Memoirs of Norbert E. Gnadinger, Sr. Volume 1

1927

I have now passed into the age of responsibility. I can no longer remain a little, happy-go-lucky five year old. I am six years old and must register for school and try not to shed any tears. I will become regimented as though I was entering the army. There were some good points such as new shoes, a pencil and tablet and a couple books, including a catechism, which I could not yet read. This Euphoria soon ended after about a week of classes and I discovered the books were “work” books. I don’t recall how long it took me to settle down and start to really learn something. I know I had a young Nun as instructor, Sister Mary Jean, who was very patient with us. She had to be young and patient to survive. There were two classes of each grade at St. Vincent de Paul School and each class contained approximately forty pupils. I can’t remember if I knew any readin’ or writen’ before I entered the first grade. I’m sure I was taught the ABC song and that I could write my name. I knew the different values of coin money and could make change. That was beginning mathematics. We had no computers or TV to help us learn at an early age but we did learn fast. The teachers were superior. We stayed in the same room all through the day and Sister taught all subjects. Naturally she was usually more informed concerning religious studies, but, not always.

Our day was broken up into classes, recess, classes, lunch, classes, go home. As normal kids our day was associated primarily with recess, lunch and go home. We were taught in a Co-ed environment. In the classroom, boys and girls were mixed together. During recess on the playground, we were separated. I always thought they did this because of the fear that the girls might hurt the boys(?). The boys had the larger play area. We usually played ball while the girls skipped rope and talked about the rough boys. If it rained or if we couldn’t use the playground for some reason, we spent the time in the school basement. Boy was it noisy down there with a hundred or more kids. The recesses were staggered, I believe in four segments, Grades 1-2, 3-4, 5-6 and 7-8 so that you could play with children close to your own size(?). You really couldn’t get away with anything because we were closely watched by the Nuns. Most of the time, they joined in with our games. After we returned to the classroom, there was always a prayer as we stood by our desk and before we began our studies again.

Fridays were special days. You are partially wrong if you were thinking Friday was special because it was the last school day of the week with two holidays coming up. Of course that made us happy. On Friday, every student, usually, attended Mass and took Holy Communion, if, you had received your First Holy Communion. I made mine in the second grade and was Confirmed the same year. I’m a little ahead of myself but this bit of news fits in right here and now. The other reason that Friday was special was the feeding of the inner man. Holy Communion for the Soul and donuts, kutchen and milk for the tummy. After fasting since before midnight and not having eaten anything until Mass was over, there were an awful lot of hungry kids. I don’t remember what the food cost but all of it was supplied by the school, we paid our ten or fifteen cents, and it was served by the Parent Teachers. It was special because at home we would have eaten the same ole eggs and bacon or corn flakes. Every sweet tooth was satisfied. There was no recess this day because all of this activity gave us a late start on school work.(10-24-2000)

On Thursday, we all went to confession so we would be ready for the Mass and Communion on Friday morning. Poor Father Ruff, our Pastor. During this early period he had no assistant. As far as I can remember, we were paraded across Shelby Street one class at a time, sixteen in all, and Father Ruff listened patiently to approximately four hundred children and their small, childish sins and dole out penance of possibly five Our Fathers’ and Five Hail Marys’. He just had to end up in Heaven. During my first years as a Christian, I had a lot of trouble understanding “Confession”. I was supposed to examine my conscience, remember what sins I had committed since my last confession and tell the priest I had sinned. The only trouble I had with this was I couldn’t think what Mortal or Venial sins I had committed. I wasn’t sure what is mortal and what is venial and was I capable of committing them. Sister explained all of this but my little brain couldn’t take it all in. So, I lied(venial) to the priest. I confessed to small things which I really was not guilty of just so I could appease the good Sister and Father and therefore I committed a venial sin. Perhaps you all had my problem when you were young. Because of this hang-up with confessions, I fought against going for some time before I matured enough to understand the significance of Confession. Then, my religious life improved. I used to wear out Mom about this problem I had. During the summer vacations confessions were heard on Saturday. I have to admit that I spent a lot of effort avoiding Mom’s call to come home to get cleaned up to go to church for confession.(10-25-2000)

And now you must learn about my little brother, Carl. Actually, I am his younger, little, brother. I just happened to be taller but not as handsome. Carl always impressed me a lot in my younger years. He was always so cheerful and thoughtful of others. I’m sure he had to be Mom’s pet and he did a lot for her to make her life more pleasant. I believe that Carl would have remained a bachelor if he hadn’t met cute little Nellie Mae. This marriage turned him from a confirmed bachelor into a very loving husband and father. And, I’m again jumping ahead of my story.(Helen’s brother, Louis Emory(Whitey) Buchter Jr,, Born, Jan. 25, 1927)

Carl also graduated from St. Vincent de Paul School after eight years of study. I have no knowledge of him continuing his studies. I’m sure he worked at odd jobs and more than likely his main odd job was with the grocery chains. Brother Bernie probably hired him on a part time basis. Any thing to make a little spending money. Carl’s first full time job was with the Piggly-Wiggly when he was eighteen years old. My recall of this time and Carl was, “he ran the store.” That probably meant that Carl was already the manager or that Carl did all the work and the manager did nothing. I do know that Carl was a store manager and that he managed the store at 2nd and Kentucky Sts. at the time of the 1937 major flood when his store was flooded out. What a mess and a lot of hard work for him.

Most of the things that Carl did in his young life were positive and easy for me to remember. He was a “natty” dresser and wore good suits. I was impressed that he bought only Fluorsheim(?) shoes which were very good shoes while I could only afford Thom McCanns. He was always interested in music and bought our first nice radio-record player combination. He owned and studied the Ukulele which I took over after he abandoned it. I still own a ukulele. Brother Bernie also was interested in stringed instruments. He took lessons and played what is known as a “Steel” guitar. I took the guitar over too and played four strings like it was a ukulele. Carl studied voice for several years. I can still hear his favorite: “many brave hearts are asleep in the deep, so beware, be-e-e-e-ware.” He didn’t go on the concert stage but he did put his trained voice to good use singing with the St. Vincent de Paul Church Choir where Cecilia Schmidt was Director and church organist. Carl talked Stanley and me into also joining the choir later. It remains one of my most happy memories.

Carl remained with the grocery chains but changed jobs to become a union Business Agent just before he was drafted into the Army in 1941 even before our entry into the 2nd World War. He was unlucky enough to draw a low draft number and he was one of the first to go. I didn’t see him again(for four years) until I was released from the Navy just after his separation from the Army. Brother Frank visited with Carl in New Orleans(?) just before Carl was shipped to North Africa for the invasion there. He followed every battle in North Africa, Moved to Sicily(?) and then into Italy. He was a Chaplains Assistant who followed the Chaplain right into the front lines of battle with all the danger involved in doing this.

When Carl returned to work shortly after his discharge from the Army, he went back to his old job with the union. All services personnel were guaranteed their old job back or a similar one. You remember he had become disillusioned with the demands of a, somewhat, crooked management of a grocery chain before he was drafted into the army and he began working for the Butchers Union as a roving business agent. This is how he met Nellie Bertholf, his future bride. She was a check-out girl at the store which he must have visited often.(10-27-2000)

Nellie and Carl were married on Sept. 07, 1946, less than one year after his discharge from the Army. Members of the wedding party included Bernie Gnadinger as best man, Mary Catherine Wantland and Helen Gnadinger as bridesmaids and Nellie’s niece(?) as flower girl.(Carl’s wife, Nellie May[Bertholf]Gnadinger, Born, May 24, 1927)

While I am describing such pleasant things as Carl and his wedding, it might be a good time to discuss our picnics. We didn’t just have “a” picnic, we enjoyed many, many picnics and they always involved most of our families. One I liked most at that time was the St. Joseph Orphans Picnic(presently St. Joseph Children Home) located on Frankfort Avenue. Mom, Aunt Dene Steinmetz and Aunt Tillie Cooper would take over a central point on the grounds so we kids would know where to come back to. In the early years, the women would pack lunches for all of us and we only needed to buy a soft drink. There was a play ground which had the usual swings, sliding board and a merry-go-’round. Harry Cooper, Gabe Steinmetz and I would not always settle for the usual fun. There was a Fire-escape attached to the side of the main building. It was three stories high with openings at each floor through a window. The Fire-escape was about eight feet in diameter with a slide going up through the center shaped like a corkscrew with an opening facing out at the bottom. We boys and others would walk up the slide with our feet on each side of the slide and as we walked up it there were other kids already sliding down through our legs. At the top we would lie down on our backs and away we would go, down through the legs. This was great fun, but very dirty. Our mothers would bring extra clothing along which we put on after being washed up so that we would look presentable on the street-car going back home. Our mothers didn’t get too upset about this and thinking about it now, I wish I had their patience. We were turned loose with no money but we had a good time and our mothers knew we were safe. Until recently, I had gone to every yearly “Orphans” picnic except one when I was away in the Navy during World War II. Naturally, as we grew up and got a little older, we began enjoying the picnic in other, normal, ways.

Cherokee Park at Hogans Fountain and Big Rock was the scene of regular family picnics. Uncle John Steinmetz always had the task of hauling all of us little kids in his Model T Grocery Truck to the picnic grounds. I’m sure he made more than one trip. The food was out of this world to a hungry boy, or girl. Aunt Dene always baked the best layer cakes with plenty of sweet icing. At Big Rock, we took off our shoes and stockings and waded in Beargrass Creek and sometimes would swim near Big Rock. At Hogans Fountain the main fun was a baseball game or a game of “Peggy”. We did a lot of hiking from this point and, at that time, halfway down the winding road was the statue of Daniel Boone whose rifle was a great launch point for chinning ourselves. All of our parents and some of the older cousins would spend the time talking and reminiscing.

I have to go back for I detect some of you want to know, what or who is “Peggy”. It is a very simple, fun game. All you need is a ball bat and, preferably, a softball along with eight or ten players. There is a pitcher, batter, catcher and fielders. The pitcher doesn’t try to strike you out. Everyone wants you to hit the ball. If you do hit the ball and the pitcher or anyone in the field catches it on the fly or one bounce, the lucky one becomes the batter and you take his or her place. If you foul off or swing and miss the ball and the catcher gets it on the fly or bounce, he becomes the batter and you take over the catching duties. This could go on all afternoon. At Hogan’s Fountain we always managed to get there early to get the picnic tables back away from the ball field and pavilion and which were in the shade. Ole Daniel Boone is now located at the entrance to Cherokee Park at the end of Eastern Parkway. Happy Chinning!(10-29-2000)

A very special picnic was one on a Steamboat. Everyone watched the newspaper and especially, used word of mouth for news that either the Avalon or the Louisville was going to be available for a cruise on the Beautiful Ohio. Mom always managed to arrange a cruise for us along with a big picnic basket. The Avalon(our present Belle of Louisville) was a stern wheeler steamboat while the Louisville was a side wheeler. I remember on the framework of the side wheeler there was an square opening large enough to stick your head into. If you did do that to watch the wheel go around, you also got a free head wash.and it was so cool in the hot summer.

Occasionally, we sailed on the steamboats to Rose Island Recreation Park(formerly Fern Grove) on the Indiana shore at Fourteen Mile Creek. Rose Island Road on the Kentucky side was originally opened as another access, by Ferry, to Rose Island. Rose Island was a fun park with a swimming pool, concession stands, picnic areas, various rides and a lot of hiking. I remember going there one time on a cruise sponsored by the Bensinger Outfitting Co. where brother Robert worked. Free passes were issued I’ll bet. To a young kid, it was quite a thrill to stand at the stern of the steamboat, watching the tremendous paddle wheel pushing up those extra large waves rolling back from the boat. The waves seemed to go on forever. Many future “River-Rats” began their development while cruising on the steamboats.(10-30-2000)(Pop’s sister, Mary Catherine (Gnadinger)Stober died Dec. 12, 1927)

I must talk about Uncle George and Aunt Clem’s camp on the river at Transylvania Beach at this point because I have a 1927(?) memory of these events. You notice that I brought Aunt Clems name into the picture. Actually, everyone I ever spoke to referred to the camp as ”Uncle George’s Camp On The River”. My first memory of the camp was of a square wooden shed like building with no lighting except kerosene lamps and the windows were just shutters with no glass. It was probably a normal, starting out small, day-use camp. A fishing shack. I have no memory of the river at all during this visit. I recall it was damp and dark. The road off River Road just up-river from Harrods Creek was unmade. There was a steep hill going down to the level of the camp. Going down was easy. This night I remember that we stopped well back from the bottom of the hill, gunned the motor pretty hard and, it seemed to me, just flew at the hill. We made it up alright and there was a giant sigh of relief when we did. From the emotion shown, I am sure there were other times when Pop was not successful. My next memory of the camp was of a well built, small frame house with a front porch on the side facing the road and a screened in porch and kitchen facing the river. The out-house was by the road just as you turned onto the property. There was electricity and a hand pump over a well.(11-24-2000)