John Henry Christ, July 11, 1907 – Mar 27, 1971

A biographical essay to honor our father

on the centennial of his birth

Dad was born in Maspeth, the first English town in Queens, founded in 1642. His parents were George Edward Christ, 1876-1925 and Mary Magdelena Bebon Christ, 1883-1948. He was the third of four children, and was called Johnny by his family. They lived in a simple one-family home and a yard with chickens, unlike what we would think of now as Queens. Maspeth is still primarily one-family homes, with a busy business street called Grand Ave. and is also home to Mt. Olivet Cemetery. His father’s family can be traced back to only his grandfather, also know as George Christ, and on his mother’s side only to her parents, Michael Reot, born in Bavaria in 1826,  and Mary Reynolds, born in Ireland in 1829. We know much more about Mary’s family. The Bebons and, on her  mother’s side the Kunsts, were from Alcase in France, which in 1877 was ceded to Germany. They lived in Brooklyn, NY. The Bebon ancestors were harness makers and later tailors and Mary’s grandfather, Joseph Bebon, served in the 5^th NY Cavalry in the Civil War. The Kunsts were employed in the glass factories. Lena’s uncle Marcus Kunst was a glass blower in the Millville, NJ factory and was part of a team of four who blew the largest mouth-blown glass bottle, which record remains today. Lena spoke German well, so both families were probably German-speaking people. Alsatians often speak German at home, but much culture is conducted in French.

Dad’s childhood was a happy one, according to his stories, until the untimely death of his brother George in 1924 at the age of 19, followed by that of his father in 1925. The boy had always been frail, but the father’s death was unexpected. This forced Dad to leave school and help support the family. It echoed the story of his father, who had wanted to be a priest, but when his own father died at age 42, he was also forced to leave school and seek work. They were a Roman Catholic family, and Dad served as an altar boy at St. Stanislaus Koska Church in Maspeth. One story he told of his boyhood was that of the fire at the church. He was at school nearby, perhaps the attached parochial school, when he witnessed the firemen running back and forth across the altar to fight the fire. In his strict Catholic mind, he expected them to be struck by lightning because they didn’t genuflect. During the great influenza epidemic of 1918, Dad lost almost a full year of school because he was called to serve as altar boy so often at funerals. Even as an adult he was still able to recite much of the Latin mass. Dot remembers less pious stories about putting hair, or rubber, in the incense so it stunk, or ink in the holy water, so people would get it on their shirts.

Dad worked a great variety of jobs and the tales of these were a source of amusement and history lesson for us as children. The one which is most memorable was “sorting peas for Libby” which we took to mean separating by size. It seemed very improbable to us.

In 1927 his mother married again to John Federlein, a street-car conductor. By then the youngest child, Margaret, was 18. Life probably became more settled for them at this point, though later he became disabled and Lena supported the family as a seamstress.  She outlived John Federlein as well. Jobs were very scarce during the Great Depression, but Dad was lucky to get a job driving a city bus in 1933.

Dad retained his childhood friend, Frank Ryan, all through his life. Although his wife Miller was somewhat quirky, we visited back and forth several times a year, and Dad really enjoyed Frank’s company. This was one of the few non-family get-togethers we remember, though we visited one of Mom’s childhood friends less often.

I remember Dad telling us of a motorcycle trip he took with several friends to Ohio, though the reason for that destination is cloudy. As kids we asked if Ohio was pink, because it was pink in our state map jigsaw puzzle and also the atlas we had. Another geographical childhood mystery to us was the fact that Dad was born before Arizona and New Mexico were states. I remember thinking that there must have been a hole in the ground there before they were states.

In 1932 Dad married Madeline McAuliffe, and their son Jerome Edward was born on Christmas Eve, 1933. They divorced in 1939. Jerry was an infrequent, but much anticipated, visitor at our home when we were young. He lived with his mother, step-father and step-sister Kathy, who was close to the three girls in age. She would sometimes come with him as well.

In the late thirties Dad and his best friend Frank obtained a 14 foot inboard fishing boat that had sunk while it was tied up to a dock. Together they rebuilt the boat. When one would try to correct the other about doing something, the answer was always the same “so what,” hence the name of the boat, the “So what.”  Whenever Dad and Frank would take Jerry out in the Great South Bay it was one of the biggest thrills of his young life.

That is, until dad built his sail boat, “The Playmate.” It was an 18 foot sloop. The most unique thing about the boat was the mast. Dad wanted more than a pole sticking up in the air to hold the sails. He designed a mast that had three vertical spars held together by evenly spaced blocks of wood. Not only was it a thing of beauty but the envy of every sailboat owner in the South Bay. Sailing a boat  was another one of the many things he taught himself how to do. Dad docked the boat in Bill Brown’s Creek, Sayville, Long Island. When he would tack the boat out of the narrow creek most people would look and just shake their heads and say, “He’ll never make it,” but he always did.

 Dad met Ingrid Berndt while he worked as a bus driver. She rode his bus to school during her senior year and then to work at a bank. They became engaged at Christmas in 1941 over the mild objections of her parents, because he was divorced with a young son, and fifteen years older than she. They married in Hoboken, NJ at the Dutch Reformed Church attended by Mom’s aunt. This minister, Pastor Wettstein, was willing to marry a divorced Catholic, and he was fondly remembered by both of them forever. They lived in Maspeth, where all three girls were raised for the first few years, interrupted by Dad’s service in the Navy. Their first child was Dorothy Eleanor, born on Sept. 21, 1943 in Flushing, NY.

The Navy years were the source of some of the most frequently told stories I remember. Dad joined the Navy to avoid serving in the Army, into which he was drafted in 1943. He was already 35 with a daughter on the way, so probably assumed he was safe from being “called up.” But the war was on, so he was needed. He chose the Navy since he was an amateur sailor, but during the war, never ended up at sea. He went to basic training in upstate NY, and then to Texas A&M for a year of college, mostly math, and then to San Francisco, where he was stationed on Treasure Island, and only could come home on weekends. He was finally stationed in Chicago, where their second child, Jeanette Ellen, was born during a blizzard on Feb. 8, 1945. Mom tried to live with Dad as much as she could during his service years. They were back in Flushing (Mom’s home town) when Susan Ingrid was born early, on Nov. 29, 1945. Dad had been honorably discharged from the Navy in October of that year. Dad credited the Navy with giving him further education, including high school equivalency, and some college, so when he was discharged he went to work with Sperry Gyroscope, as it was then called, as an electronics technician. He remained with Sperry until his retirement.

In 1950 the family moved to Hicksville, Long Island, to a Cape Cod house on Lee Avenue. The neighborhood was full of young families, the men recently from military service. The houses were essentially alike until the men started work. They all helped each other, building garages, dormers, and finishing the attics. There was a neighborhood ladder and wheelbarrow, and possibly a cement mixer, owned in common and stored by the last man to use it, and Dad would listen to rumors of new projects and plan the timing of his use of the ladder or other tools so it would soon be needed by someone else. The skills of the men in the neighborhood were pooled, so if one knew carpentry and one knew cement work, they all did. Dad was self-taught in these skills and was very respected by the other men, most of whom were younger.

One fond memory of days on Lee Avenue is the holiday garage parties. For Memorial Day, Fourth of July and Labor Day, the six close families held a one-day picnic and party. The location rotated, and the hosts would usually clean out their garage and we’d drag several picnic tables there. The menu was fairly fixed as we loved each mother’s specialty, but always included grilled hotdogs. After the meal and kids games, the kids were brought home and put to bed, and the parents would return to the host home, where they would have “adult fun,” which we assumed meant drinking more than beer, and dancing.

Mom and Dad joined St. Stephen’s Lutheran Church in Hicksville, and became active members. Dad was an usher, which we all referred to as “ushing.” The kids attended Sunday school and Luther League and the church hosted the Brownie troop which Mom led (with all three girls in the troop, there was still a little room for other girls). The church family led to several close friendships for Mom and Dad, and of course for the kids as well.

Dad used to tell us that no matter how many children there were, they only came in two kinds, so we only needed three bedrooms. One room was reserved for Jerry, and it had a nautical bunk-style bed, all built by Dad, with drawers underneath and a book case at the head. Mom's mother's friend "Tante Hertha" embroidered wonderful linens for the bunk in blue with white designs – ship’s wheel, anchor and rope motifs. The girl’s room had two sets of drawers and two closets, and the sharing of them was source of endless struggles. Both upstairs rooms had the sloping ceilings and dormer windows of the converted attic space they were. Dad finished everything, including the staircase open to the living room with fancy newel post and curved railing.

Sue has fond memories of bath times. Dad supervised the baths, with the oldest one first in the same water. He stood us on the toilet so as not to have to bend over when he dried us off. He patiently blow-dried our hair while we sat on the floor in front of him, after Saturday evening shampooing, during the Lawrence Welk show. We, of course, loved the Lennon sisters, and would probably sing along. We each had our favorite sister.

On October 4, 1956, the last of the Christ kids was born, Richard John. Dad took pride in pushing him in the baby carriage around the block to show him off. Rick was a talkative child; thrust into a family of teenagers and adults, he was able to hold his own in conversations very early. In 1958 Dad suffered a heart attack on Good Friday, and had to spend many weeks in bed to heal. As a result of this, Rick moved upstairs to “Jerry’s” room. After Dad’s heart attack, he quit smoking “cold turkey” and liked to say “The only thing worse than an ex-Catholic is an ex-smoker, and I’m both.” He became a crusader for his own health, and took up bicycle riding, following the recommendations of Dr. Paul Dudley White, President Eisenhower’s physician.  He read many books during his weeks in bed, so many that we had standing orders to bring the “next six” books from the library (that being the limit on a card). He believed that any book was worth reading, but he preferred science, biography and history.

Dad was a man of few words, but the few were almost always worth hearing. He had an endless repertoire of quips from sources like Will Rogers, and he pulled them out at appropriate times. I’m sure we’ve all repeated many in our time, to our own kids. He wasn’t much as a disciplinarian, which he left to Mom. If we asked for something that seemed to him to be out of order, he’d invariably ask, “Have you asked your Mother?” And when it came to curfews, he was likely to be lenient, but we never pushed that too far. If Mom asked when we came home, we could stretch the truth a bit, but always with an eye to Dad, who was a light sleeper and surely knew when we came in.

He had many hobbies which drew him into the basement, where he had separate workbenches for woodwork and electronics. We also had an HO model railroad on a big table with scenery. The girls could help with wiring, but mostly did scenery. We girls loved using the tool which stripped the color-coded insulation around wires, but mostly we strung the colored bits on necklaces. We also loved riding on the dolly which allowed access under the layout.

In June 1954, the local newspaper sponsored a contest to find the World's Greatest Dad. Dad won based on Dot's essay.

"I think my Dad is the greatest dad because he helps the Scouts and our school by building (1) bunkhouse for camp, (2) props for our play, (3) Santa Claus, sled and reindeer. He gives us much of his time by taking us on trips, helping us with science, explaining all the answers to our questions and playing music with us. My two sisters and I love him very much."

Dad won a $25.00 Savings bond, pair of slippers, sports shirt, hat, dry cleaning & pressing of a suit, a pen, a full tank of gas plus oil, all prizes came from local businesses.

Dad was also a self-taught musician. He played a mandolin and harmonica. He sang along with the mandolin--songs from the turn of the century or a bit later, like “Bicycle build for two” or “Glow-worm.” Later, Dot asked to learn piano, so we got an old upright and she started lessons. When she was accomplished we’d often have sing-alongs, hymns or show tunes. Later she studied the organ, and we got a small Hammond organ. Jean studied the flute, and sometimes there’d be flute along with the songs.  Band was almost a family project, leading to parade time. Dot took up trombone so she could march. Sue was always the one focused on her future as a nurse, so she skipped the music lessons.

Dad’s later hobbies included amateur radio, and Dad was very proud to have learned Morse code to get his license. He made many friends through radio and kept good records of each of his talks. Weather anomalies which allowed him to contact hams from further away than usual were special times, and he loved telling us about his contacts then.  Dad and Mom loved traveling. Our two-week vacation was planned from right after Christmas and often involved renting a cabin at a state park in upstate NY. We’d bring everything including linens, cookware and clothes, and saw so many natural areas that we had to later go beyond our home state. One vacation in the Pocono’s in PA is memorable because it’s where Rick learned to swim in the pool in the center of the cabin ring. After the girls were off to college and holding summer jobs, Mom and Dad would take Rick to spots in the South, where Rick developed an interest in the Civil War. Dad also had a small telescope and they once experienced an eclipse on the Outer Banks.

If it involved history or science, Dad thought it worth a visit. In fact, we almost never missed a “historic marker” along the road. Photography was another of Dad’s hobbies, and he left boxes of slides of our vacations, holidays and birthdays. He also “collected” odd ferries, state capitals, and railroads. Dad’s prized Leica camera was put to use before every Christmas, when he would pose the kids for the annual Christmas card. Settings included sleds, the piano, and the stairs. He would then print up enough for Mom’s list in his dark room downstairs, improvised from a coal bin. The kids would sometimes help lay out the drying cards.

After Dad retired, he took up yet another craft, that of off-set printing. He’d learned it from our Lutheran minister, while helping him print the church bulletins. When he owned his own off-set press, he printed letterheads, business cards, and other small projects. He could hand-set type, enlarge, and create off-set litho plates. He once hand set type for a small book which was a fraternity history. The enlarging was made possible by a camera that Dad built. The project got started when a friend provided him with a lens. Then he went to the library and studied up on optics. Dot remembers being called to the basement to provide another set of hands for the final touch—folding the bellows for moving the lens in an out. Dad had scored a large piece of black cardboard in precisely the right places to create the four-sided affair. The printing business was called “Mid-Island Press.”

One of Dad’s last major building projects was the “Jolly Green Giant,” the Ford van which he custom fitted for camping. It had the table and bench combo which with a flip of the table leg became a bunk for him and Mom. Rick’s bunk was in back, with access underneath for laundry basket and tools. There were closet, cupboards, sink, and, hanging from the side door, a “picnic hamper” with the things needed for the picnic table and the Coleman stove.  Mom made all the cushions and window coverings. In it, they covered much of the United States, including several trips to the Southwest, the Midwest, where Dot and Jean lived after they married, and the South. It was on one of those trips that they decided they wanted to move to Albuquerque, NM. They had made a few friends there, and even chosen a Lutheran church. They met a realtor who helped them choose a house, and, sadly, it was just before they were to make that move that Dad suffered his fatal heart attack, on March 27, 1971.

 Dad’s lasting legacy is his family – five children, eight grandchildren, and seven great-grandchildren. We are fortunate to also treasure things that he made or used, including his mandolin, brass HO engine, model sailboat, etc. We also relate stories about him to his grandchildren and great-grandchildren, so they will come to appreciate why we love him.

We hope anyone who chances to read this realizes what a genuinely wonderful man John Christ was. His virtues were honesty, loyalty, generosity, love and faith. Our tribute is small, but thanks to the invention of the computer and the World Wide Web it may live forever. He loved computers, even the very early tube models he knew from Sperry, which required their own room. He saw the change to transistors, and would have loved personal computers and taught himself the technology of circuit boards.