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three children. She held the family together through the crash of twenty-nine when her husband Will lost all his investments after selling a very successful Electrical Supply Store.

      With the depression that followed her maternal role not only to her family, but to many who needed extra care as they lay dying from some terrible disease, most often, tuberculosis, Addie May was there to serve their basic needs and speak encouraging words as she did for others what they could not do for themselves. And she did so even when she herself was in sorrow. She survived the death of her younger sister, who graduated from Potsdam Normal School, her second child Florence, both parents, her husband and two of her grandsons.

      What made this woman so unbelievably strong that she could carry on while hiding her own sorrow yet support others around her who were falling apart? Always, she was smiling, practical, level-headed, at times demanding, but most of all, kind. What did she possess that allowed her to suffer in silence at her own pain and sorrow while at the same time carrying the burdens of others? This remarkable lady had the stuff few of us have, much less comprehend, and she had it in great abundance. This is the story of her life as I came to know it. The purpose for this story is twofold. First it’s for those who find themselves overwhelmed with the pitfalls of disaster. No matter how bad things are, there is always hope. Tomorrow will ease the sorrow and disappointment. The following tomorrow will continue to ease your soul. Never, never give up. The second is to inspire the readers to remember your roots. Take the time to learn all you can about your parents, your grandparents, your great-grandparents. All of them made you. Learn all you can about them, good or bad. Even if your family history doesn’t interest you, your children or their children may very well want this information. Create a stack of your memories on three-by-five cards, one or two sentences at a time. You’ll learn where you came from and in this way set a path toward where you’re going. No matter the bitter circumstances of your life, your situation can always be worse. Lastly, when everything in life is said and done, without family, you have nothing.

      The Author

      Chapter 1

      The Historical Events

      “The president’s been shot, the president’s been shot. Extra, Extra, read all about it,” screamed the newsboy as he swung the freshly printed newspaper high in the air. It was July 2, just four months since his inauguration and less than twenty years since Pres. Abraham Lincoln was shot to death as he watched a play in the Ford Theater. Quickly a large crowd formed around the newsboy eager to get a copy of the latest edition. “What happened?” several of those passing by inquired. They say, “Garfield’s been shot.” When, where, how? One reader answered, “This morning at the Baltimore & Potomac Railroad Station in Washington DC.”

      1881, a year of turmoil. Russian Czar Nicholas II was assassinated on March 13. Billy the Kid was arrested and put in jail. He escaped by killing two Deputies, James Bell and Robert W. Ollinger on April 18. On July 14, he was killed by Sherriff Pat Garrett. The river boat Princess Victoria sank in the Thames River killing 180 souls on April 11. “Four Dead in Five Seconds Gunfight” was the headline of April 14. Marshall Dallas Stoudenmire of El Paso, Texas, accounted for three of the four deaths: Ochoa, an innocent bystander of Mexican descent, former Town Marshall George Campbell, and John Hale. The fourth, Constable Krempeu, was shot by John Hale. The New York Times of June 21 reported Marie Laveau a.k.a. “The Voodoo Queen” of New Orleans died last Wednesday. At the Washington DC train station, President Garfield was shot on July 2, leaving the nation in distress till September 19 when he died and Chester Authur was sworn in as the twenty-first president of the United States of America. The assassin, Charles J. Guiteau, went on trial on September 14 for the killing of Garfield. Later upon conviction, he was hanged in the District of Columbia on June 6, 1882. Indian Chief Sitting Bull surrendered to US Federal Troops on July 20 at Ft. Buford, Montana. On October 13, Charles Stewart Parnell, an Irish political leader was captured, arrested, and imprisoned by the British. The Gunfight at the O.K. Corral, took place with US Deputy Marshall Virgil Erp, his brothers Wyatt and Morgan, and temporary Deputy Doc Holiday, against outlaws Bill Clanton, Tom McLaury, and his brother Frank on October 26 in Tombstone, Arizona; and on December 28, Virgil Erp was ambushed in Tombstone, losing the use of his left arm.

      Good things, though seldom reported, happened as well. On February 24, work began on the Panama Canal. James A. Garfield was inaugurated president of the United States of America on March 4. Barnum & Bailey’s “Greatest Show on Earth” opened in Madison Square Garden March 28 and ran through April 15. Fredrick Douglas, a former slave, became “Record of Deeds” for Washington, DC on May 17. Just four days later, May 21, Clara Barton founded the American Red Cross, and the Tuskegee Institute was established on July 4 by Booker T. Washington. The first international telephone conversation took place from Calais Maine to St. Stephen, New Brunswick, July 11. On August 12, Cicel B. DeMille was born, and on August 20, the poet, Edgar Albert Guest, was born. On October 11, David Houston patented roll film for cameras. The Boston Symphony Orchestra gave its first concert on October 22. Two days later, the United States Ambassador to France, Levi P. Morton, drove the first rivet into the skin of the Statue of Liberty, fixing a copper plate onto the statue’s big toe. The American Federation of labor, (AF of L) was formed on November 15 in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and on December 4, the First Edition of the Los Angeles Times rolled of the press.

      Chapter 2

      The Birth

      Far from the chaos of an ever-changing world in the quiet Northern New York town of Bangor, Florence was busy, tiring easily, her bulging belly making it difficult for her in preparing the evening meal. Husband George would be home soon from a long day in the forest cutting trees. She sent little George, now six, out to feed the chickens and collect the eggs. Amy, two years old, was busy dragging her only doll across the floor and seemed to Florence she was always underfoot. Florence moved slowly from stove to sink and back again, being careful not to step on the doll. “Dear me,” she sighed, “this baby can’t come soon enough, I’m all worn out.” She had just placed the johnnycake in the oven when little George, loaded with eggs, and big George stumbled through the door. Big George exclaiming, “What a day. A limb fell on one of the boys knocking him over. Fortunately he was able to roll clear. A branch caught his sleeve ripping it and scratching his arm.”

      “How bad is it?” Florence asked casually.

      “He’ll be all right,” George answered, “but we had an exciting few minutes.”

      “You need to go milk old Betsey. I just can’t do it. Then wash up. Supper will be ready shortly.” Then to her son, she said, “Help your mother by cleaning the eggs.”

      “Okay,” her husband replied. “Whatever you’re baking sure smells good.” He grabbed the milk pail on the way out the door. Fifteen minutes later, he was back with an almost-full pail of milk. Setting it by the sink, he sat down to eat supper.

      Finishing the meal, Florence stood up. At the same time, her water broke. “Dear me sudz, George, hurry and get the midwife. It’s time.” George leaped to his feet, saying, as he bolted out the door, “I’ll be back soon.”

      Thirty minutes later, Gertrude and George burst through the door. Florence had managed to get to the bedroom and was sitting on the edge of the bed. “George, heat some water and bring me some of those old sheets,” ordered Gertrude while at the same time removing Florence’s clothing. “Now just relax, Florence,” she said in a soft soothing voice, “everything will be all right.” It was only a few minutes when Gertrude uttered an explosive, “O my stars, Florence,” with special emphasis on “my” as she began extracting, then cleaning up the newborn baby. It had been a hard pregnancy. Florence hadn’t lost much weight from Amy’s birth. She had gained even more with this pregnancy.

      “No wonder you were so slow getting around. This little maaa … oh, my goodness, Florence, I thought this was a boy. It’s so big, but it’s a girl,” uttered Gertrude as she removed the sac from the baby’s nose and mouth with one hand while giving it a sharp slap on the hynee with the other. Immediately the baby gave a healthy squall. “As soon as I can get you both cleaned up, I’ll take her into the

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