A Tale of Two Peoples: A Personal Pilgrimage to History
Genealogy is a hot topic for many families. Finding ancestors and learning about their stories can be fascinating and satisfying. We all have a story to tell, a book to write… and one day, either in the near or distant future, someone will investigate us. They will want to know who we were and what we did, where we live and where we are buried. They will want to know whose lives we touch and how they are linked to us.
About a year ago, we took a trip to a town about two hours south of ‘home’… to try and find the house where my father grew up. I only knew him as ‘208’… that’s what it was called when he was a kid. By the time I was old enough to remember, Grandpa no longer lived in ‘208’, so I have no recollection of the house; but I have a picture – a framed 8×10 that tells me my father was raised well. I had heard the story of my father smashing the granite steps with a hammer, and grandfather chasing him around the house two or three times before he finally caught my father. He had heard the story about the cap on the railing being loose. Dad and his brothers used to leave each other notes and trinkets in the hole under the hat. I heard about the bowling alley they put up in the basement and the old ballroom on the third floor. It was a gabled house, built of old wood or oil money, a true Victorian, built sometime in the nineteenth century.
So we set off, knowing the city, the number, and something about a president. Washington? Lincoln? jefferson? I couldn’t remember, but I had been there once with Mom, and I remember turning left onto the main street. We had planned to stop at the Historical Society to inquire about the family, but they were closed on that particular Saturday afternoon. So we wandered around the neighborhood hoping to find… 208 Lincoln! There it is, in the corner, just like in the picture! Still gabled, still majestic, although it has been converted into apartments. Across the street is a new elementary school, but 208 Lincoln still stands. And there is still a chip in the step. We took photos and framed one along with the previous one that I had. Recorded history for the next generation…
Last fall, we hit the road again, this time to find the house Ed lived in as a child on Long Island. We really didn’t know if he would be there. It has been almost 50 years since he left. It was another weekend pilgrimage to explore our roots and see what survives. This time, though, we have an aunt he hasn’t seen in at least 30 years who can fill in some of the story’s “blanks” in the memories. She showed us her wedding album, some of the last photos of Ed’s uncle, since he died shortly after they were married. It is a sad but also brave story of a single woman who survived, built a life and a career, raised a child and has a story of her own to tell. We visited the apartment building where the family lived before the war…before Dad bought a house with the GI Bill…then we went out to look for the house. He was also still there. The tree they planted when Ed was very young has grown majestic, dwarfing the Levittown-style house. Across the street is a Taco Hut, not the neighbors Ed remembers, but the corner deli is still open.
In each case, the weekend excursion gave us a very real feeling of contentment and peace. While in both towns, New Castle PA and East Meadow NY, we also went to the cemeteries of our ancestors. Finding the graves of family members over several generations gave us a sense of connection, even though we hadn’t been there before and probably won’t go again. We lay flowers on Uncle Ed’s grave, my Ed is his namesake, then walk away in silence.
The value of our human connection is often lost in today’s mobile, busy, me-centric society. Although we spend time with family and friends, our American society, which is made up of each of us individually, has been trying to convince itself that life has no value beyond the present. From abortion (because we cannot experience the life that is being terminated) to cremation, we are erasing the records of lives that should be lived and recorded for future generations.
Each person has a connection with the whole that is our nation, our world. Each of us is a valuable and unique collaborator. From the wisest statesman to the homeless person, from the most brilliant scientist to the parents of the next generation: manager, worker, inventor, salesperson, scholar, each of us has a story to tell…a book to write. . The stories of our personal experiences cannot be duplicated or replaced. We are unique. Each of us needs to tell our stories, record our memories, tag our priceless photos, and create a permanent place of remembrance for those who, generations from now, will make the pilgrimage to find their roots.