"Pa" Ellis
Memories of a great man
by Phil Palladino
George A. Ellis died in April, nineteen forty-eight… I was not yet seven years old… and he had already made a terrific impression on me. Pa usually dressed the man he was, a tough and ready railroad man, with neat overalls, a red bandana, a vest or small coat in winter. On special occasions like the weddings of his daughters, he would, of course, wear a tux. The dress is all apparent in the photos that we have of him. Other attributes obvious in the photos is his broad smile, and his playfulness as he donned an upside down pipe at Aunt Jane's wedding. I think all laughter and playfulness in our families derive from him.
Pa was the first person that really affected me who died. He was laid out in his best suit in the front parlor at 804 River Street, Troy, NY. We were allowed to take time off from school and go downstairs to pay our respects. It was hard to believe that he would not just wake up and say "Pshaw! Fooled ya!" Pshaw was a big word with him. It seemed to fit in with his tobacco chewing and playfulness. I had seen it written in comic strips, and occasionally mom would use it when she was imitating Pa. It was an odd expression which I learned in about fifth or sixth grade was an interjection. Our son Dan, highly gifted in reading saw it in some book or other in Kindergarten and pronounced it "p-shaw".
Before the Ellis family moved into the first floor beneath us, the lived on Second Avenue, just over the Lansingburg border. My earliest recollection of this house has my unmarried aunts, Fran, Cappy, and Mary all living there. After Fran and Cappy married, one of the bedrooms was rented to an RPI student named Chet. I thought he was always working and studying. He recalls the first Saturday morning after his first Friday night out with his RPI buddies. Pa saw that Chet was in a serious state of alcohol withdrawal, a hangover. Pa poured him a glass of whisky and invited him to have "the hair of the dog that bit you."
When Pa retired at age 67 from the Boston and Maine railroad, I thought that it would be lots of fun growing up with him. It already had been- railroads, fishing and saws; what else could there be. A cerebral hemorrhage claimed his life only a year or so after retirement.
When the Palladino family was young and children seemed to come quickly in the early 1940s, dad bought the house at 804 and we moved upstairs where there were four bedrooms (sort of). Pa and Ma Ellis and Mary Ellis moved in downstairs about 1946. Spooky, a devoted white collie shepherd, beloved by all, came along too.
There was a shed in the back yard, part fairly well built which had been an outhouse in the early days, and the other part, a lean-to type structure which housed the garbage and ash cans, and a supply of wood. Pa got the better part of the shed. He had two hobbies which emanated from that shed- carpentry and fishing.
Pa, the Carpenter
Power tools were not yet part of the handyman's arsenal. He had hammers, saws, drills, nail punches, files, chisels, and other things. He said "There is a correct tool for everything." I believed he could do anything with his tools. I was intrigued by the drill, the rotation, the changing of the bits from small to larger and back again. I noticed how he started a cut with a saw, carefully guiding the blade with the knuckle of his thumb. He used different kinds of nails- some with big heads, and some with little heads. I could never figure out how he was able to nail them straight, or even how he could hit them with such a big hammer.
There are four pieces of his work still around. Two that I did not witness him building, a small book hutch and a square foot stool. The foot stool was for little George to stand on while he peed.
The vision of him building the other two lingers in my mind as well as the circumstances around them and the materials he used.
One was a stool for Jeannie's polio leg. Mom had apparently told Pa how important it was for Jean to have support for her foot while in bed after she had contracted polio. Pa designed a small low profile bench and built it in the shed and on the downstairs back porch. I remember him drawing the lines for the cuts. "Measure twice; cut once," was his standard as he folded and unfolded his fancy bamboo ruler. He was so careful and diligent as he assembled it. It was a simple, unfinished stool, maybe eighteen inches by eight inches and eight inches tall. The stool and St. Anne's oil from Canada (gently and lovingly massaged by mom onto Jean's foot) set Jean on the road to an astonishing recovery.
The other piece was different. It was a stable to house the Christmas crèche. Pa took some old pieces of wood that were around. The red pillars of the stable were parts of the legs of a broken card table. The bottom, back and top were from a black and natural checkered piece of particle board. He measured carefully to insure a uniform slope to the roof. He used the nail punch to drive the tiny headless (finishing) nails home. He never painted it. He left the decoration to his wife Ma (Jennie).
Ma Ellis proudly displayed the plaster nativity figurines in the front window. She laid a carpet of cotton on the roof for snow, and a small bed of cotton and hay in the manger for the child Jesus. The mystery of the God birth with the cast of characters, the humble and proud Mary and Joseph, the awestruck shepherds, the adoring magi, the star and the angel, was meticulously reconstructed in the downstairs front window for many years, enhanced by a string of blue lights. Passers by loved the effect, and there was a hush as they viewed the miraculous scene on a cold winter night. It was a destination for the neighborhood, old and young alike. Pa was responsible for all of that.
Pa, the Fisherman
Pa was also a fisherman. Before he and Ma moved into 804, they would occasionally spend a week or weekend at Saratoga Lake. Once when we visited them, Pa took us out in a row boat with his can of worms and fishing pole. He rowed backwards to my mind, always keeping an eye on us. He would get nibbles, catch a few fish that were too small, throw them back, have his bait stolen, ("Hah!" he grumped). He would rebait his hook (worms were ugly to me), cast the line out, watch the float, hold the line gently, waiting, patiently and quietly for the big one. I think he did catch one once in a while, although he seemed to throw more back than he kept.
One of my most traumatic experiences occurred at a sunset over Saratoga, with Pa at the helm. At first, the setting sun burned orange in the western sky. As it descended, it was obfuscated bit by bit by clouds and eventually, the sun disappeared. In my child's eyes, I witnessed the orange sun gradually shattering, piece by piece falling apart, and I worried would the sun come out ever again. The smiling Pa reassured me, and boy was I happy the next day.
After Pa moved to 804, we were set for some great adventures. Spooky was with him all the time, but not when we went out looking for night crawlers. I had no idea what a night crawler was, but we went out in the dark with a flashlight. We tip toed around, bravely, quietly searching for these creepy creatures with Pa brandishing a huge search light, and George carrying a can for the catch. "Aha! Got one," Pa would mumble, and toss it into the can. Again and again, he would utter words like "Gotcha!" or "missed him!" or "he got away." Pa's hands were all muddy. George caught the knack of it quickly, yanking the huge worms from their holes. Soon we had enough, and it was time for bed.
The next evening, Pa marched us armed with three fishing rods over to the Hudson River. Spooky trotted beside us eagerly on her leash. At the river, Spooky roamed free and enjoyed the cool water. She would run into the river and come out, dousing us as she shook the water from her body. Pa baited all the hooks and cast each of the lines out, and George and I became fishermen. George caught a sunfish, after a number of "bites". He called Pa at every little tug on the line, and Pa would help him reel in nothing and then recast the line for another "bite". He gently explained to George about the current, that it may feel like a bite, but it really wasn't. I had the biggest bite ever. My reel was turning like crazy. I didn't know what to do. I turned the reel lever first one way, and then the other, and back again. Pa rushed to my aid, but not before I had created the biggest backlash in fishing history. The black line was a mess of tangles, and the biggest fish in the world had escaped with my bait. Pa had to stop fishing to take care of me and all he said was "Hah!" I remember that he was still patiently working on that backlash a few days later in his shop with a smile on his face.
Pa, the Railroad Man
Pa worked as a car inspector for the Boston and Maine Railroad in the rail yards in Troy. On at least one occasion, he was cited for having discovered a cracked wheel on a rail car. Mom took George and me to visit him at the yard around quitting time one day. Pa always washed up before he went home. I will never forget how he scrubbed those big burly arms with a small blue star tattooed on his left arm. He then shared one end of a big green towel with his partner as they exchanged comments about the days work. At times thereafter, George and I shared a towel as we washed up for dinner, and I recalled "This is the way railroad men do it." Actually, we became railroad men with that action (ex opere operato) with the joy that we had witnessed and the hefty arms of those guys.
Railroad work was not easy, and it was fraught with danger. A few years before he died, Pa was hit in the jaw with a pressurized coupling hose. The broken jaw caused a lot of concern, but he returned to work, and eventually retired at age 65, still smiling.
Pa, in after life
I felt really bad when he died. He looked gentle as he slept. I was touched by his kindness and waited for him to come back. Mom said he went to heaven, and whenever there was a thunderstorm, we were assured that all was well because it was Pa up there bowling with the angels.
Pa is still with us. I hear a clock chime in our "Washington Room" and I am reminded of the story of how he met Jennie McQuillan. She lived on River Street near the firehouse with a view of the Hudson River and the best part of the view was George Ellis coming up from the river when his boat came in for the night at the dock at Middleburg Street. Pa worked on the boats running between Buffalo and Albany. He started doing this when he was about 14 years old. When he left home in Buffalo, NY, his mother gave him all that she could afford at the time, a clock. The clock was stored unceremoniously in the cellar at 804 for many years. When Phyllis and I married, we got the clock and had it repaired. It continues to chime his patience and his smile.
Margaret Radliff remembers
"I remember his smile and beautiful blue eyes and his wonderful kindness to a little kid (me)----I remember sleeping over at their house and him trying to get me to like bread soaked in milk as a before bed snack---I did my best to convince him I liked it (yuk)-------when one of aunt Mary's boyfriends would call he would stand behind the guy and stroke an imaginary mustache to tell me this guy is a villian. Most, I remember my mother speaking of him with adoration---she did adore him. They would go to early Mass together on Sunday, have breakfast together then begin preparing the Sunday meal for the rest of the family. She said they had a special spiritual bond between them since they received Confirmation together------because Grandpa became a Catholic around the time she was born.
I remember Saratoga Lake-----I was jealous because you and George got to go fishing and I did not------but then you explained how it was "a guy thing" and I understand now. I remember Uncle Bud soaping up in the lake to take his bath for the day------I remember walking with Aunt Fran at dusk holding hands and listening to the crickets watching the waves on the water.
"I remember Chet-------was he an RPI student? He used to borrow my comic books and not return them promptly enough so I would have to send somebody up to get them.
Did you ever make the chuck roast that they would cook----I realize now it is kind of a poor man's sauerbraten----all you do is shake vinegar over a chuck roast----make holes in the meat with a big fork so the vinegar gets into it----balsamic vinegar is really good especially since you would fry onions in butter in the same pan you brown the meat----cover and let it simmer on the stove until it is done then add potatoes and carrots, mushrooms----make a gravy------ delicious....I made it this past Sunday for dinner and Joey really enjoyed it."
