BY Ellenore Smith: Special to The Pilot

We usually went North to New Hampshire in the middle of May but the year Sukey was born we didn’t leave until late June. My father bought a beautiful new seven- passenger Hudson. It had three big windows in the back. It had two jump seats, wide running boards and was black of course, as all cars were then.

We were going to drive to Yarmouth, Nova Scotia, my mother’s home. Her parents were still living, and they wanted to show off that old Sukey. My mother was one of twelve children so there were lots of relatives.

U.S. 1 went right through the main street of towns and cities; there weren’t any bypasses. Somehow, someway my father got in a funeral procession, on Fifth Avenue no less, and in between the hearse and the family car. Doris and Aunt Ada and I all knelt down on the floor of the car, as we were so embarrassed.

Of course Dad couldn’t and neither could Mother in the front seat holding Sukey. When the hearse finally, after miles, turned into a cemetery, Dad drove straight on and he said, “That was the worst thing I’ve ever done.” My mother quickly agreed. She said lots of people were watching the procession and some pointed at our car.

Dad said, “I wish I could find out whose funeral it was and I would write and apologize to the family.”

I said, “I’m sure it was a gangster and they will follow and find us and they all carry machine guns and I didn’t want us all to die full of bullet holes.”

So Dad said “Ellenore, you do have a vivid imagination but maybe we’d better leave well enough alone.”

He told me it would be a good idea if I watched out the back window to see if we were being followed. I did just that for about half and hour until I fell asleep. I dreamed I lived in a Mafia family and I was the Godmother.