Sonya Hansen Huhn Recalls Her Life and Times Growing Up in the Hansen House with Her Parents

Mom and the Men Who Came to Dinner

Growing up in a boarding house/ vacation resort/ tourist home is different than growing up in a regular house or an apartment. We always had guests. In the summertime guests would fill all of the 27 rooms. Usually they’d stay a week at a time. When the summer ended my folks would welcome boarders. Some stayed a month…the ones I remember best stayed longer.

There was this one man called, “ Christiansen” he came for a weekend in the summer and stayed for two years. Story was he’d been or still was a sailor in the Danish navy. His ship sailed to Iceland. There he did a lot a card playing and won a lot of money. He decided to come to vacation at our house when the ship came to the States. He came for a week and stayed two years. There’s something fishy in Denmark about that story, but that’s what I was told. That’s what I believed. I never knew if he had a first name, I never questioned it. I remember he was a

nice man, played tennis with my Dad. I imagine if they did play cards my father was certainly smart enough not to play for money with him.

Then there was Stanley Lemon. He came for dinner one night. Mother prepared the meals for the summertime vacationers as well as did everything else. Stanley was a charming English actor. Being an out of work actor, he asked for a job as bartender. No salary just rooms and board. Stanley was the absolute best storyteller, magician and bar tender there ever was. He has such wonderful true stories to tell. He’d been in the French Foreign Legion in India and in Africa. His stories fascinated all the customers and me.

He’d been married twice before and spoke lovingly of them both. While he was working for us he fell in love with one of our customers. She was the daughter of a very prominent and wealthy doctor. They soon married. He moved out of our house and into hers. I missed Stanley.

When he died all three of his wives came to the funeral, they all cried. Then there was Charles J Hackett. He’d been a Captain in the Army. A writer of books and poetry. When he first came to our house he got a job at the Oakland Military Academy. It was just a mile away and only natural that he’d rent a room from us. Both my sister and I loved having him there. He was like a brother to us. His poems frequently were the intros to Walter Winchell’s column in the NY

Post. I didn’t realize how impressive that was at the time. He was a good writer.He’d take Evelyn and I places, he enjoyed having family. Charlie became our family. He didn’t have stories that could compare to Stanley’s French Foreign Legion stories, but he was a marvelous and clever kind man with the absolute best sense of humor. My sister would enjoy nothing better than spending an evening talking to Charlie. He had class and style.

I often think how lucky my sister and I were not growing up in a normal home. We never lived a routine life…we were always surrounded by exciting people, ever changing. When people would come for the summer, they were coming to vacation, to have a good time. What a marvelous atmosphere to grow up in. There were times I envied my friends they didn’t have 30 guests for dinner every night. I had no idea how lucky I was.

I could never understand how my mother had the stamina to keep it all going. My mother worked much too hard, but she was never bored, she had no time to be bored. She ran a thriving business. Managed people, shopped, planned, and cooked. She could do everything and she did, and she did it like a pro. What she didn’t know how to do she learned. The hours were long; there was no time for anything but taking care of the customer. It was hard work, but I think she loved the excitement and the challenge. She had much too much energy to be an

ordinary housewife; she needed more…More she got, in spades.

My father was part of it, but mostly he would help entertain the customers. He’d play tennis with them. Plan parties with them. Initially he did so much of the rebuilding of the structure that became the Hansen House. After that was finished it seemed it was up to her to take it from there. Wasn’t a problem for her, she took it all on with style.

My mother never had to wonder, “ What am I going to do today?” She only could hope there was enough time to get everything done, that needed immediate doing. She had little time for wondering she just got busy.

If I were to tell you I grew up in a 27-room house, you’d think it was impressive.When I mentioned the Canopied entrance, the library, the baby grand, a serving staff, chefs, the lovely pond on the property, a shuffleboard court, the tennis court in the back yard, the library and the 5 fireplaces. It was an eighteen thousand square feet home with a 30 by 40-ft. living room. You’d be tempted to say WOW!

Some things are not really what you might imagine. You had to see it for yourself.As I said earlier it was not a normal home or life style, it was much more. It was a thriving business; our bedrooms were on the third floor. Our rooms all numbered. My room was number seven. It had a bay window with four double hung windows. Swell to say the least. The numbering of the rooms was a left over thing from the days of the summer vacation hotel.

The second floor was eventually converted into two banquet rooms. Used for parties and Rotary Club dinners and meetings. So much for those five guest rooms. Mother was now running a Smorgasbord restaurant.

I didn’t like the business very much. Funny that I should end up working in the restaurant business for 28 years of my life. Guess some of the excitement did rub off after all. Sometimes I felt cheated that I didn’t have a more normal growing up. How foolish I was. How else could I have had such diversity, excitement?

How else could I have known so many wonderful people like Stanley Lemon, Charles J Hackett and Christiansen. We have a wonderful family friend that is so important to us all Sidney. He was a big part of my growing up. He was such help to my folks when they first started, even before that. But that’s a long story, and for another time.

For now, I just want to thank my wonderful mother, let her know how proud I am of her. Her example in everything that she does is a tough act to follow. Her love, her generosity, understanding and her attitude are remarkable. She tells me she never worried. She just always did the best she could, and life unfolded just as it should. What an exciting life she has had.

I love you Mommy.

My Dad, My Hero

My father wore spats and a gray Fedora, not all the time mind you, but for special occasions. He was very handsome. People said he looked like Clark Gable. He had a mustache, he was tall and had a certain charm, and a wonderful sense of humor. He had many trophies and medals. Several for skiing and ski jumping, speed skating ,Soccer, Ping Pong, Tennis, Bridge and Golf. The last trophy he won was in his late 60’s. It was the Apawamis Golf Club trophy. He

won it three times over the years. The rule was that if you won it three times the silver trophy was yours to keep. For many years we kept it on the mantle, now my mother has it in her China cabinet. He played the mandolin. He danced the Viennese waltz with me. When we danced I felt just like Cinderella at the palace ball. He loved all sports; he really should have had two sons rather than two daughters. I remember when he took me to Macy’s and bought me skis. There was a lot more snow in Norway than in Oakland, New Jersey, but he had plans and high hopes

for me. He talked to me about the Olympics and how with practice I could be a champion.

There was that Christmas when all the girls were getting figure skates, all except me that is. I opened the box and there was a pair of racing skates. You know the kind, the ones with the long blade out in front. He took me out on the big pond in our backyard and taught me how to speed skate. He showed me how to lean forward, hands clasped behind my back and go like the

wind. That was such fun. I remember how proud he was when I picked up speed. I have a wonderful memory of he and I skating cross hands gliding across our frozen pond. You can just

imagine how wonderful I felt. When I was a teenager he built a cement tennis court in our backyard. He taught me the game. He taught me so well that I beat all the boys in my high school’s tennis club.

My father was born in Norway and left when he was just 16. He went to sea. Norway had the second largest Navy in the world at that time. His plan was to travel the world ending up in America. When I was older he took me back “home” as he called it. Proudly showing me where he lived, where he went to school and where he skied. Norway is such a beautiful country I couldn’t help but wonder why he ever left.

When I asked him he told me that of all his subjects in school he loved American History best of all. What could be more exciting to a young boy than cowboys and Indians? Rumor also had it that in America the streets were lined with gold.. He just had to come.

How could you not love a man that held you when you cried, played the mandolin for you. aught you how to ski and to skate cross hands? And on occasion would dance the Viennese waltz with you. Every now and then if I close my eyes I can still see him in his spats and gray Fedora. Daddy died in 1978, and every now and then I think of him, and when I do I miss him so.