Passing It On

Saying goodbye to the brick and mortar of our past

The room was smaller than I remembered. The steps leading up to it were steeper, the light was dimmer and the slope of the ceiling in the attic made it more difficult to stand and maneuver. But this was my old bedroom and I was there to say goodbye.

For the better part of the 1960s, the room had been my “apartment at home,” through half of my high school years and college. After breaking loose from the tiny room I had shared with my two brothers, I eagerly assumed the role of teenage male interior decorator, dragging in a table, desk and television immediately and following with a steady stream of hi-fis, each something of an improvement over its predecessor.

I transformed the cozy space into what passed for a communication/entertainment center in those days with an extension telephone (at $1 a month), shortwave radio, comfy easy chair and covered the walls with posters of James Dean, W.C. Fields, Mae West or whoever was in vogue at the time. My tee-totalling, non-smoking parents uncharacteristically allowed me to smoke and drink (once I reached legal age) in my room, privileges I would not extend to my own children many years later.

Many of my memories from that era are tied to that bedroom. But my parents moved this week, out of the house they built themselves 60 years ago. I had the rare opportunity to spend one last night in my old room. This time, though the room was mostly empty, occupied by just a few boxes – some with memories to save, others targeted for an upcoming yard sale and the rest headed for recycling or disposal.

It wasn’t particularly comfortable, trying to sleep on a camping mattress, but it was an opportunity too rich to ignore. Besides the flood of memories that bind families even tighter in times of moves like this, it’s also a chance to say goodbye to another big part of our family histories – our former homes. If you have that opportunity, I highly recommend taking it.

Larry Lehmer is a personal historian who helps people preserve their family histories. To learn more, visit his web site or send him an e-mail.

Photo: Corner of Larry Lehmer's bedroom in 1965 (courtesy: Larry Lehmer)

It’s not too late to right a wrong

Have you ever said or done something you later regretted? Of course you have. Did you fix it?

If we were brutally honest, our life stories would likely contain dozens of those moments that caused us great turmoil at one time. But time has a way of shoving those unpleasant experiences deeper into our subconscious, whether they were ever resolved or not.

I was reminded of this by Kim on the Escape Adulthood blog she shares with her husband, Jason. As Kim points out, it’s never too late to right a wrong. The TV series, My Name Is Earl, is built around this premise.

My brother brought this into a family history perspective when he sent me an e-mail in response to my recent post about my beloved 1957 Chevy. Confident that the statute of limitations had run out, he confessed that he and a barely teenage friend had once taken my car out for a middle of the night joyride. A few jumped curbs and forays into neighbors’ yards later, they abandoned their foolhardy quest.

“Having told the true story of my dirty and shameful deed - my soul is now better for it,” he wrote.

That he kept this secret for four decades is nothing short of amazing to me. I could never hold such a great story inside for so long. I’m grateful that he finally chose to share it so it can claim its rightful place in my own family history.

His action has me re-examining my own life from a different perspective. How about you?

Larry Lehmer is a personal historian who helps people preserve their family histories. To learn more, visit his web site or send him an e-mail.

Flickr photo courtesy of The Full Moon.

What did you have for breakfast on April 4, 1996?

What if you could record every moment of your life in a searchable digital file? It may soon be possible.

If Microsoft’s MyLifeBits Project seems a bit Orwellian to you, consider that it has its roots in the 1945 vision of Vannevar Bush who envisioned a desktop “device in which an individual stores all his books, records, and communications, and which is mechanized so that it may be consulted with exceeding speed and flexibility.”

Bush called his dream contraption a “memex.” Today you might call it a PC.

Microsoft is taking a two-pronged approach to realizing Bush’s vision – investigating lifelong storage on the one hand while developing appropriate software on the other. For the past decade, Microsoft researcher Gordon Bell has been putting the concept to the test, creating an ever-expanding digital record of his life.

Stefani Twyford, a videographer and blogging friend from Houston, Texas, brought the project to my attention while raising the question: Is this really a good idea? My short answer is “I don’t think so.” You can find my long answer in the comments section of Stefani’s blog.

What do you think? Would such a comprehensive digital record be of value or interest to your descendants?

Larry Lehmer is a personal historian who helps people preserve their family histories. To learn more, visit his web site or send him an e-mail.

Gordon Bell on cover of Fast Company magazine courtesy of brewbooks.

Is your family history disaster-proof?

I own a phonograph record titled “If the Bomb Falls.”

Subtitled “A Recorded Guide to Survival,” the record was produced by the Office of Civil and Defense Mobilization in the early 1960s and offered suggestions on how to survive a nuclear attack on the U.S. Those of us who were around in that Cold War era lived with an omnipresent fear that missiles could come raining down at any time.

As you might expect, the narrator on the record speaks in ominous tones. Dig that shelter, stock it properly and cross your fingers. Many Americans did just that. We were all instructed that when the bombs started falling, we’d tune to our Conelrad stations at 640 or 1240 on our AM dials and await further news.

While the record painted a bleak picture of our futures, I was always grateful that they didn’t title it “When the Bomb Falls.”

I thought of the record last week as fires were consuming huge portions of Southern California. Many people fled their homes with little or no advance warning. Some lost everything to the flames; others fared better. I grieve for those whose family heirlooms and mementos were vaporized. I also wonder what I would do if I was faced with a similar situation.

While many of our important family papers and documents are stored in a fireproof safe or in an off-site safety deposit box, many similar items are on display throughout the house. It’s impractical to think we could save much with, say, 5 minutes warning, but we could do better if we had a plan.

What are you doing to safeguard your valuable items in case of a disaster? April Hauck over at doyouQ? has some thoughts on the subject. Becky Wiseman suggests in this Kinexxions post that you might want to work on a “bug out box” if you don’t already have one. You can also go here to check out some excellent tips on how to prepare a family disaster kit.

Larry Lehmer is a personal historian who helps people preserve their family histories. If you’d like to know more, visit his web site or send him an e-mail.

Photo: Cover of "If the Bomb Falls" (Tops, 1961)

Start raking in those fall memories

 

I had the good fortune to make a presentation Saturday at the annual conference of the Iowa Genealogical Society in Marshalltown, about 60 miles from my home.

As I made the drive on a gorgeous (if a bit warm!) early fall day, I was reminded of the beauty of our state. True, Iowa doesn’t have mountains or oceans, but the rolling countryside nestled between the Mississippi and Missouri rivers has a timeless beauty of its own.

With each change of the seasons, the landscape takes on a distinctively new appearance. For many of us, fall is the best season. Although it’s a bit soon for the foliage to explode into its transitional autumnal overcoat of yellows, oranges, browns and reds, there are other memories many of us associate with the season.

After months of nurturing, it’s time for the land to give up its bounty. Fall harvest is critical for farmers and often means long, dirty days in the fields. For city gardeners, it’s a bittersweet time of savoring the final vine-ripened, home-grown tomatoes while covering delicate perennial beds and returning vines, stalks and leaves to the soil from which they sprouted just a few short months ago.

For many of us, our memory banks are personal highlight reels of baseball and football seasons past. It’s time for the major league baseball playoffs and the college football season is already half over. Hockey season is just beginning, despite early season calamities as we had in Des Moines this week where a game had to be stopped because high humidity created an indoor fog.

It’s a time better spent outdoors, anyway. As Humphrey Bogart said: “A hot dog at the ball park is better than steak at the Ritz.”

What are your favorite fall memories? Put them down on paper and include them in your family history project.

And to Marilyn, Lois, Eileen, Carolyn and the others who attended my presentation in Marshalltown, a big thank you. You were a great audience. Although I didn’t get to catch all of her presentations, keynoter Megan Smolenyak Smolenyak did a great presentation on some of the difficult cases she’s tackled in her duties at ancestry.com. An expert in using DNA in family research, she also spoke on that topic. Check out her blog.

Larry Lehmer is a personal historian who helps people preserve their family histories. To learn more, check out his web site or send him an e-mail.

Flickr photo, Fall Colors in Iowa , courtesy of kellyjamesallen.

The price is right; the memories are, too

I was running late for a noon-hour meeting the other day when I stopped at a local gas station to grab one of those tasty $1 spiced pumpkin cappuccino drinks they have during the fall.

The girl at the counter looked at the drink. “Is that all you’re getting?”

Yes, I said. Have a good day, she said.

OK. What do I owe you?

Nothing. Have a good day.

Nothing, I stammered? What’s the deal?

“I just feel like being nice,” she said. OK. I will have a good day. Thank you.

It’s been quite a while since I’ve been pleasantly caught off-guard like that. There was a time, though, when businesses like gas stations fought for your business. You would pull in, someone else would pump your gas, check your oil, wash your windshield, offer to vacuum the inside of your car, hand you a free box of tissue and perhaps some trading stamps or glassware.

Banks pampered new customers, too, often giving out sporting goods and household items when you opened an account.

Many of these freebies have been passed on from generation to generation. I have a couple of cereal bowls that came from boxes of cereal my mother ate as a girl. I also have a Little Orphan Annie decoder ring from the 1930s and a Fibber McGee & Molly puzzle from the 1940s, both free (or cheap) premiums.

Some of your family heirlooms may have similar origins. My friend Jasia over at Creative Gene found out that her mother’s dinnerware probably came from “dish night” at Detroit, Mich., theaters. Many young families built up their pantries and young ladies filled their hope chests, one piece at a time on dish night.

Although I don’t know if Mark Heggen of Encino, Calif., is familiar with dish night, he is something of an expert on old Des Moines movie theaters and the long-gone Riverview Park. After being on hiatus for several months, Mark produced a flurry of posts on his Lost Cinemas of Des Moines site last week. Check it out.

Larry Lehmer is a personal historian who helps people preserve their family stories. To learn more, check out his web site or send him an e-mail.

Flickr photo courtesy of sparkrobot.

Big events leave big imprints in our memories

Where were you on Sept. 11, 2001?

Many of us will be remembering the answer to that question this week on the sixth anniversary of the attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon.

Big events like those of that day leave indelible imprints on our memories. They affect our lives in other ways, too. Sometimes the impact is small; other times it can be huge. There’s been an increased interest in preserving family history, for example, since the events of 9/11 when so many young, innocent lives were extinguished without warning. For me, that ultimately led to a career shift, taking my 35 years of newspaper and writing experience in a totally new direction.

For people of my generation, there are other similar defining moments, incidents where a slice of time is etched deeply in our minds. The assassinations of John Kennedy, Robert Kennedy, and Martin Luther King. The death of Elvis. The Challenger disaster.

For me, there are others. Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin and Jim Morrison all dead of drugs in a 10-month span. The day John Lennon was shot. The day Pope John Paul II was shot. Woodstock. The Kent State shootings.

The gunning down of JFK in Dallas is the pre-9/11 benchmark for many of us. I was a freshman at Omaha University that day, studying in the library when I heard of the shooting via a whispered conversation. Several of us headed to the audio-visual area where a TV was tuned to coverage of the event. We soon heard that the wounds were fatal. We left in stunned silence.

Although the nation began to grieve immediately, my high school alma mater played a basketball game that Friday night. I went. During a moment of silence before the game, somebody behind us was clowning around. One of the kids in my group, normally a mild-mannered sort, turned around and smacked the offender in the mouth. That was that. One punch. No retaliation. Just silence.

What big events do you remember? How have they shaped your lives through your actions or in the retelling of your stories? Have you taken steps to document the stories and their impact on you?

Larry Lehmer is a personal historian who helps people preserve their stories. Learn more at his web site or contact him by e-mail.

Flickr photo courtesy of *reesie.

Remembering the soundtracks of our lives

One of my family duties is as musical director for car trips that take us at least one CD from our home. It'€™s one of my favorite jobs.

I get to pick the music that everyone in the car will hear over the course of our journey. I'€™m sure when any of our children accompany us, they might disagree with my choices but, hey, it'€™s my car. They can pick the music when they drive their cars.

Actually, I'€™m a bit more diplomatic than that and actually enjoy much of their music but it's an entertaining side trip down memory lane when I get to listen to the music I love. Although it'€™s a bit of a cliche, it truly is the soundtrack of my life.

Certain songs are irrevocably linked to certain memories from my past. This is especially true of my high school years. "€œHe'€™s a Rebel"€ by the Crystals never fails to bring forth memories of sock hops after football games. Whenever I hear €"Surf City,"€ I remember hours I sat in the sun mopping my hair with lemon juice while trying to create that surfer dude look.

Just about every song from that era evokes some sort of memory. That'€™s true for other years, too. It'€™s probably the same for you.

As you document your life story, don'€™t forget to incorporate the music. It's a great memory trigger. When I started work on a book about the Philadelphia history of American Bandstand a few years ago, I collected as much Philadelphia music from that era as I could find and played it whenever I needed a little inspiration.

Try it. It might give your own personal history project a jump start. Here's a good place to start.

Larry Lehmer is a personal historian who helps people preserve their family stories. Visit his web site or contact him by e-mail.

Flickr photo courtesy of  The Carrie Project.

Our great state fair is a memory machine

Our state fair is a great state fair. Don’t miss it, don’t even be late.

Those words, from lyrics by Rodgers & Hammerstein, are on many Iowans lips this week as the annual extravaganza unfolds in Des Moines. The state fair is a literal memory machine. For many Iowans, traditions built around the fair connect several generations. The campgrounds and parking areas are filled to overflowing every day during the fair’s 12-day run. 

My blogging friend Janet at DMweblife.com has tagged me to write about the Iowa State Fair. Here goes.

I was raised a few hours’ drive from the Iowa State Fair and it was not a big deal in my childhood, although we attended once or twice. As an adult, I lived within 15 miles of the fairgrounds for several years before I went. I’ve been a regular ever since, going two or three times each year. But it hasn’t developed into much of a family tradition.

In my early fair-going years, I took great delight in seeking out bargains. I knew where and when the best food samples could be found. I knew where the cheapest popcorn was and thoroughly enjoyed the free stage entertainment each evening.

The bargains are much harder to find these days and, while it is possible to avoid overpriced artery-clogging offerings like deep-dried Oreos and corn dogs, truly healthy food is a bit hard to find. The quality and diversity of the free stage shows have taken a noticeable dip, too, the past couple of years.

But, at its roots, our state fair is still a great state fair. We have big boars, hot tub salespeople, blue ribbon cakes, beer on a stick, a place where you can watch piglets being born, lamb burgers, pork chops on a stick and a cow made out of butter. Older buildings have undergone a facelift, new venues have sprouted and there are more air-conditioned places to take refuge from the brutal Iowa summer heat. And there are the people. Lots of people.

People-watching is the No. 1 reason I go to the fair. With a presidential election just around the corner (or so it seems), big shot politicians are regulars here. On a visit to the fair this week, I saw Sen. Tom Harkin being escorted around a building by one of the fair’s biggest benefactors, real estate magnate Bill Knapp. While Harkin was flipping chops on the grill at the pork producer’s tent, candidate Chris Dodd was giving a speech on a bale of hay.

These are a couple of my take-away memories from this year’s Iowa State Fair. What memories have you taken from your state’s fairs?

To read what others are saying on this subject at Janet’s blog, go here.

Larry Lehmer is a personal biographer who helps people preserve their family histories. To learn more, visit his web site or e-mail him.

Remembering the storytellers of our past

I spent a day this week in my hometown of Council Bluffs, Iowa, helping my parents celebrate their 65th wedding anniversary. A gathering of family for occasions like this is always a joyous time of remembrance and a great opportunity to share family stories.

On this visit, we happened to drive by the Union Station area in Omaha where I spent many hours in the 1960s, working my way through college. It’s not far from the famed Old Market area and much of the area between has undergone a major facelift. The station area, though, is kind of a mixed bag.

There’s a nice museum in the old Union Station itself, but the nearby Burlington Station is more of an eyesore these days although signage indicates condos may resurrect the place someday. Buildings aside, I’m saddened to look at the tracks that run between the structures that used to be filled with passengers criss-crossing the nation.

I worked there during the final throes of what had been a thriving passenger rail era. None of the jobs I held in my railroad years exist today. As a mail handler, I filled rail cars with bags of mail at one of the nation’s busiest transfer points in Council Bluffs. It’s long gone. As a coach cleaner, I pumped water into the passenger cars during their brief stops at Union Station. Gone.  As a carman’s helper, I toted an oil can down long strings of freight cars, pausing only to lubricate those dwindling number of wheels that had not yet been updated to roller bearings. Gone.

But, though the jobs are gone, my memories of the people I worked with remain. The railroad people I worked with were storytellers, even those of few words.

It was mostly an uneducated bunch and many of them had lived through the Depression. Some of them who were nearing the end of their rail careers had even managed to raise families during those lean years. And they loved to share their experiences with a still-wet-behind-the-ears college kid who obviously knew nothing about the world. This was definitely not a world of political correctness.

It was a great education. Although not all of what I learned was positive – like the sexual terms I hadn’t heard before and haven’t heard since, how to cover a six-team parlay with one good over-under, how to roll your own cigarette or how to catch a catnap where the boss won’t catch you – I’ve carried memories of these people with me over the past four decades.

While I’ve forgotten many of my fellow students from that era, I still remember these hard-scrabble men, right down to the personal quirks that make them unforgettable in my mind.

Storytellers enter our lives from different directions. Sometimes they’re an unexpected gift; sometimes they’re just an annoyance. Learn to identify those in your life and give them the proper place in your own personal history.

Larry Lehmer is a personal biographer who helps people preserve their family histories. To learn more, visit his web site or e-mail him.

Flickr photo of interior of Omaha Union Station courtesy of sdelahoyde.