My paternal grandfather, Francis George Gilfeather, was born on June 13, 1909 in Boston, Massachusetts. He was the eldest surviving son of Michael Francis Gilfeather and Bertha Margaret Rau. The 1910 US Census lists him as a ten month old child living with his parents and four year old sister Mary. His brother James died from pneumonia in infancy.
The Gilfeathers lived in Roxbury, a historically diverse neighborhood in Boston. Michael and Bertha represented two ethnic groups. Michael was born to Irish immigrants and Bertha’s parents were German immigrants.
As a young married couple with two small children, Michael and Bertha shared their lodging with the Canavan family. Alice was the same age as Michael and Bertha. Her three siblings were in their teens. Ten years later, the US Census tells us that the Canavans were gone, and Bertha’s brother Fred was living with the Gilfeathers. The family had expanded with three more boys.
Frank grew up in a working-class household. His father, Michael, had worked in Boston-area shoe factories since he was fourteen years old. By the time Frank reached adulthood, he had entered the world of office work. At twenty years old, Frank was working as a “scrip man” in a broker house. Scrip referred to paper stock and bond certificates. A scrip clerk handled the records and transfer of these certificates.
Within three years, Frank had moved to 60 Mystic Avenue in Melrose, Massachusetts. He married Lillian Burkhardt at Immaculate Conception Church in Revere on June 24, 1933. They had two sons, Frank Jr. and Paul.
In 1940, Frank was working at Stone & Webster , a major engineering, construction, and utility-management company headquartered in Boston. Stone & Webster was involved in power plants, electric utilities, industrial facilities, and large engineering projects during the 1930s and 1940s. Working at this firm may have influenced Frank to encourage his sons to study engineering.
The family relocated for a number of years to Oak Park, Illinois. There, Frank worked as an office manager for a wholesale coal company. They returned to Massachusetts when my dad Paul was in high school.
I had a very short time with my grandfather. He died when I was three years old. I have a memory of him catching me in the hallway of his home and saying “big eyes” to me. I widened my eyes for him.
Frank was heading to a Red Sox game with my dad when he had a heart attack. He died on August 25, 1965 at the age of 56. He is buried in Melrose, MA.
To my father’s father–because you endured, I am here. I barely knew your voice, your dreams, or your fears, yet I know that you lived.
Tracing North 