It was 36 years ago today, April 4, 1968, that James Earl Ray assassinated Dr. Martin Luther King on the balcony of the Lorraine Motel in Memphis. I had just turned 13 six days earlier, and was in the seventh grade at Annunciation Grade School.

We lived at 604 Mt. Pleasant Road in the Northview Heights housing project in Pittsburgh. This project consisted of row after row of connected townhomes. They were three stories with a full basement and two stories above.

That fateful day in history was a Thursday. By the following day, a Friday, many blacks in the city had started to riot to protest his death. Mom and Dad decided it was prudent to leave the projects for the weekend.

So the whole family was shipped off to various relatives throughout the city. Sean and I (did anyone else go there?) went to stay with Aunt Betty and her family. She had sons — our cousins — who were around our age…. Billy and Tommy. Sean and I had some fun that weekend. But soon it was to end.

Sunday night we returned to what almost looked like a war zone. I vividly recall that someone had thrown a brick through our rear storm door. Our life in those projects had become progressively and increasingly unbearable, with continuing harassment and threats made at us kids.

Luckily, we were finally getting back on our feet as a family. Jack had a job, and Jeanne had been working for awhile at TWA. They found a house to buy across the bridge, down Charles Street and up near the top of the first Wilson Avenue hill.

I think we closed in May and moved in June. I started my eighth grade class from a new, safer home that would provide us with many memories — 313 Elston St.

Laurie, Sean, Mark, Michael — do you remember Martin Luther King weekend? And what are your first memories of Elston?

–Kevin

I have limited memories of the Point Breeze neighborhood and the Wilkens Avenue neighbors.

I recall my first school was St. Bede’s. And my cousin Marcy was in my first grade class. One memory that stands out was the play the first graders put on, “The Little Gingerbread Boy.” And I was the Little Gingerbread Boy. And my cousin Marcy was the baker. And at the end of the play she had to give me a big hug. And that really embarrassed me.

Funny the memories that stick with you.

But one of the neighbors whom Jeanne didn’t mention was the Danovitz’s. They lived on a house just down the street. And Laurie’s best friend was a Danovitz. But now I don’t remember her name. Maybe Laurie can fill us in on her.

–Kevin

Note from Kevin: Jeanne O’Neil jotted down these memories over the period of time when she was staying with her daughter Laurie right after she retired. See also the oral history she recorded in 2007. Index of memories here.

It all began on August 9, 1952, when I married Jack O’Neil. Nine months and two weeks later Laurie Jeanne was born — a little red head. But somehow I wasn’t thinking red. I was up all night and at 7 am. I woke up Jack, whose biggest concern was what to wear to the hospital. I pressed his pants and away we went to Magee Women’s Hospital.

I should mention my pregnancy here. I never kept a meal down for 8 months, but I was so naive that I thought this was normal. When I got pregnant with Kevin I mentioned to Dr. Barone that I hoped would have an easier pregnancy and he asked why. I told him my plight and he looked at my records and said “not being able to hold down any food” was not a “little bit nauseated,” which was what I had told him. Another dumb Irish Catholic girl.

Continue reading “Jeanne O’Neil’s early memories of motherhood”