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The Staten Island Historian is a publication of the Staten Island Historical Society. This online edition does not include the photographs of the original issue. Reprinted with permission.

WINTER-SPRING 2000 VOLUME 17 NEW SERIES NUMBER 2

ENCOUNTER WITH DOC

By John E. Rossi

Twenty-six years ago I moved to a town called Travis on Staten Island. Fran and I purchased a ‘handyman special” on Victory Boulevard. Before moving in, we had to take care of several alterations, such as an antiquated kitchen in need of remodeling. For a few months I would bring boxes of our belongings from the “old country,” Brooklyn.

On a few occasions there was an old gentleman with a cane across from my house observing me. Finally, I walked over to him and smiled. He sort of raised his cane and smiled back. I introduced myself to him. His reply was, “My name is Rudolf Nagyvathy, what’s your last name?” “Rossi,” I responded. He asked, “Is that Eye-talian?” He began asking me if I knew the other two Italian families in town. He eyed me up and down, and said, “I see you like books. I live in the house behind you.” I thought the lot behind us was vacant, but I was wrong. There was a small house hidden by a heavily wooded area.

A few weeks passed until I met him again. It was now the Fourth of July and the oldest running parade in the country was to pass in front of my house. I had my camera and was taking pictures. The town reminded me of photos taken in the Midwest during the Depression by the Farm Security Act under the WPA program. In 1974 I was enrolled as a graduate student at Brooklyn College in the Art and Photography Dept., so I was very sensitive to visual landscapes of Americana. Mr. Nagyvathy was walking along Victory Boulevard with his cane and an Exacta 35mm camera. He was surprised to see me taking photos, too. He said, “Hello, it’s about time someone came to town who knows about photography.” I told him of my studies, and he asked me to call him “Doc.”

Since that day he believed that I was sent to Travis for him to complete the History of Travis, which also had been known as Linoleumville, Travisville, Deckertowne, and New Blazing Star, among a few other names. That day was important because he let down his guard and began reminiscing about the town from 1910, recounting his memories of the way things used to be. In the following weeks, during the day, he would come over with an envelope of old photos. He showed me a 1911 photo of P.S. 26, across from my house, with a class of about 50 children and asked, “Do you recognize anyone in the picture?” He began to laugh. He was one of the cute, smiling children in the old, faded class photograph.

On the afternoon of Oct. 20, 1974, he came over and asked me if I wanted to see some articles made by his dad, when he was a worker at the old linoleum factory. So with camera in hand I followed him through the woods to his house. It appeared to be abandoned. We walked around to the back, entering a room with a huge Pennsylvania cast-iron coal stove and a bureau with hundreds of bottles of pills. The floors were bare wood. The walls were all blackened with soot from the stove. He asked me to excuse the mess. There were hundreds of books on the floor, piled to the ceiling. The oak dining room table was covered with newspapers and articles about Staten Island. He lit a kerosene lamp to brighten up the room. I was in awe. It was hard to believe that he actually lived in a place that had no electricity, gas or telephone.

This had also been his parents’ house and I was intrigued, as he pointed out the different bedrooms to me, that four people - his father, mother, younger brother and himself - had once lived there.

He told me that in 1968 he had indoor plumbing put in. Prior to that, he had a water pump and an outhouse. For a moment, I became concerned about his mental stability, but his reasoning was very logical. Doc knew exactly where everything was in his clutter of papers, books and artifacts. By this time he had become more at ease and would ask my opinion about several topics, including photography, politics and education.

Genealogy was his passion, mostly about Staten Islanders. He traced his family to the Austro-Hungarian empire in Transylvania. His father, Geza Nagyvathy, emigrated to the U.S. around 1890. Before settling on Staten Island, his family lived in Coopertown, N.J. When he was eight years old, in 1907, they moved to Linoleumville, which became Travis in 1930. His father, a hard worker, was a design woodcarver. He carved the ornate patterns on the wood rollers that applied the inks to the linoleum. In fact, Doc had one of these carved rollers, among other items, such as violin necks and banister tops. He was very proud of his father’s craftsmanship and wished his father’s work had more recognition.

Doc was unemployed during the Depression. Were it not for the WPA program putting in curbs on Staten Island, he and his family might have gone hungry.

To me, he was a “different drummer” compared to the other elderly people I knew. Most of his opinions were conservative, on the surface, but in actuality were very liberal. Maybe that is a contradiction but many younger people in town viewed him as a grumpy old man and he was turned off to young people as having no respect for their elders. Years later, I spoke to neighbors who were older than I was and who wished that Doc had shared his knowledge of local history with them. In fact, one fellow said he envied me since I was an “outsider” who won Doc’s respect. My response was that I listened to what Doc had to say and tried to see it from his viewpoint. I had to learn not to take his opinions too personally, such as when he put down newcomers from the other boroughs.

Some of his main concerns were the environment, population density and health. I recall several occasions when Doc mentioned that Staten Island was going to be known as having the largest dump in the country. “If it keeps growing it will probably block the sun like the pyramids.” Some of his opinions are now major concerns for Staten Islanders; he was ahead of his time. He loved large houses but hated the poor construction and the boring “cheese-box” design of these new homes, which were built overnight and sold to gullible buyers from off the Island.

When it came to health, Doc had very little use for real doctors. He was given the name “Doc” by some townspeople in the 1 960s when he refused to go to the hospital. He had become ill and treated himself. He managed to fight off pneumonia and a bad case of poison ivy by purchasing various vitamin pills from mail-order catalogs. I photographed his apothecary corner, which was right out of a Jekyll & Hyde movie.

I recall that day so well - photographing the interior of his home for the first time. I was a little concerned that it might be an invasion of his privacy, but he was honored that I wanted it to be documented. I did not truly understand or appreciate the importance of these images until years later.

Mr. Nagyvathys lifelong goal was to write and maybe someday publish a book about Travis. He had been compiling papers, photos and objects of the town for four decades. One afternoon, he knocked on my door with a large folder. He asked if I wanted to make a copy of a document that was written in 1940, by a minister of the Dickinson Methodist Church. This church was one of the first places of worship, dating back to about 1840. He never asked me to do things as a favor, but rather he always asked if I wanted to copy something. He would offer to pay me and then tell me to make a copy for myself. Thus, I acquired a nice collection of local history memorabilia.

The document was 33 yellowed pages that had been typewritten with various updates in pencil and pen. When I looked at it he explained, “I made a few corrections. Hope you can read my handwriting.” I asked how long he had had this. His reply was, “About 35 years.” That evening I copied a set for him and myself. The following day, when I went to return them to him, he asked, “Well, what do you think?” I had copied the pages, but had not read the entire document. He explained that it was a good beginning but that we had a lot of work to do to bring things accurately up to date. I asked if there was anyone who should be visited who had more information. His reply was, “Old Percy Decker.”

A week later he said, “You got some time? I think Percy’s in his yard about this time on Saturdays.” I walked about six blocks from my home and came to a house on Victory Boulevard. We walked in the back and he yelled, “Percy! Percy! Mr. Rossi, the professor of photography I told you about, is here to visit you.” I was shocked to be introduced with such respect. I had received a graduate fellowship to teach undergraduate Art and Photography at Brooklyn College and I was doing free-lance photography at the time. But I had never been called a professor!

Percy was about 95 years of age and very frail, yet he drove a large tricycle in town until his passing. He was surprised that I was so young and a friend of “young Rudy’s.” He was about 20 years older than Doc but still spoke to him in a way as a youngster — making me an embryo.

Doc asked, “Percy, where are the photos?” Percy had a box of old cartes-de-visites and cabinet-sized photos from about the 1870s. Doc asked me to get a pencil. Showing him the photo, he asked, “Who’s in this photo? Okay, John, start labeling the back.” Unfortunately, Percy did not seem to remember some of his grandfather’s cousins and other relatives whom he might only have seen once, if at all. Percy Decker’s family had been living in Travis since 1840. There were Deckers who had been in town earlier, but he was not related to them.

Within a year of my living in Travis, Doc would come by to talk almost every day. He would always come with a photo to be copied or a piece of information about the town. He is the one who introduced me to Loring McMillen of Richmondtown Restoration. I think he was trying to get me a job over there. During the summer of 1975, I was a full-time graduate student and just doing odd jobs and freelancing when Doc said to me, “Do you like history? Well, come with me. Bring your camera. I’ll take you to Richmondtown to meet someone.” I had been there before, but this time was special.

He walked into the Third County Courthouse and asked for Mr. McMillen. A woman at the desk asked if he had called for an appointment. “No, miss, I do not have a phone,” he replied, to her surprise. At that moment Mr. McMillen walked out and said, “Good morning, Mr. Nagyvathy. How are you doing? Let’s go sit down in my office.”

Doc introduced me as a photographer who was interested in documenting and compiling pictures of Staten Island for a future book. (As time passes, I think of attempting such a venture before my retirement.) Mr. McMillen was very friendly, yet cocky in a way. He was sort of playing an “I know more than you, Doc” game. Doc had great respect and admiration for Loring. He knew that if it was not for Loring retrieving the Alice Austen glass-plate negatives in 1945, her images of 1890s Staten Island would be lost and never seen.

That day the three of us went to the Staten Island Historical Society’s library, which was for members only. Doc had been a member in good standing for years. It was on that day that I photographed Mr. McMillen behind his desk, having an interesting conversation with Mr. Nagyvathy about the proper way to open a book. They had a very captive audience of one. I was observing and quietly photographing the two of them debating about the handling and care of old books.

This meeting resulted in Doc and me becoming volunteers for the Staten Island Historical Society in the photo area, where we met Tony Lanza, a retired photographer from the now defunct Sun newspaper in New York City. He was printing the Austen glass plates for the forthcoming book of Alice’s work by AnnNovotny. On one occasion, we met Ms. Novotny at Richmondtown.

The following year I had the pleasure of teaching a course, “The Story of Photography and its Role Staten Island,” through an educational grant funded by New York State. The course featured more 100 slides and other photo memorabilia from the past, tied to Staten Island. Doc came to four of eight sessions and added spice the lectures.

During one of these lectures he started talking about who lived in hose house on Staten Island. The next day he asked me if I knew who had previously lived in my house. I replied, “The Haklik family,” from whom I had purchased it. He said, “Come with me and get your camera.” We went to a cemetery that was a block from my house. We walked up a hill overgrown with weeds and covered with debris from broken tombstones. At the top of the hill, he pointed to a small tombstone with the name “Csepiga.” “That woman had your house built in 1910 and when she died, it was sold to the Hakliks,” he said. I took a few photos. One of them was exhibited in a show at Brooklyn College in 1976.

In 1980 Doc was starting to experience back problems, due to shoveling coal to his house from the shed in the yard. I offered to help him but he said he was finally giving in and having electricity put in for an electric heater. That winter he was very depressed after seeing the electric bill. He was worried about going broke and not being able to live on his monthly Social Security check.

The following spring he decided to go to a nursing home and he gave me one of his sets of Staten Island and its People by Leng and Davis, the four-volume set (I’m still looking for the fifth volume). Also, he gave me a set of the History of Staten Island by Morris and an old oak chair from the old Peter Cannon house on Victory Boulevard.

I visited him a few times at Eger Nursing Home, but he had lost his wit and spirit to live. His house was boarded up and kids began hanging out in it, and one night it caught fire. Most of his belongings were donated to the Staten Island Historical Society prior to this incident. The last time I spoke to Doc he said he did not get along with most of these old people and he wished he were in better health so he could go back to living in Travis, the way he had done since the age of eight.

On Wednesday, Oct. 20, 1982, Doc passed away. His house was knocked down and the street-to-street property was vacant for years. Recently, four semi-attached cheese-box-type houses were built on the back of the property. The place where his house stood is still vacant. I often go back there and think about how 26 years ago, I thought it was a vacant lot. Now it is.

It was not until I enrolled in a history course at the College of Staten Island in 1999 and purchased a required book, Made on Staten Island (by Charles L Sachs, Staten Island Historical Society), that I noticed an entire page dedicated to Geza Nagyvathy (1866-1951). Under the photograph, the inscription reads, “Geza Nagyvathy, ca. 1938. Courtesy of Rudolph Zoltan Nagyvathy (1899-1982).” Unfortunately, the book was published in 1988. Doc would have been honored to see his father’s work recognized in print and his name under his dad’s picture as being the photographer.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

John Edward Rossi, a Travis resident for 26 years, holds an M.F.A. in art and photography from Brooklyn College of CUNY. He is a New York City high school teacher on Staten Island and the founding photographer of the Art Lab School at the Snug Harbor Cultural Center. His work has been shown in museums and galleries. For the past 30 years he has been documenting Staten Island and Manhattan’s Little Italy through photography, with the goal of publishing a book on these areas.

BOOK REVIEW

Community, Continuity, and Change: New Perspectives on Staten Island History
edited by Michael Rosenfeld and Charles LaCerra. New York:

Pace University Press, 1999. 141 pp.

By Mary Elizabeth Brown

Staten Islanders’ interest in their history is wonderful, but also problematic. The more history Staten Island produces for itself, the more outsiders conclude Staten Island holds nothing for them, and this is not true. Staten Island’s history enriches other histories, as Community, Continuity, and Change shows.

This anthology’s articles were drawn from a Snug Harbor conference of the same title as the book. The conference program is reprinted in the appendix, and the introduction explains where to find material on conference papers not published here. The collection’s nine articles divide into three categories.

Two articles discuss ethnic diversity. Patricia Gloster-Coates’s article on the black church shows that diversity has deep roots on Staten Island. Richard B. Dickenson’s brief essay on New Brighton uses that community, which was patterned after its British namesake as a seaside resort, to show how an area develops a diverse population.

Charles LaCerra’s “Some Industries on Staten Island in the Nineteenth Century” also speaks to ethnic diversity, as different ethnic groups produced different goods, but is more properly categorized with two other articles on Staten Island topics of national importance. LaCerra’s Staten Island resembles Philadelphia’s suburbs, raising the question of the relationship between a big city and its outlying small towns. John J. Brennan’s sketch of Father Drumgoole of Mount Loretto contributes to the histories of American Catholicism, childhood, and social welfare. Geraldine Riley subtitled her study of Sailors’ Snug Harbor “A Microcosm of Turn of the Century New York,” but the events it describes, efforts to deny suffrage to the institution’s residents, bear comparison to Southern legislation excluding blacks from voting.

The largest category of essays is four on the image of Staten Island. Two document how time spent on Staten Island inspired later accomplishments. Howard R. Weiner describes Staten Island’s influence on Frederick Law Olmsted’s park designs. According to Diana Gosselin Nakeeb, three months on Staten Island stimulated Edwin Arlington Robinson to imagine the life and death of a resident of another island, Haiti, for his poem Toussaint L’Ouverture.

Two essays address Staten Island’s image directly. Charles L Sachs juxtaposes photographs from the Jan. 30, 1994, New York Times Sunday Magazine essay on Staten Islanders, with paintings, prints, and photographs that show a more complex and more positive view of Staten Island. Michael Rosenfeld’s article, “Staten Island Historians and the Arcadian Myth,” uses literary evidence to demonstrate that although Staten Islanders may think of the Verrazano Narrows Bridge as a kind of snake that entered their paradise to destroy it, Staten Island has been a complex community interacting with forces beyond the island since white settlers’ arrival.

Community, Continuity, and Change offers something for everyone. Residents will find brief, thought-provoking essays. Teachers will find material for local history lessons, adaptable to any age group. For historians, the book’s case studies lead naturally to questions of national importance.

This book is available for purchase at the Pace University Bookstore in Manhattan.

About the Reviewer

Mary Elizabeth Brown received her Ph.D. from Columbia University in 1987 and divides her time among writing on ethnic and religious history, teaching in area colleges, and processing archival collections for the Center for Migration Studies on Staten Island.

SIMPLE CHILDHOOD MEMORIES

By Arleen McNamara Brahn

According to the Staten Island Advance “Millennium Edition,” the first garbage scow arrived at Fresh Kills on April 16, 1948. Officials claimed the landfill would help “beautify” Staten Island. “Beautify” our island it did not, but change our Island dramatically it did.

My family moved to Travis in the summer of 1945. Our house was a large farmhouse built over 100 years before, with four acres of property, at 3920 Victory Boulevard. Later it became McNamara’s Picnic Grove. In 1947 the City bought a half acre of our dad’s property for the landfill project. The magnificent smell from the magnolias would greet you when you came up the driveway. All around the house were giant hollyhocks. The family consisted of my parents, Dot and Harold McNamara; my two brothers, Harold (aged 6), and Robert (5); me, Arleen (3); my grandfather, George McNamara; and Uncle Henry McNamara. We were joined shortly by Uncle Eddie and his two daughters, Lois (11) and Georgia (9 months), whom my parents raised as their own. That was five adults and five children: Three generations, with one bathroom and one outhouse. This is the story of our shared experiences.

The property was overgrown and the house needed work but soon we were the proud owners of a goat, sheep, pigs, geese, ducks, rabbits, turkeys, chickens, cats, dogs and a donkey named Cybil. In addition to our menagerie, the area was host to garter snakes, hawks, bats, owls, box turtles, rabbits, opossums, toads, all kinds of birds and my favorites, pheasants. They would walk right up to the house.

Soon we had swings, a slide and a seesaw. John Steckelman (Yonk), who made a living cutting and selling salt hay, which grew abundantly on Staten Island marshes, plowed our land and the gardening began. My mother planted a huge garden herself and tended to it daily. My grandfather and uncle had another garden. They grew tomatoes, peppers, cabbage, green beans, lettuce, eggplant, watermelon, white corn, carrots, sweet potatoes, peas and rhubarb. The vegetables were planted for our own use, but we did sell strawberries. Also, corn was planted to feed the chickens and animals.

Every meal included homegrown vegetables, and we ate lots of hearty soups, chicken and eggs. Mom’s pots were cast irc~n (they looked like cauldrons). They were too heavy for me to lift, but I dreamed of the day when I would be able to.

Occasionally we would get homemade kielbasa at Modzelewski’s on LeRoy Street and pizza at Patsy DeCicco’s Tavern on Victory Boulevard. Our desserts would often be applesauce, sliced peaches, or whatever berries were in season. We did not have a cow but we had the next best thing: The milkman. We drank a lot of Ovaltine in the winter and we sent for Little Orphan Annie Mugs. We were never allowed to have coffee or tea. Soda was only for special occasions.

Dad would purchase hundreds of chickens at a time and we sold eggs. I delivered eggs around town with my wagon. Jumbo eggs cost 85 cents a dozen - not much different from today. The eggs had to be candled (looked through with a light to check for blood spots which meant a chick was going to incubate in the egg), and then weighed to determine the size. The eggs were a family affair. I liked gathering them the best. When baby chicks were born in the winter, Mom would bring them in the house and place them in a box under the coal stove in the kitchen until they were big enough to go outside in the chicken coop. If the chicks came out of the box, one of the house cats would put them back in. This coal stove also heated the whole house, which was three stories. Needless to say, we had plenty of blankets on our beds.

Dad cleared the front lawn but could not get grass to grow on one patch. When we dug it up, there was a metal plate under which was a fieldstone-lined well. Dad built a well there and it was used during droughts and to water the gardens. I remember drinking from the well. It was the coldest, most wonderful-tasting water ever.

Blackberries, blueberries, elderberries and currents grew wild on our property and beyond. They were so plentiful that people from all over Travis would bring their pails and pick them. Dad and my grandfather planted many fruit trees and bushes including peach, apple, pear, apricot, raspberry, chestnut, cherry and pussywillow. My mom made the best pies from those tart cherries. Dad planted many willow trees also. We had a grape arbor with long benches. This was a cool place to sit in the summer. My mom cleaned fish there. Although the muscatel and concord grapes were plentiful, my family did not make wine. My grandfather planted flower gardens with the biggest flowers I have ever seen.

We raised our own turkeys, occasionally selling some. One Thanksgiving we had a 50-lb. turkey. It was too big to fit in the oven so my dad brought it to Gadomski’s Bakery to be roasted. This bakery was known for their rolls and jelly doughnuts, and on weekends people would be lined up outside.

Thanksgiving at our house included 35-40 people. We had a room big enough so we all could sit together and give thanks. My parents had a policy to invite someone in need or who was alone so we always had someone at the table we really didn’t know. When guests arrived, they would ask Mom what they could do to help. She very nicely told them to get out of the kitchen. She let me help and Uncle Henry would carve the turkey.

Once a turkey disappeared for a few weeks and when it came back it had three little ones walking behind it. I remember how happy we were when we saw this.

The geese roamed the property freely, actually acting as watchdogs. Most of our friends were afraid of them. Many times Mom missed the bus to work because they would follow her to the bus stop and she would have to bring them back home.

Our property was not fenced but our dogs never left the property. When they were in the house they only were allowed in the kitchen, and they never broke the rule. One exception was when my Uncle Henry died. The night of his wake, our dog Lucky went in the living room and sat on Uncle Henry’s favorite chair.

We couldn’t find the goat one day and we were searching all over. Then we heard “Naa, naa,” coming from the second-story window of the house. What a time Dad and Grandfather had getting the goat to come down the stairs!

My brothers, Bob and Harry, would go to the Bird Sanctuary on Travis Avenue (the back way, through the marshes). There was a spring there and they would bring home watercress. They would also go behind the future site of Sunset Bowling Lanes (which is now closed). My brother Harry describes it, “There were so many snapping turtles it looked like the bank was falling in.” They would sell the snapping turtles for 50 cents to the men who were building the Con Edison plant. In those days, construction men traveled all over the U.S. to find work. We would sit on the curb on Victory Boulevard and try to identify all the different license plates.

One summer my brothers worked hard clearing a field on our property to play baseball. They were disappointed when my dad planted grass there and they had to clear another spot.

When my brothers were older, they worked many summers on the nearby farms for 15 cents an hour.

My brothers, cousin Lois and I would walk to Signs Road. It was so cool in the woods and the brook there was so cold. We would fish and my brothers would bring home eels. Imagine today allowing four little kids to walk to Signs Road all by themselves. Back then we lived carefree. Also, everyone in Travis knew each other and looked out for each other. Ours was the house in the neighborhood where there was always enough food to go around if anyone dropped by. My brothers, cousins and I always had friends over and their parents always knew where to find their children.

We played a lot of Monopoly. We played War and another card game called Knuckles. I don’t remember the rules but the loser got “knucks,” which was a smack on the knuckles from the winner at the end of the game. Many times I was the one with sore knuckles but I was thrilled my brothers asked me to play. My brothers read comic books and the Hardy Boys’ Series. I read Nancy Drew books that were my mom’s when she was a child.

Travis had a baby parade, which I won when I was five years old. I wore the gown I had worn as a flower girl in a wedding. I think I won because the gown was so beautiful.

My mom scrubbed clothes on a board and hung them on the line to dry. In the winter the overalls would actually stand up by themselves because they were frozen. She made my clothes and some of hers from the chicken feedbags. The bags had pretty patterns and were 100 percent cotton. She even made slip-covers and curtains. She also crocheted beautiful doilies and tablecloths.

She cooked for ten people every day, baked, cleaned, tended her garden, cleaned fish, gathered eggs, helped with the animals and yard work and always had a house filled with neighbors and friends. Also, she worked part time at the A&P in Four Corners as a cashier for 29 years, retiring in 1982. Our neighbor, Jim Smith (his stepmother Mabel Scholes owned Scholes’ Hardware Store in Travis), always said my mom could have been a pioneer woman and I totally agree.

In 1955 Mom had twin girls, Susan and Diane. She continued to work and life was busier than ever. I was 13 when the twins were born. I thought it would be like having two dolls to play with, but it was a lot of work.

Dad was always hardworking, making repairs on the house and later adding two large rooms. The chicken coop and all the animals’ houses, sheds and fences needed constant repairs as well. He took care of the landscaping of the grounds and everything was so beautifully kept.

Dad was always taking pictures and 8mm movies. He was ahead of his time with color. He used food coloring and Q-Tips and would color photographs. They still look good today. He had all his 8mm movies put on videotapes.

The kids in town looked up to my dad and he loved to joke and talk with them. One day at school our third-grade teacher, Miss Cirbus, asked, “What famous person was born today?” It was March 15. My best friend, Lorry Winters, raised her hand and stated, “Mr. McNamara.” The teacher rephrased the question. “What other famous person was born today?” Actually it was Albert Einstein.

Dad worked as a self-employed painting contractor when we moved to Travis. When he disbanded his business, he worked as a manager for Montecatini Corporation in Manhattan until 1968. He worked as Director of Security at Wagner College until retiring in 1981. As busy as his life was, he always had time to help a neighbor or to visit anyone who stopped by. He was respected wherever he went.

The Christmas season was a wonderful time. My dad would decorate the whole house inside (including the bathroom) and out. He was the first in Travis to decorate the outside of the house. He would be up on the high peak of the house with my brothers not far behind. Mom and the rest of the family would be watching and worrying that someone would fall. Our Christmas tree was huge and my parents would go overboard with presents whether they could afford it or not. My dad had a sad childhood and I think he was always trying to make up for this in everything he did for us. There were many parties and good times, including New Year’s Eve.

Everyone had live trees back then. After Christmas, joined by all the neighborhood kids, we would gather all the trees in town and put them at the vacant end of our property. It took us several weeks. After collecting them all, we would set them on. fire. We all cheered and yelled when the trees were ignited. Sparks were flying. Everyone’s eyes were wide as we watched. What a bonfire there was!

A memory I am sure my brother Harold would like to forget was when one of the, rams butted him into the duck pond when he was cleaning it. When I was ten years old, one of the sheep gave birth to twins and I decided to raise one as my own. I named it Wooly and loved it so. I would walk it about town and everyone else loved Wooly, too. I would put my fingers deep into the lamb’s wool and rub the lanolin into my hair. It turned out that Wooly was a ram and once the horns came out, he was mean and nasty. I was heartbroken. A year or so later, as we finished eating dinner, my brother Bob announced, “Well, we just ate Wooly.” That’s a feeling I’ll never forget.

Another sad memory was when a lamb or pig was slaughtered. Mr. Kopsky was a Russian from Travis. He would drive a steel spike into the heart of the animal to kill it. The animals would scream. Mr. Kopsky would drink the blood and if he did not die, the meat was safe to eat.

We got our television set (a Dumont) in the early 1950s. There were a lot of Cowboy-and-Indian programs. Many times when you turned on the set, there was nothing on. When the shows went off for the day, the “Star-Spangled Banner” would play. My whole family would stand up.

We had baths on Saturday night. My mom would heat the water on the coal stove.

Our closest neighbor, Jim Simmons, would shoot rabbits, pheasants and ducks down by the marshlands. His wife, Kate, canned vegetables and fruits from their huge garden. Between hunting, fishing, crabbing, clamming and canning, they rarely shopped at a store. They had a well and an outhouse.

The winters seemed to be harsh back then. We had lots of snow. There were no weathermen predicting snow every five minutes as they do today. When we woke up and looked outside, it was a wonderful surprise to see nature’s miracle. Our driveway was 365 feet long so you know what we all did before playing.

When we had hurricanes, our backyard looked like an ocean. The willow trees had shallow roots so they would be uprooted in the storms. My dad, uncles and brothers would pull them back up using ropes, pulleys and a cut-down Model-A Ford which we called “the lemon.” Boats from the docks would come up to the ends of Burke and Shelley Avenues. After the waterways were filled in for the dump, this did not happen any more.

One day when my cousin Georgia was about six years old, she was pushing her doll carriage. A neighbor, Helen Still, asked to see her dolly. Mrs. Still went hysterical when she saw Georgia had a snake in her carriage.

One day Susan and Diane found an open can of blue paint in the garage. They had new outfits on. They painted each other, especially their arms and legs. We thought it was funny, but my mom was afraid they would get sick. She was right to be concerned. It was probably lead paint.

When the twins, Diane and Susan, were old enough, they took care of the rabbits. They were always multiplying. They had the biggest, healthiest-looking, beautiful rabbits.

Diane remembers the wild canaries that were so abundant. They would take off at the same time and the sky was a bright yellow. Susan was always nursing some animal or bird back to health and then returning it to nature. She had a pigeon she called “Amigo.” After letting him go, she would call him and he would come. She brought a cocoon in the house one time and put it in my mom’s sewing-machine drawer. Soon we had a houseful of praying mantises. We had a crow named Charlie and a Blue Jay named Jay that could not fly. They lived in the house until they died. My dad bought Susan and Diane ponies, Beauty and Jack, when they were older. I loved box turtles. It is sad to say that the only ones I have found recently have been injured (probably by cars). I nursed them back to health and took them to a reserve in New Jersey.

Steve Santo, a friend of the family, worked at ANSCO (General Aniline and Film Co.) in Linden, N.J. He would bring my mom samples of satin, which his company used to test dyes. Mom would make underwear and slips. When I was 12, Dad made me a dressing table and Mom made a skirt for it from the satin, which she dyed a dark, rich-looking green. I felt so glamorous when I sat at the dressing table.

Victory Boulevard was a dead-end street so few people ever came to Travis. Therefore, not many out-of-towners really knew the way of life here. We actually lived in paradise but did not realize it. The marshlands at the end of my father’s property and in Second Creek were so plush and green. The wild tiger lilies and Queen Anne’s lace were a sight to behold.

At Travis Avenue there was a manure dock where farmers from all over Staten Island would come to get manure for their farms. The next dock was Mohlenhoff’s dock. They were farmers and they had a sailboat. Simmons’ dock was next, where Jim Simmons kept his cabin cruiser. In Second Creek was the Rest Club where Travis residents docked their pleasure boats. Roberts’ dock was next. This was where all the kids went swimming. The last dock was Fanuzzi’s.

During the 1940s and 1950s my family would go fishing at Sandy Hook, N.J., with our family friend, Steve Santo, in his 32-foot cabin cruiser, the Spare Time. (Steve is listed in the Guinness Book of World Records for rowing to work every day from Travis to Linden, N.J. for so many years.) We would leave from the Rest Club, which had a furnished room and even a piano.

The route we would take to go fishing was from Second Creek to the Fresh Kills Creek, past the Richmond Creek end of Meadows Island, to the Kill Van Kull, to the Raritan Bay, to Sandy Hook.

These are some of the happiest memories I have. The fish were so plentiful, the icebox on the boat would be filled quickly. As soon as I put the bait on the hook and put it in the water, I would feel the nibble of a catch. We would catch bluefish, porgies, fluke, and occasionally blackfish, sea bass, blowfish, skate and once in a while a sea robin. I never went fishing in the winter, but mackerel and whiting were caught then. When we pulled into the dock, the neighborhood people were waiting with their pails. There was plenty of fish to go around.

Clamming was done from Lemon Creek off Prince’s Bay. Clams were plentiful. Crabbing was done out of the creek in the Kill Van Kull before the Raritan River (by the Outerbridge Crossing). Crabs also were abundant. On Saturday nights, Mom would place newspapers on a long table and friends and neighbors would come and eat crabs with us. At the end of the meal, we would roll up the newspapers: Minimal cleanup. Needless to say, we ate plenty of seafood.

Another popular swimming spot was a sandy inlet on the Kill Van Kull called the “Saw Mill.” Everyone in Travis swam here. It was along the right side of Cannon Avenue. You had to walk across the cinder runway of the Richmond County Airport to get there.

Yes, Travis did have its own airport. The planes would buzz the heads of the swimmers. The airport was a 93-acre site. It opened in December 1941. In March 1955 the airport was sold to Con Edison. When my husband, LeRoy Brahn, was seven years old, he was walking past the airport when Bob Tobacco (who had a flying school and a maintenance shop at the airport) called him to help hold a screw in the tail of a plane. LeRoy was small enough to fit through the inspection cover. Bob then gave him a little ride in the plane, up about 20 feet. My husband loved planes since that day. He earned his student’s license in 1955 when he was 16 years old. He was old enough to fly a plane but not drive a car.

When my brothers were teenagers, they would get cars from Alabama’s, a nearby junkyard, and race cars on the airport runway. They even raced Model A’s.

Paul Zindel, the award-winning author, lived in the house next to the airport with his mother, and sister Betty, for several years. Many characters in his books are based on people who lived in Travis.

My brothers, sisters, cousins and I attended P.S. 26. We walked to school, about a quarter mile, and came home for lunch every day. The school was built in 1880. The one teacher who stands out is Mrs. Clara Taylor. She rode her bike to school every day. If a student did not know his reading flash cards she would hit him on the knuckles with a ruler. I don’t know if it helped, but the kids in Travis were good readers! My brother Harold would bring bugs to school. My mom received a note from the fourth-grade teacher, Mrs. O’Rouke, stating, “Please empty Harold’s pockets before he leaves for school.” The girls had to make their own graduation dresses. For many years the children of P.S. 26 went to McNamara’s to see the farm animals on class trips and in later years for their school picnics.

We attended Sunday School and church at the Dickinson Methodist Church on Victory Boulevard. In 1866 the half acre of land that the church was built on cost $300. The church was completed in the fall of 1871 at the cost of $3,000. Travis was then known as Long Neck and Victory Boulevard was Richmond Turnpike. In 1962 I was married in this church. The church was sold to its present owner, the Staten Island Christian Church, in 1974. I am an active member, teaching Sunday School and Vacation Bible School.

Ed Tennyson (known affectionately as Snappy Ed, as he moved very slowly) had a penny candy store on Victory Boulevard and for ten cents you could get a lot of candy. Occasionally my dad would send us for a half gallon of ice cream. Ed Tennyson would pack it into the carton from a large container and we would have to run all the way home before it melted. My brothers and I would buy Lucky Strike cigarettes and Ivanhoe Chewing Tobacco for my grandfather and uncles without a problem, even though we were under ten years old.

The Oceanic Hook & Ladder Volunteer Fire Company was directly across from Tennyson’s. It was established in 1881 and I believe it is the oldest volunteer fire company on Staten Island. My husband, father, brother and three nephews are members.

My cousin Lois and I would ride our bikes to Schmul Park. We both had Schwinns. Mine was chartreuse and pea green. In 1938 Louis Schmul and his wife donated the eight-and-a-half acres of property to the City. The Schmuls did not have children of their own so they made this donation to be a park for the children of Travis. Years ago, the park was open from 9:00 A.M. to 10:00 P.M. After dark floodlights lit the whole park. At closing each evening, the park director would play “Taps” on the bugle and all in the park would stand at attention as the flag was lowered. I coordinated the 50th anniversary celebration of Schmul Park in 1988. It was attended by approximately 500 people in spite of poor weather.

Sometimes Lois and I would go to Shorty’s (Filipowicz), sit at the counter and have a black and white ice cream soda or a malted.

Travis residents are very patriotic and the Fourth of July Committee hosts a large parade every year. Everyone has barbecues and houses are decorated for the occasion. There is a House Decorating Contest. In years past, dances were held at the park. The parade tradition began in 1911. I believe it is one of the oldest Fourth of July parades in the U.S. We would decorate our bikes and ride them in the parade. My cousin Lois won the bike decorating contest one year. I chaired the Fourth of July Committee for ten years. My parents were Grand Marshals in 1986 and I was Grand Marshal in 1989. My parents’ Fourth of July picnics would be attended by several hundred people, complete with live music, many times Gene Edkins and his Western Band.

During the summer my brothers Harry and Bob lived day in and day out in the woods. Bob describes their huts:

We built huts on the borders of our property and later further in the woods. We had huts that were two stories, some with partial basements, some completely underground and some in trees. Many summers we did not even sleep at home for one night. We used two-Inch thick ropes from the barges and made swings in the trees. We built our own rowboats. A friend our age, Joey Franczak, taught us how to build the boats. His grandfather had taught him. Most hot afternoons, we were swimming off Roberts’ dock or fishing. It was a wonderful life.

Of course, nothing is perfect. One day my brother Bob fell out of a tree in the woods. He was unconscious and my brother Harold carried him home. Word traveled fast in Travis. I think half the people from the town were there watching when the ambulance took him to the hospital. I will always remember how white, white his face was and the blood running from his ear was so red. He had a serious concussion but in six weeks he was back to climbing trees.

We did get bad cases of poison ivy, poison oak and poison sumac but we were really pretty healthy. I don’t know if the Scott’s Emulsion (cod liver oil) Mom gave us in the spring and fall as a tonic helped. My brother Harold loved it, but Mom had to chase the rest of us around the house to get us to take it.

Back in 1873 the American Linoleum Factory opened and the town was renamed Linoleumville. As many as 800 people worked there. It closed in 1931. My husband grew up on Wild Avenue in one of the houses built for the factory workers.

During 1960 the movie Splendor In The Grass was filmed on location in Travis. Mr. and Mrs. Nicholas Blanchard’s home on Victory Boulevard was picked for its resemblance to a Kansas house of the 1920s. The film starred Natalie Wood and Warren Beatty. Robert Wagner and Joan Collins were also there. I was working in Manhattan and each night I would rush home to go stand on the Burying Hill (Sylvan Cemetery) to watch the shooting of the film. I remember the repetition: Warren Beatty had to run down the stairs and jump into a convertible over and over. The whole town was there. Luckily they were still there on the weekend so I was able to get close and take pictures. All the celebrities were very friendly.

During the 1950s, Dad converted the chicken coop into a party room/dance hail. This was the setting for many worthwhile organizations to hold a fund-raiser or celebration. My brothers, my sister and I had our wedding receptions there. My dad was a member of the Masons and in the early 1 960s they were looking for a place to have a picnic. Dad offered our place. This was the beginning of McNamara’s Picnic Grove. It became a landmark to Staten Islanders, a place to go and enjoy themselves. People remember the horseshoe contests, tug-of-war, egg-toss contests, and, of course, the clam chowder, clam fritters and all the beer or ice-cold birch beer you could drink. There was always music. A lot of politicking and shaking of hands by the dignitaries running for local office took place there. The town kids would sneak in the back way and enjoy themselves the whole day for free. A photographer would take a panorama group picture of everyone at the picnic. As he was scanning the first half of the group, people would run around to the other side and they would appear twice in the same photo!

There were plenty of mosquitoes. Trucks spraying DDT would go up and down the streets and all through the picnic grounds. Children, my sisters included, would run behind in the mist. How unhealthy for people and wildlife!

Over the years Dot and Harold McNamara received plaques and recognition from United Cerebral Palsy, Girl Scouts, Muscular Dystrophy, Travis Fourth of July Committee, Oceanic Hook & Ladder Company #1, P.S. 26, The Washington Citizens’ Club, Gold Star American Legion Post, Veterans of Foreign Wars, Royal Order of the Cooties, The Royal Arcanum, all Richmond District Lodges of Free and Accepted Masons, Tall Cedars of Lebanon, Richmond District Order of the Eastern Star, St. George Association and others. In 1982 Congressman Guy Molinari presented my parents with a flag that flew over the White House.

My parents sold the property in 1986. When we had yard sales after the house was sold, many people wanted something (like a clam knife, ladle or a pot) with the McNamara name etched on it for a remembrance. Twenty-six houses were supposed to be built there. In 1987 the real estate market boomed and the buyers resold the property for a much larger sum. The house was demolished and 86 townhouses were built there.

Dot and Harold McNamara reside at Leisure Knoll in Lakehurst, N.J. Four of their children, Harold McNamara, Robert McNamara, Arleen Brahn and Diane Mazza, still live in Travis. One daughter, Susan Alvarez, lives in Westerleigh. My cousins Lois Graber and Georgia Beato reside in Florida.

When my siblings and I attended Port Richmond High School, we were teased because we lived in Travis. If we were late, kids and teachers would say, “The Travis stagecoach broke down.” Well, I wouldn’t trade the simple way I grew up, never knowing what experience each day would bring, whether a seed I planted would grow into a beautiful flower, a baby lamb would be born, an animal would die or we would go fishing, for anything.

The Staten Island Institute of Arts and Sciences called the exhibit they did on Travis in January 1995 Travis, Small Town U.S.A. I agree.

It is sad the landfill changed our whole way of life. The wildlife is gone, the waterways and marshes are filled in, and of course the crabbing, clamming and fishing are gone with them.

About the Author

Arleen McNamara Brahn, a native Staten Islander residing in Travis, continues to be involved in community events and activities. She has been married to LeRoy Brahn for almost 38 years. She is the mother of two daughters, Darleen Schweitzer and Tammy Brahn, and the grandmother of Katherine Schweitzer (aged 12) and Daniel Schweitzer (aged 2). For the past nine years she has been employed as a secretary for Fairview Cemetery. She currently serves as Trustee for the North Shore Cemetery Association and the Staten Island Christian Church.

Staten Island Historian

Claire Regan, Editor

John B. Woodall, Editor Emeritus

Nick Dowen, Editorial Assistant

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STATEN ISLAND HISTORICAL SOCIETY

441 Clarke Ave., SI., N.Y. 10306

Telephone: (718) 351-1611 Fax: (718) 351-6057

Officers and Directors

President: James R. Coyle

First Vice President: Laura Patrick

Vice President: Jack Furnari

Treasurer: James P. McCabe

Assistant Treasurer: Margaret Robinson

Secretary: Margaret Galligan

Assistant Secretary: Claire Regan

Anthony N. Correra, Aurelia Curtis, Angela Curty, Arthur W. Decker, Donna Donnelly, Mark Irving, Katherine Kaye,

Brien Kelley, Marianne LaBarbera, Michael F. Manzulli, Kevin Mahoney, William Russonello, Francis H. Watson

Executive Director: Barnett Shepherd

Staff

Chief Curator: Maxine Friedman

Director of Education: Judith McMillen

Supervisor of Restoration: William McMillen

ENDOWED FUNDS

The Staten Island Historical Society encourages the establishment of named endowment funds. Funds may be created to support many different programs of the Society or may be established for unrestricted use. The funds appear permanently on the books of the Historical Society in recognition of their ongoing support of the work of the Society. Named endowment funds are established for a gift of $10,000 or more, and once they have been established, additions may be made at any time. The following endowed funds currently support the Society’s work: William T. Davis Fund, John A. Borrin Fund, David L. Decker Fund, Alma Timolat Stanley Fund, Kathryne Marie and Edward Prehn Publication Fund, Elmer Donald Hood Fund, James A. and Eileen F. Carr Fund, and Vincent Astor Fund. Temporarily restricted funds include: Nettle Borrin Fund, Christopher House Fund, Roland Fountain Fund, Elizabeth Perine Johnson Fund, Marjorie G Kerr Fund, Lois Ohning Fund and John Frederick Smith Publication Fund.

BARNETT SHEPHERD RETIRING

Barnett Shepherd is retiring as Executive Director of the Staten Island Historical Society, effective August 1, 2000, having served in this capacity since September 1981.

Many of us have come to know Barnett as a dedicated, intelligent and caring man. His lively and genuine concern for Staten Island’s jewel, Historic Richmond Town, is more than admirable. Daily he displays patience, understanding and an astute knowledge of art and history. By his many accomplishments and writings, we are aware of the importance of our shared history and culture. We are the beneficiaries of his life’s work.

Barnett has become our historian. He has overseen numerous projects necessary to improve and protect the many treasures here in the village. He displays exemplary leadership and friendship to the community at large and beyond.

Barnett has in the course of his work made many friends for Historic Richmond Town. We have seen a steady flow of city-funded capital improvements and a dramatic increase in individual, corporate and other private support. This has also been a time of consolidation because of cutbacks in general operating support from city, state and federal sources.

A Staten Island resident since 1972, Barnett will continue to live on Staten Island and be involved in Historic Richmond Town and other public causes. “Historic preservation today is more important than ever", he says.

Carol Berardi, James R. Coyle and Margaret Robinson contributed to this article.

Historic Richmond Town is a joint project of the Staten Island Historical Society and the City of New York, which supports part of its operations with public funds through the Department of Cultural Affairs. The Society also receives support from the New York State Department of Education, the New York State Council on the Arts, the Office of the Borough President, corporations, foundations, and individuals.