Whipple Family History & Genealogy

This story isn't much but it's been told for about a 100 years or so at this point. I may be the only one left who remembers it:

My grandfather, Raymond Graham Whipple, graduated from Drury High School in 1907. He was an excellent baseball player, a catcher, and played what they called "semi-pro" for a short time after graduation -- but he couldn't hit and that was that. He settled down and got married to my grandmother, Annie Boulger. He was an American of English and Scot descent. She was an American as well, and Irish --- as he was soon to find out.

Early in their marriage, "Nana" purchased a new suit for her husband. The occasion was (I believe) their anniversary. Evidently, at the first opportunity, they took a stroll down Main Street, my grandfather wearing his new suit, frankly showing off. My grandmother had on her sweater-coat The "sweater-coat" was nice and fairly expensive, but it wasn't a new suit. More importantly, it wasn't new.

Oblivious to his approaching near-doom, grampa leaned down and said to Nana, "Well, kid. I guess you can get your sweater cleaned............"

They were married for more than thirty years following that moment. By all accounts they loved each other very deeply. Even so, she never let him forget, "I guess you can get your sweater cleaned, kid."

rb

During the late 1950's or early 60's, I remember bowling candlepins at the alley on Main Street in North Adams, MA. There were two in town, the other was on Marshall Street. This one was on the second floor.

Candlepins are skinny, with narrow bases . You throw a ball not much larger than your hand and you get three throws per frame. It's not an easy game. The dropped pins are left where they fall and often prevent you from hitting those that are left standing. 110-120 is a very good score.....[I never did it.]..... It's still big time in Eastern Massachusetts.

That bowling alley didn't have automatic pin-setters, it had pin-boys who would come out from their hiding places at the end of the lanes and set up the pins for the next frame. It was real old-time stuff. Alot of fun.

It's gone now, of course.

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I remember a lady who would periodically and slowly make her way up Bethel Street to Nana's house (my grandmother.) We'd always say Hi. We knew why she'd come.
She read the tea leaves for Nana....(no bags.)

It was mesmerizing watching that lady sitting at my grandmother's kitchen table , Nana would be watching her every move, never saying a word (Nor did I...I wasn't sure Nana knew I was there..and I wasn't about to advertise my presence. Nana was pretty smart so she probably did.)

Now that I think of it, her name was Ceil. She was very sincere and no charlatan. Her facial expressions were slight, personal, unrehearsed ... this was serious business between her and Annie Whipple and it would not do to treat it otherwise.

I don't remember a single prediction of Ceil's, but I remember my grandmother's enjoyment of these sessions.

At some point, I don't remember the date, she stopped coming.

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There is a black & white photo of my wife. She's about five or six years old and she's very happily sitting in the saddle on a pony, waiting to have her picture taken. A miniature Dale Evans.

There is a black & white photo of me. I'm about five or six years old and I'm proudly sitting in the saddle on a pony waiting to have my picture taken. I was probably visualizing Roy Rogers (though Hopalong Cassidy is also a good bet.)

Excepting the obvious, the pictures are virtually identical.

My wife grew up in Texas. I grew up in Massachusetts. We were separated by 2000 miles.

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Mrs. Ralston was a legendary woman on our street. She figured largely in my early childhood --- Just as she had in my uncle Ray Whipple's.

The story goes that Mrs. Ralston would confiscate any ball that came over the fence into her yard. My uncle lost quite a few baseballs that way and eventually decided to get even. As he told it (to my mother from whom I got it), he took a baseball, put a hole in it and filled it with gunpowder. He then threw it into Mrs. Ralston's yard. She picked it up and as she always did, tossed it in the fire in the (presumably) coal stove in her kitchen..... with predictable results.

Since my uncle was never arrested for malicious destruction of property, or attempted murder, I never really swallowed the tale.

However, myths die hard and when I was a kid we knew better than to try to sneak into Mrs. Ralston's yard to retrieve a wayward baseball, or anything else for that matter. We didn't dare.

Until my last ball ended up in the forbidden zone.

I was carefully calculating the odds from the other side of her fence when she casually came out her back door, stood on the landing, looked me right in the eye.

I needed that ball. Expecting nothing, I asked her if I could go in and get it.

She nodded, saying only: 'Be quick about it,' and went back in her house.

I ran in there, but I wasn't quick about leaving. I had never been in her yard before. So I looked around, enjoying this unexpected experience. About 35 seconds later, I was out of there.

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Later I was to learn two important things about Mrs. Ralston, when she took care of me during the day for about a week (Nana couldn't and my parents both worked):

She was a nice lady, very kind to me. I also found out that she made the best peanut butter cookies I had ever tasted. (In fact, they are still the best I have ever tasted.)

It's good to know nice people. It's better to know nice ones that make peanut butter
cookies.

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rb

My mother, Ruth Margaret Whipple, grew up in an English, Irish, Scot household. Her father was a Congregationalist, her mother a Roman Catholic and she, her sisters, and her brother, were raised in her mother's church. She married a Baptist, Ray Bass. Her kids were raised as Episcopalians....... An American family.

She was very proud, however, of being Irish and Scot. Naturally, I knew that growing up ---- and some of it rubbed off on me. Like her, I loved the bagpipes. To me they were, and are, as sweet as any music or sound that man or nature can offer.

Years ago, there was a pipe band that put out an album whose lead-song was a huge international hit: "Amazing Grace", done on the pipes. I bought the album and played it frequently on my cranky hi-fi.

One day, coming upstairs to my room, I was surprised to hear that album playing. Entering, I saw my mother sitting beside the record player. She was crying.

She wasn't listening to "Amazing Grace." She was very quietly absorbing the pipers' melody of a song called "Going Home." I don't think it was even a Celtic tune, but an English one ..... Still, her memories of a grandmother who was Irish but born and brought up in Scotland (and spoke that way) and of others who were Scots lingered in that song.

Just like this one does in me.

rb

I Joi Dickerson an African American woman from New York City recently relocated to Los Angeles, CA. A few months ago I found 2 anonymous photo albums at the Melrose Thrift Store in Hollywood. Through my intrest and expertise in geneology I was able to locate the relative of the anonymous photos of the Whipple Family originally of Canada!