Republshed with permission from History At McGuire’s. Story by ‘by Nicholas J. McGuire. In memory of the living and passed Donegans and Marsals
Growing Up in Cleveland, Ohio
Maureen McGuire, my grandma, grew up with her siblings behind a storefront which sold live rabbits. There, her and her siblings would spend free time naming them, one by one. She came from a family of 7 biological kids (one adopted girl was added to the fold later, making the count 8).
When Maureen was of age, her sister Coletta and her got employed for a bus company to earn money for the family: Redifer. (This company no longer exists.) After Redifer, she worked in Cleveland’s famous Terminal Tower as a secretary on the 13th floor, overlooking the bustling downtown metropolis.
It wasn’t until later that Maureen started working as an educator from a local convent. Interestingly, she tried living as a nun. Whether the nun-life was a little boring or for a myriad of personal reasons, she dropped the habit (nun-pun), met my grandpa (Tony McGuire), got married and kept on her educational path, teaching kids for a local Catholic institution.
Kids, Poverty and The Projects
Rewind.
What was Cleveland like as a kid?
For these kids, there were certainly hard moments. Some of which, out of respect, need not be mentioned in this piece. Very hard moments…
But there were also cheerful ones. My grandma recounted playing in the woods off of W. 174th Street. (Cleveland is very industrial, so this was fascinating to me.) During good weather, Maureen and her siblings would go off and pick strawberries. When they could not afford new shoes, they would just go and play barefoot in the summertime. They were poor. But they didn’t know it.
While in the Projects, they didn’t think about class or wealth. The projects, or prefabricated houses, all looked alike. Red Bricks. No roads, but gravel. Neighbors were nice. There was no crime in town that Maureen remembered and families in the area were not snooty nor mean. Most of them seemed to look out for each other. With humility. Sincerity.
As far as food was concerned, Maureen recounted her mom pouring hot water over bread so the bread would not absorb the little milk that was poured on. Add some sprinkled sugar and this was their meal.
Fond Memories: Education, Childhood and Bobby Kennedy
My grandma recounts having taught a young boy named Seamus McGrath. Seamus was a funny kid. Occasionally my grandma would let the boy stand up, do a comedic routine and sit down before lessons. But, like many kids, Seamus was going through hardship. His father was dying of cancer. My grandma recalled however that his dad, before his next transition, had said something she would truly treasure. Seamus didn’t like school, maybe struggled to enjoy it. Before passing, his dad had told Maureen:
“I can die happy because my son finally likes school…”
As an educator, that would have been a heart-melting moment! Mr. McGrath passed soon after this.
Another memory was Maurine’s uncle blearing a train horn when he tracked though the railroad past her childhood home. Benefits of having a conductor in the family.
Last account. My grandma recalled being at work when Bobby Kennedy arrived (perhaps on a PR campaign). Flocks of adoring fans crowded about the workplace while my grandma stood an unusual distance away. Mr. Kennedy looked over the crowd of females, walked past most of them and extended his hand to my grandma. …She never knew why he did that. But, historically, it was a special moment for her.
Bloodline
Like some of Cleveland’s families, Maureen had come from a ‘Donegan’ Irish lineage from her mom’s side. From her dad’s side was the last name ‘Marsal.’ It was Alsatian or French, German and Scotch in lineage.
Cleveland has very large ethnic Irish and European enclaves. Today, when ‘St. Patty’s Day’ is celebrated in Cleveland, literally most of the beer-toting, face painted, bead wearing celebrants are probably hailing from an Irish or Euro land.
Conclusion
This could go on for pages and pages. I could talk about my grandpa, Tony McGuire, getting drafted during WW2 and getting sent to Italy. I could go on about Tony receiving a salute by a German POW or getting tricked into firing a flamethrower incorrectly in basic training… or how a weird dinner discussion somehow might have led to his dad throwing a potato at him. I’ll never know in this life why that happened!
I could go on… But my turn is done.
Perhaps it’s time for Americans to learn the history of parents, grandparents and great grandparents.
In a changing world we seem to find revisionist history all too usual and we forget the loving people that seemed to shape things for future generations.
Let’s remember their history.
Let’s remember their past.