THE JERSEY BOUNCE
I bounced into this world on June 8, 1927, in Hoboken, New
Jersey, preceded by two siblings, a brother, James Joseph, and a sister, Helen
Rita. My parents, Bridget Della Finnerty and James Joseph Finnerty, were 37 and
49 at the time of my birth. Years later, the city’s Board of Heath issued me a
certificate attesting that Joseph Finnerty had been born on that date. It does
not include a middle name. My birth took place at Dr. Farr’s private birthing
facility. This suggests that my family had attained a prosperous state
by 1927, when many children in this country were born at home, attended by
midwives. From the beginning, family members showered me with love and
affection, a practice that never ended.
In 2012 I obtained a copy of my official birth document
which identifies me as Joseph Thomas Finnerty. Thomas? No one in my family had
ever called me by that moniker. For that matter, no one ever called me Joseph
Girard Finnerty, although that’s the middle name that appears on my baptismal certificate.
My brother told me Gerard was the intended name, but the priest misspelled it.
I chose James as my confirmation name and it is the one I used all my life.
My parents were born in Ireland, County Galway, near the
town of Ballinasloe, closer still to the hamlet of Ahascragh. The area is
further divided into smaller locales, each bearing its own name. My
mother’s farm region is known as Latoon, my father’s Loonerton.
My father’s parents had ten children, seven boys and three
girls. My dad, born April 23, 1878, ranked ninth in this parade. When he turned
16, he moved to England where he lived for sixteen years, working as a coal
miner, construction laborer, and butter‑and‑egg deliveryman, among other
pursuits. While employed in the latter job, the farmer who owned the business
told him to bet his life savings on a horse, a fixed race. He did, and with the
resultant winnings, bought first-class passage from Liverpool to New York
aboard the Carmania, landing at Ellis Island on September 4, 1907, there records
show. Upon arrival, he moved in to live with an older brother who had preceded
him. This was a common practice among the immigrants arriving from the old
country.
My mother’s father sired 17 children, ten by his first wife, seven more by his
second. She ranked fifth in the last batch, born October 8, 1889. Her maiden
name happens to be Finnerty. Many residents of Ahascragh and the surrounding
area have this surname. I hasten to add that my parents did not know each other
while growing up in Ireland. They met years later after each had immigrated to
the United States.
She entering through Boston, sponsored by an older sister. A
wealthy family employed them both as maids. Later on, she held a similar
position with another wealthy family who lived on an estate in Great Neck, Long
Island. While working there she met my father.
They married on November 27, 1912, in New York City. He
misrepresented his age on the marriage certificate, claiming to be 30 when he
was actually 34. This fib angered my mother when she learned his true age many
years later.
My two siblings were born in New York City, James, on
January 18, 1914, and Helen, on July 1, 1917, making them 13‑1/2 and ten years
my senior. This relatively large age difference between us allowed me to play
my role as the baby of the family to perfection. Their role was to spoil
me. They succeeded admirably. I am indebted to them all.
My father worked in Manhattan as a milkman (horse drawn
wagon) in the years leading up to WW I. During the war, he worked in Hoboken as
a longshoreman. Standing five feet eight inches tall, he possessed great upper
body strength and had large hands, roughened by hard work. They were skillful
ones, as he could operate a sewing machine.
After the war, with the onset of Prohibition, my parents
began to make home brew, or bathtub gin. By adhering to a high standard of
cleanliness, their product sold well. In the early 1920s, my father took over
the operation of a clandestine saloon located in the basement of a Hoboken apartment
building. Affectionately called The Hole, this tavern provided
considerable income for my family until the country repealed Prohibition in
1933. During those years, my mother cooked all the free lunch foods that were
indispensable to maintaining a clientele, many of whom were employees of the
nearby Erie Lackawanna Railroad. When the end of Prohibition my dad opened his
own tavern in Hoboken called the Liberty Bar. It failed and he lost all his
money, forcing him to work on the WPA and my mother to become a waitress in
lower Manhattan.
She stood five foot two inches tall and weighed 135 pounds
in her early years. In later life, she slimmed down considerably. She possessed
a fair complexion, curly hair, and sparkling eyes, a lovely shade of blue. Her
body exuded energy and strength. Before we had a washing machine, she cleaned
our laundry in a huge pot of water, properly called a boiler, using Borax, a
brown soap that turned her hands an ugly red color. When the clothes were
clean, she lifted the boiler off the stove and carried it to the sink in order
to drain the water. The first time I performed this task as a mature teen, my
arms almost fell off. That day I deemed her the world's strongest mom.
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