Fernand Andris

It seems odd to write a history of your father. Especially since over my lifetime my opinion of him has changed from very negative to quite positive.

Dad grew up a tough and dirty street kid. The grocery store that his parents owned was on Greene Street in Marietta, Ohio a block away from the Ohio River. Floods were quite frequent, as frequent as once a year. "Uptowners" called kids like my dad "Greene Street dirty-necks" and "dirty Belgians." He was an excellent athelete, playing softball, baseball, and football. He was also a strong swimmer. His nickname was "Lite," because he was as fast as lightning. I remember seeing this name inscribed in the sidewalk concrete across from the stadium. He drank hard and lived a fairly fast life. He was his mother's favorite son.

Dad married my mom rather soon after his mother died in 1937. Mom tells that they had one of the last and the biggest "bellings" in Marietta at the Lafayette Hotel. 500 people showed up. He and his next older brother, Alphonse, inherited the family grocery store, and the money in the inheritance was split between the two step brothers Arthur and Amy, his younger brother Louie and his sister Julia. This caused extremely hard feelings, and my father's oldest brother Arthur (III) died without ever again speaking to Fernand or Alphonse.

Dad and mom had three children, James Fernand, b. 12/3/1938, Thomas Franklin, b. 3/6/1945, and Vicki Clare, b. 3/9/1948. I was named for my father, my brother for our maternal grandfather, and my sister for her two grandmothers. We all attended school in the Marietta Public Schools, I at Willard, and Tom and Vicki at Philips. Both dad and mom had attended Willard School, too.

For years Fernand and Alphonse shared the store business, but 1950, my dad decided to split up with his brother. He had years before built an excellent concrete block two story store building, and he gave/sold? this to Alphonse when they parted. Over the following years, Fernand was to take part in many business ventures, including grocery store owner, real estate broker, second-hand store owner, vending machine operator, and building contractor. This is all the more impressive because my father never finished the fourth grade. Mom always worked in the stores and also kept the books for many years.

In the early sixties, mom and dad moved out on Route 26 to an old farm house (built 1835) on fifty acres overlooking the Ohio River way in the distance. My dad became an excellent organic gardener, a hobby he kept up almost until his death. But after a few years there, he became restless (my dad always got restless) and they moved back to town to 512 Phillips Street.

For many years after dad and mom retired they travelled all over the United States and some parts of Canada, especially Nova Scotia and the Gaspé in a series of campers. They spent a lot of time in Florida, too, and at the local state parks.

All his life, my father struggled with alcoholism, and I have no doubt that he would have lived longer had he not been so strongly into drink. His drinking caused a lot of pain and suffering. However, ten years before he died, he gave it up completely.

As a counterbalance to this struggle, my dad felt a very strong calling to be helpful in many ways. He took seriously the Christian call to feed the poor, visit the sick and those in prison, help the needy and share table with all God's children. He studied the Bible all his life, and believed that it expressed the literal Word of God. He is remembered well by many people whom he has helped. Many people loved Squee Andris, and they still love his memory.

On a couple of occasions, I was able to get dad to talk about his life. What is written below was my transcription of what he had to say.

"I went to Belgium at 18. I don't remember much. Buying cigarettes at a shop and going to see Tante Cetairre, my mother's sister. Mon Uncle was a coal miner, had coal in his face. I saw the Statue of Liberty when we went out.

"I was born in Clarksburg, WV. Dad had (sic, worked at) a glass plant in Salem and one on Northview (Clarksburg) WV. Dad had a lot of Belgium friends. One time mom came downstairs and said, 'Dad, it's time to go to bed.' He replied, 'We want to play a few more hands of cards and then we'll be up.' They heard this sound and the whole ceiling caved in on their bed. Then we lived on Sacra Via and went to Marion School in the 1st grade. We lived a lot of places on the West Side, on Montgomery.

"I was about 12 when the picture of me was taken in front of the barber shop next to 313 Greene. The Foster sisters, Doll and Dell lived at 309 Greene. There was a barber shop in 311. There's another picture of the Sesquicentennial with Bill Ammon in front of it. Torrenne (nickname for Fernand's mother) bought 313 around 1922 from Mrs. Morris, whose husband was dying of TB. she wanted to go back to West Virginia. She (mom) payed $900 for the store. "

My dad suddenly remembered Harrison Al Boyd, the cop was killed in the line of duty. "Cornet and Young were bandits from Kentucky. They caught them and they both died violent deaths in the Ohio State Penetentiary. Hopkins was a pretty well-to-do blacksmith. In those days there were still lots of horses and buggies. He had a safe in there with a lot of money. They broke in at the old Blacksmith shop on Third Street. The door was open. Boyd started to go in and they shot him. Neighbors must have heard the shot. They called the police, who had bloodhounds. "

Then my mother recalls this same event. Together they reconstruct the scene. "Mom had been to a Moose Hall at a dance and was coming home on Saturday night with grandma and grandmother. As we put the key in the door we heard a shot. 12:20 Grandma said 'That sounds like a shot.' Grandmother said, 'Oh, they're shooting rats up at the dump.' (Right next to the old skating rink.) The next morning, mom was preparing to cross the street with your friends (4th and green) and saw the bloodhounds. It was bitter cold. Snow was squeaking. January. They had hid all night."

11/28/92

My dad was talking about glass work at the local glass factory.

"Amy was a strapper and Arthur was a gatherer. Dad was the blower. They had lead pipes this big (shows about 2 feet long), and they was heavy. They had a hole in the floor this wide, and it was deep. After dad got the glass (on his pipe) he would have to blow hard to get it started. A brain tumor killed my dad; blowing glass might have killed him. When he got the glass started, he'd swing it in the pit, and it would become a cylinder, maybe 8 or 9 feet long. Dad couldn't do all the work, so Arthur would throw the thing. They had these horses and he'd swing the cylinder up on them.

"Alfred Bourmark (Julia's husband) was the glass cutter. They'd cut the glass long ways, then they'd fold them over to make a big sheet. Bourmark would cut that sheet. The glass house was across the Putnam Street Bridge just beyond the College crew shed and on the left."

The picture below is in the collection of family pictures that Karen Ruhloff has inherited. It shows Charlie Rapp, Louis Andris, Arthur Andris, Jr. and Alfred Bourmark. According to Karen, "Charlie Rapp is the nephew of my Grandfather's mother-in-law." Her grandfather is the third from left, Arthur Andris, who married Emiliene Mauriocourt. Apparently, Emiliene's mother, also named Emiliene, had a brother or sister whose son Charlie Rapp was.

This picture is particularly appropriate to end this article on my father, Fernand Andris, for several reasons. The second from left was known to me as "Uncle Lou." My parents and their children visited with Lou and wife, Harriet, and three children several times a year. Lou died young, when I was in my teens. He was dad's older brother by 8 years. Arthur was the half-brother that never spoke to my dad as far back as I can remember. He did, however, talk to us children. Alfred Bourmark married my Aunt Julia, and our family also visited their family several times a year. Julia was Victorine's child by an earlier marriage.

This picture also represents the joys of fishing in a time and place where joys weren't easy to come by. I never got joy from fishing, and spent my spare time playing the piano and reading. BUT, I know that for nearly all his life, my dad slipped off to go fishing whenever he had a little time. He taught me how to skin and gut a catfish, I just didn't take to it. The fish in this picture looks for all the world like a wide-mouthed bass, the kind you can no longer catch in the larger rivers of the Ohio Valley. But dad used to feed us occasionally with such treats. These guys are definitely proud and happy. I wonder who was holding the camera.