February 1, 2016 by Amy
The Motorman
One hundred and two years ago today, my great-grandfather received his union card. John Foley drove a street car, and he was a proud member of the Employes Mutual Benefit Association of the United Railways Company of St. Louis. He was a motorman in the 6th Division. The back of the card says he was 5 feet 10.5 inches tall, and had black hair and blue eyes. The same blue eyes as my grandmother, my father, and my daughter. (I didn’t get so lucky.) (Thanks, Mom.)
Turns out there aren’t many photos of street cars from 1914. I know because I googled the heck out of it and found squat. 1914: good public transportation, lacking in photography. 2016: excellent options for photography, hardly any public transportation.
My great-grandfather emigrated here from Ireland. He left everything, and everyone, he knew to come to a new country in the hopes of building a better life. He landed in St. Louis, where he met and married Johanna Quirk from Tipperary. They had three children: Mary, John, and Matthew. Uncle Matt was killed in The War, and my grandmother’s heart was broken forever over the loss of her beloved older brother. It was a sacrifice many families made, but that shared sense of loss didn’t make it any easier. I could still see the broken places when she told me the story about the day the military men arrived at her parents’ house to deliver the news.
Uncle John was an eccentric old man by the time I met him, with a cottage in Ferguson chock full of hidey holes and jars of coins stashed under armchairs. He gave me treats when I visited, and I remember him being kind and gentle, if odd. Once he gave me a paper grocery bag full of peanuts in the shell. I was six, and I had never seen so many peanuts. After years of living alone (his marriage had dissolved decades earlier), he was a wee bit touched, as they might have said in The Old Country.
Mary had three children herself: Margaret (called Peggy), Joann, and Raymond. She was a tough broad who divorced her lousy husband before it was acceptable to do so and raised three kids on her own. She was fierce, feisty and foul-mouthed, and held onto grudges like a rabid pit bull. She disregarded what society told her she should do, taking the more difficult path to provide a better life for her children.
Raymond has seen his share of heartbreak, most of it inflicted by people who were supposed to love him. He is an incredible man in many ways, but mostly because he doesn’t hold onto an ounce of bitterness. He is kindness, grace and forgiveness personified. It’s almost as if his mother held onto all the grudges so he wouldn’t have to.
Today, Mary’s youngest child, Raymond, met his eldest child, who also curses like a sailor, for lunch. After nachos at Fuzzy’s Taco Shop, he handed over John Foley’s union card. I see in that card the generations of sacrifice that came before me.
I don’t know what my great-grandfather thought about 102 years ago, but if he was like me – or every other parent I know – he wanted a better life for his kids and he was willing to do whatever it took to provide opportunities. Including leaving his country and driving a street car for a living. His sacrifices, and those of his children and his grand children, means his great-granddaughter earned the first college degree in the family (plus a masters to boot) and lives a pretty darn good life. (Although BBC just yanked Doctor Who off Netflix which causes me considerable consternation. Jerks.)
John Foley’s great-great-granddaughter has the world at her feet. She’s a smart girl with an irrepressible sense of humor, insane musical talent, and an impressive amount of courage. So far, she hasn’t exhibited signs of loving expletives like her mother and great-grandmother, but I’m hopeful. And like all the parents who came before, her mother and father will move heaven and earth to give her opportunities.
Not too shabby for the descendants of a motorman in the 6th Division.
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