. . . shall be scrap and rust

 Limited from Chicago Poems (1916)
         ~by Carl Sandburg

    I am riding on a limited express, one of the crack trains
          of the nation.
    Hurtling across the prairie into blue haze and dark air
          go fifteen all-steel coaches holding a thousand people.
    (All the coaches shall be scrap and rust and all the men
          and women laughing in the diners and sleepers shall
          pass to ashes.)
    I ask a man in the smoker where he is going and he
          answers: "Omaha."


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crack - adjective
INFORMAL. excelling in skill or performance; first-rate: a crack shot, crack troops

________________

This is another of the photographs taken by my uncle, James H. Swearingen, in 1923 on the "family transcontinental trip by auto."  Please come back for an upcoming post featuring a Fourth of July piece from Uncle Jim's memories recorded on tape in 1982.

He sure was something special and I'm grateful I had more than a few opportunities to spend time with him before he passed to ashes . . .







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Horses, past and future?

The Horses by Edwin Muir

Barely a twelvemonth after
The seven days war that put the world to sleep,
Late in the evening the strange horses came.
By then we had made our covenant with silence,
But in the first few days it was so still
We listened to our breathing and were afraid.
On the second day
The radios failed; we turned the knobs; no answer.
On the third day a warship passed us, heading north,
Dead bodies piled on the deck. On the sixth day
A plane plunged over us into the sea. Thereafter
Nothing. The radios dumb;
And still they stand in corners of our kitchens,
And stand, perhaps, turned on, in a million rooms
All over the world. But now if they should speak,
If on a sudden they should speak again,
If on the stroke of noon a voice should speak,
We would not listn, we would not let it bring
That old bad world that swallowed its children quick
At one great gulp. We would not have it again.
Sometimes we think of the nations lying asleep,
Curled blindly in impenetrable sorrow,
And then the thought confounds us with its strangeness.
The tractors lie about our fields; at evening
They look like dank sea-monsters couched and waiting.
We leave them where they are and let them rust:
"They'll molder away and be like other loam."
We make our oxen drag our rusty plows,
Long laid aside. We have gone back
Far past our fathers' land.
And then, that evening
Late in the summer the strange horses came.
We heard a distant tapping on the road,
A deepening drumming; it stopped, went on again
And at the corner changed to hollow thunder.
We saw the heads
Like a wild wave charging and were afraid.
We had sold our horses in our fathers' time
To buy new tractors. Now they were strange to us
As fabulous steeds set on an ancient shield.
Or illustrations in a book of knights.
We did not dare go near them. Yet they waited,
Stubborn and shy, as if they had been sent
By an old command to find our whereabouts
And that long-lost archaic companionship.
In the first moment we had never a thought
That they were creatures to be owned and used.
Among them were some half a dozen colts
Dropped in some wilderness of the broken world,
Yet new as if they had come from their own Eden.
Since then they have pulled our plows and borne our loads,
But that free servitude still can pierce our hearts.
Our life is changed; their coming our beginning.



Photo taken by my uncle, James H. Swearingen, in 1923 on "family transcontinental trip by auto"



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the youngest child

When I read the tender and nearly mystical post about her daughter, Lola, the youngest in their family, written by Maggie May (whose writing takes my breath away with its heart-wrenching, lusty, earthy, soulful expressions of love, loss, and more love) I thought of what my mother meant to her family once upon a time.

She was Margaret, there in the first photo sitting on her brother Marshall's tummy, circa 1916. The tiny 1-1/2"x2" photo wasn't preserved well, which indicates to me that it either was not a favorite of her mother's, the protector of photos and all memorabilia, or that it was so well loved by someone in the family that it was kept out, or maybe treasured in a wallet and shown often. No matter the wear.....the love still shines through.

There she is with the whole family in their only formal family portrait. The boys: Jim, the eldest, Marshall, the middle brother, and Richard, the youngest must have been told to be on their best behavior for the photograph and little Margaret would follow their lead, always, because she idolized them. She is what, maybe three years old, in this portrait? That would give Richard and her -- so close they were -- only seven more years together before he was killed in an auto accident in his junior year of high school. His death devastated that strong, loving family and it informed the way Margaret loved the men, including four husbands, in her future: grasping, testing, wanting, rejecting.

But before the sadness and challenges to come there were these and many more moments of contentment and grace.

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Old family photo: Atlantic City Boardwalk, 1916

Before winter leaves us I wanted to share a photograph of my toddler mother with her family at the Boardwalk in Atlantic City in late winter/early spring of 1916.


I have some vintage clothing from that era saved by Nellie, my grandmother, in a marvelous cedar chest. Her hat, unfortunately, is not among the items. Does it look familiar to some of you?
Of course, it does.......

Read a whimsical commentary on The Flying Nun, 1960s TV show, staring Sally Field.

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Old family photo: snowman in Reno

Cocker Spaniel: Lady, my first dog

Toddler: me

Shadow: Mama, the photographer




Snowmen fade away, as do pets, people, shadows . . . and years. But they leave traces, if only in memories. May we go forward into the new year committed to leaving far fewer traces of us on the Earth and more traces of our kindness in others' memories.

For me, the traces of this year will include wonderful memories of the creativity and kindness that so many of you have shared through your blogs and comments here. This humble snowman from the past is for you.


The Trouble with Snowmen

'The trouble with snowmen,'
Said my father one year
'They are no sooner made
than they just disappear.

I'll build you a snowman
And I'll build it to last
Add sand and cement
And then have it cast.

And so every winter,'
He went on to explain
'You shall have a snowman
Be it sunshine or rain.'

And that snowman still stands
Though my father is gone
Out there in the garden
Like an unmarked gravestone.

Staring up at the house
Gross and misshapen
As if waiting for something
Bad to happen.

For as the years pass
And I grow older
When summers seem short
And winters colder.

The snowmen I envy
As I watch children play
Are the ones that are made
And then fade away.

-Roger McGough

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Old family photo: Pop with children c. 1912

This photo is of my maternal grandfather reading to my uncles and an unidentified little girl, possibly a niece. It was taken in Kansas City, Missouri, around 1912, before the birth of my mother. My grandfather died in 1936 so I never knew him. But I love and honor him nonetheless.



The Children's Hour

-by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Between the dark and the daylight,
 When the night is beginning to lower,
Comes a pause in the day's occupations,
 That is known as the Children's Hour.

I hear in the chamber above me
 The patter of little feet,
The sound of a door that is opened,
 And voices soft and sweet.

From my study I see in the lamplight,
 Descending the broad hall stair,
Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra,
 And Edith with golden hair.

A whisper, and then a silence:
 Yet I know by their merry eyes
They are plotting and planning together
 To take me by surprise.

A sudden rush from the stairway,
 A sudden raid from the hall!
By three doors left unguarded
 They enter my castle wall!

They climb up into my turret
 O'er the arms and back of my chair;
If I try to escape, they surround me;
 They seem to be everywhere.

They almost devour me with kisses,
 Their arms about me entwine,
Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen
 In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine!

Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti,
 Because you have scaled the wall,
Such an old mustache as I am
 Is not a match for you all!

I have you fast in my fortress,
 And will not let you depart,
But put you down into the dungeon
 In the round-tower of my heart.

And there will I keep you forever,
 Yes, forever and a day,
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,
 And moulder in dust away!

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Old family photo: The Day The Great War Ended

I treasure this photograph. New Rochelle, New York.
The end of the First World War.

The photo was taken on November 11, 1918 by my Uncle Jim, who was the eldest brother of the three patriotic children posing in this shot. They were my Uncle Marshall, Uncle Richard, and my mother, Margaret, age three.

Their older cousin named Hewitt had been killed in battle in France, and the family had mourned the loss deeply. Just months before the armistice was signed my mother had surprised a church full of people when, as the first strains of some hymn were played on the piano, she stood up from her seat and belted out the first line of the favorite war song "Over There" written by George M. Cohan while on the train between New Rochelle and New York, the same train my grandfather rode daily. (Listen to three versions of the song here).

For the rest of her life my mother remembered and told the story of how the huge whistle in New Rochelle blew all day in celebration. She would point out the two tower-like structures in the right background of the picture, identifying the area where the whistle was situated and always commenting on the loudness. Now I wish I'd asked more questions: which one: the silo thingy or the skinny tower? - where was the photo taken: your yard? a town area with special significance to the event? As with many of the stories she relayed, some of them numerous times, I am amazed at some of the details I remember while being dismayed at other details I don't remember or never sought.

I was surprised to find a map of New Rochelle drawn in 1918, the same year this photo was taken. You can see this detailed map (click on the map to enlarge it) here.

I am hoping that some reader(s) who know New Rochelle might be able to tell where the shot was taken, perhaps by identifying the structures in the background. It's a long shot, but if you have ideas please comment at the end of this post. Some of my speculations on the site include:

• Likely, it is the New Rochelle fire whistle, mentioned in a New York Times article as the sound that shocked a New Rochelle widow to death in 1905. According to the article, the fire station was the Union Engine Company and the woman lived at 231 Union Avenue nearby.

• Could the location be Echo Bay, where Snuff Creek Mill was said to have been used as a stop for the underground railroad? The area eventually became the home of the New Rochelle Coal and Lumber Company. It was in operation for decades and definitely at the time the photo was taken. A New York Times archive piece written on August 18, 1896, reports the sale of the area to New Rochelle Coal and Lumber Company: "The Canty Block, at the corner of Huguenot Street and what is known as the Mechanic Street Extension, southeast of the New-York, New-Haven and Hartford Railway Station, was sold to-day, in foreclosure proceedings, by Arthur L. Clark, for $3,310, to the New-Rochelle Coal and Lumber Company," and an article about reorganizations in Time on August 26, 1935, mentions the company noting, "A small corporation with an excellent pre-Depression earnings record is New Rochelle Coal & Lumber Co. of New Rochelle, N. Y."

• Might the camera have captured the children at Fort Slocum on David's Island, or even possibly at the Knights of Columbus Hall in New Rochelle? A timeline at this website about New Rochelle mentions both: 1917 -A local woman and activist, Haganoush Kazanjian, mobilizes the city's Red Cross chapter to handle Army volunteers who jam the city to get to Fort Slocum to enlist during World War I. Approximately 5,000 are housed and fed by New Rochelleans, many at the Knights of Columbus Hall on Centre Avenue. When the men left the city, each contributed ten cents to leave a memorial of thanks to the people of New Rochelle. Fort Slocum was to be demolished in 2008. I found a blog that focused on Fort Slocum's demise, in which the blog author wrote, "From information we received, ALL of the buildings on Davids Island will be torn down by the end of this year. The city council in New Rochelle has voted not to spend any money on preserving any of the buildings still standing." A newspaper article mentions "...the rusting water tower that is the tallest structure on the island and a visual landmark that can be seen from the shore." Is it possible that the structure in the old photo was a water tower?
  

The photographer and the people in the photo are all dead now. They are gone but some of their memories are not, because I remember. And now I've told you the story behind this photo, or what I know about it, thereby ensuring that, at least for now, their memories and their lives live on. They mattered. As did their cousin Hewitt who gave his life on some horrid battlefield in France. As did all the fallen and the veterans in that war and all the wars since.

It was 90 years ago, the War to End All Wars. A portion of First World War.com describes the end:

The First World War spanned four years and involved many nation states.

This section lists the events of the year 1918, the final year of the war. This year saw the German military high command attempt one final large-scale offensive on the Western Front. A near success, Operation Michael's ultimate failure led to an increasingly sweeping series of successes by the Allies from the summer of 1918.

By the autumn the German Army was no longer able to continue fighting. With revolution imminent, Germany's political leadership petitioned for an armistice. It took effect at 11am on 11 November - the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month. The war was over, and with its end many of the European dynasties fell.

The following year President Wilson proclaimed November 11 as the first commemoration of Armistice Day. In the History of Veterans Day the change of name from Armistice to Veterans Day is explained:

An Act (52 Stat. 351; 5 U. S. Code, Sec. 87a) approved May 13, 1938, made the 11th of November in each year a legal holiday - - a day to be dedicated to the cause of world peace and to be thereafter celebrated and known as "Armistice Day." Armistice Day was primarily a day set aside to honor veterans of World War I, but in 1954, after World War II had required the greatest mobilization of soldiers, sailors, Marines and airmen in the Nation’s history; after American forces had fought aggression in Korea, the 83rd Congress, at the urging of the veterans service organizations, amended the Act of 1938 by striking out the word "Armistice" and inserting in its place the word "Veterans." With the approval of this legislation (Public Law 380) on June 1, 1954, November 11th became a day to honor American veterans of all wars.

Later that same year, on October 8th, President Dwight D. Eisenhower issued the first "Veterans Day Proclamation" . . .

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