Alice Charron’s life, like so many of our ancestors’, is best understood in fragments—small but meaningful memories pieced together over the years. My earliest recollections of Alice, though hazy, are vivid in their own way. I was only three when she passed away, but the time I spent in her home, 783 Park Ave in Albany, New York, is etched into my memory. We lived in a multi-generational household where my parents, brothers, and I lived downstairs, and Alice resided upstairs. A constant presence in my young life, I recall her being kind but also witnessing the decline of her health, her frailty growing more pronounced, and at times, her temper becoming a sharper.1
Photograph of Alice Charron Danko and her great-grandson, Christopher, taken in Albany, New York, about 1989; image photographed by Mary Danko Wynn, owned by the author.
My eldest brother, who was closer to Alice than I was, has vivid memories of her too. For him, Alice was the maker of the best yellow Jiffy cakes with chocolate frosting, and her kitchen was a place of warmth and comfort. He remembers how she would use an old meat grinder that hooked onto the table to grind ham for her ham salad.2
Her home was always filled with comfort, and weekly Sunday dinners gave me a strong sense of family and belonging. We all remember the candy jar on her hutch, always stocked; and how she would cut apples for us, covering them with loads of sugar—small acts that filled our world with sweetness. A lot of our memories of Alice revolve around food! This seems to have been a way she displayed her love.3
A particularly funny story my brother recalls happened is when a bat somehow found its way into Alice’s house. She called our father, her grandson-in-law, and described it as a “bee” flying around the television. When he went upstairs to investigate, he discovered the truth—it was a bat! It was just one of those humorous, unforgettable moments.4
Shortly before her death, Alice dyed her hair red to look like Ariel from The Little Mermaid, my favorite movie at the time. She did this for me, her great-grandson, to share in the magic of my beloved Disney princess. But when the red wouldn’t come out of her hair, Alice was mortified. I remember her throwing my Ariel doll down the back stairs during a moment of confusion. I couldn’t understand it then, but I didn’t let it change the way I viewed her. She was still the honored family matriarch, my grandmother’s mother, a woman whose love and memory would remain with me.5
Alice was a complicated figure—firm, often critical, yet loving in her own way. I have heard stories of how, after Alice’s husband Jack died unexpectedly, she became estranged from some of her in-laws in the Danko family, holding onto that grudge for years. Family letters reveal Alice made a promise at her husbands casket to financially take care of his aged mother, and later went back on that promise. Why drove her to make such personal decisions? I can only speculate. I had also heard of the times Alice chastised her daughter for her divorce in the early ’70s, but later supported my own mother when she went through her own.6
These contradictions make Alice’s life all the more interesting and worthy of exploration.
Alice’s death certificate provides a factual account of her final years. She passed away on September 25, 1992, at the age of 87 in St. Peter’s Hospice in Albany, New York, from adenocarcinoma of the endometrium. Her history, as reported to vital statistics by her daughter Mrs. Mary C. Wynn, states that Alice was born on 01 Oct, 1904, in Cohoes, New York, and was the daughter of Paul Charron and Zenaide Patenaude. She was buried the following day at Our Lady of Angels Cemetery in Colonie, New York.7 The details of her death, though important, only tell part of her story.
Alice’s life was much more than these facts—it was a life of love and loss, of complex relationships and moments of joy.
I feel like I know Alice’s story because my first three years were spent in her household at 783 Park Ave in Albany, New York. I grew up around, and was so close to, the people who knew her best—her daughters, my grandma Mary and aunt Helen, and her grandchildren who knew her and loved her. Their stories, memories, and experiences with Alice were woven into the fabric of my childhood, shaping my understanding of who she was. And who I was.
But now I acknowledge that there is always more to discover, more layers to uncover about the woman who lived a life full of complexities, joys, and struggles.
While my memories of her are brief, they are no less significant. This post marks the beginning of my deeper exploration into Alice’s life and the stories that make her who she was. I invite you to join me as I continue to uncover the nuances of Alice’s story, and to reflect on the lives of all sixteen of my children’s great-great-grandparents, each of whom has left a unique and lasting mark on our family history.
Photograph of Alice Charron Danko and her great-grandson, Christopher, taken in Albany, New York, about 1990; image photographed by Mary Danko Wynn, owned by the author.
- The authors personal recollections of Alice Charron Danko. ↩︎
- Recollections of Alice’s great-grandson, Dec 2024. ↩︎
- Authors recollections. ↩︎
- Recollections of Alice’s great-grandson. ↩︎
- Authors recollections. ↩︎
- Wynn, Mary Danko. Interviews with the author, various dates, notes and recordings in the possession of the author. Also, family letters inherited from Mary Danko Wynn, Alice’s daughter, by the author. ↩︎
- New York State Department of Health, Bureau of Vital Records, certificate of death, recorded district 101, register no. 1898, Alice C. Danko, died 25 September 1992; issued to daughter Mary Danko Wynn, then passed through her to the author, 2023. ↩︎
Leave a Reply