Caring is her way of life
Published: April 11, 2007
Gold is a soft metal. But somehow a heart of gold seems to endure longer than any other, especially when it’s constantly polished with good-natured laughter.
For instance, take E. June Kessinger.
In her younger years, she outstretched her arms to hug the world at large — and every child, swan and puppy in it.
The stories she tells reduce her to red-faced giggling, even though she admits to a chronological age of 79.
“Remember the white rabbit?” she asks her daughter, June Leise. “We had to hide it from Daddy.”
Daddy — Pete — was such a good man, Kessinger notes with a sigh. He endured so much in the way of finding strange animals always underfoot in the house.
“We had a pigeon with a broken leg,” she says. “He’d peck at Daddy all the time.”
She also rescued the occasional water fowl. Leise has clear recollections of an injured swan in the bathtub.
But that didn’t happen often, Kessinger points out. The swan — George was his name — much preferred swimming in a children’s pool tucked in the basement. When he was well again, she released him into a nearby bay.
Leise also remembers the Day of the Puppies.
It seems the family’s lovable Scotty mix, MacTavish, was busily producing puppies in the basement while a stray dog — which they named Bambi because she looked like a little deer — was doing the same thing at the same time in an upstairs bedroom.
They tried to hide that little episode from Daddy, too.
“I outdid myself on that one,” Kessinger somberly intones, just before she breaks into laughter.
She was a wildlife rehabilitator before there were professionals doing it on Long Island; an animal activist long before it occurred to most people that animals might need human spokespeople.
On the coffee table sets a photo of Kessinger bottle-feeding a fawn. Nearby is another photo of her and her son, who’s holding a huge fish.
She can’t abide hunting or fishing. “No, it hurts me to see the fish (dead),” she says. “They look up at you with those eyes …”
Needless to say, the gentle Francis is her favorite saint.
Neighbor Monica Eaton has heard many of Kessinger’s stories, but relishes hearing them again.
“She’s a wild woman,” Eaton says affectionately.
Kessinger was a crossing guard and was run down by a car 15 years ago.
She was a hero, says her daughter. She protected the children but was greatly injured herself.
Now, Kessinger wears a gold necklace with a replica of her badge, No. 566, which was retired when she did.
With much of her body in a cast, recovery was slow, and the effects are still painful. She and her dog, Peaches, now live with her daughter and son-in-law, Richard Leise.
She can’t do all she used to, but she does what she can to be of service to others.
She’s growing a gleaming mane of white hair — for Locks of Love, which makes wigs for children without hair.
She’s known as the Reading Grandmother when she invites children at local schools to join her in enjoying a book or two, and she and Leise read stories to little ones at the Apalachin library and elsewhere.
She gathers apple cores and leftover potato chips and sprinkles them outside for any feathered or furry takers.
Her heart of gold still beats strong, despite advancing age and physical limitations.
“I haven’t rescued any (animals) up here,” she says. “Not yet.”
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