1540 Write down those stories!

In two weeks I'll be visiting family in Illinois. While I'm "home" I hope to visit a great aunt who just celebrated her 90th birthday. I'm going to take along the genealogy information I've accumulated over the years and try to fill in a few blanks, and I hope to hear some "stories." Not everyone is a story teller, so sometimes you have to ask questions like "Where was your family living when you were born? Did you hear stories about your parents' early life you could share with me?"

Here's an essay I wrote in June 2002 about a story I heard from a neighbor. He can no longer communicate, so I hope someone in his family will write down for the great grandchildren his "library."

At age 77 my neighbor climbed down the ladder from the roof of his 2 story house, wiped away the sweat, and told me how sad he was that he was now an orphan. Two brothers and a sister had died the previous year, and he was the last one--the youngest of 9. The one brother was the family story-teller--always pumping the aunts and uncles, cousins and sibs for stories which he would then retell and embellish at family get-togethers--a bard, a chronicler of their life and times. "We lost a library," my neighbor said sadly, "no one ever wrote them down, and I'm no story teller."

But then, as though lying about his own ability, he told me the story of how his father watched 3 friends die in mine fires in south eastern Ohio, and decided to move his family to Cleveland for better opportunity and a safer job. All eleven of them took the train ride to Cleveland to find the one man he knew there. All he knew was that his friend worked for the railroad, so the family sat, ate, and slept in the train station for three days until the man came through on a train. The children swept floors and ran errands for people to get a little cash together. Finally his father saw his friend, who immediately took them home with him. Within 3 days, the father had a job, and within a year, he'd made a down payment on a house for his family. I can't repeat the story the way he did, but he had quickly stepped into his brother's shoes.

Now he has Alzheimer's. He doesn't recognize his wife, children, grandchildren or great-grandchildren. But the family still gathers and treats him with great tenderness and respect. The house bustles with friends and children running in and out, but the library has closed forever. Write your stories.