My mum and dad divorced when I was very young. After that, mum lived in various apartments in Portland, Maine, and worked two or three jobs to keep us children fed. She did waitressing and bartending, day and night. So there are periods that I don’t remember my mother being around much. Nana Elsie and Grampy (second husband, Fred Neafsey) lived in a duplex out on Cape Elizabeth, and there were times that I lived with them. For a couple of years, off and on, they were my primary caregivers.

Nana worked in several department stores on Congress Street in Portland. She sold foundations and high-end cosmetics. I remember her telling me, "Don’t ever wash your face with soap; always use a good moisturizer, and rub your eyes this way, not that, because you'll get wrinkles." She was such a hoot!

My Grampy was something like six foot six, and Nana was maybe all of five feet two. They were quite a pair. He was a magnificent dancer. He would hold me on his shoulders, hold my grandmother around the waist, and the three of us would dance while Nana sang.

When I was a very little girl, my grandmother dressed me up like a little doll in full skirts with petticoats, white gloves and funny hats. I was her prima donna. She taught me to sing and dance and I would ‘bellow’ some song through the house at the top of my lungs. She taught me to speak like a young lady, to stand straight (she would balance a book on my head) and to smile, smile, smile. She also taught me how to play little tunes on the piano (we had an old upright in the house), and to write my name and recognize and write numbers. She had a very proper manner, but a grand Irish temper. However, when it came to me, she had endless time and patience and got such a kick out of teaching me anything she could.

Nana was a very devout Catholic, and I recall us kneeling beside her bed (I would fall asleep with her) and reciting the Our Father together. She hated swearing and made up her own words to get the point across. For a tiny woman, she stood very tall, with a mighty conviction in her stride and a confidence in her speech that would have suggested that he was quite an educated woman.

Before my mother remarried, we lived on Veranda Street in Portland, right across from Casco Bay. It was a big beautiful brown clapboard house. My grandparents (Elsie and Fred) lived with us there. Grampy was a traveling salesman. Nana told me many years later that they were never legally married, that it was really a common law marriage and she took his name.

Nana loved to talk about the days when she was in vaudeville as a young child. She would tell me stories about performing on stage, singing and dancing and doing little skits. It was something that she went on and on about. When I saw the Lewis Hine photograph for the first time and learned that she was working in the canneries at six years old, I began to think her stories about performing were a fabrication - a wish to be someone she was not.

At this point, I told Pamela about the caption under the Hine photo: "Her father is boss of cutting room in Factory #1. He asked me to take some photos of her, as he has her do a singing act in vaudeville in the winter, 'and she's old enough now to go through the audience and sell her own photos.' " Pamela replied with a gasp: "So she wasn't fabricating that story! Oh my gosh, thank you, thank you! That gives me goose bumps."