tim parlin

HEROES OF THE LAKE

 

Nancy Wilson

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Of the 10 Grandchildren of Charles and Miriam Parlin, I believe that I am the last one - Chris, Rob, Hyla and then me – who remembers Grandma healthy.  As a result, since we lived next door to Grandpa both at the Lake and in New Jersey, I became very close to Nancy, who was Grandpa/Grandma’s cook for as long I can remember until she passed when I was 25 years old.

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Nancy was the child of slaves.  She did not know her birthday, but that never stopped the family from celebrating it at the charcoal pit between the Log Cabin and Aunt Camilla’s house.  One year, the Grandchildren decorated Grandpa’s Jeep and he drove Nancy down to the celebration with the horn blaring to loud cheering from all the attendees.  Grandpa gave Nancy two tickets on the ocean cruise of her choice with whomever she chose as her birthday present.  One year Jim, Ruth, Mei-Ming Chang and I took Nancy to Eddie’s to celebrate her birthday.  It was a hot July day, so Nancy ordered a Genessee beer.  After taking a long sip, she proceeded to start singing the Genessee beer jingle much to the enjoyment of Eddie’s patrons who asked her to sing a few encores.

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Nancy loved to fish.  She spent many afternoons sitting on the Boathouse dock with her drop line catching Sunnies/Porgies.  Every once in a while Nancy would catch a larger fish and let out a very loud whoop, followed by her holding the fish up to the onlookers at the Dock.  When I got older, I would take Nancy and Irene Green, who worked for Grandma Parlin’s parents, out in Grandpa’s Cris-craft.  After catching many “whales” and much laughter we returned to the Big House where Nancy prepared a fish feast for dinner.

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We lived in Big House until the Summer of 1965, when we moved into our house on the Lake.  This meant that we ate all our meals on the Big House’s screen porch with Grandpa and Grandma, all of which were cooked by Nancy.  Although not formal in attire, dinners in the Big House were formal in the sense that you had to ask Grandpa to be excused from the dinner table before leaving.  As I young boy, I remember asking to be excused so I could keep Nancy company in the kitchen while she ate her dinner since I didn’t want her to eat alone.  Irene Green ate with the family on the porch and called Grandpa “Charles”, while Nancy always referred to them as Mr. or Mrs. Parlin. 

Despite this seeming inequality, I never recall Grandpa or Grandma or any family member treating Nancy as “the help.”  She was treated with respect by all the adults and beloved by all the Grandchildren who would drop by for cookies or Fizzies, flavored sodium bicarbonate tablets that your dropped into water.  I recall that Root Beer was my favorite flavor.

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When I was in Sixth Grade, my Mother spent a year in the Institute for Living in Harford, Connecticut to address her mental health issues.  (Based upon what we know now, my Mother was probably bi-polar and railed against being numbed by high doses of Lithium, which was how they treated her in those days).  That Summer, I stayed by myself in Pop’s house while Pop would drive up on the weekends.  During the week, Nancy always made sure that I had a place to go for meals.  She would coordinate dinners between the Big House, the Cabin, Aunt Camilla’s or the Van Sickles.  One time I told her that I wanted to cook Dinner for myself and asked her how to cook beets.  She told me you boil them until they were fork- tender.  So, I marched up to Grandpa’s garden pulled up some beets and proceeded to cook them.  I don’t recall what I cooked for the main course. But what I do recall is running over to the Big House the next day in near hysteria since my urine was blood-red.  After I found Nancy and explained what was happening, much to my consternation she began to laugh uncontrollably.  Once she calmed down, she said that I forgot to peel the outer skins off the beets before I ate them, which caused my pee to turn red.  The next day, I returned to the house after swimming to find a hot, homemade apple pie on the counter.  It was Nancy’s way of “saying everything will be all right and I will always have your back.”  I have never forgotten this simple act of kindness and she will aways be one of my Heroes of the Lake.

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Lee & Nellie Van Sickle

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To this day, I will always be their son from a different mother.  Besides having a life-long friendship with George, they were my adoptive parents who fed me and oversaw my general well-being while Mom was sick.  I have many fond memories.

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Reverend Van Sickle, who was an Ohio farm boy, used his GI-Bill funds to buy their plot at the Lake.  During the next two Summers he spent his vacation building the cottage while the family lived in a canvas tent.  I don’t remember the tent, but I always thought that the cottage was the “Taj Mahal” of the Lake since he built it all by himself.  I still believe that the best view of the Lake is from their dining room table.

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Reverend Van Sickle had four passions. First, he loved to find antiques at Lonergan’s and convince him that whatever the item was, it was a piece of jink and that Lonergan should be glad that he was taking it off his hands for a very reduced price.  Second, he also was a master reclaimer of discarded tools/machines.  When I was a teenager, I made the mistake of borrowing a weed-wacker from Reverend Van Sickle that was multi-colored.  The handle’s color didn’t match the motor’s covering. The wand was glued to the handle of the motor, and the electrical cord running form the handle was covered with duct-tape.  When I plugged it in and pulled the trigger, blue sparks emanated from the handle and the motor.  After I unplugged it and brought it back, I explained to George what had happened he burst out into that vacuum cleaner laugh of his and said, “now you know why we don’t touch anything that he’s reclaimed!”  His third passion was golf.  He loved playing with Pop and Aunt Phyllis (Crane).  He was known for pulling his socks over his pant cuffs and disappearing into the woods only to return with a dozen gold balls that he had found.  Aunt Phyllis also said he was famous for his “foot wedge”, i.e., if his ball was in the rough it would “miraculously end up in the fairway.  His final passion was telling stories when Barbra would invite Lee & Nellie over for dinner with Pop and Aunt Phyllis.  He gave as good as he got, and I can still hear his hearty laugh.  Above all, they were life-long friends to Pop.  They never passed judgment and were always there to help however they could with Mom’s illness and for this they will always be Heroes of the Lake.

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Uncle George

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My first memories of Uncle George were that he always wore a tie and jacket to Dinner at the Big House while we stayed there until we moved into Pop’s house in the Summer of 1965.  I remember Aunt Dorothy orienting the food on his plate by the hours on a clock and his ever-present Ritz cracker food-pusher.

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When I was a teenager, I would take Uncle George swimming, which consisted of his diving into the Lake, taking 20 strokes or so, turning around and then following my voice back to the Dock.  I must admit that my batting average of getting him back to ladder was incredibly good.  In my absence other people would try and Uncle George would end up either heading towards the Canoe Dock or the Boathouse.

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As you all recall, Aunt Ruth had tea in the Tea House at 4:00 p.m. sharp.  This was followed by Grandpa’s and Uncle George’s Happy Hour on the breezeway at 5:00.  I remember dropping by one time when Grandpa was mixing up Silve Bay Daiquiri – rum, ice, and Pudding Island Farm Maple Syrup (a diabetic coma in a glass!).  I offered to become their bartender.  I introduced the Harvad martini (1 qt. of dry gin, remove 4 oz. of gin and replace with dry vermouth and viola the perfect 7-1 ratio), as well as other old-time favorites that they both enjoyed, while Aunt Ruth and her friend Estelle sat their scowling at their imbibing “demon alcohol”.

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One Summer, between my Freshman and Sophomore years at Syracuse, I worked as an Intern at WIPS Radio in Ticonderoga.  I was a fill-in DJ for the morning shift, which began at 6:00 a.m.  The station had a policy that there were to be no personalized messages on the air.  However, when I explained that my Uncle George, who was blind, woke up to the radio station and that I would like to say good morning to him.  They relented and I said
“good morning Uncle George, it’s another beautiful day in paradise.”  I was told that he would always say “good morning, Timmy” back.

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Here was a man who went blind due to failed cataract operations on his eyes when he returned from the African desert in Workl War II.  Despite being blind he returned to his securities law practice for the Securities exchange Commission.  Pop once told the story that he was asked by another lawyer if he was related to George Parlin at the SEC.  Pop replied that he was and was proud to say that he was his Uncle.  Pop added that would the other lawyer be surprised to know that his Uncle was blind?  Once the other lawyer picked up his jaw off the floor, he supposedly said “that’s amazing” or something to that effect.

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Uncle George was amazing.  He had every right to be bitter and angry for all the curves that life threw at him, yet he never was.  That made a HUGE impression on me growing up and I try to embody his ethic in my everyday life.  For this, he will always be a “Hero of the Lake” to me.