Feeding the ducks in the Bronx River, 1940s

By Ellen Fiencke Whitaker, Bronxville resident for many years

Feb. 9, 2022: Two months before I was born, my mother was still able to wear her straight-lined winter coat and was the envy of her neighborhood. The night I was born, my mother was at the Bronxville Movie Theater seeing “Road to Morocco” with Bob Hope.  She laughed so hard, her water broke. She left the theater with her friend, crossed the street, walked under the railroad underpass and checked herself in to Lawrence Hospital.

I was born on February 11, 1943, at 8:15 PM “war time.” To this day, I haven’t gotten a good explanation as to why “war time” was needed after 8:15 PM. Wasn’t 8:15 PM sufficient?  Back then, women remained in the hospital for two weeks after giving birth.  My father was in the Army Air Corps and was stationed in England at the time but was able to return six months later for my Baptism. 

 Ellen Fiencke Whitaker

In December of 1943, a headline in the Bronxville Review Press read “Vaccination Drive Opens Next Week with Six Centers.” Although the vaccinations were to safeguard against smallpox back then, history does appear to repeat itself, doesn’t it?  Under “Help Wanted,” a girl was wanted ‘for housework one day a week. Protestant! Four dollars.’ Later, an ad read that a woman was wanted, also for housework. “Must be White!” How times have changed.

Another headline read “Blackouts and Alerts will Continue.” “So long as our enemies, Germany and Japan have the capability to launch attacks on Americans, etc., etc. Does anyone remember ration books?

My parents joined the Reformed Church during the mid/late 1940s, when John Powell was head minister, but I don’t remember him. I do remember Dr. Lowell Russell Ditzen and Dr. Charles Copenhaver. (Dr. Copenhaver years later officiated at my wedding.) I always waited till the very last minute when the collection plate came around, to take out my offering, so everyone could see my Roy Rogers wallet. There was Sunday school, choir practice, White Gift Services, and now, my parents’ ashes are interred in the Columbarium at the church. It’s still hard to reconcile that they have been gone for 35 years.

I loved the Christmas Eve pageant on the hill of the Reformed Church.  For some reason, my father was always in charge of securing Mary’s donkey for the event. I wanted to attend the pageant during the following these years, but living in Chicago, San Francisco, Dallas and now Syracuse made it difficult.

Growing up, feeding the ducks in the B

ronx River was a weekly ritual.  Early on, there was a police station next to the Bronx River (where River House is now). I remember it as a dark, dingey, scary building, more like a haunted house. I implemented the duck-feeding ritual 30 years later after my two boys were born. 

Other memories include: 

-petting Amy Dusenberry’s (Miss Amy) bull, which she kept in a field in the back of her house;

-riding up and down the elevator at Best & Co. on Pondfield Road while my mother tried on clothes;

-painting store windows at Halloween;

-paying 25 cents to see “Them” and “House of Wax” at the movies on Saturday afternoons, and dodging boxes of popcorn used as projectiles, against the movie screen;

-buying a new Easter outfit every year, even though the one from the year before fit just fine;

-Miss Covington’s dance classes;

-One time, my mother and I went into the A&P, and two women were physically fighting over a box of Tide. I could never understand out why, since the war had been over for at least two years.

-sipping an ice cream soda at the counter in FW Woolworth’s;

-standing in awe & amazement at all the toys crammed onto the shelves at Robert’s Toy Town;

-A few teenagers removed some lightbulbs from the Gramatan Hotel sign so it read the “Hot Grama.” That sign could be seen all the way to the Bronx!

-working summers as a nurses’ aid at Lawrence Hospital;

-Joan Bennett and Ted Kennedy’s wedding at St. Joseph’s;

-concern that a Catholic would run for president; yet, when JFK was elected, the headline in the Bronxville Review Press read “Bronxville Man Elected President of the United States,” even though very few people in Bronxville voted for him.

While Bronxville has changed socially and politically in many ways, visually, it looks the same to me.  The names have changed on the store fronts, but the buildings and homes are all still there.

Photos courtesy Ellen Fiencke Whitaker

COMMENTS FROM READERS

 "Ellen Fiencke Whitaker’s memoir of Bronxville in the 1940s stirs common memories of my childhood.  But her memory of petting Amy Dusenberry’s “bull” needs correction.  The animal grazing on Miss Amy’s property east of White Plains Road was a well mannered Jersey cow that was milked each day.  As a neighborhood boy, I fetched a can of her milk, sometimes on a bicycle, at least once a week."

"Ellen Fiencke Whitaker's article about Bronxville seventy-nine years ago is nothing short of excellent.  I recall every single thing she wrote about (except riding the elevator up and down).  My father had a "Post..." sign in front of our Sherman Avenue home during the war.  Yes, the Village now misses the likes of Wilson's Jewelers, Bellis, Griffler's Liquors, and many more, but the Village looks much the same.  Thank you Ellen for sharing your memories."