I waited with
much anticipation for Ken Burns’ documentary, “The American Revolution.” I
didn’t need to set my alarm clock, as darkness prevails early, and with all the
chores done (and no rehearsals!), my evening was free to cozy up and watch.
My Uncle Jerry
sent me a note wondering if we will learn anything new as we have studied this
time period repeatedly. I assured him that we will indeed learn new things.
As the music
started, I found myself already wrapped up in our history, and I couldn’t help
but cry. Maybe the music. Maybe not. It has always been my favorite time in
history. I think it all started with my fourth-grade teacher, Mr. Finch. Not
only did he love history, but he was also a great storyteller. On Monday
mornings he would share stories about his weekend job at a local pizza place in
Fort Wayne. Once we got him started, it was hard to get him to stop until it
came to history class. I don’t remember if he used a book. I just remember he
made it a living, breathing subject…like Ken Burns. By the time I went to get
my first grown up book (and I have written about this before), I knew I wanted
to read “Those Who Love” by Irving Stone.
History brings
us together. On Sunday night I was thinking so much about the brave young and
old men who dropped everything to protect and save a democracy that wasn’t even
known or was possible yet. I can’t imagine.
The documentary
has many voices, most of them are historians and writers who specialize in this
time period. I love listening to the knowledge they know and share during this
PBS special. I wanted to make a list of everything I learned, but I was so
wrapped up in watching, that my paper was blank. But I can tell you, even
though I studied in Abigail and John’s private library, even though I spent
lots of time in Boston, in Philadelphia, in Braintree that I, indeed, learned
so much.
There is still
time to catch this series as it is on every night this week from 8-10. It is
also available on the PBS app. (Isn’t everything on an app these days?)
Now, after my
going on and on about this series, I want to share something wonderful with
you. Last week I wrote about my grandfather, Walter F. Rhoads, and the empty
trunk in my garage.
The day after
the column appeared, I had an email from a long-lost (or never even knew
about?) relative. She is the granddaughter of my grandfather’s sister, Mabelle.
I knew Mabelle, of course. She was old like my grandfather. Of course, all
grandparents seem old to children! Renae googled my grandfather’s name the day
that my article came out and she wrote to me.
Renae’s mother, who is now 94, kept her mother’s scrapbooks all these
years. She said she could share them with me if she ever found me, and because
of the column last week, she found me. I was thrilled to hear from her. She
sent me digital photos of Walter. She also promised to send me some of the
postcards he sent home. This is what she wrote to me: “…when Mabelle was 16,
she received a scrapbook for her birthday. In the book there are photographs of
Walter in his uniform. She also has postcards which I am willing to send to you,
so you have something to put into the empty trunk. My sister, Judy, and I
always remember Walter on Veterans Day, so I googled him and found your story.
Thank you for reminding all of us to remember our soldier’s past and present.”
When I received
this note from her, I literally cried. I have nothing with my grandfather’s
handwriting…no notes, no postcards, no letters. It was my grandmother, Luella,
who always wrote, sending notes and recipes and family news. When these
postcards arrive, I will have something to hold, and yes, to put inside the
trunk. Hopefully we can also meet and share stories about our own lives.
So, this week
my life has been ensconced in history. My history. My country’s history. Isn’t
it amazing how we can connect in this digital age? Thank you, Renae, for
finding me. Thank you for filling in some of the gaps in my own history, and
above all, thank you for putting something into the empty trunk.
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