MEMORIES

		     by Ellen Jane (Kealy) Hirsch
		      Edited by Ellen F. Cahill

 (thought by Ellen L. Hirsch to have been recorded in the late 1970s)

I am dedicating these Memories to my parents whose lives were devoted
to hard work and a Christian upbringing of their family of five
children.

My mother, Maria Jane Farrell, was born May 31, 1853 on a farm in
Clinton County, Iowa. She was the second child of Jane (Cullen)
Farrell and George Farrell.

Jane Cullen (or Cuileann) was born in the Parish of Barnderrig, County
of Wicklow, Ireland March 28, 1826. She came to the United States with
her parents who settled in Wisconsin. Her husband, George Farrell, was
born in Dublin, Ireland on May 9, 1830. The date and place of their
marriage is not known.

Eight children were born to the Farrells, six girls and two boys.
Martha, the oldest, married Kerin Foley, Maria Jane married Patrick
Breen, Kathryn ``Kate'' married Fenton Lawler, and Marcella married
Edward McCarty. Their son, John, married Bridget Welsch.  Elizabeth,
born May 10, 1860 lived only until September 23, 1862.

When, on December 28, 1862, twins, a boy and a girl, were born, they
and their mother all died.  The babies were placed in the coffin with
their mother and buried in Villa Nova Cemetery, Clinton, Iowa. It is
said to be the first grave in the cemetery.

After the death of my grandmother a young neighbor girl, Kathryn
Lawlor came into the home to help care for the children and the
home. A short time later my grandfather and Kathryn were married. The
second marriage produced nine children: George, Patrick, Theresa,
Anna, Elizabeth, Gertrude, James, Mary, and William.

I know very little of my mother's childhood except that she was a
frail child. After her mother's death she had to do many heavy outside
chores. She had to carry buckets of feed for the pigs and pails of
milk from the barn to the house.

The first family was never allowed to eat in the dining room with
their father and stepmother. They ate at a bare table in the kitchen,
often with just a pan of corn bread and a kettle of beans. I think the
stepmother was anxious to be rid of the children born to George
Farrell and his first wife.

In the 1800's the father often arranged marriage for his daughter.
Thus it was for my mother. One day my grandfather brought a young man
home with him and introduced him to my mother as the man she was to
marry. His name was Patrick Breen. Within a few days they were
married. Since marriage was the ultimate goal for a young woman of
that time she had to have a trousseau prepared for the occasion.

My mother and her sister, Kate, were married in a double wedding
ceremony at St. Leo's, a little country church at a place called Villa
Nova, near Clinton, Iowa. (They tell that grandpa Farrell hauled the
first load of brick for this church, bringing it by team and wagon
from near Chicago.) I do not know the exact date of the wedding but
since my mother was 22 years old at the time, it took place in 1875.

My mother often told us about her wedding dress. It was plum color,
worn with hoops and a bustel.  The bodice was fitted and had a white
ruffled ficu at the neck. The skirt was gored and had pannierrs caught
at the front and back and draped over the sides.  Mama often talked
about the dress, which she, herself had made by hand, saying it was
the most beautiful one she ever had.

Through the maze of years I have heard that there was a big wedding
dance held at the Farrell home. Shortly afterward the two couples left
by train for Crawford County in western Iowa. Fenton Lawler took his
bride, Kate, to Vail and Patrick Breen brought Maria Jane to a home
prepared in Westside.

Martha, married to Kerin Foley, was already living in Crawford County,
not many miles from Vail and Westside. Marcella, the youngest went or
was sent to live with her sister, Martha, and the young son John to
live with his maternal grandmother in Wisconsin.

The new home was evidently a cozy one for Maria Jane, a shy, lonely
homesick little wife. Many years later she remembered that her young
knight in shining armor was very patient, kind and understanding.
Three children were born to this marriage: Willie on September 24,
1877, Georgie, November 11, 187? and Mary Elizabeth ``Mollie'', April
24, 1881.

I think my grandfather Farrell was well off financially. Mama said
that he brought a document to her one day asking her to sign it. She
did so without asking any questions. Evidently she signed away her
inheritance or birthright. Uncle Fenton Lawler would not let Aunt Kate
sign. Although I am reluctant to write many of these things, they
belong to the overall history of the family.

The years 1881 and 1882 were trying ones. In the summer of 1881
Georgie became ill and died August 7. My facts are sketchy but I think
Patrick Breen was ill for several months. Mama told of many hardships
during his illness. In addition to caring for her husband and two
remaining children, she had to gather corn to feed the livestock and
see that everything about the farm and home was taken care of.

On March 24, 1882 her father, George Farrell, died. Less than three
weeks later, on April 10, her husband died. The day of the funeral was
a chilly one and her five-year-old son, Willie, caught a cold. On May
2, he, too, died.

Left with her small daughter, ``Mollie'', my mother returned to her
father's home near Clinton. That was a mistake. Her stepmother and
stepsisters treated her harshly. Again she had to milk cows and do
heavy chores. She was not even allowed to care for her own little
girl. One day while bringing milk from the barn she came across one of
her stepsisters spanking ``Mollie.'' Without a word she packed her bags,
took her little one and returned to her home in Westside.

My father, William H. Kealy, was born at Evans Mills, a small borough
near Watertown, N.Y., on February 21, 1859, to Thomas Joseph Kealy (a
Union Veteran of the Civil War) and Ellen (Doran) Kealy. He was the
oldest of a family of five boys and two girls. The others were John,
Peter, Thomas, Francis, Margaret and Elizabeth.

When my father was 17 he left home and went to work in the Michigan
lumber camps. He saved his wages and sent them home to help his
parents.

My grandfather, Thomas Joseph Kealy, had a brother Johnnie Kealy, the
father of a large family, living in Western Iowa. One of the girls,
Margaret (or Maggie) was a rural school teacher. The school where she
taught was not far from my widowed mother's farm home and Maggie
boarded there during the school year. My dates are not too accurate,
but I will say it was in the spring of 1883, after the lumber camps
closed, that my father, instead of returning to his home in New York,
went to Iowa to visit his Uncle Johnnie. He accepted a job for the
summer on a neighboring farm.

Fate seems to have been working here for it was through his cousin
Maggie that he met my mother. Always a debonair person, I am sure he
courted this beautiful young widow in a very gentle and charming
fashion. They were married April 6, 1884. Mollie, the only surviving
child of the Breen family, was three years old and my father took her
to his heart, loving her as if she were his own.

After the wedding, they did not stay in Iowa for long. they traded my
mother's 80 acres in Iowa for a quarter section of land in Nebraska
in an area near Neligh open for homesteading and homesteaded an
adjoining 160 acres. They built a sod house on the homestead and it
was here that George was born June 3, 1885. He was baptized George
Thomas at St. Patrick's Church at O'Neill, Nebraska. (St. Patrick's
was the nearest Catholic Church. Since it was over 40 miles away
attendance required a round trip by train and an overnight stay in
O'Neill.)

Two years later, on March 25, 1877, I was born in the sod
house. Although no baptismal records can be found, I am sure I was
christened Ellen Jane, named for both of my grandmothers as George had
been for both grandfathers. It is said to be a tradition in the Kealy
family that the oldest boy be named Thomas and the eldest girl
Ellen. My father, Aunt Margaret and Uncle Frank adhered to the
tradition.

When my folks moved to the homestead my father bought a well-drilling
outfit and after drilling a well for their own use, he drilled wells
for neighboring homesteaders. This took him away from home much of the
time.

There was very little money during those years and when I was growing
up there was a ledger (in an old trunk upstairs) that had page after
page listing names of people for whom papa had drilled and for which
he received no pay, or at most, only a few dollars. Later many of
those people became well-to-do farmers or prominent businessmen but
failed to remember their indebtedness to my parents.

They endured the plague of grasshoppers that descended like a dark
cloud and devoured everything -- corn crop, vegetables, clothing
spread on the prairie grass to dry, even the handles of pitch-forks
and garden tools. Then another cloud seemed to come out of nowhere. It
was a cloud formed by myriads of seagulls coming to feast on the
grasshoppers.

Then came a prairie fire, the second one to sweep through the
area. this one burned everything except the sod house, the cow and the
team of horses papa had with him.  Papa had plowed a small patch of
ground near the sod house to serve as a backfire that would turn the
fire aside. When mama saw the fire coming she took Mollie, George and
me out to the patch of ground. She was going to turn the animals loose
so they could get away but the fire was too close. The cow ran and,
cutting her rope on a plow share, got away. All of the pigs, the hay
and the feed were burned.

When the ground had cooled enough, mama took us children back into the
house.  There was the small valise of clothes she had ready to take
along -- baby needs for the six-week-old baby, me.

Papa had seen the fire from the farm where he was drilling a
well. Riding ``Franklin'', one of the work horses, he jumped the fire
and arrived home. There was devastation, yes, a crushing blow, but his
family was safe! I can imagine my mother crying and papa consoling
her, telling her with God's help they could make it.

About this time they began building a small frame house on my mother's
quarter section. The house was nearly finished when lightening struck
and totally destroyed it.

Mama told of many incidents on the homestead; of Indians coming to the
door begging food, of coyotes howling at night. When papa was gone she
was afraid to look out the window for fear of what she might see.

She told of one Christmas when papa shot a wild turkey for their
Christmas dinner and she made mince pie for desert. The mince meat
was homemade of rabbit meat and dried apples. Mama had homemade gifts
for the little ones, corncob dolls dressed with scraps of material
left from her sewing. Papa had made a violin from a cigar box for
George, the only toy he wanted.

On one occasion, while drilling a well, papa lost the auger in quick
sand, a tragic loss. In spite of everything they tried to carry on.

Due to the many reverses, eventually they lost both places. The
homestead law required that one live on the homestead for five years
before title was granted. In trying to make ends meet they mortgaged
my mothers quarter section. Need I say more -- taxes and interest had
to be paid or else.. I have seen it happen so often!

Leaving their high hopes and dreams behind, late in the year of 1887
my folks moved into the little town of Neligh. we were living there
during the terrible blizzard of 1888. It hit on January 12, one of the
worst ever in Nebraska. The country was open, no fences nor trees, so
the storm swept the prairie full force. It lasted three days. In the
afternoon mama had gone to visit a close neighbor, Mrs. Cap. Baily,
whose husband had been a captain in the Civil War. Papa left his job
early to go to the school and bring Mollie home, then to Mrs. Baily's
to gather the rest of the brood.

By this time the storm had worsened. We went right past our house and,
except for coming up to a wagon sitting in our yard, could never have
found our way. THE HISTORY OF NEBRASKA, a text book used at one time
in the schools, gives a vivid description of this storm.  Some rural
school teachers made ropes from clothing, tied the pupils together
and struck out for nearby farmhouses where they found shelter, warmth
and food. It tells of one teacher who, with her pupils, perished in
her attempt.

I vaguely remember the house we lived in in Neligh. It was brick with
steps leading up to the back door. It was close to the railroad tracks
(probably on the wrong side, but luckily kids do not remember those
things).

It was in this house that my sister, Elizabeth Josephine and her twin
brother were born on January 8, 1890. The baby boy died shortly after
birth. Papa's brother, Frank, was living with us at the time and he
baptized the baby before death. I have always thought that he was
named Edward Joseph so that the twins initials would be the same.

Mollie, and probably George, attended school in Neligh. I do not know
how long we lived there but we moved to Albion where, on December 31,
1892, William Edward was born. I can remember that cold New Year's
morning. The four of us children huddled around the heating stove in
the living room. Papa came in and showed us our baby brother. We
called him Willie and I thought he was beautiful!

I attended school (kindergarten) in Albion. My teachers name was
Mrs. Farmer and she called me her little sunshine girl. She said I
always had a smile for her in the morning.

While living in Albion George and Lizzie both had diphtheria. Papa was
working in the country and could not come home on account of the
quarantine. The city authorities were to get groceries and bring fresh
water but there were times when we would be without drinking water for
hours.

It is difficult to understand now, but at that time there were very
few wells. The town well, as it was called, was across a street and in
the next block from where we lived. Anyone under quarantine was not
allowed out of the house.

One day our dear old priest, Father O'Reilly, came to the door. Mama
opened it a mere crack and told him he could not come in. But he
pushed the door wide and he and a helper came in with two baskets of
provisions. Then he told mama he would come again and see that she had
the things she needed. I think he must have complained to the
authorities because from then on we received a little more
attention. I can still see mama weeping after Father O'Reilly's
visit. Father came February 3, the Feast of St. Blaze, and blessed the
throats of all. Those who were ill recovered and no one else
contracted the disease.

From Albion we moved to the P.D. Smith ranch, Section 33, west of
St. Edward. Uncle Tom Kealy was foreman and papa was overseer of the
workmen. Papa's wages were $1.00 a day. This was September, 1893 and
there had been a drought. The corn was cut for fodder. It took three
men to operate one machine. The shocks of fodder were left standing in
the field to be hauled in later to feed the livestock. Mama cooked for
the men and received 13 cents per meal for each man.

Mollie was about 12 years old at the time and had to help with the
housework. Years later I heard my brother George say that Mollie never
had a childhood. I had never thought about that before but it is
true. Our brother, Willie, was 9 months old when we moved to the
ranch. There were always mounds of dishes to wash, cooking, washing,
ironing, mending, and a baby to care for --- everything that goes
toward keeping a home going.

Do not think for one minute that I ever saw any work I might do to
help out. I would rather be out doors getting into mischief or
planning a trick to play on someone. I would catch old dolly out in
the pasture, put a halter on her and ride as fast as she could go
until papa saw me and send me back to the house. I would ride her
again every chance I got.

Well do I remember when mama was very busy and the baby fussy, she
would put him in the big rocking chair with pillows and tie something
across in front of him so he could not fall out. She would ask Lizzie
and me to rock him. We would wait until she was out of sight then rock
him so hard he would bump his head then scream and cry. Mama would
have to stop what she was doing and take him up and care for him. Away
we would go to find a more interesting occupation. I am really ashamed
of myself when I realize what a brat I was.

We moved into St. Edward in the fall of 1896.  William Jennings Bryan
and William McKinley were the candidates for the presidency. My father
was a lifetime Free Silver Democrat. McKinley was for the Gold
Standard. McKinley won the election but was assassinated in 1899.

The spring of 1897 we moved back to a farm, section 8, where much,
much later Fred and I lived with our family for 16 years before we
reitred from farming. My brothers, sisters and I attended either
District 26 or District 54. At that time the rural schools were open
only 6 months of the year, so we went to one or the other. Hettie
J. Henke was one of our teachers.  Agnes Nickerson another rural
teacher was later principal of St. Edward school when I graduated.

In the spring of 1899 we moved into a small five-room house that my
folks had built in the east part of St. Edward. On April 26, before we
were completely moved in, a tornado tore in from the southwest. It
followed a path just south of town, destroying many farm homes and
buildings. While on her way to the cave, a Mrs. McCutchen was killed
when hit by a board flying through the air.

Our folks told us to go to the farm east of us, where there might be
a cave and that they would come later. George, Lizzie, Willie and I
went on. The shelter was a pit in which to keep potatoes during the
winter. Five families came there for shelter. Mollie came a little
later.  The way she found where we were was that our dog, Sport, was
by the door of the cave. When our parents came they could not find
the shelter. They stood at the south end of the barn and while they
waited the tornado tore the north end away. Then a cow which had been
picked up, was deposited next to them.

What an ordeal it was --- they had no idea where we kids were. When
the storm was over and we came up out of that hole in the ground, they
both cried, they were so happy to know we were all save. We hardly
knew them; their clothes were torn, their faces covered with dirt and
mud --- they hardly looked human. I tried to stay with mama that night
--- I think she must have spent most of it on her knees in prayer
thanking God for our safety.  The next morning I was in bed and on
getting up I found her in her new little kitchen getting breakfast. I
don't remember what we ate but to all of us, I am sure, it was
ambrosia.

After the storm mama hunted and hunted for a coffee can filled with
coins which was her ``piggy bank.'' Years later while digging in the
garden she found it intact where the storm had buried it.

I remember that long after that storm we all were frightened of every
storm that came up and I have never really gotten over it. Times were
pretty rough so Mollie and George eventually quit school and got jobs,
Mollie as a helper in a farm home and George as a farm worker. The
years went by some way and somehow we grew with the years.

Mollie was married to James J. Cahill on June 7, 1905; George married
Mable Sarah Preble February 7, 1907 (Mable died in 1957 and he married
Esther Flanigan April 19, 1965); I married Fred Hirsch March 3, 1908;
Lizzie married Henry Reitz July 17, 1914. Willie (or Bill) and Irma
Stevens were married November 18, 1912. Irma died March 27, 1927
leaving a family of 8 children, the youngest an infant.

After being a widower for several years and having a series of
housekeepers, Bill married Edna M. Sorensen at St. Cecilia's Cathedral
in Omaha November 11, 1930.

We all had large families, I think my folks had 44 grandchildren.

Although neither of my parents had much formal education, the received
an education at the school of ``hard knocks.'' The adapted their
knowledge to their needs and to the times in which they lived.

Hardly a day goes by that I don't feel the need to talk to one or both
about some of the debatable issues of today.

Our dad did many types of work to make a living for his family. He was
an excellent painter and paper hanger. For many years he traveled
with a team of horses all over northwestern Nebraska selling fruit
trees and other trees for windbreaks.  He sold many of the trees for
the large orchards on the Sandoz farms to Jules Sandoz, the Old Jules
of the book written by his daughter Mari.

Later he was an insurance agent. Over the years he was gone from home
much of the time. What a happy time for all of us when he would be
home for a few days. He had a good voice and loved to sing. We have
many happy memories of him. He always seemed to be able to roll with
the punches and come up smiling.

Our father died January 24, 1929 of a stroke. He was working at Grand
Island writing insurance. He was driving a little Ford roadster he had
bought a couple of years earlier. Feeling sick he stopped at a hotel
in St. Paul and called a doctor. The family was notified of his
illness. I think Bill was with him at the time of his death. When
George told me papa had died I could not believe it. I just knew he
would come home again, which he did in a beautiful casket.

My sainted mother, the most courageous person I ever knew, met every
problem and situation with dauntless strength like the true Christian
that she was, knowing that God never sends us burdens without giving
us the strength to carry them.

Mama suffered a stroke while visiting at Bill's home in Council
Bluffs, Iowa. When she was strong enough they planned to bring her to
Mollie's to be cared for until she regained her strength. They brought
her by ambulance as far as Genoa but because of her condition they
decided not to go further and Lizzie took her in to her home. Lizzie
and Mollie cared for her day and night.

God called mama to her well-deserved rest January 16, 1931 at the age
of 79 years.

Our parents are buried side by side on a wind-swept hill in Evergreen
cemetery east of St. Edward.

My parents were honest, hardworking and God fearing people and as I
look back I am glad they were my parents and am sorry I did not
appreciate them more for their love and wisdom and the Christian
heritage they left to us.



Retyped 1998 by Dennis Nicklaus
Notes by Dennis Nicklaus:
The wedding dates written above are as they were written in Ellen's
Memories.  However the dates for several of the weddings is different
than what the marriage licenses show: 
	name 				Date from License 
	Elizabeth & Henry Reitz 	15 Jul 1914 
	Bill Kealy & Irma Stephens 	12 Nov 1913
	George Kealy & Mable Preble 	6 Feb 1907

"Keeran" is the usual spelling for Kerin Foley.

The Memories above give Evans Mills for Wm. Kealy's birthplace.
However, his obit states he was born in Harrisburg, NY.  Evans Mills
and Harrisburg are about 25 miles apart. Ellen L. Hirsch (who sent me
both articles) said she thought Harrisburg was correct.

The last digit of the birth year for Georgie Breen was cut off on my photocopy.
Other evidence shows it to be 1879.