Mom's Old Photos

First things first - a couple updates:

1) The diary of my cousin Commodore Franklin Mousley is being digitized as I type. A very helpful person from Rights and Reproduction is making a PDF copy of the diary for me at a most reasonable price! I'm so excited!

2) The search for Henry Casselberry continues - he hasn't been found yet. I did, however find many of his eight children and even more of his grandchildren. The current search appears to be leading me back towards Germantown. I need to review some old history books and look at some old maps to see where he might have been buried. I have found one reference that states, "The early Mennonites didn't concern themselves overly much with gravestones. The believed the good Lord knew where to find them."

With that in mind, humbled, I will take failing to find the gravestone in stride - I'm just a bit disappointed for the 8-times great-granddaughter and last of her family's line, that I might not find it. She's been delighted with all the children and grandchildren gravestone photos.

She says, "They (the photos) makes the dusty records of ghostly people, become so real once more. They *did* exist, live and breathe." And that's good enough for me.



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This past weekend, my mom pulled out a handful of old snapshots.  This is her, in about 1940-ish.  Location unknown but probably in the Boston, Massachusetts area.

In 1957, my Grandfather wanted to attend his family's annual reunion.  My grandmother did not want to go.  She disliked the very long car ride from Massachusetts to Oklahoma in the hot summer months.  Their car was "up in years" and not terribly dependable.  My grandfather usually gave way to my grandmother's quirks and whims, but this time he put his foot down and said (according to my mother), "Cornsarnit woman, I'm going even if it means leaving you behind! I'll take the boy (my cousin) and the girl (my mother) with me and go without you!  So if you're going, pack a bag and gits in the car!

She packed a bag, mumbling the whole time, and got in the car. The car broke down somewhere in western New York and it took several days for it to be repaired.  The week-long vacation with the reunion in Oklahoma became a visit of only a couple days.

 

The 1953 family reunion in Calera, Oklahoma. My grandfather was one of seven children, and he had an additional three step-siblings.  I must confess to enjoying the names (even if they confuse things to no end!)  From left to right, Charlie Clyde (yes, she's a woman), Donna, Olive, Margaret (my great-grannie Maggie who was 4' 7", killed rattlesnakes and chickens barehanded "fer eatins"), towering behind her is Tack (real name Lowell, Charlie's husband), my grandfather with the stylish wide tie and beset upon look, Barbara Ann, Bubba (real name George), and my Grandmother.

My mom says, this is the only time she ever met all of these kin folks.  She got married a few years later and had some little boys that kept her busy.

  

Namely me and my socking-footed pajama wearing older brother.  My Granddad looks pretty happy to have me sprawled out in his lap while hanging on to my brother.  My Grandmom had a nice smile and a tender chuckle when she laughed.  I wonder where this photo was taken.  I suspect it was during a visit to New Hampshire.

The Great Foot Drag Race

My brother and I work together - we have a computer consulting company that works primarily with drug companies and their efforts to get new drugs approved by the Food and Drug Administration.  We do whatever comes in the door, so on occasion, I'll be fixing someone's grandmother's computer, or setting up a wireless router for a home network.

Some mornings, my brother sends me a text saying something like, "I'm really tired, so I'm going to sleep in a little.  I'll be a little late getting to the office."  Some mornings, it is me, sending him a text like, "I overslept. Will be leaving home shortly."

And some mornings our "be a little late" texts "cross in the mail" and then the "Great Foot Drag Race" is on to see who will be the "winner" (that is, last to get there!)

This past weekend, my brother and I worked 4 hours on Saturday and 6 more hours on Sunday afternoon.  So the weekend didn't offer much rest.  This morning we were both dragging a little bit.  So the race was on!

Me:  "I'm running slow this morning"

Him: "Yeah, just got up. Thinking about taking a bath"

Me: "Okay, see you at the office, shall I make coffee?"

Him: "Please do, I really need some."

Me: "Okay, oh before I forget, I need to get something at the drugstore this AM."

Him: "Oh crud, thanks for reminding me, I need to do that do."

This leaves me thinking "Hmmmm... It's definitely going to be a tough race this morning!"

So I dillydally and check my Nook Color to see if I have any pending moves for "Word With Friends" and ponder taking the dishes out of the dishwasher.  I decide I'm not that desperate..  yet.

So into the car and off I go.  Hey! the gas gauge says "1/2 full" that's low enough!

Me: "Oh, and I got to get some gas, too."

Him: "Okay. Just out of the tub."

I pull into the gas station just as a new text arrives.

Him: "Going to hardware store, need some nails to hang a couple pictures for wife."

Me: "Okay. getting gas."

Goodness... such a close race!!

I continue onwards, thinking furiously now...  Ah ha!

Me: "Going to lawn mower shop, need replacement spark plug for the mower at the office."

Him: "Yeah, be nice to get the lawn cut."

Thinking it's time for a snoopy dance, I wait in (a short) line at the mower shop when another text rolls in.

Him: "Got the picture hanger stuff, daughter called, she forgot a book for school"

Him: "Going home to get it for her."

Dang it!!!

Oh wait!

Me: "Going to post office, getting stamps."

Him: "Dropped off book. On way."

I get to the post office, and am speechless. For the first time in what seems like 10 years, there is no line! So I have mixed feelings, I hate lines but...

Stamps in hand, I get into the car and drive the five short blocks to the office, where just as I pull in, my brother's car swings into the parking spot marked, "Head Honcho".

We eye each other, and I park in the spot furthest from the door.  He gets out slowly and opens his trunk and slowly sorts through piles of "stuff" (it's really trash.)

I get out and pretend to check that my rear brake lights are working and that my license plate is still attached to the car.  I rummage around for a few minutes, feeling for the door keys in my pocket.

He slowly closes the trunk lid and shuffles toward the door, walking like his laptop bag weighs a hundred pounds.

I simply walk with a "Hey I walked 200 miles to get here!" limp.

He gets to the door first and turns to me and says, "Okay, you win."

I punch the air and shout "Oh yes!!!!"  The sweet thrill of victory!

Down at the Wharf

Durn this new blogger interface!!

I know it's free, and you get what you pay for... but... jeepers.  I feel like I have six thumbs and no brains.

I was sent this photograph of the wharf this weekend. Seems that the one-legged lady and her husband were so eager for the new season to start, they have their boat, the "Animal Crackers," in the water already! 'Tis a lonely boat though. The houseboat won't be joining it until mid-May. Hopefully the dock will be repaired by then. The tape marks the spot where my Dad's fishing boat will be tied up. I'm a'hankerin' to go!

Animal Crackers

Astonished and Overwhelmed

Yesterday, I rode the rails and went downtown. I took the train because parking a car downtown costs about $25 a day and a round trip train ticket was only $8.

I enjoy the train ride so that is a nice bonus. I went to visit the historic society, something I've put off for a while since their hours are not terribly "helpful" and just getting there is a nuisance.

But.

A year ago, when I went through my cousin Franklin Mousley writings, I discovered that he left a box full of stuff at the historical society, including his diary from the years 1911 to 1917.


Outside the society there is a sign bragging how old they are.

Inside, I found the staff very friendly and most helpful. They showed me how to use the computer card catalog, fill out call slips to get things brought to me from the storage rooms, and how to work the microfilm reader.

Ha! I bet some of you don't even know what one of those is! Truth be told, I've only ever used one once, and that was a great many blue moons ago.

The staff person lead me to the drawer contain the many rolls of microfilm that Franklin's stuff had been "recorded" on. My eyes nearly fell out of my head.


16 reels of microfilm, each containing upwards to 3,000 page images. I barely scratched the surface of what was available. Sitting there for nearly 5 hours, I looked at only two rolls.


Franklin was one of the very first radio-telegraph operators. He got his licence in 1908. He was only 16 years old when he started the diary I was looking at.

Imagine how I felt, when I spooled the film into the reader, and on the very first page that the machine displayed, was an entry for April 15, 1912 with the word RMS TITANIC underlined in pencil.

In that fateful day's entry, he writes about sitting in a ship that is unloading cargo at a pier in Savannah, Georgia monitoring the newfangled radio and hearing (in Morse code) the lists of survivors being radio'ed ahead to New York City by one of the rescue ships.

"CAPE RACE, Newfoundland, April 15, 9:55 pm. Orders to cancel the special train for passengers for Halifax to New York, means that the Carpathia is headed direct for New York."

Of a total of 2,224 people aboard Titanic only 710 people survived the sinking.

I remember my seeing the first lunar landing in 1969 like it was yesterday - might this of been Franklin's "lunar landing" experience?


The first page of the diary gives me a unique insight to a man I've never met and have heard very little about through oral family lure.

Somehow, I need to find a way to get a copy of this diary. It "rots" away, in a box, nearly hidden in a museum that is not only hard to get to, it's hard to get into, and has probably never looked at by anyone in fifty years.