Aunt Katie Moran was my godmother. She was actually my mothers aunt, my maternal grandmothers sister, a Fenessey. She was married to Valentine Moran and they lived on Valentine Ave. in the Bronx which was located 2 blocks from where we all grew up at 2243 Ryer Ave. I always got a kick out of the fact that Uncle Val lived on Valentine Ave. I have no real memory of Uncle Val other than he was the first person whose wake I went to. We were young children and I remember viewing his body in his casket. It was mysterious and scary but very respectful. As only a child can, I remember that they gave us lots of candy. Aunt Katie on the other hand, I remember well. She was a black dress Irishwoman who was small in demeanor who had dark hair in a bun who was always interested in the children. She always made me feel like I was the center of attention. She was just a nice lady. As fate would have it, my school friend and football team mate Gerry DeFabia, lived in their building. Years later at a St Simon Stock neighborhood reunion I was reminiscing with Gerry and he told me he loved Mrs Moran. She was always good to the kids in his building. By the way, Gerry was a terrific guy who became a city bus driver and wound up with a family of his own living in Edgewater Park by the Throggs Neck Bridge, a neighborhood that became a mini Ryer Ave., Valentine Ave., retirement ghetto. My Aunt Betty Cullinan who was the last family member to live in the neighborhood and who was a bakery worker well into her senior years used to ride the city bus to work. She told me that she met a friend of mine, Gerry DeFabia who used to watch out for her when she road the Concourse bus. Gerry confirmed this and told me that it looked like I had the market cornered on nice aunts.
Aunt Katie and Uncle Val had two sons John and Sonny who remained life long bachelors. They were both good guys who always had time for the children. There were also two girls, Lilian Morgan and Agnes Orff. I honestly have little memory of the girls probably because they got married and left. John and Sonny were there well into my young adulthood. Their apartment overlooked Slattery Park where all the neighborhood kids played and hung out during my entire youth. Young children had monkey bars, see saws and swings to play with and older kids, to include some twenty somethings, had the basketball courts to wear themselves out on. I like to think that they probably spent time sitting at their window trying to pick out the Flynn, Cullinan and O’ Brien kids from the hoard below. We all played there. I suspect the Maher kids remember this park as well because with all the visiting back and forth that the families did, they must have played in Slattery too.
When I was about ten years old I got what turned out to be my first taste of a job. Every Saturday morning I had the assignment of going to the butcher for Aunt Katie and picking up what was always a significant order for her. The butcher was in reality the family butcher because all the women used them. Marvin and Louie were located on Valentine Ave. at approximately 187th Street just one block before Union Hospital where I was born. I was always greeted by the friendly butchers with a big slice of bologna. That was the beginning of a life long addiction to bologna, yes bologna. I gave up alcohol 30 years ago, piece of cake. Bologna, much harder, doesn’t look like I’m going to make it either. Like all the adults I encountered when I was a child, they loved kids. You rarely found any adults who were any kind of a problem. I would haul my package to Aunt Katie’s and carry it upstairs. I’m pretty sure they were on the top floor. I’m not kidding, I was always a big kid and stronger than my friends and I needed it for these butcher runs. These packages were wrap both arms around them and give it your best effort packages. However, this was a labor you would have had to fight me for to take it away. Aunt Katie would always sit me down when I came into the apartment and give me something. A cookie, a soda, something. I always took in the surroundings and savored the smell. It fascinated me with its earthy scent. It was strong and overpowering. It was the smell of the cigars that John always had going and I liked it. There isn’t a woman alive in America today who would put up with this smell but things were very different then. John would always get a hold of me when I was about to leave the apartment and give me a dollar tip for my butcher run. When he first did it, I remember being completely taken aback. When my mother gave us an allowance on Sundays and that wasn’t every Sunday, it would be a dime. You can see why a dollar was so overwhelming. Sonny was the same way. We would be playing on the street when John or Sonny would be coming home from work and they would always say hello to us and inevitably give us some change. We were urchins who didn’t know better and would say thank you and run to the candy store.
I believe both Sonny and John fought in World War II. Like so many of their peers, I don’t think they spoke about it. I remember a story about John being a very fit young guy who swam across the Hudson River to New Jersey. No small feat now or then. I believe John worked for Con Edison and Sonny worked for Mike Moran in a local milk company where Mike was an executive. Mike was also named Sonny and was about 6’3″ and nicknamed “little” Sonny. Valentine Ave Sonny was nicknamed “big” Sonny and was about 5’9″. I assume they were cousins but I’m not exactly sure of the link. I’m assuming that “big Sonny was older than “little” Sonny. (What little I do know I learned from my sister Mary who probably comes as close to being the family historian that we have.)
family memoirs blog 