Flanagan Family Genealogy: Baptismal Records

Family guessing: Mary Etta Cushing Flanagan, right, and Kathleen Louisa Flanagan, 1898.

Thanks to St. Brendan the Navigator Parish in Camden, Maine, I have a few more details about the Flanagan family.The baptismal records come from St. Bernard's Parish in Rockland, but because of reorganization of parish offices, St. Brendan's is the name of the group of Catholic churches in Rockland, Camden and Belfast.

Paula Williamson of St. Brendan's mailed me photocopies of the records. Paula found all the relatives for which I was looking, which was not only difficult because I asked her about 15 people, she discovered many different spellings for "Flanagan" in St. Bernard's records.

Paula did not charge me anything for her efforts, but did ask that I make a contribution to the soup kitchen renovations. I will.

One of the many reasons I am grateful is that I have copies of records. The last time someone from St. Bernard's sent me information, I got the baptismal dates on a list and lost them.

The first is John Henry Flanagan. Despite what many documents and I think his gravestone in Thomaston says, he was born in 1869. The parish register gives no birth date, just that he was three weeks old when baptized on Nov. 15, 1869. It looks like godparents were Michael Smith and Mary McNamara.

NOTE: Double-clicking on the image of the baptismal record will allow each to be shown at a larger size. The images can be enlarged again by clicking on them.

The eldest, Kathleen Louisa Flanagan, is next. She was born in 1898 and I think she is the baby in the picture at the top with Mary Cushing Flanagan. Kathleen died of tuberculosis in 1919.

Eleanor Frances "Pat" Flanagan Rich, or "Auntie Pat," as many of us called her, is next, born in February 1900. Both "Flanagan" and "Frances" are not spelled the way she spelled them.

The first set of fraternal twins arrived in 1902, Mary Margaret and Richard Gerald. Richard's middle name is listed as "Gerard." His listing goes over to the next page. Richard died in 1904. Some members of the family said he died of a kidney ailment. Given the family history of diabetes, it's also possible he died from complications of the illness.

In 1904, William Cushing Flanagan was born. Thanks to my brother Joe's research on ancestry.com, we know that Mary Cushing Flanagan's father was William Gray Flanagan. We also know that the Flanagan children had an Uncle Will Flanagan, their mother's brother. So Uncle Bill Flanagan may have been named after on or both men. Or the name was just a popular one in the family. Uncle Bill had diabetes.

Eileen Elizabeth Flanagan was born in 1905. Her name is spelled as "Elizabeth Aileen." She died in 1928 of tuberculosis.

Agnes Cecilia Flanagan Fleagle was born in 1906. The entry also lists her marriage to Edward Fleagle at St. Patrick's Cathedral in New York City in 1947.

Fraternal twins John Henry and James Joseph Flanagan were born in 1908. Their entry is difficult to read because it looks like marriage information was scrawled across it. The Post-It note is from Paula Williamson, who said the cross-writing was in red ink.

The last set of fraternal twins arrived in 1909, Carol Loretta Flanagan and Anthony Judson "Jud" Flanagan.

 

My grandmother, Alice Geraldine Flanagan Roper, was born in 1911. I only noticed while putting this together how her middle name is the female version of her late brother's, Richard Gerald. Like Uncle Bill Flanagan, she had diabetes.

Arthur Edward Flanagan was born in 1913. This entry lists Uncle Art's marriage to Kathryn Sweeney as 1962. A family member who posted a comment gave an explanation that had eluded me -- that year was when they married in the Catholic Church, but not when they first got married.

Rose Virginia Flanagan Webre was born in August, 1917. She married John F. Webre on May 29, 1948, at St. Bernard's.

Flanagan Family Oral Histories: Edward "Danny" Flanagan

Danny Flanagan, one of the eldest Flanagan grandchildren, provided a helpful perspective as part of the history. He had asked some of the same questions as I had, such as "Why do family conversations always go back to Mary Cushing Flanagan while John H. Flanagan doesn't get mentioned much?" Danny talked with family and acquaintances and reflected on his own upbringing to reach some answers. What struck me as we talked is that although we came from different generations, when Danny talked about guilt in religion and family loyalty, I understood. Not that I uncovered everything. I didn't know Danny's first name wasn't Danny. It's Edward. I found that while visiting him while he was hospitalized and listed under Edward Daniel Flanagan. Everyone called him Danny, so I didn't stop to ask his full given name in the interview, which was held in Rockland, Maine on January 5, 1991.

Dan Flanagan at the 2006 Flanagan family golf tournament at the Rockland Municipal Golf Course in Rockland, August 2006


I met a guy down at Campbell's Market down at the South End one time and he said to me, "Aren't you Jim Flanagan's son?"

And I said yes.

"Jesus, I grew up with Jim on Willow Street," he said. "What a crazy bastard!"

I asked, "What do you mean?"

"In the middle of winter," he said. "He used to put on his shorts and t-shirt on with no shoes and run up and down Willow Street when it was 30 below zero just to prove he was more macho than the rest of the guys."

I said, "Well, I guess he was probably trying to outdo his brothers because they were all competing against each other."

"Well that was a helluva way to do it!" he said.

I forget the guy's name.

I could just picture Dad doing that. As I recall, when we were kids we would always tell him we could outrun him and he'd take us right on Willow Street and we'd run dashes all the way up to Broadway and back. And he always won. He was faster than Hell. And he must have been in his forties then and we thought we could outrun him.

All I ever heard growing up was all these glowing stories about my grandmother and what a charitable lady she was and how much she contributed to the community. I just could never figure out how she could do that with 14 kids.

I talked a lot to my father's friends and they'd go over to 41 (Willow) and in they came. She had this big table in the kitchen with benches around it. She'd not only sit the Flanagans there, but everybody else who was visiting. And everybody got fed. Dick French was telling me about this.

That's where my father must have got that from. During the winter, he was the director of the Rockland Rec Center. He always liked the underdog, the poor kids who didn't have anything.

I can recall there was one family in Rockland that was very, very poor and alcoholism was rampant in the family and the kids were like street urchins. He'd haul them into the Rec Center, let them play ball for a while, and then he'd make sure they all got a shower. He'd go in there and pick out the nits out of their hair with a comb. I remember him getting the nits out of their hair and then give them shampoos to kill the lice.

They had t-shirts which were stuck to their bodies because they had been on so long. So he'd take them down to Economy's clothing Store on Main Street and buy them new t-shirts. This guy could have $10 in his pocket and spend $9 on street urchins as long as he had a dollar for a beer when he got home. He was very kind and he never sold anything.

He wasn't the type of guy who would sell anything to anybody. He gave things away. I still talk to people today, old-timers who still play golf and who say, "Gee, I can remember your father giving me my first bunch of golf clubs."

I said, "He gave them to you, right?"

"Oh yeah."

He would never take anything from them. I must have heard this from a hundred different people about how he gave them golf clubs to start out playing golf. It was always given away. I don't remember the man selling anything in his life. He never sold anything. He always gave things away. He was a very charitable person.

I kind of think when I look back on some of that, most people with alcoholic personalities are great givers and are very poor receivers. That seems to be a trend in my own family. You can always pick the kids who come out of alcoholic homes because they not only give material things but of themselves.

I found that true in A.A. Most of the people I met while I was going to A.A. who were recovering alcoholics were very generous. They were very poor receivers. They didn't know how to accept charity or gifts or positive strokes.

I think that has a lot to do with self-esteem. That's why he would do things like run up and down Willow Street half bare-assed in the winter when it was 30 below zero because he wanted to prove he was just as good as the other people in the family.

I think that had to do with being a poor student in school. That maybe he had something to do with him staying back a year. I noticed all through his lifetime he was a very slow writer and always watched how he wrote. In fact, in the whole four years I was in the service, I only received one letter from him because he didn't like to write. He always felt a little bit inferior because he never felt as educated as the next person. That's a trademark I remember well.

I could see that as a teenager that he had very low self-esteem. It may be why he was such a giving and charitable person. He probably picked that up from his mother and became a real people pleaser, which is not an unusual trait with people with alcoholic personalities. They don't please themselves as much as they want to please people around them. They don't want to be disliked by anybody. That's a protective mechanism.

I have that trait. I had to really take a look at it during my recovery. And that was hard for me to take compliments, etc.

I recall my father always preaching about the virtue of humility. We talked about when I'm hurting, or I'm sick, or I don't feel well, then offer it up for penance. So I grew up feeling that it's good to suffer because everybody needs to suffer, right.

Well, that's bullshit. Nobody needs to suffer, as far as I'm concerned. There's enough suffering in the world as it is. I don't think I really need to suffer to obtain grace from God. Perhaps I have done that enough emotionally during my lifetime so I've made up a lot of ground.

I see those traits in my family. You asked me a while ago about nobody really talking about my grandfather and I never could get an answer. Any time I tried to ask a question about him or started fishing, the subject always changed to something else. It always went back to my grandmother. I think what they were doing was taking the focus off him and his drinking problem, which was very, very real as I found out from Edna Melvin. So that's why the focus was put on her and not him. Apparently, he was quite an intelligent man.

Older people talked about him once in a while. He was a real nice gentleman, they'd say. He liked his whiskey, mind you, but he was a real nice gentleman.

There is a story about how he got so drunk at the post office one day that guys who worked there took him home in a wheelbarrow. They brought him up to the back door of the house and knocked on the door and my grandmother came out and said, "Thank you very much, gentlemen. Won't you come in for tea?

The Flanagans were very, very protective of the family reputation. So they always threw up that wall and nobody would ever penetrate that wall.

I was talking to my brother Bill and we got talking about the family. Everything led back when we were children and we were always taught by my own mother and father no matter what happened, you never speak about the family outside the house. No matter what the cost, you were always to protect the reputation of the family. That was an accepted way of growing up. As a result, everybody in town knew my mother had a drinking problem and my father had a drinking problem, which we always tried to cover up.

I can't speak for the rest of the family, but that was devastating to me. It wasn't a really healthy thing to do because we could never talk about it. We could never acknowledge it, therefore we could never get educated on the negative aspects of alcoholism because alcoholism was never a word in those days. People liked to drink and maybe sometimes drank too much, but they made light of that.

We're trying to work toward breaking that cycle. I can look back at my own family and see myself play the role of the responsible child. When things weren't right at home, I would take the day off from school to make sure they were right. I became domesticated very early. I learned how to iron, sew, cook, house clean. I did all those things to make sure when my brothers and sisters came home from school that there were meals on the table. The house was clean so if they brought company home from school that things looked normal.

Things weren't normal. That's a role I took at an early age. There were other roles my brothers and sisters took up.

Hopefully, by sitting down with my children and pointing out what their roles were ... they can educate their own children, should they have any, as to the problems with that sort of thing.

That protective wall still remains even in my own brothers and sisters. And my sisters-in-law and brother-in-laws all felt that very strongly. If you talk to any of them, they can tell you then just couldn't seem to penetrate the wall that existed. You know, I'd say they really don't mean to be that way. It's just the way it is. It was so drilled in us since the time we were old enough to walk. I don't think anyone who ever married into my family could ever penetrate that. As a result, there's been a lot of divorces.

I always wondered why Uncle Bill accepted the role of the responsible child in that family because he went to work for the telephone company right after he left high school. I can remember my father always telling me how he brought home his paycheck and gave it to my grandmother and she supported the family from this. And that time I'd say to myself, "Where's the other check from the father?"

But it seemed like it was always Uncle Bill who took care of everybody. He was sort of the guardian, the caretaker, the responsible child or whatever and it was always his finances that went to the mother I saw this trait all the way until Bill's death. He was always a very, very charitable person.

I recall when I was in the hospital and he'd come over on Sunday afternoon and drop off a big pork roast or something so the kids would have something to eat.

When he died. Fr. Leo Goudreau was telling me, "Nobody, Dan, will know how charitable this man was. He will be really sadly missed." Simply because he was so discreet. He'd pick up the "Courier" -- Fr. Goudreu was telling me this -- and read that a family had a fire and lost everything. And he said he'd (Bill) walk over to Fr. Goudreau with a sum of money, never to the family or to anybody who knew them, always a Catholic priest, give him the money and said, "Make sure the family gets this." And Father said, "I could write a book on this guy. This community is really going to miss this man."

For Fr. Goudreau to say this, he must have been a really charitable guy. And I don't remember him being anything else but. I think this probably comes from his mother's traits. I can see why now some of the old timers talk about the Flanagans in such a charitable manner because of the many charitable things they did for other people.

Auntie Alice and Uncle Jud were probably the two who were the most alike for the simple reason that in all my life knowing either one of them, I never heard them make a negative comment about any person personally. Never. And I spent a lot of time with Auntie Alice and Uncle Jud when I was a kid and if I can inherit anything from their side of the family, I would like to inherit that trait. I think it's a wonderful trait.

However, I think it was protective. But I think it's a helluva nice trait to always see the nice side of people. to never see the negative side.

I just never was in a conversation with them where they ... gossiped or said anything bad about anyone.

The Flanagans can go on defense real fast. And they can change the subject quicker than any people I ever saw in my life. They can take the focus off the question you asked and put it on something. I've seen it a lot.

I've been able to sit down with Aunt Agnes in the last few years and discuss my experience with alcohol addition with her and she's very attentive and listens with banjo eyes wondering how I would dare to talk about this. I'm sure since that was such a taboo subject along with my brothers and sisters and her brothers and sisters I think she really found that pretty interesting.

I think most people that I know, older people who grew up with the Flanagans and knew the Flanagans, never had many negative things to say about them. The Flanagans as a whole were always praising the good things people always said or did. People would say that about Auntie Rose, Auntie Agnes and Auntie Peg. It was a never-ending supply of people. They always had these rosy, glowing things to say about the Flanagans.

And I'd say, "Tell me a little bit about my grandfather."

And they would always change the subject. They'd say, "Oh  yeah,  a hard working man. A big family. A hard working man."

I can see some of the traits in my own father. I recall going to mass during Lent, which was extremely important to him. Also it was extremely important to him that his sons attend it with him. I recall him getting me up every morning and walking from Willow Street and walking to St. Bernard's on Park Street, colder than a son of a gun.

And I'd say, "Jeez, Dad, what are we doing? It's not Sunday. Why are we going to church?"

"Well, it's Lent. And you're supposed to go to church every day during Lent."

I'd say, "I've got friends who are Methodists and stuff like that and they don't go to church during Lent."

"Well, you don't want to go to Hell, do you?"

And I say, "No, I don't want to go to Hell, Dad."

I was in a religious atmosphere which taught fear of God. And I think times have changed and they're more about love (of) God than they are in fear of God.

I felt guilty about feeling guilty. Everything I did I felt guilty about. Jesus, it was awful.

Of course, we didn't have the privilege of Catholic school, but we had religious instruction classes which the Franciscan nuns taught. They also taught fear of God. This was in the 40s.

Everything was a sin. I don't recall anything which wasn't a sin. Everything I liked was either immoral or illegal.

As you get older, common sense has to dictate the way you feel about things and certainly my ideas which were formed very, very early changed.

But his was later on. I was very much a straight-laced Catholic throughout high school, my four years in the Air Force and in my first five years of marriage.

I still go to mass today and pretty much have my own comfortable relationship or whatever you want to call it with God, as I see Him. I don't disallow everything the church teaches, but I take a look at everything. There comes a time, like St. Paul says, put away the things of a child and take on the things of man. That has to happen. But a lot of teachings of fear were so deep-rooted that I had problems with that.

Guilt can cause real problems, real emotional problems. And drinking problems.

My best memories of the Flanagan brothers was Sunday morning after mass. They'd go up and play about 18 holes of golf and they'd get together at 41 (Willow) with lobsters, clams and several quarts of beer. This is where I observed how much fun there was with drinking as a child. They laughed, they told jokes, story after story, golf story after golf story, with Uncle Art, Uncle Jud, Dad, John Mazzeo, Tommy Mazzeo and Uncle Bill. The Mazzeos and the Flanagans were very close.

It seems like every Sunday afternoon they'd congregate right at the kitchen table at 41. They played around the den, consumed beer and ate copious amounts of food. And everyone was happy. I always used to associated drinking beer with being happy. These were some of the ideas I held when I was younger.

One thing I did notice. Whether they were there for two hours or eight hours. when they left, all the alcohol was gone. In my childlike mind, my idea of being a grown-up and having fun was to eat drink and be merry and make sure nothing was left over. I had no idea that a person could buy a fifth of liquor, have a drink and maybe next year at the same time have another one.

I thought if you came into the house with alcohol, you had to drink it all.

Dan Flanagan and his niece Doreen Flanagan, 2006, Rockland

Flanagan Family Oral Histories: Agnes Cecilia Flanagan Fleagle

Agnes Flanagan Fleagle (1906-1993) talked about lot about her mother's generosity, but as I retyped our conversation I recalled her acts of giving. Whenever I visited during college, she would give me brownies she had baked for me. After my cousin Jennifer Roper started attending the University of Maine too, Auntie Ag made sure I had brownies for Jennifer and me. Auntie Ag was interviewed in the Glen Cove area of Rockport, Maine on September 29, 1990. I out a few names in parentheses to clarify stories and put in an  ellipses ( ... ) in a few cases to make passages clearer.

Nobody had faith like my mother. Of course she went to Catholic school, but she had it naturally. She was good inside. I think she was born with it, really.

Mum was something else. There's nobody in the world like my mother, I don't think. I don't know how she ever did it. Not only that, but she went to choir practice every Thursday night ' cause I used to go down with her. And she had a lovely voice.

Can you imagine one woman doing all that? And all us kids, none of us were any angels, you know.

Bill adored Momma, and he was great with her and to her. He resembled her with her strong features -- the jaw the the cheekbones. She had high cheekbones and she had a jaw. Dad''s family had sort of a receding chin, but he (Bill) had a real firm neck and chin. Quite different.

I don't know where she learned to cook. I often wondered about that myself. It couldn't have been natural, but she never used cookbook that I know of. I think she was a good cook because she was a good cook, but she had to learn some of those fine points, like making bread.

She used to make nine loaves of bread and 54 rolls three times a week. Big ones, you know, real big loaves, not the kind you get at the store. That would get us through the week. And then down on Tilson's Avenue there was an Italian bakery, and we'd get none lives of that round Italian bread and that would do us over the weekend.

Dad was a basketball star. He loved basketball. They (his family) all lived in Rockland and they owned that little house across the street from 41 Willow that's where his mother lived, I think.

Before 41 Willow, we lived up on Warren Street. I don't remember being up there, but I remember Mum saying we lived up on Warren Street and came down to Willow Street.

Dad was the superintendent of mails at the end of his life. He was in the Eagles, benevolent order of Eagles. He was just a member. You know, some people are members of the Elks Club. This was the Eagles Club. I think it's gone by now.

Pincher was our family dog. There was another dog which followed Dad around. He didn't belong to us, but he took a liking to Dad, He'd meet him for work and walk down to the post office with him and waited for him to come out when he was done with work. Jack was his name. He was a collie. Beautiful dog, and he loved Dad.

The man who owned him came to get him one time and he took it back and tied him. Jack gnawed that rope and he came back to Dad. And I think they finally shot the dog. It broke my father's heart. He loved him. He'd wait for him to come out of the post office, from work, you know. He'd just like down there and wait for him to walk home with him. It was unusual.

We had Pincher, but nothing like the other Jud brought Pincher home from some place, I think.

We had different jobs around the house. One week you washed dishes, and then you make the bed next week, or something like that. We all stopped off. I always wanted to do Alice's hair. We combed her hair so Mum wouldn't have to do it. And Eileen would comb mine.

Alice and I slept in the room in the back of the second floor. I'm telling you that was cold-going too. The stove was down in the kitchen, but we were over the shed. So that was the cold part of the house.

 At night we had a cook stove in the kitchen then. It really kept that part of the house nice and warm, so when Alice and I went to bed at night, we'd go down and open the kitchen door that went up the shed. The back stairway. You know, to get a little a heat.

And to this day I can hear Peg coming down in the morning, saying, "Those damned kids!" And she'd bang the door 'cause the kitchen would be cold and we'd huddle together.

The setup of the house all changed because Uncle Will Cushing had that back room when he lived there and the boys had the room right next to it. They had the big triple bed and another bed. John and Jim and Jud and I think Art. I think Bill was away at that point. You know, they all started moving away.

He (Bill) worked around Maine and when he came home I guess they doubled up or something. I don't know.

Then we had a bedroom downstairs we always shifted around. And when Aunt Ann Flanagan came, we had to get out of the room at the head of the stairs and all double up again. We had an awful lot of people in that one little house. And in where the bathroom is now there was a big bed an a single bed, and so sometime I would lie in there between Margaret and Eileen. And I tell you, sometimes that was tough going because they'd sleep all stretched out and put me in the middle. I was abused. You can see that, can't you.

We doubled up in bed when we had to, and we had to. There was a room downstairs too, where the den is now. That was a bedroom. We could use that ...You never knew who was going to show up in the morning to have breakfast.

There was a room at the head of the stairs. Later we used it as a closet for clothes. At one time there was a cot in there. We always had people eating and visiting house. Always. Always. All the time. Open house, you might say. We always felt free to invite anybody.

If we had friends, we'd invite them to come over and have dinner or something like that. We always ate in the kitchen around the big table. We had benches -- a big bench in the back. You were welcome. It was a house where everybody was welcome and they came.

My sister Kathleen was beautiful. She was a secretary at East Coast Fisheries. She got pneumonia and she went to work too soon afterward and she got worse and she never did get better. She had pneumonia and that developed into tuberculosis. She got the cold and pneumonia. Auntie Pat was with her when she died. She went over because she was sick. Mom went over too.

I remember when Kathleen used to buy candy from Fuller Cobb Davis and put it in her pocket on her way home from work and I always stole some out of her pocket before supper. Used to be the best candy in the world. I'm sure she knew I took it -- just one or two pieces, not very much. Didn't spoil it for her. I depleted the supply.

Pat worked at Fuller Cobb Davis on the candy counter. That's where Kathleen bought her candy.

Peg was good in basketball. I think she was captain of her team. She played center. She used to do a lot of cooking at home if Mum was away or something.

Of course, Daddy used to cook when Mum used to go down and call on Prince Edward Island. She went down 'bout every year, and she put a big kettle of vegetable soup on the back of the stove and we had that ll the time she was gone. Daddy used to add water -- we lasted that quite a while.

You know, I think Eileen made 30 baskets in one game. Daddy used to teach her a lot about basketball. She was his pet. He taught her all he knew. She listened. Of course, I was on the same team. I was pretty good too.

We had sweaters given to us with an "R" on it if you were on the team. At an assembly ... they said, "Agnes Flanagan," so I went up to get the sweater and she said. Oh, I don't mean you. I mean your sister."

Wasn't that a shock? So I went back and sat down. I got one. Everyone on the team got one.

John was nicknamed "Gabby" because he talked so much. Uncle Will called him "Gabby."

Coming home from the movies, John and he (Jim) would go to the same movie, and they'd come home and Uncle Will would do this to test them.

He'd say to Jim. "What was the movie, Jim?" and Jim would say, "Cowboys and Indians."

Then he'd (Uncle Will) say,"What was it about?"

He'd (Jim) say, "Just cowboys and Indians."

So he'd ask John and John would start from the time the thing started and take it straight through to the end and Uncle Will said, "There you go. There's the whole story right there."

That's how he got the name Gabby. He always had a lot to say.

Jim was held back too. He was held back and he got in the same class as Carol and Jud. He didn't care anything about studying, Jim didn't. John was a good student. So was Jud. Alice was a good student.

The boys used to try to straighten out their curly hair. They used to get those skull caps and put 'em on and wear them to bed to straighten out their hair. And one time they all went to church. They had those skull caps on. We tok two pews right across. They forgot to take them off and someone said, "Tell John to take his hat off."

So John poked Jud and Jim poked Art and they took off the hats right there. They wore them all through mass until somebody noticed.

Jud waited on tables when he was going to college and when he came home on breaks, he showed how he worked. He had the best dishes lined up his arm and said, "This is the way you do it."

And Mum said, "Oh no, my best dishes. Put them down!"

He was throwing them around like they were nothing.

I skipped two grades. I went for half a year in fourth grade and then went into the fifth. And the I skipped the whole seventh grade and went into the eighth ... just to catch up with Eileen. I thought she was the star and the world and everything. She didn't think that of me, but I chased her around. I just wanted to be where she was.

I wouldn't do that again for anything. It's one of the worst things you could do. I missed my friends I made when I was going to school. They were my age. Then I got into these other grades and they were way ahead of me. And I never did get caught up, I don't think. I wasn't a good student after that. I was way ahead of myself. That was a big mistake. It must have been my idea or I wouldn't have done it. I guess it was kind of foolish.

I was also in glee club. So Was Eileen. She was president of glee club and captain of the basketball team. And we used to be in all the plays and things like that. And all the drives.

Eileen worked at the telephone company too. In 1928, she got TB. She went over to the Fairfield sanitarium. That's when we built on that room (to the house).

After graduation,  I went to work for the water company. Then I left (the) water company and went over to the Lawrence Portland Cement Company. It's the Dragon Portland cement now. Then they closed don and I went to Senator Crane's office and clerked. Then I went down to Washington and worked for the FHA.

I came home when Mum was sick -- about a year before she died. Sister Carol was training in Portland and Mum died while she was over there. We thought Carol would come home and take care of Mum because I was doing it and I wasn't that great at nursing. But Mum wouldn't hear it. She said she wouldn't interfere with her training. That's how that came about.

I met my husband Ed about 1941-42. Then the war came and he went to Virginia. We did get married around 1947. He was a liaison between the Navy and the contractors working for the Navy during the war.

After we married, we lived in Yonkers. We've been up here 11 years. Boy, that brings me up to date, doesn't it?

Agnes Flanagan Fleagle, far right, in hat. Picture taken in the early 1960s, Rockland.

Flanagan Family Oral Histories: Carol Loretta Flanagan

My grandmother used to call her older sister, Sr. Carol Flanagan (1909-91), "Tar." It was short for "Tar Barrel," but Grandma pronounced it "Tah" in her Maine accent. I didn't find out how she got that name, but Sr. Carol proved invaluable in many ways. She identified people in family photos and shared many family stories, along with punctuating conversations with her laugh. Sr. Carol was a member of the Sisters of Mercy for more than 50 years, working as a nurse and then in her retirement tending to the gardens at the convent mother house on Stevens Avenue in Portland. Perhaps she became interested in the religious life through her father's sibling, Sr. Cecilia Flanagan, who was also a Sister of Mercy. I didn't ask her about becoming a nun. But by just listening, I heard about other parts of family life, such as my grandmother, Alice Flanagan Roper, having one foot a size larger than the other. I interviewed Sr. Carol on June 19, 1990 in Portland, Maine. I left out part of a sentence from the original transcript because a song lyric she recalled her sister Agnes makes little sense with "gave yourself you belong to me."

Mum formed that ladies' club. It was Knox County Ladies Auxiliary and they did a lot of things for the hospital, volunteering. She also founded the milk club for babies. And that's how we used to go up to the old football filed, that's where she'd sell soda and hot dogs and ice cream. The milk fund. A fund for underprivileged babies. She and Father Flynn.

They did all that charity very quietly. He'd come down and they'd talk things over. First thing you know, they were doing something for somebody. Besides, she'd go out through all the neighbors and she'd help them with their babies or help them with their sickness, give them some of our food.

She used to buy extra stuff for the Staples across the way from us and she's get extra fish from the fish man an send it over there to them so they could have it for one of their meals. She was always sending them something.

Natural born nurse, my mother was. She took care of us kids when we had measles and scarlet fever. We had that and infantile paralysis. I remember that and how we were confined o our room. They put a rope across between the three so we wouldn't go out into the hall. We were kids then, and that's how John used to limp, he and Alice. Their limbs were affected, their legs.

Alice had one foot was one size larger than the other so she had to buy extra shoes. And when she got tired, she'd limp. Did you ever notice that?

But could she ever play basketball. I think she was just as good as Eileen.

Eileen was a good player. She could shoot baskets. Do you know, when we played Camden once and I was rotten that day and Alice was getting all the basket, they gave me the credit for it? She never said a word. We never would have won if she wasn't so good. Boy, could she play. Agnes could play, too.

Mum cared for the neighborhood and doing this or doing that or helping somebody else. She was always doing something for someone. She'd leave us home 'cause we were old enough then. And one day she went out and she said, "I haven't time to get supper, so you can get it and also make the chocolate cake."

I said. "Gee whiz, Mum, I can't make a cake."

She said, "Well, you try it."

I did, and it was flatter than a pancake.

Then when Dad was sick and he could be around the house, she had to go out again somewhere and said said, "You make the biscuits."

I said, "Mum, I never make biscuits."

"Well," she says, "You try it."

So I made biscuits and remember him and Jud sitting down for something to eat and I passed him the biscuits and Jud says, "For cripes sake, are you trying to kill us?"

You could pick one up and bounce it against the wall it was so hard.

All Dad said was, "Never mind, you'll do better next time around."

But I always remembered that. And I could make dumplings after that and I could make biscuits.

Oh, Mum was a wonderful cook. Margaret was just like her. Oh. she must have done that for the Smalls (neighbors). I don't know how she did it or just natural to her, like Agnes.

You noticed Agnes when she cooks, didn't you? She's got al these things and follows it exactly. Agnes is a good cook, but she has to have recipes. She won't do it without something in front of her. Mum could do this and do that and we'd say, "Mum, how did you make those cookies?"

She'd say, "You mix a little sugar and some flour and salt and throw in a handful of nuts and a little butter."

But she didn't tell you how much. It always seemed to come out right for her, even with the bread.

And Dad used to help her make the bread. We made that at home and they'd make loaves of bread and those rolls. They had great big things that you make the dough in. You had a thing you put down in it an stir it up and to keep it down in place. We took flat irons an put it down on top of the cover, so when it would raise during the night it wouldn't fall down over the sides. Those were funny days.

Dad worked different hours. My mother always had a special place for him at the table.

She'd say, "Your father's coming home and you're not to disturb this."

And she's make his tea and have his dinner ready and she knew when he was coming home 'cause he worked different hours and different times. And I remember, too, when he'd sit around at night after he'd come home. We had an old rocking chair we set in front of the stove in the kitchen. He'd sit there and we'd all gather around. We'd sing and he'd sing with us and smoke his pipe.

That's how Agnes learned the boys to dance. She learned John to dance and Jud to dance and Jim.

But you know what's funny about John? He was left-handed like myself, but when he danced he held his arm way out, holding his girl and everybody would stay clear because his arm was right out stiff. Nobody could get around it. And he loved to dance. And we'd sing away.

Oh yeah, we went to the movies but before we would go to the movies, we had to do our chores. That was a big treat back then in those days. We'd go on Saturday afternoon on Park Street. There was a theater down there. Mum would send us in the afternoon.

We had chores in the house. All of us each had a chore. Someone had to clean the bathroom. Someone had to clean the living room. We had the boys' room and I always got it. I said to Alice, "I don't know why I always get the boys' room."

She said, "Well, you do it the best."

But if the chores weren't done, we couldn't go to the movies. They had to be done first and we always saw to it they were.

During Lent, we had to pay attention to our spirituals before we could go out to any dance or entertainment we wanted. We had to go to the stations of the cross first, or vespers, as they called them then in those days. They don;t do them so much now. They were Wednesday and Friday in Lent. We couldn't go any place unless we did those things first and did our little penances.

Jud and John and Jim used to play golf in the back yard. They'd dig little holes and putt. They had little putters.

I used to go out and try to play baseball with them too. Jim used to go out in the driveway and he said to me one day, "Come out and I'll pitch to you."

He did and nearly knocked me over. Those balls would steam up and I'd have the glove in front of me and I'd catch it and boy, would my hand would sting.

Bill could pitch baseball, you know. He  burned his arm out though, one afternoon at Oakland Park. He pitched two no-hit games and that was the end of his pitching because he ruined his arm. Bill was strong. I remember that too.

I used to swim and Alice used to play tennis, and could she play tennis, and Margaret used to bowl. The boys played golf and they used to caddy. They always loved golf , but I don't remember them doing anything else.

When Agnes played basketball she was what they called a side center in those days. She'd get the ball and feed it to Eileen and she'd put it in the basket. So they were champions. I don't think they had state champs in those days -- they would be division champs, more or less.

We used to claim championships but I don't think we ever really were. I think we lost one game and it was the last one in '28. We always had good teams.

In those days there always seemed to be a Flanagan on the team. They'd have those rallies, you know, and I remember Superintendent Toner coming in one day at the rally and he'd say, "Well, I have one more thing to say -- in again, up again, one again, Flanagan!"

And it brought down the house, of course.

I don't know if everyone played basketball. Rose was always at the plays or something. She was always in a play. Dramatics, you know. Pat was a wonderful when they had those high school plays. And Eileen and Agnes was always in them.

I could never do things like that. I was kinda dumb, you know. But they could do it and Agnes was a great actress. She'd bring down the house 'cause she'd get a funny part, and could she ever play it. And at the coffee parties at the church, what they call a coffee party, we'd always have a party down in the basement.

There was a stage down there and she took a funny part once and she played and she sang,"Put on your winter underwear when the wind is cold ..."

And she was so funny! And she had on the funniest rigs and some kind of wiggly hat on her head. And could she ever act! They had her come up and do it over and over again. And whenever there as a play they would always ask Agnes to be in it. She could steal the show, you know.

They were all good at acting. They were always in something at school.

I was the first to leave home because I told Mum I wasn't going to clerk and I wasn't going to be a secretary.

"Well you gotta do something," she said.

"Well, maybe I'l be a nurse," I said.

So before I knew it, she had papers in front of me. And she had called Dad's sisters in Portland and she said, "Carol thinks she wants to be a nurse. Could you do something about that?"

She said this to Aunt Margaret. So they sent me the paper and that's how I went to nursing school.

Jud went to Providence College. He and John went to MCI.

John went to night school. He got his college degree while he was working. That;s when he met Anne, his wife. She was a nurse. He used to bring her to see me, John would. And I guess I was just a little probey in those days.

I was not a novice, not quite a novice, just a little portionate. And they come to see me one day and 'course I was full of it in those days. And I remember her saying, "My, my, such liberty."

His wife said it. She was all prim and proper. Such a lovely person. She was a nurse too, you know. Such liberty.

I said, "What have I done now?"

I didn't know what they expected.

I didn't have much contact with Arthur, except when I was done there in Jersey, taking that course in septics, I think. I was down there six months and he was working in an armory, an armory manufacturing place. I made machinery for the war. He'd drop over to see me because he was quite near. And he'd always bring me a little bottle of wine. Agnes and Pat do that tradition.

We always had wine at home - we'd make it. Mom would always make wine, dandelion wine, dandelion beer. She'd make cherry wine. We'd go out and pick the cherries off the bushes in those days. Go out and pick the blossoms, too, for the dandelions. These were things you did when you were kids, you know.

She'd give us a little. Always had it when we went to bed. We always had a little nip at dinner.

One day she had some in the ice box. We had an old, old ice box out in the shed. Those days we had lots of ice. You took your food in there and she had put a little bottle of dandelion beer in the ice chest and Dad went out to get a drink because he was thirsty. And it had fermented, or something.

Well, he was a little bit over.

That's when Mum said, "You know dear, your father never was a drinking man."

He couldn't. He took it and it's just send him right off just like Danny Flanagan. We had to stop doing it. Danny Flanagan. That's why Danny's got a yen for it too, you know.  Just a little bit, and they were off. Little bit of beer, little bit of wine, something like that, and it would set them all off.

He lectures about it now, you know. It's a dangerous thing,  he says, so don't you do it 'till you know what you're getting into.

Anthony Judson Flanagan and his aunt, Sr. Carol Flanagan, Camden, Maine, September 1989

Flanagan Family Oral Histories: Rose Virginia Flanagan Webre

The youngest of the 14 Flanagan children, Rose Flanagan Webre, (1917 - 2012  ) had the best view of her parents both running the household and being themselves. While being the youngest may have prevented her from learning to cook because her older sisters could, her recollections shows how jobs were split up in the family and how they played. Her sisters Kathleen and Eileen, whom she recalls, both died of tuberculosis. Pat in the recollections is her sister Eleanor "Pat" Flanagan Rich and Jim is James Flanagan.  "Gorham" is Gorham State Teachers College, from which she graduated. Today it is known as the University of Southern Maine. Rose Flanagan Webre was interviewed in Camden, Maine, on July 23, 1991.

Rose Flanagan Webre wih her mother, Mary Etta Cushing Flanagan, in Rockland




Mum was a do-er. All the priests used to come to her. When people are organized, they don't need a lot of time. It just fits into their way of life.

On Saturdays, she used to go from house to house with food baskets. Well, you know, she started the poor kitchen and I image from that she became aware of a lot of people who were in need at that time. She's go around and visit for a while and then we'd go down to the market and just buy brooms, milk power and anything that she thought that they would need. She used her own money and she didn't have that much, either.

When Agnes lived in Washington, she sent Mom some money to get her teeth fixed. Mum knew this lady that needed her teeth fixed so she gave her money to the other lady. She was always, always thinking of other people.

She was a good listener. You could tell her something and knew it was not going to be spread all over as  gossip and people soon realized that. She used to drag all of us to church suppers. If they had a church supper, we would all go. And when she ran the church suppers in Rockland at the time, they'd all come to hers. So you see, that was that movement. Even she was real sick with cancer, this other lady said she would take it if Mum would just help direct the supper, which she did.

People would come to her. If you're a good organizer, you know, you get things done. She used to say, "If you want something done, always ask the busiest person."

I don't know why she did it. She just had that type of mind. She was active in the community. Everybody looked up to her and to the children.

My father is remembered differently by me because I was much younger than the others. He was always soft-spoken and gentle, but when he told you to do something, you better do it.

He always wore a suit. Always. He had a little curl on top of his head. See, this was when he was older. I used to brush that hair for hours. He'd fill his corncob pipe and he'd sit there and smoke it. And if ever the other kids wanted something, they'd send me in to ask him for it. They' knew I'd get it. They might get it. They might not, but they knew I would.

He was, you know, one of these quiet people. These people who just pull on their pipe and think.

He was always a silent backer for Mum. Anything she wanted to do, he was right behind her.

But with all the children that she had, as I remember, I never once heard Mum raise her voice. We did what we had to do because we lover her so much. And also, we knew that our father was right behind us, too.

We all had our own jobs to do around the house and we had to do them well. I cleaned my room every Saturday, cleaning from the ceiling right down the walls to the floor. You didn't fool around. We had to clean the house.

No one had specific jobs. You just did what you had to do. One week, you'd clean the living room. You might get the dining room next week.

I never did have to cook. You see, I was the tail end of the family. All I did was clean up. As a consequence of which, I never did learn to cook.

Oh, you should have seen Mum cook. We had a pantry, and as I recall, it had maybe one, two, three, four shelves in it where the dishes were kept. From Thanksgiving to Christmas, those shelves were lined with pies and cakes. We had blueberry, apple, coconut, lemon, mince, pumpkin pie and four kinds of cakes. I can't remember what kinds they were, but I can just see than and see her with them in the hall with these kids.

But they used to have people come in on Christmas Even and during the holidays to just drop by and have cake. And at Christmas time and Thanksgiving we have turkey, a roast and a roast pork.

I can remember sitting on the steps, waiting for my brothers and sisters to come home from school for lunch. I think they crossed five yards to get home in time.

And I used to run in and say, "Here they come!"

And my father would be at one end of the table and my mother would be at the other end. They wouldn't eat. They would just serve. And then, after they left, we'd have lunch.

My parents both died of cancer, cancer of the stomach. I was 16 when Dad died. That's all I can remember. I don't remember too much of my youth.

Mum died four years after Dad. She was ill and I guess she was operated in May. Then she died in August. I was in school when she first got sick. I was at Gorham for my first year of school.

School was three years at the time. And then I went out to California, the University of California. That was after I taught.

I was in the Navy for two and a half years, I think. I guess it was from 1942 to 1945.

Jim went down to enlist one day and they wouldn't take him. They said, "Jim, you have five children. You can't enlist."

"I want peace," he said.

He was so funny.

I have a few memories of Kathleen. I used to sit on her lap --  now these are just flashes -- and she played the piano. And she was going to teach me how. I was three when she died.

I was 10 when Eileen died. And you know, I don't have too much memory of her except I used to play gin rummy or solitaire on her bed. And she had a hospital bed.

And Pat and Cindy Grossman used to send Christmas presents. My mother used to put them underneath Eileen's bed because it was so high. I'd start down at the bottom of the stairs and creep up on my stomach instead of waiting to get up there. We'd creep up the stairs and, you know, sort of crawl up, under the bed to feel the presents.

She's say, "Who's there?"

It got to be a game.

I slept where I was put. That's where I slept. Not 'till everybody left and then I fixed a place to sleep at the head of the stairs.

Well, I can remember, we used to make a beeline for the bathroom when it was cold. You know, we had that Franklin stove in the boys' room. It was right off the bathroom. And then there was a stove downstairs that used to send heat up. It was cold, but when you woke up in the morning, sometimes you could make designs on the window.

Sharon Flanagan, Patricia Rich Brace and Rose Flanagan Webre, Rockland, 1993

Flanagan Family Oral Histories: Edna Melvin, Friend And Neighbor

A next-door neighbor and close friend of the Flanagan family for many years, Edna Melvin had a tremendous memory and remembered the past with great clarity. Most names and places came easily for her and she was a great resource. I visited her a number of times in a Rockland nursing home and her good cheer and easygoing nature were the only things that surprised me more than her command of the facts. She died in 1992. I interviewed Edna on March 15, 1991 and June 6, 1991.

Left to right: Eileen Flanagan, Agnes Flanagan, Margaret Flanagan, Mary Cushing Flanagan, William Flanagan, Rose Flanagan, John Flanagan, Eleanor Flanagan, John Flanagan, Alice Flanagan and Carol Flanagan. On the running board, Anthony "Jud" Flanagan, Arthur Flanagan and James Flanagan.



I'm about the only one left. Most of Mrs. Flanagan's friends are gone. Most of the old neighbors are dead. But she had a lot of friends. The McCarthy's was with 'em. You could get a lot of information there, but they're both dead.

It was a beloved family. The Flanagans were the family in Rockland. Not only nice people but their children were all athletes and they played in all the games -- baseball, basketball, football.

Oh, people always were invited to eat with them. I always used to be invited if I went over there around dinner time. You know, Miss Flanagan would make great big soups, chowders, you know. She would make great big soups and the children used to come home at noon time for their dinners then.

That's when I was in school. And she, no matter who came in, she always said, "Won't you sit down and have something to eat?"

Well, they had benches next to the table. They would line the children up -- oh, three of four of them on that long bench.

There was always enough room. Ooh, she was a wonderful cook. She used to make great big cakes, pies, have holiday dinners, birthday dinners for all the children. 'Course you remember she had 14 children.

When I moved there, there was 14 children. But they were gradually getting up in age. We didn't have 14 there too long because they were getting growin' -- growing up. And the boys did any kind of work they could find. I know they did. They their work in different places. There was always room for a Flanagan.

She was always happy. No matter what, she always had a smile. She could always laugh. She had a lot of cares on her mind -- she was such a good Christian lady it didn't make any difference what happened. She was a very thoughtful person, very kind person. I couldn't say nice enough things about her.

Miss Flanagan was always with a smile. Always. I never saw her otherwise in my life. Except when her children died. She greeted everybody when they came in the house, you know, to say a prayer.

She began doing things after the children grew up. She was always ho,e. As far as I know, she never began going out until her children were grown up and out working. Yes, the older children looked after the younger children.

Mr. Flanagan was always very sedate, very proper in every way. He was all business. He was a very valued employee down at the post office, most valued. I know that for a fact. As I say, he was very proper.

Oh, I guess he kept a garden. It was right between the Flanagan house and my house. He had that whole -- oh, it was right from Lower Street out as far as he owned, almost, a big garden and he gave to everybody. He used to give us most everything he had. Like cucumbers and corn and peas, beans -- all those things. You know, vegetables.

He was always doing things for neighbors. I don't know too much what he did about the house, inside, because he was always working.

Mrs. Flanagan died of cancer. She was stricken very suddenly with it. She was getting ready to go to a St. Patrick's Day party down at the recreation building. She had refreshments all made and she couldn't go because she couldn't hold a thing in her stomach. It grew from that to worse and worse. She did go to the hospital, but they brought her back home because there was no help.

I felt so terrible when I found out for sure that there was no hope for her. I said, "What am I going to do?!"

And she said, "Remember, Edna, there will always be a Flanagan." And think of it. We've got a Flanagan living in my house now.

She always could laugh, remember that. nothing ever, ever stopped her from laughing -- except course when she's lose one of her children/ That would be different. But then she never wavered -- she was so true to her faith.

Whenever the opportunity presented itself, she'd love to talk about it. But she was never a pusher, no. She would answer anything that someone wanted to know. She was always ready and willing to answer the,.

Of course, you see, I haven't always been a Catholic. I went into the Catholic Church about 40 years ago. I was an Epsicopalian.

Oh no. Oh no. They're not the same. What they'll say to me is what's the difference. I'll say there's so much difference there's no use to try to talk about it.

Well,I can tell you about some of the rooms in the house. The front room in the house upstairs was the mother and father's room. That's where she died. Second floor.

The stove was right there by the dining room door on the first floor. It went into the living room, a space there. It was kind of little. And they had an oil burner there. an oil burner in the kitchen, ayuh. And of course they had the big kitchen. Then they had the dining room. They had a nice dining room.

The house was cold. Like all of us in years gone by I've been awful cold in my house because we didn't haven o oil burners. They were really better equipped than we were ' cause they had oil burners and I had to shovel coal.

And you know the living room. And you know the sun porch on the left side of the house. It was built for Eileen when Eileen had tuberculosis and she couldn't get out of there. She died there.

I remember when Eileen died because I was up there every day. She practically lived in the porch upstairs. They built it. In the sun.

James Flanagan practicing his golf game with what appears to be the sun room Edna Melvin mentioned in the background.

Flanagan Family Oral Histories: Eleanor Frances "Pat" Flanagan Rich

Note: I interviewed a number of people for an oral history of my grandmother's family, the Flanagans. After getting help from Jennifer Boutin and Kim Sweet with the transcription of tapes, I put the edited interviews together for the oral history history that I finished in the spring of 1992 at the University of Maine.

A number of copies have circulated among family members, but I decided to copy it and post sections online. Because these are transcripts of interviews, sentences run on and are incomplete at times. I will make a few corrections that I notice in the text, but it should have little difference from the original.


"Mom" is Mary Etta Cushing Flanagan. Uncle Will Cushing is her mother's brother. The house is 41 Willow St. in Rockland, Maine.


Eleanor Frances "Pat" Flanagan Rich, or "Auntie Pat," as many of us called her, lived from 1900 to 1993.

The eldest surviving Flanagan talked about rocking baby brothers with colic and helping around the house, part of the job of a big sister. Dancing lessons in the kitchen and baking bread on weekends mixed the fun and working in the house. She was interviewed in Camden, Maine on December 1, 1990.

Mom was a wonderful woman She started a soup kitchen in Rockland for the hungry men down on Tillson's Avenue with the help of her friends. She formed the Knox Hospital Auxiliary. She took care of many of the poor and hungry, feeding a great many people.

I think Mom counted her blessings. I don't know why. She was educated in a convent, so that might have something to do with it. She felt compelled to do some good.

Everybody she asked helped her 'cause she always had so much to do, and they didn't feel they could refuse. If she asked them to serve, they served.

Mom always fed anyone who came to the house. I think they came because they were hungry -- that's why she used to have that feeding on Tillson's Avenue. Back then, all the bakeries gave bread and stores sold hot dogs and hamburgers at cost. We all helped.

You name it -- Mom could cook it. Everything. Yeast bread, rolls, cake and doughnuts.

Uncle Will Cushing used to buy bread from the bakery on Tillson's Avenue. He used to bring home about six or eight loaves of bread every week. Mom had a bread mixer to mix the dough for bread and rolls. There was one kitchen able you could pull out, and there was a bench against the wall. Many could sit on the  bench. The rest sat up around the table.

The kitchen was one of the original parts of the house. Remember, in the those days, that was the meeting place for everything. We, Kathleen and I, used to give the boys lessons in the kitchen, ballroom dancing.

I took turns washing dishes as part of my chores, dusting down the front hall stairs and sweeping them. Others took turns. We shifted, making beds, dusting and so forth. The worst job was sweeping down the front hall because of the banisters.

There was a girl who came later, Margaret Hines, who helped Mom take care of us. She lived with us for four or five years while she went to nursing school at Knox Hospital. She didn't look after any of us, really. She was the housekeeper when she wasn't studying. She was a lovely person. She came from Prince Edward Island, too. I was too young to remember then, but there was probably for or five of us then.

We looked after each other when we got old enough. We took care of everything; it just came naturally. One took care of the other.

I looked after John and Jim when they were born. When they had colic, we used to rock and sing to them all night -- well, not really all night, but it seemed that way at that age.

Oh yes, Dad always helped. I must say if my mother asked anyone to do anything, they did it, because she had so much to do. She was always heading up a campaign. They didn't dare say no. They dared, but they were ashamed to.

We were champions in basketball when Kathleen and Eileen played. It might have been Eileen and Alice who played in Portland. The boys were all athletes.

When the boys were kids, they used to collect garbage around the neighborhood. John and Jim used a cart an the dog used to chase them around. They fed the pigs. We had pigs during the war. Bill had a prized one, and he used to scrub it every day. He would scrub the pig. Then, the pig would turn around and roll in the sludge. He scrubbed it religiously and he won a prize for its huge size.

A heatalator and a kitchen stove kept us warm in the house because we didn't have central heating. We had a little stove, like they sell now, upstairs in the boys' bedroom. Why we didn't burn down, I'll never know. We used to burn wood and sometimes that stove gave off white hear it got so hot.

Two at most shared beds -- three when it got real cold. I used to keep Eileen warm and what must have been Alice.

Flanagan siblings, 1960s, Rockland. Eleanor Frances "Pat" Flanagan Rich is at center, wearing pearls.

From left to right: Rose Virginia Flanagan Webre, James Joseph Flanagan, Sr. Carol Flanagan, Mary Margaret Flanagan Kent, Eleanor Frances "Pat" Flanagan Rich, Anthony Judson "Jud" Flanagan, William Cushing Flanagan John Henry Flanagan, Alice Geraldine Flanagan Roper and Agnes Cecilia Flanagan Fleagle.