NOTE: The posts in Chapter II follow the events leading up to my father's return to Neenah as I saw them. If you are just beginning to read this blog you may want to go back and start with the first post HERE. To refresh your memory of where we left off in the last post, "You Saw Your Duty," go HERE.
CHAPTER II, Entr'acte
First of all, I must begin with an apology for falling so far behind in my account of events. The month of July began for me with a walking tour of the historic neighborhood surrounding Riverside Park. The next week my wife Patti and I celebrated our 30th wedding anniversary with about 100 friends, followed by a family gathering in honor of Patti's uncle, who was marking 50 years of religious life as a Capuchin priest. Then five days after that we hosted yet another gathering, this time for donors of the Wisconsin Historical Society's foundation, many of whom were had seen the house in "Wisconsin's Own" or had been following this blog and were interested in seeing it first hand. Through all of the festivities I was also writing six scripts for the Neenah Historical Society's "Oak Hill Cemetery Walk" in Augutst, struggling to get our three-year roof project finished, arranging to have the barn painted, and getting a leaky cast iron drain pipe replaced in the bathroom. Not exactly the life of a country gentleman.
I hope, in compensation for the delay, you'll enjoy this more personal entr'acte or intermezzo about the events surrounding the first of our three party.
It all began this past winter when I sent up a marital trial balloon, suggesting to my wife Patti that we invite our closest friends and neighbors to a party marking 2013 as a watershed year in our lives. It was, after all, going to be our 30th wedding anniversary, my 60th birthday, and the 130th anniversary of my great-grandfather's completion of the house here in Neenah. To my surprise, having poo-pooed similar ideas in the past, Patti bought into the plan. Her only proviso was that it could not to be about us, but rather about thanking our friends for being such an important and continuing part of our lives over all these years. With that understanding we talked about who to invite, what would be served, and what the entertainment there should be. As we both often think fondly of the night we spent in New York City at the Café Carlyle, it was easy imagine someone at the piano in our parlor playing "Isn't It Romantic" as friends drifted out onto the verandah with glasses of champagne. Only who would we get?
First of all, I must begin with an apology for falling so far behind in my account of events. The month of July began for me with a walking tour of the historic neighborhood surrounding Riverside Park. The next week my wife Patti and I celebrated our 30th wedding anniversary with about 100 friends, followed by a family gathering in honor of Patti's uncle, who was marking 50 years of religious life as a Capuchin priest. Then five days after that we hosted yet another gathering, this time for donors of the Wisconsin Historical Society's foundation, many of whom were had seen the house in "Wisconsin's Own" or had been following this blog and were interested in seeing it first hand. Through all of the festivities I was also writing six scripts for the Neenah Historical Society's "Oak Hill Cemetery Walk" in Augutst, struggling to get our three-year roof project finished, arranging to have the barn painted, and getting a leaky cast iron drain pipe replaced in the bathroom. Not exactly the life of a country gentleman.
I hope, in compensation for the delay, you'll enjoy this more personal entr'acte or intermezzo about the events surrounding the first of our three party.
It all began this past winter when I sent up a marital trial balloon, suggesting to my wife Patti that we invite our closest friends and neighbors to a party marking 2013 as a watershed year in our lives. It was, after all, going to be our 30th wedding anniversary, my 60th birthday, and the 130th anniversary of my great-grandfather's completion of the house here in Neenah. To my surprise, having poo-pooed similar ideas in the past, Patti bought into the plan. Her only proviso was that it could not to be about us, but rather about thanking our friends for being such an important and continuing part of our lives over all these years. With that understanding we talked about who to invite, what would be served, and what the entertainment there should be. As we both often think fondly of the night we spent in New York City at the Café Carlyle, it was easy imagine someone at the piano in our parlor playing "Isn't It Romantic" as friends drifted out onto the verandah with glasses of champagne. Only who would we get?
The entertainment for our party was the extraordinarily talented Steve March-Tormé (right), shown here in the parlor warming up with pianist Mike Kubecki and bassist John Gibson. Before the party Patti's nephews came over and helped us to move most all of the furniture on the first floor up to the second floor. In the background here you can see the little gold ballroom chairs we rented for the evening. I never in my wildest imagination ever imagining myself saying, as I did in preparing for that night, "You know, a ballroom would be a very useful and practical thing to have."
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As it happened, I saw online that Steve March-Tormé, son of the legendary singer Mel Tormé, was scheduled to perform at a free concert at Heid Music in neighboring Appleton. With a couple of mouse clicks I learned that that he had moved from Santa Monica to Appleton some years ago, and then logging on to his website I fired off an email to his booking agent. Much to my surprise Steve got back to me personally, and for the next several days we exchanged a number of friendly emails about his coming to sing at our house as an anniversary surprise for Patti. I also snuck out house under some good pretext to hear him in Appleton. At the music store that night, climbing up onto a makeshift stage, Steve had the audience eating out of his hand well before the pianist and bass player finished warming up. He regaled us all with stories of growing up in Beverly Hills (where he was the neighbor of my television mom, Lucille Ball), and of his love of baseball, through which he met New York Yankee batter Tony Kubek (who as it turned out is also a resident of Appleton and was sitting right behind me in the audience). Steve then apologized for having a cold and not being entirely in voice - after which he blew us all out of the water with a consummate singing ability unlike anything I had ever heard outside a concert hall or in a studio recording.
As I expected would happen, Patti uncovered my plan several days later, but that didn't matter any more. I was so thrilled by what I had heard that I probably would have told her sooner or later. It also turned out to be even better than the surprise would have been, as Steve let Patti have a hand in selecting what numbers he would sing. For weeks she was able to savor the idea of hearing such favorites as "It Had To Be You" and "Look of Love" performed in the parlor, and these along with songs Steve was anxious to perform, like Paul McCartney's "I Will" and "The Folks Who Live On the Hill" by Jerome Kern and Oscar Hamerstein. It also turned out to be a particular thrill to go out to his website and see "Private Party - Neenah, Wisconsin" in his touring schedule, with ours followed two days later by a return engagement at the Crazy Coqs cabaret just off London's Picadilly Circus.
The preparations, however, proved to be far from easy. The furniture on much of the first floor had to be hauled to the second to make room for the best approximation we could muster to theater style seating. As for the refreshments, I thought we could prepare most of the food ourselves and took off from work the week before to focus on all the preparations. We decided to serve desserts, but in the process changed directions several times, settling ultimately on things that were no more than two bites and didn't require plates or utensils. Drinks hoped to keep equally simple by focusing on champagne, discovering in the last minute that a nice dry brut turned horribly sour when served with anything sweet. In the process of rather extensive experimentation, we finally settled on a rather modest Korbel red rosé champagne that actually proved to be rather a light and deliciously lingering companion on a sultry summer night. In the end all the details and arrangements were like a wedding - much anticipated in the abstract, a nightmare the planning and execution, but ultimately remembered with much satisfaction.
When it came time for Steve to go on that night, I stood up and welcomed everyone once again, and explained that this was not an anniversary celebration, but a thank you for their years of friendship and support, in good times and in bad. Looking around at everyone in the the library and parlor - at those spilling out into the dining room and hallway - I told them that a neighbor had asked if there was anything she could bring, and I said she could bring over her ballroom (and she really does have one). I then introduced Steve, pointing out that he was by one degree of separation a native son (his father raced cars with Neenah's millionaire playboy Jimmy Kimberly). After that Steve's trio turned the house into our own private Café Carlyle, if only for one gloriously perfect summer night. At the end I stood up again and explained that I had originally planned for Steve's performance to be a surprise for Patti, adding that if he hadn't been available I was going to learn one of Patti's favorite songs and sing it myself - which I really had planned to do. This was in the end the ultimate surprise, for in closing I simply read the beginning lyrics to Cole Porter's "You're the Top" to thank Patti for the 30 happiest years of my life. And when I began, our friend Peggy dared to snap the picture you see below (she knows Patti hates having her picture taken). And this made the entire evening and the eight months of planning, headaches, and expense all worth while. Our wedding pictures I never look at. This one I will keep with me always.
In the week that followed two very strange incidents also occurred. Although most all the glasses and discarded napkins had been picked up, the next morning I went on a tour of the house to assess what work had to be done to get things put back and ready for the next party coming up the following weekend. Being dead tired and not sure exactly how we were going to handle all the work ahead of us, I stepped into the sitting room, which had been largely stripped of its furnishings, and my head was immediately filled with the words (just as simply as if someone standing there had exclaimed), THAT WAS GREAT! I HAVEN'T HAD SO MUCH FUN IN YEARS! LET'S DO IT AGAIN! Then later at the end of the day, when the rooms had all been cleaned and vacuumed and the furniture put back, I went into the sitting room to pull down all the shades to close things up. No sooner had I started that then I was struck by a long and emphatic NO! NO! DON'T! NOT YET!
That was just the first incident.
The second incident came a week later while cleaning my Great Aunt Betty's bedroom in preparation of putting it on display for the Wisconsin Historical Society. In picking up a small pile of rugs that I had set on the floor the previous fall, I looked down where the pile had been and saw that what looked like a flattened bottle cap. In fact it was a Victorian sterling sliver luggage tag engraved "Helen Babcock - Neenah, Wis," something that must have belonged to my Great Aunt Nell but I had never seen in all my 40 years in the house. Now, in all those years we've gotten fairly used to the idea that things can disappear and without explanation reappear days, months and sometimes years later. This was the first time, however, that anything previously unknown and unseen appeared out of no where. From it I got the sense that my Aunt Nell wanted to get my attention in the only way she knew how. And as this appeared in her sister's room, I inferred that as the eldest and titular head of the family, she wanted her room on show as well.
As you might expect, I complied with her wishes, a lesson well learned - something you'll hear more about in the very next installment.
The way you describe it, I feel like we had been there, and what an evening to remember! So sorry we couldn't make it. As far as the "haunting " moments later, sometime I will have to tell you about my Father's antique 7 day clock, which had been in the family several generations, and which he wound once a week until he had to go into Creekview Nursing Center...which he left to daughter Kate who couldn't carry it back to Denver on her lap, so we are keeping it for her.
ReplyDeleteSue
Thank you for your time Peter, not only in your detective work, but also for sharing!
ReplyDeleteI am biting at the bit to ask if there will be any future reference to Arthur Shattuck stories or of the once race track on Doty Island?
I get into a frenzy every couple of years of researching Neenah history.
Now happens to be Mr. Shattuck.
Also, I am going to plan in the very near future a trip to Neenah's Historical Society.
Again, THANK YOU!
I do understand the point of view that you are writing this treasure of a blog.
ReplyDeleteI just needed to ask. Thank you.
Vance, I'm sorry to take so long in replying. Arthur Shattuck, who grew up next door, is of course a significant figure in future stories, the race track probably a brief mention at best. The key focus I have at this point is getting the time again to keep the blog going. It was so easy at first and then all of a sudden my free time diminished dramatically. I really don't know what happened. Keep watching, though for more.
DeleteThank you for the response, Peter.
DeleteYou can bet I will be watching!
All the best to you
You seem to have stopped posting on this blog. It seems from your comments that you had more to say. I sincerely hope that whatever has been keeping you from posting, passes soon. When you were posting regularly, I waited anxiously for each week's installment.
ReplyDeleteReading this blog has taken me back to many childhood memories that have long lay idle. I grew up in Neenah and fell in love with boats, having seen "Pilgrim" nearly every spring and fall day on the way home from School. It was wonderful to finally read some decent history about her.
My best to you and yours.
Cheers.
ReplyDeleteشركة تنظيف موكيت بالرياضlevel
شركة تنظيف مساجد بالرياض
لدينا شركة تنظيف سجاد بالرياضخبرة كافية في مجال التنظيف و تملك مواد تنظيف عالية الجودة وماكينات متخصصة لتنظيف
شركة تنظيف موكيت بالرياض الصفرات
شركة الصفرات لتنظيف موكيت بالرياض
شركتنا شركة تنظيف بالرياض الصفرات متخصصه في أعمال التنظيف للفلل والمنازل والبيوت والشقق والمجالس والموكيت والكنب والاثاث والخزانات وايضا فى مجال الكشف والعزل ونقل الاثاث افضل شركة تنظيف موكيت بالرياض بالمملكه العربيه السعوديه تخصصنا أيضا في جميع الخدمات
شركة تنظيف فلل بالرياض
Thank you so much for taking the time to do this. As a long time Fox Valley native I have recently begun working in Neenah and the history behind these wonderful homes and the cast of characters who built them is incredibly fascinating to me. I have not made it through your entire blog, but it is bookmarked but the wealth of knowledge I have already picked up from it is immense. Once again, thank you so much for your time on this project.
ReplyDeletePLEASE tell me this wasn't the last installment of your story. I have been riveted to my computer for two days! Did you make this into a book?
ReplyDeleteFirst, thank you for sharing your talent for writing . I hope you write a book about your family history and that it is made into a movie or tv series!
ReplyDeleteSecond, thank you for bringing some life into a dreary, rainy October Wisconsin afternoon and evening. I couldn’t stop reading. I was just so enthralled with every turn of your family’s history. Many parallels to my own life especially when you were referencing your brothers fighting and mishaps and the way your mom dealt with them. I grew up with four brothers and two sisters, so my mom acquired similar antics. I found myself laughing out loud when she sent them to their room with knives. What a crazy but perfect solution to the problem. Kind of like brilliantly sending a group of fighting kids outside on a cold Wisconsin, January day (with no winter attire to speak of) and told not to come in until able to get along. Needless to say, more time was spent talking about how crazy the situation was than fighting with each other and all went back inside laughing.
Again, thanks for sharing and I hope you continue to write all your thoughts down on paper!