning was the catalyst. My husband to be, Chris, applied for conscientious objector status and was willing to face jail rather than be inducted. We became very active in the Catholic Peace Fellowship, the Fellowship of Reconciliation, and the War Resister's League, all pacifist organizations. We went on several anti-war demonstrations both in New York and Washington. I briefly attended Stanford University where resistance to the war was at its height. Almost every afternoon, David Harris, Joan Baez's future husband, spoke out eloquently against the war.

My first job after Stanford was as an assistant to Victor Riesel, a labor columnist, who had been blinded by acid thrown in his face by the mob who controlled the waterfront he was exposing. One of my assigments was to read the AP ticker to him every day, clip articles in all the newspapers, labor papers. This was in 1968, when King and Kennedy were assassinated, when anti-war protect was at its height.

December 18, 2005

Would Size Order Have Helped?





I keep trying to figure out what ordering--height, weight, age, income, or maturity--would have kept Stephen and Peter in check at Vanessa's wedding. Everyone is behaving beautifully in 1961 and 1967. However, if you look closely at the Peter of 1967, you can clearly see he is plotting mischief. After 1967 none of us cut our hair again for almost a decade. Looking at 1961 picture, I wondered if Richard made Stephen kneel down to exaggerate his height advantage, if it even existed.

This is the first Koch wedding since Rose's and Brian's that everyone was able to attend. We have had eight Koch weddings in the last five years: Rose and Brian, 2000; Mary Jo and Andy, 2001; Katherine and Josh, 2002; Patrick and Elizabeth, 2004; Katie and Joe, 2004; Mercedes and Matt, 2005; Elizabeth and Brent, 2005; Vanessa and John, 2005. All the new Koches behave appropriately when their pictures are taken, so the gene pool looks promising:)

Drums and Batons

Mom and Dad must have been dedicated to nurturing their children's unique gifts at whatever cost. That is the only explanation I can offer for allowing Santa to bring Richard a drum and me a baton.

We lived in a tiny two bedroom, one-story house. Was Richard allowed to play the drum inside? Richard has always assured me I beat him up regularly when he was too young to fight back. No one has ever verified this accusation, and this picture proves it must be false. If I regularly terrorized my brothers, surely Mom and Dad would not have given me such an effective weapon. Obviously this picture shows Richard had not a fear in the world that my baton would come in contact with his head or his drum.

On the other hand, I regularly asked forgiveness for hitting my brothers in confession. The priest should have been more skeptical about my resolution of never doing it again. But I used my hairbrush, not my baton.

Drums and Batons

My mom and dad must have been dedicated to nurturing their children's unique gifts at whatever cost. Otherwise, why allow Santa to bring Joe a drum and me a baton.

We lived in a tiny two bedroom, one-story house. Was Joe allowed to play the drum inside? Joe has always assured me I beat him up regularly when he was too young to fight back. No one has ever verified this accusation, and this picture proves it must be false. If I regularly terrorized my brothers, surely my parents would not have given me such an effective weapon. This picture proves Joe had not a fear in the world that my baton would come in contact with his head or his drum. My frequent confessions that "I hit my brothers" must have been due to an overscrupulous conscience.

On the other hand, I regularly asked forgiveness for hitting my brothers in confession. The priest should have been more skeptical about my resolution of never doing it again. But I used my hairbrush, not my baton.

December 16, 2005

Memories and Photographs


I have always been intrigued by the relationship between my memories and the photographs I have frequently seen. Immersing myself in the family history for the last four years, I certainly remember much I had forgotten. I hope everyone finds my photo blog equally helpful.

But do I remember the actual event or do I remember the slides of the event? Do I remember clearly what was never photographed? Unquestionably, discussing the picture slides with the whole family did elicit everyone's memories, which then became incorporated into individual memories. I fondly remember countless slide shows with mom and dad, Grandma Nolan, uncles and aunts, brothers and sisters-in-law, and nephews and nieces. There was always screams of laugher and frequent admonitions to the younger Koches to stop standing between the projector and the screen. I recall Mom's telling me Richard and Kathy were watching the family slides. I suspected correctly that she would call back a few hours later to announce their engagement. I encouraged Andy to watch the family slides on his second visit to New York in 1996:) I tend to gauge the seriousness of potential family mates by how immersed they were in the family photos.

Yet the pictures so distort the reality of our everyday life. We got a few toys at Christmas, but we never played with them. We went away on vacation the entire summer. In the summer we lived in the water, either in the pool or at the beach; in the winter there was always abundant snow. We were always outside, never inside. We never played ping pong or knock hockey. We never played board games that ended with some poor sport upsetting the board once his loss became inevitable. (I was always a good sport because I was usually winning.)

But much of our outside play is neglected. We never played badmitten; we never played baseball; we never went ice skating; we never had a sled; we never rode a bicycle. My brothers did play basketball in the driveway unless the next door neighbor was complaining to the cops about evening play. Richard never ran cross country. Several brothers were photographed in football regalia, but there was no proof the Michael actually played on his high school team. Michael's broken leg is honored, but not Peter's broken arm. Richard's missing tooth is noted.

We were very religious; we spent an inordinate amount of time receiving our communion and being confirmed. However, we never went to church at other times. I never wore glasses; that is an outstanding accomplishment given that I got my glasses at 10 and my contact lenses at 19.

We only graduated from school; we never attended it. Except for a picture of Richard's graduating from St. Martha's, there are no pictures of our schools. You would never realize we attended three different high schools and three different grammar schools. According to the pictures, we never studied, never read a book, never went to the library, never participated in any after school activity. Richard was a drummer; I was a baton twirler. Peter started playing the accordion at his second wedding. Our family pets are very neglected. I gave up trying to figure out how many cats we had and what they looked like. Familes who call their cats "cat" don't waste film on them.

Relationships are neglected. Mom and Dad never kissed one another after their wedding or hugged us after babyhood. During our childhood we always wore pajamas for photographs. Dad was rarely there because he was always behind the camera. Mom was never pregnant or nursing, an accomplishment even more amazing than my never wearing glasses. No one was ever filthy, battered, bloody. Anne was only my friend during school graduations. Bob Logan seems to have been Richard's and Stephen's only friend. Jackie only appears once while she and Peter were in high school. The siblings related to each other by lining up in size order.

Christmas Eve at Grandma's House

Katherine wrote this description of a Koch Christmas Eve as part of her Yale application essay.

We’re in the midst of our annual Christmas Eve tree-trimming bash at my Grandmother’s house. My father and my uncle Michael are bringing in the tree, and my sisters and I are breathlessly awaiting its unveiling. I’m afraid that the reason is not that we’re waiting for this magical season to weave its spell over us. We get as sentimental as anyone over Christmas, but right now we’re wondering what geometric figure the tree will most closely resemble. My Grandmother is very frugal. The result of this is that her trees are always cheap, but they also tend to have rather original shapes.

They bring the tree through the door, set it in the stand, and cut the netting around it. It does not disappoint. It’s, it’s...it’s nearly a perfect cylinder! My sisters and I begin hanging the ornaments. They consist of a few beautiful heirlooms, some traditional Christmas balls, many, many plastic multi-colored plastic disco balls, and a good number of styrofoam-and-yarn-elves which have been mysteriously decapitated over the years.

The traditional meal of tortilla chips and salsa is served. Much to everyone’s chagrin, but to no one’s surprise, Grandma has frozen the salsa. She has a rather touching faith that the best thing to do for any, and I do mean any, food is to stick it in the freezer for six months. Fortunately, the chips escaped unscathed.

My father places the angel on top of the tree, and we step back and admire our handiwork. It’s may not be one of man’s great artistic endeavors, but this tree has character, lots of character.

Christmas Eve at Grandma's House

My daughter the writer wrote this description of a family Christmas Eve as part of a college application essay.

We’re in the midst of our annual Christmas Eve tree-trimming bash at my grandmother’s house. My father and my uncle Gerry are bringing in the tree, and my sisters and I are breathlessly awaiting its unveiling. I’m afraid that the reason is not that we’re waiting for this magical season to weave its spell over us. We get as sentimental as anyone over Christmas, but right now we’re wondering what geometric figure the tree will most closely resemble. My grandmother is very frugal. The result of this is that her trees are always cheap, but they also tend to have rather original shapes.

They bring the tree through the door, set it in the stand, and cut the netting around it. It does not disappoint. It’s, it’s...it’s nearly a perfect cylinder! My sisters and I begin hanging the ornaments. They consist of a few beautiful heirlooms, some traditional Christmas balls, many, many plastic multi-colored plastic disco balls, and a good number of styrofoam-and-yarn-elves which have been mysteriously decapitated over the years.

The traditional meal of tortilla chips and salsa is served. Much to everyone’s chagrin, but to no one’s surprise, Grandma has frozen the salsa. She has a rather touching faith that the best thing to do for any, and I do mean any, food is to stick it in the freezer for six months. Fortunately, the chips escaped unscathed.

My father places the angel on top of the tree, and we step back and admire our handiwork. It’s may not be one of man’s great artistic endeavors, but this tree has character, lots of character.

July 27, 1945

Somewhere in France
Friday, July 27, 1945

Dear George,

Here I thought I was going to surprise you with the news of the arrival of my daughter on the 17th of this month. Instead you and Mark beat me to the punch by announcing your wedding to take place in September.

Congratulations George--after sixteen months and twenty-one days of wedded bliss ,I'm more than ever convinced that marriage is wonderful. My Mary and I are happier than ever be
because of our brand new daughter. According to the latest reports our Mary-Jo looks exactly llke my Mrs and not the least bit like her dad so she is going to be a real pretty little girl.

Again I'm saying am I surprised! So the last of the old yearbook committee is finally taking that step. I'm sure you and Mary will be happy--there's something about being married to a Mary that guarantees it. Even if she is my sister, I think you're a lucky man, George. There won't be a dull moment at your place with Mary around--I know there never was at the Koches. The gal can talk or have you discovered that for yourself? I like them beautiful and talkative myself--I forget you've already met my Mrs. It will be nice having you for a brother-in-law George and I 'm not saying that because we can use a dentist in the family.

Mary tells me you've stationed permanently at Lovell General, you lucky dog. I bet you're glad to exchange Massachusetts for India. How was it there? I'm over here in a "vacation" camp hoping that the Japs decide to give up. On the whole I've had it pretty easy over in the ETO. My only contribution to the war effort was a six week period on d.s. at a PW hospital. Aided by a staff of German PW'S I functioned as a registrar's office. It was nice work but it didn't last long enough. I was lucky enough to get a three-day pass to Paris last week. Paris is really a beautiful city and I was a regular tourist seeing all the sights: Notre Dame, Arc de Triumphe, the Louvre with its Mona Lisa and Venus de Milo, a boat ride on the Seine, a tour of Versailles, the Montmartre, the Folies Bergere, the Opera, the Opera Comique, and a host of other high spots.

I sure would like to get home to your wedding but I'm afraid that the army and the Japanese won't cooperate. I hear the two of you will start housekeeping right away. Although we already have a family, my Mary and I still have that experience in front of us. I'll probably be coming to you or Mary for advice. However you tell Mary that she better not try pulling your rank ton the Joe Koches.

Congratulations again, I say, and mine and Mary's best wishes for lots of happiness to the two of you.

Sincerely,
Joe

Uncle Bob Remembers His Big Sister

Dear Mary Jo,

While I wasn't sure where I stood in the family's IQ department, I knew who number one was. I guess I've told the story a hundred times. When my big sister went to Our Lady of Wisdom Academy, in her first semester, she had the highest grades in the school. She was pretty, had many friends, ever so popular and very smart. Her kid brother stood in awe.

How proud I was to be asked at 17 to act as her Daddy and "give her away." You've seen the pictures. All the young men were in uniforms and I was a 6" Captain in the ROTC, resplendent with a so-called Sam Brown belt.

The wedding, the ceremony itself and reception were put together in great haste since your dad was to be home for only a short time. All the neighbors and relatives were invited, and there was a great spread of home-cooked food at our home-105-11-220 St. Queens Village. The Mass was in the morning and then we walked home, about 1/3 mile. It was a chilly day and I think it was rainy. Your father was talkative! Your mother was radiant, her happiness not to be forgotten.

I didn't know your father very well. I knew the rumors. He too had a great brain. I believe the people who viewed the results of his IQ test upon his induction at Camp Dix were startled. I was not impressed however with the ability of either of your parents to select a vacation location.

I knew they met at Loon Lake but apparently had eyes only for each other. In 1949 Shirley and I took our first vacation and stayed where my big sister fell in love. Was it called the McAvay House? Perhaps it was McDump. No A/C in those days but also no screens and very hot and this tall boy kept hitting his head on the ceiling. We left early. You will remember we had some vacations together. Didn't we spent a week or so in East Marion, L.I.? These many years later our new home is quite near that area.

Your mother is an extraordinary woman; you can be proud to be her daughter as I am to be her brother.

Love, Bob

Army Life

"I recall that on one Sunday afternoon, about five hundred years ago, someone told me how the army made a friend of theirs so much bolder. I hope you're not drawing a parallel. If you had higher mathematics at Queens college, you show know that, according to Riemannian geometry, there are no parallels. It's not the army, Mary; it's the fountain pen for a mighty man with pen and ink, am I. In all these years it's been a hidden talent.

Since one Nolan at least is interested in the army, I should begin by describing the process of Uptonizing. The prospective soldiers arrive in Camp Upton (I can't tell you how since that is a troop movement and troop movements are military secrets) late in the afternoon , and the balance of the day and night is spent in being acclimated. This involves standing out in the open, swept by cold winds (and rain if there is any) until the body temperature is about 40 degrees, and then marched into a building to thaw out. Just so this time is not wasted, they dish out either a meal or a test.

I was lucky because my first day ended at 11 pm; if my name began with a "z" it probably would have concluded at about 4 am. The next day the process is repeated beginning at 5 am--it is dark at this unearthly hour . However, after breakfast and after the inevitable standing around being counted and recounted , we were marched into the processing unit. I entered one door as a civilian and came out a fully uniformed soldier (in fact, carrying three other complete uniforms in a large canvas bag), possessing an insurance policy, and bearing the imprints of typhoid, anti-tetanus, and smallpox innoculations. After that the entire group is marched to the cinema to see a double feature entitled, "What Every Young Soldier Should Know." Thus ends the process and the solider is usually sent to some other camp for basic training.

But you are probably saying to yourself, Joe must be still at Camp Upton because the envelope says so. Yes I am still out here in the woods. It seems that I'm on a special detail; the requirements for which seem to (1) that you wear glasses, and (2) that you pass the intelligence test (I got 151 but I always knew I was a genius). After working for a week I don't think the second requirement is at all necessary. On the whole work is rather easy--just routine clerical work handling the records of the incoming soldiers ,but there is certainly enough of it.

Because of our work we live in a special row of tents. I'm sleeping in a 6 man tent and believe it or not, my principal complaint is that it is too hot. One of the soldiers in my tent was formerly a fireman on a Coast Guard rum chaser during prohibition days: he has appinted himself chief of the tent stove and he keeps it red hot night and day. Even on the windiest days the temperature inside our tent is about 85. We use coal so we're not affected by oil rationing. Heh, Heh."

Interview with Mom, 1980

Interviewed by Cynthia Nieves

Mrs. Mary Koch is a social studies instructor who teaches at Uniondale High. This year will be her last at the high school as she moves on into another phase of her life, a phase she describes as one in which there is a
need for change, a different type of growth. I was fortunate enough to have the opportunity to interview her. I never was able to know her personally, but in the passage of a mere half hour I found her to be an incredibly refreshing individual--one with courage, enthusiasm, and an unquenchable desire constantly to expand her intellectual horizons.

Q. How many years have you taught and how many of those years were spent at Uniondale High?
A. I have taught eleven years and all have been spent at Uniondale High.

Q. What do you feel is the most rewarding experience you have gained during your teaching career?

A. I would have to say my association with the students. I decided to teach at the high school level because I felt the students, being older and more mature, would have more to say and offer on an intellectual level than at an elementary school.

Q. Why did you decided to become a history teacher and did not choose English or math, etc?
A. I've always enjoyed history. I majored in history and acquired my masters in it as well. I had originally planned to be a journalist, but changes in my life--marriage and other things--led me to teaching, and being interested in politics as well, I decided to teach a course I myself enjoy.

Q. Do you feel the students of today are much different from the students of yesterday?
A. When I first came, there was much more turbulence because of the times. I find that students are less involved in public affairs now. At that time, when I began to teach, there was more interest in government and the welfare of the world than there is now. Apathy is the big problem. I have seen positive changes in the young women especially. Girls are much more involved in sports and positions of leadership today.

Q. What do you plan to do after you retire?
A. I don't think of myself as "retiring." I feel this is an important phase in my life, and I want to change, to do something different. I plan to work for this organization called Bread for the World--a lobby-like group that hopes to influence Congress into aiding the hungry, starved,
underdeveloped nations in the world. Having a deep interest in politics, I believe this is a movement that I will help grow--so in reality, I'm not leaving education.

Q. If you had it all to do over again, would you teach?
A. Probably not. In terms of today's world and the new roles women have taken--the whole array of opportunities available--I would definitely go into law if I had it all to do over again. It's not that I regret teaching. It's just that it was the sensible thing to do in that period of my life. It ws good for me.

Q. How would you sum up your years at Uniondale?
A. Happy years overall. Of course there were times of discontent and discouragement when I couldn't seem to get pupils excited and interested in learning, but for that phase of my life it was good for me. Now it's ti me to move on. I'm excited about doing something new.

Q. Is there anything you'd care to say, before we close, to the students.
A. Yes. Be involved . Be committed. Students just sort of drift now. Live! One needs to care about people, the world. I only hope that I can educate the public about the people who need compassion, an outstretched hand. One always needs to keep trying.

December 15, 2005

Dad Describes Meeting Mom

Her name was Mary, of course. She was a blue-eyed, smiling, long-legged, cool looking girl--a trifle naive. A girl with class he thought when he first saw her, but young. A bus seems an awful place for things to start, but there was she on a bus going to church and planning to have a chocolate ice cream cone with sprinkelettes. He was going to church too, but she sat in back of him and that was that.

He said hello to her that afternoon or more likely she said hello to him. Again nothing happened--there are lots of shapely girls in blue bathing suits at a lake summer resort. The summer resort was one of those let’s-be-one’big-happy-family sort of places--it even had a social director and a social directrix. Naturally one afternoon there was a baseball game in which all the boys and girls (in those places they’re all boys and girls even if the boys and girls have big boys and girls of their own) were to participate. Well this particular boy and girl were antisocial or mutually social. They sat out the ball game on a raft. Long afterward he learned her reason why she was there but being a romantic still doesn’t believe it.

They talked about prosaic things--families and schools; after all he was a shy young man. She wasn’t. Maybe that is why he was sure it happened then. That’s the trouble with shy young men: they are not used to openhearted friendliness. He never knew what she saw in him, but for the rest of the week they were summer friends. He struggled a little bit--an inherent male instinct. Why one rainy afternoon they went to a Bing Crosby movie in separate groups. They had only a week, not even a full one.

However, this time it did happen on a bus. They had made some sort of plan to ride back to New York on the same bus. He from the summer resort, she from Albany where she was visiting. He was positive. She says it couldn’t haven happened then--that soon.

He didn’t know the proper method of courting a girl, not a beautiful one like her. Oh he was quite proper. The movies he took her to were always approved for adults and children. A baseball game, a few football games, a little bowling--that was about all. He didn’t have much time, altogether three months. He then went away as did twelve million other men young and old. Oh yes, he finally kissed her once. He was very proper and very shy and afraid she would say no.

Joe Koch, Class of 1937


Dad was editor-in-chief of the first yearbook St. Francis College had ever produced in 78 years. Here is how his classmates describe him:

No problem, riddle, or formula seems to be beyond his ken. He is the outstanding scientist of St. Francis College; he is the winner of the coveted Smith Memorial Medal for excellence in Science. Yet even his own brilliance could not fathom the enigma of Joe Koch. In many ways Joe is a walking paradox. He seldom laughs outright; in fact his picture would lead one to believe that he is a sombre pessimist. Yet it is his nimble wit that makes him a distinctive personality. His humor is never loud; rather it is whimsical and eipgrammatic.

To be the leading scholar of the college it is necessary to do more work than the average. A student who is desirous of attaining official recognition must sit at home and do extra assignments. That is the normal procedure. But is that the form folowed by our human riddle? Certinly not! He is actually scrupulous about not doing more than the assignment requires. He does exactly what he is demanded to do and not one jot more. What he does, however, is of such undeniable excellence that he was one of the first men pictked for the Duns Scotus Honor Society.

With regards to one trait, however, Joe appears to contain no contradictions. That is his quality of intense loyalty to his friends.

December 14, 2005

Reading with Dad


Dad is reading to Stephen, Michael, and Peter. The date and ages puzzle me. Michael must be at least three; Dad is reading from a huge book. But if it is 1959, Peter would be 7 and Stephen would be 10. Stephen looks younger than that. I love Michael's pjamas. Were we expected to be dressed for bed before Dad read to us? Did Dad always keep his tie on after he came home from work?

I remember the curtains and the lamp better than the couch. I can't figure out what Dad is reading. Surely it is not the family bible, which is that color. Looking back, Dad and Mom didn't spent much time reading picture books. We were exposed to much more challenging books when we were very young. Mom also went out of the way to take us to the Hempstead Library because the Uniondale Library was so inadequate. She let us take out more books at a time than any parents I have met in my entire library career.

When Mom and Dad visited me at the hospital after Vanessa was born, they bought children's books as a present.

The Importance of Remembering
























This picture of my Mom was taken in late 2002; she is rereading one of my Dad's wartime letters. I love her gentle smile. Until the end of her life, looking at old pictures and letters seemed to awaken her old self. Three weeks before Mom died, we looked at her web site on our television set and she read aloud every caption, seemed to be aware of who everyone was.

Now that my mom and dad are dead, I realize the importance of not letting family memories die with them. I have written family blogs to help family members remember. Recently I have realized I can just make up stories. If I succeed, I can look forward to great grandchildren, and great great grandchildren telling them long after my death.S