Behind the Windows: The Brothers Fitzpatrick

Just who are those handsome World War II era guys gracing our windows this month?  Well, they're my grandfather and his two older brothers.  All three enlisted in the military during World War II--two in the Army and one in the Merchant Marines. 

The brothers Fitzpatrick were all born and raised down on Porter Avenue in Carlisle.  Their father, Charles Sr., was an "old" bachelor living with his aunt and uncle when he met Carrie Yinger Wilson.  Carrie was a widowed mother of two girls, having lost her husband and another daughter to spinal meningitis, and was working as a cleaning woman to support her remaining children.  One of the houses she cleaned was the one owned by Charles Sr.'s uncle, Harry Gibb, on East Louther Street.  Charles, although more than 15 years older than Carrie, was a handsome man with blue eyes and black hair and was known in Carlisle as something of a war hero.  While serving with Carlisle's infamous Company G during The Great War, he had taken out some German machine gunners or something like that, saving many of his fellow soldiers' lives (photo at right).  I'm not exactly sure what the story is because I don't think anyone around still knows.  He nor his sons apparently talked about it much, being typical men of their times and believing nothing to be heroic about doing one's duty during war.

By the time Charles and Carrie met, Charles was a 42-year-old plumber and Carrie was 26.  The circumstances of their courtship is unknown, but it did take Charles awhile to give into marriage--that I know for sure.  Their first child was Charles Jr., who was born on February 14, 1922.  Because he was quite a rotund baby, he quickly earned the nickname "Chub."  On January 4, 1924, a second son--Thomas--was born.  And the next year, a third son, George, came along on September 21, 1925.  George was named after a cousin on his father's side who had died in an accident while serving in World War I.  Because as a child he was a tow head with nearly white blonde hair, George was often called "Snowball" by his friends.  And finally in 1928, the couple was blessed with their first daughter together--Catherine, whose name came from Charles Sr.'s beloved younger sister, Kit.

The boys lived a mostly typical Depression-era, wharf rat childhood, sometimes having to eat onion sandwiches because they were so poor and showing their pet chickens in pet parades at Biddlemission Park.  If you have to ask what a "wharf rat" is, then you probably don't trace your roots in Carlisle very far back.  "Wharf rats" referred to kids born and raised down in the northeast section of town near the Letort Creek--a section of Carlisle known for its humble and hard-working people, examples of whom the boys would grow into themselves.  Their younger sister, who had been nicknamed "Sissy" by the boys, would not get that same chance. 

Sissy and George had been playing in Biddlemission Park one day in 1932, when they heard their father call them for dinner.  George hurried home with Sissy trailing right behind him.  As she crossed North Street right at the bridge over the Letort, she was struck by a drunk driver and killed.  She was only four.  This event undoubtedly scarred all three boys.  After their mother died in 1979, the brothers found a trunk of Sissy's belongings that had been put in the attic shortly after she died and had not been touched since.  One of the most remarkable things I've ever seen was Chub, Tom, and my grandfather, George, uncontrollably and silently crying as they looked through Sissy's things--her rag doll with newspaper blanket, her costume bracelet missing rhinestones, and the tiny little yellow dress she wore when she died.  The years faded away, and the now graying grandfathers were reduced to the boys they once were.  Although George had only been six when it happened, he was somewhat blamed in the aftermath of Sissy's death by his distraught parents for not watching her better, and he carried the guilt for the rest of his life.  On his death bed in 1984, he re-lived the event over and over.

As the boys reached manhood, World War II broke out.  Chub, being the oldest, enlisted into the Army first during the early years of the United States' involvement.  He was a pilot serving in the Pacific and became a sergeant.  The photo of Chub at left is labeled on the back "Charlie Australia" in my great-grandmother's scrawl.  Up until enlisting, he had worked with his father as a plumber as did the other boys.  In his younger years, Chub was a bit wild, to put it mildly, and loved a beer, a good time, and the ladies.  He was also a sharp dresser, and when he went out, he liked his shirts white, starched, and perfectly pressed.  His poor mother must have spent hours slaving over a washtub and iron to keep him in style.  When Chub enlisted, George followed in his footsteps, borrowing his clothes and making time with the ladies.  They were two of a kind. 

Chub married Exley Gensler during the war, and the pair had two sons, Charles III and Michael.  Chub worked at Dickinson College in the maintenance department, which allowed him to send his son, Charles III, there to study theology in the 1960s.  Chub was known by children in my family for his crushing bear hugs and sloppy kisses, many of which I experienced myself.  When he hugged you, you just knew you were loved.  Chub died in 2005 and is buried in the Old Graveyard in Carlisle beside his mother, father, and Sissy.

Tom, the middle son, served in the Army as a Private First Class from 1943-1946.  He had been a track star in high school, and the only brother to graduate.  He served in the Pacific and came home to continue working as a plumber with his father and younger brother.  He married and had a son Thomas, Jr., who also became a plumber.  Tom has been retired for many years and living on East North Street near Biddlemission Park.  Even though he only lived 1/2 a block from my grandfather, George, I don't know much about Tom's life because there were some brotherly difficulties along the way.  I do know that Tom loved his mother dearly and has done extensive genealogy on the Fitzpatrick family.  He is the last living Fitzpatrick brother, and as long as he's alive, some small piece of the other two are alive as well.

My grandfather George enlisted in the Merchant Marines in 1943, when he was seventeen years old.  He dropped out of high school in 10th grade after some "disagreements" with teachers and had gone to work for his father as a plumber.  After enlisting, he went to New York City to train and by all accounts, enjoyed his time in the big city perhaps a little too much.  The photo at left is inscribed "Arizona Bar NYC, 12/8/1942" and was sent to him by the other fellow in the photo, his friend Jack Egan.  During training exercises on the water, his eardrums burst, and he was medically discharged soon after.  He returned home to Carlisle and continued working as a plumber and courting the ladies.  He was known as quite a smooth dancer, earning the nickname "Sugarfoot." 

Sometime towards the end of the war, he was working in the basement of either the Seras building or the building next to it and saw a pair of shapely legs walk by, so naturally, he wolf-whistled.  Those legs belonged to my grandmother, Dorothy Cressler, who was on her way to Kruger's Dairy store, which was where George's Pizza now is.  She was in the mood for some peanut butter ice cream on her way home from work at Masland's.  My grandmother would later tell me that she "hated" my grandfather--in fact, "couldn't stand him" because he had quite a reputation around town.  George pursued Dorothy for the next 1 1/2 years with no success.  He seemed to have given up, but close to Christmas in 1945, George showed up at Dorothy's door with a necklace purchased at a downtown jewelry store.  Dorothy knew he didn't have any money and that the necklace was fairly expensive.  That gesture changed her mind, and the rest, as she said, was history.  They were married on November 26, 1946, in Hagerstown, Maryland. 

George and Dorothy lived with George's parents for awhile and eventually purchased a furniture storage barn in the alley behind Porter Avenue that they converted into a house.  They had three children, my mother Georgenne and my uncles George (Butch) and Sean.  George continued plumbing with his two sons joining him when they were old enough.  In total, George had eight grandchildren with me being the oldest granddaughter.  My cousin Corey is now working alongside his father, Butch, in the plumbing business, making him the fourth generation of Fitzpatrick plumbers serving Carlisle over the past 90 years.

My family lost my grandfather in March of 1984 to lung cancer and has never been the same since.  Quite simply, my grandfather relished life.  He was quick-tempered and loved to laugh, often doing so until he cried.  He was a character, as I've often heard people say, and his zest for life was infectious.  You couldn't help but have a good time when he was around.  I was only 11 when he died, but he is the primary reason why I became a trained historian who loves graveyards, why "It's a Wonderful Life" is my favorite movie, why I have to look at all Thunderbirds that pass by, and why I love nostalgia and opened a retro candy store.  Every time I went somewhere with my grandfather, who I called Pappy, he emerged from the check out with peanut butter cups and chocolate milk for me.  Candy, such a simple delight, is a key component to my memories of my grandfather.  Inscribed under the floor of the store is my dedication to him.  It says, "Peanut butter cups and chocolate milk make everything better."

God, he would have loved it here . . .