Edna Mildred di Domenica Pierce was born April 28, 1918 in Philadelphia to the Reverend Angelo di Domenica, a Baptist minister, and his wife Mary Traver. She was the second of three girls: Sylvia was the oldest, and Eleanor was the youngest.
Angelo served as pastor at the first Italian Baptist Church of Philadelphia, which opened in 1921. He and Mary were trailblazers. Mary helped teach their immigrant congregation English and to prepare for their citizenship exams. Angelo worked on a bilingual hymnal that was published in 1935. According to the church, now known as St. John’s Baptist, the local Catholic church persecuted the Italian Baptist community.
From their website: “The priests wrote a series of articles in their church paper against Protestant ministers. Nuns very often stood on the opposite corner from the church to dissuade children from entering.”
This prejudice carried into their daily lives. When Mary met with the girls’ teacher to find out why they were receiving lower grades than she believed they deserved, the teacher was surprised to find that Mary was not Italian. Mary challenged her, “Does it make a difference?”
Edna was hit by a car when she was 8; she was walking on the sidewalk at the time. In shock, she ran home. No one would bring her to the hospital, fearful of blood staining their car. It was a miracle she survived.
When applying for jobs after college, an advisor told her she would have a better chance of getting a job if she married and changed her last name.
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Edna never cared for city life, and as a teenager she moved to Sand Lake to live with her grandparents, Charles and Ada. She adored them, particularly her grandfather. He gave her a violin. Edna attended Averill Park High School, graduating in 1936 with a class of 32 students.
She went to Denison University where she played her violin in the orchestra. A handsome young fellow named Philip Pierce was also in attendance. He spotted Edna’s beautiful, older sister at a dance one evening and was told he didn’t stand a chance – she was a senior. But lucky him, Sylvia had a little sister who was in his class. Phil started courting Edna – he took her to see a movie, The Plainsman starring Gary Cooper and Jean Arthur, for their first date – and as anyone in this room could guess, it was kismet.
They graduated in 1940 and Phil enlisted in the Army. While he was at boot camp in Central Park in Manhattan, Edna moved back to her parents’ house in Philadelphia, where they were to be married the following year. Phil almost didn’t make it to his own wedding because all military leaves were cancelled. Somehow, he persuaded them to make an exception and he got there just in time.
Afterward, they had a one-day honeymoon in the Poconos and a visit with Phil’s parents in Morrisville before Phil had to return to the barracks. They eventually lived at Fort Benning in Georgia and Anniston, Alabama, before Phil was shipped off to defend the Panama Canal, and Edna once again returned to her parents’. She started her teaching career at Barratt junior high, a tough inner-city school in South Philadelphia.
Side note: in 1967, long after Edna’s tenure, Martin Luther King Jr. gave a speech at Barratt, just five months before he was assassinated.
After the war, Edna and Phil moved in with Edna’s grandmother in Sand Lake. They had two daughters, Mary and Dee, before moving to their house on Orchard Lane in West Sand Lake in 1952, where they eventually had their third daughter, Kathy.
Edna substitute-taught until Kathy was in Kindergarten; then she starting teaching third grade full-time at West Sand Lake Elementary. My mom, Dee, remembers her subbing for her first-grade class; by the end of the six-week stint, the children were calling her “Mommy.”
Teaching was one of the few things Edna felt she did well. She happily taught those who found learning challenging. She made her reading groups fun, so that even the kids who didn’t need the extra help wanted to join. She took care of those who were neglected at home, washing faces, necks and hands in the nurse’s office.
Edna earned a masters degree from St. Rose. In her spare time, she was active in church, singing in the choir and teaching Sunday School. She loved to play bridge and always seemed to be sewing something, and cooking something.
She welcomed people into her home. Norman Bridwell, the Clifford the Big Red Dog author – a celebrity to us grandchildren – stayed overnight with his wife. Teachers bunked in when there was a snow storm and they could not get home, as did prospective ministers when they were interviewed at the church. There were always big dinners at Nana and Papa’s house -- the thirteen of us in the immediate Pierce clan gathered regularly for birthday parties, holidays, and, perhaps best of all, Christmas caroling. We were often all together.
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My siblings and I had the privilege of living a mile down the road from our grandparents who, it seemed to me, were the unofficial King and Queen of West Sand Lake. Everyone knew them, and everyone loved them. “You’re Mrs. Pierce’s granddaughter??” her former students would gawk. Nana had retired by the time I went to school, but fortunately she still subbed. I vividly remember asking Mrs. Googins, my first grade teacher, if she could request Nana to fill in while she was away. My sister and brother had both been shy about letting on about their familial connection, but I wanted everyone to know that I was Nana’s favorite middle-size granddaughter.
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Two years ago, Edna’s three children, five grandchildren, and eight great-grandchildren assembled a memory book for her birthday. Daughter Mary recalled how, when she broke her arm in fourth grade and couldn’t fit her own blouses over her very cumbersome cast, Nana let her wear her best blouses to make sure she was comfortable and happy. Kathy reminisced that as a kid there was nothing more comforting than coming home from Sunday school and church to the aroma of Nana’s spaghetti sauce simmering on the stove for the big midday meal. Dee reminisced about all of the costumes Nana sewed for the high school musicals she, Mary, and Kathy performed in.
Granddaughter Ashley praised Nana’s delicious gnocchi with pink sauce, and Fred (my dad) remembered the bowls of seafood pasta salad we would return home to after a week away in Maine. Grandson Zach remembered how Nana set the timer for 30 minutes before allowing him to resume swimming at the neighbors’ house after lunch.
My sister Kate, now herself a teacher, marveled at how Nana was a teacher in and out of the classroom: explaining fractions while baking, and patiently encouraging us during tense games of Parcheesi, Chinese checkers, and Old Maid.
The theme that came up again and again was of generosity: of her possessions, of her time, and of her spirit. Even in the weeks before her death, when we visited her at the Eddy, she was concerned about sharing her turkey sandwich with my children. She was an exemplary hostess to the end, always giving all she could.
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In 2004 or so, Edna and Phil sold their house on Orchard Lane and moved to Troy. Two years later, Phil died, not long after they’d had the pleasure of meeting their first great-granddaughter, Lauren. Edna and Phil were married for almost 65 years; together for 70. She has missed him terribly these last nine years. It is such a comfort that she can at last be with Papa again.
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When Robin Williams died, James Taylor was quoted as saying, “I’m so sad he’s gone and so grateful he left us so much.”
My daughter, Fiona, was born in 2009. I wanted to pay tribute to Nana in some way, so my husband, Brian, and I considered our options. Should we name her Edna? Um, no. Mildred? No way. Di Domenica? A mouthful. Pierce? Perfect! And thus Fiona became Fiona Pierce McCabe.
I am so sad that my Nana is gone but I’m so grateful she left us so much.