Corabel Patricia Kirk Lucas Burwell

(June 28, 1873 – September 15, 1960)

Aunt Cora and (possibly) her half sister, Blance, when they Were about 12 circa 1885.

I wish to begin discussing my maternal grandmother’s generation by telling you about Aunt Cora. Other than one, possibly two brief encounters with my grandmother Lola, Aunt Cora was the only relative that I actually knew on my mother’s side of the family.

She was a sweetheart, a woman exactly like what you would want your own grandmother to be.

To the best of my knowledge, (and helpful research by my cousin, Leeanne Miller), Cora and my grandmother, Lola May were sisters, and their father was Benjamin Kirk, their mother’s second husband. She was born in Sacramento, the home of her mother’s family.

I don’t remember when I first met Aunt Cora. It must have been when I was very little. I can’t recount how many times my mother and I (and sometimes with my father) went to visit her in her little apartment in Oakland.

She lived, as I recall, several blocks west of Broadway, Oakland’s main north-south street in the older part of town. Actually, the neighborhood had turned into a slum of old Victorians interspersed between vacant lots, run down commercial buildings, and little bungalos in the mainly Black part of town.

Her building was a three story Victorian that had stairs leading from the sidewalk to a small porch at the entryway. What had been a stately home in another era had been converted into about six small apartments. There were about six little mailboxes beside the front door with a doorbell under each of them, along with a little speaking tube for each apartment.

My mother would ring the bell, and then wait for Aunt Cora to ask, “Who’s there?” My mother would shout back that it was us, and then Aunt Cora would buzz the electric lock on the door to let us in.

When we entered, we stepped into what had been an elegant entry hall with a beautiful Victorian staircase bounded by a polished mahogany banister leading to the upper floors.

As we looked up, we would be greeted by a little old white haired lady, beaming at us from the balcony on the second floor. We ascended the staircase to the open arms of this little old lady, beaming at us with her sky blue eyes. She would say, “And you are you dears? Come in. Would you like some tea?”

She always wore what I though of as little old lady clothes, an apron over a house dress, and heavy stockings with black little old lady shoes.

We entered her apartment through what had probably been one of the heavy Victorian bedroom doors in the original house into a tiny, but cheery apartment. The main room served as the living area with a small dining table at the far end under the only exterior window. There was a pull-down Murphy bed hidden behind a double door closet in one of the side walls.

The window usually was home to a small collection of flower pots which gave a slight touch of life to the otherwise musty atmosphere. A small bedroom, with a bathroom adjoined the living area. There was also a tiny kitchen off the dining area with a sink under a small window and a two burner gas cooker seated over a small shelf area.

Aunt Cora would strike a wooden match to light the gas burner, and then cover it with her teakettle. As if by magic some pound cake, cookies, or other sweets would appear, and we would have our visit and little tea party.

The other thing that I remember about Aunt Cora’s apartment was that her only heat was from a little unventilated gas heater. Consequently, the room was always stuffy from lack of oxygen and an over abundance of carbon monoxide. I always worried that she would either asphyxiate herself if she didn’t burn herself up.

I’m not sure, but my recollection is that Cora had a cat for a companion that made its entrance and exit through the open window over the little dining table.

Our conversation was always limited to providing Aunt Cora with a report on what we had been doing since our last visit. Even at an early age, I realized that Aunt Cora lived on very limited means. There didn’t seem to be much in her life; perhaps a trip to the store and a visit with neighbors. I never heard her complain, however. She was one of the most cheery people that I’ve ever met. She loved me and my mother very much.

On several occasions, Uncle George would go over and get Aunt Cora so that we could celebrate family holidays together. These were the only times that I saw her away from her apartment.

Aunt Cora had three sons. Two died at an early age. According to Cousin Irene, one was killed in a shooting accident, and the other committed suicide. Again, I’m reminded about how much tragedy has occurred in some of my family members’ lives.

It’s hard to reconcile how positive Aunt Cora could be in view of the things that occurred in her life.