Sepia Saturday 2/27

This is my second in the Sepia Saturday series.


Peter Handlan MacVeigh, born in 1897, was the grandson of Peter Patrick MacVeigh who came to America during the great potato famine. My grandfather was a standout football player at Lindsley Academy, winning a scholarship to WVU, but the Great War broke out, and he enlisted. He was quite the rascal, running poker tables and convincing new recruits that they were required to turn in their civilian clothes, which he sold to soldiers going on leave. He got caught, busted to private and spent the remainder of his service as a ship's cook patrolling the Alaska/Russian border.

After the war, he married a volatile woman who threatened suicide constantly and one day succeeded. A widower, he met Emily Ransom, who was divorcing her first husband intending to marry her divorce lawyer. He was smitten, pursued her and they married 1929. Peter and Emily had a daughter, Judy in 1932, and a son, my father, Peter Ransom MacVeigh, 1934.





My Dad was a cutie. I'd love to tell you that his childhood was magical, and he managed to see it that way, but it wasn't. I'd love to tell you that Peter and Emily lived happily ever after, and to the casual observer it would appear so. But their marriage was tumultuous - Peter was a highly functional alcoholic in his youth, the life of every party, a kind soul who gave away every cent he ever earned. He was a brilliant businessman, who earned a great deal of money selling coal slag and lumber. He bought a farm, grew a bumper crop of tomatoes just as WWII came to a close and the bottom dropped out of the market, so he burned the tomatoes in the field, rather than lose money harvesting. He named the farm Waterloo. In the course of their marriage, Emily took the children and her father and left him; he chased her across the country, to get her and the children back. When he found her, she tried to shoot him, there was a trial, and although the charges were dropped, Emily lost custody and they divorced. But Emily was the love of Peter's life and Emily wanted her children back, and somehow, they remarried, this time for good. By the time I came along, they were this happy couple sitting on the porch steps.


If only the pictures could talk.

Sepia Saturday

Jenny and Emily Ransom, circa 1912, Wilkes-Barre Pennsylvania

They lived in amazing and trying times, as did all who came before them. Their great-grandfather rode covered wagons from Connecticut to the Pennsylvania frontier in 1773, descended from an indentured servant who came to the colonies in 1634. The Ransom family built forts, cabins and hacked farms and mills from the wilderness, fighting Indians, Pennites and British along the way. The sisters grew up a few miles from the town of Ransom, named for their great-great grandfather who perished in the Wyoming Pennsylvania massacre of 1778.


Jenny and Emily Ransom, date unknown, Atlantic City NJ

Together, they made their way east, looking for adventure, opportunity and love. During Prohibition, Jenny and Emily danced in a speak-easy. Raided one night, they were loaded into the paddy wagon filled with patrons and employees and hauled to the police station. Luckily, the police chief was a patron of their establishment, so he let Jenny and Emily dance the Charleston on his desk, entertaining everyone until bail was posted.

Jenny and Emily were the best kind of friends sisters can be. Jenny died of a heart attack at 50 leaving Emily sisterless for 20 years.

I have collected many facts about my grandmother Emily: she was taught to read the newspaper by 4, graduated high school at 16, worked as a Rosie Riveter building the Doolittle bombers, was a master bridge player, an excellent seamstress and an avid reader, always ready for adventure.

I knew Emily Ransom as my Grandma, with a twinkle in her blue eyes, urging me to see what I could of the world, and never settle for less. Life is short, she would say, so live it! I never knew any of her stories until well after she was gone. What I wouldn't give to talk to her now, to ask endless questions. I would most like to tell her that her great grandaughter proudly carries her name, her sharp wit, her quick laugh and that same twinkle in her sparkly blue eyes.

This post inspired by Sepia Saturday, a wonderful blogspot that encourages us to dig through our photo albums and share, and links to everyone participating each week. Check it out, maybe even participate. I didn't find it until week 12 and theres much to explore there.