tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1938467437343683572024-03-12T22:14:19.139-04:00A River Runs Through UsThe Jones Family in Cincinnati has been anchored to the Ohio River and the boats that have traveled her since the 1840's. It is our legacy -- one we hope to pass on to our children and grandchildren.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger49125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-193846743734368357.post-57777361249122331762019-04-14T10:33:00.000-04:002019-04-14T10:46:19.156-04:00Roots of an Ohio "River Rat"<br />
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<b><u>Background</u></b></div>
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A year ago, I was contact<span style="font-family: inherit;">ed by Sunny Morton, the editor of the <i>Ohio Genealogy News, </i>published quarterly. She had come upon this blog and suggested that I might want to summarize some of the themes into an article for publication. I took her up on the challenge,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The Winter 2018 issue contains the article. In it I attempted to summarize our Jones Family History along the Ohio River from Alexander and Elizabeth's earliest arrival in Cincinnati to the latest generation's ownership of the Rivertowne Marina a few miles upstream. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I hope you enjoy it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;"><b>Roots of an Ohio “River Rat”</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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My father was a “river rat” – an attribution he claimed with
pride.<a href="file:///C:/Users/khree/Documents/Roots%20of%20an%20Ohio%20River%20Rat.docx#_edn1" name="_ednref1" title=""><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%;">[i]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
He was determined to share this accolade with his seven children. He grew up at
2424 Eastern Ave, (now Riverside Drive) in a successful marketing strategy to
redefine this lower, middle-class community into a condo-dominated neighborhood
of desirable riverfront properties. The neighborhood was, and is, called the
East End.<o:p></o:p></div>
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His home was a small frame house located just across the
street from the banks of the Ohio River. The view was partially blocked by
Highlands School, a Cincinnati Public School that he attended in Grades 1-6. My grandfather, “Fred”, could often be
found sitting next to his large dining room window, chewing tobacco as he
watched the river traffic.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I knew my Dad loved the river as he shared pictures of his
youth riding the “rollers” created by steamboats that plied the river. He
reluctantly sold his canoe to buy a sewing machine for my mother after they married.</div>
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<i>Johnny
Jones in his canoe on the Ohio River</i></div>
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As children, we were subjected to drives down to the river
every time the river exceeded its banks. I was always terrified that the car brakes
wouldn’t hold and we would get caught up in the river current. I remember a
trip down to see the last operating “<a href="http://www.steamboats.org/history-education/glossary/wicket_dam.html">wicket
dam</a>”<a href="file:///C:/Users/khree/Documents/Roots%20of%20an%20Ohio%20River%20Rat.docx#_edn1" name="_ednref1" title=""><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%;">[i]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
on the Ohio in 1963 shortly before it was removed to create a 95-mile navigable
pool between the Markland<a href="file:///C:/Users/khree/Documents/Roots%20of%20an%20Ohio%20River%20Rat.docx#_edn2" name="_ednref2" title=""><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%;">[ii]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
and Meldahl<a href="file:///C:/Users/khree/Documents/Roots%20of%20an%20Ohio%20River%20Rat.docx#_edn3" name="_ednref3" title=""><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%;">[iii]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
locks and dams, greatly increasing both the depth and the width of the river. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I had grown up with stories of the river being so dry and
shallow in the summer that my grandfather was able to walk across it. On the
other hand, several Cincinnatians ignored pleas by the authorities to stay off
the ice during the winter of 1977.<a href="file:///C:/Users/khree/Documents/Roots%20of%20an%20Ohio%20River%20Rat.docx#_edn4" name="_ednref4" title=""><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%;">[iv]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
They were able to walk across the now wider and deeper river from Ohio to
Kentucky. My well-bred mother had insisted that “no child of hers was ever
going to swim in that river.” But that promise was broken when my father was
able to invest in a small pleasure boat and water skiing became an essential
summer activity on the river we had all grown to love.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><u>A River Runs Through
Us – My Family’s History Along the River<o:p></o:p></u></b></div>
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In the winter of 2000, I found myself laid up with a hip
replacement. My husband suggested that I take the opportunity to organize a
folder containing information on my family’s history that had been left to me.
Before long, I had the genealogy “bug.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Tracing my family back, the earliest Jones ancestor came to
Cincinnati in the early 1840s to work as a carpenter in the thriving steamboat
industry. <span style="background: white; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 107%;">Alexander was first listed in the City Directory
in 1843. His occupation was listed as "carpenter," and he was
living on Race between 14th and 15th Streets.<a href="file:///C:/Users/khree/Documents/Roots%20of%20an%20Ohio%20River%20Rat.docx#_edn5" name="_ednref5" title=""><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 107%;">[v]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
By 1856, the family had relocated to 592 E. Front Street<a href="file:///C:/Users/khree/Documents/Roots%20of%20an%20Ohio%20River%20Rat.docx#_edn6" name="_ednref6" title=""><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><span style="color: black; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 107%;">[vi]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
(later known as Eastern Ave. and now as Riverside). This was a time when
one of the main occupations in Cincinnati was boatbuilding – in particular,
steamboats. Alexander was drawn to this city where his skills as a carpenter
were in great demand. He and Elizabeth had six children.</span></span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgyx3s5QWGhJ4i-JIr1pTcJnY1E_-PA0sENbiq1mcz1oInYn6Mwy3ONswGfU7hUQ6W5_NlBxmSGXJuDK5_kVaZm0mxj5rpsLPWGPvYcITN5Rr5RZyO2i8zNgM48hljJheE53UskKOabYc/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="603" data-original-width="803" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgyx3s5QWGhJ4i-JIr1pTcJnY1E_-PA0sENbiq1mcz1oInYn6Mwy3ONswGfU7hUQ6W5_NlBxmSGXJuDK5_kVaZm0mxj5rpsLPWGPvYcITN5Rr5RZyO2i8zNgM48hljJheE53UskKOabYc/s640/2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Alexander Jones and Elizabeth Kinley</i></td></tr>
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Alexander died in 1863, allegedly from “i<span style="background: white; color: #222222;">nflammation of the bowels."<a href="file:///C:/Users/khree/Documents/Roots%20of%20an%20Ohio%20River%20Rat.docx#_edn1" name="_ednref1" title=""><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%;">[i]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
Given the reality of the times with drinking water often taken directly from
the Ohio River, this really should come as no surprise. Cholera was an all too
commonplace illness of the time. Elizabeth was widowed at the age of 40.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222;">By 1868, Elizabeth and her children
are living on the banks of the Ohio River.<a href="file:///C:/Users/khree/Documents/Roots%20of%20an%20Ohio%20River%20Rat.docx#_edn2" name="_ednref2" title=""><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%;">[ii]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
The small frame house was on a lot just to the right of St. Rose Church, which
was to play a significant role in the life of my family.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><u><span style="background: white; color: #222222;">Second Generation<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxxP5CWuoSnhsK4Mwc7yWNH_AilL6d6ny1Gr4smM4tQowkrV7f_bRUUihA5IwP4bghhjHOAANOcb-G_v3TOCO_FHH3bdhGaTCZ0nytLYr7c2oblo1J7o4E37y1370-NHfyWk8hKz5HSVY/s1600/Ch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="285" data-original-width="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxxP5CWuoSnhsK4Mwc7yWNH_AilL6d6ny1Gr4smM4tQowkrV7f_bRUUihA5IwP4bghhjHOAANOcb-G_v3TOCO_FHH3bdhGaTCZ0nytLYr7c2oblo1J7o4E37y1370-NHfyWk8hKz5HSVY/s1600/Ch.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Charles Henry Jones</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh11EkcD4ZAhzQnX6U1HV7QXUYYDPLGfBHKL1fx1MhGIyd_tjy7NC9qUMuk3_ccb15w0YajOws2AwkG4gQ1alBZUjRHJ5WW0Y0OaC411nQewh2IVq47hQJKVvvvWxKTNWAg5Bu2hLAfJmE/s1600/RWJ.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh11EkcD4ZAhzQnX6U1HV7QXUYYDPLGfBHKL1fx1MhGIyd_tjy7NC9qUMuk3_ccb15w0YajOws2AwkG4gQ1alBZUjRHJ5WW0Y0OaC411nQewh2IVq47hQJKVvvvWxKTNWAg5Bu2hLAfJmE/s1600/RWJ.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rachel Wainright</td></tr>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222;">My great-grandfather, Charles Henry
Jones, married and moved less than a mile away to a street with a great river
view, Gladstone. He and his wife, Rachel Wainright, shared a two-family home
with her mother, Mary Elizabeth. Her mother played a pivotal role in the
upbringing of the three children as Rachel was ill and died at the age of 41 of
“consumption.” The William Wainright family had moved to Cincinnati from New
Jersey following the Revolutionary War. They lived on the river on Front
Street. Their son and my gg-grandfather, Britton, husband of Mary Elizabeth, ran
a blacksmith shop with his brother on Front Street. Britton moved his family to
New Albany, Indiana, only to die of heat stroke while marching to confront John
Hunt Morgan of Morgan’s Raiders.<a href="file:///C:/Users/khree/Documents/Roots%20of%20an%20Ohio%20River%20Rat.docx#_edn1" name="_ednref1" title=""><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%;">[i]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
Mary Elizabeth made the decision to return to Cincinnati to be near family.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<b><u><span style="background: white; color: #222222;">Third Generation</span></u></b></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222;">My grandfather, Charles “Fred”
Jones, lived with his wife Norine and their five children on Columbia Ave. They
rented space from his Uncle Tom and Aunt Ella. Due to eminent domain, the house
was sold to make way for the construction of Columbia Parkway, one of the main
arteries to the east side of Cincinnati. It is known for its spectacular views
of the Ohio River. This led to the purchase of their home in 1929 at 2424
Eastern Avenue just across the street from the river. The timing of the move coincided
with the crash of the stock market. My grandfather, who worked as a supervisor
for the street car company, proudly never missed a payment. This was the home
where my father, John T. Jones, grew up.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fred and Norine Jones and children Edith, Charley,Bob and Johnny (oldest to youngest).</td></tr>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222;">The baby, Margaret Ann, was born in 1928, eight years after my Dad, Johnny, was born in 1920.</span></div>
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<b><u><span style="background: white; color: #222222;"><br /></span></u></b>
<b><u><span style="background: white; color: #222222;">The 1937 Flood<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222;">If you are a Cincinnatian, you are
aware of the 1937 flood. My father was seventeen when this flood destroyed much
of Cincinnati, even shutting down the Water Works Pumping Station. The flood
crested at 80 feet, Normal pool stage in Cincinnati today is 26 feet. The river
crested just short of the second-floor attic of my Dad’s house. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj5yy6QlR9uq7SQcu0v-j5hnMBGomzaLIMqtIiAKDo6G2LHn3yUQj_Bxs_c-vGw9L1Ua_pkRrYUgsGln6JfcgGnyNOuSIz7Ten9uuwVPNih15bFSzsIbiAkPKmFPdDNc3GlXqUw8Y2bhk/s1600/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="553" data-original-width="724" height="488" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj5yy6QlR9uq7SQcu0v-j5hnMBGomzaLIMqtIiAKDo6G2LHn3yUQj_Bxs_c-vGw9L1Ua_pkRrYUgsGln6JfcgGnyNOuSIz7Ten9uuwVPNih15bFSzsIbiAkPKmFPdDNc3GlXqUw8Y2bhk/s640/4.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222;">When I finished tracing my
Cincinnati Joneses and Wainrights, it became abundantly clear that the river
had played a central role in the life of my family since my gg-grandfather,
Britton was born here in 1819. Each move took the family further east along the
river. In fact, I realized that four generations had lived within about a
one-square mile area of St. Rose Church.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfDU6_4fsBO2MsOiQTNvD9b37JY68LKbLwzhtUbEMgKGqh7KIJmWdz8TK_6kMUJJFVUnhFZXxUTzBJ3X7KxI1Gk8guFlKB_itn35WiEUhunhGblUe7V7zEqCALsNbwXe4qdYtPptsL5VI/s1600/5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="671" data-original-width="1328" height="322" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfDU6_4fsBO2MsOiQTNvD9b37JY68LKbLwzhtUbEMgKGqh7KIJmWdz8TK_6kMUJJFVUnhFZXxUTzBJ3X7KxI1Gk8guFlKB_itn35WiEUhunhGblUe7V7zEqCALsNbwXe4qdYtPptsL5VI/s640/5.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="MsoCaption">
<span style="background: white; color: #222222;">Yellow pins represent four
locations of Jones residences. Click to enlarge.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<b><u>The Fourth Generation</u></b><br />
<b><u><br /></u></b>
The five children of Fred and Norine were: Edith, Charles (Bud), Bob, Johnny and Margaret Ann. They grew up at 2424 Eastern and spent their whole young adulthoods in the East End. Margaret Ann even married another East Ender, Anthony Scardina.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIWj1zQfkTTsGLis3kFkDpz6aVlXt2m4DtBA_hMYXfYQWKuLiSxBXdUGv3upym4X_iclq2tOHdRFxrUUHZE_wiS-rh9T4V-MaBWw5nPGK85MrcYAonNazLs3rCFfnIwUCPgEvykHtM6Jk/s1600/The+five.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="278" data-original-width="276" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIWj1zQfkTTsGLis3kFkDpz6aVlXt2m4DtBA_hMYXfYQWKuLiSxBXdUGv3upym4X_iclq2tOHdRFxrUUHZE_wiS-rh9T4V-MaBWw5nPGK85MrcYAonNazLs3rCFfnIwUCPgEvykHtM6Jk/s400/The+five.jpg" width="396" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From left to right, youngest to oldest -- Margaret Ann, Johnny, Bob, "Bud" and Edith</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Together, they had 19 grandchildren. Most still live in the Cincinnati area. In the summer of 2016, we held a cousins reunion.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF2OccigMAkt42GrcrNLqZOlTrixzuAuJBwWYcj_9IPfGXDZaso_qR63Fb0xnz-qFABGT5VhMiGizhBN89iEjIp7ORHvg3TyP292vlTGzV4pbKP6_ZDfm7alk3P107g5n2x67oFWqqRfw/s1600/reunion.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="757" data-original-width="1232" height="392" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF2OccigMAkt42GrcrNLqZOlTrixzuAuJBwWYcj_9IPfGXDZaso_qR63Fb0xnz-qFABGT5VhMiGizhBN89iEjIp7ORHvg3TyP292vlTGzV4pbKP6_ZDfm7alk3P107g5n2x67oFWqqRfw/s640/reunion.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From left to right: Top row - Tom, Fred, Ted, Don, Bob, and Tony<br />
Middle Row: Peggy, Patty, Sue, Jeanne, Karen, Kath, Dan and Tim<br />
Bottom Row: Fred, Gina, Rose</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><u>The Fifth
Generation</u></b><br />
<br />
<o:p></o:p>
I am the oldest of seven children born to John and Virginia Jones. We are all, connected in some way to the
river. All of us have owned boats, mostly used on the river. My mother, who once stated that "no child of hers would ever swim in that river," had to eat those words as boating, water skiing and jet skiing became larger and larger components of any Jones summer.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlrcukNO2XGGPnDpBPIHAOdzBq9DVbKk7-CctKZQcWY7lui7roHRmyY-ekEvKtxdqchNwFTFNaBj8BzSXBC6qN230RPGSkYYW0YaRtYZYAKFQB6QKMRIbjWDd3mh96y2QvpMein0aoHPk/s1600/My+gen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="757" data-original-width="1114" height="433" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlrcukNO2XGGPnDpBPIHAOdzBq9DVbKk7-CctKZQcWY7lui7roHRmyY-ekEvKtxdqchNwFTFNaBj8BzSXBC6qN230RPGSkYYW0YaRtYZYAKFQB6QKMRIbjWDd3mh96y2QvpMein0aoHPk/s640/My+gen.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John and Virginia Jones with children moving clockwise in the picture:<br />
Don, Dan, Ted, Karen, Kath, Tom and Tim (Don is in the red sweater).</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
A few years ago,
my youngest brother, Don Jones, made a significant contribution to our family’s
river history. HE BOUGHT A MARINA!<a href="file:///C:/Users/khree/Documents/Roots%20of%20an%20Ohio%20River%20Rat.docx#_edn1" name="_ednref1" title=""><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%;">[i]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
Only three miles upriver from where my Dad grew up, the tradition continues.
Another brother, Ted, works with Don on projects designed to make this marina a
boater’s paradise on the Ohio. <o:p></o:p>By July 2019, the marina will include a new project, Tucker’s Landing, where recreational RVs will be able to find a home along the banks of
the river.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTeIo3CNudNNE3zRnO2QDTbVcEkJeTRrU5WUU-zmhos4tX9rx5LO5SajJSy9kzDJipXzVu_D11I-eKCdIlW5sfNOw4V1j3x3m16wWAYJaLw8ZB3PtEh4KiRKKz6Ib32HVCnoRlW47tvkw/s1600/6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="930" data-original-width="930" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTeIo3CNudNNE3zRnO2QDTbVcEkJeTRrU5WUU-zmhos4tX9rx5LO5SajJSy9kzDJipXzVu_D11I-eKCdIlW5sfNOw4V1j3x3m16wWAYJaLw8ZB3PtEh4KiRKKz6Ib32HVCnoRlW47tvkw/s640/6.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
<!--[if !supportEndnotes]--><b><u>The Sixth and Seventh Generations</u></b><br />
<b><u><br /></u></b>
My siblings and I now have children who have children. They are being "trained up" in the ways of boating and the joys of the Ohio River. I hope our legacy as "River Rats" continues for several generations.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqIFoIy8ItnPbiTv0K24Bl1uDLBS_99KTBD21bx6Aq5j3bBCrDL1Ucc3_TiPwuljW4gntsg7icfYt5GZubWR_qCm8RpWEcRGr9nAlBxnXEEcFApW4Ump5lxgTrN0JPownVmkA5nouTKq4/s1600/IMG_1427.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="708" data-original-width="944" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqIFoIy8ItnPbiTv0K24Bl1uDLBS_99KTBD21bx6Aq5j3bBCrDL1Ucc3_TiPwuljW4gntsg7icfYt5GZubWR_qCm8RpWEcRGr9nAlBxnXEEcFApW4Ump5lxgTrN0JPownVmkA5nouTKq4/s640/IMG_1427.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bill, Kath Tom, Linda, Tim. Karen, Ted, Dan, Captain Don</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSlXJfXoaCloaJH7Ztye9A1uMSf4pOkyLXIm2dy518E6iZwR2pTmXi9-FrYis5-jBtUwsvajD0jnt56G13VpQkvg8xjCO7PJJEvlyWCms8-RVO-mInGIJyyb1Z3wM7JNMdyfMNB7OVBXo/s1600/DSC_0148.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="757" data-original-width="1139" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSlXJfXoaCloaJH7Ztye9A1uMSf4pOkyLXIm2dy518E6iZwR2pTmXi9-FrYis5-jBtUwsvajD0jnt56G13VpQkvg8xjCO7PJJEvlyWCms8-RVO-mInGIJyyb1Z3wM7JNMdyfMNB7OVBXo/s640/DSC_0148.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Labor Day fireworks on the river</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<!--[endif]-->
<br />
<div id="edn1">
<div class="MsoEndnoteText">
<div class="MsoEndnoteText">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoEndnoteText">
<div class="MsoEndnoteText">
<span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;">[i]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> According
to the <i>Urban Dictionary</i> a “river rat”
is defined as “a<span style="background: white; color: #545454;"> community of people that live along a river. Known as tight
knit community that always sticks together and looks out for its children.
Also, spend a lot of leisure time along the river, fishing, boating, etc.
People that live along a river are proud to be called "</span><em><b><span style="background: white; color: #6a6a6a;">river
rats</span></b></em><span style="background: white; color: #545454;">!" </span><a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/"><span style="background: white;">www.urbandictionary.com</span></a></span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoEndnoteText">
<span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;">[ii]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span>
Article on “wicket dams” <a href="http://www.steamboats.org/history-education/glossary/wicket_dam.html">http://www.steamboats.org/history-education/glossary/wicket_dam.html</a><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoEndnoteText">
<span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;">[iii]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span>
Markland Dam <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Markland_Locks_and_Dam">https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Markland_Locks_and_Dam</a><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoEndnoteText">
<span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;">[iv]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span>
Meldahl Dam <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Markland_Locks_and_Dam">https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Markland_Locks_and_Dam</a><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoEndnoteText">
<span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;">[v]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span> <i>“River Hike Old Stuff to Dad As He, Sons
Tredge Icy Ohio” </i> <i>Cincinnati Enquirer, </i>21 Jan 1977, Fri,
Page 25.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoEndnoteText">
<span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;">[vi]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span> <i>Cincinnati City Directory for Year 1843, p.
184.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoEndnoteText">
<a href="http://digital.cincinnatilibrary.org/digital/collection/p16998coll5/id/208277/rec/9"><i>http://digital.cincinnatilibrary.org/digital/collection/p16998coll5/id/208277/rec/9</i></a><i><o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoEndnoteText">
<span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;">[vii]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span> <i>Williams City Directory, 1856 p. 143.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoEndnoteText">
<a href="http://digital.cincinnatilibrary.org/digital/collection/p16998coll5/id/35256"><i>http://digital.cincinnatilibrary.org/digital/collection/p16998coll5/id/35256</i></a><i><o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoEndnoteText">
<span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;">[viii]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span> Letter
to Edith Jones from her cousin, Lillian Mears, chronicling Jones family
history.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoEndnoteText">
<span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;">[ix]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span> <i>Cincinnati City Directory, 1868 <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoEndnoteText">
<span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;">[x]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span>
Britton Wainright – Parts I and II, <a href="https://jonesfamilymatters.blogspot.com/2009/05/britton-wainright-part-i.html">https://jonesfamilymatters.blogspot.com/2009/05/britton-wainright-part-i.html</a><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoEndnoteText">
and <a href="https://jonesfamilymatters.blogspot.com/2009/06/britton-wainright-part-ii.html">https://jonesfamilymatters.blogspot.com/2009/06/britton-wainright-part-ii.html</a></div>
<div class="MsoEndnoteText">
<span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;">[xi]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span>
Rivertowne Marina <a href="http://www.rivertownemarina.com/">http://www.rivertownemarina.com/</a><o:p></o:p></div>
<b><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></b><b><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">For additional fun:</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoEndnoteText">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">The 1937 Flood was an
extreme weather event affecting many communities along the Ohio River. Included
are links to pictures of its impact on the East End Community of Cincinnati.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoEndnoteText">
<a href="https://ohioriverways.blogspot.com/2015/03/the-1937-flood-revisited.html"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">https://ohioriverways.blogspot.com/2015/03/the-1937-flood-revisited.html</span></a><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoEndnoteText">
<a href="https://ohioriverways.blogspot.com/2012/02/great-ohio-river-flood-of-1937.html"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">https://ohioriverways.blogspot.com/2012/02/great-ohio-river-flood-of-1937.html</span></a><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoEndnoteText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoEndnoteText">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">A local Cincinnati
photographer, Tim Jeffries, has unintentionally made a landmark of the “little
red bench” located on the river bank behind St. Rose Church. As my ancestors
lived on a lot just east of the bench, it is a place of special meaning for me.
Links to related posts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoEndnoteText">
<a href="https://ohioriverways.blogspot.com/2015/03/the-little-red-bench.html"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">https://ohioriverways.blogspot.com/2015/03/the-little-red-bench.html</span></a><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoEndnoteText">
<a href="https://ohioriverways.blogspot.com/2011/11/living-on-ohio.html"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">https://ohioriverways.blogspot.com/2011/11/living-on-ohio.html</span></a><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoEndnoteText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoEndnoteText">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">You can read additional
details about my “river rat” ancestors in my blogs, “A River Runs Through Us”
and “Family Matters” </span><span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://ohioriverways.blogspot.com/"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">http://ohioriverways.blogspot.com</span></a><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"> and </span><a href="http://jonesfamilymatters.blogspot.com/"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">http://jonesfamilymatters.blogspot.com</span></a><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://blueroombelch.blogspot.com/">Blue Room Belch</a> - During World War II, patrons of Pharo's Cafe in the East End compiled stories of local interest into a newspaper that they published and distributed to service men and women from the neighborhood. The newspaper and the articles were loaned to me by Mary Pharo Meldon, deceased, who allowed me to transcribe them and publish them in a blog. A copy of the resulting book is online at </span><a href="https://digital.cincinnatilibrary.org/digital/collection/p16998coll15/id/390414/rec/5" style="font-family: inherit;">Blue Room Belch</a><span style="font-family: inherit;">. An actual copy of the book is in the Rare Books Department of the Cincinnati and Hamilton County Public Library.</span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-193846743734368357.post-53482199247385098892015-03-29T10:10:00.001-04:002015-03-29T10:10:57.656-04:00The 1937 Flood RevisitedA few years ago, I <a href="http://ohioriverways.blogspot.com/2012/02/great-ohio-river-flood-of-1937.html">wrote about the impact of the 1937 flood</a> on my Dad and his family who were living at 2424 Eastern Ave. (now Riverside Drive). It included family pictures that had been passed down to us. Three years later, I acquired additional pictures from the Cincinnati History and Archives Library at the Museum Center. They are in possession of a scrapbook of flood pictures that were collected from a variety of individual collections. One of the pictures was one I recognized from the collection of Mary Pharo Meldon, who loaned it to me for inclusion in the <a href="http://blueroombelch.blogspot.com/">Blue Room Belch</a>.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioMKYFZ7bPTA24jsPX_gpYBDeveS24pfVue-k1xVJXr8eGJ5i_sG48AHoT6Jo8RoEyRyuyGMmzfo-aF_gDfRmx5Is6nkFpmhLJQv4l7yi59WzxGtLcWqMJphEFXvYpOH4F1pKw8kh2p6k/s1600/piano.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioMKYFZ7bPTA24jsPX_gpYBDeveS24pfVue-k1xVJXr8eGJ5i_sG48AHoT6Jo8RoEyRyuyGMmzfo-aF_gDfRmx5Is6nkFpmhLJQv4l7yi59WzxGtLcWqMJphEFXvYpOH4F1pKw8kh2p6k/s1600/piano.JPG" height="542" width="640" /></a></div>
The search led to additional pictures that featured my Dad's house. John Thomas Jones was 16-years old at the time of the flood. I remember him telling stories about the house being accessible only through an attic window by boat.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg905Ot2S2qAr7424iYBPYVwrsI4_5vqoKbbVko9jiyP1IMmNZ_zzG2NMDX2diWXa6ovwfnuwLkk2ig0PwEpu_usoAxwQovcX1_lLlF3gaiG3XTX-OAcGGi3I7DAKJHWCdKxFIE0f5iutk/s1600/boat3.tif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg905Ot2S2qAr7424iYBPYVwrsI4_5vqoKbbVko9jiyP1IMmNZ_zzG2NMDX2diWXa6ovwfnuwLkk2ig0PwEpu_usoAxwQovcX1_lLlF3gaiG3XTX-OAcGGi3I7DAKJHWCdKxFIE0f5iutk/s1600/boat3.tif" height="518" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>This is my Dad's house on the left. We do not know the identities of the men in the boat.</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJlqQOdO3T20UYZ74BEqp6G9WtVGdctbolv5XQg189zl16C8NskMWZGbTFZwrv1q7_Cgm-KVFZvWrcHSK1ycHLF_ZnklcG7PZ29No1G2GgcHvn8FZzr9XoOT1tl1GjDP539IH2OPBRmvo/s1600/1937+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJlqQOdO3T20UYZ74BEqp6G9WtVGdctbolv5XQg189zl16C8NskMWZGbTFZwrv1q7_Cgm-KVFZvWrcHSK1ycHLF_ZnklcG7PZ29No1G2GgcHvn8FZzr9XoOT1tl1GjDP539IH2OPBRmvo/s1600/1937+1.jpg" height="508" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>From this view, you can see that the water level got up just below the attic. The house is still standing in 2015. </i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL1jM1wyD3CxODxBT2hqg4p69BlLlArJavO7Dn1KLHPYcCGLGJLRcXxzAIlYUYIKhuKLdN3qzfIYa81GUVwL0KjRuO_WMGG5vzfwl7cb-vNfalajRYh8inxd3T_WX-OZcdXsBPNNaNcII/s1600/flood+tracks.tif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL1jM1wyD3CxODxBT2hqg4p69BlLlArJavO7Dn1KLHPYcCGLGJLRcXxzAIlYUYIKhuKLdN3qzfIYa81GUVwL0KjRuO_WMGG5vzfwl7cb-vNfalajRYh8inxd3T_WX-OZcdXsBPNNaNcII/s1600/flood+tracks.tif" height="512" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This view is from the railroad tracks above the house. I have no idea why there is a car on the tracks.<br />
Dad's house is the small one on the left. Note all of the furniture stacked next to the tracks.<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Finally, Mary Pharo Meldon's collection included this great picture of people from the East End trying to acquire drinking water after the Cincinnati Water Works pumping equipment failed.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2fnlsjKSaPcwH1CfuOG8RUbOlNrrnnPZE1TsKy4kkPjYC65JLQ4KOxEI8bIwTld-kM2_gTYsYhwrA67NLm_nKDUq9qH2Rpo4TFDCdEbHxtpwxQ9XMJSSt4lVHTU1J2SCi4cfwPmwtUTs/s1600/water2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2fnlsjKSaPcwH1CfuOG8RUbOlNrrnnPZE1TsKy4kkPjYC65JLQ4KOxEI8bIwTld-kM2_gTYsYhwrA67NLm_nKDUq9qH2Rpo4TFDCdEbHxtpwxQ9XMJSSt4lVHTU1J2SCi4cfwPmwtUTs/s1600/water2.JPG" height="502" width="640" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>From the Collection of Mary Pharo Meldon</i></span></div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-193846743734368357.post-76477971154096512502015-03-28T12:48:00.000-04:002015-03-28T12:48:41.354-04:00March 2015 Flooding<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif1gt0PVCgxzJstX4uryGLdfRfqsC7k-wdiL17bKFaw03axZvWWeYluExaFzB4tJAHw3S78ezp-3imEwVT8R4WkxelTybvQE-AAapPxPljOHJ_UtQN5zKWtpfPCFMQmkvWgvfmVhWz98k/s1600/St.+Rose+flood+3-16-2015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif1gt0PVCgxzJstX4uryGLdfRfqsC7k-wdiL17bKFaw03axZvWWeYluExaFzB4tJAHw3S78ezp-3imEwVT8R4WkxelTybvQE-AAapPxPljOHJ_UtQN5zKWtpfPCFMQmkvWgvfmVhWz98k/s1600/St.+Rose+flood+3-16-2015.jpg" height="398" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>St. Rose Church from the air 3-16-2015</i><br />
<i>Photo Credit: Tim Jeffries</i><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Over the years, I've taken numerous pictures of St. Rose Church -- but never from this view. Once again, photographer Tim Jeffries outdid himself when he captured this picture of the recent flood. If I recall correctly, this year's flood crested at 58.6 feet. Flood stage is 52' so it was just enough to flood the parking lot of St. Rose Church. Note that the "little red benches" featured in the previous post were completely submerged.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">In talking with Tim, I asked him if he had any pictures of the flooding of Rivertowne Marina. He shared this one with me.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirRQWFEblzwktUiN8cxthgCiBrAaGDwdFB23KjcrHMhy9Yy8J6VZKDp8GHWefrOuRA7iqfBIQFaw0lH-TXcQz6R2KbQtHH4Bq3ie0YzKnzzbP4z1ccR07rnmGqJOX9p7mpmKQ7ZPiviRA/s1600/Rivertowne.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirRQWFEblzwktUiN8cxthgCiBrAaGDwdFB23KjcrHMhy9Yy8J6VZKDp8GHWefrOuRA7iqfBIQFaw0lH-TXcQz6R2KbQtHH4Bq3ie0YzKnzzbP4z1ccR07rnmGqJOX9p7mpmKQ7ZPiviRA/s1600/Rivertowne.jpg" height="346" width="640" /></a></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Rivertowne Marina</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Photo Credit: Tim Jeffries</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">As you can see, the buildings and the boats stored in the surrounding lot are high and dry. Just to add a few pictures of my own, Bill and I went down and captured the <i>Jennie Wade, </i>normally undergoing restoration in the parking lot, surrounded by water and some of the local ducks.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguZyOwiMnmfBdksK728jRO3Ngog3q3ummm_kuD0QRR09uDiv1rSKG5r1ItcPg-l9VEzzpk3AKpzVsoHhRNx82ivemxgBaXj-Pg3-L0qZyyQensy9f-6NnI7D-xozIPxIzKe3wXPTuYW_8/s1600/DSC_7743.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguZyOwiMnmfBdksK728jRO3Ngog3q3ummm_kuD0QRR09uDiv1rSKG5r1ItcPg-l9VEzzpk3AKpzVsoHhRNx82ivemxgBaXj-Pg3-L0qZyyQensy9f-6NnI7D-xozIPxIzKe3wXPTuYW_8/s1600/DSC_7743.jpg" height="424" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Jennie Wade 3-8-15</i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDM7KfT3vIFUwt17EInmO5FbyC3tgfHiJL7EWKr9fI-MUs5jAdGqLz6w8yZEub1GK4_FYsBI0WO0acDSks2SStqKR7d2vYpaxxunLjuGPaBHWfQqhOQA-CE_szEVmNElNYQ2kK2xC5l1k/s1600/DSC_7748.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDM7KfT3vIFUwt17EInmO5FbyC3tgfHiJL7EWKr9fI-MUs5jAdGqLz6w8yZEub1GK4_FYsBI0WO0acDSks2SStqKR7d2vYpaxxunLjuGPaBHWfQqhOQA-CE_szEVmNElNYQ2kK2xC5l1k/s1600/DSC_7748.jpg" height="424" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Finally, here is a picture of my husband, Bill Reed, sitting on the "little red bench" the week before it would be completely submerged in the rising flood waters. I think we are all ready for spring.</span></div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-193846743734368357.post-76651506719632155032015-03-26T10:54:00.000-04:002015-03-26T11:04:12.927-04:00The Little Red Bench<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq26c8zGqGzTP3__Jut45B_qWQsS94Haws68qRUlZeo_J7DcVVbmR5Sbq0BDYFZKJu9Rq8VvJvEU8bwd79ad_ZSMdRBgBatC0vzaPn2o5sIr5MzE3c6e3NG32J_062tHj_03E4RKQrcvo/s1600/River+2-20-2014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq26c8zGqGzTP3__Jut45B_qWQsS94Haws68qRUlZeo_J7DcVVbmR5Sbq0BDYFZKJu9Rq8VvJvEU8bwd79ad_ZSMdRBgBatC0vzaPn2o5sIr5MzE3c6e3NG32J_062tHj_03E4RKQrcvo/s1600/River+2-20-2014.JPG" height="424" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Little Red Bench<br />2-20-2015<br />Used with the permission of Tim Jeffries, Photographer</i></td></tr>
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I'll admit it -- I spend way too much time on facebook. One recent discovery seems to have justified the time. Photographer, <a href="https://500px.com/tcjphoto">Tim Jeffries</a>, posted a picture of a red bench behind St. Rose Church on the banks of the Ohio River. I responded to Tim that this was a special place in the hearts of all Jones descendants as Elizabeth Kinley Jones and family lived on the river bank in a small frame house in 1870. I wrote about this <a href="http://ohioriverways.blogspot.com/2011/11/joneses-in-1870-census.html">in detail</a> in 2011. I jokingly told Tim that our family would probably love to have a four-season set of pictures from this spot. Since then, Tim has posted numerous pics from this spot.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikXfcr9mGprrsmLmo5-Naal8ax-fZhatALs4SNPt5Hw92WkB01hD16yIYh2DJDBnhUHv2z8Tucu8s7vLRvO36DcbCYUX2HPv29Y3ZTMBNovv9P3lRyJ-ofMRiC_tRVTZpmoKuRJ3nh7T8/s1600/Bench+collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikXfcr9mGprrsmLmo5-Naal8ax-fZhatALs4SNPt5Hw92WkB01hD16yIYh2DJDBnhUHv2z8Tucu8s7vLRvO36DcbCYUX2HPv29Y3ZTMBNovv9P3lRyJ-ofMRiC_tRVTZpmoKuRJ3nh7T8/s1600/Bench+collage.jpg" height="452" width="640" /></a></div>
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For those of you who are not aware, a Sandborn Fire Map pictures the exact location of the little frame house sitting on the river bank on land that is now occupied by the city-owned water works.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiolBhw78szLfEkOedpRQ80Nm9x6ldnGoUscdb6P-Wix11Kaga-IyE4h63KmbWfRmZuX_5szSpIJBbs4r_TGKG7iTyTvAekBVt8aJ-fkx_HzvGB3Gp8emB4av3SZV7XFra4J5Bo6KO5n1A/s1600/Sandborn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiolBhw78szLfEkOedpRQ80Nm9x6ldnGoUscdb6P-Wix11Kaga-IyE4h63KmbWfRmZuX_5szSpIJBbs4r_TGKG7iTyTvAekBVt8aJ-fkx_HzvGB3Gp8emB4av3SZV7XFra4J5Bo6KO5n1A/s1600/Sandborn.jpg" height="458" width="640" /></a></div>
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The frame building is described as being 250' from the corner of St. Rose Church. My brother, Tim, his wife, Dusty, and I went with tape measure in hand and tried to determine the exact location. You can read about our efforts <a href="http://ohioriverways.blogspot.com/2011/11/living-on-ohio.html">here</a>.<br />
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So the bench, for me, has become a symbol. It is a symbol of the Jones family connection to the river and to St. Rose. And due to numerous facebook posts during the past few weeks, I know it is symbolic for many Joneses, Scardinas, Brevings and Kramers. So think of our family when you visit the bench. Hopefully, the next pictures will have a lot more green.<br />
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<i>Note: I encourage you to check out some of Tim Jeffries photos of Cincinnati. I recently purchased a beautiful picture of the Over-the-Rhine area printed on canvas.</i><br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-193846743734368357.post-25327354447401046372015-03-25T13:27:00.002-04:002015-03-25T13:27:44.167-04:00Back to the RiverIt's been more than a year since I posted about our Jones/Wainright family connection to the Ohio River. During much of 2014, I tried to compile information documenting our relationship to Vincent Wainwright, our 4X great-grandfather and Revolutionary War patriot. He had served as a "Minute Man." You can read more about him <a href="http://goo.gl/2mCl3I">here.</a> Qualifying for the Daughters of the American Revolution requires "rock solid" research that tested every one of my skills. I am proud to say that I was successful. The process led me to uncover Cincinnati deeds for property owned by our Wainrights along the river, in the area that is now the <a href="https://www.google.com/webhp?hl=en&tab=ww&gws_rd=ssl#hl=en&q=theodore+m+berry+international+friendship+park">Theodore M. Berry International Friendship Park</a>.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1CgnUhduWvtIBH1Tg0_OoHMyADRlJlW1jM-7vTGaydLcVFj5jjchfxv7hnYl7uAJDo3inhvPpWYhqyEKFwqSZXlPvXdKMwVn5TGqyzHY8F_7qJm05Y1yBh79Ju7C2Hpw6uwYLJHMK8gM/s1600/IFP-Entire-park-looking-eas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1CgnUhduWvtIBH1Tg0_OoHMyADRlJlW1jM-7vTGaydLcVFj5jjchfxv7hnYl7uAJDo3inhvPpWYhqyEKFwqSZXlPvXdKMwVn5TGqyzHY8F_7qJm05Y1yBh79Ju7C2Hpw6uwYLJHMK8gM/s1600/IFP-Entire-park-looking-eas.jpg" height="640" width="422" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Theodore M. Berry International Friendship Park<br />www.cincinnatiparks.com</i></td></tr>
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In fact, as we will discover, William Wainright (and his wife, Ruth), were forced to sell their property along the river due to eminent domain. The land was taken in order to build the Little Miami Railroad, pictured along the left side of the picture.<br />
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So let's explore together our early Cincinnati roots along the banks of the beautiful Ohio River. A river truly does run through us.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-193846743734368357.post-54593407212993174682013-09-18T16:02:00.000-04:002013-09-19T08:14:16.779-04:00Don Adds a Chapter to Our Family History on the Ohio<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlicvu0NRtx8bLIBx9ON6w_-pyI0F2biJHjF7kprX5nFYP5ldv3lNxlVyaAL5imY8fUCKR6f2pj7xKoq_ioZEElwb-RZXXDcfcCv-Suo85615hwVvcB6SLX6__zKg-xg-eTzF0eYAUH9Q/s1600/DSC_6980.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlicvu0NRtx8bLIBx9ON6w_-pyI0F2biJHjF7kprX5nFYP5ldv3lNxlVyaAL5imY8fUCKR6f2pj7xKoq_ioZEElwb-RZXXDcfcCv-Suo85615hwVvcB6SLX6__zKg-xg-eTzF0eYAUH9Q/s640/DSC_6980.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Captain Don helps lock the Jennie Wade through the Meldahl Dam lock on her way to Cincinnati.</td></tr>
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I know it's been a good six months since I've added anything to this blog. I always seem to want to add things in chronological order, but my brother, Don Jones, gave me a good reason to go "out of order."<br />
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On April 1, 2013, Don ended his term as "President" of Champion Window, a company he had worked for and developed for twenty years. The company was purchased from the original owners by a group of out-of-state investors. The writing was pretty much on the wall. But not for Don ...<br />
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Don was able to become the owner of the Rivertowne Marina on Kellogg Avenue. This is the "right" move on so many levels. Don has always had a love of the river, working on the Delta Queen just out of high school, and purchasing increasingly larger boats over time. His current boat, the Fleur de Lis, was docked at Four Seasons Marina and provided the larger Jones family with countless memories, especially of trips to view the fireworks on Labor Day.<br />
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This second career has enabled Don to combine a love of the river with his business skills. He immediately made changes to the marina, cutting down overgrown weeds, identifying abandoned boats for removal, etc. But that's not enough for Don.<br />
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Rivertowne Marina actually includes 42 acres (including water) and has a lot of empty space that could be developed. Long-time customers were thrilled to discover that the new owner actually has a Captain's license and a love of boating at all levels -- well, maybe sailboats are an exception.<br />
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He has so much vision. He recently made the decision to purchase the <a href="http://jenniewadesternwheeler.blogspot.com/">Jennie Wade</a>, a 54' sternwheeler with an interesting history. Lacking an engine, the boat was pushed down the river by a towboat yesterday to make its new home at Rivertowne Marina. Don has an incredible vision for the future of this boat. It may serve as a concession enabling Rivertowne boaters to purchase ice, soft drinks and snacks without having to leave the facility. It will also add quite a bit of ambiance to a somewhat sterile environment. He has many other ideas, but I would be remiss to reveal them at this time.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hFD96E6yROw/Ujjoff8T-JI/AAAAAAAAses/1zCdkvOu2Vc/s1600/DSC_6957.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hFD96E6yROw/Ujjoff8T-JI/AAAAAAAAses/1zCdkvOu2Vc/s640/DSC_6957.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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I think all of the Joneses couldn't help but believe that Dad looked down on us with approval as we moved the Jennie Wade from Chilo to Cincinnati in beautiful weather. The marina is not very far from the East End location where four generations of Joneses lived and worked as far back as 1840 in Cincinnati. I feel like we have come full circle and that all of us are rejoicing in Don's newest project. If you want to know more, "like" the Rivertowne Marina facebook page and follow a new blog on the Jennie Wade located at <a href="http://jenniewadesternwheeler.blogspot.com/">Jennie Wade Sternwheeler</a>.<br />
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Welcome aboard!<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-193846743734368357.post-8262908951268740422013-03-03T10:07:00.002-05:002013-03-03T10:09:05.403-05:00A Proud Man - Charles Fred Jones aka "Butch"I've written about my grandfather and his pride in his work<a href="http://jonesfamilymatters.blogspot.com/2009_07_01_archive.html"><span style="color: blue;"> before</span></a>. I'm grateful that the Cincinnati Transit Company published a bimonthly news magazine called <i>The News. </i>I thought I had pretty much gleaned what I could from their publication until I found out that the <span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://library.cincymuseum.org/"><span style="color: blue;">Cincinnati History Library and Archives</span></a> </span>had some copies I may not have reviewed. A trip to the library uncovered some gems I had not previously discovered. What joy! And so I share them with you -- my fellow Joneses.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaFq_5dhApjD6gh4YCkEsQYRokFeqvnnYnGfC1e925sMKs6Ygdt-QFtguC5QWjTjmYhBvzBV08mnsAgkOp0-WSJ3u1gTm7XosauphD3L5paTLjOebUnnBTbNpr0_OMUS5HGS4msuSc9Yk/s1600/Pop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="578" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaFq_5dhApjD6gh4YCkEsQYRokFeqvnnYnGfC1e925sMKs6Ygdt-QFtguC5QWjTjmYhBvzBV08mnsAgkOp0-WSJ3u1gTm7XosauphD3L5paTLjOebUnnBTbNpr0_OMUS5HGS4msuSc9Yk/s640/Pop.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-193846743734368357.post-4349648302995227002013-03-02T14:23:00.002-05:002013-03-02T14:23:43.259-05:00It's Done with Ropes<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh15Gc4wPMnoMX0mS9IDf9jGpaPvR7AjKhJIexLEwGeKBDvmoajdKW8IyEwCsS18hxisffj_D8KnhidxEfEzVlsUukPbYte3B7BfUr7BPkDAl3r316p8TSdo6nu8nMgrfVeBm92G9oG82U/s1600/Dad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh15Gc4wPMnoMX0mS9IDf9jGpaPvR7AjKhJIexLEwGeKBDvmoajdKW8IyEwCsS18hxisffj_D8KnhidxEfEzVlsUukPbYte3B7BfUr7BPkDAl3r316p8TSdo6nu8nMgrfVeBm92G9oG82U/s640/Dad.jpg" width="350" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From <i>The News, May-June 1946, p. 17.</i></td></tr>
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<i>The News </i>was a bi-monthly publication of the Cincinnati Transit Company, aka "the bus company." My Dad, John Thomas Jones, worked in the "car barn" where his father was the foreman. This picture was taken one year after Dad served in England during World War II. Eventually he would become a mechanic, and later, an electrician. The picture in the magazine had more detail that the one I was able to reproduce, but you get the idea. I love it when someone comes up with a simple solution to a problem they face -- as this one was. Dad would have been 25 at the time of this picture.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-193846743734368357.post-88708449809458789382013-02-14T12:07:00.000-05:002013-03-03T09:24:46.313-05:00An Unexpected Find Thanks to Google BooksIn the evening when I am half-watching TV, I often search for the names of family members on google books. (Have I ever mentioned how much I LOVE google books)? Last night I was searching on my grandfather, Charles F. Jones. Up came a reference to <i>The News </i>published by the Cincinnati Transit Company where both my grandfather and father were employed. Thanks to our wonderful Public Library of Cincinnati and Hamilton Co., I was able to "Ask A Librarian" to find this article on microfilm and email me a digital image free! So here is today's piece of gold.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAuzQcDsg35K_p1MenlBBrwU0CcDkSq6WRnckXkPDlxF2lrwVrjVkbN0onpFi3Mif8_jhhQXTCTEiKxIG2XMG-5-GnKpq6cQusY5T-fwsYS9HG_bjM8Y1rJq5azU7z7W7cVQkRcRkKV1Q/s1600/news2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="431" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAuzQcDsg35K_p1MenlBBrwU0CcDkSq6WRnckXkPDlxF2lrwVrjVkbN0onpFi3Mif8_jhhQXTCTEiKxIG2XMG-5-GnKpq6cQusY5T-fwsYS9HG_bjM8Y1rJq5azU7z7W7cVQkRcRkKV1Q/s640/news2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnL-VdzjcV25bnM-wDEh_yMOJdFqE4Nw_b9xLq-SPc_d8roixyQZO5GiXbKM57FFyF92FsUoF_D9R7V79XN72WycMFgzXUPc8UJI6Vp70niXus0AORTQDm4zFGlZj7yPgGZTu2J2Y3cKw/s1600/Dad2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="576" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnL-VdzjcV25bnM-wDEh_yMOJdFqE4Nw_b9xLq-SPc_d8roixyQZO5GiXbKM57FFyF92FsUoF_D9R7V79XN72WycMFgzXUPc8UJI6Vp70niXus0AORTQDm4zFGlZj7yPgGZTu2J2Y3cKw/s640/Dad2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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In truth, <i>The News </i>labeled the picture incorrectly. From left to right it should read Pfc. Charles F. Jones, Jr., Sgt. Robt. L. Jones, and Cpl. John T. Jones.The article refers to two of the sons meeting in England, and I have a picture of that. It also references a separate article in <i>The News </i>and a picture in the <i>Enquirer -- </i>so I guess I have more hunting to do.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpUsiYzakGszlvMvsiC813Fs75-fxsh2EOSOxP0ZiNIuzxZZf1U1rZO6Ajfo5ez7G6qzkM3733CTYinjakM1sCgp5punU3mf64qnO1pORwH0oMWjOiHvyZOmQe8yaibIsOi07wFQLVHW0/s1600/BJ.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpUsiYzakGszlvMvsiC813Fs75-fxsh2EOSOxP0ZiNIuzxZZf1U1rZO6Ajfo5ez7G6qzkM3733CTYinjakM1sCgp5punU3mf64qnO1pORwH0oMWjOiHvyZOmQe8yaibIsOi07wFQLVHW0/s640/BJ.jpg" width="444" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John and Bob in England</td></tr>
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<i style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Update: Here is the same picture as it appeared in The News</i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">, periodical published by the Cincinnati Street Railway, July/Aug.1945, p.7.</span><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-193846743734368357.post-13327058603135240522013-02-13T18:36:00.001-05:002013-02-13T18:36:16.824-05:00Dad's House in the 1937 Flood<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfYxcMPtnVDM4f7sr9dfWwOi4Le8-RpunW4JjAt5mtvpJRqQQ62O-EV1OhqH_LmwEdywaQH2uvhJpFTF7RtKnhx6WQlOcYSH6OPl34FAOx1QXCtpO4F4V9qwKHnWV6o8ykPaqKquDb8zA/s1600/Dad's+House.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfYxcMPtnVDM4f7sr9dfWwOi4Le8-RpunW4JjAt5mtvpJRqQQ62O-EV1OhqH_LmwEdywaQH2uvhJpFTF7RtKnhx6WQlOcYSH6OPl34FAOx1QXCtpO4F4V9qwKHnWV6o8ykPaqKquDb8zA/s640/Dad's+House.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2424 Eastern Ave. (now Riverside) from the 1937 Flood</td></tr>
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Yesterday, Bryan Phillips, owner of the <a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Cincinnatis-East-End-Columbia-Tusculum-Linwood/112612095443921">East End facebook page</a>, texted me that there was a video on you tube that had a picture of my Dad's house 2 minutes and 30 seconds in. I couldn't wait to check it out.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/-ZYCdIKQp4E?rel=0" width="420"></iframe><br />
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Brian Gordon posted this video on facebook in April, 2010. Here is how he described it.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCClBQlwsBNcFjO2Z-pZb1fz_On9X4yTjGObbnu5dF-nOno75hJq6P1lmWi3Yyz2vdXIXlTrqSZF2qD3Pr8r5sUqWkNwC8eo6_sisSnOaeRTbcuoGMpfWdD3lfpe-CQkjmx3MFflYPB3k/s1600/flood.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="344" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCClBQlwsBNcFjO2Z-pZb1fz_On9X4yTjGObbnu5dF-nOno75hJq6P1lmWi3Yyz2vdXIXlTrqSZF2qD3Pr8r5sUqWkNwC8eo6_sisSnOaeRTbcuoGMpfWdD3lfpe-CQkjmx3MFflYPB3k/s640/flood.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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I contacted Brian Gordon for permission to embed the video and a "snip" of Dad's house on this blog. He graciously agreed. Although we have a picture of Dad's house in the flood, I don't think it does justice to just how bad the flood was for the Jones family. I'm also grateful for Brian Gordon's description of everything on this video.<br />
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I guess it gives a whole new meaning to "A River Runs Through Us."Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-193846743734368357.post-87415369597111339942012-08-30T22:19:00.001-04:002012-08-31T07:57:05.549-04:00It's the End of an EraToday marks the demise of one of the most prominent landmarks in the East End -- Highland School. This school has gone through many changes during the past 15 years or so. After no longer being used as an elementary school, the school became home to one program after another including an Inland Waterways Program, a Montessori School and later the East End Heritage School. My Dad lived directly across the street from the school and attended it during his elementary years.<br />
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Despite several attempts to repurpose the building, none of these efforts came to pass. Located in the flood plain of the Ohio River, it was difficult to obtain financing. I'm told there were restrictions about how big the footprint of the building could be and deed restrictions from a large underground pipe behind the building. Empty and abandoned for several years, the last <i>coup de gras </i>(deathblow) came from vandals who removed gutters and downspouts allowing the building to be overtaken with mold. It only took a little over a week. Pictured is the transition . . .<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Beginning of the End<br />
Photo Credit: Bryan Phillips<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8GdO_VP6ATxS74Q3m3IHQrtOLK7shlkEKq2mg2Dq6Jkpa6kUDp48VNsuGMbggAwJg6ORZH_tPEMYQqhEwELgG3Uat31GUmOKJM6FVv_0boFmBsQDPxgrlu9_hqp5x8o3c14b38ufwG4s/s1600/Highlands.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8GdO_VP6ATxS74Q3m3IHQrtOLK7shlkEKq2mg2Dq6Jkpa6kUDp48VNsuGMbggAwJg6ORZH_tPEMYQqhEwELgG3Uat31GUmOKJM6FVv_0boFmBsQDPxgrlu9_hqp5x8o3c14b38ufwG4s/s640/Highlands.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLQh5ktqTLKZ_2Rtc1Mk6va3natLtj6qo2X2L9Nh2WHw3CIo7pYrsZe5IVB_OBeb26aRSSLE6BcWLe8HQuINc_4cA7ac2O70Y8sUhQynEvN__1tQhwz-cKHXv-RH6c3nAlm0A1TEVua9k/s1600/Highlands.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLQh5ktqTLKZ_2Rtc1Mk6va3natLtj6qo2X2L9Nh2WHw3CIo7pYrsZe5IVB_OBeb26aRSSLE6BcWLe8HQuINc_4cA7ac2O70Y8sUhQynEvN__1tQhwz-cKHXv-RH6c3nAlm0A1TEVua9k/s640/Highlands.PNG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Earlier Today (8-30-2012)</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Photo Credit: Bryan Phillips</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Later Today</i></span><br />
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<span style="text-align: left;">I spoke to the man from O'Rourke, and he told me that it will be another month before everything is cleared away. They are recycling rebar, concrete, and everything that can be salvaged. If you look carefully at the picture in the bottom right, you can see the roof-line of my Dad's former home. I can't help but wonder if it will be next.</span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-193846743734368357.post-61136079453028516382012-06-27T13:02:00.000-04:002012-08-31T07:57:52.606-04:00Paddlefest 2012<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-F1RG0jGCtRs/T-X30tP1KoI/AAAAAAAAnp4/gTuP2tOh45k/s1600/Paddlefest2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="356" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-F1RG0jGCtRs/T-X30tP1KoI/AAAAAAAAnp4/gTuP2tOh45k/s640/Paddlefest2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Paddlefest 2012</i></td></tr>
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This past Sunday in Cincinnati, over 2200 people took to their canoe, kayak or other non-powered mode of transportation and paddled down the Ohio River from Coney Island to the Public Landing -- a trip of eight miles. Unfortunately, no matter what I did, I couldn't capture it as I would have liked because I needed a telephoto lens. Just take my word for it -- it was fantastic. One of the stated purposes is to celebrate the resource that the Ohio River is to our community.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-193846743734368357.post-9027110358325676672012-06-06T23:24:00.000-04:002012-09-07T19:36:33.768-04:00The East End - Guest Author Dorothy Weil<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLq0sStx_eas3YmYZlXk_ZWbTrvMPc9mgPc_g-Gzb7D1f9MFXt8Mu3rr9WBaX0iS6k4Nz6UoAd8Qbuqck4i3rqj_A6a3wA3qZn_3DOBkInXNeDx6We7_9dC5Rci8t8iI3R9Kj6HgpNNCM/s1600/River+home.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLq0sStx_eas3YmYZlXk_ZWbTrvMPc9mgPc_g-Gzb7D1f9MFXt8Mu3rr9WBaX0iS6k4Nz6UoAd8Qbuqck4i3rqj_A6a3wA3qZn_3DOBkInXNeDx6We7_9dC5Rci8t8iI3R9Kj6HgpNNCM/s1600/River+home.PNG" /></a></div>
<span style="color: purple;"><i>Several years ago, I read a book <u style="font-weight: bold;">The River Home</u> by Dorothy Weil. It touched me. In the process of writing this blog, I've repeatedly recalled some of the images of the East End and the Ohio River that Dorothy so poignantly described. One chapter, in particular, discusses the educational experiences of the so-called "River Rats" from one Cincinnati neighborhood.</i></span><br />
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<i style="color: purple;">Today I wrote to Dorothy and asked permission to share one chapter with you. She graciously agreed to allow me to do so. If you love her writing as much as I do, take a few minutes to visit her </i><a href="http://www.dorothyweil.com/"><i><b><span style="color: blue;">website</span></b></i></a><i style="color: purple;">, to learn about her and the books she has published. She has also assisted in the production of several videos about life on the river and in the East End.</i><br />
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<i style="color: purple;">So with Dorothy's permission, I share with you "The East End."</i><br />
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<b>The East End</b><br />
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School was a big Victorian building between Eastern Avenue and the railroad tracks. It was the oldest school building in the city, with wooden beams in the gym and chutes to slide down as fire escapes. We all longed to try them, but fire drill was just a march through the halls and onto the playground.</div>
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The playground was only ten feet from the trains that chugged through regularly, throwing soot over everything. When we kids played kickball we came away looking like end men in a minstrel show. Also in the blacktopped yard were the "shacks" where the "dumb kids" went. These were separate barracks manned by the strongest and most fearless teachers and populated by the hopeless.</div>
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There were smart kids and dumb kids, fat kids and skinny kids, bad kids and good kids. One of the boys in my sixth-grade class was a Down's syndrome child; the other children called him Dopey after the dwarf in <i>Snow White </i>and teased him without mercy. Howard, a tall, handsome boy, had a horrible smell, a smell so bad no one would be his buddy in line or take his hand. No one did anything to help these children. Our teachers were old maids, usually with iron-gray hair. They dressed in subdued colors and sensible shoes. They loved their subjects and encouraged the alert and motivated. They had no interest in social problems or the unprepared. Howard probably never knew what was wrong.</div>
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Every kid had a nickname, usually based on his or her worst feature: there was "Tits," a boy who had pronounced breasts, and "Wharthog" and "Meatface," both struggling with pre-teen acne. I was dubbed "BBD" for "Big Butt Dorothy."</div>
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We were seated by level of achievement. I was soon competing for the first seat in the first row by the door. Poor Howard brought up the rear in the last seat in the last row by the window. In between were rows of dozing kids as the teacher lectured on the Constitution and "Initiative and Referendum."</div>
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Even singing class was hierarchical: the sopranos were "Bluebirds," the altos and tenors were "Robins," and the basses and lower-voiced were "Crows," a nomenclature that obviously favored the higher registers.</div>
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In spite of my standing in the class, or maybe because of it, I felt out of place. I was a new kid on the block once again, a kid who talked like a book.</div>
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Though I might have been smart, I was still a "River Rat." I hated writing down my address: "Boat, Foot of Donham Street." I wanted a house number and a street name, something solid and respectable. Everyone else lived in secure homes that stayed put on the small, shady streets of the East End, while I hiked up to school from the river. </div>
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I spent hours in the library at the corner of Donham and Eastern reading Louisa May Alcott and the Brontes. The Brontes gave me romance, but Alcott gave me more solid dreams. I wanted to have a family like Jo's: intelligent, peaceful, loving and living in New England in a shingled house with lilac bushes and apple trees. Half headachy from print (I was always suffering various aches and itches) and due for dinner at the yacht club, I would walk a block down Donham, then often be held up by a stalled freight train. To get by, I would climb under a coupling or crawl under a car, fully prepared to hit the dirt and lie flat if the train started.</div>
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The kids of the East End were quite aware of the area's low-class reputation and soon taught us not to mention where we were from if we went outside the neighborhood, to the skating rink or downtown: "Just say you're from Hyde Park or Mt. Lookout." </div>
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In spite of the neighborhood's lack of wealth, the part of the East End around McKinley School was quite pleasant, like a small river town. There were shade trees along Eastern and some houses with historic charm. I was chosen to appear on a radio program featuring school children from various neighborhoods, and learned that the East End was originally called Columbia and was the first community in the city to be settled. The riverfront was once the town of Fulton, where steamboats were built. We had a pioneer cemetery near Lunken Airport and historic residence built by Benjamin Stites, an East End founder.</div>
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Clustered around the school on Eastern Avenue were a supermarket, a beauty parlor, a clothing store, a bank, a movie theater, a post office, a diner, several bars, a chili parlor and an old-fashioned notions store with pull-down stools. Everything families needed could be found there.</div>
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In the days we lived there, people paid little attention to the river, unless it flooded or gave up a dead body or did some other asocial thing. We roller-skated and hung around in the school yard. There were parks in the lower East End, toward town, but we never went to Turkey Ridge or below because the kids there were rumored to be really tough. </div>
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Mom warned us to stay away from tough kids and told me not to let the older boys get me alone anywhere: "They may have desires you younger children don't know about." True, there were a couple of boys in the school who shaved or had chins black with stubble, but they could be avoided. We ran pretty free in our nearby streets, never worrying about bad areas or hoodlums. We went to the movies, Jim and I, at night, along with some kids who lived right next door to the coal yard near the tracks.<br />
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Back down on the river, I practiced kicking the kickball in the field above the marina. More than anything, I wanted to be a good player, but I was never more than a bunter. Occasionally, I wandered over to the woods where the shanty boaters lived. Nettie and Annie went to McKinley, and their brother "Pig Iron" was receiving his education in the shacks. Their boat, an old scow with no motor, was moored among the willows. Their bathroom was a seat over the water and a bar of soap on the rope. The family grew their own vegetables on the small bit of land where they moored, and they kept chickens. Clarence, the father, fished for their dinner and made his own "raisin jack." He and the other shanty boaters "rolled coal" for their stoves from barges that were tied off across the water. The minute a tow boat left a barge full of coal on the ice breakers -- to be picked up later -- and puffed out of sight, an armada of small boats surrounded it. Clarence, along with his cohorts, was out in his skiff filling it with chunks of coal. He would come back from a raid so weighed down, the oarlocks of his boat were at water level.<br />
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Mom though shanty-boaters interesting and colorful and encouraged me to make friends with them. But when Daddy got wind of my visiting them, he forbade me to go back. To a steamboat man, the shanty boaters were thieves, riff-raff, no-account.<br />
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As usual, I depended on company from Jim, who was willing to let me tag along with him until more interesting male companions came along. Mom needed my services to help cook. Chopping cabbage for coleslaw, our usual salad, and frying pork chops were chores I enjoyed. I hated trying to make "oleo margarine" look palatable, like butter. We squeezed a tiny glob of red dye into a pound of white lardy stuff and kneaded it in. We did everything to the accompaniment of the radio, our one link besides school with the world beyond the river. We sang along with the endlessly played soap ads: "Rinso white, Rinso bright / Birdies sing all day long." We would never forget the slogans: "Ipana for the smile of beauty, Sal Hepatica for the smile of health."<br />
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Soap operas played constantly: "Backstage Wife," "Lorenzo Jones," "Just Plain Bill," "Life Can be Beautiful." I believed in the last one, utterly.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv3_qhSeDsJLwEdM1OzKnwP6ih2KMM-o0PMkoziOQYgi_WnMaI_lAXQt1RlRb_omgAktR0QSAnKAkgRqR75YbcYkauxjEU-1M-9lohKZXjovyP-TpIcjs4m7Yamd-lMyu8E0XDhsPihNQ/s1600/Do.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv3_qhSeDsJLwEdM1OzKnwP6ih2KMM-o0PMkoziOQYgi_WnMaI_lAXQt1RlRb_omgAktR0QSAnKAkgRqR75YbcYkauxjEU-1M-9lohKZXjovyP-TpIcjs4m7Yamd-lMyu8E0XDhsPihNQ/s200/Do.PNG" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dorothy Weil, Author</td></tr>
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Note: I would love to read your comments, as I am sure Dorothy would, too.<br />
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<i>Kathy</i></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-193846743734368357.post-69976602540664541462012-05-04T18:52:00.002-04:002012-05-04T19:25:06.107-04:00Stowing Away on the Delta Queen!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vboZ-NnFUJc/T6RGkTm869I/AAAAAAAAmHo/CIrQzlGEjCo/s1600/photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vboZ-NnFUJc/T6RGkTm869I/AAAAAAAAmHo/CIrQzlGEjCo/s640/photo.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Delta and Mississippi Queens moored upriver during Tall Stacks</i></td></tr>
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It's the Friday before Derby Day, and I can't help but be transported back to my life 32 years ago. Picture a newly-divorced, single parent of 22-month-old little girl. I was still trying to cautiously navigate the waters of my new phase in life.<br />
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My family had a love of the <i>Delta Queen</i>. After all, it was a historic steamboat whose home port was Cincinnati (at that time). My youngest brother, Don, worked on the <i>Delta Queen</i> after high school and before college. He became friends with the Cruise Director, Terry Sevrens. Thus began a long friendship between Terry and our whole family.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdpCY0AQuCkC5A4n0PzUJohQWHSdJm0qOfT9b3MPHMXmi4aXX61rZ1JIrrWvJJbeFZ6aVthV71gMOI74WhQwuyHj8VRVZBp12bm65QQe492IR9Z8JFujYp53GXAogIj80hE1fnXFjrWLU/s1600/scan0006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="284" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdpCY0AQuCkC5A4n0PzUJohQWHSdJm0qOfT9b3MPHMXmi4aXX61rZ1JIrrWvJJbeFZ6aVthV71gMOI74WhQwuyHj8VRVZBp12bm65QQe492IR9Z8JFujYp53GXAogIj80hE1fnXFjrWLU/s320/scan0006.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mom (in center waving) and Terry (far right) depart on a Derby Cruise<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMcSm3sl-c8Ih7MRbvENJaTK4hiIMYrHkqXkxzgQBfqia-hLS2rLbDoRsHUqz-3tmu2jF39dPtnz5CF8UvLPiTxr1n1AwpHvg0do4REd6vxY96G_UjJDgFpVciOlJ-6BDBVAgAdPgh-mY/s1600/scan0004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="462" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMcSm3sl-c8Ih7MRbvENJaTK4hiIMYrHkqXkxzgQBfqia-hLS2rLbDoRsHUqz-3tmu2jF39dPtnz5CF8UvLPiTxr1n1AwpHvg0do4REd6vxY96G_UjJDgFpVciOlJ-6BDBVAgAdPgh-mY/s640/scan0004.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Terry introduces the calliope player.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mom and Terry</td></tr>
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My mother was widowed and making her way in uncharted territory, too. She had always loved Derby Day (usually throwing a party to celebrate the blooming azaleas, mint juleps, and, of course, a horse race). This particular year, she decided to indulge herself and book a four-day round trip on the Delta Queen to coincide with the Kentucky Derby. Terry, who had more than a passing interest in my mother, was sure to provide her with a good time.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don and Liz on a separate trip</td></tr>
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We all went down to the river to see my Mom off on her great adventure. Just as we were about to leave, Terry asked who was going to "stow away" and use the top bunk in my Mom's cabin. After acknowledging that this was a totally crazy idea, it was decided that I would be the stowaway. My toddler daughter was handed over to my brother, Don, who agreed to watch her and drive down to Louisville the next day and pick me up. I don't know what we were thinking, as there was no preparation, no diapers, no change of clothes for my daughter, and Terry could jeopardize his job if I got caught.<br />
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I WAS IN!! I can't tell you everything that happened in one post, but I can tell you it was one of the most risk-taking adventures of my life, and one I cherish.<br />
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The Delta Queen in 2012</b><br />
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So today is the anniversary of that great adventure. The <i>Delta Queen</i> is no longer plying the rivers between Cincinnati and New Orleans. It is docked "permanently" in Memphis, Tennessee. Due to the wooden construction of its superstructure, Congress would not extend its waiver to continue operating as an overnight passenger steamboat. Thus ended an era.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOfq8cXXITdYF2ecKLRfCyylqvEd391YjgX_cDUpey7Naf0bBfxq5hRBRPLaAmRFN2UGpXkwFDj4FMG_UXB7zU_vCpYJe1FFRIGLCn6j1UoG0yZ8Y4AqZcZJULyjsZZ9CF0fhVrq3ldR8/s1600/AQ.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOfq8cXXITdYF2ecKLRfCyylqvEd391YjgX_cDUpey7Naf0bBfxq5hRBRPLaAmRFN2UGpXkwFDj4FMG_UXB7zU_vCpYJe1FFRIGLCn6j1UoG0yZ8Y4AqZcZJULyjsZZ9CF0fhVrq3ldR8/s400/AQ.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>American Queen docked near Showboat Majestic<br />Port of Cincinnati</i></td></tr>
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I made my way to the riverfront to take in the newly-refurbished <i>American Queen. </i>The boat made its way to Cincinnati last night, following up a <a href="http://www.wdrb.com/story/18075218/belle-of-louisville-wins-great-steamboat-race"><span style="color: blue;">steamboat race</span> </a>with the <i>Belle of Louisville </i>and the <i>Belle of Cincinnati. </i>The <i>Belle of Louisville </i>"won."</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFW7MHoSDBvjkmd8FEqWUHnb7_gHRNKHiSUZsZBihY90gZtQZsk34TNlpux34lTwLXC5y0to_SapxB_9ulJ0qeS616in7Z5a6KTYaT_O2M4b7xsujcux1tZUl4ffOu-G05Tb4BUHOMbQ4/s1600/AQ2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="340" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFW7MHoSDBvjkmd8FEqWUHnb7_gHRNKHiSUZsZBihY90gZtQZsk34TNlpux34lTwLXC5y0to_SapxB_9ulJ0qeS616in7Z5a6KTYaT_O2M4b7xsujcux1tZUl4ffOu-G05Tb4BUHOMbQ4/s640/AQ2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Port of Cincinnati, Ohio<br />May 4, 2012</i><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">I'll be thinking of Mom, Terry, the Delta Queen and the Derby all weekend. Now all I need is a mint julep.</span></div>
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</tbody></table>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-193846743734368357.post-88094276543508032362012-04-29T20:40:00.002-04:002012-04-30T14:09:12.619-04:00Just My Luck!I have a new-found friend, Bryan Phillips, who has a<a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Cincinnatis-East-End-Columbia-Tusculum-Linwood/112612095443921"> <span style="color: blue;">facebook page</span></a> on Cincinnati's East End, Columbia-Tusculum and Linwood. If you have an interest in this old Cincinnati neighborhood, his site is a gold mine. Since meeting him I've been able to have a few lunches with other "old" East Enders who have helped me get a better understanding of the neighborhood that defined four generations of my family.<br />
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People from the neighborhood are constantly sending Bryan pictures and information for his page. Bryan knows I have a wish list:<br />
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<li>Locating a picture of my great-grandfather's house on Gladstone.</li>
<li>Any pictures on Eastern Avenue (Riverside Drive) from the 2200-2500 block.</li>
<li>Pictures of the old homes on the street that now is Columbia Parkway.</li>
<li>A picture of the house on the riverbank behind St. Rose Church.</li>
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Today he struck gold! A follower of his page, Gary Sunday, made five more 1937 flood pictures available for the site. A short time later, I got a phone call from Bryan. He knew this picture would get me going.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj2kyyfia1yicYBsKDZa1jqYJQ6uOgVlsdyIL5T-oaTlN92RomZtqxZBR2N4K9AAKqjGdmqLdL4gd4O7HYbIskdJbro4QJAsLN3MYXoep4CKZUmYpYxGnikLwMRm84KRE-UBRzFenGtjA/s1600/flood.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj2kyyfia1yicYBsKDZa1jqYJQ6uOgVlsdyIL5T-oaTlN92RomZtqxZBR2N4K9AAKqjGdmqLdL4gd4O7HYbIskdJbro4QJAsLN3MYXoep4CKZUmYpYxGnikLwMRm84KRE-UBRzFenGtjA/s640/flood.PNG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1937 Flood - Pictured is Highland School<br />
My grandparent's home is to the far right with the chimney in view.<br />
Photo Credit: Gary Sunday and Bryan Phillips</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKj2mOu2Ke1sOc862a7RjlHIux0eJceT8s_s0isWprc8dxoGlKcs8i8U9C_XJg4PTxEw4YHkw5TpjM9j_ldQ9lf2GABq6LlmR69fVykmpXuAQbb7I5SPUsrywO0K7j5v0EMCkaRpH2I2U/s1600/chimney.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKj2mOu2Ke1sOc862a7RjlHIux0eJceT8s_s0isWprc8dxoGlKcs8i8U9C_XJg4PTxEw4YHkw5TpjM9j_ldQ9lf2GABq6LlmR69fVykmpXuAQbb7I5SPUsrywO0K7j5v0EMCkaRpH2I2U/s200/chimney.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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When I first saw the picture, I thought the house was the building just behind the telephone pole. My brother, however, recognized an unmistakable pattern in the brick work of the chimney. I still remember being shown the "line" about four inches below the ceiling that marked the crest of the flood. Paint could never completely cover it. Other pictures that we've seen of the flood show water levels that are not nearly as high.<br />
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Gary had some other priceless pictures in his collection.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjSgnKbl87dw1hkRgFL3F_9gZUbNVqHnxf4nP-gGamjIBoSu5IXKMDrJYPzg56AcXTTXrjnrTZwDHQkE8hkU947rESmUiNHP32R0eREAmUipkaJe4vbH5rzngYrWaMs0tOYBgKJayqa7k/s1600/flood4.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjSgnKbl87dw1hkRgFL3F_9gZUbNVqHnxf4nP-gGamjIBoSu5IXKMDrJYPzg56AcXTTXrjnrTZwDHQkE8hkU947rESmUiNHP32R0eREAmUipkaJe4vbH5rzngYrWaMs0tOYBgKJayqa7k/s640/flood4.PNG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St. Rose Church and School<br />
My Joneses lived on the river bank BEHIND this church in the 1870s.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigPY2r5elPqhqUpyIOUrJn1T-6eVTz8tN5-3lbDGrzkbKjpy4x5GD62pxBC6YN_FEDaGyNtzy0KUEjh1Gog6lsM9LCcOWv_WEwEBjCzPaS3qht6qwh9SgpvYeVbq1NFd2ngQS8esRhyZ8/s1600/flood2.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigPY2r5elPqhqUpyIOUrJn1T-6eVTz8tN5-3lbDGrzkbKjpy4x5GD62pxBC6YN_FEDaGyNtzy0KUEjh1Gog6lsM9LCcOWv_WEwEBjCzPaS3qht6qwh9SgpvYeVbq1NFd2ngQS8esRhyZ8/s640/flood2.PNG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the height of the flood, the city was no longer able to pump water to the residents.<br />
This building is now surrounded by an unattractive wall 3' higher than the high water level of the '37 flood.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtSQO6W4CC2N_TrdKQprGN9CXw1Ap3AouHy6NJCyq3iKiVZ4Be9atk0lpgW8izEU5o2jvGlw2UThRJLLNJVJD7vDJjeokcwB-lBtpo7iloerUmoCgj_beu29wZpmd2F8lLyX8dWPPqxlw/s1600/flood1.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="420" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtSQO6W4CC2N_TrdKQprGN9CXw1Ap3AouHy6NJCyq3iKiVZ4Be9atk0lpgW8izEU5o2jvGlw2UThRJLLNJVJD7vDJjeokcwB-lBtpo7iloerUmoCgj_beu29wZpmd2F8lLyX8dWPPqxlw/s640/flood1.PNG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From Torrence Rd. looking west on Eastern Ave.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjReQYLW0kLqgVuIJNyIlCnDWjG6A9bI_aSUu_ucV9oRCQdoGKyYzp-seVCUEyi2NkYD3Avz3l09IU-kei1VPMguWVUw5PhFeRUeuZnirAhYA5pzEVkQg1Ll4kRrpdiakWcKZL2NzNheOE/s1600/flood3.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="398" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjReQYLW0kLqgVuIJNyIlCnDWjG6A9bI_aSUu_ucV9oRCQdoGKyYzp-seVCUEyi2NkYD3Avz3l09IU-kei1VPMguWVUw5PhFeRUeuZnirAhYA5pzEVkQg1Ll4kRrpdiakWcKZL2NzNheOE/s640/flood3.PNG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking west with St. Rose steeple on the far left. All of the houses no longer exist.<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">There are a few more pictures on my "wish list". Why do I feel so hopeful? It takes a community.<br />Thanks Bryan and Gary.</span></div>
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<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-193846743734368357.post-67655745914882210862012-04-27T23:23:00.000-04:002012-04-27T23:23:28.325-04:00Dad and the River<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGbP0cZS_CrCR5-rZe4cKegT1qSlbL6x5HLNj8XKI9DvTSoIsoBke4FXI1-8Rq-AzfRJUhcNd4TayRGmEDHM2754u5z5cfb72ZHrffd3MCtL2q-irxHZxHaYWPRqADLs0CZBAIHs67jIo/s1600/002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="433" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGbP0cZS_CrCR5-rZe4cKegT1qSlbL6x5HLNj8XKI9DvTSoIsoBke4FXI1-8Rq-AzfRJUhcNd4TayRGmEDHM2754u5z5cfb72ZHrffd3MCtL2q-irxHZxHaYWPRqADLs0CZBAIHs67jIo/s640/002.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dad and his canoe</td></tr>
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It's hard to believe, but my Dad, John Thomas Jones, died 34 years ago. He was only 57 years old. So I write this at such a disadvantage.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijLGhxOrE_aMpNZhzS0D8MsMU4JXLNvUhTIXl23mnQO5JeuDmVfHaoBGXe_XteTofPn_KBwljTkjiNm9uqKJ_OuKJ2A70PlHCUolNyrg5THZP_b5UUYG3_k9sLwCgpv0pQJ03dVTZ7Nzg/s1600/ramp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijLGhxOrE_aMpNZhzS0D8MsMU4JXLNvUhTIXl23mnQO5JeuDmVfHaoBGXe_XteTofPn_KBwljTkjiNm9uqKJ_OuKJ2A70PlHCUolNyrg5THZP_b5UUYG3_k9sLwCgpv0pQJ03dVTZ7Nzg/s320/ramp.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ramp from behind school to river</td></tr>
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We know Dad LOVED the river. After all, from the time he was nine years old, he lived in a house directly across the street from the river. It was in full view. The property for his school, Highlands Elementary, backed up all of the way to the bank of the river. In fact, a couple of decades ago his former school housed an "Inland Waterways" vocational program for high school students who learned the skills necessary to work on the river on barges, tows, etc. They trained on a barge called the <i>Marilyn McFarland </i>that was moored just behind the school. Every graduate had a job waiting.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kwJEcUZ6xqI/T2Ztt4A0alI/AAAAAAAAivo/vqyMkZbm7M8/s1600/barge1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kwJEcUZ6xqI/T2Ztt4A0alI/AAAAAAAAivo/vqyMkZbm7M8/s640/barge1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tow and barge from behind St. Rose Church with northern Kentucky in the background</td></tr>
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It's hard to imagine the river he knew as a child. The river is so different today. One of the main differences is that the river pool stage is double what it was then. During the summer, the river often became too shallow to support navigation. I remember Dad taking us down to look at a "<a href="http://www.steamboats.org/history-education/glossary/wicket_dam.html"><span style="color: blue;">wicket dam</span></a>" just before it was to be removed. (I checked -- the last wicket dam was removed in 1963. I was in the 8th Grade). Two new dams were opened, <a href="http://www.recreation.gov/recAreaDetails.do?contractCode=NRSO&recAreaId=316&agencyCode=130"><span style="color: blue;">Meldahl</span></a> and <a href="http://www.blogger.com/"><span style="color: blue;"><span id="goog_2074007916"></span>Markland</span><span id="goog_2074007917"></span></a>, effectively creating a 95 mile navigational reservoir with a much deeper pool stage.<br />
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I also remember that Dad was completely intrigued with the river when it flooded. I still remember being terrified when we drove down to the river's edge to check out a flood. I was absolutely convinced that the emergency brake on the car would not hold and that we were going to be swept away in the rushing water.<br />
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When Dad was a boy, the river was his playground. He used to talk about taking his canoe out into the river and riding the "rollers" churned up by the passing steamboats and tugboats. Based on the previous post, I can just imagine that he was afforded a lot of opportunity to do this because of the multiple trips made back and forth to Coney Island each day during the summer.<br />
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Dad's canoe was a casualty of becoming a "family man." When he and Mom were married, he sold his canoe in order to enable her to buy a sewing machine. Despite his new priorities, his love for the river was not diminished -- just postponed.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-193846743734368357.post-2799743908260534662012-04-13T19:17:00.000-04:002012-04-13T19:19:06.189-04:00The Island Queen and Coney Island<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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If you were a "Baby Boomer" in Cincinnati and white (I was shocked to find out that African-Americans were kept from the park until the '60s) you went to Coney Island. It was THE amusement park in this area. It was located on the banks of the Ohio River, had a nice picnic grove, amusement rides, a man-made lake, and a HUGE swimming pool. It was the place to go, and our family went once every summer with our Ryan cousins. Little did I know that not only our parents, but also our grandparents, probably participated in this tradition.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmjin48Ub29QtyyHQM0gFuAGAhFWx3vWxLUKisjU1vbOxgorwox009HsyGotCcIeXeOq2OelkEqoSoUelHhNJyei_4ZmikFLeMAAnnNEaqVeTpZLXtRD5mKWI3ypYpgWbYdFS74lstSOA/s1600/Tony.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmjin48Ub29QtyyHQM0gFuAGAhFWx3vWxLUKisjU1vbOxgorwox009HsyGotCcIeXeOq2OelkEqoSoUelHhNJyei_4ZmikFLeMAAnnNEaqVeTpZLXtRD5mKWI3ypYpgWbYdFS74lstSOA/s400/Tony.PNG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My uncle, Tony Scardina, is pictured eating watermelon in the picnic grove area of Coney Island.<br />
He later married Margaret Ann Jones, my Dad's sister.<br />
<i>Photo Credit: East End, Columbia-Tusculum, Linwood Facebook page</i></td></tr>
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Coney Island has an interesting history. You can read about it by clicking on this<a href="http://coneyislandcentral.com/timeline.php" style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: purple;"> link</span></a>. There were a few facts that really surprised me. Get it's earliest start as a picnic area in 1886, the land had been purchased by two steamboat captains. As part of their business model, guests were transported to the park by steamboat. As the park continued to make a variety of improvements, the first <i>Island Queen</i> steamboat was built at a cost of $80,000 and began transporting passengers in 1896. The boat could transport 3000 passengers at a time. Unfortunately, the original <i>Island Queen </i>was destroyed by fire moored in Cincinnati when fire spread from another steamboat moored along side her.<br />
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Two other steamboats were temporarily placed in service while a new <i>Island Queen</i> was built. This boat, built at a cost of between $300,000 and $400,000. It was christened in 1925 and served until 1947. It was on this boat that my parents met. From the picture below, you can see how often the boat was scheduled to make the trip a few miles upriver. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBbYuwkULfrSdVGKnJdxFgNy0Gv3FGrDID6hOQzuJaFSX4JC_rwOlZJK8kV0Ec8PZEJtWQvyoeBHHpGy0jLGl22rAY5HnhpnQaUaBJ4Zd-IFWP9_VxRZYvJFD4ZVismge9PHWqSVpwopc/s1600/isq.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="442" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBbYuwkULfrSdVGKnJdxFgNy0Gv3FGrDID6hOQzuJaFSX4JC_rwOlZJK8kV0Ec8PZEJtWQvyoeBHHpGy0jLGl22rAY5HnhpnQaUaBJ4Zd-IFWP9_VxRZYvJFD4ZVismge9PHWqSVpwopc/s640/isq.PNG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Photo Credit: Don Prout/ConeyIslandCentral.com<br />Permission to share on blog requested.</i><i><br /></i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgScXrrNDUoHUWyiDRC_rlDZGf7I5kSqcgcLb2KwEprgGKpYKedYXzF5ENoxU7pZ6vlAvITkQw_ry0wxyW5c9OW68kN8hwZYeFMKzbmaA7en5pch6-OxgHjEacMM7UPAcleoZuWC38s7kU/s1600/300px-Islandqueen093ab-25.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="499" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgScXrrNDUoHUWyiDRC_rlDZGf7I5kSqcgcLb2KwEprgGKpYKedYXzF5ENoxU7pZ6vlAvITkQw_ry0wxyW5c9OW68kN8hwZYeFMKzbmaA7en5pch6-OxgHjEacMM7UPAcleoZuWC38s7kU/s640/300px-Islandqueen093ab-25.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>From the Collection of the Public Library of Cincinnati and Hamilton County</i><br />
Note the "lighthouse" at the entrance near the top of the ramp. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJlTpla1CUtdh8zoxvsIh8jeUIQAwjRROW2gc1eaBdIS6h_7HrqewXLKt1P801421dlJKcHuqIVInAcJ6lieABtRO5GGvNhZDnnLGuhCv9gJV4MqLkJNxGLzqBMjdMBYS8BFCIarnMmcg/s1600/night.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="490" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJlTpla1CUtdh8zoxvsIh8jeUIQAwjRROW2gc1eaBdIS6h_7HrqewXLKt1P801421dlJKcHuqIVInAcJ6lieABtRO5GGvNhZDnnLGuhCv9gJV4MqLkJNxGLzqBMjdMBYS8BFCIarnMmcg/s640/night.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
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This second <i>Island Queen </i>has a place in the memory of almost every resident of Cincinnati and Northern Kentucky between 1925 -1947. Unfortunately, like the first <i>Island Queen, </i>this steamboat also burned. According to the website <span style="color: purple;"><a href="http://coneyislandcentral.com/">coneyislandcentral.com</a>, </span>the fire started when a welder's torch was lit near the oil storage tanks.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU4_dYV7ndVx_OEs1oLLYAnZwh6Kk98R4COQxIsHAR00yu67DFGiQxbrCf8_MBP-7JyMMMLL2Uk0U4Kr2FN1CvGSrEbusPvaslJ7PHgxnAwkPVeCONA53dFm5D0gYe-ggD_FzD-lK_Nko/s1600/quote.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="144" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU4_dYV7ndVx_OEs1oLLYAnZwh6Kk98R4COQxIsHAR00yu67DFGiQxbrCf8_MBP-7JyMMMLL2Uk0U4Kr2FN1CvGSrEbusPvaslJ7PHgxnAwkPVeCONA53dFm5D0gYe-ggD_FzD-lK_Nko/s640/quote.PNG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHiFlXxwgQCXZbYrRJ7n5vsjS8WeOAQBF2vkj8hTEe7XaF2kKERrRGKOQcqsouOo_7MPXzzVIBsGy9xtwTJUdZp7Pge3Z_EizdePwMB-_Q13oKnGIiGHH2x5rtXDNl8MAGksmlaNk2TqM/s1600/fire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHiFlXxwgQCXZbYrRJ7n5vsjS8WeOAQBF2vkj8hTEe7XaF2kKERrRGKOQcqsouOo_7MPXzzVIBsGy9xtwTJUdZp7Pge3Z_EizdePwMB-_Q13oKnGIiGHH2x5rtXDNl8MAGksmlaNk2TqM/s640/fire.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The <i>Island Queen </i>burning in 1947 in Pittsburgh.<br />
<i>From the Collection of the Public Library of Cincinnati and Hamilton County.</i></td></tr>
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A piece of Cincinnati history, and the personal history of my parents, was lost forever in that fire. Little did they know at the time the role another steamboat, the <i>Delta Queen</i> would play in our Jones family history.<br />
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<i>Sources: </i><br />
Public Library of Cincinnati and Hamilton County <i>Wiki: </i><a href="https://wiki.cincinnatilibrary.org/index.php/Island_Queen">https://wiki.cincinnatilibrary.org/index.php/Island_Queen</a><br />
Coney Island Central: http://coneyislandcentral.com<br />
<strong style="background-color: white;">White, John H., 1933-. </strong><span style="background-color: white;">The Island Queen : Cincinnati's excursion steamer / John H. White and Robert J. White. 1st ed. Akron, Ohio : University of Akron Press, 1995.</span><br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-193846743734368357.post-68557815564880197112012-04-06T12:47:00.000-04:002012-07-04T14:55:07.444-04:00How Mom and Dad Met<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Virginia Ryan and Johnny Jones courting</td></tr>
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<i style="font-weight: bold;">Setting the Scene: </i>World War II has ended, the "boys" are home, and there is a pent-up demand for finding a husband and starting a family. My mother used to say that during her prime dating years, the only guys available were married or classified IV-F (men deemed physically, mentally or morally unfit to serve).<br />
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So how to find a husband -- Being a "good, Catholic girl" it seemed logical to try to meet men at the Newman Center. The Newman Center was designed to serve the needs of Catholic students attending non-Catholic Universities. The University of Cincinnati had a vibrant chapter headed by Bob Kroner. Coincidentally, Bob grew up in the East End and was a friend of my father.<br />
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One of the popular activities of the time was to take a riverboat ride to Coney Island on the Island Queen. The boat had a great ballroom and it only cost 25 cents to ride from Cincinnati to Coney, a few miles upriver. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Credit: The Island Queen, Cincinnati's Excursion Steamer, by John and Robert White<br />
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The U.C. Newman Club decided to sponsor a dance on the Island Queen. Bob Kroner was President of the Newman Club. He and Dad were great friends and neighbors and Dad tagged along with Bob on a regular basis. Never mind that Dad was neither a U.C. student nor Catholic. Given my family history, it seems only appropriate that my parents would meet on a boat, on the Ohio River, that literally passed by the Jones home on its way upriver to Coney. Perfect!!!<br />
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Well, they must have made an impression on each other because within a couple of years they were married and well on their way to becoming parents of what would become a very large family. Serendipitous? Fate? You tell me.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-193846743734368357.post-72636589980955124862012-03-31T09:46:00.000-04:002012-04-01T08:34:07.420-04:00East End Residences<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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If there was any doubt that "A River Runs Through Us," click on the map above and trace the Joneses through their homes in the East End. Beginning in the 1840s, my Jones family gradually moved from the city center, to E. Front St. and settling in Fulton, now the East End. For more than 100 years, the family lived within a one-square mile area of the Ohio River. Here is the route they took:<br />
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1) Frame house on the riverbank located 250' southeast of St. Rose Church.<br />
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2) Charles Henry and Rachel purchased their two-family home at 2316 Gladstone Ave.<br />
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3) Charles "Fred" and Norine (my grandparents) rented from their Uncle Tom and Aunt Ella Jones living at 2269 Columbia Ave.<br />
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4) My grandfather purchased what was to become the home where my father and his siblings grew up at 2424 Eastern Ave. (now Riverside).<br />
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There were a couple of intermediate homes documented in the earlier pages of this blog, but these were the primary locations. In addition, Rachel's mother and my gg-grandmother, owned a home on Collins Ave., also discussed in earlier posts.<br />
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The East End had (and still has) it's own culture. It was largely a working-class neighborhood with both white and black residents. Many of the white residents have Appalachian roots. Many of the black residents came to the area from southern states as part of the great migration to the north in search of better opportunities. It's one of those neighborhoods that gets in your bones.<br />
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Over the past couple of decades, the neighborhood has been going through a great deal of transition. Many of the homes have been torn down and are gradually being replaced by upscale homes and condominiums. This trend started in the area closest to downtown and continues to move east. The name of the street, Eastern Ave., was changed to Riverside Drive to reflect the area's new upscale image.<br />
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We were surprised to see that my father's home is now part of a group of homes that will probably be torn down in the next six months. It's unclear what will happen with the school located across the street. You can see the sign on the porch column placed there by the developer. <br />
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But our East End story isn't going to end quite yet. After all, my Mom and Dad haven't met yet -- and you just know that that is going to have something to do with the river . . .Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-193846743734368357.post-33728056602161371692012-03-26T08:00:00.000-04:002012-10-11T23:09:47.556-04:00Dad's Military RecordsAfter a long wait, I finally got copies of Dad's military records. Most of the records for World War II veterans were destroyed by a fire. I wrote for them once and got a form letter telling me of this. Other vets told me I needed to ask for his DD-214. It is a document produced at the time of a veteran's separation from service that summarized their service. It took four months, but the records finally arrived.You can click on these images to enlarge.<br />
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This document interests me because it verifies certain things I thought I knew.<br />
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<ol>
<li>Dad did not complete high school. It says the last grade completed was 10th Grade. It also identifies his high school as West Night High School. The last year of attendance was 1937. Interestingly, it appears as if he stopped attending in the same year as the 1937 Flood. Also, we have to remember that these were the years of the Great Depression. Perhaps he worked during the day and attended school at night. Tim and I went to the library and looked at the yearbook for West Night High School for 1937. Dad was not a senior and we could not find him listed, although it is clear that the program was academic in nature. I remember Dad attended "trade school". I don't have any specifics on that.</li>
<li>Pre-draft, Dad's job was truly that of a laborer. He assisted in trolley maintenance but also "scrubbed out street cars." Tom still has a $5.00 bill he kept his entire life that he found while cleaning a street car.</li>
<li>He did have training in Colorado. Dad used to say that when the conditions were right that he could pick up the WLW-T Clear Channel radio station from Cincinnati in Colorado.</li>
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Dad received a ribbon with a Bronze Star, a Good Conduct Ribbon and a Distinguished Unit Citation. Although his job was to load bombs on planes and some aircraft maintenance, his unit was responsible for some of the most important battles in Europe. When he was discharged, he had the rank of "Corporal." I love seeing his thumb print and that all-too-familiar signature. Below is a document recording his ranks and pay rates.</div>
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Sadly, they also sent a copy of the application for Dad's military headstone following his death in 1978.</div>
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I was glad to receive a copy of his Honorable Discharge papers. Dad had a copy of this and I've published it before. To keep the file complete, I post it again here -- with pride. He was part of the Greatest Generation.</div>
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<span style="color: red;"><b><i>If you are interested in reading more about the 44th Bomb Group and the Flying Eight Balls, go to this link in the Jones Family Matters blog </i></b></span><a href="http://jonesfamilymatters.blogspot.com/2011/11/flying-8-balls-44th-bomb-group.html">http://jonesfamilymatters.blogspot.com/2011/11/flying-8-balls-44th-bomb-group.html</a> Should you want your own copies of these records, just click on the print friendly button and print them out.<br />
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Note: After a comment (see comments) received from John Darby, I decided to do a little research on the Lowry Base in Colorado where Dad was trained. Here is a link: <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lowry_Air_Force_Base">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lowry_Air_Force_Base</a> There is a lot of additional information on this base which is now used only for administrative functions. It has an interesting history.<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-193846743734368357.post-38950295058827967132012-03-25T11:43:00.000-04:002012-03-25T19:50:33.852-04:00Episcopalian? Presbyterian? Catholic? Man of GodAt the Jones Family Christmas, I asked my siblings what religion our Dad had practiced as a child. A few facts were beyond dispute:<br />
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<li>My Dad was raised as a Protestant in a family that was divided -- girls were raised Catholic and boys were raised Protestant. There was a reason for that and you can read about it<a href="http://jonesfamilymatters.blogspot.com/2009/09/religion-vs-faith.html"> <span style="color: blue;"><span id="goog_639918398"></span>here</span></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"><span id="goog_639918399"></span></a>.</li>
<li>My Dad's father, Pop, was Episcopalian. Both he and his son Charles were buried from the Christ Cathedral, downtown.</li>
<li>Dad's brother, Bob, converted to Catholicism, not telling his father, after marrying a Catholic. He was buried from Our Mother of Sorrows Catholic Church.</li>
<li>My father spent his entire adult life attending Catholic Church with his family. He was a member of the Holy Name Society and a very active parent in the parish. He was a "Boy Scout Committee Man." He attended church every Sunday and worked multiple jobs so we could attend Catholic Schools.</li>
<li>He never "converted." Fr. Allison came to the hospital as Dad was dying and gave him communion. Dad asked if this meant he was "a convert." Fr. Allison replied that he didn't think he ever needed to be converted. Good answer.</li>
<li>My Dad would get teary-eyed every time he heard the song "What a Friend We Have in Jesus" -- a favorite of his mother.</li>
<li>We all recalled being told that he was raised Presbyterian. But how did this make sense?</li>
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My brother, Dan, said that he remembered Dad taking him down to a church on Eastern Ave. and that he was surprised how many of the church members immediately recognized him. I started trying to identify Presbyterian Churches that had once been located on Eastern Ave. and came up with this one.</div>
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When I showed Dan this picture, it was exactly as he remembered it. It went through several transitions and is now abandoned and listed for sale.</div>
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The debate about Dad's religious affiliation continued until my brother, Tim, found this among Dad's keepsakes. It's amazing that one pin can hold so many answers. Not only is it clearly a "Presbyterian" pin, but we think it was a reward for Sunday School attendance. A careful look shows an S.S. above the crown which we think may stand for "Sunday School." Under the crown are the words "Second Year." There is an additional attachment indicating three years of attendance.</div>
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My sister, Karen, had this picture of our Dad. I am embarrassed to admit that I did not know it was him. Now that's a picture a mother would love.</div>
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In Tim's little container there was an additional pin. This one seemed to symbolize Dad's "good citizenship" in school. Both of these artifacts must have been important to our Dad because he kept them his entire life. I think they are indicative of the life he lived -- a religious man of good character and citizenship. We are lucky to have had him as our father. </div>
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<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-193846743734368357.post-51693160490721640472012-03-23T15:22:00.001-04:002012-03-25T06:14:04.987-04:00Taking a Second LookSix months ago I wrote a summary of a <span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://hcgsohio.blogspot.com/2011/09/introducing-doug-magee-plch-map.html">presentation</a> </span>given by Doug Magee for the Hamilton County Genealogical Society. I wish I had paid more attention to my write-up. While researching my Joneses in the East End, I have relied heavily on information derived from Sanborn Fire Insurance Maps and Cincinnati City Directories accessed through the <a href="http://virtuallibrary.cincinnatilibrary.org/VirtualLibrary/">Virtual Library of the Public Library of Cincinnati and Hamilton County</a>. One of the things Doug mentioned during his talk was that the library had a digitized copy of the <b><i>Decennial Tax Valuation of Cincinnati Real Estate.</i></b><br />
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As genealogists, we know that the 1890 U.S. Census was destroyed in a fire and does not exist. We must make use of other sources to put together our story. Since this tax valuation was published in 1892, I neglected to realize the contribution this book could make to my research.<br />
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I knew my early Jones family members lived on the banks of the Ohio River behind St. Rose Church. You can read about it <a href="http://ohioriverways.blogspot.com/2011/11/living-on-ohio.html"><span style="color: blue;">here</span></a>. Years ago I researched this property. I knew that Nancy Torrence had inherited this property from her father, George Torrence. My ancestors lived on Lot 10 and she had donated Lot 11 to the Archdiocese of Cincinnati for St. Rose Church. I believed that she continued to own this land and that my relatives were renters. I did not immediately recognize, therefore, that the 1892 Tax Valuation would have a lot of relevance for me. <span style="color: red;"><i><b>THAT ASSUMPTION WAS SO WRONG!</b></i></span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><i><b><br /></b></i></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Lot 10 owned by Nancy Torrence</span><br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">Note small building on the riverbank.</span><br />
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The Tax Valuation lists the value of real estate by Cincinnati Wards in existence in 1892. There is a value for the land and for any structures on the land. There is a description of the Ward boundaries. The lot pictured above was situated in the First Ward.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I then looked for property owned by Nancy Torrence and found this:</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD3onnLxTysqafdfWp-KIGR0heT8slwIo4n96X3j2pfX3gO9WOyWRVTb4Y1eR68XOe7t3q2FbGBrhKvsChUrOL2NTGhbVdR9kCPFzuyhyphenhyphenvAhizmWlW3ClkLTYCKvZBKJ7tUVHFELWUONA/s1600/Lot+10.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD3onnLxTysqafdfWp-KIGR0heT8slwIo4n96X3j2pfX3gO9WOyWRVTb4Y1eR68XOe7t3q2FbGBrhKvsChUrOL2NTGhbVdR9kCPFzuyhyphenhyphenvAhizmWlW3ClkLTYCKvZBKJ7tUVHFELWUONA/s640/Lot+10.PNG" width="640" /></a></div>
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From the table above, you can see that Lot 10 had a land value of $1570 and <b>a building value of $170! </b>I knew that this house, located on the riverbank, flooded nearly every spring. As a comparison, I looked up the property values of other family members in the area.<br />
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In 1892, my g-grandparents, Charles Henry and Rachel Adela Jones, owned a two-family home on Gladstone (then called Fulton) that had a land value of $380 and a building value of $1220. The total value of both properties is very close ($1740 vs. $1600) but the values are reversed.<br />
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There was one more surprise. <i>Cincinnati City Directories </i>list Rachel's mother, Mary Elizabeth Wainright, as living in the home of her daughter and son-in-law, probably taking care of the children. Rachel died of "consumption" in 1892.<i> </i>I knew when my great-grandfather remarried eight years after his wife's death, his mother-in-law took up residence in a home she owned around the corner on Collins (then Woodburn). Despite the listing of her residence on Gladstone, the tax records showed that she also owned the property on Collins.<br />
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Although I've not been able to find a picture of this home, I know that the lot was only 30' across the front and that, typical of its time, there was no indoor plumbing.<br />
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Given what I was able to learn about my family from a year when there was no census, you may want to consider this resource. What's especially great is that all of this research can be completed with your laptop in a recliner (at least that's how I did mine). Enjoy!<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-193846743734368357.post-14893798167223839362012-03-19T19:47:00.000-04:002012-03-21T15:50:36.086-04:00Columbia Avenue PicturesOne of the joys of researching the East End was finding a facebook page dedicated to the neighborhood. Bryan Phillips set up this <span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Cincinnatis-East-End-Columbia-Tusculum-Linwood/112612095443921">page</a>. </span>Followers of this page have provided a wealth of wonderful information on the "old" neighborhood. Today was no exception. One of the followers of the East End page provided a link to this study that had been completed about Columbia Parkway and River Road. You can read the whole report by clicking on the link below this graphic. The report contained some wonderful pictures of Columbia Ave. before it became Columbia Parkway. Since our Joneses lived at 2269 Columbia Ave., I couldn't resist sharing some of the pictures contained in the study. I hope you enjoy them as much as I do.<br />
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<a href="http://www.cincinnati-oh.gov/bldginsp/downloads/bldginsp_eps38206.pdf">http://www.cincinnati-oh.gov/bldginsp/downloads/bldginsp_eps38206.pdf</a> </div>
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<span id="goog_635999644"></span><span id="goog_635999645"></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-193846743734368357.post-76479759241813998642012-03-11T17:09:00.001-04:002012-10-11T22:46:31.827-04:00What We Remember . . .<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nk2PuNRW1dw/TQPhktFD5LI/AAAAAAAAiOo/5MNuhsy5Jfs/s1600/scan0009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="271" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nk2PuNRW1dw/TQPhktFD5LI/AAAAAAAAiOo/5MNuhsy5Jfs/s400/scan0009.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mary Jones, Pop holding Tom, Fred, Kathleen, and Norine looking on.</td></tr>
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Before moving onto my Dad's generation, I wanted to try to capture something of what each one of the grandchildren recalled about Norine and Fred, preferably in relation to the Ohio River. However, I've not been able to translate my "wish" into a post. So this is what I decided to do. I'm going to list all of the grandchildren by family group. I'm going to try to contact each and every one of them and try to get a one or two sentence quote that I can post on this page. As I get them, I'll fill out this page. The fun thing about it is that I will be forced to contact each and every one of my paternal cousins. That should be fun. So here we go:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKSKwLc6quITL7CzacA1x5-grj5uAr-LNYNGvPpdBd5i1CgGglL_xJtuGHjI34izUGouqAUWm0YuPg9BAinAvSTY5coOxOD_M1Hqij1zR-K_5U_2qBtN_64mNidYXs360WSm4lP2GyLQ4/s1600/Rose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKSKwLc6quITL7CzacA1x5-grj5uAr-LNYNGvPpdBd5i1CgGglL_xJtuGHjI34izUGouqAUWm0YuPg9BAinAvSTY5coOxOD_M1Hqij1zR-K_5U_2qBtN_64mNidYXs360WSm4lP2GyLQ4/s320/Rose.jpg" width="210" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rose and Norine<br />
The advantage of being first-born</td></tr>
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<b><i>Rose</i></b> - Once a week, Gan would get on the bus and come to our house and would sew with my Mom. Of course, Gan always preferred girls.<br />
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<b><i>Fred </i></b>- During the war, I would get together with Pop and we would have to "exercise" the cars that had been left behind. When I stayed with them, one weekend I would go to Mass at St. Rose and the next week I would go with Pop to the Episcopalian Church. <i>(Note: These comments were based on a conversation that Tim and I had when we met with Fred. He also told us how he would go on road trips with Pop because Jan liked to stay home. They would visit the Harleys in New York and the Hodges wherever they lived. They would sleep in the car and prepare meals using the heat of the engine. Pop even let Fred drive the car when he was underage).</i><br />
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<b><i>Bob B. - -</i></b><br />
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<b><i>Fred -</i></b><br />
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<b><i>Peggy -</i></b><br />
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<b><i>Bob J. = </i></b><span style="font-family: inherit;">I remember the carmels regular and fudge, listening to Reds games on the radio
in the dining room (Sunday afternoons I think), running around the house inside
and out with Ted, the stairway to upstairs in the bedroom closet, and playing on
the fields across the street. All of my memories from their house are good. It
always seemed to be a lot of fun.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<b><i>Gina </i></b>- Reading some of the comments from the cuz's I agree with those memories.
Remember, even though my dad was the middle child, Bob and I are in the younger
group of grandchildren. Rose's first born, Betsy is a year older than I am. I
think I am Nan's age and a year younger than Ted. I will be 55 next month. Bob
and I called Norine by her name because we remember she did not want to be
called grandma. We called Pops by "Butch" why that changed I do not know. I do
remember the neat pedal operated sewing machine and we could lay there next to
it and move the pedal with our hands while she sowed. She would always tell us
to speed up or slow down. Then the carmels she had hidden in the china cabinet
in the dining room. I remember my dad would have me ask Norine for more carmels
so he could have some. He loved carmels but Norine said they were for the kids.
I was always able to get him some. Then we use to sit on the floor by Butch's
chair and spit the carmel juice into his spitoon. We would pretend it was
chewing tobacco. We would also listen to the train from the backyard and hear
the Reds on the radio. I also remember the 1964 flood where the basement was
flooded to almost the top. You could only go down a couple steps. I remember
seeing chairs bobbing up and down, and I thought the upright piano was floating
too. Seeing the top of the cabinet. I asked how could it float and I was told of
the air pocket in the cabinet allowed it to float. I did not understand that
then but I thought it was neat. Bob does not remember the piano floating, so do
I remember correctly as I was 7. I also remember the big kitchen sink, like a
mini bathtub, which I got baths in. Also the "cool" box in the window for pies
to cool. The backyard was small and there was a big retaining wall holding the
hill back by the garage. I also remember the boys able to play back there and
get up the path to the garage roof. Then I remember playing across the street in
Highland School's playground. They had swings, a slide and a merry-go-around. I
loved that and would laugh and yell to make Butch and Daddy make me go faster.
Today I still love spinning rides, wonder why.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><i>Kath</i></b> - I remember Mom and Dad taking me there to spend the night. As a young girl, the lumber yard in Golf Manor caught on fire. Looking out my bedroom window, it appeared as if our house was going to catch on fire. (It was at least half a mile from our house). I had nightmares for a long time and felt guilty when I realized I had left Karen in the room we shared as I crept along the floor to Mom and Dad's room. When I figured out that Jan and Pop's house was made of wood, I cried, screamed and refused to spend the night. I was too embarrassed to say why. Thankfully, Mom and Dad took me home. I always felt guilty about that. Jan was my Godmother. I also remember Pop sitting at the dining room window looking at the river, chewing tobacco and using a spittoon. <br />
<br />
<b><i>Tom</i></b> - As Tom put it, Tim was a "gutsy" little kid. He remembers Tim wanting to try the tobacco that Pop was chewing. (Tom corrected me and said that Pop typically chewed the tobacco from a cigar). At any rate, Tom, Tim, Pop and Dad were on the front porch when they finally gave in to Tim's pleas for some tobacco. They then enjoyed laughing at Tim's reaction to the tobacco. Comes under the heading -- be careful what you wish for.<br />
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Tom's favorite story was about the bank pictured at the left. My Dad gave that bank to his mother, but she did not know the combination. She would put money into it and then wait for a visit from my Dad to open it and take out the money. Tom was later given the bank, and since only Dad knew the combination, it could not be opened. Tom asked his son Mark to try to crack the code, and Mark did just that in pretty short order. It's one of Tom's prized possessions.<br />
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Here is a list of some of the other memories offered by Tom:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>In 1964, Tom went down to Eastern to help move things from the basement ahead of the river flooding. He later went back to the house with Dad and was surprised to see 3-4' of water in the basement.</li>
<li>The river rose high enough that Tom was able to walk all the way around Highland School on a ledge that was normally a few feet above the ground. Dad told Tom he had done that many times.</li>
<li>They had a very shallow fireplace with artificial logs in it.</li>
<li>Fred and Norine had a blue parakeet named "Arch" who was very entertaining.</li>
<li>Tom remembers a bread box outside of the back window, the stone wall in the back yard that was a haven for garter snakes, and the fact that there was a level above the wall that was high enough that you could step onto the garage roof.</li>
<li>There was always a lot of traffic on Eastern, but during one snow, Tom witnessed a local being pulled on water skis behind a pick up truck down the street.</li>
<li>Pop maintained a meticulous hedge that separated the house from the gas station next door. Once someone in a car crashed into the hedge destroying a section of it. The driver promised to pay for repairs to the hedge, but to Tom's knowledge, that never happened.</li>
<li>Tom remembers our Dad helping Pop paint the house in what Rose describes as "bus company" colors.</li>
<li>And last, but not least, he recalls the sewing machine -- high on the list of all of our memories.</li>
</ul>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_cSKCo2lzjg/T2ZQxk1YufI/AAAAAAAAijg/tccBfOamJH8/s1600/DSC_5358.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_cSKCo2lzjg/T2ZQxk1YufI/AAAAAAAAijg/tccBfOamJH8/s320/DSC_5358.JPG" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tim on ledge around Highland School</td></tr>
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<b><i>Tim</i></b> - He used to say "ah, fish on it." (Kath's note: Dad used to say "crap in the bucket". No cussing allowed). Tim also remembers going down to Fisher's grocery and questioning why can goods had prices like 13 1/2 cents. It was to encourage customers to buy more than one.<br />
<br />
<b><i>Karen</i></b> - I remember Pop always had a carmel to give us as soon as we got there and playing on Jan's sewing machine. Note: Rose told me they always spelled it "Gan". We inherited Mom's spelling.<br />
<br />
<i style="font-weight: bold;">Ted - </i>Ted's recollections seem to be similar to those of Tom's and Tim's. He remembers going with Dad, Tom and Tim at the time of the '64 flood. He also remembers walking around the ledge of the Highlands School during the flood. But most of all, he remembers Sunday drives with Pop. I (Kath) remembers them, too. They always ended in ice cream. Butter pecan was Pop's favorite. I remember one day driving with the family on one of those Sunday drives down to Cynthiana, KY and having dinner at a restaurant that served dinner "family style." That meant that bowls of mashed potatoes, veggies, and platters of meat were put on the table and passed around. We figured out that Fred and Norine were 68 years old when Ted was born. Contrast that with the 49-year old grandparents Rose knew.<br />
<br />
<i style="font-weight: bold;">Dan - </i>I called Dan to find out what he remembered. Just for the record, he was in Breckenridge, Colorado with his wife, Carol, and son, Chris. The three of them are taking care of Dan's three grandchildren -- a grandson and twin granddaughters. Chris' wife is taking advantage of a photography class in Washington, D.C. -- a Christmas present from Chris.<br />
<br />
Dan, remembers being taken to the nursing home where Norine was after suffering a stroke. (I think all of us have that memory, but Dan was only five years old. He remembers the '64 flood and going to 2424 Eastern to move things from the basement with Dad, Tom, Tim and Ted. Tim remembers walking around the ledge at Highlands School during the flood -- Dan remembers not being allowed to do the same thing.<br />
His memories of Pop are mainly of him living with Aunt Edith. By the time Dan knew Pop, Pop was living with his daughter, Edith, suffering from macular degeneration. He mainly stayed in a chair in his bedroom, chewing tobacco with a spittoon close by. He told me that the Jones family boat was stored in Edith's garage during the winter. Dan liked to go into the garage, climb into the boat and pretend like he was steering it. He also recalls that John Kramer also liked to do that.<br />
<br />
I share one of Dan's recollections that Aunt Edith always had a stock of Coca-Cola in bottles. Going to her house meant getting a Coke. The Joneses used Pepsi products -- sparingly at best. Dan didn't realize there was actually a choice until he experienced a Coke at Aunt Edith's. He liked it better than Pepsi.<br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<i style="font-weight: bold;">Don - </i>Don was only three when Jan died and seven when Pop died. It was not long after Jan died that Pop moved in with his daughter, Edith. Both of them were 76 years old when Don was born. Contrast that with the grandparents Rose knew who were only 48 years old when she was born. Don really didn't have the chance to "know" either of them His main recollection is of the carmels. Interesting that we all remember those.<br />
<br />
<b><i>Patty</i></b> - My favorite and first memories was spending the night in the
front bedroom and listening to the trucks roar by and shake the windows. I even
remember Gi making a bed out of 3 chairs!! Morning was my favorite time b/c I
would wake up go to the kitchen and Gi would be in front of the glass pantry and
would be so HAPPY to see me and wish me GOOD MORNING !!!! She would then
Squeeze me FRESH orange juice ! Oh my goodness I think of that when my own
Grands are here and ALWAYS say Good Morning with a Big Smile…… then I go
and pour a glass of Juice concentrate from the Refrig !!! LOL !<br />
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<br />
Being the Oldest of the Youngest Jones, it seemed our
Grandparents walked slow, were Old, with gray hair etc. Pop would take us
swimming at the LeBlond pool a dream come true for us Country kids!! One day he
looked up to see my sister Jeanne who must have had enough running to their
house, crossing busy Eastern Ave Street!!! Pop yelled Oh No, and took off
RUNNING !!! Yes I had never seen him move that fast in my young life!!! Jeanne
was 3 and boy did she get a spanking! God Love him, now I realize how
frightening that must have been. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Although I too have the memories of Saturday night dinner,
Bullhoof, Carmels, Ed Sullivan, Pop always staring out the window etc….. I was
fascinated by the upstairs attic…I absoulutey thought it was haunted and that
there were monsters up there. My favorite thing was the “CHUTE” that clothes
were tossed in the bathroom and down they went to the basement. Jeanne and I
used to ride our way down the Chute too!!! Something I wanted when Tom built
our house, but b/c of the existing home he could not incorporate it <span style="font-family: Wingdings;">L</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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My Gi Gi passed at the Nursing Home when I was 12 yrs old…..I
remember going and crying so much and then looking at Rose and saying….YOU are
the Luckiest of us all…..You being the oldest Grandchild Knew her the
Longest!!!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">June 18, 1968</td></tr>
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</div>
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One more thing, Tom put Pop in 1968 on his Honda 300
Motorcycle, helmet and all. I took a Polaroid photo of him and it look like he
was riding it !We thought of this to Aggravate Sis (Edith) and my mother.
Remember his sight was gone at that point, but the thought of aggravating his
girls was enough to make him do it and I still have the photo to this
day!</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><i>Jeanne</i></b> - <span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: justify;">I remember going to visit them and stopping at China Town(one of our first discount stores).Mom would ask us not to mention this to GIgi,since she didn't feel it was a respectable place to shop. I too loved the carmel's in the china cabinet! The mysterious upstairs, the cool ringer washer machine,pedal sewing machine and the cold box in the kitchen! I love walking to Fischer's grocery store and have cooking lesson with Gigi,she taught me how to make Bull huff(roast with potatoes and carrots). I remember listening to baseball games with Pop,watching Lawrence Welk with both of them. Too many memories for words, most of all I remember their love!</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: justify;"><br /></span></span>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two-level backyard with remnants of a deteriorating garage in background.<br />
Photo Credit: Bryan Phillips</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px; text-align: justify;"><i style="font-weight: bold;">Sue - </i>I remember the backyard, I used to cut it with my plastic lawn mower and I remember the purple violets.</span></span><br />
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<b><i>Nan</i></b> - I certainly remember both the carmels and the sewing machine. I also remember getting on the bus with Mom to visit. She walked so fast my feet barely touched the ground. I also remember Gee held the telephone upside down because of her hearing aid. The smell of jasmine at her dressing table. And that red rouge . . .<br />
<br />
<b><i>Tony</i></b> - Norine died six weeks after Tony was born. He was only four when Pop died. Our grandparents had grandchildren over a span of 31 years. What a difference in our recollections.<br />
<br />
If I did my math correctly, there were 19 grandchildren. Since Rose's kids were the same age as many of us, I'll add any recollections they (or any other great-grandchildren) would like me to include. Just comment on the post any time.<br />
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Come on, Joneses, we're up to it. Let's remember our grandparents!<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-193846743734368357.post-80797342198419227162012-02-16T09:44:00.001-05:002012-02-16T09:46:37.421-05:00If the Walls Could Speak . . .<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pop</td></tr>
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In the <a href="http://jonesfamilymatters.blogspot.com/">Family Matters blog</a>, I wrote extensively about the research I did on my Grandfather's (Charles "Fred" Jones) career as he made his way through the ranks of the Cincinnati Street Railway Company. As they converted from streetcars to buses, sadly in his opinion, he was the proud foreman of the Hewitt Ave. "car barn." I had little idea of his proud history until I came across the Cincinnati Transit Historical Society. You can read of my discoveries about Pop's accomplishments in this <a href="http://jonesfamilymatters.blogspot.com/2009/07/modesty-becomes-young-man.html">article</a> in two parts.<br />
<br />
In Margaret Ann's notes she wrote "what great years for us children -- we had love, support and fun." But there were also tense times as one by one each son was called to serve in World War II. Included are a collection of collages as one by one the three boys departed to serve their country during that tense time. As a mother, I just can't imagine the feelings.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Charles "Bud's" Departure</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bob's Departure</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption">Johnny in World War II<br />
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<b><i><span style="font-size: small;">If the walls could speak . . .</span></i></b></div>
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</tbody></table>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4