In Greenwich, the Rhines first took lodgings in Iturbi Towers just off Putnam Avenue up at the top of the long rise of Greenwich Avenue, from where it starts almost at the edge of the Sound. I suppose at this point, I should take note of "Grandma" - for Grandma accompanied the family on this latest- and for her, her last - move. I don't remember whose Grandma she was - or even whose mother for that matter - but this is of no consequence. Grandma was well along in her years and had spent most of her life on a farm down in Missouri.

    She mostly sat in a rocker all day - and her stock reply was that she was "Feelin' poorly " and that her "toes was all drawed up" when asked as to her health. Mostly they ignored her and she sat and rocked in the sun day after day. Once, we put her in the car and drove her out North Street and the "back country" to see how the other half lived in uppercrust Greenwich. When asked - upon her return - what she thought of her new home, she replied that she didn't think much of it...

    "None of them derned places had even one chicken in the yard!"

    George however, believed that everything and everyone should "be working" whenever and wherever possible. So he found employment for Grandma: she was put to work sorting nails for the many different construction and building projects that were always afoot. George had bought a number of kegs of mixed nails at an auction some time before. To facilitate their later use, George set Grandma up with coffee cans and trays in the sun parlor and day after day she sat and rocked and sorted and hummed her way toward that inevitable end that awaits all flesh.

    And so she died at last. But she left a sizeable legacy in sorted nails!

    They took Grandma back to Missouri to be laid at rest midst familiar surroundings - as those writers of yesteryear used to delicately put it. Details of Grandma's last rites, however, only came out bit by bit in the years that lay ahead. In time, however, I came to understand that Grandma had been delivered back to the old farmstead where she lay in state for some indeterminate time - till the family decided it was, indeed, time! - so they finished up - and buried Grandma on the farm themselves. No civil authorities were brought into the matter, no papers filed, no death notices given. The undertaker had been paid in Greenwich and the body dispatched westward so far as he was concerned.

    From there Grandma vanished off the map - so to speak that is. (Some among us believe she had actually vanished some time before - but as to this being a matter-of-fact, there still seems to be dispute in some folks' minds...). In fact, I seem to recall, that for some strange reason ("seemed like good idea at the time") Grandma was interred inside the barn... but this has all grown confused in my mind and perhaps we should best let it be, let it be as the old hymn has it.

    Soon, in his endless peregrinations and pokings, George had bought a house to rebuild (weekends). This was over in Haverstraw - near Stony Point on the West bank of the Hudson. The house was very old, having been built originally in the 18th century - as the Manse of a local "Brickmaster". Haverstraw, you see, was early on noted for its brickyards. A locally available clay, dug from pits and quarries along the majestic river, proved admirable for brick-making and the region became famous for its output. Kilns were everywhere, water-filled pits, too. So successful were these efforts, they even brought into being a particular kind of vessel: the famed Hudson River Sloop - which transported the fired, finished bricks down to old New Amsterdam, later New York, where they couldn't get enough of them for their ever-lasting building. It is in a reconstructed Hudson River Sloop that the famed folk-singer and environmental activist, Woody Guthrie (or is it Pete Seegar? ck. on), travels up and down this waterway even at the present...

    But to return to our story. The long-gone "Brickmaster" had, of course, built his house - like the third pig in the tale - of bricks. Three stories high! One of our first jobs was to build scaffolding on all sides so we could reach each level on the exterior - and each individual brick! What George had us all do (it blows my mind at this time!) was grind each brick down smooth and clean (the centuries had not been kind...) using portable power drills. If I recall correctly, we burned out 30 power drill units on this assignment! (George bought tools like other men buy bananas - in bunches...). It took months and months to do - but eventually the house stood with pristine new brick exterior - still of the old, original brick.