Gladys was a spiritual cross between Pollyanna and Mussolini and between a laundry paddle and a commanding voice that could rattle rain clouds, nobody ever messed with Gladys and the appellate court of Pa was rarely an option.

With a gaggle of kids at the table, she would cook a military pot of oatmeal or sweet rice every morning and it was my job to crank up the old Victrola and play our secondary morning meal of “Accentuate the…