Chapter 1: The Tent Trailer
By Richard Mabey Jr.

In early September of 1971, I turned 18 and began my first semester at County College of Morris. It was a most wonderful, joyous and magical time. I was very devoted to my girlfriend, Penny Landing. I had this most incredible feeling that a new world was opening for me. I had a 1961 white Ford Falcon. I thought I had the tiger by the tail.

Growing up in the old Mabey Homestead, was akin to growing up in a boarding house in a way. We would often have cousins and good friends, from far and wide, stay for a while. Patrick and Maureen Cavanaugh were first cousins to my grandmother, Bertha Mabey. They had all grown up together in Clifton. They had a common bond of having sailed the Atlantic from the Emerald Isle to come to the land
of golden opportunities, namely the good old U. S. of A.

In the Fall of 1971, Cousins Patrick and Maureen came to visit us for about a month. They lived in Morgantown, West Virginia. Grandma Mabey was now a widow and lived with us at the old Mabey Homestead. I remember that, before our cousins came to visit us, Dad asked me if I would mind bunking in the tent trailer in our backyard. This way, the cousins could have my bedroom to sleep in. At first I was
a bit reluctant, but agreed to make the sacrifice. I remember that Dad most sincerely thanked me for being
such a team player.

It was all so very wonderful to have my cousins visit. Patrick talked about the prejudice that Irish folks suffered in the 1920’s and 1930’s. How some of the silk milks in Paterson had signs up, “Irish need not apply.” Grandma Mabey and her cousin, Maureen, both worked in the same silk mill in Paterson. They would take a bus to and from work. They reminisced of their days of coming of age, in an Irish
neighborhood of Clifton.

I had set up a little apartment for myself, in our family’s tent trailer. It was set up in the driveway, right beneath the tall maple tree in our back yard. This was the very same tall maple wherein I had built my three-tier tree fort when I was a boy. I had read Thomas Wolfe’s classic novel, “Look Homeward, Angel,” upon the second tier planking of my tree fort, during my high school years. Now, I was a college man, still
reading Thomas Wolfe, lost in his novel, “You Can’t Go Home Again.”

I remember one September night, sleeping in the tent trailer, and my bladder called to me to take a walk into the forest to find a tree. I remember walking in my pajamas and robe and slippers across the backyard and then across Earl’s Meadow to enter into the forest, to the east. After “watering the tree,” as we called it in the scouts, I walked to the tree line looking out to Earl’s Meadow.

I took a minute and sat down upon the fallen tree. This was the very same fallen tree that Grandpa Mabey and I would sit upon, while he told me tales of his youth and young manhood. It was only a few years ago, that Grandpa still had a big garden growing in Earl’s Meadow, with rows and rows of ears of corn growing. Grandpa used to say to me, “son, grow a garden and your family will never go hungry.”

I remember something deeply touched my heart that September night. It was the middle of the night. The full moon lit up Earl’s Meadow. I could hear the echo of Grandpa telling me stories of working at Incline Plane Ten East, along the old Morris Canal. I felt the heavy weight of mourning. I cried. Then, I cried even more.

At the time, my girlfriend Penny and I were going through some rough times. I was working 29 hours a week at the A&P and taking a full course load at County College. It was only early in the semester, but I was already struggling with my Economics Class. And, to top it all off, my boss at the grocery store was giving me an exceptionally hard time. It seemed I could do nothing right by him. Penny was upset with
me, because I no longer had the time, like I did during the Summer, to see her as often.

While the tears rolled down my cheeks, sitting upon the fallen tree, I prayed and prayed and prayed for God to bless me with inner peace. I know how strange this may sound. But while I prayed, I felt the presence of my grandfather. I could almost feel the weight of his arm over my shoulder. Holding my shoulder and gently whispering to me, “don’t worry Dicky Jim, it’s going to be okay.”

Nearly 55 years have passed since that fateful night of September of 1971, when I felt the definite presence of my beloved grandfather. And, it’s been over 58 years since Grandpa Mabey went Home to be with the Lord. I don’t think a day has gone by that I haven’t thought of that wonderful, dear old man.

I’ve had times when I’ve been on top of the mountain. I’ve had times when I’ve walked through the darkest valleys. But through it all, I have always felt the endearing presence of my beloved grandfather. Is it possible that our relationships with loved ones, continues after their passing from this physical planet?

Is it possible that when close loved ones pass, that they become guardian angels to us, guiding and
protecting us in life?

Life is short. Painfully short. Time spent holding grievances and bad feelings for someone, is wasted time.

Love one another. Care for another. Forgive, forgive and forgive again the wrong doings people may act upon you. For truly, love is the greatest force in the universe.

Richard Mabey Jr. is a freelance writer. He has recently had two books published. He currently hosts a YouTube Channel entitled, “Richard Mabey Presents.” Richard may be contacted at richardmabeyjr@gmail.com.