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Family Memories

The following are the family memories of  Mercedes, Daphne Yvonne & Emery, Jr., children of Edward Emery Jacques; of Jacquie, Mike and Steve Scherr, children of Joan Jacques Scherr; and of Arthur Francis Jacques, III, son of Robert A. Jacques, Sr.  

From Daphne Jacques Hodder

Some notes on the people from the preceding page[s] - my Grandfather=s sister and brothers - my Great Aunts and Great Uncles:  

We all called Octavia "Auntie Olivier" and her husband, Charles, "Uncle Olivier". It was years before I realized that was not their given names. They lived in a huge apartment in Hancock, crowded with antiques. When they died, my mother and father got a truck load of old and wonderful furniture. I have a marble topped commode in the dining room that was theirs. Reatha has a bed and dresser. I don't know what happened to the rest of it--discarded when our family moved to Lansing in 1946, I suppose.

My first cousins, once removed, the triplets were named John, Raymond, and Charles. They were handsome and dashing. Raymond became a priest, then a naval chaplain, and died on a destroyer in World War II.

I have a strong memory, when in visiting Hancock as a child, of the smell of cigars and port wine, and chocolate.

My grandfather smoked cigars. Yvonne and I would go to a movie, return to our house on Park Street, smell that wonderful cigar smell and know that Grampa had been there and left us some money - always on the table in the living room.

Gramma Jacques mother, Lucy, came to live with them briefly. She lived to be very old. Family legend has it that she was so rotund, she had to be tucked into the bath tub. She is buried at Holy Cross Cemetery ~n the Jacques family plot.



From Emery Edward Jacques, Jr.


With a new and deeper sense of family, and in loving memory of my dear father Emery, I continue the work of my grandfather, Arthur Francis Jacques, with appreciation for the work that he has done in compiling the history of our family, with the hope that what has been commenced and completed to date will be continued in the future.

Emery E. Jacques Jr.
Son of Emery and Florence Jacques  



From Mercedes Jacques Kimling

A Postscript from Mercedes
Feb. 1981

I'm writing this while I'm still up to my ears in all those extravagant names after typing copies of Grandpa's tome for two days.

First of all, Arthur Francis could spell - the typos are mine. He attended a French-English school until about 16, then went to work as s bookkeeper. Nuns did a good job in those days.  My brother Emery and I first remember him on our visits to Marquette when we lived in the boonies. Grandpa's house was very grand with a step-down living room and a speaking tube to the third floor. Grandpa pounded out marches, by ear only, on his grand piano, and we always had to perform during family get-togethers. He was one of the first persons north of the Straits to learn to play bridge, and it was his and all the family's passion, to Grandma's despair as she would try to gather people for dinner. To this day I can remember what seemed an exotic fragrance in their house-toast and cantalope and chocolates and cigars. He and Grandma were totally French, in their attention their clothes, possessions, end family-very few friends or interests outside of their family, except for Grandpa's bridge group which was sacred.  He was elected mayor of Marquette for at least two terms, and president of a local bank, which pleased him most of all because it was a crossing-over to Protestant establishment and he was a snob, in a way. His proudest moment would have been to see my father as warden at the prison in Marquette, which in those days was a status job, with none of the exposes about prisons and bad vibrations that we ail are familiar with today.

His mother was Irish the first non-French person to show up in these records. Grandma, Celina, was totally French and my mother was French-Irish. I'm sure there were mother-in-law feelings for at least two generations. A famous quote of Celina's was, "Where there's Irish there's trouble" upon which my mother left the party. 

Grandpa certainly didn't like the name "Dahaut". 

Arthur Francis died in ]945, of a heart attack in his own bed-room. Celina died in 1959.

From my knowledge of the family, musical talent has appeared in every generation, a definitely inherited trait. Several members of religious orders-it was one of the few ways for women to get on education in those days.

Wouldn't it be interesting if a literary family member someday were to use this as a framework for a novel or scholarly work. Henri Troyat has done it with a series of family novels based in some of the very areas in France which appear in these pages. I'm too busy this year, maybe next.

Love to you all,

Mercedes Jacques Kimling
Feb. 1981


From Daphne Jacques Treado Hodder
February 15, 1992

In loving memory of my dear father, Emery Edward Jacques, and also, my grandfather, Arthur Francis Jacques, I continue the work on this family history. I find, as my brother Emery did, a renewed sense of family in doing this.

For the generations to come who will read this, I add a footnote: Arthur Jacques, who began this work, was educated only until he was sixteen; at the time of his death he was Vice-President and General Manager of the Pickands Coal and Dock Company in Marquette, and also the President of the Union National Bank, also in Marquette. My father, Emery, was the warden at the Marquette Prison at the time of his death in 1956.

Rest in Peace.  
Daphne Jacques Treado Hodder


From Jacquie Scherr

Memories of Arthur and Maude, my grandparents

While engrossed with this album, I could not help but think about Grammy and Papa.  It seems that they were constantly with me while I was working on it.  But, even before the album, they were not far from my thoughts.  I wear always Grammy"s ring, it seems to bring her closer. 

My father was in the Marine Corps and we moved around a lot, so we only returned to Wauwatosa for vacations every other summer or so.  One time when my father was stationed in Japan we stayed with Grammy and Papa in the marvelous "Tudorhouse on Rockway Place for a whole year.  My youngest brother Steve was born during this stay.  We always looked forward to our visits, usually coming in August.  I recall chilly mornings and warm days and absolutely stupendous thunder storms off the lake. 

My grandmother would never sit in the sun unless she put on a large straw hat to protect her face.  She had red hair, turning to gray when I knew her, with creamy white skin.  The skin of her face was very, very soft to touch and had a gentle fragrance about it that I now know was partly due to the face powder she used - my mother recently sent me a box of this powder via my daughter.  When I opened the box, I immediately saw my grandmother.  She was very stylish and Asmart@ in her dress.  I believe my grandfather would have termed it "neat but not gaudy".  I particularly recall a faux leopard jacket and beret that she wore on one of her visits to us (I wore this jacket for many years and it now resides in my closet, along with her beautiful Autumn Haze mink jacket).  Grammy had a maid who came once or twice a week to clean the house, and I seem to remember being commandeered to assist with the cleaning - however, I have to say that Grammy was right there cleaning with us (I never could figure out why she had a maid and then cleaned the house along with her).  She kept incredible marzipan candy in the pantry - all sorts of fruit shapes.  I was allowed one or two - they were saved quite a while before being eaten. 

Papa and his cigars are a vivid memory, and the glass of amber bourbon.  Papa would be smoking that cigar and would suddenly get a twinkle in his eyes and a mischievous smile on his face and when Grammy came into the room, he would spit pieces of tobacco at her, laughing the whole time.  She would get a stern look on her face and say "Oh, Art, stop that!She would then turn away smiling and walk out of range.  We called Papa "Dollar Bill Jacques" because he was always handing us dollar bills - didn't matter if we were visiting them or they were visiting us, those dollars never seemed to stop.

When we visited them, we would get up to breakfast in the pantry nook of the kitchen and then run out to play in the lovely backyard with the grass that was so very fine textured and lilies-of-the-valley under the gigantic box hedges at the very back of the yard.  This "fairy tale yard" had magnificent hydrangea bushes growing around the screened-in porch (a great place to play at all times) on the side of the house and two great huge blue spruce trees that grew on either side of the walk in the front yard.  These trees towered above the house and were so big you could stand under them and play in the space around the trunk - no one knew you were there - or so we thought.  And, the house was close to Honey Creek Park - a truly great place to play.

I remember the beautiful interior of the house with its oriental wall paper in the front hallway, which went straight through the house from the front door to the French doors that opened onto the back yard; the fireplace with the Italian tiles in Grammy's room upstairs - and the balcony; and most important of all, the huge Winchester chimes in the landing of the staircase, which my brothers, Mike and Steve, and I always (simply could not resist this) ran our hands over as we were running up the stairs.  Papa's den was "hidden" behind the fireplace in the living room, and was filled with books and the smell of cigars - a few of those books now reside in my bookcases.  I loved this room, it was quiet and away from everyone and looked out into the back yard.  It had a fireplace and was great place for a rainy day.  I recall that my bedroom when we visited was the one my uncle Raoul had used - I'll always remember the painting/print of the polo players on the wall above the bed. 

Every Sunday that we were there, I would walk with either Grammy or Papa to the corner bakery for fresh hot bread and rolls.  There were walks to the Village of Wauwatosa with Papa for - what else - candy.  Papa and I loved a chewy candy called "Bit-O-Honey" and to this day if I see it in the stores I think of him and I have to buy it.  We would sometimes walk into the Village to watch the Milwaukee Road train on its way through to somewhere far away and wonderful.  Since then, I have always loved the sound of train horns blowing as they run through the crossings (I presently live two houses away from the train tracks and still love the sound of the train as it goes through).  

The basement of that house was the scariest place!  On wash days, we would go down the stairs off the kitchen to get to the basement where Grammy=s washing machine (an old wringer type) resided at the bottom of the stairs -  always in a pool of light.  Beyond that light was semi-darkness and a basement filled with dark shadows and little cubicles - you just never knew what lurked in those dark spaces!  It was a rare occasion that my brother Steve and I would venture past that light while helping Grammy do the washing. 

In their later years, my grandparents moved from the Rockway Place house to Kavanagh Street.  This was a lovely little house with a backyard that looked out onto another section of Honey Creek Park where I had played as a child.  No matter where they lived, they surrounded themselves with elegance and style. 

My memories of my grandparents and the places where they lived are all happy and loving ones.  The house on Rockway Place, however, seems to call to all of us who knew it.  I have come to the conclusion that over the years this lovely house became imbued with the essence of the great love these two people had for each other and for their children and their grandchildren.  My grandparents were, quite simply, marvelous folks, and I do still miss them.

Jacquie Scherr
20 September 1999
New Jersey


From Mike Scherr

Memories of Grammy & Papa Jacques= House on Rockway Place

The basement was a fun place for a five-year old boy.  Dark, very humid (I can still smell it) full of cubby holes and places to explore, such as the coal bin (by 1955 empty), the water heater and water softener room B really neat mineral deposits with water constantly running across the floor to the drain.

The best part was the work bench.  When I could get permission I could push the "push button light switch" I had to stand on my tip toes and go down the steps and turn around to the left to see all of Papa's tools (he never used them) and play on the work bench.  I made a key rack for Grammy out of wood and nails and hooks.

The garage had the area where Papa stored every thing as the basement was far too wet.  It had a pull down ladder and it was hard to get up there since Raoul's car was usually in the way (or maybe it was Papa's).  Raoul was going to Marquette University at the time.

When we went up there every thing was arranged neatly (to a five year old) around the outside of the room.  It was dusty, hot and dry and had big windows looking out over the back yard.

Michael Scherr
Fall 1999  

From Steve Scherr

My Memories of Grammy and Papa

I was born during a snowy winter in 1954 when my mother, sister Jacquie, and brother Mike were staying at the house on Rockway Place in Wauwatosa while my father was serving a "hardship" tour with the Marine Corps in Japan and Korea.  My memories of that time, of course, are locked forever in some recess of my mind. 

My later memories are of warm,, loving grandparents, a house and yard that were terrific to play in, a very scary basement, and the Winchester chimes on the landing, they made the most delightful sounds when we ran our hands across them while running up the stairs.  Grammy would yell "Who did that?" and we would run giggling on upstairs.  I remember Papa and the dollar bills that seemed to appear from nowhere as if by magic - a marvelous wonder for a small boy. 

They left us too soon - I wish that I could have spent more time with them and could have known them better. 

Steve Scherr
Lake Ridge, Virginia
October 10, 1999



From Arthur Francis Jacques III

Dear Jacquie,

I wanted to pass on some of my memories regarding Art and Maude.

Love, Art

Arthur and Maude, or Papa and Grammy, as I fondly remember them were a big part of my early childhood. Since being born in Milwaukee in 1954, I remember at an early age always making our Sunday afternoon visit to see the two of them.  Papa would always greet us first at the door.  He always had that ubiquitous glass of bourbon in his hand.  With a big smile and warm hello he would give us all a big "whisky kiss" as we all used to say. (In later life I now understand the importance of having a drink before seeing children.)  But certainly no drunk was he.  Arthur was the quintessential picture of class.  He was often dressed in a very nice cardigan sweater and always quietly spoke elegance and good breeding with every move he made.  His voice was deep and powerful and I always remember feeling very happy whenever I heard it.

Soon after our arrival, Papa would usually offer us children a piece of candy.  Often he would simply reach for the ever present box of Russell Stover chocolates.  More often than not, Maude would somehow hear what was going on (I never understood how, she just seemed to sense it) and yell in a very sharp tone "Art, give them the junk candy.  They are too young to appreciate good candy."  I always wanted to say that I was old enough to appreciate good candy.  At least I thought I was at the time.  Anyway, the junk candy, as they called it, was kept in a special covered ceramic container (I still have it) and was usually filled with a wide variety of hard candies and licorice pieces.  After Maude=s admonition, Papa would urge us to eat our chocolates quietly, and we would all have big smiles.  I suspect that Maude somehow knew this also. 

It seemed that Maude often prepared Thanksgiving dinner for us.  Those meals were always excellent.  Maude was a very good cook and seemed proud of her skills.  But prior to each dinner, without exception, Maude would have to slap Arthur=s hand as he attempted to snatch some turkey before it made the dining room.  And he ALWAYS voiced concern that the turkey might not be done.   And Maude ALWAYS responded sharply that it was done and instructed him to go in and sit down. This exchange each year was as predictable as the sun rising yet still always seemed amusing to me.   The two of them had managed to take bickering to a higher level.  They had almost succeeded in making it an art.  Perhaps it was because it was so clear that they cared deeply for each other.  I always will remember the two of them as being very much in love and clearly cherishing each other at all times. 

Their home on Rockway was an absolute paradise.  Two large oak trees in back always provided wonderful acorns for fights in the fall.  It was such fun to watch the squirrels scurry up and down those huge trees.  As a child, I remember vividly the smell of old books in Papa=s study and the sunken TV room where he often sat with my father, off the living room.  The lighting was never too bright and I always liked that.  But the basement was very scary, and I remember usually seeing a case or two of whisky just off the bottom of the steps.  It seems that even at that time Papa was well prepared for the potential perils of Y2K. 

One unusual weekday night all of us drove to their home for a "surprise".  When we arrived, they were being visited by some close friends who had brought a young kitten over for adoption.  I was around 7 years old and remember the thrill of my very first kitten.  It was an orange tabby, and we named him "Butterscotch".  He ran up and down those steps at their Rockway home while Maude and Arthur sipped drinks with their son and their friends.  It was a joyous evening which I always have fondly recalled.  Later when we attempted to integrate this kitten into our all German neighborhood (without exception, they all had dogs) the problems began.  Happily though, before Butterscotch passed on he managed to create some major havoc among the "beasts" (both 2 and 4-legged) that lived on our block. 

And even after they moved to the apartment on the parkway, they managed to create elegant surroundings.  They had a wonderful view overlooking the park from their screened in porch.  Papa would walk with me in the park and often take me to the "Fruit Ranch" to replenish the junk candy bowl.  I would sometimes go to the store with them, and I remember Maude sitting next to Art, driving that Buick, and sharing a Lark cigarette when they had been trying to quit smoking.  They still often invited us to the Christmas party for families at Blue Mound Country Club.  I recall seeing lots of Cadillac's and nicely dressed old people.  They had a very classy "Santa" too.  Only the best!

When Papa passed away I remember feeling very sad.  He was such a kind and gentle person.  My only wish is that I could have known him a little longer...

Arthur F. Jacques III
Bloomington, Indiana
16 September 1999


The background was made from a photo of Arthur Francis Jacques, Sr.



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