My Mom, brother Ray (on the right) and me. 1953 maybe.
Elva Iris Toro was born in Puerto Rico in 1917 to a family of Spanish and Puerto Rican lineage. She was the baby of the family, with two older sisters and four older brothers. Her mother lived into old age but she never knew her father; I didn't know this until ten years ago, but apparently he left with another woman, leaving Mom's oldest brother, Tony, to raise the family. From all accounts she had a happy childhood, though there was at least one more trauma I know of: while living in Chicago for a while her brother Gene was killed when he and his brothers were robbed.
Back in Puerto Rico Mom eventually came to work for the US Army during the war and landed a job as secretary to the commanding officer of the base. One of the great family stories is that in her position she was privy to the files of the incoming officers. She would skim through them thinking, "hmmm, married, no; Lutheran, no; Jewish, no; ah, Catholic, single, 26, from Rochester, New York; sounds good." And so she made a point of checking out Lt. Frank Foery when he reported for duty and, well, you know the end of the story.
Another great episode in that story is that when Dad finally proposed, Mom looked at the ring wistfully, saying "Frank, I can't accept that." He was dumbstruck; he had been sure they were going to get married; what could she mean? "You have to ask my Mother," Mom added. So there's this wonderful scene of the entire family joining together to hear this upstate New York Army officer ask for my mother's hand. She was kept waiting in her room until all was settled. It was actually a foregone conclusion -- everyone loved Frank -- but it's a great story I think.
Mom died on November 21, 2001. I was holding it together at the funeral fairly well, but lost it totally when my brother, ending his eulogy, quoted one of Mom's favorite songs, one of the first songs I remember hearing on the radio: "Vaya con Dios." Go with God, indeed.
Some of my favorite moments have been the number of times friends have commented that my parents obviously loved each other very much. That was true on August 10, 1944, the day they wed, and it remained true for 53 more years.
Love the pictures; the stories as well.
ReplyDeleteGreg
Your parents were like second parents to me, Walter. I remember so many good times in your family's company -- your father's magnificent steaks from the commissary, grilled to perfection by his own hand; your parents making sure I had a place for Thanksgiving dinner when I was summoned back home from the Air Force because my father had had a heart attack; The Colonel's wry sense of humor, although it was often at my expense but never unkind; and your father's recipe for manhattans (I loved those manhattans so much that I restrict myself even today to just one per week, else I would be living in a shelter somewhere); even the bridge games, although Elva and The Colonel were far superior players than you and I were. I miss your parents almost as much as I miss my own.
ReplyDelete-dd
In all the years of hearing about your parents, while they may have been confused and bewildered by you, there was not once a doubt that they loved you. It is good to get some more background. I am sorry I only met them at your wedding.
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