Days of My Years
An Autobiography by Margaret Ethel Fisher
May 6, 1897 - January 3, 1981

My husband, James Lee Fisher, Youngstown Ohio has urged me on numerous occasions to write down the story of my life. At last in the 82 year of my life I have begun. I was born in Philadelphia, Pa, May 6th 1897. I am sure my father had hoped his first born child would be a boy. Three brothers followed me, Robert the eldest, then John and Henry. All are gone. These are lonely days for me with my husband aged and ill confined to a hospital bed and chair. It is difficult for me to adjust.
June 15, 1979

Lillian (Bell) Zellman and her son Rob My birth, May 6th, 1897, was no earth shattering event. It took place in my parents home at Fourth and Tree Streets, Philadelphia, Penna. I was delivered by a woman physician from, (I believe) the Pennsylvania Hospital. I recall this from my mother's comments and I assume the hospital mentioned because of the later use of this hospital by my parents. The female physician was undoubtedly an Intern. My mother (photograph at right with her son, Rob) thru her experience favored women physicians. I believe further that my birth took place in the forenoon. Time has erased some statements made by my mother. What my father thought of the first born being a daughter, I never heard. Later there was born to Lillie Bell and Robert J. (son of Joseph) Zellman 3 boys. Robert J. Jr. ("Rob"); John, nicknamed later "The Professor" by my mother; and Henry. My mother was of American-born Irish parentage.

Margaret Ethel Zellman in her confirmation dress, 1908 All Grandparents were American born. My maternal grandmother was proud of her Irish blood and would at times assume an Irish brogue when in conversation with Irish neighbors. My aunts would chide her with "you would think you were born in Ireland to hear you talk, Mom." Because of this her first born, my mother, was baptized Bridget which in her girlhood she changed to Lillian or "Lillie". The popular actresses of my mother's youth were Lillian Russell and Ethel Barrymore. I assume this influenced her choice of name change and of naming her daughter Ethel. My mother adored me. She took great joy in making beautiful things for me: dresses, hats, coats, graduation and confirmation clothes. All photographs and snaps of me prior to her death show her handiwork. She embroidered beautiful lace collars. Two she did of Irish crochet are in the trunk in our attic. They need repair. Also there is a blue linen suit she made for me when I was 16. (Some later alterations are mine). A blouse I purchased and wore when 18 is in my closet.

Her marriage and life with my father was not a happy one. She was in love with a young doctor from Elwyn Institute, where she had worked prior to marriage. He married another. She talked little of this, though I sensed the situation.

Margaret Bell and Lillian Zellman, Ethel's grandmother and mother Railroading was the great advance in transportation during the mid eighteen hundreds. Most of the young men of this era were thus employed. My maternal grandfather worked for the Penna railroad. (I do not know what capacity). As did my father and maternal uncles. My father lived into his 80's. My maternal grandfather died at age 55. Cause of death - pneumonia. My maternal grandmother was a short, roly-poly, active woman (seated left in photo at right). Born Ashland, Pa. Schuylkill Co. I am most like my grandmother Bell in temperament. Except the roly-poly. She was an excellent cook having worked as such for a short time upstate in a private home as a girl. She moved rapidly in everything she did even in her late years. My mother was the same until her Tubercular conditions felled her. During her short life, each night she would put up my hair in cut black stocking strips for curls as I sat in my old high chair. She entertained me with Mother Goose and Fairy Tails. And the Saturday night bath in a wooden tub before the fire was a ritual. Each Sunday afternoon, dressed in a lace trimmed white dress, made by my mother, I went by street car to Grandma Bell's. This was a journey with change of trolley car at 15th and Chestnut which took ¾ of an hour.

My weekly visit was always welcomed by a large family of Aunts. My Grandmother would immediately take me to the table and serve me whatever special dessert she had made. I adored her! And Grandma's home was always an exciting place. I especially remember Sunday night suppers. A long table - Aunts in late Victorian starched white blouses, pompadours - all chattering and gay. Nan, the youngest at 16 with a long pigtail ending in a curl, was very lovely, very thin and died early of a lung hemorrhage.

Grandma gave birth to eleven children, three of whom were boys. Andrew died in infancy. Uncle ("Matt") Matthew died of T.B. When I was about eleven. He had served in the Spanish American War as a Marine officer. His portrait in uniform hung in Grandma's parlor with other family portraits. I remember Uncle Matt's last days, especially the wet linen handkerchief he kept over his face for comfort. He had contracted Yellow Fever in the Philippines and on his demise was given a Military Burial with honors. I was just a child, but the graveside ceremony was most impressive and Military representatives delivered taps and a simulated echo came from the nearby woods.

Grandma Bell's maiden name was Reddington. She married John Bell. The union was a happy one. My mother was their first born. I was the first grandchild and I can remember Grandpa Bell taking me for walks with him in the woods as a small child. We would go thru the neighborhood "square", (in Boston they are called "Commons"), and Grandpa would hold me up - aged 4 or 5 - to pick a taboo geranium from the planted urns! Once he took me to a saloon and Grandma really lit into him. He wanted to show me off - but she knew that I was just an excuse to get off to the neighborhood saloon. When he was in his last days, he could not get out because of illness. I well recall that he would say, "Meg, I want my pants." She would reply, "They are not dry yet." She kept a pair on the clothesline constantly wet so he would stay in bed. I can still see that pair of dark wet trousers hanging on the clothesline.

Aunt Mame Redington Of the daughters born to Margaret Bell (nee Redington) and John, besides my mother were "Mame" (portrait at right), who was married to Fred Geiger at a double wedding when my father and mother married. Then Kate, Margaret, Helen (Nell), and Nan. There were three sons, Andrew, (died as an infant), John, Matt, and Will. There was a cousin who lived "upstate" and whom I didn't know except by letters. Later we became very close companions since there was but a few years difference in age. She was Alice and later became the one responsible for my introduction to a young man from New Castle, Penna. This took place at a dancing school run by a very special gentleman, Professor Coll.

When I was about 15 years old I learned of Coll's from a neighbor boy who attended. An Irish family, the McCues, lived at the end of our street, 47th and Paschal Avenue. They were a fine family of sons and the older boys were in the plumbing business with their father. Frank was bout 18 and we would chat and visit together at times when we met out on the street. He would tell of having attended dances at Coll's and I expressed curiosity. When Frank and I were discussing this once I was so impressed that I said I would love to go sometime and he said he would take me. He did! My hair was still in long curls with a bow on top when he invited me. How thrilled I was!

That night was a real adventure for me. I did not know one step from another. Frank was a perfect gentleman. Told me to one-step and how to do it. We one-stepped all around the dance floor. He couldn't change pace, reverse, or ask another girl, for he was my escort. I distinctly heard another young man ask Frank, "What Convent did you get her out of." It was the beginning of many happy times at Coll's.

Professor Coll was a very special person. He was short, somewhat rotund, wore black knee length satin trousers, black silk stockings, black pumps and claw-hammer tailed coat. He insisted on correct decorum at all times. Any deviation from this was handled immediately by him. Gentleman conformed or they were not permitted to stay.

There were Assembly Nights (Mon), Tuesdays were Class Nights and Saturday Night was Party Night. At class nights he would choose an attending girl and demonstrate steps. Later I was thrilled once to be chosen for this. Assembly night we lined up one long line of girls facing one long line of boys. We walked toward each other and the facing two students became dance partners. He instructed all steps. As we became more advanced in the steps we attended "Party Night" - Saturday - and guess what!

My cousin Alice and I always went to Coll's together for class and assembly. She would come home with me afterward and stay the night, having advanced in our dance routine good enough to attend the Saturday evening party night. There were special Holiday Affairs too which necessitated costume dressing: Valentine's Day, Halloween etc. These were happy times! The first World War was 2 or 3 years away and here was where boy meets girl.

One wonderful night Alice came over to me on the dance floor at Coll's and said she wished to introduce me to a very nice boy, her partner: Bud Fisher. For me it was love at first meeting. I didn't really know it was love but there was a rapport. He was blond, just my size, (was of course slightly taller) was quiet and calming in his manner. I thought he was wonderful! From there on no other boy admirer mattered.

He had been observing me from afar and had asked Alice to arrange an introduction. He later related having seen me at a Halloween costume dance and described my outfit - made by me - as that of a Dutch Girl. It was a Harem costume. Also he had observed me on a street car returning from Grandma Bell's.

We had from there on until we married, an idyllic friendship. He had other girls, I had other suitors. But for me there was no other who measured up to my ideal. We met in 1915 - my first letter from him is so dated. We were married in 1919. Four years of knowing and loving the only man who was right for me! (My mother's unfortunate marriage probably influenced my thinking. Her unhappy life has been a great influence in many ways. She had so much to offer but her short life with my father never leaves my thoughts. Her married life was a tragedy!

She tried to escape it in many ways. She tried to commit suicide when I was about 12 or 13. She swallowed Carbolic Acid!! I remember as they carried her out to an ambulance and her saying, "Ethel - you go ahead and take part in your school play". An Indian playlet. We had may episodes. Her running away from home to escape my father's brutal manner. In my later adult years I had no respect or love for my father. While my mother was dying of T.B. he was courting his future wife - Edith whom he married within a short time of my mothers untimely death at the age of 42. I was 19 years old.

Elthel Zellman and her friend Marie O'Keefe My mother's illness began about 5 years prior to her death. She was hospitalized for a "pleurisy" and the treatment was fresh air, sunshine and lots of milk. But it was a losing battle. As the oldest and the only girl it was my responsibility to run the home for my father and three brothers. The experience was a good thing for me. I would pack my father's lunch, get breakfast for all of us, send the boys off to school and go myself. Return home to put the house in order, make beds, prepare dinner. This happened frequently over the five year period. Between lapses my mother would be greatly improved and would make dresses for me and even several hats. She was very capable. I remember once when I was to go to a teenage party on a Sunday night she cut out and made a new plaid dress for me to wear sewing all day Sunday. Another time she made a summer cotton coat for me - and when Marie O'Keefe (at left in photograph at right with Ethel) my chum admired it, she made one for her also. Mine was pink. Marie's was blue.

To identify with something or somebody is a human trait and I have been no exception. As an adult, I have always identified with our Colonial period. Possibly because of my birth and youth in Philadelphia. As a young woman I also had the thought that I had had another existence as a person in Colonial times. I guess it was because my people and my city meant so much to me. My paternal side was of three generations in that city.

I was of German and Irish stock. The German strain from my father's family and the Irish strain from my mother's. My Grandmother Zellman's maiden name was Elizabeth Fox and her family was well established in Philadelphia. I know that Eliza Fox was the daughter of a man whom I was told owned a great deal of property in South Philadelphia. He may have been in real estate. I have no idea! But her people were of substance for in the days when it was uncommon for middle class people to own a piano (this would be early 1800's) her family owned a piano and she was given lessons. They never produced a musician as far as I could ascertain. When I was old enough to discern (?) things, she was a widow. Her husband died young, I know not of what cause, and left her with three small children. Robert J. Zellman, who became my father, Henry called Harry became "Pud" believe it or not - and Elizabeth. As a young widow, my grandmother had to eek out a living and rear her children alone. She never remarried.

Elizabeth, her daughter who became my Aunt was a beautiful woman. Germanic type blond and petite. Philadelphia abounded with outstanding legitimate theatres - and to bring in income my grandmother obtained theatrical engagements for her daughter. Even my own father, as an 8 year old boy, was doing bit parts in theatrical shows in our city. Harry, called "Pud", was something else however. As a girl, I remember he never did anything constructive. So evidently, as the son a widowed mother, his contribution was negligible. He never married. My father was apprenticed to a tailor.

My father became my mother's second choice for a husband. As a young woman she worked as an assistant at Evelyn's Institute, a school for the retarded and feeble minded. She evidently was in love with the son of the physician who headed the institute in the late 1800's. I believe he also was a physician. He courted her but evidently preferred another. My mother subsequently married Robert J. Zellman, the youngest son of Robert J. Sr.

The current and dominant industry during the 90's (1890's) was railroading - just as automobiles and aircraft became later. My father was a railroad conductor in the "local" yards of the Penna Railroad. He would often take me with him and let me ride the locomotive from Broad Street for 4 or 5 blocks. I would sit in the Engineer's seat and pull the bell for crossings. A great thrill for a little girl 8 or 10 years old. Later he told of many terrible accidents, the result of the crude coupling devices used at the time. The man would have to stand and by hand put the coupling pin in the joint between box cars. Men were often crushed to death as a result of this procedure. My father's boyhood chum John Thompson, was a handsome bachelor known as "Uncle John". We loved him! He showered me and my brothers with gifts on every holiday. George Washington's birthday would come hatchets filled with cherry candies. At Christmas, gifts to me of a gold ring or necklace. No holiday went by without a gift from him. Lying in bed as a child, I could smell his expensive cigars while he visited downstairs with my parents. ( A pleasant odor). For those days he was considered "big stuff". He was an Engineer for the PRR line running between Philadelphia and Washington D.C. and well salaried. He and his sister Margaret lived together after their parents death. Neither married. I remember my parents talking that their father had awakened one night to find a robber in the house - got his gun and shot and killed the man as he was escaping over the high board fence. The father never got over the shock of this. Another boyhood chum of my father's was a Jewish dentist located in Germantown.

Around the age of 6 to 10 we lived in a 6 roomed house on Alter Street just off South Broad. (Between Federal and Warton. Near to Ash Ave. R.R. line). I have many happy memories of this time in my life. In summer, almost everyday the sound of a marching band on Broad Street would send us scurrying. My brother and I would grab wooden boxes or my mother's washtub bench, anything, and run to secure a curbside position to watch and enjoy the sights and sounds. Philip Sousa and his band was a common occurrence (with all his outstanding marches). And the fantastic ornate costumes of the mummers along with clowns and on New Years gorgeous floats there at our doorstep.

The Mummers was a highly organized, and still is, association of various individual societies, most of which were formed in the 1800's. The names of these different organizations escape me. But as youngsters we were familiar with them.

We lived near the N.W. end of the street and a German couple lived next door at the end. They were ardent gardeners. They worked each day as I do now. I especially remember how they tended their grapevines and arbors as is done in Germany.

Our home had white marble steps and a white marble slab facing across and under the downstairs front windows. It was my weekly job (Saturdays) to scrub these and also the wooden seats in the outhouse. There were no indoor toilets in common use then. Once loudly crying because I lost scrub brush down the privy, our German neighbor lady came to inquire thru the wall that separated each side, as to my grief. Because it meant purchasing a new brush I was pretty concerned. She soothed me. In those days a brush probably sold for ten cents but I was at fault and concerned.

Other memories of these days were the red brick side walks which we also, with brush, scrubbed around the bottom step when soap drippings made it necessary. Cobble stone streets on Main streets except Broad. There were no automobiles in common use. Hired carriages were used for big occasions. And horse drawn black cabs more often hired on Sunday afternoons for outings on Broad St. These were big occasions and were used by young men to impress their "girl". I remember once going with an Aunt and boyfriend.

The saloons spotted all along Broad St. were well attended on New Year's Day. During this period other memories are of McCrystal's Saloon on Broad St. draped in black. This common custom was when Mr. McCrystal died of blood poisoning. He had been treating a corn and infected it. Also a death resulted from a nuninmurs parade participant - who painted her baby all over with gold paint and died of blood poisoning.

We had outstanding shops on Broad St. Memory of a candy shop remains especially fresh because of their fondant coated green grapes - almonds - or tangerine segments. And the Philadelphia ice cream was renowned: Fresh strawberry or peach, burnt almond, and great vanilla bean - vanilla. We took our best cut glass bowls which were filled with rounded scoops of these delectables. A dull waxed paper cover slapped on top by the attendant - and off we went triumphantly home on a Sunday late afternoon. Once en route home I was accosted by 3 or 4 colored boys who hit me and tried to yank the bowl out of my hands. But I held with a vise like grip to that precious burden - and they departed.

At this time I recall the death of a woman who lived in a large brown stone house on Broad - near our street. The notice of a sale of her furnishings was learned by my mother and I recall the purchase of royal blue carpet with gold colored round medallion designs in it which she purchased. This became our parlor carpet.

A dear little white haired old lady was a special delight to me. I always loved white haired old ladies. (Sadly refused to be one myself in later years.) This one was Mrs. Spring. She had a small cottage in a court near our street. Her home charmed me. I remember it equally as vividly as the little lady herself. It was a perfect niche of old Philadelphia and as a little girl I would visit her often.

Because of my father's work we had always to live close by the railroad lines. From Alter St. we moved to 1926 Latona (?) St. which was between 19th and 20th and between Federal and Wharton Sts. Memory of this house is sketchy. I recall however an excellent small shop nearby which sold yard goods, needles, etc., essentials in those days. Though still a child I was impressed by these homey things. Today everything is streamlined. What a loss.

During this period we lived not too far from Aunt Lizzie. (Does everyone have an Aunt Lizzie?) Mine was my father's beautiful blond sister. She had been courted a number of times in her life. Her first betrothed had died. She eventually married Uncle Andy, (Andrew Atkinson), who was her senior by 18 years. This was a happy marriage and 2 children were born to them. William (Billie) and Elizabeth, the daughter. After my marriage I severed relations with my father's side of the family. This was not too bad. But Billie did look us up once when we lived on Warren Ave. He had much of the artistic ability of his mother. He had tried his and at song writing - but I have never heard of any hits of his. Where he or his sister are today, I have no idea.

Uncle Andy was a very prosperous business man. He owned teams of horses and wagons as well as the oyster restaurant he owned and operated on 19th St. My father would go on Saturday night to help his sister on their busiest of nights. I have watched Aunt Lizzie prepare the oysters for frying. There were always 2 deep iron kettles filled with hot fat. I recall asking Aunt Lizzie about this and she said it was "oil". Olive oil surely. This was before Crisco - etc. She had prepared the oysters with two coatings of bread crumbs, bread crumbs and then coarser crumbs, and egg mixture. They went into the first vat of hot oil and were transferred into the second vat of hot oil for finishing.

The oblong covered boxes used for packaging of carryout service always were shoped(?) up to fill them with 6 fries - a slice of dill pickle - a handful of small hard oyster crackers and a piece of wax paper on top before closing. I can still smell the redolent odor of them. Always on Saturday night my father would bring home, after assisting at the restaurant, a box of these still warm delectable, hiralnes (?).

I am fortunate in so many ways that both sides of my family were in the oyster restaurant business. Grandma and Grandpa Bell also had an Oyster restaurant. In those days every neighborhood had one. It was a way of life in my girlhood. And though called Saloons - no liquor was ever served. There were panned oysters, oyster stew, fried, half shells, any way requested. And clams too of course. Fish was not ever cooked and served. But fresh caught fish was always available at stands in every neighborhood. They were scalded, cleaned, filleted when requested and wrapped fresh to take home for cooking. No frozen shipped in stuff! And our vegetables were fresh everyday from the Garden State New Jersey.

Our favorite spot, Alice's and mine and for hundreds of others, was Whitman's. We went there for sodas and their ice cream. Their chocolates were renowned. It was always jammed with customers. Philadelphia was the birth place of ice cream in the Colonies - said to be introduced by Martha and George Washington though originated in France. During our children's days it was made at Warren Ave. The making of ice cream every Sunday was a ritual. When I was a girl in Philadelphia we took our best cut glass bowl to the confectionary store to be filled with the flavors of our choice. When our family lived just off Broad - (Alter St.) I would be assigned the pleasant task during those hot summers to get the ice cream. What excellent ice cream it was: Vanilla made with grated vanilla bean (looking like pepper to us children but tasting so wonderful) and burnt almond which I've never had since leaving Philadelphia. (Always in round scoops). Once when sent by my mother to get the ice cream, I was attacked (that long ago) by a group of young teenage colored kids. One hit me and tried to wrench the bowl out of my grasp. But I was not to be easily robbed of my mother's best cut glass bowl - and the ice cream. I guess my hold on that bowl deterred them for they gave up.

Grandma Bell's sister, a slender tiny woman (Grandma Bell was roly-poly) married to John Gannon (?) lived at 940 S. 2nd St. Philadelphia. (fell down "shot tower")

During my mothers long illness (she had an indomitable spirit!) when she would have a worsening of her illness - a great aunt - Grandma Bell's sister Mary Ann would come to help out. She was there through Mamma's final days. And Aunt Mary who was a dainty woman and sister to Grandma Bell would help occasionally with a personal call and sometimes bring a light pudding or Jell-O dessert. In those days it was not possible to purchase commercial Mayonnaise and my mother while confined to bed asked that I bring to her a bowl set inside another bowl full of ice. That I also bring olive oil-lemon juice, salt, eggs-and beater. Sitting up in bed she made a container full of homemade Mayonnaise. My love of good food came from both Father and Mother.

And still another day she got out of her sick bed, dressed and with market basket on her arm, took the street car to the famous 2nd Street open market (Now gone but had been in continuous use since Colonial times.) She had often gone there to purchase produce. She was pale and thin and the street car Conductor was so concerned about her that he commented on it. She related his comment to me as, "Lady you look ill, are you alright?" Her death came at five minutes to 7 a.m. July 5th-1916, I was 19 years old. She never had the life and love she should have had. I was once told, "She was the best dressed woman in South Philadelphia." She had so much to offer-and was so little appreciated.

My father lost little time in marrying again. Edith who lived up the street was getting much attention from him. I do not recall just when they married-but I was asked by my father to take care of the bridesmaids and bridal bouquet-and the reception arrangements of food, etc. It was I believe about three months after my mother's death. Then it was customary to wear black for one year following a death-and though today some manners and behaviors are different and no black is worn, I was appalled at the thought of my father marrying so soon.

Margaret Ethel Fisher I took care of all details, the flowers, food, guest list, etc.-and so they were married in our home. Though we had been through a long, trying illness that had ended in my mother's death, life was not the same. Edith had a younger sister-they wished her to come live in our home. Life was made very hard for me. Both suitors I had, one a dentist, one a physician, were pianists. The piano was locked so no one could use it in the evening. And a padlock (believe it or not) was put on the refrigerator door. Life became unbearable. They wanted me away-and my room for Edith's younger sister. I finally conformed because I could not be happy under these circumstances. My chum whom I met at age eleven-and her family invited me to live with them. I took my clothing and small belongings across the street to their home in November and was married the following March 15th 1919. Edith's sister immediately moved into my vacated room. It was a bad time in my life. Nevertheless the four years prior to our marriage were happy ones in many ways. I had other suitors. Two proposed marriage. One a young man who attended Pennsylvania State and lived in our adjoining neighborhood. Another a dentist, graduate of University of Pennsylvania and taking G.P. work while conducting an active practice on Chestnut St. near the university. His home was in Pendleton, Oregon. Both were serious proposals. I was happiest with "Bud" Fisher. He and his close friend Austin Ninor would organize ice skating trips to Fairmount Park's frozen lakes. Because of their close friendship Minor would be a third party to many of our social get-togethers. We have happy memories of these. Minor was a delight! Finally Bud and I decided to get Marie O'Keefe, my friend from age eleven to accompany him. Both were of Irish extraction. We thought this would be a compatible couple. But not so. They fought! Especially when Minor heckled her. The plan died o'bouning!(?) When the boys were in class they would be planning a skating party and Bud would write out a formal invitation to the "A and I Skating Club Meeting". We would meet at the Reading Terminal Depot at Chestnut and 34th and go out on the train to the Fairmount Park Lakes. These were idyllic times.

In those days there were few private home telephones. Only the very rich had these. Messages were sent (in large cities) to the closet store or shop in the hope that there would be someone available to convey it. When Bud phoned me for a date to take me to Coll's or to a moving picture theatre he phoned the grocery store at 47th and Paschal Ave. Mrs. McElhaney would say "I'll see if there is someone I can send up for her". She would locate a young boy and give him the message that I was wanted on the phone. And down I would hurry to hear a quiet voice say, "Can I have a date to take you to Coll's?" Could he? He could!

Long years afterward, when I was back at my Grandmother's for a visit with Jim - a baby, I saw Mrs. MacElhaney sitting across from me in the street car. She had played a large part in my love romance and my life really. Every morning before breakfast I went down to her store to buy 6 cinnamon buns for our breakfast. She and her husband were a part of our neighborhood life. Sticky cinnamon buns - warmed for breakfast - was a part of Philadelphia. Even yet I can think of them with pleasure - although those sold as such today are not the same.

Philadelphia Pepper Pot and Bean Soup made from a ham bone (after all the slicing meat was gone) were happy moments in our youth. Even today I can get a great satisfaction out of a bowl of Campbell's Pepper Pot - a fair substitute. These were made by my mother always on Monday (wash day) and the odor of them permeated the house when we came home from school for lunch.

Margaret Etlel Zellman Most of my married life has been spent, first establishing a family, then in club work. In cooperation with a wonderful husband and father we reared three children, two sons and a daughter. Our first born, a lusty son named for his father was born December 22, 1919. We still lived with father and mother Fisher and I must say that during those years "Jimmie" was more theirs than ours. Mother Fisher taught him many worthwhile things. And father would take him in the cart he built especially for him, on long treks mostly thru Mill Creek Park. This relationship was invaluable to all concerned and I know Jim retains poignant memories of it. Mother and Father's home spot was so beautiful in the early days. Especially so to a girl reared in large city and more familiar with asphalt streets and the bustle of big business. Earl Avenue was a so-called "blind street". Summer Street ran north and south but ended along the way before reaching Earle which was still a dirt street when I arrived in December of 1918 to meet Bud's parents. I returned to Philadelphia and we were married the following March 15th, 1919 in Philadelphia at the Arch Street Methodist Church, Broad St. and Arch. (See American Heritage December 1971 issue in our Library). This was were "Bud" - J.L.F. attended church when a student at Jefferson Medical College. Now renamed Thomas Jefferson University.

Hupmobile 1915 In 1918-19 Earle Avenue was still unpaved and the ruts made by wagons and a few automobiles would freeze and stay that way most of the winter. I was living thru an "era" - but what young people think of an era? We felt very modern. The Fisher's had no car at the time, though there were - and still are snapshots of a smart Hupmobile towing car (see image at right) they had owned. That Christmas time of my visit became memorable in many ways. There were quiet conferences between the Fishers that ended in a little Ford Roadster for "James". He was an intern at the Youngstown Hospital which constituted our year of service on the wards. What is now known as South Side Unit was the Youngstown Hospital then and James - my "Bud" - walked back and forth from the hospital to his parents home. The streets were not as built up with homes then, and short cuts were thru such streets. He could walk from Francis St. and Oak Hill to the east end of Earle Ave. in 15 minutes.

Letters flew back and forth between Youngstown and Philadelphia. And what precious letters they were! I had spent a week in his parents home during the Holidays, 1918. We were very much in love and marriage was inevitable but there were hurdles to be met. He had his medical career to plan for. He had mo money to take a wife. I had a well paying good position with the W. Philadelphia branch of the United Gas Imp. Co. (52nd and Baltimore Ave. W. Philadelphia). I was assistant to the Pay-Master having been promoted from a clerk for meter readers. One among many including my closet friend Marie whom I had helped get the position. She was still a Day Clerk. "Readers" reported in each day. We sat on high stools at long desk counters running adding machines.

At 7:00 am the 5th of July 1916 my poor Mother's life ended at the age of 42. I was of course at home…..

Additions: My paternal grandmother, Elizabeth Fox Zellman, was widowed at 27. She married Robert Joseph Zellman. He died at age 28. Robert Joseph Zellman Sr. turned catholic to marry Elizabeth Fox. He said the Zellman's were from Southern Germany on the Rhine River. They had three children, Robert Joseph Zellman Jr., Elizabeth and Harry "Pud". Elizabeth married Andy Atkinson and had a son named Willie. Robert Jr. married Lillian Bell and had 4 children Margaret Ethel, Robert, John and Henry.

Margaret Reddington's mother's maiden name was Leonard.

The George Fisher Family History is a compilation of information gathered by Eric & Liz Davis. The html version was created by Eric and Elizabeth Fisher-Davis beginning in 2001.
Tree Outline of Fisher Generations