My Aunt Bayonne

7/29/2019 My Aunt Bayonne

1/16

My Aunt Bayonne

Written by Her Nephew

A. Rod Paolini

2012

Bayonne Alice Daniels


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Forward

As I began writing this memoir of my aunt Bayonne, I realized that I was writing about my early

childhood memories of Harmony and the Reburn family. I started a second attempt but then realized

that I was trying to write biography in the style of my genealogical history of the Paolini family. As such,

I had very few facts as to where and when she and her family moved, and certainly I had little idea as to

why. To make suppositions would have lead to wholly unfounded interpretations.

I did have one asset that revealed and portrayed my aunt as I came to know and love her: her

letters. She was prolific. In the period of twenty years, from 1982 to 2002, she wrote forty letters to

me. They were not just short notes, but thoughtful letters describing her life, her observations, and her

opinions; and they were even better on second reading.

I finally decided to describe my aunt as I knew and loved her, using the chronology of her life as

an outline and as a means of describing her, her life, and values, outlook, and opinions. I have liberally

sprinkled excerpts of her letters as she expresses herself so clearly that I need only introduce thesubject.

As a consequence of the above, this memoir is not intended as a full portrayal of Bayonne Alice

Daniels Reburn. It is my impression and my remembrance of her for which I treasure.

A. Rod Paolini

March 26, 2012


3/16

Re-discovering My Aunt Bayonne

In 1975, my friend Chuck Billington and I took a canoe

trip down the Root River in southeastern Minnesota. It was

mid-June, and fields of soy beans and corn were a rich green

that lay over the rolling hills while the sun was shimmering

white light and the air so clear that one could see for miles.

We paddled down the river, through prairie, farm fields, and

small towns. At times the only sound was the a gentle wind,

and as paddled, it was though we were in a timeless world.

After our three-day

journey, we decided to retrace the route by automobile, and so we

drove on country roads that paralleled and crossed the Root River.

Chuck had planned the trip, and so I was only vaguely aware of where

we were. As I became familiar with the map, I realized that we were

in the vicinity of Harmony, Minnesota, the small town out on the

prairie where my mother was born and raised. Of her five siblings,

only her sister Bayonne and her family still resided there. As a child,

my mother and I had visited my aunt Bayonne and her husband Al

Reburn, together with their two sons, Rock and Rick.

I said to Chuck: I have an aunt that lives in Harmony. Could we go see her? For sure, saidChuck. We drove into Harmony, and I realized that I had no idea where she lived. We drove down main

street and then turned on a side street where I spotted a woman walking down the sidewalk. Excuse

me, I said. Do you know Bayonne Reburn? Im her nephew and Im looking for her house. Of

course, she said. Just down the street three blocks. Its the one on the southwest corner. Indeed we

were in Harmony, Minnesota, population 1,051.

It was dusk, and the porch was dark. A dim light emanated from the screen door, probably the

glow from a television. I knocked, but I felt a bit uneasy. I hadnt seem my aunt in twenty-five years

when I was ten years old. Would she remember me? Would she believe who I claimed to be? A

woman came to the door. Hi, I said. Im Rod Paolini, Isabels son. Well, goodness, she replied.

Come on in! Relieved, Chuck and I entered, and we sat and chatted for awhile, and then she invitedus to have dinner at the local restaurant, Harmony House. After dinner, we returned and continued our

visit.

Nineteen-seventy-five was in the period of the fledgling feminist movement, which included a

mens liberation movement. Chuck and I had met and knew each other through a Mens Group in

Chicago. In addition to being city-slickers, we were liberals, Chuck being a social worker and his wife an

Root River

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attorney while my wife Kathy was a public health nurse and I was an analyst for the Department of

Human Services of the city of Chicago. I didnt know anything about my aunt, but I knew that we were

in rock-ribbed Republican territory. I wasnt sure how she would view us. But from her interrogation,

we fessed up. To my surprise, she not only shared our social views, it was obvious that she was

conversant with the past and current feminist writings and the current womens movement. I had

found a kindred soul who was also kin.

And so began a new relationship with my aunt Bayonne. She was a prolific letter writer,

perhaps not in the tradition ofbelles-lettres, her grammar not always meeting standards of college

English 101, yet they are so revealing of her personality, poignant of her feelings and attitudes, and

evidence of her wisdom and love of life.

Thank you for a wonderful letter; that was something of a masterpiece.

Your father would have approved of such a letter?! I suspect he thinks

most letters are not worth the writing.

We still write to say, "I took the car in for a tune-up," and "I'm waiting fora cake to bake so will write this letter while I'm waiting." And it's also a

comforting reminder that we are thought of and loved.

Bayonnes Early Life in Harmony

Bayonne was the last Daniels to remain in Harmony after her

sisters and brother had sought their futures elsewhere. The Daniels family

had been quite prosperous and prominent. Her father, Herb Daniels

married Ausye Gurine Harstad in 1913, he then forty-nine and she but

twenty-two. He had left his farm and owned the John Deere dealership aswell as being the co-owner of a flour and feed mill. He served two terms

as president of the town council. Herb Daniels was admired and loved by

his wife and children.

More than once Mom told us girls, "I feel sorry for

you. You don't know anything about men because you

live with a saint." She was right. I thought men were honest, gentle, loving and

could fix anything that needed fixinghurt feelings or dripping faucets. Not so

I was to learn. (Letter to her brother Rod Daniels)

Even as a child, I sensed that Dad was different from other people. There

was an innate goodness about him that came through, and when I was little,

being with Dad made me feel like I did in Sunday School-I wanted to be a

better person. It's hard to explain because Dad never set impossible

standards or criticized; I wanted to think I was really worth being loved by

someone so wonderful. (Letter to her brother Rod Daniels)

Herbert Alonzo Daniels

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When the Great Depression hit in 1929, the fortunes of the Daniels family dwindled, as they did

for most Americans. The mill became heavily mortgaged and was finally lost in foreclosure to the bank,

the principal loan officer being his own brother, Will Daniels.

I can remember the night that Dad hit bottom. Hedidn't get home until late. I heard him come in and [I]

started for the kitchen to see him. Through the door I

could see him at the kitchen table with his head on his

arms, and I heard him say, "It's all gone, Ausye." I

didn't have any idea what he meant, but I was numb

with fright. Whatever it was that made my strong

father weep had to be so dreadful that I didn't want

to know. I hid and cried because I didn't want the

others to know something terrible was happening to us.

(Letter to her brother Rod Daniels)

Herb Daniels lost the dealership, though he and his partner George Morem continued to repair

the implements, often for little or no pay, as the farms were in similar dire straits.

It isnt unusual, that in the toughest times for adults, children recall it being the best of times,

perhaps because people engage in the simple pleasures of life and enjoying each others company that

are appreciated by children more than we realize. In a letter to her brother, Rod:

Can you remember when you were little and would sit on Dads lap in the old

blue wicker chair, and Dad would read and draw his famous pigs for you. Ican still see you. You would make such a big thing of getting the tail on the

pig. Dad would draw it with a flourish, and you would both laugh.

When Dad wasnt committed to helping out some farmer who was as bad or

worse off than we, hed take a Sunday to go fishing with Obie Harstad and

Ed Roche. He always came home with some good stories after one of those

sessions. Obie took fishing as seriously as religion, and he was prone to

lecture. Ed was a practical joker, and outwitting Obie was more fun than

landing any fish. I dont know how Dad ever got Obie to accept taking a

child along, but a few times I talked Dad into letting me go with him, and Iloved sitting on the bank of a stream holding a bamboo pole as much as any

of the men.

Ausye GurineHarstad

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Surely the burden of his financial difficulties took a toll on her fathers health, though he was

seventy-three years old when he died in 1936, leaving a wife of age forty-six, and five children.1

The household dispersed over the next two years. The oldest

daughter, Shirley, had married prior to her fathers passing, and she and her

husband Ernie Olsen were living in Minneapolis. Alma Jean departed for

Colorado. In 1938, wife Ausye moved to Chicago to pursue a love interest2

but the man never left his wife. Ausye operated a boarding house for a few

years, then became a nanny to a wealthy Jewish family. My mother Isabel

graduated from high school in June 1938, and within a month, followed her

mother to Chicago to begin a career as a bookkeeper. Rodmy

namesakethe youngest and only boy, accompanied his mother to Chicago,

but then was sent to stay with his sister Alma Jean in Colorado. And so

Bayonne Alice Daniels, the second oldest, remained in the homestead in

Harmony.

Bayonne had graduated from Harmony High School in 1934 and

obtained a teaching degree from Winona State Teachers College in 1935,

but she could not find a teaching position. As has been said, theres

always work at the post office. She rose at 5:00am Monday through

Saturday to hitch the mail bag to the hook for it to be snagged by the

5:45am train. She picked up the mail bag that had been cast from the train and returned to the post

office in order to sort the letters and place them in the appropriate boxes, all under the watchful eyesof the early risers, impatiently waiting for their mail. Still, she was thankful for the job:

Isabel Flavia Daniels

Bayonne Daniels

(about 1935)

Alma Jean Daniels

A fourth daughter, Marjorie, was born with spina bifida in 1922 and died two years later.1

Alma Jean married Joe Sudlik, but it is not known when or where they were married.2

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But we were so glad to have a job, we didnt dare to take a day off if we

were at deaths door for fear they would find we werent indispensable.

Bayonne had many suitors, many of which offered a prosperous life. Surprisingly to some, she

chose one Allen Gregory Reburn from the nearby town of Le Roy, and they married in January 1940. Al

was drafted in the United States Army in 1942 and served as a cook until a year after the end of thewar.

My First Impressions of My Aunt and Uncle

My mother and I often visited the Reburns, taking the Hiawatha train from Chicago to La Crosse,

Wisconsin where Bayonne would pick us up. I felt that I was in foreign territory. Among my parents

friends and relatives, I was usually ignored, which didnt bother me as I enjoyed listening to my aunts

and uncles converse (not really an accurate verb to described the manner in which my Italian relatives

talked) and played with my cousins. In Harmony, adults talked to children, but more vexing to me is

that they expected children to talk to them. I felt like an actor without a script, and I didnt know my

part. On one occasion, I was taken to a dance hall where there was a square dance and asked to join. I

was scared out of my wits and refused.

I really did not get to know my aunt very well in my childhood, and if fact, I gained a rather

negative impression of her. She slept late, usually to ten or eleven oclock whereas my folks, especially

my father, was usually up at sixand thats when he slept late. Their house was rather messy with toys

and newspapers scattered about, whereas my mother kept our house in order and immaculate. It

wasnt until years later that I learned that my aunt suffered from allergies, especially ragweed, which if

there was a market similar to soybeans and corn would make most Minnesotans rich. I gained an

understanding and great appreciation for my aunts suffering when my family and I moved to Virginia

where I suffer from a plethora of allergens.

Al had owned and operated a restaurant with his brother before the war, but they didnt get

along and Al quit. After the war, he and Bayonne opened up a restaurant in Harmony. I remember

walking downtown and entering Al's restaurant. I was told that Al was somewhat temperamental: hot

and cold. If you were on his good side, he couldn't do enough for you, but if you got on his bad side, he

was disdainful. Luckily for me, I was on his good side, for I remember he gave me a chocolate milkshake

for free.

Perhaps he gave away too many milkshakes, or

maybe there were two other eateries in Harmony, a town

of a thousand people. In any case, the business was not

successful, and they had to close the restaurant. Al got a

job as a salesman of trees and shrubs to be planted byfarmers along their fields in order to reduce wind erosion.

As a consequence, he was on the road much of the time.

Main Street, Harmony, MN (1950)

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I though that Al looked a bit like W.C. Fields, and his voice sounded

the same as well, though he did not have Fields mannerisms. Unfortunately

he shared one other similarity of Fields: a fondness for booze. It did not

return the favor kindly.

The Reburns had a dog named Tucker, a female, cocker spaniel with

a black coat and long droopy ears. My mother is not a dog person, having

been bitten by one on the same street when she was young. For me, I can

take them or leave them, preferably outdoors. Bayonne, Rock and Rick

would play a charade every time the five of us went somewhere. Bayonne

had a Ford coupe, probably of 1947 vintage. I could have out dragged it

with my bicycle for at least the first fifty yards. Bayonne would insist that

Tucker be left at home though Rock and Rick would howl in protest. As we

would pull away, Tucker would chase after us, and Rock and Rick would

plead with their mother. "Her heart will burst," Rock would cry. Bayonne

would always relent, and Tucker, covered with road dust, would jump in the

car and settle in the back seat between my mother and me, panting and

drooling.

About seven or eight years laterin the early fifties--my mother

remarked that Bayonne had intimated that not all was well with her

marriage, but then she bore another son, Barry in 1955, and a daughter

Valerie in 1956. Was all now well? A while later, I was told that Rock had

emotional problems, but nothing more.

After Barry and Val graduated from high school in the mid-70's, the

Reburn family moved to the neighboring town of Winona where Bayonne

worked for a volunteer organization. She later wrote:

Surprisingly I miss my job in Winona much more than I'd expected to.

Working for a volunteer organization was a completely new experience. I

especia11y miss the two administrators I love to work with enthusiastic3

people . Jim and Vicki were two of the hardest working people I have

known-fun and realistic. Working with the downtrodden isn't the most

fulfilling job, and it's good there are people with sense like Jim and your

Uncle Rod out there to be coping with the situation. One minute your torn

up over some poor creature, and the next you are ready to kill a moocher.

Bayonne then moved to California. It was a new beginning.

Allen Gregory Reburn

I scanned Bayonnes letters, and then cut and pasted her quotes in this document. Upon3

closer reading, I discovered that she used the number 1' instead of an l, probably because that key

was in operable. When I purchased my first computer with its word processor, I gave her my typewriter

for which I believed she would truly appreciate.

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Los Angeles, California

In a small town, its comforting that, as at Cheers, the mythical bar in Boston, everybody knows

your name. Somewhat disconcerting though, is that they know a whole lot more: where youve been,

what youve done, with whom you did it; and there is no statute of limitations. How the crops are

doing and what other people are doing are the main topics of conversation.

In Los Angeles, one may have friends not solely based upon proximity. Neighbors can become

friends or not as one chooses. There may be no crops to discuss, but there are all sorts of sights and

sounds, ethnic neighborhoods, exotic food, fashion, politics, sports, etc., by which one can meet people,

start a conversation and establish a friendship. Or you can just voice your opinion to the person next to

you and not suffer the consequences:

Out here there are a lot of rednecks too, but, for the first time in my life I

have a chance to express myself. I talk to people on the buses, in museums,

wherever. The chances of meeting them twice is minimal, and I'll never haveto eat my words. It's freedom I never had.

In the Los Angeles area, a megalopolis that believes that one must drive to go anywhere, my

aunt visited museums, art galleries, the zoo, concert halls, theater and movie houses by traveling by

public transportation. She visited places of which most natives are aware but never visit.

Saturday I'm going for the annual Christmas concert at the music center.

I'm torn as to whether I should stay home and hear all 12 hours of it, or

sacrifice four hours of listening; riding the bus so I can sit in that beautiful

theater and enjoy the music with hundreds of other people. If it's sunny

and warm out, I'll opt to go.

And her anonymity gave her freedom of expression to be the person she wanted to be.

I scold myself for getting so passionate over such things, but then I heard a

man say that little got done until people got angry, so I 'll go on with buzzing

in indignation and at least make a nuisance of myself if I feel justified in

doing so.

Obviously there were things that she missed about home:

Now I wish I could take in a school program. I miss them and the Sunday

School programs. Thats small town, and a part of it I don't get over.

but she could laugh at the differences.

I'm somewhat embarrassed at my preference for Minnesota cooking. To

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me, it's the best, but when I got out in the world a little, I found my tastes

are considered provincial at best, and barbaric at worst. I'll never forget

how crushed I was when someone introduced me as it a Minnesotan who ate

Jell-o with fruit in it."

The contrast between the world of Harmony and the world of Los Angeles became quiteexplicit:

It's strange how often when I'm visiting with friends from back home, I

find myself trying to be careful about my opinions. Some of them live such a

sheltered life that it upsets them no end to learn that a contemporary

thinks Lawrence Welk is corny and Billy Graham a fraud. I have learned to

avoid these controversial subjects. I could gag when they tell me they want

to go to the Crystal Cathedral to hear that saccharine Robert Schuller. I

find I am my mother's daughter in many ways. She never limited her

thinking to the boundaries of Harmony, Mn.

As did her mother Ausye, Bayonne found work as a nanny, taking care of young children of

mothers and fathers who worked full-time. No one was better suited for this line of work, and no one

enjoyed it more.

Zachary is five now, and he and I liked being together. Susan says he

misses me and wishes I'd come back. I wish so too in many was, but

transportation won't allow it. Anyway, Susan asked where I'd like to eat,

and I told her we ought to go someplace the boys like. Zachary called from

the back seat, "Nanna Bayonne, even if I don't like the food, I will eat it

wherever you want to go." Coming from a child, that's a compliment to

cherish.

And,

My little Alicia who is now 16, wrote that she remembered the stories I

made up for her she was always the heroine "Princess Alicia", and she said

[that] she still thinks of herself like that when she thinks of me. It's so

satisfying to know that in even small ways we have sometimes made an

impression.

As a nanny for wealthy people, she realized that they had different expectations than what she

had as a child:

These people have so much, but there is no such thing as enough. I feel

sorry for children who are never allowed to anticipate and really want

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something badly. Every day is Christmas here, and nothing is appreciated.

Whereas:

People miss a lot when they haven't been given a chance to go without

sometimes in order to really appreciate. I don't suppose I'll ever live solong but what I'll always marvel at having hot running water.

I remember her most poignant remark to me about her love for California:

Before moving here, I never thought that my feet would ever be warm.

A year or so later, Al joined Bayonne in California but from this brief reference, it doesnt seem

that the reunion was entirely welcomed.

How I wish I could have a nice leisurely visit, but I dont dare to leave Al

alone for long. The ways of the city are foreign to him and he plans to keepit that way. He is totally resistant to change. It isnt that I am

indispensable....if I died tonight, hed get along. But its one thing to be gone

for good and out of it, and something else to go and have to come back to

God knows what. I can bank on a filthy house, a sick dog and dead plants,

and therell be more surprises. Once when I was baby sitting for three

days, I came back to find most of a complete set of China for eight pretty

much eliminated. It isnt funny to me and I cant afford extra expense nor

do I care to clean up the mess.

Al began to suffer Korsakoff's dementia, a neurological disorder caused by the lack of thiamine(vitamin B1) in the brain and is linked to chronic alcohol abuse and/or severe malnutrition. I feel safe in

ruling out the latter. About 1989, Bayonne brought Al back to Minnesota and enrolled him in a nursing

home in Grand Meadows, a few miles from the town of Le Roy where he was born and where his son

Barry and daughter Val could visit him, however unrewarding it may have been.

Last Sunday Val took me to Grand Meadow [nursing home] to see Al, not a

fun visit. Hes been there more than 8 years and hasnt known us for four

years. I wish we could call our own signals and escape when we are ready.

Its sad to have to keep going simply because your heart keeps beating.

Columbia, Maryland

It was apparent that my aunt became very close to the families for whom she was employed,

and it one case, they could not part from her though they were moving to Columbia, Maryland; and so

they ask that she relocate and live with them, which she did, and much to my familys benefit as well.

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The year was 1985, and my family had moved to Reston, Virginia in 1978an hours drive from

Columbiaand so we were able to visit several times, though not as often as I could have as I reflect in

hindsight. It was at this time that I realized how beloved she became by children, for I realized that she

became a dear aunt to my daughter Nicole and my son Jared. Each always received a card on their

birthdays, and presents at Christmas, reflecting not her wealth, but the thought and care of a gift that

was meaningful to each.

I don't know what style furniture Nicole has for her doll house, but maybe

she can use these items I found. If her doll house is anything like most of

our houses, shes learned to combine Early American, modern, Chinese and

garage sale and learned to live with it.

Through the years, in high school and college, and thus quite busy and involved with their own

affairs, they took the time to correspond with her. For example, upon graduation in 1997, Nicole took

a trip to Europe and toured the Scandinavian countries from which she sent her great aunt a letter.

Bayonne wrote to me:

I went with a Finnish fellow once; his brother was the contractor for the

high school in Harmony aeons ago, and I've spent years regretting the fact I

didn't marry him when I had the chance. He was handsome and solvent, and

I couldn't have done better than that. Tell Nicole I recommend the Finnish

men.

As I spent time with my aunt, some of her mysterious past was

revealed. On one occasion we took her to Colvin Run Mill to listen to a

concert of the Mill Run Dulcimer Band. On this hot and sultry day, we were

lying on a blanket in the shade, and I thought to take a photograph of my

extended family. As I positioned myself, Bayonne realized that I was about

to take her photograph. She leaped as though a snake had slithered onto

the blanket. I never thought she could move quickly. She gave no

explanation, but years later, I had organized a reunion of her and my

mother in Harmony and they both related stories of their childhood.

Bayonne revealed that she received her graduation photograph and gave a

precious copy to her aunt Dora, who examined it pensively and then said,4

Well, we cant put that on the mantle, can we? Scarred for life!

In 1989, my mother visited us in Reston, and the two of them plus

my wife Kathy, Jared, and I walked in the March for Women's Lives in

Washington, D.C. There were 500,000 people, and Kathy and I were afraidthat these two little women would either be lost or trampled, but they

clung to each other, arm in arm, and walked the entire length of the march from Farragut Square to the

Bayonnes high school

graduation photograph

Dora Daniels was actually a cousin but was called an aunt as she was twenty-nine years older4

than Bayonne.

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Capitol. I was proud of them, but also happy that they enjoyed being together and being with my

family.

The family for whom Bayonne was working moved to North Carolina, and the children had

grown so as not to require a nanny, and so she returned to California.

Return to California

Bayonne lived in apartments in various towns in the Los Angeles area: LaVerne, Rosemead, and

Santa Ana. Even without Al, men still failed her at times.

I asked that the janitor to come to replace light bulbs as I have no step

stool. After two requests, one bulb got put in today. I left two out, but he

put only one in, so I am still without light in the kitchen but the closet is well

lit!

In 1991, I had a business trip to Los Angeles during Spring break, and I took my son Jared. We

visited my aunt who took us to Medieval Times for dinner and a show of jousting. It was a treat for

Jared that he and I always remember.

And though she lived in the city, she still thought about hometown ways:

The Burpee Seed Catalog arrived a few weeks ago and even though I don't

have a garden plot, I still feel the urge to plant a garden. When I was at

[the] Wilkes last week, I noticed that one of the tomato plants had suddenly

come up after the rain. We had tomatoes from that plant for several

months last year, and now it revived and is loaded with blossoms again. Ihave never known that to happen before. I can hardly wait for the first

tomato.

Starting with my 25 college reunion in 1988, I began to revisit my past, and I thought a greatth

deal about my visits to Harmony as a child. It was at this time that my father wrote and recorded his

stories of his childhood and my mother wrote her autobiography. I wanted to learn more, and I wanted

my children to learn about their heritage. In 1992, I persuaded my mother to come from Florida, and

my aunt Bayonne to come from California for a reunion in Harmony. Jared accompanied me, but Nicole

could not as she had just graduated from college and was touring in Europe.

We visited the family homes, the shops, mills, train station and school at which my aunt and my

mother would tell a story or remembrance. They recalled one incident in which they accompanied their

mother trying to solicit donations to the Womens Auxiliary or some such club. They approached the

proprietor of the bakery to ask if he had any baked goods that were no longer salable. I dont think I

have anything bad enough to give to the Womens Auxiliary, he replied.

Both my mother and Bayonne told stories of their grandparents and the Harstad farm on the

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outskirts of town. Neither of them desired such a life, yet I noticed that they were always aware of how

the crops were doing and the plight of the local farmers.

When Iz drove me back to Rochester, we saw a few buildings down, and

some of the corn fields looked bad. I guess until the crops are harvested,

you can't figure on making a dollar. The corn got such a good start thisyear, and now, lots of it is gone.

Not all memories were pleasant for Bayonne. My mother proposed that we visit the Harstad

farm. Their grandparents on their mothers side was Aanond (Owen) Harstad and Isabella (Belle)

Brokken. When they passed away, their uncle James Tillman Harstadbetter known as Tactook over

the farm. He was supposed to share the proceeds of the farm with his siblings, but each year he would

explain that expenses were pretty much equal to income, and there was nothing to share. And then

one yearabout 1947a new house was built. It seems that there was some money left over! Their

motherAusye Harstad Danielsnever received a penny from her brother. Bayonne Daniels never

forgot nor forgave him and his heirs, and she refused to visit the farm and her cousin.

Maybe she learned a trick or two from her uncle Tac. About 1950, Ausye sold the house at 150

NE 4th Street, and Bayonne convinced her to buy a house at 1 Street, NW for her and her family.5 st

When Ausye died in 1975, Bayonne requested that the house be signed over to her and all her siblings

acquiesced.

Four years after our little family reunion, the town of Harmony sponsored a reunion. The little

town may not have grown through the years, but it certainly exported thousands, many of whom

returned July 4-7, 1996. The center of festivities was Selvig Park, a place that is normally vacant except

for a concert on a Saturday evening, but on the 4 the crowd was so thick that one could hardly move.th

We agreed to have lunch at the restaurant at noon, but Bayonne could not take more than a step than

she would meet a friend or acquaintance and have to stop and chat, much to the consternation of my

father whose stomach always demanded punctuality.

As poor as she seemed, she traveled about to visit friends and relatives, whether it was by bus

about the environs of Los Angeles, or the far flung states of Texas and Florida to visit her sisters.

Harmony ex-patriots were everywhere for which she had to mind her manners.

Isabel called last night to make a final check and to prepare me for meeting

with our cousin Marjorie and her husband who now live in Florida. Marjorie

and her sister, Nadine, who was much closer to me, and one of the funniest

people I ever knew, got religion some years ago and haven't been much fun

since. It irritated me no end to pen a letter from either one of them andhave several tracts slip out. Isabel is a wise woman and doesn't let herself

get upset over the foibles of friends and acquaintances. I don't much care

The house in which Bayonne and Isabel Daniels were born was at 135 SE 1st Avenue, often5

called the Big House.

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anymore what people do or think as long as they leave me alone. I told

Isabel I will try to behave, but I don't have to like it.

Return to Minnesota

Bayonne returned to Minnesota in 1995, but lived in Rochester rather than Harmony. She

resided in a senior citizens center. My mother and father moved from Ft. Lauderdale, Florida to

Harmony in 1996. On the several occasions that I visited my parents, I also visited my aunt. She had a

very comfortable apartment in Fontaine Towers, and I know that she enjoyed the cultural attractions of

Rochester: the library, theater and art gallery, all within walking distance. Yet she seemed to have no

close friends in the building. She relied on her brother Rod and his wife Ferdy who lived in Rochester as

did her daughter Val, and my mother and father in Harmony, an hour-drive away.

It must be that my peers are all beginning to accept old age. It used to be

that they sent a lot of supposedly humorous cards about senior citizens on

the verge of senility and suffering every type of infirmity. The people, whowere a year or two younger than I, always picked out the nastiest ones. I

didn't get a single one of that kind this year. Now we are into memories and

how wonderful life is. It's interesting to see how we react from stage to

stage.

Admittedly I hate being old. At least if you can't move fast and do a day's

work, it would be a much better plan if it were arranged that you didn't

want to do those things. I want to really work, and I'd like to travel and

read for hours on end. The toughest thing for me to accept is not being old

myself, but knowing that my children are catching up with me. I want themto stay young.

But she wasnt ready to retire. She worked several years at a Head Start school, probably as a

teachers aide. In the end, it proved too frustrating, but her love and need to be around children never

diminished.

If I start to feel better, I'm thinking about going back to Head Start this

fall. There was a big shake-up this spring. All the teachers except one was

let go. Finally someone noticed how hopeless the situation was there. It will

be a toss up if things improve depending on the kind of teachers they get. I

liked the girl I worked with last year, but she didn't know a thing about

teaching or discipline, and the kids were in charge. One day I sat there

wondering, WHY am I wasting my time and being frustrated about what

goes on here? and I called the office and said "I quit."

She was eighty-two in 1998; it was time to think about retirement.

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The teacher in another class spent all her time teaching the kids Spanish to

further confuse them. She was a nut for sure. I didn't know the morning

teachers, but they were evidently just as incompetent. I miss being with

children. My babysitting days will end when Matthew starts first grade this

fall, and then I will be at loose ends.

She had to deal with failing health, but bore it with out complaint and without lessening her

love of life.

After Christmas this year I was sick for two weeks, and when I went to the

doctor and was getting ready to leave, I put my tam on and adjusted it in

the mirror. He laughed and said, "You'll be alright. I watched you put your

hat on, and when people aren't interested in living, they don't care how they

look. You'll be okay."

About the year 2000, she moved to an assisted living facility in Le Roy where her youngest sonBarry and his family lived. She vaguely referred to some conflict, and so moved to a similar facility in

Harmony; then later she returned to Le Roy, again for vague reasons: People who I thought were

friends, werent was her terse explanation.

In 2002, my father was in failing health, and he was moved to

a nursing home by my mother and me. From my observations at the

nursing home, I commented to my aunt: Most of the residents just

seem to stare into space, I said. I would think that they would want

to talk to each other about interesting subjects. Why dont they talk

to each other? I asked. Theres nothing they can talk about.

Nothing happens here in Harmony. So why did you return to

Harmony? I asked. I came back to die! I felt as though Id been hit

between the eyes by a 2" by 4. It was difficult to bear the thought.

And I realized that the same reason had motivated my mother to

return to Harmony as well. It was home even though it might yield

disappointments.

She was grounded in this small town, but her world was much

larger. In one of my letters, I mentioned my interest in mythology and that I was reading of the works

of Joseph Campbell. Always in tune with each other, and in tune with life, she wrote:

Joseph Campbell is one of my heroes, and my favorite quote of his, is,

"When you say Ahhhh, you are participating in divinity." I know what he

means! When I see a rainbow or a bluebird or a perfect rose, an Ahhhh slips

out, and you know what ecstacy is.

Bayonne Alice Daniels died March 9, 2003 at the age of eighty-six. I miss her. Peace be upon

her.

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Documents

My Aunt Bayonne