Ringgold Street

There came a time just before my father died in 1944 that we moved from Milton Street

Our house was the one on the left of this duplex.

to about 3 streets away to Ringgold Street.

It was a big step up for us as it was a two story house sandwiched in between two other houses as they did in those days. We had never had a house before. always an apartment and not very nice ones at that. My uncle George Agricola, Actually he was my fathers uncle, owned a bakery on the corner of Highland & Ringgold St. about a block away. It was a family affair as his sons and wife & daughter did all the baking and ran the store. I remember how heavenly the store used to smell. Sometimes when I went with my father I could go in the back room where they did all the mixing and baking. It was fascinating to see all the giant mixers and preparation tables in action, I always wondered how they could possibly bake enough stuff to sell in only one night (They baked at night and slept in the day) They sold bread, buns, doughnuts, pies, cookies and anything that could be baked. I think they must have been tight fisted Germans, they are famous for that, because I don’t ever remember them even offering me a cookie. I do remember however that on Christmas day each year my dad & I went to see them and they always gave me the same thing, UNDERWEAR!, Just what a little boy hoped for. They lived upstairs from the bakery and I only remember going up there once. All of their furniture seemed to be very large oak pieces, I suppose now they would be antiques. They had a large parrot who could talk in German and whistle loudly. I was told it was 80 years old.
Across the street from our house was the God’s Bible School campus. It was a pretty big deal in those days. I heard people came from all over the world to study there. There was always a lot of excitement every year at Thanksgiving. They would serve a complete Thanksgiving meal to any and all who came, naturally I came. I remember they were serving vegetables and mashed potatoes out of 20 gallon galvanized garbage cans, clean of course, I suppose that was the only thing big enough to hold it all. There were well dressed people as well as bums, all were welcomed.
There was also a sad period living on Ringgold street. We were living there when my father died of lung cancer. He was not laid out at a funeral parlor but in our living room, this was a common practice in those days. The funeral parlor prepared him and brought him in a casket to our home and then transported him afterward to the gravesite. I remember it was hard to sleep that night knowing my father was there in a coffin in the living room below my room.

Dad is buried in the military section of The Old St. Joseph’s cemetery on west 8th st. in Cincinnati, Ohio. He was a member of the Veterans of Foreign Wars and members of his post came to the gravesite and gave him a 21 gun salute and presented the American Flag that was on his coffin to me. I of course still have it. (With only 48 stars)

Dad Veterans of Foreign Wars Cap.