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Family

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Zach on tap . . .

Memories . . .

I wonder . . .

There are a lot of "what if's", "whys?" and "I wonder's?" in life. If we have these questions early in life, we might ask the people involved and find some clues as to why things turned out the way they did.
As for me, the answers to most of my "wonderings" rest with people long gone, and even if they were alive today they probably wouldn't recall the thought processes that led to the choices that were made. As the years go by our dreams, desires and deeds tend to meld together into a hazy truth.
A small example that comes to mind is that I did not have siblings. I have no idea why, for I never discussed it with my parents. Both my mother and father had four siblings so multiple children in a family must have seem like a normal thing to them. I did, however, end up with four "only child" cousins.
My parents must have considered the situation. I can remember when I was eight or nine there was a boy, Alexander, about my age were I attended school who was an orphan. He was invited to our house to play so we could get to know one another, and I guess to see how we got along. I recall my mother asking me if I would like to have him for a brother with the understanding that he could be adopted.
I don't remember my response, but I don't remember having any negative feelings about the situation. I don't know what decisions were made, but Alexander didn't come to live with us and we moved to another state a couple years later. I can remember my mother asking me more than once as I grew up if I remembered Alexander.
I wonder, "What if?"

Shades of The Da Vinci Code?

Are you familiar with our ancestors the Merovingians? Are these the same Merovingians mentioned in the best-selling The Da Vinci Code? Check out the Family Tree link in the sidebar on the left. Look under Childeric I of The Franks.

Your Life's Long-Range Impact

We grow discouraged with ourselves and our accomplishments, so often, because we judge our effectiveness in linear, arithmetic terms. We measure our worth by immediate results we can see--how much money we've made during the past year, how quickly we're advancing in our job, how many important positions we hold, the number of friends we have . . .
If you're a parent, consider this statistic. If you raise two children, who by age twenty-five each marry and raise two children, who by age twenty-five each marry and have two more children--by the time this pattern repeats for only ten generations, or 250 years, you'll be the ancestor of over 1,000 offspring! And they will all in some way be a reflection of you. It may seem hard to appreciate the value of time spent with your children. There are so many other things to do with your time . . . Yet given your children's dependence on you and the respect they have for you, the benefit of time spent with them far exceeds that of most other relationships. If your influence on them is positive, it will be felt for generations to come.

Copyright 2005 M. Blaine Smith
To read complete article click HERE.

How Much Should We Save for our Kids?

. . . at some point we all have to decide how to triage our memories. Or have others decide for us.
Since last Thanksgiving, my mother's life has been downsized to a single room. Over time, as she went from house to apartment to assisted living, we had repeatedly strip-searched her rooms for what mattered most to take along. But when the flood waters of old age and ill health rose dangerously in her own life, she was rescued to a room now decorated with photographs, a 90th-birthday book and a single bureau.
The home that this homemaker created with as much care and flair as a set designer has gone into its own diaspora. A buffet was sent to one granddaughter, wing chairs to a nephew. Two of the dining chairs that I sat on as a child will be pulled up to my own table this holiday. But things that we had neither space nor taste for went to a hospice and a consignment shop. It's only stuff, we said to each other. The stuff of stories and lives.
Have you ever seen photo albums in an antique store or flea market and wondered how they ended up in this orphanage? Didn't anybody want them, know them anymore? Can we, on the other hand, get laden down with too much history?
In the shadow of all this, my husband and I have been rummaging through our storage room, triaging what stays and what goes. There is a box of letters from my father to a war buddy. Will I be the last generation that hears his voice in the typewritten words? There are the soup pots, also my grandmother's legacy, known only to me. There is the eccentric jeweled pin that so reminds me -- but only me -- of my great-aunt Polly.
How much should we save for our kids? How much should we saddle them with?
In some ways every generation balances the pleasure of traditions, legacies, roots, with the equally American appeal of a fresh start. I wonder how much stuff, and stories, our children can carry with them to their own table and still have room for the new. How much, on the other hand, do restless people long for their connection to the past?

Ellen Goodman
© Copyright 2005 The Washington Post Writers Group
To read complete article click HERE.

Who removed my cousins?

Once again, while surfing the Internet for information about relatives, I was able to find a means to contact a relative. Through a third party I was able to get the phone number of a cousin once removed. Now exactly who removed him, and why, is a mystery that can be solved by a little more surfing. I found the following information on the Genealogy.com web site.

Removed
When the word "removed" is used to describe a relationship, it indicates that the two people are from different generations. You and your first cousins are in the same generation (two generations younger than your grandparents), so the word "removed" is not used to describe your relationship.
The words "once removed" mean that there is a difference of one generation. For example, your mother's first cousin is your first cousin, once removed. This is because your mother's first cousin is one generation younger than your grandparents and you are two generations younger than your grandparents. This one-generation difference equals "once removed."
Twice removed means that there is a two-generation difference. You are two generations younger than a first cousin of your grandmother, so you and your grandmother's first cousin are first cousins, twice removed.

By the way, my removed cousin has a sister who was removed to California and I was able to talk to her too.

History

Last night I watched the last episode of Steven Spielberg's miniseries Into the West. Toward the end, the character of Jacob Wheeler now aged and and reflecting on his life tells a young relative, "The only history a man knows for certain is that small part he owns for himself . . . I want you to remember these stories . . . so when your time comes you can pass them on . . ."

Pass on what you know. No one else knows your "small part."

Smile!

I've been working on my family tree project. In order to have images to associate with the information I have, I spent a lot of time yesterday looking at the few photos I have of my relatives taken in the 1950's. A time when all my uncles and cousins on both sides of the family were alive and active.
As you can imagine, a lot of things came to mind about those whose faces, at one time, were so familiar to me. In particular, the group shots which reflect the family unity, a sense of belonging that was felt at the time, caused me to reflect on my attitude toward my relatives when I was young.
There was no thought in my mind that they, my relatives, would not always be there, always be available to see, to talk to. So, as the young often do, I had no sense that the gift of time was in any way limited. It was, and it has passed. Most the faces I see in those old photos belong to those who have lived, grown old, and are now long gone.
What will be said has been said, and what will be done has been done. We, the still living, wait with those who have passed on for a day of reunion.

Advice to the young: Get into as many family pictures as possible (I used to avoid them). Look at the camera and SMILE. Your descendants will be looking at you decades from now. Today's your chance to communicate to them with a friendly HELLO!

Googling for roots

My efforts this month at constructing a family tree have produced a happy dividend. While I was googling for names, I ran across a name that might be that of a relative. There was a business email address associated with the name. I gave it a try, and lo and behold I’m now connected with a cousin I’ve had no contact with for over 35 years!

Memories

Memories from childhood stay with us forever,

Taking us where we have been and will go,

Pieces of life that live on and will never

Let us forget we were young long ago.
Sometimes I wander back into those shadows,

Quietly being who I used to be,

Bringing to life all the joys and the sorrows,

Days that can’t die while they still live in me.
Holidays linger and happy times glisten;

I can see everyone active and well.

I can still hear them if only I listen,

Feeling each motion and breathing each smell.
Life has such treasures that time’s always stealing;

Nothing can ever entirely stay.

While you are young, you can capture each feeling;

Make all the memories you can every day.

Copyright 1999 RHL

Family

Just like biological cell division, families continually divide and join with divisions of other families to become new families. These new families are made of mysterious mixes of various physical, mental and spiritual traits of the source families. None of us live long enough to see, first hand, much of the results of this process, but through stories, photos, family records, and our innate, internal sensitivities we can see evidence of how the process has worked in the past.
When relatives gather, it's always enjoyable to be in the midst of a family of families and a joy to see how everyone is developing as an individual and a part of their own new family. I’m particularly proud of those whom I've known since they were born and to have the pleasure of seeing them become mature, well-balanced adults.
Life’s not about avoiding the ups and downs. That’s impossible. It’s about being mature enough to accept them and continuing to move forward getting support and giving support to those with whom we're sharing the journey.

Enjoy the journey!

Enjoy your family!

Love them all!

The Farm

I began hearing about "The Farm" in 1947 when my father returned to Leavenworth from the Philippines. He bought a house for us on the corner of Randolph and Grand and 40 vacant acres about five miles West of town. He reenlisted in the Air Force for a tour of duty at Sherman Field at Ft. Leavenworth where we had lived before he was transferred to Texas in 1940.
I had always identified him with the military and had never heard him express an interest in farming. But evidently the call of the land was too much and he finally retired from the Air Force in the fall of 1948. After that The Farm was where he spent much of his time for the next twenty years.
In order to free his days for farming he took a night shift job at the nearby Wadsworth Veteran's Administration Hospital as some sort of orderly. After some years he eventually ended up in an area where those with mental problem were cared for and he was required to shave off his mustache because the patients couldn't have them. That was too much for him and he took a job at the farm facility of the Kansas State Prison at Lansing near Leavenworth. He worked as a guard on the graveyard shift, which kept his days free for farming.
His first task was to clear the land of trees and brush, but not before constructing an entry to the land from the highway across the roadside culvert and proudly hanging on the fence a sign painted on the backs of two old license plates, "LUSH ACRES."
As for clearing the land he did that with ax and saw. There were many hedge trees (a hardwood tree with thorns) on the property and his efforts resulted in a large number of hedge posts, commonly used for fence post in that area. I can remember tepee like stacks of six to eight foot long hedge posts. There were many more than he needed so he sold the excess. At one time he shared the profits with me, but it fell far short of stimulating my interest in the activity.
I remember the huge brush piles that resulted from clearing the land and the heat of burning them in the summer. I also remember once I was supposed to keep an eye on one that was burning and I didn't notice that the fire was spreading beyond it's borders. I took some verbal "heat" from my father for letting it get out of hand.
I think he assumed, or hoped, that I would share his enthusiasm for farming, but I had absolutely no interest. I remember the sad times, especially in the steamy Kansas summer heat, when school was not an excuse, that I was taken along to share the joys of "working the land." I can't remember how long it went on, but he finally resigned himself to fact that his son was an unrepentant "city boy" and would only participate in his dream under duress. I was eventually given my freedom and returned to hanging out with my friends and he forged ahead with zealous determination. The land was cleared with only a few non-hedge trees left.
There was no place he would rather spend his days than on The Farm. I can remember my mother expressing her displeasure by telling my father that perhaps romancing a tree might be the source of affection for him in the future if his focus stayed so much on the farm. Or words to that effect.
My father bought a tractor. A small Allis-Chalmers with the engine in the rear, which he promptly named "Little Alice." I saw one of these tractors at the county fair last year.

As a teenager I was fascinated with any kind of motorized transportation. Automobile, motorcycle, motor scooter, Wizard bicycle. I even took Little Alice for a spin around the neighborhood. It was fun driving the tractor, but it wasn't enough to get me out to The Farm when he moved it there after building a couple shelters with his hedge posts for his tractor and his tools and supplies.
As an aside, the last time I remember driving the tractor was when I was in high school. I had borrowed the family car, a 1951 Ford, and with my date for the evening, Carol, was driving around. I, as usual, was thinking about "parking" somewhere and decided that The Farm would be a nice quiet spot. We arrived shortly at Lush Acres and I jumped out of the car and swung open the barbed wire gate. Quickly back in the car I drove in a ways on the dirt road that led to "farm central" the staging area for my father's activities. Unfortunately as we crept along the road the wheels began to spin, losing traction in the mud that formed from a recent rain. Shortly the wheels were spinning and we weren't moving. I got out and pushed while Carol took the controls, but we couldn't go forward or backward. Then an idea came to mind. Little Alice can get us out. I walked on to the shelter where Little Alice rested, grabbed some rope I found there and cranked her up. After several failed attempts of trying pull the car loose while Carol drove (the rope kept breaking) I decided that it was time to put Little Alice back to bed and get some help.
On that dark Kansas evening Carol and I found our way back to the highway and headed homeward. Fortunately a car came along and seeing two young people obviously in distress (it's hard to look cool walking along the road at night in the country) the driver stopped and gave us a ride into town.
To wrap this little tale up quickly, Carol and I went to my house, woke up my parents, and called her mother (a widow). Her mother came over and we all went out to the farm and my father using a stronger rope and Carol's mother behind the wheel of her car pulled the family car to safety.
Throughout the years my father planted sweet corn, of which there was an abundance to eat when it was picked. I can also remembering him planting a lot of popcorn, which was harvested and sold to some firm in Atchison. I don't know if he did that for more than one year, but it seems that we had a metal garbage can of shelled popcorn in the attic for a long time.
I don't know for sure what else was planted. He was joined by two of my mother's brothers, Sank and Clyde, in gardening on the farm. It seems that it was something they enjoyed doing together. At some time a small pond was added. Fruit trees were planted, but a fire eventually destroyed them.
The Farm was not only a place to grow things, but also a place to dump things, like garbage and trash. There was a low area that my father worked on filling in with refuse. The area might make an interesting archeological site someday.
One image that stays in my mind is my father returning home in the afternoons after spending a hot Kansas summer day on the Farm, dripping wet with sweat, and refreshing himself with huge quantities of ice-cold water that was kept in the refrigerator.
Arthritis in the knees eventually slowed him down and he began to spend less time on The Farm. He also began renting the land to a neighbor for grazing. My mother continued to rent the land after my father's death in 1970 and I did the same until a few years ago.
The last time I was on The Farm was with my family in July 1981. We were in Kansas on our way to Canada and stayed a few days to visit my mother. On the evening of the fourth we went out to the farm to shoot off some fireworks. Bad idea! We did little more than set the dry grass on fire and I can remember dancing around, stamping it out while wearing flip-flops.

I believe it!

A letter to Ma

H-A-P-P-Y  B-I-R-T-H-D-A-Y

Manila, P.I., APO 719-1
28 January 1946

Dear Ma Wallace:

Today is your birthday over here and I received a letter from you telling that you would like a letter from all of your children. I was sorta figuring on writing to you today. I believe you put me about as near to the Lord as was possible since gentlemen are born and not made. I had no choice but to have pretty curley red hair and to be born naked and without shoes. What I am today was decided before I was born and I inherited my looks, character and other things too numerous to mention from my papa and mama and their papas and mamas. The only change you or anyone else could make in me was to where I would live, what I would eat, kind of clothes I would wear and the language I would speak. I see no need of changing my way of living nor have I any desire to join a church. Abraham Lincoln never joined a church and he was a mighty good man. I don't think you need to worry about my ability to become one of the greatest farmers of Kansas, since real farmers are born and not made. People are born with natural talents for certain things and no doubt that I am cut out to be a hot number when it comes to farming as some of my ancestors swung a mean hoe, so how can I miss. Well don't rush off and I no doubt will be home sometime and you can partake of some of the fruits of my labors.

H-A-P-P-Y  B-I-R-T-H-D-A Y

Your only red headed son:
Elmer G.

CAN DO

My father was in the Army when I was born. I can’t remember him ever talking to me about his past, but as I grew up I can remember seeing and handling his mementos of the time he spent in China. I have recollections of seeing the words “CAN DO”, perhaps before I could really read. There were also photographs of strange scenes and people. Some of the photos had comments on them. I think this was how I was introduced to such terms as “Wop” and “Frog.”
He was born in NW Missouri and raised in a small farming community in NW Kansas. After graduating from HS he worked at his father's Ford dealership. Poor health led his father to sell his garage and dealership and move to Topeka. The country was between the World Wars and slowly sank into the great depression in the late 20’s. It seems there was little opportunity for a young man in Kansas. For a while he worked as an auto parts salesman at a Ford dealership in Topeka. He took a three-month course in power plant operation at a Kansas City trade school, but the future still didn’t seem to hold much promise.
I don’t know what he knew about military life, or who might have suggested it to him, but on a spring day in March of 1928 he made the short trip to Fort Leavenworth, Kansas and enlisted for three years in the US Army. Perhaps because of his family's religious beliefs, or his own, he enlisted in the Medical Department. He was soon on his way, on a slow boat, to Tientsin, China to serve with the “Can Do” 15th Infantry Regiment. The weekly newspaper of the small town where the family had formerly lived reported crypticaly, as newspapers sometimes do, that he had joined the navy!
It was a unique assignment as there was a multi-national presence in Northern China with several “concessions” having been established by the British, Italians, French, Russians. Japanese and, until World War I, the Germans. Beginning in 1912 (The United States was a late-comer) the 15th Infantry regiment established a garrison at Tientsin to protect American interests while civil war raged as warlords struggled for control. Fortunately by 1928 China was in a temporary respite from many years of civil war as Chiang Kai-shek had temporarily established control of the nation.


"So what's so 'Great' about this wall?"

My father returned to the US and was discharged at the Presidio, San Francisco in 1931. He immediately reenlisted in the growing Army Air Corps and served at different posts before, during and after World War II.

There is a published, well-written memoir by another soldier from Missouri, who had enlisted at Fort Leavenworth in 1927 and served in China during the same time period as my father. It is an amusing, entertaining account of American soldiers and their adventures in the mysterious, fascinating Old China. Perhaps you can find it at your local library or on the Internet. Old China Hands. Charles G. Finney. Garden City, New York: Doubleday & Co, 1961. Greenwood Press. 1973.

A Young Soldier Writes Home

Headquarters Company
15th U. S. Infantry
Tientsin, China
Dec. 24, 1928

My Dear Mrs. Wallace and family:

I now grab my trusty typewriter with both hands and try to write a small letter after rushing thru all of three whole lessons on this Underwood Masterpiece.
The Captain, H. M. Henderson, called Pvt. Wallace into the orderly room or office and informed him he was going to put this very dumb, red-headed guy in as company clerk.
I told him that I did not know how to typewrite, but he thot I could learn. So here I am. I don't know how long I will be able to keep the job.
I am going to school at night to learn the said touch system. It costs me $2.50 per month, for 6 nights a week, from 6 to 7:30.
The old clerk was 1st and 6th (A first class private and a sixth class specialist) which paid him $33.00 per month and shooting extra.
Santa Claus was here today. The Capt. gave us all a red, white and blue knife apiece. It is a good one, too.
The Red Cross and American Legion sent us all a Christmas bag apiece. I got another knife, handkerchief, diary, fortune teller, comb set, nail file, deck of cards, and some stationery. Mine came from Hazel Catlin, of Fairbault, Minn. So you see they still know there is an army in China.
We are now starting on a ten day holiday, but there isn't any rest for the clerk. It is pretty long hours, but I have lots of time and learn all about the army quicker. I will not he in the Howitzer Platoon any more if I hold this job. I am not very fast on a typewriter yet, but I don't have to look at the keys.
Well I have written all I know, so will stop.
A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

Pvt. Wallace,
Headquarters Company,
Fifteenth Inf.,
American Barracks,
Tientsin, China