I remember when we went to Butte for Grandpa Fritz’s funeral, I went with Dad and Uncle Bill to see Paul’s grave. Bill had made a frame of 2×4’s, painted it white and put it the ground to mark Paul’s grave.It was very sad, and now apparently it’s gone back to the earth. But I remember as I was learning about death as a 5-year old, I took comfort from the notion that if I died, my brother would welcome me to the next life. Paul is gone but not forgotten.
These memories are by Steven Lee Fritz, Jack and Barb Fritz’s oldest son. Any additions by other of his children will be indicated.
This memoir is focused on the family created by the marriages of John Henry (“Jack”) Fritz to Barbara Jean McElligott and William Lee Fritz to Geraldine McElligott during WWII. It includes the siblings of all four and their families, the extended family of my youth. Other more distant family members may be included from time to time.
My childhood was punctuated by frequent summer vacations to Butte, my Dad’s birthplace and home until 1942 when WWII and the draft intervened. Dad went to Camp Grant for basic training and then, because he had a college degree in Dairy Industry from Montana State Unioversity in Bozeman, MT, he was promoted to Sergeanty and sent to Kansas City, Missouri to inspect food being manufactured and packaged for the Army at war. In Kansas City he met and married my mother, Barbara Jean McElligott, in September, 1942. I was born there in 1944.
I once asked my mother why Dad wasn’t an officer. She said that when he graduated from basic training second lieutenants were being sent to North Africa where their job was to go over the hill shouting “Char…..”. In any event, we stayed in KC until the war, then moved back to Butte. By then Mom’s sister Gerry had married Dad’s brother Bill and was also in Butte. Sadly, there wasn’t much work in Butte postwar. Even more sadly, my first brother Paul was born in January 1946 and died after three days. He had what is now known as Neonatal Respiratory Distress Syndrome. Had he been born today, he could easily have been treated but then he could not survive. Recently when our cousin Vicki Podgurski (daughter of Dad’s sister Mariruth (“Slim”), I told Mom that she was the first of our generation to die. Mom said, “As an adult…” She never forgot Paul and neither did I. Here is an image of a memorial in the cemetery in Butte in a section called Babyland. He is listed simply as Baby Fritz. His full name was Paul Joseph Fritz.
I don’t really remember anything of living in Butte then, although I have a persistent memory (possibly invented) of being told to stand by a suitcase while we waited for a train to take us to Pennsylvania where Dad had a new job. I have the picture but perhaps that created the memory.
On the train ride to Pittsburgh, I was just starting to talk. According to Mom, everytime I heard an unfamiliar sound I said “Whuffa dat?”. Mom was almiost certainly depressed and my little boy nagging finally wore thorugh her legendary patience. She blurted “I’ve told you and told you, it’s only the squeaky train.” That shut me up – for a bit. But when a nice fellow passenger said to me “How are you, little boy?” I responded loudly “I’ve told you and told you, its only the squeaky train!”. I guess I was better at mimicing than creating my own sentences.
Pittsburgh didn’t pan out. Dad was working with an Army buddy trying to rescuscitate his ailing family dairy. We lived in a rural setting at Beaver Dam Farm and our only vehicle was a dairy truck Dad used for work. After six weeks Mom couldn’t take the isolation any more and we packed up and headed back to Kansas City on the train. When we arrived Dad said he had $5.00 in his pocket, the sum total of his earthly wealth. He went down to City Hall the next day and got a job as Chief Restaurant Inspector. He said it was meant to be.
We stayed in Kansas City 11 years, until Dad got a new job in Washington, DC and we moved to Maryland. I will start in future posts by sharing KC memories. Eventually I will share later memories. I am new to bloggiong but I think you can share your reactions and memories as well. I’ll get to how later. For now, please join me in honoring the first generation and all they have done for us. Only Ed and Pat McElligott remain of that genearation. I hope we can get them to join us.
Steve
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