Approximate Years 1940-1942
Ages 4-6

There is never enough to satisfy genealogy, which seeks to fill in every hole in time even when there is no putty to fill the gaps. An autobiography to a family genealogist is a great slather of plaster, a wall of history (from one perspective) smoothed.

My grandfather died in April, and we haven’t reached the first anniversary of the event. Like I usually do, I wrote a blog post to work through it on my writing blog. Around Thanksgiving my husband and I and our son flew out to visit my grandmother…and she bestowed upon me the items of greatest value (to me), photos, diaries, marriage certificates to Great Great grandparents, and… my grandfather’s autobiography.

My grandfather always had a sharp memory, recalling the exact reel make and model he used to catch what size and species of fish in what river in what year, and the first and last name of the dummy friend who told him to use some cockamamie bait vs the bait he had chosen (as you might guess, he was more successful–but he was a master fisherman). So it comes to no surprise to me that he recalls the street, people, and school names when recalling what would be nearly six to seven decade old memories. I was blessed with a similar memory, but not nearly his proficiency for name recall.

I’m posting in five-page segments. It’s relatively short five pages since it was hand-written–but it gives me time to do a little research. And, to fit more pictures in. 🙂

The autobiography is transcribed exactly as it is presented in the original document, which was handwritten and did not have the benefit of spellcheck.

Page 1

Born in the month of December on the 16^th, in the year 1936. In the town of Nunda. New York
Eleven miles south of the town of Mt Morris and we lived in Dalton four miles south of Nunda at the southern tip of Livingston Co [County].

My mother, Marion Hazel Hankinson was issue of Glen Hankinson and Hazel Talmadge. My grandfather was of Norwegian and English extraction and my grandmother was of Scottish and Welsh extraction.

My father, Robert Bruce (R.B.) VanNostrand was issue of Fred VanNostrand and Mary Elizabeth Lyon. My grandfather was of Dutch and English extraction and my grandmother was of English extraction.

We lived in Dalton until the 2nd World War started. We lived in four different houses in that short time of five years.

Things I remember of that time are dogs for pets, chickens and how frightening a rooster can be to a very small boy. Especially when it flew up onto my head and packed away at me while I screamed in terror.

Page 2

This happened up the street from where we lived. I had wandered there to watch some men drive a pipe into the ground for a well. And old mister rooster was just protecting his territory. I wasn’t much bigger than a large rooster anyway. The man who lived there heard me screaming and quickly came and beat the rooster off with his hat.

I remember my father and his friends hunting on the hillside behind our house, for pheasants, and the blast of the shotguns when they shot. My father bought and ran a Red & White grocery store on main street, with my mother as his helper and his friend Archie Maker who worked for Dad. There was sawdust on the floor behind the meat counter, the great old solid wood meat cutting block in the center of the floor.

The barrels of salt pork and corned beef in brine in the meat cooler. When oysters were in season they came in a five gallon tin.

There was a soda fountain in the front of the store, ice cream and sodas, banana splits, oh what a smell.

Page 3

The smell of fresh ground roasted coffee beans, the growl of the grinder and the ground coffee falling into the paper bag. I remember the bag of salt that opened as it fell from the shelf I was trying to pull it from and filling my eyes. My mother scooped me up and rushed me to the fountain and washed my eyes out. The time I cut a deep gash into the back of my thumb with one of my father’s knives while trying to whittle a piece of wood. Oh the pain.

One day a man came into the store with a strange aroma about him. He was quickly waited on so he could leave. My father took me out to the front of the store where the man’s coupe was parked and the air reeked of that smell of skunk. My dad said the man was a trapper and the rumble seat of the coupe was where the man carried his catch of the day. I got a nickel once a week [equivalent to a dollar today] for an allowance and it took quite a while to make up my mind what to buy with it. Ice cream on a stick

Page 4

covered with an orange coating or a candy bar. Decisions, Decisions.

My mother had a girl come and babysit me and my brother Fred in the afternoons after school. One day she was trying to light the gas oven on the kitchen stove.

Fred and I were standing in the doorway from the kitchen to the dining room watching her. After striking several wooden matches and had no luck in starting the oven, she lit another match while leaning in front of the oven door and there was a sudden burst of flame from the oven and burned her hair, face and hands. She screamed and cryed and ran to the phone and called my mother who hurried home.

Dad sold the store and we moved to the edge of town into a tiny one room house that belonged to his cousin. I don’t think we lived there more than a month or two. One sunday morning in the winter Fred and I went outside to play in the snow. We were told not to go near a pond below the house

Page 5

Yep, you guessed it. The next thing I knew Fred had broken thru the ice and I was screaming for help. I can still see my father running down the hill to the pond, thru the snow, in great leaps and bounds in his bathrobe and slippers, fresh from his sunday bath and charged into the icy water to snatch my brother up and then he took my hand and we hurried back to the house. Safe and sound.

Dad got a job cutting meat in Rochester, that was 55 miles north of Dalton. So we moved to Sodus, New York 25 miles east of Rochester a few miles south of Lake Ontario. It was at this time the 2^nd World War started for America. This was the winter of 1941-1942.

This was a very cold place in the winter. We moved into a small house trailer and I guess we had a hard time keeping warm. Dad rode to work on a bus each day. We moved into a boarding house a short time later, because it was much warmer there.

Original: VanNostrand_Robert_Autobiography-Full

Do you have more information or photos? Let me know in the comments!