Wednesday, October 4, 2017

Oct 4 thoughts...

Danvers has been in my thoughts many times today, for a variety of quite different reasons. At breakfast time, our morning newspaper contained a story about the 60th anniversary of the launch of Sputnik, the first artificial satellite put in orbit around the Earth.  I recall going out one night with my parents onto an open slope where we could lie down and see a large segment of the sky, watching for Sputnik as it passed by. We saw it! We were on a slope above Rte 1, facing west, looking at the sky above Pine Knoll and Ferncroft Road.

This afternoon I pulled up a few carrots from my garden, and recalled that I'd been planting Danvers Half-Long Carrots for many years. This year's crop hasn't grown very long, though. My husband says they must be "quarter-longs" instead. Still, they are tasty, and have a Danvers connection.

Several email messages today, from unrelated people, also involved Danvers. A student working on a research project is seeking information about a woman in my great grandfather's family, who lived in Danvers.  Another inquiry came from a friend in Falmouth, asking me what handouts and A/V equipment I plan to use during a workshop we'll be co-teaching October 19 at the Massachusetts Councils on Aging Annual Conference; she also wanted confirmation of where we'll stay during the conference, which happens to be in Danvers this year. She's not familiar with Danvers, so I sent her some directions, and a link to MapQuest showing the route from our proposed lodging (with a Danvers classmate of mine) to the conference center, which is on Ferncroft Road.  I reflected on the many changes that have come to that north Danvers landscape (and the network of intersecting roadways) since the night I lay watching Sputnik travel through that sky in 1957.

Meanwhile, an acquaintance from western Massachusetts, where I now live, traveled to Danvers to do a library workshop today.  I had sent her a brief note yesterday, and she replied this morning, saying that her expected audience would be middle school students. I hope she'll be a resource to help my local public library with some similar programming in the future.

All in all, Danvers seemed to be in the air today. This evening I read an email forwarded by Onye Kamanu's wife Lillie; it linked to a BBC News article about Nigeria, dated today, Oct 4, 2017. The article describes Onye's early excitement and pride about Nigerian independence, and mentions that soon after Independence Day (October 1, 1960) Mr. Kamanu gained a scholarship to study at an American university. The article doesn't mention Danvers, but Danvers was definitely his first introduction to America. My parents applied to host an African student for a one-month "homestay" to provide some orientation to American culture prior to the start of university classes and dorm life. Thus in August 1962 Onye Kamanu arrived from Lagos after a long ocean crossing, and was welcomed into our family. He stood on our front lawn, in bright sunshine, and exclaimed how odd it was to have "sun without heat!" Onye became well known in Danvers during the next four years, as he rejoined us for each holiday and break from college. Onye and I like to reminisce about those times in Danvers. I'm glad to see his photo in the BBC story.

Sunday, September 24, 2017

Hooked rugs

"What ever happened to those rugs?" asked my friend Pat, after I shared stories of colorful hooked rugs created at my mother's request and enjoyed for so many years in Danvers, long ago. Although I hadn't seen those rugs for a decade, I knew exactly where they were stored – rolled in an old sheet, hidden behind rows of boxes, tucked away under the eaves on the third floor of my current home.

Pat was visiting me, an overnight guest in that same house. The next morning I surprised and delighted her with a display of those rugs. As I unrolled the bundle on the living room floor, I warned her that these old rugs were in sad shape, too worn and fragile to use (or to clean), but of such sentimental value to my sister and myself, that we couldn't throw them away.

One rug was made in 1942 (75 years ago!) and the second one in 1958.  Pat was impressed by how well preserved they were, and I had fun pointing out various designs and telling Pat what those images meant to me. We probably spent almost two hours examining those rugs, and taking photographs. The rugs won't last forever, but the photographs can help preserve the stories of these unique rugs, hand-hooked by Sadie May Morse of Marblehead, Massachusetts.

I have already written about my memories of these rugs, and how they came to be made. (Type "hooked rug" in the search box of this blog to find previous postings and old photos.)  Today my purpose is to share photographs of how the 75-year old rug looks now:

[Click on any image to enlarge it.]




A Swedish "tree of life" design was one of the inspirations for this rug.  Sadie May Morse placed that design in the center.  If you look closely, note the letter R hidden behind that tree.  (Elsewhere she tucked other letters of her last name.)

In the 1950's my father loved to play Tiddly Winks Golf on this rug. He usually placed a dictionary between the 2 ovals seen above, challenging us to play the "wink" from one oval to the other by jumping it OVER the book in one move, or playing it around the book. I showed Pat the set-up:


My parents loved to play ice hockey

My mother loved horses; my father had a sail boat; and they lived in a tiny house (see above)
Although this 75-year old hooked rug looks remarkably good in the photos above, I took additional photos to illustrate problem areas. This rug was constructed of wool strips hooked through a burlap backing. The aging burlap has disintegrated in places, especially along one line where the rolled-up rug had once been stored on a damp cement floor.




My mother attempted repairs, adding patches of denim fabric (recycled from old "dungarees") on the back side. She also was always very cautious when using a vacuum cleaner, not wanting to suck broken pieces of wool into the machine. Her preferred cleaning technique was to bring the rug outdoors and sweep fresh powder snow across the surface. The moist snow, when swept off, carried away the dust and dirt – a good gentle technique for surface cleaning.

Deeper cleaning would be a challenge, even when the rug was new. My mother often told the sad tale of the house painter who dropped a can of white paint onto this rug, and her frantic efforts to clean off the paint. She succeeded to some extent. As a child, I couldn't see evidence of that awful spill. But as I grew up and the rug worn down with heavy use, the old white paint embedded lower in the wool began to be revealed.  See these photos: 

White paint from a 1940's accident is visible.

On September 13, 2017,  just days after I took these photographs, I happened to encounter an enthusiastic group of women hooking rugs. What a timely and welcome surprise!  (I had traveled to Star Island in the Isles of Shoals for a 5-day retreat, and they were staying on Star island for a rug-hooking retreat.)  I enjoyed watching them hook. I shared these photos (which were still on my cell phone) and learned that they call such rugs "Story rugs." An appropriate name!   Many more stories to tell...   I'll post photos of the second rug (made in 1958) on another day.



Monday, September 4, 2017

1937 Photo



Today this image came up on my computer screen. Wow! That's my grandparents' house in Danvers! I recognized it instantly, though I had never seen this photograph before.

For fourteen years (1943-1957) I lived right next door. The photographer in 1937 must have been standing about where our house (built in 1940) would later be constructed.

"Uncle Will" refers to the Rev. William S. Nichols, my father's father – "Grandaddy" to me. I wonder why there were so many cars in that yard that day. The location was 123 Preston Street (later called Nichols Street), in the Hathorne section of Danvers. Today the street is called Conifer Hill Drive, with an office park occupying the area where our houses had been.

This photo was in a photograph album that belonged to one of my cousins, Dudley Brewster. His nephew Dave Brewster (son of Dudley's older brother David) has been digitizing old photos from family albums and occasionally posting batches of scanned images for family members to review. Each batch is a surprise; we never know what might be included. Some photos are puzzles: images of people or places not now identifiable. But this photo stood out as VERY familiar.

By the time of my childhood a big dense hedge blocked some of this view, and shrubbery had grown to cover the foundation of that sunporch (providing great hiding places during games of Kick-the-Can or Hide-and-Seek). I'm surprised to learn that the two-car garage by the house was already there in 1937. I thought of it as the "new"garage; the old one (out-of-sight to the right) became the first location of my father's hearing-aid manufacturing business, Nichols & Clark, Inc.

We assume Dudley took this photograph. I remember Dudley well, and he frequently had a camera in his hand. His label reflects what the older generation (his mother Annie Nichols Brewster and others) would have said, because Will was their uncle. "Great Uncle Will" would have been more accurate from Dudley's perspective, but we all tended to use the language of our elders as we identified relatives.



Friday, July 28, 2017

Small Rain

A favorite childhood book was Small Rain, by Jesse Orton Jones and her sister Elizabeth Orton Jones (Viking Press, 1943).   I loved the image on the cover.


Look closely at that image.  The same drawing is reproduced inside, without the strong color:

What book are the children reading? What image is on its cover?


And, what about those tiny children on that smaller book?

And, the ones on the tiny-tiny book they are holding? I was fascinated, thinking about how far this series might go...



I savored the pictures in this book as my mother read the accompanying verses. Here's a page with special meaning for me:
  [Click image to enlarge]
Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all ye lands...
I loved looking at these children, with such joy on their faces as they played and sang together.  I especially liked the girl with the drum, and the one with the tambourine.
Sandy with tambourine, July 29, 2017

Who knew that I would later (decades later) become a drummer, and in my 70's play tambourine, too!  For instance, I just played with twelve other musicians at a "Free as You Want To Be" festival in Greenfield, MA; we definitely made a joyful noise.

Back to the book...
I want to share a few other images. Here's a very calm, quiet one from the front of the book:



Here's a closeup of one part of a page, with girls picking spring flowers.

Note the bunnies hidden along the bottom border. Throughout the book there are details like this to discover if you look carefully.

As a child I especially liked the way some pictures "escaped" beyond the picture frame. A good example is the schoolyard scene:

 Note the boys hanging on the picture frame!

Last month I mentioned this book in a blog entry (see previous post below).  It introduced me, at a very young age, to endearing images of children – white, Black, Asian – playing happily together. Our town of Danvers lacked such diversity in my childhood. This book provided a valuable view of a more inclusive world.

Friday, June 9, 2017

Waking Up White


Reflections on Growing Up White in Danvers


This spring my daughter urged me to read Debby Irving's 2014 book, Waking Up White and Finding Myself in the Story of Race. I borrowed a copy from a library, and have just finished reading it. I'm now inclined to purchase a copy or two to hand to white friends. This is an important book, well-written and well worth sharing.

Debby Irving reveals, humbly and gently, her personal story of awakening to realities that for years had alluded her. Puzzles and frustrations in her adult life, involving teaching in multicultural settings, are seen in new light as she learns more about the perspectives of others, and re-examines her own assumptions and habits.

For me, the book rang many bells. It was both a "page-turner" – as I eagerly read forward, following her engaging story – and a thought-provoking book, causing me to re-read sections, reflect on my similar experiences, and occasionally grab my journal to write pages of reactions and reflections.

Danvers, of course, came instantly to mind. Like Debby, I thought I grew up in a "normal" family in a "normal" town. It happened to be all-white, but that wasn't thought of or commented on in any way; it was just normal. The first section of Debby's book is titled "Childhood in White" – entirely recognizable by those of us who grew up in Danvers, Massachusetts, in the 1940's and 1950's.  She could have been writing my memoir. Debby's descriptions of her New England upbringing, family values, and habits ring true in many ways. Details differ (her parents were more affluent and well-connected), but in essence we were raised the same way.

Like Debby, I was innocent (ignorant) and inclined to believe that the world was a nice place, and that hard work would lead to happy outcomes. For our families, that was mostly true. We had no idea then about the unfair and discriminatory policies in America that had led to unequal treatment of different people, and that led to all-white enclaves like Danvers and Winchester, where Debby grew up.

I remember the total shock I felt when my mother wrote to me about a lawsuit filed by a young black couple who were attempting to buy a home in a new housing development in Danvers, somewhere near the high school I'd attended. Discrimination against a black family? In Danvers? Could that really be happening? News of that case shattered my long-held belief that Danvers just happened to be white. The couple won their case, but chose not to settle in Danvers. My mother was keenly disappointed, but understood why they might wish to avoid Danvers after the controversy.

I was raised to believe that ALL people were equal. Not much was said about race, but illustrations in a favorite children's book influenced me greatly. I loved looking at the different faces. I saw multiculturalism in action, long before knew that word or idea. My parents were accepting of people from different ethnicities and cultures. They hosted international students.

One day my mother was proactive in resolving a potentially awkward situation that she suspected involved racial discrimination against an African guest. She wanted the guest to accompany my sister to school and observe a full day in an American high school. Permission for the school visit was granted, but the principal insisted that my mother drive the guest to and from the school. Why couldn't he simply ride the bus with Jean?  Not possible, according to the principal.  My mother resisted the unnecessary extra driving, which would cut into her working hours. The principal, when pushed, stated that HE would drive the visitor home, if necessary. My mother did the morning drive, but called in the afternoon to say that she'd be unable to leave work in time. The principal, now needing to interrupt his own busy schedule, decided that perhaps the bus ride made sense, after all. My sister and our guest traveled home together on the school bus. My mother was delighted by that outcome, which is exactly what she had hoped, and guessed, would happen.

Last night, after I read the final chapter of Waking Up White, I lingered over the notes at the end, and the Acknowledgements, impressed by the large teams of people Debby thanked for assisting her in the work that led to this small, self-published book.  For more information, see http://www.debbyirving.com/the-book/

And now, like my daughter, I am urging others to read it.  It is very readable!

Each chapter is short (often only 3-4 pages) and to the point, revealing one new step or puzzle along her journey.  I was intrigued by the way she figured things out and began to apply new understandings in her life, in some cases repairing old hurts and improving relationship with others.

There is optimism in this book – hope that by listening to others, and being open to learn from others, we can improve communication and relationships in our workplaces and communities. But first, those of us who are "white" need to acknowledge aspects of our "white culture" that get in the way.

Thursday, March 16, 2017

UNEX Jet

My father's factory in Danvers was called UNEX Laboratories. UNEX was the brand name of the hearing aids he designed and manufactured there. He liked to say that his products were "unexcelled" – hence he selected the name Unex. Over the years his company, Nichols & Clark, Inc., developed a variety of other products that carried that name. One of them was a plastic molding machine. In 1996, reflecting on his working life, he wrote, "To produce our products we even developed a hand molding machine and built a side business of custom injection molding plastic parts for the Route 128 trade!"

I remember his early experiments with plastic. Plastic material in the form of granules was poured into a machine that heated the material until it melted and became soft enough to be injected under pressure to fill a mold. This process could create many exact copies from one mold. While he was learning the process, he used pre-made molds for small toys, such as cowboys or animals, and shared the results with us, his young daughters. We enjoyed this influx of colorful plastic toys, and were not bothered by imperfections of some of his early trial runs.

These memories came flooding back when an unexpected email arrived in February 2017. A correspondence ensued, photos were shared, and I learned more about the plastic molding machine that my father developed. He not only used it in his factory, but also began selling the machine itself as a product called the UNEX JET.  The photo at right was sent to me by Jeff Saxton of St. Louis, MO, who still actively molds plastic parts with it!

Jeff's email inspired me to write the following piece for the Danvers Herald.

UNEX Jet: Daddy’s plastic molding machine 
by Sandy Nichols Ward

During my childhood, my father designed and redesigned hearing aids, gradually making the units smaller and lighter. The old metal cases, recycled from boxes in which nails were once sold, gave way to plastic cases for the newer models. Daddy was an electrical engineer, not an expert in plastics. For a while he had to rely on other companies to produce and supply the plastic parts needed for the assembly of his UNEX hearing aids. At some point he decided to learn how to make plastic parts himself.

Daddy’s early experiments with plastic were fun for us as children. The first molding machine he acquired came with molds for shaping small plastic toys. As he learned to operate it, he made soldiers, cowboys, Indians, and other figures in bright colors. The pieces were not always perfectly formed, but we weren’t fussy. We enjoyed the output of his molding experiments.

It was like getting prizes in the bottom of our breakfast cereal boxes, but these came freely, without having to eat the cereal.  I recall some talk about whether Daddy might begin selling plastic toys to cereal companies, but I don’t think he was serious. He also laughed off a crazy proposal that came his way about making an electric toothbrush. He exclaimed, “Who ever heard of such a thing?” (Years later he admitted that he’d missed an opportunity on that one.)

Daddy did proceed to make plastic parts, and in fact he designed a much better molding machine. He named it the UNEX Jet. With that injection molding machine he not only could make parts his company needed, but could make parts to sell to others. His factory, UNEX Laboratories on U.S. Route 1 in Danvers, advertised
“Fast Service – Low Cost
PLASTIC MOLDS & PARTS
For prototypes, short or production runs
of small injection molded plastic parts.”

I believe this became a good part of his business after hearing aid sales, because of medical advances, had decreased. He also began to market his improved molding machine. Later, the rights to that machine were sold to another company.

Last week I was surprised to receive an email from someone who owns one. Jeff Saxton, of St. Louis, MO, wrote, “Hello, I own a Unex Jet benchtop injection molder, and wondered if you had any further information on the Nichols & Clark firm as it relates to these small molders?”  I provided some information, and he shared a photo of his machine, which I recognized instantly. He bought it, used, in 1995 to make plastic parts for model train kits. With it, he has made thousands of parts (in eight different dies that he machined expressly for this machine). “It still works great, and that's a testament to your father's design.”

Jeff added some history that I had not known. These machines were sold by Hinchman Manufacturing  (Roselle, New Jersey) in the 1960’s, and later by Kissam Manufacturing (Mountainside, New Jersey), a company founded in 1976. Trade schools and small machine shops were the major buyers. Jeff’s machine wears a Kissam label. On the Internet we found a photo and description from Hinchman. To my eyes, the UNEX Jet looks identical, whether sold by Nichols & Clark (UNEX Laboratories), Hinchman, or Kissam.

I’m glad to know that some of them are still around and being useful. My father, Nathan P. Nichols (1912-1996), would have been pleased.  I certainly enjoyed being reminded of his role in plastics, and the toys that came from his early tests.
______________________________

Below are additional images sent to me by Jeff Saxton, who has been researching the history of the Unex Jet, and trying to trace the source of his machine.




Unex Jet Benchtop Molding Machine (#I2033)
Manufactured 1969
Specifications: Model 128MM
750 degrees
115/1/60
600 watt heater
5.2 AMPS
(from ad at jstrading.bizland.com/I2033.htm)


Jeff added an interesting note about the image above (from an ad). "See the cardboard box tucked under the machine? It's not just there as junk. I did the same with mine – the funnel that you feed the pellets into often spills over and so that box catches all the loose stuff that falls through, for re-use later. Mine doesn't do it quite so bad, as I rigged up a set of thin brass 'flow directors' that closed off a number of the places where stuff could escape. Also makes the floor easier to sweep up and walk on, since it's not covered in plastic pellets." 

Jeff also wrote on 3/7/17, "Another small piece of the puzzle I have found. It's a PDF of a trade publication from 1966 -- the ad in the lower right of page three for Cope Plastics..."  That ad, in the January 1966 issue of American Vocational Journal, lists "UNEX JET Injection Molding Machine" at the end of a long list of items under the heading "COPE PLASTICS for ALL Your Needs in Plastic Craft Supplies."  Jeff commented, "I've been to the Cope location hundreds of times after they moved into St. Louis proper from their original Godfrey, Illinois, location. So Cope was active in promoting the use of Unex Jet machines locally to trade schools or Industrial Arts programs. I would even bet my machine was bought via them by whoever the original owner was."

Friday, March 3, 2017

Eloise!

Eloise came to Danvers when I was almost a teenager. My cousin Janet, then probably twice my age, brought her. I didn't know what to think, at first. Eloise was such a city girl; I was a country girl and couldn't immediately relate to her life. But Janet really loved Eloise, and soon I too was laughing heartily at the escapades of young Eloise.

Eloise came back into my life this week, and it was a joyous reunion. Oh! Eloise!

On Wednesday March 1, while driving from one errand to another in Amherst, MA, I passed the sign for the Eric Carle Museum, paused, turned the car around, and drove into that parking lot. I'd recently read in the newspaper about their newest exhibit, and was curious to see it.  I only intended a 5-minute peek, but I probably stayed half an hour, delightfully revisiting the world of Eloise, and learning more about her origins.

This very LARGE, life-size image greeted me as I turned from the open lobby area into the small passageway to the special exhibit room:



Here are a few more images from this remarkable exhibit.  I am so glad I stopped to see it.  I was surprised by the strength of my emotions for this little girl I'd almost forgotten.




What a clever invitation to join Eloise and her Nanny for tea!  I immediately wished I could invite my cousin Janet to join me.  (I'll invite her to view this blog entry, as soon as I finish typing it.)   I'm sure Janet will enjoy the fact that the Eric Carle Museum drew on the walls.  In Danvers, Janet and her husband Jed drew colorful characters on the walls of their sons' bedroom to entertain those boys. Janet now lives in Maine, in a house with many examples of her artistry painted directly on the walls.

I'll thank Janet for bringing that book to Danvers, back in the middle of the 1950's, and introducing me to 6-year-old Eloise.

"A book for precocious grown-ups, about a little girl who lives at The Plaza Hotel."  
And, I'll tell my friends to visit the Eric Carle Museum of Picture Book Art.  For seniors like me, the entry fee is only $6.

Tuesday, January 31, 2017

Tom & Emily


I'm thinking this week of Tom and Emily Haggerty, who were married in 1971. I had a brief visit with them just after Thanksgiving at their home in NH. Tom was home from a recent hospitalization, still facing some health challenges, but he was in good spirits. It was a pleasure talking with him. Emily served tea, and we had a delightful visit.

Emily is my cousin. She and I both descend from the Andrew Nichols who built "Pine Knoll" in Danvers in 1861. Andrew and his wife Lizzie (Elizabeth Stanley Nichols) had eight children there, including the boys who would became our grandfathers.

Tom and Emily at Glen Magna, June 1971
Emily and I also share a connection to an antique wedding veil. Five brides in this Nichols family had worn that veil, beginning in 1833 when the veil was probably brand new. Emily was the last bride to wear it; she and Tom were married in Beverly, with a reception at Glen Magna in Danvers. I had worn it in 1965, with a reception at my parent's home at Locust Lawn. We each considered passing the veil to our daughters for their weddings, but by then the fabric had become too fragile for active use. In January 2000 Emily and I donated that beautiful veil to the Danvers Historical Society.  Click here for more about this 1833 veil.

This weekend I will see Emily again. We will gather at South Church in Portsmouth, NH,  February 4 at 2:00 pm for a celebration of Tom Haggerty's life. Unfortunately he was not able to regain his health; Tom died January 20, 2017. He will be greatly missed by family, friends, and the many former students who considered him one of the best teachers they ever had. Click here for Tom's obituary.

A scholarship fund in memory of Tom has just been announced:
Winnacunnet Dollars for Scholars, Inc.
P.O. Box 1593, North Hampton, NH 03862-1593.
"Please note in the check memo that funds be should be directed to the Thomas L. Haggerty, Jr. Memorial Scholarship Fund."

Sunday, January 8, 2017

Fun with NPN

Today, January 8, is the date of my father's birth. I am remembering him in a special way this week, thanks to a telephone conversation with one of his friends, who commented on how much fun they had had together. “He was just fun! So much fun!”

What a wonderful way to think of my father, Nathan P. Nichols. Yes! He was an expert at having fun. The more I thought about this, the more examples came to mind. I've been smiling all week, mentally compiling lists of the ways we had fun with him.

Here's an example from 1974, when I had flown back to Danvers for a visit, bringing my two young children from California.  There was snow on the ground, and my parents brought out a Flexible Flyer sled for us to play with. We took turns on that sled, but Nick soon fetched a boat from the garage so that he could slide down the driveway without waiting for a turn on that sled.  I feared that he might crash into a tree along that steep curved driveway, but he slid with confidence, and arrived safely at the bottom. Soon he was offering rides to others.  In this photo, he and my mother are accompanied by my daughter Tonya.


This weekend I have been writing a piece about my father's playfulness.  I will probably submit a composition to the Danvers Herald soon.

-----------------------------------------

Here is the piece I submitted to the paper; it was published January 19 or 26, 2017.

Remembering Nathan P. Nichols
By Sandy Nichols Ward


“He was just fun! So much fun!” A friend of my father, a man years younger than he, recently made that comment to me, triggering a flood of memories. Twenty years have passed since my father’s death, and perhaps fifteen since I last visited this friend. All week I’ve been smiling, recalling my father and appreciating the words of his friend: “He’s still my inspiration. He was so great to be with.”

Coincidently, this week includes the anniversary of my father’s birth, January 8, 1912.  His full name was Nathan Paddock Nichols, but he usually went by “Nick” or the initials NPN, which he applied with branding iron to his wooden skis. Many people called him “Nate,” but I just called him “Daddy.”

This is a fitting time to reflect on his life and playfulness. Yes, he certainly did know how to have fun. He managed to balance the serious responsibilities of life (business ownership, raising a family, contributing to his community) with interludes of glee. He didn’t let work or worries interfere with the fun of living.  

He loved to play ping pong on the old table in the basement. He delighted in the game of Skittles, which we played so often that the wood wore down at the entrance where we spun the skittles. He was always eager to play card games, especially Pounce, which he played with such gusto that some cards got damaged as we collided in competition for the same spot. (Mommy wouldn’t let us play with a new deck; for Pounce we had to use a worn deck, of which we had many.) I remember wonderful games of Hearts or Oh Hell with my parents and my sister on a card table in the living room. 

One Christmas someone gave him a tabletop hockey game, the kind with handles sticking out so that multiple players could manipulate the skaters, trying to control the puck.  We played and played and played with that game, for years. My father also spent hours watching hockey on TV. I can see him reclining comfortably in the chair by the TV, absorbed in whatever game was in season: tennis, football, or ice hockey.

Outdoors, my father was an avid skier, tennis player, and sailor. On frozen ponds in Danvers, my parents and their friends played informal games of ice hockey. On a small plot beside his first Nichols & Clark factory (a garage near our back yard), he pitched horseshoes with coworkers. On the roads of Danvers, my father played “hide and seek” with his mobile Ham radio buddies, ostensibly practicing for civil defense, but having enormous fun outwitting the other players by positioning his car in hard-to-detect places.  He identified himself as “W-1-H-V-N High Voltage Nick.”

No matter where my father was, he could find ways to entertain himself, even while doing chores. Rather than turn garden soil with a spade or other hand tool, he’d design a device to attach to the power lawn mower. The whole project took much longer this way, but he had fun problem-solving. He was, after all, an engineer and inventor. He designed better ways to build hearing aids, and enjoyed the challenge of designing smaller devices. He often proudly proclaimed that he had created the “world’s smallest” hearing aid, which would fit in a pocket, or under a matchbook cover, or a dime (the examples changing for each new, smaller product).  He worked hard, but took time to play, and to draw others into his fun.

He creatively designed Halloween mazes in the old barn. He constructed an impressively tall costume using leftover sailcloth. He designed a special version of Tiddly Winks golf, which had us all laughing as we crawled around on the living room rug, trying to beat him on that tricky 9-hole course.  

I am so very glad that I had such a father. I’m also glad to have re-discovered, while sorting and disposing of old files in January 2017, a 1996 letter from my father’s friend. That letter prompted me to make a phone call. I’m thankful that his friend responded with such enthusiasm, recalling “so much fun!”