My maternal grandmother, Violet Alpha Sillers (I called her Nana) was born 130 years ago today, February 23, 1895, in River John, Nova Scotia, Canada. She passed away on January 8, 1987, in Alhambra, CA. She was a very pleasant, loving, and wonderful grandmother, you couldn't ask for a better one. Her brother, Ernest Sillers (Uncle Ern to me), was also born in River John.
She married Hiram Stephan Rogers (born April 11, 1887), who was also from River John. I called him Papa. I don't know how, when, or why they ended up in Pasadena. They lived at 1254 N. Hill Ave. Before my mother was born and raised in the home, they had a baby son. It either died at childbirth or shortly thereafter. The family never discussed the son further. I don't know if or where the infant is buried, or it's name. I don't recall anyone directly ever telling me this, but something tells me it was named Stephan (like my grandfather's middle name), but it may have just been known as "Infant Rogers."
My grandfather owned a grocery store in the Nelson Building at southwest corner of Washington and Hill, Pasadena. I think he may have retired about the time I started realizing the world existed as a tiny child in the late 1950s. I vaguely remember going into the store once or twice. I don't think my grandmother liked the new owners.
I have fond memories of the house. I remember a basement that I was only occasionally allowed to enter. It was like a magical cave to me. In the rear enclosed side porch, there was a wringer washer that was always fun to watch my grandmother use. I remember a stool in the kitchen where I could sit and watch my grandmother cook and sometimes "help." I remember the front living room, where my grandfather would play with me, and the dining room table where I seem to eaten a lot of peeled, chunked, and boiled potatoes with a bit of butter and salt on them, and pot roast. Naps were in my mother's childhood bedroom. Her furniture set was saved in the family until just a couple years ago, when my granddaughter Cassy needed part of it. Sadly, we broke up the set, gave her what she wanted, and donated the rest to charity.
The backyard had an incinerator that they rarely used. I remember what seemed to me as a large tree in the back yard that I played with toy cars and trucks making roads in, around, and under the tree roots. The backyard had lots and lots of flowers. On one occasion, I snuck into the detached garage and found a pair of roller skates from my mother's childhood. I strapped them on thinking it would be easy to skate down the driveway. I made it a very short distance before one of the leather straps snapped, and I went down hard. Life lesson.
When I needed to be distracted, Papa would take me for a walk. The same route each time. We'd leave the house, walk up the street to Washington, and turn right. We'd continue along Washington to the first street, Wesley, and turn right again. We'd walk downhill to Asbury, and turn right to Hill then back home.
About ten years ago, I was in Southern California for work, and on a whim, I pulled off the freeway to the house. I found myself parking along the curb in front of the house, and decided to take a walk. I followed the same route around the block. It was eerie how much of the surroundings came back to me. As I walked, I remember a gas station at Washington/Hill. It's not the same, but it's a gas station still, just different. I remember the same type of fencing in front of a couple of homes on Wesley especially a specific chain link fence, and the smell of germaniums at one particular home. It was a strange and wonderful experience.
We lived at our home in Anaheim during this time. Occasionally when Nana would babysit me, she would take me to nearby Washington Park to play and run around. If I was good, which of course I always was, while playing at the park she would give me my favorite sandwich, white bread with the crusts cut off, with a large amount of soft butter and brown sugar for the inside. Nothing healthier, no?
We later moved to Tucson, and eventually moved to nearby La Canada. It was during this time that my Papa died, May 3, 1962. I don't remember much about it, but I knew I was being kept away from the adults dealing with it. My mother got the call about him while we were at home. She immediately grabbed me and drove to their home. She was distraught as she drove, and went through some Stop signs and red lights. I'd never seen my mother cry before. I still hold an impression of that drive in my mind.
These are scans of Polaroid photos from her 80th birthday celebration (1975), at her rest home at 1428 S Marengo Ave, Alhambra, CA 91803. The business has changed names since then. I think it was an Episcopal home then, and looking at Google Maps, appears to have been extensively remodeled.
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| Standing at the table, my mother, Dorothy Stone (left) and my Aunt Aldine. |
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| Seated, to the left, an unknown woman. To the right, my Uncle Ern, Violet's brother. |
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| At the table, my mother, Dorothy Stone. Standing, an unknown woman and to the right with her back towards the camera, my grandmother, Violet. |
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| From the right, my mother, standing. Seated is Violet, then Ernest. The others are unknown to me, and were possibly other residents of the facility. |
These next photos are from a time that "Nana" visited us at our new home at 1237 Laurel Lane, Lafayette, California. I don't know the date, but it was likely 1966-1968. The first two are inside our kitchen, and the last one is in the front yard in front of the steps my dad built (I helped) that led from our front yard up the hill to the top of the driveway.
This one was taken at the same time as when "Nana" was opening her gift. My mom has a gift too, so I don't know it was Christmas or something else. It seems odd that it would be Christmas, but opening our gifts like this because it wasn't our style.
