Born: April 7, 1920, Wishaw, Overtown, Scotland , County of Lanark
Died: August 4, 1968, East Paterson, (now Elmwood Park) New Jersey, USA
Married: Joseph Glick
Children: Carol Merriman (b. 1945), Adrienne Possenti (b. 1950)
Elizabeth (Betty) Armstrong Glick was a tuberculosis patient who cured at the New York State Hospital at Ray Brook in 1952, and lived in Saranac Lake with her family until 1959. Her family lived in apartments on Helen Street and Orchard Ave. while she was at Ray Brook. Eventually the family lived together at 8 1/2 Forest Hill Avenue which is now #10 Moody Lane. Elizabeth died of tuberculosis in 1968 about 10 years after the family left Saranac Lake to move to New Jersey. She lived with tuberculosis for the final 15 years of her life, dying at age 48. At the time of her death, her daughter Carol was 22 years old and Adrienne was 17 years old. Several years following his wife's death, Joseph remarried.
Tuberculosis was rampant in the tiny coal mining village of Wishaw, Scotland where my mother was born in 1920. Growing up malnourished due to poverty, mother regrettably only attended school until eighth grade. At that young age, she went to work to earn a small income scrubbing floors as a scullery maid. She had an older sister Katherine, who was fortunate to have grown up in the home of a more financially privileged family. Katherine married twice and had three children. Her second husband's name was Jim Smith. Their daughter, about the same age as Carol, was Yvonne Smith. Auntie Katy died of breast cancer in England in 1964. Another sister named Mary died right after birth. It was said that a baby boy also died at birth.
Mother's parents were James Armstrong and Katherine Brownlee. My grandmother Katherine, who I never knew, was said to be a tall woman with hair the color of a new copper penny. And it was said that James (Jimmy) stood on tip toe to kiss his bride. Grandmother was the love of Grandfather's life. After her passing he never remarried. It was also said that "Jimmy never looked at another woman". Grandmother Armstrong died at age 50 of cerebral thrombosis. Grandpa and Mother were at her bedside when Grandmother died. My mother told me that her mother's dying words were, "I see". My mother asked "What do you see, Mother?" Grandmother said "I see my Lord". Mother and family were humble, devoted Protestant Christians of the United Brethern's.
I was blessed to have my grandpa live with us in all our homes until his passing of heart failure at age 78 in 1962. I was then 12 years of age. Grandpa was the gentlest of souls who adored his grand daughters. He was also a proud Scotsman. He loved his pipe with Granger Pipe Tobacco and a bottle of ale. He ate one egg every day with toast and tea. Grandpa suffered a stroke during our years in Saranac Lake and was partially paralyzed on the left side of his body. From that time on he walked with the use of a cane. Due to his Scottish brogue, his stroke-related speech impediment and the fact that he no longer had any teeth very few could understand what Grandpa was saying when he spoke. I always knew what he was saying because I wanted to.
Mother was age 25 when she met Father during World War II while vacationing and visiting her sister Katherine in England. Prior to that time, Mother lived with Grandpa in Wishaw, Scotland. From old photos, one can see that she was a beautiful, robust young woman. She was engaged to marry a local young Scots man named Rob McFinnley (sp). My father, Joseph Glick was an American Jew, born 1923 in Bronx, New York. He quit school at age 16 to enlist in the Merchant Marines and to help fight the Second World War. My parents met when Father's ship was in port in England. A ship mate of Father's had a date with my Auntie Katy. Katy told her date that her sister Betty was visiting and he should bring along a friend so they could double date. That friend was Father. As often occurred during war time romances, my parents moved on to marriage very quickly. Two weeks after that first date, they were wed by the ship's captain. Their religious differences didn't seem to matter to them at that time. Having always lived a sheltered life in the Scottish country side, Mother had never known anyone who was Jewish. In her naivety, she concluded that since Christ was a Jew, it was O.K. for a Christian to marry a Jew. They were a brilliantly handsome looking young couple.
After their marriage ceremony and brief honeymoon, Father shipped back out to sea. Mother returned home to Wishaw, pregnant with my sister, to live with her dad and to wait for her husband's return. Along that path, Mother had to tell her fiancé that she had fallen in love with and married an American seaman. When Carol came along on December 31, 1945 in Scotland, Father wanted his baby girl to be named in honor of his ship's captain, Captain Carole. After the war's end and in early 1947 Mother, Father, and baby Carol sailed for America. Carol tells me that she took her first steps on board that ship to America. They settled in Father's old neighborhood in the Bronx. Father found work in a local Jewish delicatessen which set him on a path as a grocer. They rented one of the many tiny apartments in the Bronx which was a five story walk-up. It was five years later that Mother came home from the Bronx Hospital with another baby girl, Adrienne Irene Glick. I was born October 18, 1950. Cute as a button, too, I was told.
Grandpa moved from Scotland to the Bronx, to live with us because he missed his "wee-uns". Grandpa worked night shift as a custodian or watchman at a private all girl's school, The Spence School, 22 East 91st Street, NY. A typed letter from Spence School kept among treasured keepsakes dated January 30, 1952 sent to Grandpa tells of how much his co-workers missed him and how he was "so thoroughly reliable, dependable and conscientious in every way". "...Such characters are few and far between". That letter followed our move from the Bronx to Glens Falls, New York and every move thereafter.
Soon after my birth, Father and Mother bought a diner in Glens Falls, NY. About one year after moving to Glens Falls, Mother felt symptoms of a chronic cold. It was then she was diagnosed with tuberculosis. Upon doctor's recommendation, Mother was admitted into the Ray Brook Sanatorium, Saranac Lake, NY. At some point, Mother had surgery to remove a portion of a lobe of her left lung. While Mother was in Ray Brook we lived in various apartments on Helen Street and Orchard Ave. At first, Auntie Katy came to the U.S. to help with our care and brought along her daughter Yvonne, our English cousin. Auntie Katy returned to her home in England and Grandpa continued to assist in our care. As stated, Grandpa lived the remainder of his life with us in the United States. Neither Mother nor Grandpa ever returned to Scotland.
I have no memory of Mother's stay in Ray Brook although I do remember some of the things she told me about her time there. She said she remained in bed for rest which helped her feel better. Perhaps she received the new antibiotic treatment of the time. A male patient befriended her and crafted a wooden sewing box to give to Mother as a gift. I played with and sorted the contents of that beautiful wooden sewing box for many childhood years. Mother's sewing box has long been lost, but I have a small collection of very similar boxes that I have found over the years while antiquing. Although I have no sewing abilities, all of my boxes are filled with old vintage sewing notions that I garnered from thrift stores.
Mother took with her to Ray Brook a tiny black Bible, measuring 3" x 5" that I still have in my possession. It practically fits in the palm of my hand. At my age and with deteriorated vision, it is almost impossible for me to read the type. On the inside cover, the Bible has several inscriptions. The first inscription reads "1933, A present from Hugh Lee to Lizzie Armstrong". I do not know who Hugh Lee was although according to the date, Mother was 13 years old when she received this gift. Twenty years later in 1953, while in Ray Brook mother inscribed many bible passages "to Carol Anne and Adrienne, from Mammie" on the inside cover of the tiny Bible. John 3:16 is boldly written in Mother's hand and underlined twice. I recall Mother saying that she did not expect to survive long enough to see her children grow up and she wanted Carol and me to read and learn from her Bible.
Knowing how contagious tuberculosis is, one of Mother's greatest fears was that one of her children would contract the disease from her. Since I was the "sickly" one with chronic ear, nose & throat infections, my illnesses usually developed into pneumonia, especially during winter months. There seemed to be endless rounds of chest x-rays for me through each winter to diagnose either tuberculosis or pneumonia. I remember Mother's ashen face each time the doctor rang our phone to say my x-rays revealed a shadow or two on the lungs. Blessedly, tuberculosis was always ruled out.
Although poverty seemed to have been the norm, Saranac Lake was a pristine environment for a child to grow up in. My mind flashes back to so many memories there. We walked everywhere we needed to go as our one car was used by Father and Mother never pursued getting a driver's license. Heavy chains that wrapped around all four tires of the car were generally required to move a vehicle through the deep snow. The sound of those chains clacking and clanking were common place for almost 8 months of the year. My birthday in mid-October was always a snowy event. By October, snow reached as high as the first story windows of our house. The world outside was a sparkling wonderland.
Refrigerators were becoming common place in most homes by the mid '50's, although many families living on Helen Street still stored perishables in an ice box. In summer months, the Ice Man came around to our neighborhood in his truck with a delivery of fresh ice. Children in the neighborhood gathered at the back of the truck. We were allowed to have any of the chips that fell off a block of ice after it was cut. I remember wishing the ice was food as well as water. We weren't the poorest or the most hungry children living on Helen Street. I know this because after each of us had an egg to eat, there was a family of children in another apartment who waited for us to finish so they could have the shells to eat.
Hoola-hooping became a popular past time in the mid 1950's. I considered myself to be the champion hoola-hooper of the neighborhood. I walked round and round Forest Hill Avenue and held the hoola-hoop up with little effort as the hoop revolved around my middle. I never skipped a beat. I loved when all the neighborhood kids got together for a game of hide and go seek, which usually happened in the evening hours. A tree in front of our house served as home base. As darkness fell, someone would call out "All-y, all-y, in free" which signaled the end of the game and time for children to go inside. Such was the dirt of the earth on our bodies from long hours outdoors that a bath was needed every night before bed in the summer.
In the 1950's, summer days for most children in Saranac Lake were spent venturing far and wide with friends by our side, exploring all the beauty nature offered. Lying on the floor of the woods, looking up through the trees, we lazily watched the sky for cloud formations. Or looking down, we used our hands to gently unearth thick, green moss to see what lay beneath. There were never adults accompanying our adventures, we just went where our childhood feet took us. We didn't encounter threats or dangers. We were free to roam where the spirit of the moment lead. I shudder to think of the consequences of that much childhood freedom in today's world.
Mother was very fond of cats. In fact she LOVED cats and could never have too many. Because our house at 8 1/2 Forest Hill Avenue had a nice enclosed side porch, most of our cats lived quite comfortably there. One or more of her favorites were allowed in the main portion of the house. Mother banged two pie tins together at feeding time and all the cats came running home for their dinner. Neutering house pets was not done in those days, so we always had kittens galore. The more the merrier we said. Our attached garage had a dirt floor where the mice population tried to flourish. With so many cats about, the mice did not stand a chance.
Speaking of pie tins, a favorite activity I recall was going out to where the wild blueberries grew carrying a big empty bowl. The goal was to fill the bowl with as many ripe blueberries as possible. Returning home with a fresh picked bounty, Mother baked blueberry pie, from scratch. Nothing tasted better. Sometimes I made my own little pie by folding a piece of the crust over a spoonful of jam. Mmmmm, how I remember that delicious treat. We were usually rewarded with juicy wild berries like blackberries and strawberries while foraging for edibles in the woods during the short but sweet summer months. I recall finding and eating rhubarb. It was a bit tart tasting, but filling none-the-less.
Our only telephone, black with a rotary dial sat on a table in our living room. Thanks to the recent resourcefulness of Michele Tucker of the Saranac Lake Library, I learned that our four digit phone number in 1958 was 1902. Michelle has old, original Saranac Lake phone books. I am so glad I called her for that information (using my cell phone). But back then we had what was referred to as a "party line," which meant that many other families shared the same phone number. There never seemed to be much of a party going on as the name might lead one to believe. In fact, the party line was an occasional cause of consternation between neighbors. Some eaves droppers could quietly lift the receiver to listen in to another's private conversation. Some dominated the phone line, which was frustrating to the others waiting their turn for the line to clear. Once the line was clear, a live operator spoke to ask you what number you wanted to reach. Then the operator, always a woman's voice, made the connection for you. Visions of Lily Tomlin portraying a telephone operator come to mind … "Is this the party to whom I am speaking"?
Going "down town" was generally fun and gave me some lasting memories. Once while in Woolworth's on a shopping trip before going to the A & P grocery store, I became distracted by watching live parakeets for sale in their cages. Mother left Woolworth's thinking I was right behind her and went on down the hill to the A & P. The A & P was a good distance from Woolworth's. I'm not sure when Mother realized that I was missing or when I realized that I was missing from Mother but in that moment I knew I was in trouble. Although I was very young I decided to walk home alone from Main Street to Forest Hill Avenue even though I wasn't certain of which roads to take. I must have gone in the right direction because eventually I did return home, tired but relieved. Mother had called Father to report my missing. Father called the police. As I walked the final steps towards home, they were all there in the driveway, Mother, Father and the policeman waiting and happy to see that I was fine. Considering that I managed to find my way home by myself, I thought it was rather harsh that I got a spanking for disobeying the rule of never leaving Mother's side while down town.
Unless you were Catholic and attended the private parochial school, all the kids in Saranac Lake went to River Street School. As I recall, it was quite a hike to get to River Street School from Forest Hill Avenue through the thickly wooded snow covered mountain. And it always seemed as though the walk was an uphill climb.
The cafeteria at school was in a building that was separate from the tall red brick school house. For a time, our fresh cooked hot lunch was served to every student at no cost. The ladies that worked cooking and serving lunch were always so sweet and friendly. Suddenly it was announced that there would be a fee for the school lunch. With no money whatsoever to pay for our lunch, we continued to ask the cafeteria ladies if we could please still have some food even though we had no money. For a brief time, the ladies broke the new rules that were handed down and gave us food. Soon the day came when the cafeteria ladies were forbidden to give food to any child who could not pay. Even as a child, I could see in their eyes that it broke their hearts to deprive children of food. Students who had food were told to share with students who did not have food. It was a few sparse morsels that the non-paying students received from their classmates. Eventually, Mother prepared a lunch for Carol and me to take to school.
Mother's best friend in Saranac Lake was Myrtle Wrisley Effenbach. Myrtle was a teller at the magnificently beautiful Saranac Lake Bank. She married late in life but I recall overhearing details of adult conversations about her dates. Periodically, Myrtle stayed in our home to help with the care of Carol and me. She was very patient with me. I crafted earrings for her by dangling spare clothing buttons through bobbie pins. She told me that she liked the earrings so much that she would wear them to work. I was convinced that Myrtle did indeed wear bobbie pin button earrings to her job at the bank. Myrtle remained in Saranac Lake until her passing in 2012.
Father portrayed Santa Claus in Woolworths for several Christmases. Yes, I sat on his lap to tell him what I wanted for Christmas and no I did not know that Santa was actually my father. He had an authentic sounding "Ho Ho Ho". The secular traditions of Christmas were some of his favorites. Also, he fancied himself as an amateur actor and participated in plays in the local Summer Theatre. One role that he portrayed was that of a Sumo Wrestler in the play "Tea House of the August Moon". In any event, he appeared on stage wearing nothing but a giant diaper. Imagine the embarrassment of his family.
Everyone that I knew in Saranac Lake either ice skated or skied or both. To my dismay, as a child I was unable to find my balance on single blade skates. Wearing double blade skates I was able to enjoy gliding on ice, although I was embarrassed to be one of the few children at the skating rink who had to wear double blade skates. Eventually as a young woman I did master the art of balancing on single blade skates. As an adult, the one and only time I attempted to ski I ended up going down the mountain on my behind.
Father found work occasionally. He was a grocer in Charlie Green's on Main Street. I recently learned that Charles Green was himself a tuberculosis cure patient and came to the United States from England. Father had a window washing business in Saranac Lake. The obvious fatal flaw of a window washing business in the Adirondack Mountains is that windows were generally washed during three months out of the year, June, July and August. This made for very long difficult winters. Father also attempted door-to-door sales of the trendy items of the day such as bronze baby shoes. He was a volunteer fireman in Saranac Lake, and spent long hours at the fire house passing away his free time. Eventually and unfortunately we did have to leave Saranac Lake for a more densely populated area where work could be found. In New Jersey, Father went to work in supermarket delicatessens all over the North Jersey region, changing jobs with great frequency. Grandpa received monthly Social Security checks from having worked at The Spence School. That check was often our only financial resource until Grandpa died in 1962. Recently I came across Grandpa's Social Security card from so long ago among my few keepsakes.
Mother did not work outside the home until some time in the mid 1960s when she got a job in a factory in East Paterson, now named Elmwood Park, NJ. With rapidly failing health, it was terribly taxing for her to keep up production along with the other factory workers. But there was the never-ending urgency for some source of income. She feared poverty all her life.
After Grandpa died in 1962, Mother's health quickly deteriorated both physically and emotionally. Long plagued with insomnia, Mother's condition worsened with time. Doctors prescribed Secanol for insomnia in those days. Seconal was a very addictive prescription barbiturate. During my high school years in East Paterson, Mother sometimes made attempts at going through the motions of daily life. Her will to live diminished more each day. Her depression kept her very sad.
The day before she died, she spoke out loud and I heard her say "My job here is done. Why can't I go home?" Her "job" was that of raising her children. She was speaking to the Lord. She longed for eternal rest.
During summer months, Mother stayed in an upstairs bedroom that had a window air conditioner. On August 4th, 1968 shortly after my high school graduation, Mother was in that room curled up on the sofa when she died. At age 17, after finding my mother when she finally received her wish for eternal rest, I phoned the local police. Two men came to pronounce Mother dead. She was 48 years-old.
At the time of Mother's passing, Father owned a food truck that he drove to various factories to sell breakfast and lunch to the workers. We called the truck "The Roach Coach". He came home at his usual time on the day Mother died and funeral arrangements proceeded to be arranged. Carol was married to Jim Merriman by that time and working as a Registered Nurse at Englewood Hospital, New Jersey.
Mother was buried in Washington Memorial Cemetery, Paramus, New Jersey along side her father, James Armstrong.
Several years later, Father's second wife, Myrna became a very loving step-mother to me. She was a widow with two young children. Born in New York, Myrna was a brilliantly intelligent woman with a Columbia PhD in Psychology. She worked 2 jobs and long hours to provide an affluent life for her family that included many vacations to exotic destinations. Father liked to travel and see the world. After 20 years of marriage, Myrna divorced Father at which time he moved to Florida where he remained until his death at age 83. Myrna died at age 80, October 18, 2016 in Carmel, CA.
Since embarking on this endeavor to document Mother's history of tuberculosis, her admittance into Ray Brook and my time spent living in Saranac Lake, I have located and scrutinized many certificates of births, deaths, marriages and places of burial dating back several generations on Mother's side of the family. I found an original Western Union telegram dated October 18, 1950 stating, "Daughter Born Wednesday Afternoon Betty and Baby Doing Fine Please Tell Rest of Family Name Adrienne Irene = Joe". The telegram announcing my birth was addressed to Father's father, Harry Glick whom I met less than a handful of times in my life.
Having not yet chosen a name for a baby girl, on October 18, 1950 Mother decided on a name for her second daughter after watching the "Howdy Doody" show while on the maternity ward of the Bronx Hospital. When Buffalo Bob Smith asked a little girl in the Peanut Gallery her name, the little girl answered "Adrienne". Mother said she looked at the newborn in her arms, and declared me "Adrienne". It's a good thing the little girl's name wasn't Peanut or something equally as silly. Sometimes I wonder where my name sake is today.
Speaking of names, an interesting footnote of who was who in my mother's family is that one variation or another of the names James, Thomas, Katherine and Elizabeth were repeated with each generation.
An Armstrong family tradition that has remained strong through the years is the love of cats. Many have come and gone throughout my life, each one as precious as the next. In part, the love of cats lead me to become a staunch activist for abused animals, particularly exotic animals that are exploited for profit in the United States. It is an honor for me when I speak to elected officials against wild animal abuse and participate in the enactment of laws that ban the antiquated practice of holding animals in captivity in traveling exhibitions, such as a circus. Thankfully circus animal exploitation is waning in our country, although the work to bring an end to all traveling animal exhibitions continues. As an animal rights activist, I have been referred to as "tenacious" in my non-stop efforts for freedom of all caged and abused wild animals. Now in my retirement years, I am an Administrator for “Save Nosey Now, Inc.” Nosey is 35 year-old African elephant who was rescued from her abusive owner, November, 2017. Nosey now lives in freedom in the Elephant Sanctuary of Tennessee. My fellow activists and I advocate for the freedom of all exotic animals held in brutal captivity.
Stop Circus Animal Suffering.
November, 2018 Having just returned from visiting Saranac Lake with my husband Edward and daughter Emily, it is hard to believe that my early "sunrise" years were lived there 60 years ago. It's the number of years that are hard to believe. I had forgotten how immensely pleasant and welcoming the people of Saranac Lake are. For our stay, we rented a two bedroom Airbnb on Winona Ave. that truly has all the comforts of home. If I wasn't so deeply rooted here in this big small town of Vineland, NJ I could easily visualize returning to Saranac Lake for my "sunset" years.
In the midst of South Jersey's summer heat wave, it was our daughter Emily who suggested we travel in late fall to the Adirondack Mountains where we would be certain to escape the oppressive heat. A continuous rain fell through most of our weeks stay, skies were gray, temps were low, nights were cold. It was all just the way I remembered. Mountain weather is not for the faint of heart although fair weather days are better than the best.
Serendipitously, plans for our Saranac Lake vacation lead me to the Historic Saranac Lake Oral History Project on Church Street at the original Saranac Laboratory founded by Dr. Trudeau in 1894. Prior to our vacation, I contacted the Chamber of Commerce asking for assistance in locating the house I lived in at 8 1/2 Forest Hill Ave. My Google search turned up empty for that address. During the course of the conversation, I stated my connection to Saranac Lake as it relates to my mother's curing time in Ray Brook in the 1950's. It was then I was directed immediately to Kayt Gochenaur to schedule a recorded interview to document my memories of life as I knew it in Saranac Lake and as the child of a TB cure patient. Over the phone, the first thing Kayt did was set me up on this Wiki history page. I was amazed to learn how deeply involved the interest in the TB cure industry has become. I had no idea of the historic preservation efforts that were being made in the small village of my childhood. When I arrived for my interview, I was greeted so warmly and made to feel so welcome, it seemed the entire staff was anxiously anticipating my arrival. In preparation of my visit, I searched for and found old family photos and a few keepsakes from those years that I could gladly contribute to the documentation and archives as younger generations in the Adirondack Mountains look to the future.
On our first full day in town, we got a feel for what was where. I wanted to see what had changed and what had stayed the same. We drove to try to find 8 1/2 Forest Hill Ave. That address has been changed and is now 10 Moody Lane. I immediately recognized the house that I had live in, only the color of the exterior paint has changed. The horse shoe shape dirt road in front of the house hasn't changed in 60 years. It's still the same dirt road where I skinned my knees during the full-speed- ahead trips and falls certain to happen each summer. Once at 10 Moody Lane I knocked on the door of the house. I was greeted by two dogs, two cats and an owner who was rightfully suspicious of the stranger standing on her porch. After a quick explanation of who I was and why I was there she invited me in for a look-see. Structurally, all was as I remember only the rooms seemed much smaller to me now than they did 60 years ago. The mud on my shoes from Moody Lane traveled all the way home to South Jersey with me.
We stopped into the Post Office Pharmacy on Main Street because it is one of the businesses that remains a landmark of sorts to Saranac Lake. As I was chatting with and introducing myself to the newest generation owner he asked what my name was. I replied "Adrienne Glick. My father was Joseph Glick". When a senior citizen male customer standing at the counter heard me say the name he spun around to look at me and exclaimed "You're Joe Glick's daughter?" My jaw dropped. "Yes. Did you know him" I asked. He said that my father used to wash windows for him at his place of business. Yup, that was my father. I asked if he knew my mother, Elizabeth Glick. He said "no" and with that he exited the pharmacy. That was a goosebumps moment.
While Ed and Emily visited Lake Placid one afternoon, I wandered the streets of Saranac, reminiscing on what was again becoming familiar ground. A stop into the Presbyterian Church where I was sent to attend Sunday School all those years ago was fun and informative. A warm greeting from a gentleman working in the church whose name I did not get led to conversation on the old ways and the new ways of church attendance. As a 35 year-member of my local Methodist Church, I found that my childhood church had a familiar feel.
The day before Halloween Emily visited the Pine Ridge Cemetery. A light snow had fallen during the night giving the cemetery a reflection of pure beauty and made for good photo ops.
Before embarking on our trip, we made reservations to attend the October 31 meeting of "The Breakfast Club" at the Hotel Saranac. Upscale breakfast cuisine and a fascinating presentation by the Adirondack Paranormal Society (APS) were on the menu. In the 1950's, The Breakfast Club was a very popular social event. I recall great excitement one year because New York radio personality Don McNeal was scheduled as a guest host and my father was anxious to be involved in the program.
Now, each year on Halloween, Main Street is closed to all motor vehicles in late afternoon for two hours of annual after-school store-front Trick or Treating. Safe fun and creativity in costumes abound.
With a variety of so many great restaurants to choose from, it was hard to decide where to go to dine first. Michelle, our hostess recommended The Red Fox, an iconic restaurant previously owned by one of her family members. The cuisine and service was impeccable. We also dined at the historic restored Hotel Saranac. Long ago the hotel was dubbed "Hot Sara" due the burned out lights in several of the letters in her name. We enjoyed 5 star dining in a warm, welcome atmosphere. We were in a casual, laid back dining mood on Halloween after all the Trick or Treaters came and went on Main Street, so we popped into Blue Moon Café. As a vegetarian, I enjoyed a cauliflower and spaghetti squash dish while my two family carnivores satisfied their appetites with meat on the bones.
During the trip home, I called my sister Carol Anne in Tucson, AZ to describe the week's nostalgic adventures. She asked about the Pontiac Theater and was disappointed as was I to learn that the building no longer stands. Father and Carol saw The Silver Chalice, starring Paul Newman when it debuted at the Pontiac Theater. As children in Saranac Lake we saw Walt Disney's earliest movies in the Pontiac Theater as did most all the other children in town. I'm am not sure of the exact price of admission into the theater but it would have been approximately 35 cents. Ticket prices varied according to the child's age. Being so young it was obvious I qualified for the least costly admission ticket. For Carol, the price of admission was a different story. After a long wait in line behind many of the town's children for our turn to pay for our ticket, finally standing at the box office window was a worrisome moment. Carol had to bend her knees down to try to appear much shorter and younger than she actually was. Looking back, I'm sure the teller in the box office knew exactly what all the older age children were doing on the other side of the wall where tickets were sold. Kindly, no child was ever questioned about their true age that I know of.
Across the street from Hotel Saranac stands a new, creative business venture. It is called The Community Store where everything from recently published books, to locally handcrafted jewelry, to warm clothing at the most reasonable prices including underwear are available. Terry, the energetic, delightful manager, Mary, her trusted employee and a local teenager who had just begun her first day on the job are there to satisfy customers. The Community Store was our last stop before we headed out of town on our journey home. My purchase of a flannel shirt for my son-in-law's birthday was a perfect choice. Then my eyes caught sight of beautifully hand crochet and beaded necklaces on display. Completely distracted by trying to make a decision on which necklace I should purchase, I ended up leaving the store without the flannel shirt I paid for just moments before. About an hour's drive into our descent of the mountains, I received an email from Terry letting me know that my purchase was still in the store. Without hesitation, Terry wrote down my home address. She must have gone directly to the post office after speaking with us, because in the time it took me to finish unpacking (two days) the flannel shirt arrived at my door. That kind of unquestioning acceptance and friendliness is part of why Saranac Lake will always be home.
Thank you for the memories to all the fine people of Saranac Lake, NY.
Information provided by daughter, Adrienne Possenti, October, 2018.