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The Marlowes and Deals


The Marlowes

Here is some of what I know about Marlowe history. Much of the story of Great-Grandpa Marlowe and his family is a rehash of a story I found in my father’s papers when I was young, written by one of his elderly cousins.

http://www.marlowtown.co.uk/marlhist.html

The name Marlow is English and indicates a location.  It literally means “what is left after the draining of a pond or lake” so people with the name Marlow lived in or near a drained pond or lake.   Many Marlows (and all derivations of the name) can trace their ancestries back to Marlow, Buckinghamshire, England.  In case you are wondering who you might be related to, derivations of Marlow include Marley, Marlowe, Marlo, Marloe, Merlau, Marle, Morley, Merlaue, Marlough, Marloughs, Marloughe, Marloughes, and Merlawe.

The following excerpts were taken from the out-of-print book ‘Marlow Family History’ by Dorothy Roane (1962, reprinted 1965, 1980, 1996)

Because of finding sharks teeth, tusks, and teeth of mammoth elephants and parts of wooly rhinoceros and dinosaur, it is believed that many years ago Marlow, England was submerged under water.  Also found in the Marlow area are flints and tools from the Stone Age, a Belgic urn, and spearheads dropped in the Thames in the Bronze Age, articles from the Iron Age, and coins from the Romans left in local waters. 

The Saxons came and drained the ‘mere’ (according to Webster’s Dictionary, “a sea, lake, or pond) and named the place “Merlaw”.  In Anglo-Saxon language this means, “What is left after draining a mere.” 

There is both a Great Marlow, which once contained about 1800 acres and to the east of this, Little Marlow, which had 1600 acres.  This land changed hands many times and at one time Edward the Confessor’s Queen owned Little Marlow and William of Normandy gave Great Marlow to his wife, Matilda.  The Knights of Templars are credited with laying out the foundations of the town and bridging the river with the first of three famous spans it has had. 

The story I remember is that John Wesley came to Marlow, England, and convinced some followers to come with him to Ireland in the 1700s, and that is how the Marlow’s came to leave England for Ireland.

John Wesley had an experience in which his “heart was strangely warmed.” After this spiritual conversion, which centered on the realization of salvation by faith in Christ alone, he devoted his life to evangelism. Beginning in 1739 he established Methodist societies throughout the country. He traveled and preached constantly, especially in the London-Bristol-Newcastle triangle, with frequent forays into Wales, Ireland, and Scotland. He encountered much opposition and persecution, which later subsided.~ http://www.ccel.org/w/wesley/ 

My Great-Grandfather, George Washington Marlowe, Jr. was born in 1814 in Dublin, Ireland to George Marlow and Catherine Smith. He married Jane Kennedy, who was born in Ireland on March 17, 1833. They had fourteen children altogether, three died in infancy. Mary was the only child born in Ireland in 1848. Then came Catherine, Theresa, Anna, Margaret, George, Agnes, Esther, Thomas (my Grandfather), Elizabeth and Charles.

greatgrampa marlowe

The legend is that Great-Grandpa Marlowe was a Freedom Fighter in Ireland, and one day he was making a soap box speech and was approached by friends who told him that the British Bobby’s were looking for him with an order for his arrest. Handing him a ticket, they told him to hasten to Liverpool and take the ship shortly to leave for America, which he did. They said they would send Jane and the baby she was carrying when he had found a place for them.

Jane, who was nineteen years younger than he was, joined him with baby Mary one year later, sailing on the Camillus from Liverpool on April 17, 1849. They settled in New York City, and lived there for fourteen years when they moved to Louisville, KY, and then Cincinnati, OH, and finally Chicago where they made their home for many years with some of their children joining them.  

Here is the record from Jane coming to America in 1849 from the Ship Camillus’ manifest. I didn’t realize before that she was only eighteen and a mother of an infant when she arrived:

Name: Jane Marlow
Year: 1849
Age: 18
Estimated Birth Year: abt 1831
Place: New York, New York
Family Members: Child Mary
Source Publication Code: 2597.51.1
Primary Immigrant: Marlow, Jane
Source Bibliography: GLAZIER, IRA A. AND MICHAEL TEPPER. The Famine Immigrants: Lists of Irish Immigrants Arriving at the Port of New York, 1846-1951. Vol. IV (April 1849-September 1849). Baltimore: Genealogical Publishing Co., 1984. pp. 1-200.
Page: 70
Embarkation: Liverpool
Ship: Camillus
Occupation: workman/woman
Passengers: 222
Native Country: Ireland
Destination: USA
Arrival Date: 17 Apr 1849

Great Grandpa was inventor, and constructed the Locomotive Headlight. He also perfected the Marlowe Smoke Consumer, which was first used in the North Side Roller Mills in Chicago.

Their daughter Catherine (called Katie) was so beautiful, men used to follow her on the street for another look at her. Of all the men seeking her hand, she fell for a Jewish man. As it was the mid-1800’s, and mixed marriages were not common or generally accepted, George and Jane naturally objected. She married him anyway, and they moved to Portland, Oregon. They lived happily, until one day Jane received a letter that Katie was very ill with inflammation of the bowels. Then, further word came that she was much improved; but then another letter came stating that she took a change for the worse and died. I have discussed with others what they think caused this, and present conjecture is that it was a ruptured appendix. A Sister in the hospital in Oregon wrote to Jane to say Katie was well prepared to die, and had a beautiful, peaceful death.

Margaret was the fourth child of Jane and George. She never married, and lived into her eighties. She was a darling, and when she laughed, everyone laughed. She took care of her father the last two years of his life when he was bedridden because of a broken hip sustained when he was ninety.

Charles, or Charlie as he was called, drowned in the Columbia River at Bonner’s Ferry in 1893. He was working as a surveyor, and was on a train which was stuck due to trouble, so Charlie and another young man rented a canoe and went down the treacherous river with its swift currents. The canoe became caught in one and overturned. Charlie was a very good swimmer, and the folks on the shore were not worried about him, they were worried about the other fellow, who was holding onto the capsized boat. However, when Charlie reached shore he was quickly drawn down by the quicksand, and his body wasn’t found until three months later. Of course, by then his body couldn’t be shipped home. The Indians there buried him and put a white fence around his grave. Mary and her husband Charlie Carson were living in Spokane at the time. Charlie Carson went to Bonner’s Ferry to see the Indians bury Charlie Marlowe.

My father’s cousin remembered that Great-Grandma as a wonderful person and quite religious. She was going from her kitchen to the dining room and between the parlor and back parlor and she saw her son Charlie who said to her but one word, “Mother.” It was at the exact time that he died.

Jane Kennedy was the daughter of a Spanish Princess, Mary Ann Carlos (or Costello, or Castillo). While at finishing school in Paris, the Princess became fond of a young lady named Kennedy. When they had social affairs, Miss Kennedy’s brother would attend and he and the Princess fell in love. Mary Ann returned home to give her parents the news, but they informed her that she had a pre-arranged marriage to a nobleman. So, she and her lady-in-waiting plotted an escape. They made a green ensemble. The dress and the coat were both trimmed with buttons and each was a gold piece covered with material. There was also a large belt, and sewn within she carried jewelry. The Princess and her lady-in-waiting left home one night and went to the seaport where they took a ship to Liverpool. She married her Kennedy lover, and was disowned by her family for marrying a commoner. He was disowned by his wealthy coach maker family because he married a Catholic, and they were poor but happy.

Great Grandpa Marlowe always stood erect and carried a cane, as most gentlemen did in his day. In winter he wore a black coat with a cape and in the pocket he always carried a bag of horehound candy which he thought best for children.  His long white hair curled on his shoulders and his beard covered his chest. At the age of sixty-five, he vowed never to cut his hair until the land he loved, Ireland, was free.

He was the perfect image of Santa Claus. One year he was asked by Marshall Fields of Chicago to act as their Santa. While doing so, he was approached by a gentleman from Hyde Park, then a fashionable part of Chicago, who asked him to come to his home early Christmas morning. The man sent his carriage with a team of matched horses for George, and ‘St. Nicholas’ gave them a real treat.

George was a wise man. His advice included, “Never cover your forehead with your hair. Your forehead is the sign of your intelligence.”, “Never let anyone convince you that the works known as Shakespeare were written by anyone other than Christopher Marlowe. I know. I am a Marlowe, and it’s a family tradition.”  He said that Christopher was an atheist and was banned from England and in his exile kept writing and sending back his works to a friend in England for publication. Perhaps it was under the name of Shakespeare or to a man named Shakespeare.

He sang opera with Emma Abbott and Jenny Lind, and often in concerts for charitable purposes. At sixty-five, he was tenor soloist at St. Columkills Church in Chicago and people from all parts of the city went to hear him. He loved Abraham Lincoln, and made speeches throughout Indiana for Abe for President.  When Lincoln was assassinated, George draped his home in black.

They moved to Seattle, Washington in 1901, where his son George Jr. became Second Assistant Chief of the Seattle Fire Department. Great Grandpa and Great Grandma Marlowe were married for almost sixty years, until he died in 1907 at the age of ninety-two.

George said he wanted to live as long as anyone else lived. Up until his death, he retained use of all his facilities, and sang until the last, never forgetting an aria or the words to any opera or song.

Jane, who was much younger than he, lived another five years after his death, dying in 1912 at the age of seventy-nine.

Their son, Thomas John Marlowe, met Bertha Werhle at the Columbian Exposition in 1892. The Exposition was The Worlds Fair. They must have met at the dedication ceremonies on October 21, 1892 (in 1893 it opened to the public). http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/World’s_Columbian_Exposition

They married, and moved to Newark, New Jersey, where Bertha’s family lived. They raised six children. Adele was born on December 24, 1897; Katharyn was born in 1905 and died after marrying and giving birth. The story is that she passed away due to complications from anesthesia in the dentist’s chair (don’t forget, things were much different then).  After Katharyn came Bertha, who was born on August 2, 1907; Elizabeth who was born on May 2, 1911; my father Thomas John Jr., who was born on January 18, 1914; and the baby of the family, Frances, born on August 27, 1916. There were two other boys who were born and died in infancy, and both were named Thomas John Marlowe, Jr. That is how they did it back then. They kept naming the Junior until my Dad came along and lived.

Grandpa had only one arm. The story I heard from my brother Kit who got the scoop straight from our Old Man is that Grandpa tried to catch a train by reaching out for it and lost his arm. He was a hunter in his youth, hunting Grizzly Bear.  I heard about his hunting prowess over and over when I was young, and when we went to the Natural Museum of History, I always thought the Taxidermied Bear was the one he killed, and now it would get me!  He love alcohol and carousing (I’m not sugar-coating this), and Grandma Marlowe was left to rear the children. Look at the attached photograph and you will see the difference in their lifestyles. She was just fifty-two in this picture, and he was fifty-eight, but she looks much older than he does!  That is because she bore the brunt of most of the responsibility of raising their children.

Grandma, Grandpa & the Kids, circa 1926

One day during the Great Depression, a hobo came to their door asking for money. Grandma said she didn’t have any money to spare, but she gave him $10.00 to go to the store for her and get a sack of flour. She said when he came back and brought the flour and the change, she would feed him dinner. When Grandpa came home, he was livid.  How could she be so stupid to give a bum $10.00?  The hobo came back, though, and brought both the flour and Grandma’s change, and she fed him a good dinner.

Thomas Marlowe, Sr. died from complications due to alcoholism on October 18, 1939 at the age of seventy-two. Bertha Wehrle Marlowe died in 1963 from Breast Cancer.

Thomas Marlowe, Jr. graduated from Newark Engineering School in 1936, and got married to a woman named Marie.  They had twin daughters, Barbara and Patricia, on November 12, 1938.  Eventually, Thomas and Marie divorced. Thomas started his own engineering firm in New York City. He was a thirty-three year old divorced Catholic when he met her.

My mother, Elaine Marie Kall, was eleven years younger than Daddy. She was born in 1924 in Rockford City, Illinois to Gustav and Ethel Kall. She had a brother, Ralph, who was eleven years older than she was (the same age as my father; I never thought about that before). She had a privileged life, monetarily speaking, but she did not receive love and affection from her parents who were much older than she.

She attended Purdue University in Indiana from 1942 to 1946, and many men fell in love with her, and she was engaged many times. Her major was Communications. Upon graduating, she moved to New York City and got a job with the phone company. One day, her roommate asked her to chaperone a first date she was going on. My mother said she would, and off they went in the taxi to meet the man. The man couldn’t stop talking to my mother, or take his eyes off of her.  When they were leaving the restaurant, the man asked her if she would go on a date with him. She felt the connection, too, and said yes. Of course, the man was my father.

daddy and gmaMOMMY GRADUATES

She was a mid-western twenty-two year old Lutheran, and he was a thirty-three year old divorced Catholic. Her parents were very unhappy about the union, and when they married in May of 1947, the Kalls did not attend.

Thomas John Marlowe, Jr. (they chose ‘Jr.’ instead of ‘III’), Tommy was born on December 1, 1947, and was doted on by parents and grandparents alike. Two years later, Charles, or Chuck as he is called, was born on June 9, 1949. Following closely behind was Christopher, Kit, born December 2, 1951; then Michael Francis was born on Leap Year, February 29, 1952.  The first girl in the family was Elaine, who was born on February 28, 1953.  She was spoiled by parents and brothers, and they nicknamed her “Sissy”, because she was their only sister. That lasted for a few more years, and James Joseph, Jimmy, was born on July 7, 1954. On December 11, 1955, Elaine was no longer the only girl, because Mary Christina, Tina, came into the world.marlowe family

In 1957, Kathleen was born, but she was only with us for a short while, dying of SIDS (though they didn’t know what that was at the time) at three months old. Michael was five-years old, and he is the one that found her. It was a heartbreaking time for the whole family, and stuck with our family as part of our dynamic to this day. After Kathleen came Kevin Ian, born on May 7, 1959, and I followed exactly one year later, born on May 7, 1960. The last child, our lovely Karen Adele, was born on May 22, 1962, and our happy little family was complete.

Deals

The first and best deal I almost brokered was a scam, of sorts. Since I was five-years old at the time, I was incapable of knowing it was a scam, although I did know that it was not the entire truth.

I was walking home from kindergarten, when I happened on a woman in her driveway with a preschooler. She asked if I attended South Mountain Elementary School, and when I said I did, she told me that her child was going to be in kindergarten himself the very next year. “Well”, said I, “Isn’t that something?  I have been picked to be the person who shows the new kids and their moms around the school, so they can get an idea of what it’s like.” “Really, is that so?” replied the mom, skeptically. “Why yes”, I exclaimed, and added with a sly child’s greed, “and it will only cost you a quarter.”

A quarter was the going rate for all of our well-intentioned, spontaneously way-laid plans.  Fifteen cents was okay, and you could buy some candy, or maybe a comic book with it, but with a quarter?  You could do all sorts of things.  If you were down the shore, a quarter got you five pinball games (with a chance for a free game if you rolled the score over one hundred thousand, or if you “popped” a game by matching the last two numbers to the ones that came up for you).  Anywhere you were, you could buy ice cream and candy, candy and a soda, or two comic books with a nickel left over for candy!

When we had been friends for a couple of years (I believe we were nine or ten), Ginny and I made a potholder on a potholder loom.  Then we took our ‘sample’, and walked around the neighborhood, collecting quarters from our neighbors, with the promise of making them potholders, in colors they requested.  We firmly planned to do this.  That is, until we had the quarters.  Then, we were too busy eating ice cream and candy, drinking soda, and reading comic books to make a bunch of potholders.  We were very good at closing the deal, but there was no follow through.

But that day when I was five, and standing in the woman’s driveway with her and her child, she had the upper hand.  Oh, she was a shrewd woman!  She agreed to give me the quarter when she came to school with her son, if I was there to give them the tour.  She said she’d look for me.  There was no reaping of ill-gotten gains that day, but what a scam it would have been!  I almost pulled the wool over her eyes, almost had her right where I wanted her; asking the principal where the kindergartner she had paid to be her guide was.

I didn’t learn from my childhood fiascoes, though. Twice I was the worst Avon lady that ever existed. The first time, when I was seventeen, I actually took orders, but I never placed them. Then again, when I was much older, I thought I could make some money to get on my feet.  I paid for samples and everything I needed. That was the extent of that stint as an Avon lady, no doorbells rung, no orders taken, no money collected. Once, I went with a zealous friend to an Amway seminar, but decided to leave before the head spinning.  No, selling is not for me.

I see the successful salesperson; I have worked for successful salesperson. I envy their drive, ambition, and secure demeanor. I do not possess any of those things. One other important issue for me is this:  I could not sell something unless I wholeheartedly believed in it. When I worked for a certain diner in town in the early eighties, I was not enthused by the preparation of the food or the cleanliness of the kitchen. When a customer asked one day what was good, I replied, “If you walk up the street, to the right is the Town Hall…” I quit the diner that day.

No, selling is not for me.  Oh, but the deal!

NOTE:

Another unrealized post? Too many unfinished thoughts? Too bad. I’m kidding…I think. As most of you know, I was laid-off in April, and I am hoping to get my writing  juju back. Possibly it will be spurred by ennui!

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Mommy and ALS


I wrote this in 2011, but I guess I never posted it on this blog! I wanted to publish it now, so that you all could get a feel of what it’s like to live with ALS, as a patient, and as a loved one of a patient.

My mother Elaine was born on October 2, 1924 in Rockford, Illinois. She was a fabulous beauty with many suitors, and a few fiancés, but of course, life intervened and she made it through college to move to New York City, where she met my father, married, and had eleven children, one of whom died of SIDS at three months old.  She was an actress, lecturer in her church, politically active, and a Children’s Librarian for many years at local library.

One day in 1980, she started feeling a sore throat.  It bothered her, but she was not one to run to the doctor’s office.  She kept saying that she would go if she didn’t start to feel better soon.  She said that for a month.  Finally, she realized the sore throat was not going away, and she went to the doctor, who sent her for tests, and she found out she had Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis or ALS for short, or as it is commonly known, Lou Gehrig’s disease:

“Henry LouisLouGehrig (June 19, 1903 – June 2, 1941).  Gehrig is chiefly remembered for his prowess as a hitter, his consecutive games-played record and its subsequent longevity, and the pathos of his farewell from baseball at age 36, when he was stricken with a fatal neurological disease.”~Wikipedia

I must admit, when I found out, I moved within months to California.  I was twenty-one years old and subconsciously but selfishly knew that I could not watch the events unfold.  I could not lose my mother.

During the next year, Mommy struggled to live each day, but she continued to work in the South Orange Public Library as a Children’s Librarian.  She lost her voice completely, lost use of her legs and had difficulty using her arms and hands.  She was confined to a wheelchair, and had no real form of communication except her eyes and guttural sounds.  This was causing intense depression for her, as she was a Communications Major, Actress, Writer, Librarian.  Before she could no longer write, she was keeping a journal of her feelings about the onset of this disease.  One day I read in her journal how hard it was to lose one’s voice, of all things, when your life is built around communicating.  It was heartbreaking.

The children of the library to the rescue!  They held a benefit to raise money to buy a newly designed computer for my mother to use at the library.  She could type into the computer, and it would speak for her!  This was quite a miracle in 1981, and it meant she could continue working with the kids, whom she loved so well, and who loved her as much or more.elainek_library_als_1980selainek_solibrary_atthecomputer_1980s

I moved back to South Orange, as my big sister Tina had written me to advise that Karen could not bear the brunt of the caretaking alone.  My father was eleven years older than my mother, and crippled by intense love and a pre-sense of loss.  My brother Kevin helped of course, but Karen really was the primary caregiver for my mother.  The other brothers and sisters were older, with young families of their own, and limited time to offer assistance.  So, I returned.

The disease continued to take its toll rapidly, and my mother continued to fight back. She just would not give up on the quality of life.  She wanted to wear what she thought were her finest dresses (she would be so mad if I tried to choose what she should wear, she was sick, not daft!), all the food she always ate such as steak and pizza, albeit pulverized, and of course, her Five-O’clock Cocktails.  We would make blender drinks, and she would have her cocktails through a straw.  She was happiest when her fragmenting world showed signs of normalcy.

She insisted on going places.  The shopping outlets, plays, out to dinner.  She didn’t want to be a shut-in.  There were many people back then who had a problem with a dying woman in a wheelchair enjoying life.  I don’t know how much that has changed, but I pray our world is wiser, and we realize that we may very well wheel that chair one day!  Also, wheelchair accessibility in the early eighties was so limited.  We would show up somewhere, and find we could not continue with our plans due to narrow aisles or no elevators.  There were days we were so happy to have just a little more time together.  There were days we ended up so disheartened by an unmoving world in our wildly changing lives.

A woman wrote to Mommy and said, “I don’t know how you do it.  I saw you at church, and you are so brave.  I have just found out I have ALS, and I am really scared.”  This woman was embarrassed, as the world wanted the dying to be.  She locked herself away and ate baby food, and was gone in six months.  I have finally learned, from this experience and others like it, that no matter what the world throws at you, you have to fight.  Even if you don’t win the war, the battles won make you a champion!

As the disease progressed, and the caretaking became more difficult, my mother’s and my depression worsened.  I am highly ashamed to admit that I felt the need to confess all my life’s sins to my mother.  Why?  I cannot explain it.  Somehow I felt she needed to know.  I wished the moment after, and forever since that I did not do that.  The hurt on her face was clearly readable.  There was complete communication coming from her eyes.  I had cut her deeply.  I could not take it back, but I wish I could have said, “Only kidding.”

After that, I left for California again.  I was selfishly immature for a twenty-three year old.  I went back to Cambria, California, and worked as a prep-cook in a local restaurant, and cocktail-waitressed, and sometimes bartended in the big Saloon.  I lived in an apartment above the saloon without a phone.  On the morning of June 25, 1983, my boss from the restaurant came knocking on my apartment door, and calling my name, waking me up.  Did I think, “What is she doing here?  She never comes here.”  No, I knew.  I started crying immediately.  I went outside and placed a collect call to my sister Karen, who confirmed it.  Mommy was gone.

I tried to work and act like it was no big deal.  I made it through the first night, but the next day I broke down on the restaurant’s kitchen floor.  I had no money to return for the wake or funeral, and so I remained in my little apartment above the bar, getting drunk and crying over the pictures of and letters from my Mom.  I stayed there for a week.  Part of my heart stayed there forever.  It was the first time I experienced such true life-altering loss, and I had removed myself from the epicenter of support.  You would have thought that would have been a lesson learned.  Of course, it wasn’t.  The lessons I should have learned from this eluded me for many years.

I heard the Funeral was big. There were police escorts.  Everyone loved my mother so.  I still hear from so many people how much she meant to them, to their parents, to their children.   I am so proud to say that Elaine Marie Kall Marlowe was my mother.  I just wish she could see I am finally learning the lessons she tried to teach through her words, and when there were no words, through her actions.