Tragedies

My father developed a cancer that traveled through out his body. He laid on his back in agony the last two years. It was six years since he had last worked. Mom cared for him as she would a baby while she still worked as head waitress at the Roger Smith hotel in White Plains. He once said to me, "This is a living Hell."

It was difficult to finally see him die at the Rosary Hill Hospital in Valhalla on January 15, 1963. He was buried in the family plot in the Albany Rural Cemetery.

When father died, My mother moved to Kingston to be near her two sons. While still living in Elmsford she fell in her apartment and hurt her back. She could not work again.  After moving to Kingston, a chiropractor  named John McKinnon, promised her he would have her back to work, but it would take six months. He was true to his word. She rejoined the work force at the Kingston Hospital cafeteria for fifteen years and was finally forced to retire at 82 because of a hospital policy change. At 83 she fell and broke a hip. She resided at the Ulster County infirmary till her death, November 3, 1995. She was 94 years old.

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