The Girl from the Bakery: Her Story Proves the American Dream

By Loretta Betke Greeley

Most of this book was written by Loretta Betke Greeley, the above authors wife, when she was still alive. Hence the Frontispiece Her Story. She describes her life from birth in 1928 to retirement in 1993 with emphasis on her early life when her parents were running a bakery in the Ridgewood Section of Queens, NY. She provides a very detailed and instructive section on the incredible activities that are required to have a successful bakeshop. She goes on to describe her apartment which will be interesting to so many people now living in single-family homes. Her delightful times at the beaches in New York City during the 1930s and 40s, and her fascination with dolls will also be of historical interest. Her notes on a Three-Generational Household and on Retirement round out her life story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Oct 6, 2016
• ISBN: 9781490777627

Loretta Betke Greeley

The author is tenth in direct paternal line from the original immigrant from England to America in 1638. He attended public schools in Framingham, Massachusetts, through high school and then attended Harvard College, graduating in 1949 with a BS in chemistry. He obtained an MS in physical chemistry from Northwestern University in 1951, as a midshipman in the NROTC while living with his aunt and uncle in Winnetka, Illinois. He met his future wife, Loretta Betke, at a party in Winnetka, and they were married in June 1951. He immediately began his service in the US Navy aboard the USS Van Valkenburgh (DD-656) during the Korean War, seeing action behind enemy lines. He left the Navy in 1954 and worked for the Oak Ridge National Laboratory in Oak Ridge, Tennessee, where he obtained a PhD in physical chemistry with a minor in nuclear engineering, He then worked for the Mitre Corporation in Bedford, Massachusetts, and Washington, DC; R. F. Weston Inc. in West Chester, Pennsylvania; and then formed his own firm, the Greeley-Polhemus Group Inc. in 1982. He focused his work on alternative energy systems (non–fossil fuels) and environmental protection throughout his career. He and his wife had two sons, and they each have two grandchildren. His wife died in November 2012. He now devotes his time to writing as well as further activities in alternative energy projects.

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Copyright 2016 Loretta Betke Greeley.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

ISBN

: 978-1-4907-7761-0 (sc)

ISBN

: 978-1-4907-7762-7 (e)

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Preface

Chapter One The Bakery In Ridgewood, Queens, New York City

Chapter Two The Apartment

Chapter Three Sundays

Chapter Four The Beach

Chapter Five Dolls

Chapter Six Aging

Chapter Seven Retirement

Postscript

Lorie’s Life

Appendix I Our Trips And Other Activities Together

Appendix II After Retirement, 1993

Appendix III Photos In Remembrance Of Lorie

Appendix IV Inventory Of Lories’ 100 Photo Albums

TWELVE GENERATIONS APART

HER STORY PROVES THE AMERICAN DREAM

By Loretta Betke Greeley

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LORETTA BETKE GREELEY

HER STORY

(with a Preface, Postscript and Appendices by Her Husband)

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LORETTA BETKE AGE 6

LORETTA BETKE GREELEY

ON HER WEDDING DAY, JUNE 16, 1951

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HER HUSBAND, RICHARD STILES GREELEY

ENSIGN, U. S. NAVAL RESERVE

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THE WEDDING PHOTO

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JUNE 16, 1951

PREFACE

TWELVE GENERATIONS APART

What are the odds of a man and a woman finding each other, marrying, and living together for sixty-one years? Of course, every couple has a similar story, perhaps about a marriage not as long or longer, but I enjoy telling about ours. A young man from a family whose direct ancestor arrived in America in 1638 meets a young woman who is a first generation American in her family. Her parents arrived in the United States from the Weimar Republic, Germany, racked by super-inflation, in 1924. What happened next?

The Party

I walked into the party as one of several bachelors invited to meet my old-maid school teachers, as Mrs. Fetcher put it to my Aunt Mudge (short for Margaret) with whom I was living. Peg Fetcher was the landlady for the three school teachers who rented her (illegal) apartment in Winnetka, Illinois. I looked across the room as I entered and saw a young woman sitting in an easy chair by a warm fire (it was November 19, 1949), talking to a young man sitting in a similar chair across from her. Instantly the thought hit me, I’m going to marry that girl!

Now I had no reason to do that, none at all. But I swear, that is what went through my mind. I did not know her, nor anyone at that party when I entered the house. I had recently told a girl from my hometown in Framingham, Massachusetts, with whom I had been going steady, that I could not marry her because she was Catholic and I was not. She had naturally been quite upset. I had arrived in Winnetka, IL in September 1949 and already had several dates with attractive girls. I was firm in my belief that I was in no way ready to commit myself to any young woman

As I turned away from the lovely vision across the room to avoid staring at her, I had no idea what religion she might belong to, but my mind was already made up. Furthermore, I had no idea whether she was already engaged or even married. Also, how was I to know whether she would have me as a husband? None of those considerations went through my mind. Suffice it to say that I proposed to her a few weeks later, she accepted me on the spot, we were married in the Presbyterian Church in Huntington, Long Island, New York on June 16, 1951, and spent the next sixty-one years in married bliss. She died a quiet death from advanced metastatic melanoma on November 30, 2012.

Her devoted husband, Richard Stiles Greeley

CHAPTER ONE

The Bakery In Ridgewood, Queens, New York City

Papa bought the bakery in Ridgewood in 1931 and we moved there from Middletown, New York, sometime in the spring. I have no recollection of the move and my early years at 801 Cypress Avenue. Because the sidewalk was my play area, Mama said that she lived in constant fear of my getting run over by a car because I so often ran into the street thoughtlessly, particularly when chasing my ball. She had mixed feelings about moving back to New York City after having lived in Middletown for five years. She had become accustomed to small town life and was comfortable with the neighbors - real Yankees, as she called them. She always spoke warmly of the real Yankees and often told me and others how much they had made her welcome in 1926 when she arrived in Middletown after her six month visit with her family in Germany.

Mama and Papa were married in February of 1926, but in May she returned to Hennigsdorf to visit with her mother who was dying of cancer. While she was in Germany, Papa had gone to Middletown to take a job with Harford’s bakery. He was tired of the hot and nasty working conditions in the basement bakeries in New York. So he answered an ad in the paper, made inquiries as to how to get to Middletown, and found just what he was looking for: a daylight bake shop, a six day work week and a country atmosphere, as opposed to the big city of New York. He found an apartment on the second floor of a two-family house owned by Mrs. Greenleaf, an elderly widow. He said when she first asked him whether he had a wife he didn’t know what she meant! Among the people he knew in New York City they just talked about the Missus and so he didn’t know what she was asking.

When Mama returned from Germany after she joined Papa in Middletown, she said she was disappointed that Papa hadn’t stayed in New York City where Uncle Oscar and Aunt Ida and Uncle Willi were close by, but she saw that Middletown had its advantages. Papa earned $40 a week and their rent was only $23 a month. They had to buy their own fuel - electricity and gas, and coal for the stove which heated the kitchen. But they had their own bathroom. In Manhattan they had to share a bathroom with other apartments on the floor. They were able to save a great deal and still send Mama’s mother $10 a week to pay for her medical care.

In 1930 Mr. Harford offered to sell his bakery to Papa and another baker. Papa had enough money for the down payment and so he jumped at the chance. Mama was not keen on spending time behind the counter in the store when I was still so little, but she went along with Papa’s wishes. The partnership did not last too long. There really wasn’t enough business for two bakers to make a living and so the other baker bought out Papa’s share. Uncle Oscar helped Papa investigate the possibility of buying a bakery in a neighborhood in New York where there was a calmer atmosphere than in Manhattan and where the stores were all closed on Sundays. That’s how we settled in Ridgewood.

Unfortunately, the bakery wasn’t the only part of the business. Along with selling all kinds of breads, rolls, cakes and cookies, the store held a restaurant which catered to business people in the neighborhood at breakfast, lunch time, and for afternoon coffee and cake. Besides two women working at the counter and a waitress, there was a full-time cook in the kitchen behind the store. Mama thought that she would only have to pitch in once in a while. But as the business Depression deepened there wasn’t enough business to sustain all the help, so Mama had to make do with the waitress and the cook and take care of the bakery herself This meant getting up at 6 a.m. and opening the store for the first customers who stopped by to pick up their breakfast rolls and buns before going to work. Some people arrived shortly after 5 a.m., but Papa took care of those few because most of his baking was finished. By 8 a.m. when I would come downstairs for breakfast the store was bustling with an assortment of store keepers, bank clerks, and insurance salesmen eating breakfast. For 10 cents they would get two hard rolls and butter on a plate, and coffee served in a cup and saucer. The cream was served in a little one-serving pitcher. As the years went by and the pitchers broke they were not replaced, and people were served their coffee white or black. It was very rare for anyone to ask for black coffee and most people also put