Aunt Lil’s Youngest Nephew

By the time William and Agnes Tully Stevens’ youngest son Gerald came along in 1930, Agnes’ sister Lily was already fifty years old. While this baby may never have known his grandmothers—both of whom died long before his arrival—he did grow up in a multi-generational household, thanks to the presence of Aunt Lil.

Along with her sister Agnes and the rest of the growing Stevens family, Lily had remained for decades at the old Tully home at 507 Garfield Boulevard on the south side of Chicago. Ever since Lil and Agnes had lost their mother, Catherine, in 1922, the place had remained theirs. They had been there together with their mother for the 1920 census and, just before baby Gerry made his arrival in August, for the 1930 census.

But I couldn’t find Aunt Lil when it came time to roll out the 1940 census.

In an abysmal volley of spelling errors, whoever entered the data for the 1940 census rendered Miss Lily Tully unfindable. Thanks, however, to a process using the census scans available at Ancestry.com, I was able to backtrack to FamilySearch.org and redirect readers here to a publicly-available copy of the record—despite the head-of-household entry as “Lylly Telloy” and even a listing, for instance, of her niece Patricia as “Patracia.” (Actually, the 1940 census taker for this neighborhood was a paragon of disinformation: Lil was also entered as “widowed,” when in reality she had never married.) And what looks like “Geralp Steven,” along with a boarder listed as “Francis Dixon,” doesn’t appear until the next page.

Welp, Geralp may have been the apple of Aunt Lil’s eye, perhaps. At least, that’s judging from the notebook she kept—the one that got passed down to me, thanks to her sister Agnes, who refrained from cleaning house after Lil’s passing.

Who could resist his angelic boyhood appearance? Certainly not this doting aunt. She must have cherished every step in his young life—at least from the look of her journal entries.

This surrogate grandmother’s twelve year old nephew had made her proud.

Gerry served his first Mass at 6 o’clock Sunday May 17/1942.

     His mother was there, also Fanny + Lee

     Fr. Brazil said the Mass and told him he did very well.

     Served 10 oclock Mass May 24 1942

                Fr. Brazil said the Mass

Aunt Lil Keeps Track

I would like to say I’m continually amazed at what people choose to save over a lifetime—until I think of what others might think about the stuff I have squirreled away. Then I don’t feel so judgmental when I find, among Agnes Tully Stevens’ collected papers, a notebook of personal records belonging to her sister.

This is no big time operator’s ledger, by the way. Lily Tully chose to keep track of all her worldly transactions in a humble spiral-bound notebook—a slim volume of the kind kids might use for school assignments. She recorded such things as donations to her church, birthday gifts to relatives, and the petty change loans that were swapped back and forth among family members. Of course, by the time she began entries in this book, she was entering her sixties—perhaps signaling a need for tools to help her remember the every detail of her transactions.

March 1941

            $1.00               Fr. McNally

            10.00               Agnes (applied on Carson’s Bill)

               .10                stamps

               .75                night gown (Clara)

               .75                Fannie (I owed)

             1.00                Medicine

            10.00               John (paid for dog)

            23.50              

               .50                “   Monday April 7

               .25                Irvinine [?]

                                    loaned Fannie

             4.92                (2.36 drawers John)(1.03 apron Clara, 
                                    1.03 Socks Bill)

                                    50 on socks for John

             2.06                Mandels (John + Francis)

             1.00                dress Maxine stockings

            32.43

              2.00               Cath + Rosalie

There is more to Aunt Lil’s notebook, though, than the financial records. There were notes scribbled to remind herself about addresses of various Boards of Missions. There were journal-like entries detailing a nephew’s first birthday party, or the date when she had her last “permanent wave.” One page, as if starting a letter, begins at the top with “Mrs. Mason”—and then the rest of the page is left blank. (Wonder how Mrs. Mason felt about that.)

Yet, in wandering around these pages filled with Aunt Lil’s stream-of-consciousness style of recordkeeping, I find snippets of details that piece together a picture of life in this World War II era Chicago household. And some entries I am most thankful for, as they provide corroboration I’ve been seeking for some details in the lives of particular Stevens family members.

Take this entry, for instance. It provides a second telling of the intermediary stops along the way that brought Lil’s nephew Frank Stevens from an abrupt end to his high school education all the way to the fiercest fighting the Pacific Theater had known.

While this little booklet might have seemed like one that should have been tossed a long time ago, I’m now glad someone had decided—for whatever reason—to hang on to it just a little longer.

Francis left for Great Lakes

            Feb. 24 – 1942

Wrote him March 2 – 1942 Sent $1.00

     “       “       “      3 – 1942

     “       “       “      5  one 3¢ stamp

     “       “       “      8

     “       “       “      10  I think

     “       “       “      13 (Fanny wrote too)

     “       “       “      26

            Francis came home from Great Lakes for few hours first visit in Navy uniform March 21 – 1942

            Came home April 12 – for couple hours

                 “      “         “      13 to 18 – 1942 vacation

            Francis to go to Jacksonville, Florida

                        To a Base hospital Friday May 29 – 1942

            Left Jacksonville June 10 – 1942

Called on phone Sunday June 12 – 1942 from Norfolk, Va. going to Virgin Island Base Hosp.

A Young Girl Signs a Promise

When Agnes Tully Stevens was only four years of age, her older sister Mary Monica—or Mae, as she was often called—must have gone through some event which inspired her to think seriously about personal commitments and her future. I can see now, from research, that she had some cousins—and possibly an uncle or two—who chose a lifestyle having such an impact on their health as to possibly influence Mae’s opinion on the matter. But I can’t say for sure. 

Regardless of whatever happened leading up to November, 1892, fourteen year old Mae Tully chose to respond to an appeal from the Paulist Fathers who spoke at her church. Mae Tully took a pencil and signed a “Total Abstinence Promise” at Saint Anne’s Church in Chicago, promising to avoid all “intoxicating drinks” for “10 years from now.”

The card itself, most likely written by the Paulist Fathers, included what would now be dismissed as a stilted and old-fashioned approach: a list of reasons why such action should be taken. I can hardly image any substance abuse specialists adopting this hundred year old methodology today. And yet, considering all the grief and tragedy endured by the family of Mae Tully McGonagle’s own nephew, the card hardly misses the mark for accuracy.

Total * Abstinence * Promise

Made

At the Mission given by the Paulist Fathers

In The

St. Anne’s Church, Chicago

November, 1892.

            For the love of God and for the good of my soul, I promise to abstain from intoxicating drinks.

                        Name ……………

                                    For…………years

 

 A’s REASON.

I feel that by making this promise I can encourage others, who may need it, to do the same.

B’s REASON.

I have noticed that those who make and keep such promises are better Christians, have better health, longer life, and pleasanter homes than habitual drinkers.

C’s REASON.

I cannot afford to be constantly drinking. I have a family to support, and they need all I can earn.

D’s REASON.

I must do some penance for my sins; such self-denial is pleasing to God and meritorious for me.

E’s REASON.

I am afraid of giving scandal to my children or to others; should any one by my example become a drunkard, what could I answer in the day of Judgment?

F’s REASON.

Drunkenness is a great cause of sin, cruelty, and crime; I intend to avoid even the occasion of it.

G’s REASON.

Once I was a victim of the drink habit. I am resolved never again to submit to its slavery.

H’s REASON.

When the demon of discord caused by drink enters the house, the Angel of Peace departs; I prefer dwelling with the Angel of Peace than with the demon of discord.

Aunt Lil Enrolls Forever

I am sometimes surprised at the material I’ve discovered in Agnes Tully Stevens personal papers. Not that the material is inordinate in any way. It’s just that, well, some of these things are not exactly her own belongings.

Take this card below, for instance. It belonged to her sister Lily. Granted, Aunt Lil never married, and was a lifelong resident at her parents’ home in Chicago. While she was employed outside the home for many years, she left little to help anyone in the future determine what sort of life she lived. What little was saved came to me with her sister Agnes’ belongings.

While Lil did share the family’s proclivity to enjoy games, she also had a serious side. Like her mother—and, no doubt, her sisters, too—Lily Tully felt the draw of a spiritual nature.

One card from her papers, kept in nearly pristine condition, was a declaration issued by an organization called the Seraphic Mass Association. While the card was dated 1949, I wondered if there were such an organization still in existence. There is. And it still remains in Pittsburgh, though not at the same address.

I can’t help but wonder if the promise to be “enrolled forever” entails receiving the stated benefits in perpetuity.

Certificate of Enrollment in the

Seraphic Mass Association

Lily A. Tully

has been enrolled forever in the Association

on August 22 1949

Fr. Cecil Nally, O. M. Cap.

                        Delegate.

Benefits

1. Each year 6,000 Masses are offered for the members.

2. Members participate daily in 500 Masses; 182,500 per year.

3. In the prayers and good works of 13,000 Capuchins.

4. In 300,000 Holy Communions offered each year.

Seraphic Mass Association, St. Augustine Monastery

220 – 37^th Street, Pittsburgh 1, Pa.

Wishing for Better Photographs

As I near the end of the collection of papers and keepsakes of Agnes Tully Stevens, I find myself lingering over those little items that really shouldn’t have been saved—particularly the photographs. These sorry scraps are just that: pieces that long ago should have been tossed. But Agnes kept them—no doubt because her parents did, in some cases—and then her son kept them. And now I am keeping them, too.

There is only one difference, though: when Agnes kept them, she knew what she was keeping. In her son’s case, he could have asked and gotten the answers about these mystery photographs; perhaps he did, but never wrote the answers down. In my case…well, I have no idea. All I’m left with is a strong desire to know who these people are. Which reminds me that I have the deepest desire to have any family pictures of these previous generations with names and faces intact.

So I linger and wonder. And hope that, by digitizing and preserving these faint likenesses, I’ve done my duty to family history and can pass these items on. To the trash can.

I had hoped that, by some Adobe Photoshop magic, I could somehow resurrect these foggy scenes. One snapshot looks like a precursor to a Polaroid that someone got impatient about processing. Others are too faded, or too fuzzy, or too tiny. But each of them has something that makes me wish—to want to know more.

Take this faded snapshot of a young girl, standing. If you can make it out in the gray surroundings, she seems to be standing on a porch, possibly in front of her own home. She wears a simple dress, maybe a plaid, with stockings. She has long hair draped over her shoulders, and is standing with her arms relaxed at her side. Her dark stockings give the hint of a school-girl’s appearance.

Thankfully, this is one of the few photographs actually labeled. The back of the picture reads, “Agnes Tully, about 12 years.”

At one point, I had wondered if this might be a picture of the young Agnes Tully Stevens. I don’t know enough about the technology of photograph production through the years to pinpoint the decade in which this likeness was taken. But I suspect that the subject of this picture was actually her niece. Agnes’ brother William had a daughter, born in 1904, also named Agnes Tully. The younger Agnes would have been twelve in 1916, while her namesake’s twelfth birthday would have dated the photograph as taken at the turn of the century.

Take this other misfortunate photographic error. I don’t know what caused the markings on this picture—and I certainly do wish they hadn’t occurred, for I would have loved to be able to figure out who these four young women were—but judging from their outfits and hair styles, this picture certainly predates the invention of the Polaroid Land Camera. Yet, doesn’t it look like someone got too impatient and pulled the film off its backing too soon?

The photograph is too blurry to determine whether any of the four young women are party to the outing which inspired the next shot. Poor composition on the part of the shutterbug capturing this playful pose leaves the faces of these three women in the shadows. I am not sure what they are all holding, but it looks somewhat like they are returning from a walk to the ice cream parlor. Are those partially-eaten ice cream cones in their hands?

The last picture captures such a joyful vignette that despite its poor quality, I can’t bring myself to toss it. It looks like a picture of two siblings, one barely a toddler. The older sibling has such an exuberant look of joy on his or her face that it brings a smile to my own—and I don’t even know who these people are, or why the youngster has such an open, happy expression. Some people just have a way of radiating joy and infusing others with that same vibrant spirit. Even though this person belongs to an age that has come and gone, I’d still love to be around this one.

So there they are: shadows of my family’s past. Nameless now thanks to those who knew all too well their identities, they remind me that the people, places and stories we now know all too clearly may not survive their own journey into the future. If they are to be remembered, it is we who must become that vehicle of remembrance.

Ready to Believe in Good

Every day at about this time, I sit down at the computer to write my post for the following morning. In writing each post, I have one of three goals:

            •  to leave a digital trail, recording a portion of family history

            •  to honor my fathers and mothers—not just of one                                 generation, but many

            •  to encourage others to tell their families’ stories.

This time, however, I’ve just returned from a concert. Not just an average concert, however—this one was way too emotionally draining to be considered a mere performance. And after something like that, I just can’t begin to write about the past.

So I’ll consider this blog, from this point forward, to have one more task: write to remember the future.

This particular concert was no ordinary event. It was small, local, and not well publicized. What made it special was the reason for which it was held: a benefit for a much-loved young person whose many talents are remarkable, yes, but whose way of life managed to touch so many others unforgettably.

Those who keep track of the tireless cascade of bad news churned out daily by the media—news junkies, my husband calls them—will recall the unfortunate event just after midnight on July 20 when the theater shooting at a movie premiere in Aurora, Colorado, took the lives of several and injured many more.

A recent graduate of the university in my city—and my alma mater—was among upwards of seventy involved in that tragedy. She took three shots in her arm and one to her head.

Amazingly, she survived.

Tonight was our local music community’s way to continue supporting her on her miraculous road to recovery. A homecoming for this survivor, she was actually able to attend the event, herself.

The survivor’s name is Petra Anderson. Google her name and you can see her story has been carried by major wire services, television networks, and featured in newspapers around the world. A team of close friends has set up a Facebook page, a blog, a Twitter account, and sought donations for medical expenses on the family’s behalf at Indiegogo and Pay It Square.

Most touchingly, her family’s pastor wrote of the incredible odds she faced from the moment of her injury, and of the double-edged challenge facing the family: at about the same time as this attack in Aurora, Petra’s mom had received news that her cancer had returned.

The grace and confidence reflected in the manner in which the family stood together through all this has been inspiring. Recalling the movie that was to debut that night, they drew from its theme as their own message since then:

In The Dark Knight, Batman tells the Joker that Gotham City is “full of people ready to believe in good.” Gotham City may be a fictional place and Batman may a fictional character, but that doesn’t mean they’re false. And when evil, in the form of man or disease, is horrific, hope will rise.

We believe that the world is full of people ready to believe in good, and we believe that you are one of those people. No one can change that.

And this night, the power of that belief and hope was tangible.

While a post like today’s isn’t one reverencing the past, it’s a reminder to regain assurance of the future. There are so many talented, energized, well-purposed members of a new generation ready to believe in that good. They are ready to take hold of a calling that propels them—and all of us—to a future that refuses to give place to a lesser vision.

That may be Petra’s family heritage, for that was the message her mother embodied. It came from a previous generation “passing it along”—the lessons of strength, courage, virtue.

But it also becomes a legacy for this next can-do generation which, with God’s grace, thinks outside the box and sees love overcome hate. It’s a legacy that encourages them—those future generations—to take hold of values that make a difference and carry them forward into their future. And really, if we had no one to pass these strengths along, would we even have a future?

That’s why, for this blog, from this point forward, I want to remember one more task: I want to write to remember the future. For if we don’t remember our future, there will be no one left to remember their past.

Avoid the Rush—Pay Now

In the land of the free, with free public services available to all, someone has to pay the bill. Taxes have been a point of contention, though, ever since…well, ever since we became a nation.

I’m not sure how Agnes Tully Stevens felt about seeing her family’s hard-earned dollars going to taxes in Chicago, but I do know she considered it important enough to keep her father’s tax receipts in her file up until the last day of her life.

It’s been interesting going through the ledger of John Tully’s tax receipts. As seems to have been the family’s habit, the book included some extra documents stashed between the pages of the ledger—including a post card addressed to John “Sirlry” and dated January 18, 1908, nearly a year after his passing. The post card warned, “Bring this card with you.” And advised, “Avoid the rush by paying now.” Hurry, hurry.

The ledger, labeled Tax Receipts, and embellished with John Tully’s name and address, began with the entry for April 23, 1889. For his assessment authorized by the School Trustees, he paid his installment in the amount of eight dollars and forty four cents. Entries on subsequent pages seemed to indicate bi-annual payments due in April and June. Occasionally the receipt read July. Sometimes there was an entry that read, “Interest at three per cent.”

The payment amount didn’t remain the same. It gradually went up—isn’t that always the case?—until that eight dollars turned into thirty five, thirty six, thirty eight. The last entry was dated July 11, 1902.

After several blank pages in the ledger, though, the County Collector’s Office took up the litany once again. This time, the pages were labeled “Special Assessment Receipt.” Thirty eight dollars out of a policeman’s pay for 1902 must not have been enough. Though always labeled as an assessment on the same property, these latter amounts seemed to equal those of the entries at the front of the book. They seemed always to be paid at about the same time, too.

Perhaps, as the amounts escalated over the years, someone conceived of the brilliant idea of consoling the weary taxpayer with a reporting of how far the money had to be stretched. Perhaps thanks for this ingenious idea can be rightly credited to the rivalry between the tax-hungry entities of city and county, for the report provided to the taxpayer was labeled, “City of Chicago Distribution of One Dollar of 1917 Taxes to the Various Taxing Bodies.” Figuring prominently just beneath the chart of allocations was the observation, “City gets only 17¼ cents.”

Oh, the poor little city of Chicago. Maybe someday, things will get better for them and it won’t seem so bad.