Fruitcake Hill: A History and Memoir of Life on the Hill in a Family of 15. Gerald J. Kuecher

      Babe tried to set up a system whereby the older children, raised entirely by her, assisted in the care of the younger ones. But the job was too great and she asked for outside help from an African American lady named Leola, who lived about 20 minutes away in Robbins, Illinois. Leola dug Babe out of the farmhouse’s accumulated trash and grime once a week. All of us can remember the fried potato and onions she would prepare while listening to White Sox games. But an even more amazing event occurred one day as Leola was waiting in our car to be driven home. She was in the passenger seat in her coat and hat. Then the car, apparently left in neutral, began to roll backward down the hill’s driveway. Leola had no clue how to stop this eventuality and just froze, slack-jawed and white eyed. The car ran into a tree half-way down the hill and Leola stepped out. Never again would she sit in the vehicle unattended.

      Babe was quick to remind the children that our most important duty before we left the home for an evening was to change our underwear. She said we had to have clean underwear should we end up in a hospital. This is one reason why we all ended up slightly screwy. We were led to believe someone would inspect our underwear should we leave home. It was a lot easier just staying home.

      Bob occasionally sent Babe on errands for parts to keep the shop going. She reflects that these driving trips brought her some sanity. She could drive away from the hubbub of the hill and leave it all behind.

      Our mother had a very Catholic outlook and one of her hang-ups involved children being exposed to sex before their time. To say the ‘s’ word or refer to a ‘s’- related issue in our home was a cause for blush. We felt Babe’s embarrassment and tried to shelter her from it. A daily issue she dealt with, for lack of room in the family car, involved girls sitting on the laps of the boys. This was a no-no in inner Catholic circles. Hard core Catholics, we were told, carried phone books for the laps of the boys. No one remembers how Babe dealt with these issues. But the expediency of everyday life, in all its imperfections, no doubt superseded such lofty guidelines.

      Babe’s uneasiness with sexual issues came to a zenith one particularly cold morning. Looking out the frosty kitchen window, the children observed a very unusual phenomenon. Our very large and thick Shetland pony, Bubbles, was enveloped in a dense fog. On closer inspection we noticed the steam was radiating from his highly enlarged male member. Babe, noticing a number of faces staring out the window snapped, “Get away from those windows!” We’d walk away from such a shameful experience citing “mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa,” convenient Latin phrases we learned as altar boys to deal with our shame. If that didn’t come to mind we could repeat the prayer “Lord I am not worthy” about a gazillion times.”

      Babe was an advocate of a number of Catholic practices such as burying St. Joseph statues upside down in lawns to sell homes and sprinkling holy water over her lottery tickets. These actions gave her a distinct advantage over non-believers, or so she thought. And she prayed to a number of saints of whom the children never heard. In fact, if Babe cared to share her thoughts about a relative that had passed on, she would gather her box of funeral holy cards and speak to you about them. Photos were not required!

      But if God loves the person who gives their all in this life, then He surely has reserved a place for Babe. We distinctly remember the look on Babe’s face when she heard the account of the witnesses to the miracle at Knock, Ireland. When asked how the witnesses knew for certain the identity of Jesus, Mary, Mary Magdaline, and Joseph in this apparition, they replied in typical Irish logic, “Because they looked exactly like the statues out front!” Babe knew logically this popped the balloon on the miracle but if it’s good enough for the Pope, it was good enough for her.