Bud Flanagan's Stories

Told on July 2, 2006

Has anyone ever heard of mustard bread? A slice of bread, spread thin with mustard and sprinkled with sugar.

And then there was my Grandmother, who would tear up pieces of bread and put them in an empty jam or jelly jar and eat it with her fork, not to waste anything, (Depresion years period.)

From Baltimore, Maryland, just south of the Mason-Dixon line

Told on July 4, 2006:

I was always told: That as a long as an ancestor's name is spoken, they will always be with you in spirit and love and caring.

So- On those lonely nights, I get out my scrapbook, and have one for Grandfather Flanagan, then one for Grandfather Downey, Then one for G Grandfather Gallagher, never made it back more then 4 Generations.. but I will keep trying.

Again on July 4, 2006

I loved to visit the old family home out in Mt Washington, a suburb of Baltmore on the # 25 street car line.

Saturday breakfast was something special as everyone would be home at the same time. You had to show up Friday night so that my Aunt Helen would know how much to fix.

We started with homemade Oatmeal. Then there were the rolled biscuits and sausage gravy. Fresh tomatoes and fried pork chops were the side dishes to her speciality "Eggs to order". Ice cold Milk and hot fresh ground coffee completed the meal.

Sometimes the menu changed but one thing remained the same. No one lifted a fork untill a prayer was offered.

My, how times have changed.

Told on July 30, 2006:

Back in the days of prohabition, cetain members of my family used to make beer in the basements of their homes. They used the old slanted concrete wash sinks so my mom didn't get to use them for a couple of weeks.

On one particular night, we smelled smoke coming up the basement steps. My Mom called the Fire Department, my sister ran across the street to get the neighborhood Policeman and we all ran outside to watch the Fire engines coming down Cold Spring Lane.

The fire was put out in a matter of minutes.

The Policeman was writing down all that had happened. He looked around to get the Fireman's signature on the report, could not find any of them, yet the truck was still in front of the house.

When he went to the celler door to look, he heard a bunch of men's voices singing "Sweet Adaline" . It took a half hour to get the fireman away from the sinks filled with beer.

When I was a young boy, every neighborhood had a resident Policeman, Fireman and Mailman.

Told on August 10, 2006:

On a hot day we would put a pepermint stick in a lemon and suck the juices. Mom would plug a watermelon, drain it, and load it with Kool Aid. I and my four sisters would take turns on what flavor to add.

We only had the Mustard bread for an after school snack. This was in Maryland in the late 30's & early 40's.

Told on October 22, 2006

When I first started to trace my Flanagan ancestors, and could afford a trip to Ireland, I was not sure where to look. I had narrowed it down to co Fermanagh as that is where several of them are buried.

I made it a point to kneel and say an "Ava" prayer at any and all gravesites bearing the family name.

I may have prayed for your ancestors as well as mine.

We are all family

Told on November 4, 2006

Thanksgiving Day was a special time of year in my Flanagan household. A gathering of the family just for the enjoyment of conversation and togeatherness. The family has spread and thinned out but the memory of times past is not forgotten.

It takes a while to prepare the traditional meal. I take this time, while working in the kitchen, to remember times past, of different places we celebrated this day. Of the good times when all were healthy and still with us. Of some of the trying times when we were seperated like in Korea and Viet Nahm.

You can lose photos, you can lose a book of names and places, we still have our memories.

I like turkey. I like leftovers. It takes the same anount of time to fix a large bird as it does for a small one. I am now alone, but I still got me a 23 lb hen in my freezer. I will cook it, gut it, freeze it in packages, and enjoy it for a few more months.

Each time I can bring back those precious memories.

Told on November 15, 2006:

I was born and raised in Baltimore, Md. I did not start searching until I left that area. I went back and found a lot, but still had some blanks to fill in.

Moved to Spokane, Wa. in 1989. Went to the public Library - found a book for St Mary's Catholic cemetery in Baltimore, with a list of everyone buried there who had a marker of some sort. This book is old and lists by section and grave #.

Almost 3,000 miles away and still found valuable information. GO to your local Library and USE it.

Told on February 19, 2007:

How my parents met, by Bud Flanagan --

Mom lived in St Ignatius parish and Dad in Sacred Heart Parish in Baltimore, about 8 miles apart, but in a straight line of the streetcar tracks, # 25 line up Falls Road.

It was a practice at that time for the churches to have fund raising activities such as Street Fairs and Bingo.

One of my Dad's friends went to St Ignatius and invited him to one of their Fairs.

My Mom was working at the 'Spin the Wheel' booth where you put your money on a number, spin the wheel and if lucky, your number comes up, you get a prize.

Well, my Dad saw my Mom, wanted to meet her, so he stayed at her booth. Lo and behold, she ran out of prizes. The parish priest was walking by and my Mom asked him for more prizes. He didn't have any more so he picked up my Mom, put her on a number and spun the wheel.

You all know what happened, and here I am.

Told on January 17, 2008

My Father's generation grew up in a small house on the side of a hill in Mt Washington, a suburb of Baltimore, Md., There were 4 boys; William, Frank, Joseph & Edward and two girls; Helen & Margaret.

Any one who went to the store of the church from up the hill had to pass by the Flanagan's place. Hence, it was unofficially named Flanagan Lane.

It was on the city maps up to 1940. After that date, it was given another name.

I was fortunate to have a legal drawing of the property with the names in place.