Happy 110th Birthday, George King

Happy 110th birthday in the sky to my grandfather, George King. I've thought about you and Mary a lot in the last few weeks. Miss you, ol' kid. Until we see each other again, some sunny day.

-Daniel

May 1, 2026

Veteran's Day

Happy Veterans Day to all veterans, my uncle Doug (who just celebrated a birthday), US Navy veteran Donald Coston (WWII, 1944-45), and to US Army Staff Sgt. George King (1940-45). A salute from your friend and fan.

-Daniel

Novrmber 11, 2024

Happy Birthday George King

Hello all. Happy 108th birthday in the sky to the man whose name graces the back cover liner notes for the Cyrkle's new album, Revival. George King was, and will always be my grandfather, and was a huge influence on my life. Happy birthday, old kid, and I will always share your name with the world.

-Daniel

May 1, 2024

Welcome, George King

Yesterday, my cousin Paul and his wife Danielle gave birth to their first son. They've named him George, after our grandfather. Some of you know how much my grandfather influenced my life, and still does. In the middle of this uncertain world, I take heart in knowing that there is another George King in the family, and that he has an amazing life ahead of him. Welcome to the world, George. First drink at the Town Pump is on me. Someday.

-Daniel
June 3, 2020

Happy Birthday George

Hi George-

Today, you would have turned 104 years in this place. It's a strange world, at the moment. I still miss you, I never stopped missing you. One truly never gets over loss, you just learn to continue on with this missing part of yourself. That being said, you've truly left me. Just as the ones we love are never truly gone, as long we they are in our heads and our hearts. The story goes on.

Somewhere, I know that there's a Town Pump in the sky, and you and Mary are heading out there for a drink and a dance. All your buddies are there. The pain of the past is gone. There is only good to come.

Happy birthday, wherever you are tonight, from your ol' kid.
-Daniel
May 1, 2020

For George, Twenty Years Later

Twenty years gone from this place, and yet you've never left me. You were my grandparents, yet I knew you and Mary like I've known few others. You opened windows in my mind that I'm still walking through. Here's to you and Mary, wherever you are tonight. Your ol' kid still loves you. And always will.
-Daniel
January 23, 2020

Happy 102nd Birthday, George King

Hello Kid-

Happy birthday, and many more, wherever you are today. From your old kid, who has never stopped missing you,
-Daniel

May 1, 2019

Happy 101st Birthday, George King

From your old kid that still misses you, wherever you are tonight. Happy birthday,
-Daniel
May 1, 2017

Happy 100th Birthday, Mary Collins King

Last year, I wrote something to honor my grandfather, George King, who would’ve celebrated his 100th birthday that same day. In that alternate universe, where I would have shown what I’d written to my grandfather, he would have said, “That’s nice. But you should write something about Mary, too.” And once again, George, you were right. So, on what would have been my grandmother’s 100th birthday, here it is.

Mary Patricia Collins was born March 15, 1917. She and her family grew up in Rochester, NY, on 10 Ethel Street. From the beginning, she was smart, independent, and very determined. She also the one that looked after her siblings from an early age, despite not being the oldest. When her father’s business collapsed during the Great Depression of the early 1930s, she began to look after her own parents, as well.

Her family didn’t know what to make of Mary beginning a long-distance courtship with my grandfather in the summer of 1934, after they met at a fair. He won her a small clay dog at one of the fair’s games. They held on to that dog for the rest of their lives. But Mary, as she often did, did she wanted to do.

George would occasionally come to visit her in Rochester, spending all day driving there and back from Phelps. They continued the courtship this way for six years. During this time, Mary rose to become head stenographer at Bausch & Lomb, in Rochester. She made less money at that job than George did at his job, shoveling coal in Phelps, but she was the only breadwinner in her household, with two parents not working, and two brothers studying to become priests.

1n 1940, my grandfaher wasn’t ready to settle down, so he enlisted in the army. He hoped to be done within a year or two. He didn’t come home for four and a half years, as World War II changed everyone’s lives. Yet Mary stayed with him. “He who waits also serves,” she used to say. And what a long wait that was. Campaigns in Africa, Italy and D-Day. She kept the telegrams telling her of his injury in France, and his subsequent recovery.

When they finally married in September of 1945, Mary left her job at Bausch & Lomb, and began to raise a family. It was not always easy. Money was tight, and the home they had on 44 Park Street in Phelps always needed work. But they raised four kids, and George and Mary always found time to have fun. To dance, to go bet on horses, watch TV, and visit with friends at the Town Pump. They got the most out of each day, and Mary was always the matriarch. To the house, of her family, and to anyone that visited them.

When I arrived, as the first grandchild, George was preparing for retirement from his job as the town mailman. When he did retire in 1976, Mary decided to start working part-time at the local post office, where George had just retired from. Mary had failed a driving test in the 1930s, and the experience frustrated her so much that she never took it again. So every morning, Mary would ride on her three-wheel electric bicycle to and from the post office. “There goes Mary, peddling her ass all over town!” George would say. Four years later, Mary retired, allowing she and George to both collect pensions.

My time with both of them would changed my life, and continues to inform my thinking. That living life on one’s own terms, without fanfare, was as grand a statement as any large show that one could make. If you say it, then you mean it. Keep your wits about you, even if it’s just in your head. My grandmother had an amazing sense of words. Her brother had been a best-selling author, but Mary wrote long letters in a way that just brought her sensibilities onto the page. She could also draw blood, when pushed, within the space of a few words. And George and Mary were equals. They loved and respected each other, on their own terms. They were individuals, together, through and through. They were never Grandma and Grandpa, to me. They were George and Mary, which they wanted. And I loved them for that.

Watching colon cancer take away my grandmother was one of the hardest things I have ever had to witness. The remarkable part, in retrospect, was that she lived for another year after it was discovered, and continued to look after us. I still have a fear of hospitals and doctor visits to this day, because of this. The last time I visited her in Phelps, I came downstairs late at night to find her sitting at the dinner table. We talked about everything, and I wish that I could remember more of our conversation. I held back from telling her of the gushy things that I know she didn’t like to hear. And she knew that I wanted to make things better. Recently, my mother found a letter that Mary had written me in Febraury of 1990, offering me encouragement over something that has been lost to time. Seeing those words on the page, and the postmark from M C King, was like her reaching out to me, all over again. It won’t be easy, but you’ll make it, she still says to me.

Shortly after she died in October of 1990, I dreamed that I walked into 44 Park Street again. The house seemed different than how I had known it. In the kitchen, I found Mary, taking care of a small redheaded boy, which I realized was my uncle Joe. I had walked into the house in the mid 1950s. She asked me how I was doing, how my friends were doing. She said that she was doing fine. In the dream, I noticed that the walls were red, which they not been during my time there as a child. I found out later that the house’s walls were originally painted red, and had been painted over in the 1960s. George and Mary do not appear in my dreams, although I have occasionally dreamed that I picked up a phone and hear their voice. Somewhere, wherever they are, I know that they having fun, and hoping their old kid is doing okay. What would they have made of my life? I don’t know. I have sometimes debated that question. It was finding their photo negatives in the early 1990s that planted a seed in my brain for what a photograph can mean, given time. But in me, I like to think that they recognized another kindred spirit, and would have been proud of the good things that I have done. Of which, they will always be a part of. 

Mary, you have been gone for 27 years, but you never truly left. Like George, you opened a window of possibilities in my mind that I forever grateful for. And somewhere today, I hope that you and George do some dancing and drinking at the Town Pump, or whatever you feel like doing today. Which you often did. And remember that somewhere here, your old kid still loves you.

Happy birthday, Mary.
-Daniel
March 15, 2017

Happy 100th Birthday George King

Hello, George. You were, and always will be my grandfather. You would have been 100 years old today. You were born in a small house along 5 & 20 in rural upstate New York. You pointed it out to me one day, while we were on one of our many adventures together. The doctor that came to the house that day charged five dollars for your delivery. A few years, when your sister was born, he charged ten dollars for the delivery, and your father “was mad as hell”, you said. This is how you came into the world. 

You were a tenant farmer’s kid, and lived a fun, but hardscrabble existence on the outskirts of Phelps, NY. You learned to hunt and fish. You finally began school at 8 eight old, and were promptly sent home on the first day for hitting a kid in the eye with a rock. You were a wild kid, you once told me. 

You loved playing baseball. The photo you gave of the Phelps High School school baseball team may still be my most favorite photo in my possession. Your hat is to one side, your jersey is half-unbottoned, and you have a grin that screams “bad-ass”. You got a tryout with a St. Louis Cardinals scout in Geneva, NY. They didn’t pick you because you “didn’t have the arm”, they told you, but I think that it had more to do with that you were already a few years older that the other players that they were scouting. Despite that, you went on to coach Little League baseball in Phelps, and you always rooted for the Cardinals. 

By this time, you had met the woman that would become my grandmother, Mary. You both were headstrong, liked to dance, and shared a sharp sense of humor. For six years, you two kept a long distance relationhip between Phelps and Rochester, where Mary lived and worked. By 1940, you and her had been together for six years. You had been a farmer, had shoveled coal at a factory, and were unsure of what to do next. So you signed up for a two-year enlistment in the Army, becoming a part of the inaugural class of the 9th Division. You were supposed to come home for a visit on December 7th, 1941, when word of Pearl Harbor came. You didn’t come home for another three and a half years.

You were proud of your time during World War II. Africa, Italy, D-Day. You were there. You became a staff sargeant, staying on the front lines for two years. When I attended Army reunions with you in the 1990s, your fellow soldiers would pull me aside to tell me how much they had looked up to you. But war was hell. Italy was hell, you once told me. When you narrowly survived a volley from a Nazi tiger tank three weeks after D-Day, they pulled you from the front lines. With two purple hearts, and later one Bronze Star in tow, you spent the rest of the war in England, training pilots to be foot soliders for the invasion of Japan that thankfully never came.

By September of 1945, you had come home. You and Mary got married and began raising a family. Finding work in Phelps was difficult. You took a job as a mailman because you enjoyed driving. Money was always tight. You took a desk job with the post office for more mony, but you hated it. Sitting in one place all day long. You soon went back to delivering the mail for less money, but happier for the travels. The experiences of the War didn’t leave you for many years to come.

By the time I came along in November of 1972, as your first grandchild, you were ready to a change. Your children were grown, or about to finish high school. You were starting to think about retirement. I didn’t know all of this, back then. All I knew is that you, and Mary and I just had a great time together. You and I would travel all over to visit your friends, go to restaurants, go for ice cream. You liked to go for breakfast at 6am, laughing and joking with your friends at the local diner. I pretended not to hear all of the good curse words that you all said, but I did. I just sat there, listening and laughing, and looking at you. 

For years, I could never figure out why I couldn’t connect with others the way that I connected with you and Mary. I finally realized that you both were the exception, not the rule in this world. Some people search their whole lives for people that they have a bond with. You just happened to be among the first people that I met in my life. You showed me what was possible in living a life that was based more on what one wanted to do, instead of what we often have to do. You understood me, and I understood you in ways that I thought no one else did, for a very long time. And we both accepted that, and had a great time in being who we were, together.

In the summer of 1991, I came back to visit you. That same week, my former classmates in Seneca Falls, NY were graduating from high school, and I really wanted to be there. It had been eight years since I had moved to North Carolina, but those kids still meant something to me. I had thought about all of the ways that I could get to the graduation, but when I told you of my plans, you said, “I’ll take you”. You sat with me in the bleachers as we watched the graduation, and then sat there quietly smoking a cigarette as I said hello to all of my former classmates. I still regard that day as one of the most fun things I have ever done, and I am still in touch with many of those classmates because of that day. In a world where things are too often driven by people doing as little as possible, you did something that you hadn’t planned on because of what it meant to me. And I am still empowered by that lesson.

After Mary died in 1990, you kept going. But it was never easy. You moved away from the old house in 1994. You pointed out a giant box of old photo prints and negatives in a box, telling me to keep anything that I wanted. I grabbed every old photo that I could, and the experience planted a seed that became a life in photography a couple of years later. You moved away from Phelps, and then you moved back. You dated other women, but they never got you the way that Mary did. You were still headstrong, still independent. Still smoking. I didn’t see you as much I wish I had those past few years, but I know now that you didn’t want me to know how ill you were. The last time I talked to you on the phone, I told you that I loved you. You were a little surprised. You and I were never much for saying such things to each other. But you said, “I love you, too”. I’m really, really glad that I did that.

As I recently told one of my cousins, I never really got over you passing away on that cold day in January of 2000. You just learn to get used to the hole inside of you that now exists, and try to move on. All of these years later, I feel like I understand you more. Who you were, who you were at different times. And still, there is what you meant to me. Just by you being who you were, you and Mary showed me possibilities of living and adapting in this world on one’s own terms. That what we care about is worth fighting for, and worth achieving. Not in grand gestures, but in the everyday act of quietly doing what you wanted to do. Day in, day out. Sometimes, it’s not what we leave behind to many, but instead who we are to a select few that defines our time on this earth. You had a lot of fun in those adventures, and that love of experiences yet to be lived is something I continue to carry with me, and something I can never re-pay. Sometimes I wonder what you would have thought of the things I have done since you left this place. Of my travels, of my career. You would have liked me wife. She’s headstrong, and has that sharp humor that you and Mary had. And somewhere, I hope that you’re still proud of me.

I intended to drive to New York this weekend to celebrate your birthday. To drive to all of the places that you used to visit, and stop and eat. I think- heck, I KNOW- that I wanted to spend one more day with you. Of course, work came calling, and I am somewhere else, thinking of you. “That’s fine”, you would have said. “Take the work. Don’t worry about me. I’m a tough old bird.” Yes, George, you are. But know that wherever you and Mary are today, your old kid still misses you both, even though you never truly left me. You’re still here. In my heart, in my head, and continuing the ideas and travels that you started me on, all of those journeys ago.

Happy birthday, ol’ kid. Wherever you are.
-Daniel Coston
May 1, 2016

Veteran's Day

To my grandfathers, Don Coston (WWII, US Navy) and George King (WWII, US Army, two purple hearts, one Bronze Star), wherever you are. Happy Veteran's Day. I miss you.

That is all. Over.

-Daniel

November 11, 2015

VJ Day 70th Anniversary Commemoration, Monroe, NC, August 14, 2015

VJ Day 70th Anniversary Commemoration
featuring Tinker Belle (WWII transport plane)
Monroe, NC
August 14, 2015
all photos copyright 2015 Daniel Coston
miss you Don, and George.

-Daniel
August 19, 2015

For Bev Cheney

Bev Cheney was the youngest of my grandfather's siblings. As a child, I would visit her in Phelps, NY, where my mom's parents also lived. Bev shared with me a love of history, and a lot of energy. After I moved to North Carolina in 1983, I lost touch with Bev, apart from occasional reunions.

Bev and I reconnected in 2006, at a large family reunion. After talking to her, I couldn't believe that I hadn't thought about reaching out to her before. She was a living, breathing link to the family that I loved. We lined Bev and her older sister up in front of a huge contingent of King family members. It was so large, I couldn't tell you how many there were. But we did it, with me taking the photos. I had been the first great-grandchild of Bev's parents, and I was proud to document this history.

For a long time, I tried to stay in touch with Bev. However, she was still a very busy person. She was involved with the Phelps Historical Society, and the local food bank. I tried many times to email her, or call, but she was hard to catch. Much like myself and my grandfather, I don't think she ever stopped, or slept.

Thankfully, I saw her again when I returned to Phelps in the last few years. She saw me deliver eulogies for both of my father's parents, mustering all of my nerves to say what needed to be said. Bev told me that George (her brother, my grandfather) had always been so proud of me. I think that she might have been proud of me, too. Thinking about that today still stops me in my tracks.

In the last few months, I finally got around to scanning and organizing my grandfather's World War II scrapbook. Bev and I traded emails about myself donating copies of this to the Phelps Historical Society. I also asked her about talking about family history. I don't think that she was ever keen to talk about this, but I wanted to ask, one more time.

Bev passed away suddenly this morning. Her death was quick. She thankfully never had to slow down, despite recent health issues. She never had to go into a home, or become someone other than who she'd been. Just like my grandfather. As I sit here, it's tough to acknowledge that a generation of family that I once knew and loved so well is no longer on this physical plane. But they, and what they created, lives on. In the family that has sprouted from those long ago seeds, and the people and memories that Bev and her family touched along the way. That, I'm proud to say, will never end.

I came home this afternoon, and wrote Bev one more email. All it said was, "I love you." What else is there to say?

Safe travels, Bev. Tell Mom and Pop King, Mary and the ol' kid that I hello.
-Daniel
May 4, 2015

Happy Birthday

Hello All-

My grandfather George King (9th Division, 47th Inf., F Campany, if you're militarily inclined) would have been 99 today. How I wish you were still have to take me to breakfast in those early hours of the morning, and riding in your pickup truck.

Happy birthday, ol' kid, wherever you are.
-Daniel
May 1, 2015

Happy 98th birthday, George King

Here's one for Throwback Thursday. This is my grandfather George King, taken at the Associated Press building in New York City, probably summer of 1941. There is so much ahead of him as he posed for this photo, both bad, and good. Both George and my grandmother Mary had a profound influence on my life, and I will continue to carry their voices with me until I cannot carry my own. Sometimes I wonder what they would have made of my topsy-turvy life, but I hope that they still are proud of me, wherever they are.

Today would've been George's 98th birthday. Happy birthday, ol' kid. 

-Daniel

May 1, 2014

My favorite photo in the whole world

Hello All-

I'm often asked, "What is your favorite photo?" I usually reply with "I don't know", or "I haven't taken it yet". But lately, this has been my favorite photo. And it's not one that I took.

This is the 1936 Phelps High School baseball team, in Phelps, NY. Look at that bad-ass standing third from right in the center row, with his jersey undone, and his hat tilted to the side. That's my grandfather, George King. He had already been dating my grandmother for two years, although World War II would not allow them to marry until 1945. He loved to play baseball. He tried out for the St. Louis Cardinals in the summer of 1936, but they didn't choose him. They should have, but George still rooted for the Cardinals the rest of his life.

In 1940, he enlisted for a year in the US Army, hoping to finish the year before war came to the United States. He was at the train station, waiting to go home, on December 7, 1941. The train never headed home, that day. Over the next three and a half years, he would serve in Africa, Italy, and D-Day. He saw, and did more than he could ever say. In August of 1945, he came home to marry my grandmother, and start the rest of his life. Which, thankfully, eventually included me. 

I think of George, and Mary (my grandmother) on days like today, Veterans Day. On their birthdays. On my birthday, and almost every day. And any time that the Cardinals have a good season, and the great ballplayer that he would have been for them. 

Happy Veterans Day, kid. Miss you,

-Daniel

November 11, 2013

Happy 97th birthday to my grandfather, George King

Miss you, kid, wherever you are.
-Daniel
May 1, 2013