As a young boy during my third and fourth years, I spent a lot of play time with my cousin Ron. We were born the same day, February 20, 1943 and it added to our close relationship as children.
Ron & Allan, June 16, 1945
My Aunt Frieda was my mother’s eldest sister and my cousin Ron’s fraternal grandmother. Each month she took us boys with her on a special adventurous journey when she had to pay her mortgage at a bank a few towns away.
Aunt Frieda in front of her home in the 1940’s
Aunt Frieda walked the few blocks to where we lived when she had an adventure planned for us boys. We returned to her house before our journey to give us a chance to explore their yard. The house she lived in was an adventure unto itself. Her husband, my Uncle Albin, had a virtual miniature farm on their small suburban lot. This was a real fascination for Ron and me. First there was the goldfish pond filled with goldfish eager to be fed. When we threw a few bread crumbs into the pond there was an ensuing feeding frenzy as the goldfish rose to the surface to devour the bread crumbs floating on the surface.
Then we picked some weeds from the lawn, bunny leaves we called them. Off to the rabbit cages we ran to stuff the bunny leaves through the wire netting of their cages and watched in fascination as the rabbits eagerly tugged to get every leaf through. They quickly gobbled them up as their twitching noses signaled their delight.
Allan & Ron in 1945
Allan & Ron in 1947
We couldn’t reach the next attraction because they were too high for us little guys. But, we still stood spell bound by the pigeon coops nestled high above the rabbit hutches. The pigeons of course added another dimension to our experience because they spoke to us with their cooing, adding to their incessant head bobbing. Oh how I wished I could feed them too!
Once we had our few minutes of entertainment in the backyard menagerie, Aunt Frieda summoned us into the house. We left out the front door and headed to the bus stop across the street. The old Chestnut Street bus that ran from Garfield to Passaic stopped across the street from Aunt Frieda’s house at the corner of Schley and Chestnut Streets. The first step of our real adventure was to take this bus to get to the train station in Passaic.
This is what the old Chestnut Street bus looked like.
When the bus arrived, I remember how it was such a struggle for us little guys, barely 3 feet tall, to make it up the steps onto the bus. It must have been a comfort for us holding the steady hands of my Aunt Frieda as we made our way onto that old bus. I remember how noisy it was and that the ride was quite bumpy as the rickety old bus rattled its way down the streets. Ron and I held fast to the sides of our seat. As the bus shook and swayed, I marveled at those passengers who stood up, holding only the black leather straps hanging from pipes high above the seats.
Once the bus arrived at the bus station in Passaic, we made our way to the train station a few blocks away. Boarding the train to Rutherford was also a challenge for our short legs because the steps onto the train were even higher than the bus.
A typical train car on the train to Rutherford New Jersey
The train ride was always a thrill for Ron and me. That thrill was magnified for me because of the train tracks at the end of Garden Court South where I lived, about an eighth of a mile from my house. As long as I can remember, the trains that passed every night created dreams of riding the train. My Aunt Frieda made those dreams come true!
The train took us to Rutherford where the bank that held Aunt Frieda’s mortgage had a branch. When the train arrived, we now faced the challenge of going down those high steps to the ground. Ron and I probably jumped the distance, not a happy thought for our Aunt Frieda no doubt, but after all, we were adventurous boys.
Successfully disembarked from the train we walked the few blocks to the bank. The bank was on a triangular block with the main entrance at the apex. This gave us little guys an interesting perspective, because the building was quite large and imposing. Once inside the teller cages were very high from our vantage point. I wonder today what thoughts must have coursed through our minds as we saw Aunt Frieda pass her envelop into the teller’s cage and shortly after getting it back. Surely it was a mystery to our three and four year old minds.
With the mortgage payment completed we left the bank and headed to the local German butcher shop. Aunt Frieda would get some meat and a few groceries. But the real treat for Ron and me was the hotdog the butcher would give us boys. A raw hotdog in those days was very different in quality than they are today. Hotdogs then lacked all the chemicals that we have today.
Then on April 10, 1947 I heard the sad news that my dear Aunt Frieda had died. I was four years and almost two months old at the time. I don’t remember what feelings came over me when I heard the news, but I am forever grateful that my parents took me to her wake and funeral. This experience proved to be a profound turning point in my life.
As I entered the funeral home, I was deeply moved by the scene of a huge number of flowers that to my small stature engulfed the whole room creating as it were a blanket. The flowers appeared to reach to the sky. Their aroma filled the room with a fragrance that still piques my senses. The scene was awash in a myriad of colors. My dad lifted me up so I could see my beloved aunt lying peacefully in the casket embraced by a sea of flowers. It was a profound experience in those few moments that gave me a peaceful and comforting view of death. I eventually realized that it gave me the ability to positively cope with the loss of dear ones for the rest of my life. As it turned out, I would experience many more deaths of very dear souls who deeply touched and blessed my life.
It may seem surprising that at such a young age I would develop a vision of the death of loved ones with such positive feelings. I learned, apparently, that the blessings garnered during my life with a deceased loved one transcended the pain of their loss. My clear memories of the wonderful experiences with my Aunt Frieda are forever resident in my heart and mind.
Turning Points
This experience was a significant turning point for me because it provided a lifelong sense of comfort in the face of grief and loss. The combination of the overpowering sense of entering a garden abounding in beautiful flowers that seemed to reach the sky, the potent fragrance that filled the room adding a sense of being embraced and the hushed silence, created the perfect atmosphere to introduce my young soul to see my dear Aunt Frieda in a peace that was beyond my understanding. For the rest of my life, these few moments gave me peace as year after year, loved ones passed on. This peace defies my understanding and no words can describe it. These moments, my early life turning point, was my introduction to the awesome truth of Philippians 4:7 (NIV)
7 And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
I am forever grateful for this turning point that has served me all my life to this very day. I am grateful to God who inspired my parents to make this experience possible and that they had the courage to follow that inspiration.
One of the consequences of this turning point in my life is that I have been blessed to serve souls who are grieving over the loss of their loved ones. I have been requested to conduct or assist in many funeral and memorial services to this day.
I am active as a director with the Garden of Innocence where abandoned babies are given a funeral and dignified burial. I serve this organization delivering sermons from time to time and officiating over the dove release portion of the funeral service. (www.gardenofinnocence.org)
Turning Points have the interesting characteristic of evoking new and oft time’s far reaching and unexpected consequences in our life.
COPYRIGHT © 2014 ALLAN E. MUSTERER
