Family Memories of My Aunt Kathleen
Last edited March 4th, 2026

My Aunt, Kathleen Anastasia Conners, was my father’s older sister, though she was younger than my Uncle Matt, the oldest surviving sibling in the family. Kathleen was the family historian. Nearly everything I know about my father’s side of the family came from her stories.
She was also the unofficial editor of the family. She typed and edited all of my high school papers, as well as those of my older siblings—Marianne, Jimmy, and Eddie. She could type as fast as you could speak, editing your thoughts in real time and producing a polished final draft.

Christmas Trips to Boston
Each year Aunt Kathleen and I would go Christmas shopping in Boston. We caught the streetcar on Belmont Street, just a half block from our home at 23 Lawndale Street. We loved visiting the holiday displays at the downtown department stores, especially Gilchrist's and Jordan Marsh.
After shopping, we always ate at a seafood restaurant called Dini’s. One year, another group was called ahead of us even though we had arrived first. Aunt Kathleen immediately sprang into action to defend our place in line—only to discover the available table was for a larger party. It was typical of her: spirited, principled, and quick to respond.
Those outings were special to me. They gave me a sense of independence and time alone with her outside the immediate family.

The Siblings She Remembered
Aunt Kathleen once told me she had been one of six siblings. Through conversations with her and later ancestry research, I learned that Edward died in infancy after a fall, and twins Mary Ann and Thomas died of meningitis. Only Aunt Kathleen spoke openly about these departed siblings. She carried their memory.

Stories of Her Childhood
She spoke fondly of growing up. My father, James, was the family comedian. He performed Liberace impressions that sent both Aunt Kathleen and my grandmother into laughter. (Liberace, for reference, was the flamboyant and highly popular pianist and entertainer of the mid-20th century.)
My grandfather worked for the railroad. According to my father, he measured train cars to ensure they would clear bridges safely. He later went on strike in support of the Pullman sleeping car porters and never returned to railroad work.
He eventually died of cancer of the descending sigmoid colon. My brother Jim once recorded Uncle Matt describing the doctor’s visit when the diagnosis was delivered. Uncle Matt said their father was so preoccupied with dressing himself that he did not fully grasp the seriousness of what he was being told. During his father’s final illness, my father slept in his room for months.
Aunt Kathleen also recalled Uncle Matt’s graduation from Boston College High School. The theme that year was “Tenting Tonight,” and she would hum a few bars whenever she mentioned it.

Family Moments
I remember my brother Jim teasing Aunt Kathleen about a new pen she had purchased. He kept clicking it on and off. She warned him he would ruin it; he insisted he was merely proving it worked. It was a good-natured exchange, and he returned the pen unharmed.
Another time, when I was about twelve and visiting her and my grandmother, Aunt Kathleen announced she was going into Boston. My grandmother—then about eighty—insisted she should not. Aunt Kathleen, around sixty at the time, put on her coat to leave. My grandmother promptly pulled it off her shoulders and sat her firmly back in a chair. The scene has always stayed with me.
On another occasion, when a door-to-door salesperson rang the bell, my grandmother answered holding an iron taken from the fireplace. Uncle Matt quickly relieved her of it.

Her Voice and Her Presence
Aunt Kathleen, my grandmother, and my father all shared a distinctive quality in their voices—smooth, steady, and comforting. Kathleen had a wonderful sense of humor. Of all my father’s relatives, she laughed most easily, and I believe my father made her laugh more than anyone.
She once told me that her father, James, had two brothers: Matthew, a priest who traveled extensively—including to India—and spoke several languages; and Michael, a lifelong bachelor who attended Mass daily and lived into his nineties.

Life on Lawndale Street
Aunt Kathleen, Uncle Bill, and my grandmother lived on the second floor of our house on Lawndale Street. She was constantly redecorating—moving from the living room to the dining room, and then starting all over again.
Once, shortly after refinishing her dining room table, she decided to paint the ceiling. She carefully covered the table with newspaper, not realizing the stain had not fully dried. The ink from the newspaper transferred onto the surface she had just restored.
Another Thanksgiving, Uncle Bill stepped on a mousetrap and required stitches. I drove him to the hospital while Aunt Kathleen was baking three pies—one of them pecan. Though understandably concerned, she still checked the oven to make sure nothing burned. I told her my best friend Frank loved pecan pie. In truth, he hated it. It was my private joke.

Treasures and Traditions
Erin McGuire recalled in October 2021 that Aunt Kathleen would hide money around the house and send her on treasure hunts to retrieve the little surprises. Erin also remembered playing dress-up in Aunt Kathleen’s closet and staging fashion shows in the living room, complete with cheering from Uncle Bill and his brother Art.

Mike’s Memories (May 16, 2021)
My nephew Mike O’Malley shared these reflections after reading an earlier draft:
He remembered Aunt Kathleen’s infectious laughter—how tears would stream down her face as she laughed and laughed. She often retold a story from his toddler years when, after something humorous occurred, he turned to her in indignation and declared, “Not funny!” His seriousness only made her laugh harder.
He recalled going upstairs for breakfast, choosing from the miniature cereal boxes, and learning from her how to eat a soft-boiled egg. She always made one for him when he asked.
He also remembered her playing piano while he and “Papa” sang “Home on the Range.” It remains one of his happiest memories.
After Uncle Matt and Papa had both passed away, she confided in him about what she described not as a dream but as a vision: she saw the two brothers embracing, united in the hereafter. She told Mike she felt she could share that story only with him.
He remembered her childhood story of winning pickles as prizes for kickball games and footraces. Her mother allowed her only the first bite, warning against passing the pickle from child to child—likely wise advice during flu epidemics of the era.
She loved The Lawrence Welk Show and adored her nieces and nephews. She never forgot a birthday or Christmas.

Erin’s Reflections (October 29, 2021)
Erin wrote that climbing the back stairs to Aunt Kathleen’s kitchen was always special—the stairs had a distinctive, comforting smell that felt like home.
Breakfast was magical. They would split open the small cereal boxes, pour milk directly into the plastic liner, and eat from the box itself. It was something Erin experienced only there.
They staged elaborate dress-up fashion shows together, walking a living-room runway to applause. Erin remembered Aunt Kathleen singing “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling” while looking directly into her eyes, making her feel as though the song were meant just for her.
Though petite in stature, she had a grand presence. Her grand-nieces and nephews would measure themselves against her height, proud when they finally grew taller.
Aunt Kathleen remains near and dear to our hearts. Her laughter, her stories, her generosity of spirit, and her devotion to family endure in our memories.

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