Dear Reynolds,

You know my children are spread out in age. I know how they felt; my siblings were too. My oldest brother, Tommy, was 17 when my youngest brother, Steve, was born -- just like your mother, Patty, was 18 when her sister, Suz, was born. Tommy and I were only fourteen months apart in age, so we had the closest relationship in those early years.

I celebrated my sixth birthday in June just before my brother, Peter Buck Farrell, was born in 1927. My sister, Patricia Anne "Patsy" Farrell was born in 1930 in March before my ninth birthday. When the baby of the family, Stephen Stuart Farrell, was born in 1937, I was 16 years old. Between Patsy's and Steve's births, brother Richard was born in December 1935 and died in March of the following year of an enlarged thymus gland. He is buried with our parents in Arlington National Cemetery.

My earliest memories of our homes are of the officers' quarters at West Point. Our house had a stone wall in front where you could look down on the main road. It was from there that I saw my first military funeral. I was impressed with the caissons and the riderless horse with the empty boots facing backwards in the saddle (a cavalry tradition signifying a lost soldier).

Sometime around 1928, Mother and Dad built 10 Holmes Dale, in Albany. It was a comfortable, white, wooden two-story house with a shingle roof and a detached garage. The front door and shutters were dark green. The family lived there until the 1940's.

The house had a beautiful entry hall with a living room to the left where the grand piano was located and a dining room to the right. There was a large kitchen in back with a breakfast nook, big pantry, back hall, and maids' quarters; the house included a spacious enclosed porch off the living room with a door to the back yard. An invitation to Franklin Delano Roosevelt's 1933 inauguration was framed and prominently displayed in the house. The hardwood floors were covered with oriental carpets. We would roll up the carpet in the entry hall once a month when the barber arrived to cut all of our hair.

When we were very young, Henry, my father's driver, chauffeured Tommy and me back and forth to school. I started grade school at Vincentian, a Catholic school run by the Sisters of Mercy. They were tough dames, and I hated them. I was a maverick -- always fighting with them over religion. I lasted there two years. My mother, deciding that I was a nonconformist, moved me to Miss Quinn's Academy, a small Catholic school. Classes consisted of six to eight students in each grade. The eight grades were taught in four classrooms. I skipped the Fifth Grade because I was the only student in it. From then on I was the youngest in all my classes. My favorite subjects were Math and Spelling. I won a lot of spelling bees in grade school.

After I graduated from Miss Quinn's, I attended high school at the Episcopalian's Albany Academy for Girls graduating at age 16. I was a "B" student, but hated Latin and Geometry. I flunked or barely passed both subjects and took them again in college. At the Albany Academy, I learned to ride horseback and spent most Saturdays competing in horse shows. During gym time, I was too short for basketball, hated baseball, but loved field hockey.

The one class I'll never forget was Public Speaking. We were not allowed to prepare. The teacher just called on us in class. This first time that happened I was paralyzed; I couldn't and didn't say a word. After that I learned to speak extemporaneously, but it is still not my favorite way to give a speech. I prefer to prepare beforehand.

I had just turned 17 years old when Mother and Dad took me to Manhattanville College in New York City. The first night I was there, a hurricane hit the city and all the lights went out. There I was in this old, old building; my parents had just left me. I was in the shower when the lights went out, and I couldn't find my way to my room. I was terrified. All I wanted was to go home. Ultimately, I survived the year and dealt with my homesickness. Wisely my parents did not let me come home every weekend. In the end, I actually liked the school.

I did make many long-time friends during those schools years, and if I have any regrets they would be that I didn't work as hard as I could or apply myself better. Hindsight is clearer than foresight.

Perhaps because of this, when my own children were growing up, I spent hours reading to them. I provided my children the opportunity for a good education and encouraged them to read and excel in school. If one of them need help with Math or another subject, I spent time in the evening going over the materials they needed to learn. Placing this emphasis on education in the home has become a value all of us in the family seem to share.

Love,
Grandmommy
(Barbara F. Vucanovich)