Broken Branches in the Family Tree

What a strange week I've had, one filled with family ghosts from a century ago. Their words, deeds, thoughts, and even a photo showing the face of a key player in a dramatic tragedy, someone I'd never seen, appeared with ease. It was as though they'd all been waiting for me to come along to release them and let them tell their stories. So fresh and real is the presence of my ancestors right now, that time means nothing.

It's a long story, one I plan to write a book about. It all began with some tattered and incomplete newspaper clippings discovered after both my grandparents were dead. I thought it had ended with me on my hands and knees looking for, and finding, my great-grandmother's unmarked grave. But no. The mysteries remained. Yet in less than a minute of looking at microfilm in the Tacoma Public Library's Northwest Room, I'd found another lengthy article and the complete versions of the rest. My family's tragedy made the news in Tacoma for weeks in that certain year. Those discoveries, along with others at the court house, and on the internet, especially in the Washington State Digital Archives, led to many more. All will become additional chapters in the family saga.

I sat in the library that day with a new friend and fellow researcher, Northwest author Lawrence D. "Andy" Anderson. I'd purchased his amazing book, "In the Shadow of the Mountain: A History of Early Graham, Kapowsin, Benston, Electron, and Vicinity," almost two years earlier. Now some strange coincidences, and a mutual acquaintance, had brought us together. Because of his interest in the area in which part of the story occurred, and having been caught up in the intrigue, he kindly offered to educate me on archival research. I showed him an old group photo I knew nothing about and he recognized three people in it. Now he's in deep, as excited as I am to uncover more information.

Today I called my mother's elderly first cousin on the East Coast. I've been keeping her abreast of these developments, since her father and my grandmother were both innocent children living out this drama, orphaned when their mother died. She told me a story I'll never forget. One day, when her parents were newlyweds, someone knocked on the door of their house on Vashon Island, here in Washington. Her mother opened it to find one of the people involved in this family story standing on the porch. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me," he said. She screamed. Her husband ran to her side but the man was gone. The next day they received a telegram saying this person had died, in New Jersey, just before he appeared to them.

I might have been more amazed had it not been a week full of these kinds of revelations. After Andy and I spent the day at the library, I came home obsessed with it all. I thought so much about my great-grandmother, whose high-collared dress and Gibson Girl hairdo frame a beautiful face with haunting eyes, in an old portrait I have. She seems to speak to me. I asked her to lead me in the right direction. Little did I dream I'd learn so much in one week, how many clues would fall into my lap. That night, just before bed, I realized something that stunned me; out of 365 possible days of the year on which I might have researched her life, that day, was the anniversary of her death. I hope she'll soon rest in peace.

Copyright 2009 Candace J. Brown

Veterans' Day - words from a Civil War Veteran

In 1909 a Union Army officer named Philip Cheek published a history of the Sauk County Riflemen, another name for Company A of the 6th Wisconsin Volunteer Infantry, in which both he and my great-great-grandfather served. It was part of the famous "Iron Brigade." His words still deliver an impact.

My ancestor joined in 1861, at the age of 20, during the early and passionate recruitment campaigns that swept over even the rural areas of Wisconsin with their tidal wave of patriotism. Now a century has passed since he was wounded in the leg at Gainesville on the evening before the 2nd Battle of Bull Run. The account of that time, as his officer and fellow soldier Philip Cheek wrote it, haunt us yet, 100 years later.

"The regiment advanced in line of battle across a field. Soon we heard a rip-rip, but did not fully realize the situation until the boys began to fall. Philip Hoefer was the first one hit in our company. We finally reached the assignment. "Halt! Right dress! Ready! Aim! Fire!" and the old 6th gave a volley that awoke a cheer from the other three regiments and a corresponding yell from the other side. And that yell. There is nothing like it this side of the infernal region and the peculiar corkscrew sensation that it sends down your backbone under these circumstances can never be told. You have to feel it, and if you say you did not feel it and hear the yell you have never been there."

Most of us have never been there. We may hear of, but cannot truly know the particular horrors of war. The weapons and technology may have changed in the past century, but mankind has not. When we see the flag waving in Tacoma and elsewhere on this Veterans Day, remember all those brave Americans who have fought for our country and still are today. A great many of them have experienced these sensations, and worse. May all those of us who "have never been there," remember to offer our heartfelt respect and gratitude to all the veterans being honored today, as well as the active-duty soldiers still risking their lives. We know they will not all come home.

Here is how Cheek ended his book:

"No man liveth to himself alone. Not for themselves, but for their children, for those who may never hear of them in their nameless graves, have they yielded life ...

Blessed be their memory forever."

Catching a Rainbow

This is no fish tale. It was the biggest rainbow I'd ever seen. I don't mean a trout. I mean a complete and perfect, faintly double semi-circle of radiant colors that, from my vantage point, arched in full glory from the Narrows Bridge to Vashon Island. Maybe you saw it too, if you live in Tacoma and happened to look west on Tuesday morning, Nov. 10. I opened the front curtains about 7:30, expecting just another rainy morning, and there it glowed before my eyes like a necklace of jewels.

"You HAVE to come see this," I yelled to my husband. He already had. I stood there mesmerized for probably a full minute before I thought to grab my camera. But this rainbow, wouldn't fit in the "net" of my lens. I could only catch parts of it. And even as I fumbled, running out onto the wet front porch in my bare feet, it began to fade, "the big one that got away." Like so many of life's most perfect moments, it came and went too quickly. Maybe I should have forgotten about the camera and just stood there and savored every second.

I found a rainbow when I expected only rain. It made me think about the importance of keeping our eyes open to beauty, and keeping our hearts open to the little unexpected gifts of joy that come our way. I hope some of you saw it too, and agree with me that it was worth all this rain. Maybe, instead of rain, we should choose to expect rainbows.