AI poem, style of Langston Hughes, The Weary Blues

Fred Hostetter, Jr., born in Jersey City's hum,
Son of Swiss and German roots, in '88, he'd come.
A sister, two step-sisters, life swirling around,
In the heart of the city, where his youth was found.
At sixteen, he labored, hands sharp with skill,
But the city’s rails called, so he answered their will.
A trolley man, a ballplayer, life in the fray,
Married Charlotte, built a family in their own way.
Six daughters strong, through the jazz of the age,
Fred toiled on the tracks, with love as his wage.
But the years took a toll, as life's burden grew,
In the shadow of the city, he saw his way through.
His health waned like a fading blues note,
In '43, he left, with the story he wrote.
Laid to rest in New York Bay, alongside his kin,
A life of resilience, through thick and thin.

Today, August 12th, we’re celebrating the birthday of “Our Fred”—husband to Gram and father to our six Hostetter gals. Though we know only fragments of his life, I've taken the liberty of weaving together a story, using what little we do know based on census records, city directories, draft registrations, newspaper articles, and a little family lore. I've made a mini-video with the one treasured photo we have of Fred plus a little AI. No disrespect is intended; instead, it's an attempt to fill in the gaps and bring his memory closer to us. (By the way, if anyone’s got a family photo of Fred tucked away, we’d love for you to share it with the group!)

Fred Hostetter, Jr. was born on August 12, 1888, in Jersey City, New Jersey. His dad Swiss-born Frederick Hostetter and his mom was German-born Eva (née Rosenberger) Bergmann Hostetter. Fred had a younger sister, Lena, and two older stepsisters, Barbara and Klara, from his mom’s first marriage back in Germany.

Jersey City back then was a busy place, full of life. One story that sticks out happened on April 15, 1899. Fred was heading home from school when he saw his buddy William get shot (in the hip) after teasing a goat. The whole thing shook him up, and with the shooter’s mysterious death, it likely left a mark on Fred and his pals.

By the time Fred hit 16, he was already working as an electrical apprentice, which was a big deal for a young guy at the turn of the century. But his career path took a turn when he became a trolley car conductor. It wasn’t just work for Fred; he found camaraderie in the company baseball games, where he pitched for a team of motormen and conductors on the Jersey City and Bayonne Line. Who knows how the team fared? But one thing is for sure: Fred gave it his all.

According to the NJ Marriage Index in 1909 (although Aunt Margie insists it was 1908), Fred tied the knot with Charlotte Ross Golden. They kicked off their family with their first daughter, Anna, and over the next 14 years, they had six daughters—Anna, Charlotte, Mildred, Gertrude, Myrtle, and Marjorie. And there’s a whisper in the family about a son who didn’t make it through infancy.

Fred’s job as a trolley conductor, and later as a railroad inspector, kept the bills paid, but raising six daughters during the Roaring Twenties couldn’t have been easy. From making sure they got a good education to keeping them safe during a time when women were becoming more independent, Fred had his hands full.

By 1930, things had taken a tough turn for Fred. The family was living in an apartment at 103 Ocean Avenue, and he was working as an air brakeman for the Pennsylvania Railroad. That same year, his father passed away.

A few years ago Fred's grandson Frank Flynn reminisced about his grandpa. On Frank’s fifth birthday in 1938, Fred took him to a bakery and bought him his first birthday cake. That simple act of love stuck with Frank for the rest of his life.

But by 1940, Fred and Charlotte were living separately. Fred was renting a room at 60 Ocean Avenue, just three blocks away, and working long hours as a railroad car inspector. You can only imagine how tough life must’ve been for him then, physically worn out and separated from his family. His sister Lena passed away in 1941, and Fred’s health started to decline, too.

Fred’s draft registration in 1942 gives us a picture of him in his later years—tall, stout, with gray eyes, brown hair, and a few scars on his left arm. Just a year later, on February 18, 1943, Fred passed away from congestive heart failure at Jersey City Medical Center. He was only 54.

Fred’s legacy is one of grit and love. Despite all the challenges, he was dedicated to his family, and his story, like all the others in our family tree, is a love story. He’s buried in New York Bay Cemetery in Jersey City, alongside his daughter Mildred—a fitting resting place for a man who gave so much to his family.

Fred Hostetter, Jr.