New Poem for the 70th Anniversary of D-Day

June 6, 1944 in Willoughby-on-the-Lake

Cora and Connie,

Their four boys overseas, fighting in the terrible war,

First got the news on the radio around noon that Tuesday.

They heard from the boys about once a month, in letters

Passed under a censor’s eyes, often weeks old.

Sometimes Cora wondered as she read the letters

If her boys were still alive or wounded in some hospital

Or prisoners of war. She couldn't stop the terrible scenarios

Unraveling in her mind.

Connie tried to keep up her spirits, joked and laughed a lot,

And cried himself in secret and drank himself unconscious

Some nights at the bar down the corner.

Bob was on a small ship somewhere in the South Pacific;

Bill also somewhere in the Philippines.

But Fran and Jack, the two most vulnerable spirits,

They were somewhere in Europe—

They might be part of this invasion.

Candles remained lit that day, four of them,

(As they did every day of almost four years);

Two of those candles flickered, went out briefly,

Before Cora could relight them.

It was weeks before Connie and Cora learned the truth--

Their boys were alive—and in late ’45 or ’46,

They came home to Willoughby.

Bob had shrapnel in his back, but was otherwise OK;

Bill’s happy spirit seemed intact—

But Fran and Jack were filled with anger and sorrow;

Souls twisted and damaged, they got into fights back home,

And sometimes drank until they blacked out.

They were haunted the next twenty years,

Until their early deaths, by the psychic wounds,

The spiritual wreckage of June 6, 1944 and

The brutal organized violence of the years before and the year after.

Connie and Cora’s boys came home—

But two of them wounded for life.

[Bob Coughlin / June 6, 2014]

Memorial Day. And Dad's 92nd Birthday.

Today my Dad would have been 92 years old. He was born in Cleveland on May 26, 1922, to Cora Esther Bowers Coughlin and Cornelius (Connie) Francis Coughlin. Both my grandparents were first generation Americans. In 1922 they lived around East 87th Street, between St. Clair and Superior. My Dad was the third child, after Fran and Jack. Bill was born about a year and a half later. And Bernice followed Bill. My grandparents' marriage seemed a little odd--Connie was a rough and ready Irishman and a great semi-pro baseball player. My grandmother was the daughter of a bridge engineer, Frank Bowers (changed from Bauer) and Mary Voelker. My impression is that they were upper middle class. So Cora married a guy who was in a lower social class. But Connie had charm and smarts. He was funny, affable, a great athlete, with lots of friends.Their marriage lasted about 43 years, until my Grampa's death in 1960.

During World War II, their 4 boys were all in the service, all over seas. My Dad was a signalman in the Navy, and spent most of his 4 years in the South Pacific, on very small ships (including wooden Subchasers!). We honor him today, his birthday, and Memorial Day.

Today I also think about my cousin Tommy Fitzpatrick, who was just 6 months older than me. Tommy was killed in Vietnam in 1969, just 21 years old. His death is an unending ache to his family and friends.

I also think about my Notre Dame/Innsbruck friend, Steve Shields. I studied with Steve in Salzburg and Innsbruck, Austria in 1967-68, and we graduated from Notre Dame together in 1970. Just a couple years later, around age 23 or 24, Steve's helicopter was shot down in Vietnam and he was killed. Rest in Peace, Tommy and Steve.

I also think about some of the unsung heroes of the Civil Rights and Peace Movement on Memorial Day. There is no official holiday for them, but they are also heroes for our country and our world. Names that come quickly to mind are Ernest and Marion Bromley, Maurice McCrackin, and Chuck Matthei. But there are many more, many whose names are totally lost to history.

So to all the heroes, both of wars and of the struggle for peace and justice, we say Thank You!

Tommy Fitzpatrick in Vietnam (center)

Dad and Mom, August 1947, Willoughby

Steve Shields (left)--Salzburg, Austria
[Also, Charlie Bradley, Brian Wilson, me, Mike Gerrity]

May 20, 1956. St. William's Church. Euclid, Ohio--First Communion

Fifty-eight years ago today, I made my First Holy Communion at St. William's Church in Euclid, Ohio. The church was on East 260th Street, about 1/3 of a mile south of Lake Erie. These were the years when the World War II vets had their families, and thus the baby boom. So there were lots of us making our First Communion. Here's a wild guess on the numbers: 200-250. I was among the shortest of the kids in my class and I was paired up with Randy Wohlgemuth, 4th in line. Our pastor was Fr. John Fleming, a man gruff on the outside, with a heart of gold and great goodness about him (when my Dad was periodically unemployed, Fr. Fleming paid our utility bills!). The boys wore white shirts and ties (I probably had a clip-on bow-tie). The girls were dressed like brides, with white dresses, white gloves, and a lace veil over their heads. The image would have made the angels weep. I was 7 years old, a month short of my 8th birthday. Everybody was about that age, 7 or 8. This was the halcyon era for children in Euclid, and really all over America. We were very carefully prepared for First Communion by the Ursuline nuns and lay teachers of St. William's. One of the nuns who prepared me was Sr. Ruth Marie Behrend. I have recently come into contact with her nephew, Tim Behrend, who lives in Indonesia and has seen my blog. I believe Sr. Ruth Marie lives at the Ursuline Mother House in Pepper Pike, Ohio. My second grade teacher was Mrs. Bartrum (Bartroom?). I am grateful for these nuns and teachers.

I can't remember too many details of that mass. It must have been a solemn high mass, with glorious singing (most of it in Latin). That was in the pre-Vatican II era, so the congregation didn't participate much. Interaction between the celebrant and the altar boys would have been in Latin. The Gloria and Credo would have been sung in Latin, as would the Preface, the Sanctus, and the Agnus Dei.

I was terrified when I approached the altar rail at communion time. The thought of the living Jesus coming into my mouth in the form of unleavened bread was almost as much as I could take. I thought I would faint or die or maybe rise up into the air (no kidding!). I'm sure other kids were also confused, and in some cases scared. My cousin Tommy Fitzpatrick (who died in Vietnam 13 years later) didn't (or couldn't) swallow the host that day.

After the Communion we had a family party (all our friends were actually relatives, so we were related to everyone at the party). My grandparents and aunts and uncles came to our little house on East 266 Street, and as they arrived, they gave me a card. Inside was a dollar, sometimes two. At the end of the party, I counted up all my loot. I had $18, more money than I had ever seen. At the party the kids drank "Little Toms" and played baseball in the yard. The adults drank beer (a little wine was also available--Tommy and I sampled it), smoked their cigarettes, laughed and told stories.

That was my big day, 58 years ago today. The happiest day of my life.

May 1958--Denny's First Communion. Euclid, Ohio.

The photo above was taken two years later, at my brother Denny's First Communion. The same folks would have been at my First Communion on May 20, 1956. Some of the people shown above: Jerry Fitzpatrick, Kay Coughlin, Grandma Cora Coughlin, Bill Coughlin, Bernice Coughlin Potter, Bill Brock, Grampa Connie Coughlin, Howard Classen, Jack Coughlin, Catherine Fitzpatrick, Maggie Brock, Julia Fitzpatrick Brock. Denny Coughlin is in front of Grampa Coughlin. Jill Potter Charske is in front of Grandma Cora. Annie Potter Anderson is obscured, just to the right of Denny Coughlin. I think Sheila Fitzpatrick is the woman in front, kneeling down. Jeannie Coughlin Struna might be in front of Kay Coughlin and just to the right of Jerry Fitzpatrick

Grampa Connie Coughlin and Billy Slusser

My Aunt Kay Coughlin gave me this photo of my grandfather, Connie Coughlin, holding Billy Slusser. I don't know when Bill Slusser was born--I'm guessing between 1915 and 1920. Billy's mother, Mary (Mae) Coughlin Slusser, was my Grampa's sister. I think the photo was taken in Cleveland. Years later, I attended St. Joseph High School with Jim Slusser, a second cousin (son of Gene Slusser). Jim was a champion cross country and track runner.

Great Grandma Lizzie Coughlin's Home in 1923

My Aunt Kay recently gave me a postcard sent by my Grandfather, Connie Coughlin, to his mother, Lizzie Ierg Coughlin in March of 1923. My Grampa was 31 at the time, almost 32, and he had three children, Fran, Jack, and Bob (my Dad). Later that year my Uncle Bill was born. Grampa sent the postcard from Chicago. I can't imagine what he was doing there. I don't believe he was playing baseball anymore. Was he there for work?

The postcard was sent to Mrs. E. Coughlin, at 893 Ansel Road, Cleveland. That home is still there 90 years later. It is just south of St. Clair and just west of Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard (formerly called Liberty Boulevard) and the beautiful Rockefeller Park that runs from Lake Erie to University Circle. My Grandma Cora Bowers Coughlin and her parents, Frank and Mary Voelker Bowers, lived in this same neighborhood--at the time a solidly middle-class area.

The neighborhood and the house itself can be seen below.



View Larger Map

I drove down Ansel Road yesterday, September 29, 2013, and was astonished at the number of homes boarded up and the number of empty lots where homes have been demolished. This home is about a half mile south of the Gordon Park baseball fields and just a little more than a half mile south of Lake Erie. My Grampa must have played ball at Gordon Park. I myself played there in the mid 1960s.

Some Older Family Photos

Top photo: Grampa Connie Coughlin (born 1891), Uncle Bill Coughlin (born 1923), with Jeannie and Jackie Coughlin. 1953, Willoughby, Ohio.

Middle photo: Al Fitzpatrick, Margaret Ann Coughlin Bernice Potter, Bob Coughlin, Nelson Potter, Linda Coughlin, Mrs. McHugh, Catherine Fitzpatrick. Circa 1980.

Bottom photo: Mary Finnegan Fitzpatrick, Mrs. McHugh, Bob Coughlin, Mary Zylowski. Circa 1980.

Largest Baseball Crowd Ever--It Happened in Cleveland

Telling Strollers vs. Hanna Cleaners, September 1914

I located this photo at this site: http://lcweb2.loc.gov/service/pnp/pan/6a29000/6a29400/6a29473v.jpg. Click on the image to see the full panorama.

I think this is the game my Grampa played in--the largest crowd ever to see a baseball game. And it happened in Cleveland, September 1914, at Brookside Park (near the zoo). This was a semi-pro game, not major league. Hard to imagine from our perspective a hundred years later.

Grampa Connie Coughlin and Telling-Belle Vernon Baseball Team

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Telling-Belle Vernon Baseball Team, around 1914 or 1915

My Grampa, Connie Coughlin, played shortstop for a great Cleveland semi-pro team around 1914-15, the Telling-Belle Vernon Strollers. The Belle Vernon Dairy Farms. Co was a Cleveland dairy, and they merged with the Telling Co., makers of ice cream, on the 29th of January 1915. They played a baseball game in September of 1914 or 15 at Brookside Park, a natural amphitheatre near the Cleveland Zoo-- before an audience of over 100,000 fans. There are photos of this crowd available, the largest gathering to ever witness a baseball game (and an amateur game at that!).

The photo above is not clear enough for me to identify my grandfather. I think he is in the upper right corner.

Connie Coughlin's Baseball Team-1911

My grandfather, Connie Coughlin, played shortstop for the Marotta AC baseball club, which was the Cleveland Class B champion in 1911. At the time, my Grampa was 20 years old. Sandlot baseball, amateur or semi-pro, was huge in Cleveland early in the 20th Century. Geez, it was huge when I was a kid watching Cleveland Class A ball in Euclid, at Memorial Park in the early 1960s.

Bob Hope participated in the Marotta Athletic Club as a young man--boxing. He even tried out for one of my Grampa's baseball teams (he didn't make it; got cut).

Colin's First Pitch--Lake County Captains

My grandson, Colin Jude, made his first appearance in a professional baseball game today when he threw out the first pitch at a Lake County Captains baseball game. Colin seems to be ambidextrous at this point, throwing both right handed and left handed. His first pitch, from the southpaw side, was thrown at age 1 (OK, 54 weeks). It's thought that the pitch was a slider, about 5 miles per hour. If he can add 5 miles per hour every year until he is 20, he'll be throwing 100-miles-an-hour smoke by the year 2030.

At the game were Colin's parents, grandparents, Uncle Nicky Kleppel, and Fr. Tom Tifft, of Borromeo Seminary (in case we needed any divine intervention). There were also about 7 rabbis throwing out pitches--it was Jewish Heritage Day at the park. You think the Lord wasn't paying attention to this event?

Colin is the first Coughlin-relative to appear in a minor league game since Connie Coughlin, my grandfather and Colin's great great grandfather, played in the Three-I League around 1916 (I think my Grampa played for the Rockford, Illinois "Wakes" or "Rox").

Making Baseballs in Euclid

I spent most waking hours of my summers as a kid at Mudville, known to the uninitiated as Willow Playground (between E. 272nd St. and Willow Drive in Euclid, Ohio). My most precious possession was my baseball glove, a Rawlings, "Finest in the Field!" I often thought as a kid what I would save if we ever had a fire at our house. I liked Mom and Dad, Denny, Mary Ellen, Kev, and Jim just fine. But my first priority would be to save Rawlings--save my baseball mitt. Baseball was very important to me--it was a deep connection to my Dad (who himself was a fine player and a tremendous left-handed hitter); and to my Grampa Connie, minor league player (for Rockford, Illinois,in the "Three-I" League) and a terrific Cleveland sandlot and semi-pro ballplayer. So I'm sure it was part of my love for them that I played baseball so intensely, practiced so hard, played so much.

Our family had very little money and Dad was periodically laid off, especially early in his career as an electrician for Fisher Body. So there was not a lot of money for toys or for sports equipment. Sometimes I was just on my own to get together bats, balls, and mitts. Often I didn't even own a decent bat. Sometimes I had to find a discarded broken bat at Mudville, do a little surgery on it, and voila! a workable bat. It often took some tiny nails and lots of electricians' tape (we had plenty of that around the house). If I could scrape together 3 to 4 dollars, I would go to Koenig's (Euclid Avenue near E. 260th) or Sears at Shoregate and buy a Louisville Slugger. That was good luck indeed when I could buy a new bat.

When it came to baseballs I often found discarded balls without covers, and old thrown-away leather covers--and then I would sew them back together and make a ball almost as good as new. I bought huge curved sewing needles and learned to sew baseballs using heavy-duty thread and these 2 carpet needles. You could not tell the difference between a baseball I sewed together and a new baseball (except the covers of my baseballs were pretty scuffed up).

So we made do, with very little money. And we were able to play ball from morning until night--even if we had to sew together the baseballs and nail together the bats.

Last Men Standing--World War II Vets

Today is Veterans' Day and my mind turns to my Dad, who spent almost 4 years of his life serving in the Navy during World War II. I also think of my father-in-law, Art Sanders, who also spent that much time in the Navy during the Second World War. Both of them served primarily in the South Pacific, my Dad as a signalman aboard small PC and SC boats (The Sub Chaser was a tiny wooden boat!), and Art working as a machinist, keeping those boats running. Dad has been gone some 13 years now and Art some 14 years.

The only two close relatives still living who were veterans of the Second World War are my Uncle Bill Coughlin, one of the greatest men I've ever known, and my second cousin (and close friend of my Dad), Tom Quinn. Uncle Bill will be 87 years old in three days; Tom Quinn must be around 88.

Many of my uncles served in World War II, including Fran (Connie) Coughlin, Jack Coughlin, Bill Brock, Dick Fitzpatrick, and his twin brother Don Fitzpatrick. Some of these men came back psychologically wounded by that terrible war.

I can't imagine how my Grampa Connie Coughlin and Gramma Cora Coughlin managed with their 4 boys at war over seas. I can't imagine the worry, the anxiety, the endless prayers. All of them came back alive; two of them were psychologically damaged, and took those wounds to their early deaths.

We honor my Dad, my Father-in-law, my uncles, and my cousin Tom Quinn for their service to our country and to world freedom.

Happy Father's Day!

The greatest privilege I have had in my life is to be married to Linda and to be the father of Julia, Carolan, and Emily. I truly thank the Lord for my marriage and my children (they will never truly know the depths of my gratitude and my sense of being blessed). I am very very proud of them and thankful for their Father's Day wishes and presents.

I would like to honor my own Father. Dad has been gone for 12 years now--hard to believe! He was my hero. He lived his life for my Mom and for his five children. The indelible image in memory is playing catch with Dad in front of our Euclid house. We did it almost every day during the warm season. It was such a simple thing, hardly a word being exchanged. But it meant a lot to me in my growing-up years, and it still means a lot to me today. I also remember all the early mornings we would sit silently at the dining room table over coffee--he getting ready to go to work at Fisher Body, me getting ready to deliver the Plain Dealer.

I also think today of my Father-in-Law, Art Sanders. A sweet, kindly man, who with his wife Ruth, raised five of the most extraordinary children. We miss Art and Ruth terribly (we said a prayer at their graves this past Friday).

I also don't want to forget my wonderful grandfather, Connie Coughlin--a wonderful Irishman, full of humor and blarney, a great baseball player, and great father, who, with my Gramma Cora Coughlin, raised four boys and a girl, and saw all their boys fight during World War II. Thanks to our Grandparents and the big extended family that cared for us.

Finally, I want to thank the Uncles and Godfathers, Priests and Brothers, who might not have been biological fathers, but gave me and my family (and those beyond my family) so much of a Father's love. Thanks to the Marianist and Holy Cross bothers and priests, and the priests of the Diocese of Cleveland. Blessings and deepest thanks.

Happy Father's Day!

Connie Coughlin, Baseball Player

When my Grampa, Cornelius ("Connie") Francis Coughlin, died in 1960, old men came to the Flynn-Froelk funeral home (this might have been on Mayfield Road, probably in South Euclid, Ohio), and they spent the hours talking baseball, reminiscing about players and games that took place 40 to 50 years before, when they played ball with my Grampa. Baseball was important in Grampa's life, and he was a very good player.

I've been trying to gather in my mind everything I remember about my Grampa's days as a baseball player, and then supplement those memories with what I can find on the internet and in published sources. My Uncle Bill Coughlin is also a source for some of what follows.

Here are some disconnected memories:

Grampa played shortstop. In the days before the live baseball (before the home-run era), he specialized in "hitting them where they ain't" and in bunting. Grampa was an extremely fast runner, and he made good use of that speed in his game. He told me that in his heydey, he was "the fastest runner in Cleveland" (exact words). He could make it from the batter's box to first base in 3 seconds, and he could circle the bases in 14 seconds. If these numbers are accurate, he was indeed one of the fastest runners around! Grampa played shortstop, so besides being fast he must have had a good arm. In those days ballplayers played with very primitive gloves. In fact, to show how tough they were, ballplayers would sometimes cut out the leather from the glove's pocket and catch the ball barehanded. At one time we had Grampa's glove around the family (maybe somebody still has it--Uncle Bill?) and it was a sight to see. You'd wonder how anyone could catch a ball with it! In Cleveland he played for semi-pro teams and once played in the Brookside ballpark, a natural amphitheatre near the Cleveland Zoo, before over 100,000 people, the largest crowd ever to see a baseball game in America. There is a famous photo of that game, between the Telling Strollers and Hanna Cleaners, dated September 20, 1914. To see this photo, click on this link: www.baseball-fever.com/showthread.php?t=23420

Grampa also played minor league baseball, in the Three-I League [Iowa, Indiana, and Illinois]. My Uncle Bill Coughlin told me that Grampa played for the Rockford, Illinois team, a class B team under contract to the New York Giants baseball team (the team led by Hall-of-Famer John McGraw). The Rockford "Wakes" were managed by Howard Wakefield, a Bucyrus, Ohio boy who had played for the Cleveland Naps. The Wakes only existed for 2 years, 1915 and 1916, so Grampa played there one or both of those years. Grampa said that the travelling in the minor league was murder and that he never got to see his family or friends. He finally got tired of living out of a suitcase and quit, coming back to Cleveland. Shortly after he came back from Rockford, Illinois and the Three-I League, he met and married Cora Bowers, my Grandmother. I believe my Uncle Fran (also known as "Connie"--Francis Cornelius Coughlin) was born in 1917, the first of 5 children. Fran was himself a good ballplayer, a catcher, and around 1940 had a tryout with the Cleveland Indians.

The year my Grampa Coughlin died, 1960, he was still very athletic and limber. He had a party trick of weaving a cane through his legs every which way and finally jumping over it. At age 69 he could still do that. He also tried to teach me to bunt a baseball. He'd toss his cap 10 to 15 feet away from him, and we'd pitch a ball to him. He would then bunt the ball to the exact spot his hat lay. To him bunting was an art (a lost art) . He also taught me to slide (though I don't remember him actually sliding at age 69).

Grampa had a stomach ulcer that bothered him off and on. Now days they can treat ulcers with both antibiotics and acid-reducers. But in 1960, his ulcer was bleeding and he entered Euclid-Glenville Hospital for surgery. We never quite found out what happened, but Grampa never recovered from that surgery and basically bled to death over the following days. It seemed almost surely a case of malpractice, but our family had neither the means nor the desire to pursue a legal case.

A little postscript: My Grampa used to say that he "fired Bob Hope" --from his baseball team. This might be true, but I have no way to prove it. Bob Hope was born in England in 1903 and moved with his family to Cleveland in 1908. He lived on the East Side, not far from my Grampa Coughlin. Bob Hope tried everything before becoming a success in Vaudeville and later in movies and on television. He even tried to be a boxer, fighting under the name of "Packy East." So he might indeed have tried out for a baseball team managed by Connie Coughlin. And he probably got cut (or "fired") from the team, just as he failed as a boxer.