Barbara and Denise Fairchild

When I was a little girl, living on Cayuga Island in Niagara Falls, New York during the late 1940s and early 1950s I had a best friend. Her name was Denise Fairchild. I think she was maybe a year younger than me. Basically, we played with dollies. Denise had a little sister who was younger, named Barbara. I don't remember playing with her though she may have been nearby. It seemed at the time, she was too young to participate. When my family moved off the island about 1951, I missed my friend and didn't understand why I couldn't visit her. I never knew the youngest baby sister. I believe this picture was taken after we moved. Though my parents kept in touch with the Fairchild's for a while, I never saw the Denise and Barbara again. I always thought they were very pretty, and wished I had curls in my hair, too.  I found this photo among my mother's belongings after she passed away in 2006. Imagine keeping it all these years, with no further contact.

This Old House

The paint had peeled and faded. But, it still captured the eye whenever driving by on the highway. The Anderson Place in Fluvanna, New York near Chautauqua Lake. Living inside was like being caught in a time warp. It was once an eighteen room mansion. I rented half of it for $65 a month in 1970.

Why was the other side of the house so carefully bolted? Had those hand crocheted lace curtains really been hanging there for 100 years? I thought so. So many things in my side of the place were very old. I could tell that the kitchen was probably the original settlers house, built in 1810, before less than eight families occupied that part of Western New York. The extra-wide floorboards ‘neath the fifty year old linoleum showed that they were hand-hewn.
The Anderson family had been successful enough that the rest of the place built up very fast. Ceilings loomed 15 feet above, in the dining area, living room and upstairs bedrooms which made the thirty foot entry hall and staircase a magnificent imposing welcome, if you entered through the double main doorways. But, no-one ever came in that way anymore. There wasn’t even the hint of a walkway to the entrance. The eastside porch was my entry. The westside was to the other side, no walkway on that side either.

One day, I came home to discover the little old ladies I had rented from were inside of my house. They had let themselves in with a key in order to access the basement in preparation for winter. We chatted a while before they left. I asked whether they would consider renting the other side. No they wouldn’t That was “Mother’s side” of the place. Mother had been dead 47 years by that time. They didn’t reveal much except that they had lived on the newer side since becoming adult and married, raising their children there and moving on to other quarters in retirement.

After they left, I noticed they had accidentally left the door bolt unlocked between my kitchen and the other side.

Curiosity got the best of me and I opened the door. Much to my amazement, I stepped back into 1923. A kitchen with old wood stove, filled with time worn cooking utensils. The dining room and parlor with its ancient curtains still remained as they were, yellowed roller shades at half-mast beneath them. Why was there no accumulation of dust? Had these women kept a shrine to their dead mother all these years? Had they just spent the day cleaning every cobweb, every dust bunny as well as preparing the furnace for winter? It was a mystery to me.



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Note: Since that old home was demolished after I moved away, I have no pictures of it. The photo I have taken and placed here is representative. This is the Mark Twain house located in Hartford Connecticut. Similar in style, but not as old as the home I lived in. The kitchen appliances are also representative.

Red Light - Green Light

When I was a young woman I visited my parent's house one summer, my two little girls with me. It was a cottage home, small, but cute. It rested within a beach front community in Youngstown, New York, located at the mouth of the Niagara River where it joins Lake Ontario. The beach sat down below a cliff, which we had access by stairs.

In the daytime, we could look across a great expanse of shimmering water. It felt so peaceful. Sometimes there were sailboats afloat. Occasionally, if we looked out far enough, we could see an occasional freighter ship running through the middle of the lake on it's way out to the St. Lawrence River to the Atlantic Ocean.

On a clear night my girls and I could sit at the edge of the cliff on the top step of the stairs, and view the black velvet water, thousands of stars sprinkled across it like sparkles glued upon a Halloween costume.

Without binoculars, straight across from us, about 40 miles away, we could see the lights of the city of Toronto, Canada. We often sat there lulled by the quietness of the starlight, the lapping of the water upon the shore, and the light breeze rustling the leaves on the huge oak tree in the back yard.

We could have lined a string directly across the lake to the brightly lit traffic signal that reliably changed every few minutes from green to red to yellow to green. It was hypnotic.



Photo of Toronto at Night by Richard Almasi

High School Girls

Sharon Smith was my bosom buddy in high school, when I lived in Wright's Corners, New York. She had the most gorgeous shiny black hair and a figure to die for. Mine was a figure to cry for. She had a soft spoken way about her. I was the the loud blond ditz. Neither one of us was all that popular, so we sat in the lunchroom eating our brown bag sandwiches and watching the others with their lunch trays with french fries, peas and fake hamburger. Sometimes we envied them, especially if it was fried chicken day or fish sticks day. Other times we snorted behind our hands making up names for the disgusting concoctions being offered. It made up for not being included in the popular kids lives.

We stuck together, Sharon and I. Though we came from different backgrounds, books were our commonality, and music... classical music. What fifteen year old doesn't like classical music? Eh? Well, maybe that's what set us apart.

It's not like we walked around the hallowed halls of Newfane High whistling Beethoven. Nor did we discuss favorite composers in class. I didn't even know enough details about Classical Music to talk about it intelligently. All I knew was that I liked listening to it, and there was little opportunity to do so. Sharon knew more. I could tell. She would call me on the phone and tell me to turn on the radio to the far away Buffalo station for a particular piece of music. I strained to listen as we both silently held the phone.

Now, to be sure, we were not entirely Nerd Girls. We liked the Box Tops as well as the next kid.

"Gimme a ticket for an aeroplane. Ain't got time to take a fast train. Lonely days are gone, I'm a-goin' home. My baby wrote me a letter..."

I remember one day, going up to Lockport by myself on the bus to spend a Saturday afternoon and my allowance. It cost me a dollar to by an LP. (That's a long playing record album.) This was before there was such a thing called Stereo. The LP was titled Peer Gynt by Edvard Grieg, a Norwegian composer. I didn't know the music. I had no idea who Edvard Grieg was. I knew it was classical music. I liked the name of the "songs", Anitra's Dance, Hall of the Mountain King, and I liked the picture on the front, an inspiring sunset.

I brought it home and put it on the turntable. My Dad was in the other room and hearing the music, came in to ask where I got it. Not only was he surprised I bought it myself, but  he ended up explaining the story behind the music, a bit about the composer and more details than I can remember now. This was when I learned his mother sang opera, played classical music on the piano and taught my father how to play. My father... play the piano? And I thought my father was only an electrician! Now, I was the surprised one.

I happily absorbed the information and suddenly I was an expert. I could hardly wait to call Sharon and fill her in. I was a bit cocky with my new knowledge. I played the music in the background and told her the whole story as my father had told me dropping details like precious tidbits. I was so proud of myself, I would have tripped over my own feet if I was walking. Sharon patiently listened, enjoying the music in spite of me.

She missed school on  that Monday. The next day she was cool towards me, and went to the library instead of going to lunch. Clueless that I was, I didn't realize that I had struck a nerve with her, hurt her feelings rubbing it in that I "knew" something about classical music that she didn't. As the week went by she warmed up to me and never said anything about my attitude. She invited me to go with her that weekend to stay overnight at her Aunt's house in Buffalo. I was tickled to be invited, and begged my Mom to go. She didn't know Sharon's family well and hesitated, but gave in to all my pushing.

Sharon's Aunt picked us up and drove us to her home. Her car radio was set on the only classical music station in the area. The closer we got to Buffalo, the less static, and the clearer the listening. We stopped at a restaurant and had a wonderful meal, better than anything at school and even better than what mom cooked at school. It was a fancy restaurant. I didn't know how to behave. Sharon's Aunt explained how to use the silverware as Sharon demonstrated she already knew how.

By the time we got to Buffalo we were told it was time to retire. Sharon and I talked half the night. I told her how embarrassed I had been about my clothes in comparison to the other diners, and she reassured me it was no big deal, to stop worrying about it. Tomorrow was another day and there were surprises in store.

The next day we went shopping. I'd never been shopping in such big stores, nor in any stores that weren't called Kresge's or Goodwill. Sharon tried on some dresses her Aunt picked out, and while we waited she gave one to me to try on, "just for fun". It was the most beautiful dress I ever saw. The next thing I knew, her Aunt paid for the dress and we wore them out to lunch where they had paper lace doilies under the water goblets on top of a blue tablecloth. I couldn't stop saying thank you for the dinner, the new dress, the lunch, as Sharon smiled away glancing repeatedly at her Aunt.

When we returned, Sharon's Aunt took us into her parlor. Or was it called a drawing room? She sat down at a piano and began to play, Chopin, she said. I was on the edge of my seat, enthralled, as Sharon sat back with her eyes closed. As each piece of music ended, we would ask to hear another. I kept thinking about my father and wishing we had a piano and he would play music for us, too. Chopin brought tears to my eyes. I felt lightheaded. I felt like I was floating in a sacred room somewhere other than earth  and I was in love with Chopin! Finally, the music stopped and no amount of urging to play another brought forth anything further.

Sharon's Aunt turned to her and asked her to play the Polonaise. i didn't know what that was. Sharon begged off, saying she couldn't possibly, but walked confidently to the piano, sat down and broke my heart. She already knew Chopin intimately. She loved him before I had ever heard of him. She played the music as well as her Aunt, and I had new respect for my humble and talented friend.

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Note: Since I don't have pictures from that time period and location, my photos are meant to symbolize the music.

Strangers from New York Experience Earth Quake

Living in California the majority of my life, I've felt plenty of earthquakes. The mild ones under 4.0 on the Richter scale are seldom noticed. They are nothing more than if someone was standing on the back of your car and bouncing a bit. As the intensity of the quake is greater, the higher the number on the Richter scale. Once an earthquake reaches 5.0 it can be felt strongly. Once it reaches 6.0 it is so strong that buildings can shudder, grocery store shelves lose their supplies and people are more likely to run into the street. You can see the trees and telephone wires swinging back and forth. For each degree after that the increase in intensity can be very forceful. In disadvantaged or undeveloped countries an earthquake measuring 6.0 can cause considerable severe damage.

Four days before the 7.0 earthquake hit Haiti, a 6.5 earthquake hit a city called Eureka in California located 653 miles (1050 KM) north of where if live. I felt it. Not hard, like the people who live there. But I felt it as many did, up and down the northern California area all the way over into Nevada. The Epicenter was just off the coast near Eureka. Being California, the area was able to sustain the damage without deaths or serious injuries, though, there are now reports of 22 million dollars in damages. (about 15.5 million Euros).

Over the last 300 years, Californians have learned that brick houses and other such buildings would be destroyed by earthquakes. Many deaths and injuries could be prevented by adequate engineering of structures. By the late 1920's guidelines for building were established and have been improved upon since then. The reason there were no deaths and serious injuries in Eureka, is because those building codes had been instituted. We are very fortunate compared to what has happened in Haiti. It is heartbreaking to see the damages, injuries and deaths due to that earthquake.


My First Experience with Earthquake.

When living near Vandenburg Air Force Base from 1963 to 1965, the earth rumbled more from the rocket and missile launches than it did from the few minor quakes I felt.

The first serious earthquake that affected my family was in 1971 on my Mother's birthday. She and my Dad had gone to visit my younger brother and his wife on a vacation from their home in New York State. The idea was to get out of winter snow and ice. I was staying at their home at the time, with my sister.

About 1 minute or so after the 6.6 to 7.0 quake occurred, my sister and I decided to call and wish Mom a happy birthday. We had no idea what had just happened. It seemed so odd that we couldn't get through. We called the operator to have her put us through. She told us all the lines were busy and to wait and call later. We waited a while and tried again. Still we couldn't get through. We called and asked an operator to try again. She abruptly said, "You can't get through! There's been an earthquake!"

It sent shivers up my spine. Though I hadn't experienced any quakes when I lived there. I knew it was serious if the telephone lines were not working.

There was nothing on the TV about it. We only got three channels in those days.

My sister and I were worried. We called a few more times in the hopes that all lines were no longer busy. But, still there was no connection. The thought occurred to me that if my parents were located where the worst damage happened, then our other relatives might be safe, and there telephones working.

So, we methodically went through the telephone book and called every relative we had in the Southern California region. Some did not connect. Some gave a permanent busy signal, a special kind of busy signal that let you know that it wasn't just a person talking on the line.

Then, I called Uncle Buddy's house. Lo' and behold, his telephone rang. Back in those times, you could ring a person's phone number constantly without interruption and that is exactly what I did. Suzan and I took turns holding the phone listening to the rings. We figured that if the phone was ringing the damage where my uncle lived could not be too bad. Of course, we realized that Uncle Buddy must have felt the quake, but hopefully his house was okay.

At one point we decided that if his phone was ringing to try my brother's phone again. Still no connection. Then trying Uncle Buddy's line got a regular busy signal. There was hope! He must have been using his phone. We waited a few minutes and called again. This time the phone rang twenty times, then Uncle Buddy answered the phone. He didn't understand at first who was calling as my voice was so strained and I was speaking so rapidly, and Suzan was suggesting things for me to say in the background.

I told him we had called to wish Mom happy birthday only to be told of the earthquake, that there was nothing on the TV about it and we were worried. Uncle Buddy had been out in the yard and not wanting to come into his house because of the aftershocks, and didn't want to stay on the phone for long. He had tried to call my brother's house and was unable to get through. The epicenter was reported to be very close to where my brother lived. Uncle Buddy promised he would try to find out what he could and call us back and let us know if everyone was alright.

When the news was reported on TV We learned is was a serious quake called the Sylmar Quake. Sixty five people had died, another two thousand injured. Hospitals had been crushed and freeway overpasses had fallen, many highways were closed, landslides had caused damage to property, two dams had been destroyed. The biggest worry for us was that my brother lived near one of the dams that were being inspected to make sure it wouldn't crack. If so, there would be flooding.

Eventually, Uncle Buddy called us. Mom and Dad were okay, Roger and his wife, Sharon were okay. The baby, Carl, was okay. They had suffered no major damage. Roger's apartment was new enough that it had been built with earthquake safety in mind. Thank you, Engineers and Architects!

When we finally had the opportunity to speak with Mom and Dad, the wishing of Happy Birthday was forgotten. But, they hadn't forgotten, and we were reminded what a beautiful birthday it was. Suzan and I were confused at first, then Mom said it was beautiful because they all survived and did not suffer any damages.

There was a bit of unforgettable story in this situation. Mom and Dad sleep on opposite sides of the bed. They are not spooners, they said. I began to feel uncomfortable. I didn't want to know how my parents slept. But, Mom, or was it Dad, continued to tell us, they had gotten in the habit of sleeping with their backs turned to each other, simply because they had opposite side of there bodies with a little arthritis pain and they were more comfortable this way.

Since they were sleeping at Roger's house, they were not used to the bright sunlight shining through the window. They were both just slightly awake. A moment before the quake occurred Dad turned over and snuggled up to Mom putting his arm around her. Luckily this kept her from falling off the edge of the bed and onto the floor. Even more luckily, when the big mirror from the dresser fell directly onto the bed, it landed exactly where Dad had just moved from. Dad was not injured and therefore another reason to be grateful.

Elizabeth Munroz 
January 16, 2010

If you would like to help the survivors of the earthquake in Haiti, please visit the links below which will direct you to the Canadian or American Red Cross web pages.

Both of them have donation forms which will allow you to send help to where it is most needed. 

Canadian Red Cross

American Red Cross


Also see this article about how you can simply donate through a text message 

Red Cross Raises $1,000,000+ for Haiti Through Text Message Campaign