Tender Branch: Growing Up at 658 Monroe Avenue (1951–1957)

Ken Kalis
Nov 13, 2025
3 min read

“When his branch is yet tender… ye know that summer is nigh.” — Matthew 24:32

Rudolph Kalis with his three sons — Bob, Don, and little Kenny.(Image source: “A Man of His Word,” by Kenneth Kalis)

Every branch begins tender. Before strength comes testing, and before testing comes nurture. For me, those tender years were rooted in a big yellow house on Monroe Avenue in Elizabeth, New Jersey — noisy, crowded, full of life — and always under the loving shadow of my father’s turquoise reading chair.

Faith, Books, and a Turquoise Chair

My earliest memories are of Mom and Dad filling my world with Scripture and stories. They read to me from Egermeier’s Bible Stories, “Jungle Babies,” Howard Pyle’s King Arthur, and tales of Robin Hood. Before I could read, I knew the cadence of ancient kings, brave knights, and the Word of God.

I didn’t know it then, but those stories were quietly forming the moral spine of my life — courage, purity, loyalty, sacrifice. They were the seeds of knighthood planted in a young boy’s heart.

Grandpa Posta Arrives — “Unter His Vings”

In 1951, our home changed when my Grandpa Posta came to live with us. He brought with him the weight of the Old World — Bohemia, Poland, the Habsburg Empire — and the quiet tenderness of a man who had found Jesus late in life.

He worked the garden behind 658 Monroe, rows of green beans straight as soldiers. In his yellow aluminum rocking chair, he told me stories: soldiers marching with sugar sacks, family tales from the Austro-Hungarian Army, and always, always the goodness of God.

He loved to sing “Under His Wings,” which, in his thick European accent, became “Unter His Vings.” Sometimes I still hear it.

Kindergarten: Kathleen Ensura’s Curls and the Pfeil Family

Public School# 6 was just two blocks away. That first year brought my first friend — Robert Pfeil — and my first crush, Kathleen Ensura, whose golden curls captivated my five-year-old heart.

I spent much of that year sick with asthma, wheezing at night, and struggling on the jungle gym. I never thought anyone liked me — until the day after Valentine’s Day, when I found my cubby full of cards from every child in class.

A tender branch bends easily. But God was already shaping it.

Radio Heroes and a Healing Touch

When my asthma kept me indoors, I lay on the floor in front of our big Philco radio. The Lone Ranger, Sergeant Preston of the Yukon, Fibber McGee and Molly, The Shadow — all fed my imagination and filled my world with courage and adventure.

And then something happened that changed everything.

In September 1951, Mom took Don and me to St. Nicholas Arena in New York to be prayed for by evangelist William Branham. He looked at her and said:

“Little mother, your son has asthma; he was born with it.If you’ll believe right now, Jesus is going to heal him.”

As the crowd sang “Only Believe,” Jesus healed me. I lived asthma-free for the next 18 years.

Loss, Family, and the First Lessons of Life

In 1953, my grandmother Natalie Kalis died, and our family drove from New Jersey to Chicago for her funeral — the only time we ever returned to my father’s childhood home. It was my first real encounter with death, and it left a mark. Funerals teach children that love endures beyond life, and that grief is part of belonging.

School Days and Seeds of Calling

The elementary school years rolled on:

Miss O’Reagan, 1st grade: beautiful and kind
Miss Sprage, 2nd grade: where I memorized the calendar poem
Mrs. Dorbert, 3rd grade: who introduced me to Robert Louis Stevenson
Miss Quastello, 4th grade: my 10-year-old birthday party (and Diane Young!)
Mrs. Haines nee Miss. Brehm, 5th grade: violin lessons with Mr. Volpe
Mrs. Manship, 6th grade: Dr. Baker’s musical Aida, where I sang proudly

These were years of music, literature, faith, and imagination — and the first stirrings of the knighthood that would later shape my conscience.

Closing Reflection on being a "tender branch"

This season of my life — 1951 to 1957 — formed the tender branch Jesus spoke of. It was not yet strong, but it was growing. Rooted in faith, nourished by family, shaped by stories and song, and touched by the healing hand of God.