A very special old tintype

So, I've told you about how I've done a little traveling this summer, and unearthed/been handed some gems about our family's history along the way. In an earlier post, I included a photo of Grandpa Dave when he was a young man -- probably sitting around a fire in a Wyoming sheep camp, or some such.

But more exciting, I think, is today's photo -- an old tintype in cousin Marsha's possession. If you click that link, it's a Wikipedia explanation about tintypes, which, its author claims, were popular at fairs and and other gatherings, and offered almost instant photos. My guess is that this photo -- of Hyrum and Julia Ann Lindsay Henderson, Hyrum's mother Elizabeth Harris Henderson, and their children -- was taken shortly before a diphtheria epidemic in July 1880 that claimed six of those children pictured within a month's time.

The baby in Julia's lap must be Laura Louise, who was born Aug. 13, 1879. She looks to be less than 1 year old. (She lived to age 8, dying in Basin, Cassia County, Idaho.) So my assumption is that this photo was taken in early 1880.



Here's a ghastly timeline:

On July 10, 1880, Elizabeth Celestine passes. (Since she's one of four identical twins in the family, I'm guessing which of the two oldest she is.)





On July 18, 1880, Rosilla passes. (Again, since she's one of four identical twins in the family, I'm guessing which of the two younger twins she is.)


On July 21, 1880, Priscilla and Samuel pass.





The next day, July 22, 1880, Hazel Hazeltine passes.






Then, finally, on July 28, 1880, Hannah Abigail passes.





Sort of hard to get your head around, isn't it? Six of their beloved children died in 18 days.

This story has always haunted and fascinated me, especially when I discovered that all six children were buried in Vernal, Utah -- three hours southeast of Salt Lake City (and where my Grandfather Porter, who died in 1974, is buried). Why so odd? Here's where the family was living according to when their children were born:

• 1866-1879 -- Oxford, Franklin County, Idaho.
• 1880 -- Vernal, Uintah County, Utah.
• 1881 -- Liberty, Bear Lake County, Idaho
• 1883 -- Basin, Cassia County, Idaho

Why so much moving? And these weren't short distances. Does anyone out there know?

My curiosity, then, coincided with a business trip to Vernal a couple of weeks ago. I visited the cemetery to photograph my grandfather's gravemarker -- Fotomat ruined the two rolls of film I took at his funeral 36 years ago -- and to visit the six graves of my long-lost great aunts and uncle.

Their graves were on the map, and I verified them with the sexton in the cemetery office. Here's what I found for our six ancestors:















I don't know what I expected, but it was more than this. Two sandstone markers, weathered smooth by 130 years. I wondered if anyone had ever visited them. And I was sad that this was all that marked the existence of those six souls that even our Grandpa Dave didn't know, since he was born three years later.

I haven't even looked into it yet, but I wonder if it would be terribly expensive to have a marker -- maybe just a simple metal one -- made to list their names. Anyone else think this might be a good idea? Either way, let me know.

Mary's photo postcards

Dear family,

OK, I've posted the photo postcards on the Henderson Reunion Web site. Click here to go directly to the page. Please let me know if you recognize anyone else in the photos, and I'll add and/or update the captions.

There are many more photos -- I'm sure they include other family members. I'll try to post them in the coming weeks.

Please send along your comments, too.

Don(nie) Porter
Helen's son

The September 1916 letters

After weeks of letting everything get in the way, I’m back to Grandma’s letters. Let’s pick up where we left off, In September 1916.

In the Sept. 3 letter, she writes of her sister, Roah, bringing her a gift – a signet ring. But, she notes that while she’s “quite proud of” this ring, “I don’t like it like I do my other one.”

I’m wondering: Is she referring to an engagement ring? Had Dave, by this time, given her a ring? Are they engaged? I ask because none of the previous letters ever mentions it. Do any of you know?

Her Sept. 7 letter is a gentle scolding to Grandpa for not writing letters often enough.

I have to admit I get a special kick out of her Sept. 10 letter, since she might as well be writing about her grandson Don:

“I’m getting disgusted with myself when I go to church. I can’t stay awake any more. I nearly bobbed my head off this morning.”

Later in the letter, she makes reference to someone who may be a rival – or not, maybe she’s not worried, but simply teasing:

“And I’m not much afraid of those Alabama school marms, either. I don’t believe she’ll look as good to you as some other people do. I hope not, anyway.”

I’ve said before that I really like these little tidbits of information about daily life that she drops into her letters. In the Sept. 17 letter, for example, she mentions she doesn’t want to travel to Lovell to a church conference because the car in which she’ll be riding is unreliable – it gets stuck and the headlights don’t always work. (Sounds like some of the automobiles I’ve owned over the years.) Also, and this is probably just because I grew up in Basin, Wyo., I like this paragraph:

“Ira and Uncle are going to Basin in the morning to get some coal and take in part of the fair.”

I like the detail that reminds us they had to use coal for heat – if you haven’t read Rip’s recollection of his youth, you should – and appreciate mention of the county fair, since that was always the high point of our year as children in Basin, with rides, exhibitions, a rodeo, games and many, many more opportunities for mischief.

Grandma also makes another mention of the “school marm” she referred to in the previous letter:

“I’m awfully glad that school marm didn’t come. I was a little bit afraid she’d beat my time but now I can rest easy. I don’t believe anyone is going to take my place, tho. They’d better not, anyway.”

It must have been another woman who was supposed to teach school there, but who never showed up. That’s just a guess, anyway. Still, it was enough to give Grandma the jitters.

The Sept. 21 letter offers quite a few more details about attractions at the fair and life in Basin during the celebration.

I got a bit of a surprise reading the Sept. 25 letter. Grandma writes of seeing a famous political figure:

“Saturday afternoon we left convention [in Lovell, I think] and went down to the
train and listened for five minutes to William Jennings Bryan. He is sure a homely old scout. Bro. Kirkham said what he admired about Bryan was that after every defeat, he came up smiling.”

That’s all for this week. Next week we’ll wade into October, at least, and maybe beyond.

Grandma's 1916 letters, part 2

I’ll continue with the 1916 letters this week, picking up with the July 20 letter. She’s less and less inclined to hide her devotion to Grandpa. And not the least bit shy about letting him know he should stay away from other women.

“The next time a nice young lady comes to Renner’s, you’d better come straight home, or I’ll be minus a man. Still, if you looked as badly as you said you did, she probably didn’t lose either head or heart. I think you’d be safer at home, though, if any more red-haired girls happen up that way. I know your failing for red hair. Ha! Ha!”

Then she teases him with this anecdote, about trying to get a young man to take her along to somewhere lots of other people are going:

“I smiled hard as I could at Amandus, thinking he might take me, but it didn’t affect him at all. I can’t imagine why, either.”

By July 30, she’s quite lonely and not a bit shy about telling him:

“Every where I go I miss you, so I hate to go anywhere. I’ll be mighty glad when you’re home again. I feel as though I never, never could let you go again, dear. I’m too lonesome without you. It’s not quite so bad during the weekwhen I have to keep so busy but Sundays are fierce.”

Later on, she talks about reading an article in the Era, a church publication, titled the “Measure and Destiny of Woman.”

“It is a dandy piece; telling all that a woman should be in her home. If I could just be as I ought to be, dear, I could make a happy home for you, but I’m afraid I’m lacking in lots of ways. And if I shouldn’t make you happy, sweetheart, I believe it would kill me. I wouldn’t want to live, at least, if you weren’t happy with me.”

Well, that’s about as explicit an expression of love – maybe even scary, don’t you think? – as we’ve seen in any of these letters.

Then, the very next day, she talks of a letter she got back from Grandpa:

“I’m glad, dear, that I am so dear to you. I don’t know what I’d do if I wasn’t. I never doubt your love for me, even if you do think sometimes that I do. And you’re dearer to me, Dave, than anyone else could ever be.”

Sweet, isn’t it? And then we segue into this:

“The negroes gave a show tonight. I didn’t want to go very badly, but Jack wanted me to go with him, so I did. The show was pretty good.”

It must have been a traveling band of performers, I’m guessing. Probably not too many people of color in those parts of Wyoming then.

Then, after no mention of race that I can recall in her earlier letters, other than the one just previous, she writes in the Aug. 2 letter:

“I’ve been picking gooseberries and making jelly today. Any time you run out of work, come down and I’ll give you a job. You ought to see my hands. They look like they might belong to a negress.”

I realize she’s just referring to the darkened color of her hands after working with the berries, but still it’s a little jarring.

Finally, in her Aug. 6 letter, we get confirmation that she kept Grandpa’s letters – at least some of them.

“I’ve just been up reading your letters. I keep the ones I’ve got since you’ve been up to Fenton in my handkerchief case in one corner of my dresser drawer. Then when I get real lonesome, I go upstairs and read them and then I want you more than ever. Since Carol left, I’ve been sleeping alone upstairs and usually the last thing I do before I pile into bed is to go through your letters.”

(Fenton, Wyo., is about as far west of Burlington as Otto is east.)

She closes the letter with this:

“I wish I could talk to you instead of writing. If you were here tonight, I’d sit on your knee until you were good and tired. That wouldn’t be all I’d do, either, would it?”

Well, that’s all I have time for this week. I’ll continue with more letters from 1916 next week.

Mary Anne McIntosh's 1914 letters, part 2

This is a photo of Mary Anne McIntosh with her students at Otto, Wyo. The date is unknown. Does anyone recognize a face besides Grandma/Mary? Click on the photo to make it larger.

As I take up where I left off with Grandma’s 1914 letters, we get evidence right away that she doesn’t much go in for the gooey romantic prose. In her Feb. 26 letter, she refers to the letters her roommate receives from her “beau,” a fellow named Paul:

They beat anything I ever saw. If you wrote one like that to me, I’d have you sent to Evanston [where the state mental hospital is located] by return mail. I never read anything so slushy and to think of getting one every day. It’s more than I could stand.

We – or should that be “I”? – also get an occasional lesson in medical lingo. In her March 24 letter, Grandma says they had dinner at Larsen’s’ because Norma Larsen has “quinzy” and Ruth has been doctoring her. I looked it up: “Quinsy” is “a recognized complication of tonsillitis and consists of a collection of pus beside the tonsils.” Ick!

But that’s not all. Guess what they had for dinner? “Fried rabbit, and it surely tasted good.” OK, if she says so.

I also get a kick out of reading slang in her letters – especially if it’s slang that persists to this day. In her March 31 letter, she writes of not having much good to eat, so “Ruth went down to Sprague’s and bummed something to eat.” Honestly, I didn’t know that use of “bummed” predated the Great Depression.

When she wasn’t teaching – in the spring and summer – Grandma had to find other work. Her May 17 letter talks a little about the job search. She’s been helping with the mail at the post office, and:

I have the offer of another job, too. Jack Pierce wants me to go up to Newcomers for a week or ten days to cook for [sheep] shearers. Don’t know yet whether I’ll go.

In the May 24 letter, she teases Grandpa a little:

Jack told Carol he’d like to beat your time, so next time I see him I’ll bet I make eyes at him. Don’t be surprised if you hear of us eloping.

Then, later in the same letter, she notes that Grandpa has been working as a sheep herder:

I sold Marion [Grandpa’s younger brother] a pound of butter the other day and he said if it killed him they’d have to send for sheep-herder to come home and farm. I told him I didn’t care if it did, then. I’d kind of like to see my sheepherder.

Once in a while, too, her letters contain little oddities like this one, from May 31, 1914:

There is a man and his wife, their dog and donkey in town. They have walked from New York to San Francisco and are on their way back. They give some kind of shows as they go and are going to give one here Tuesday night.

I’m not saying I have – or will take – the time to go looking, but wouldn’t it be fun to see if anyone’s journal or news article mentions those people? I remember when I was a kid growing up in Basin, Wyo., we would meet people traveling through town and think they were so exotic just for living somewhere else, or having traveled across the country.

Grandpa did work to make the relationship last from his end. Of course we see her references to his letters, but also this from her June 21 letter:

I received your letter and the candy O.K. and surely enjoyed them both. I sure wished that you were here to help eat the candy.

In the same letter, she makes reference to an "Iva" who came to help eat the candy. My guess is that would be our Aunt Iva who married Grandpa's brother Marion. (Iva and Marion lived in the home behind us in Basin, Wyoming, when I was growing up, having moved there after retiring from the farm in Burlington.)

Later on in the same letter, she hints at some possible romantic intrigue between Grandpa, a woman named Theresa and herself. But she does so with a cool confidence that Grandpa is hers, and hers alone. She says that Theresa has gone to where he's working the sheep operation, but that she's not worried, then casually mentions that another man, Jim, didn't try very hard to sweep her (Mary) off her feet, and that anyway she thinks he and Theresa are a better match. It's all quite subtle and interesting to read.

Her June 28 letter is sort of a rehash of the June 21 letter, in some respects, since she discovered the earlier letter was forwarded to Burlington, and not where Grandpa was working. But she does tell him she longs for his company:

It is such a dandy night tonight that I wish you were here to take me for a ride. I don't think you had better stay away very long. It's too lonesome.

The same letter offers another window into her personality. It's a little long, but I'll quote this section in its entirety:

The Bishop had Iva and I arrange for a party to be given by the choir. We were to issue special invitations for it, but I didn't have time to write them so I told everyone about it. The Bishop and Jim and Nellie wouldn't come because they had no special invitation. I sure was wrathy. We had a short program, ice cream and cake and then played games until midnight. I wished all day that the Bishop would ask me why we didn't invite him and I would have told him we didn't want him to come. but he never mentioned it.

Now I know where I get it from. She also speaks of a "picture show" to be screened July 3: "One Hundred Years of Mormonism." I wonder if it was a church-made film, or independent? It would have been silent, of course, but I've never seen a reference to it before this, and I've read quite a bit in years past about Mormons in film -- especially during the silent era. I wonder if any copies survived?

The next letter we have is from Nov. 10, so Grandpa must not have been very good at saving them between summer and fall. That's too bad, but there is a difference in this very brief letter from all that have gone before it. She signs off with this:

Lots of love from Mary

I think that's the first letter she ends with the word "love." It's usually "Write soon to Mary" or something like that. Anyway, it's a little thing, but also maybe a big one, too.

And that concludes the review of 1914. Next week I'll begin on the 1915 letters.

Grandma’s 1913 letters to Grandpa

OK, it’s week No. 2 for the discussion of Grandma’s letters to Grandpa. This week’s topic is the letters from 1913.

As I mentioned last week, I tend to be interested in the littlest details Grandma reveals in her letters. They tell me about her personality – the things she likes and doesn’t like. Take the Jan. 7, 1913, letter. In it, she talks about receiving photos of “Jack and Wilford”:

“Jack wears glasses now. He looks so funny. I hope I never have to wear them.”

And she allows that she doesn’t know how to play a game I had imagined was about the first one anyone ever learned as a child:

“Everyone here plays checkers now-a-days. I guess I’ll have to learn how.”

Others are just plain puzzling. I’m not sure what to make of the opening line of the Jan. 15, 1913, letter:

“Was awfully glad to [receive] your letter and didn’t get a bit hot before I got done with it. You can write just as many of that kind as you want to.”

Now, doesn’t it just kill you that we don’t have his letters to place that in context?

It’s also funny to see her drop in non sequiturs like this:

“I think if I was a basket ball player, I wouldn’t play when either Amandus or Glen played. I’d be afraid ‘me good looks would be spoiled forever.’ ”

It’s funny to see what she writes about other people, too. In the Feb. 12, 1913, letter, she lets fly:

“Do you know Mr. Grout? He’s about as batty as Bill Von Hess. He told us he was coming over to spend the evening last night. He wanted me to sing for him, the silly old thing. So Tella and I went up to Neta’s. Sister Sprague said she would send him up there and we were afraid she would.”

There also are comments about things that just seem to spring out of nowhere. In the Feb. 19, 1913, letter she talks, not all that seriously, about someone reading her fortune.

“After you folks went up to practice that night, Bob told our fortunes. They were surely funny. He told me I’d be a flirt if I could ever find any one to flirt with but, of course, that is a mistake, ’cause Billy will flirt with me most any time. He told Roah [Grandma’s sister] she would be married. She said, ‘More than once,’ and he said, ‘No, Roah, you’ll do darned well to get one.’ He didn’t tell us anything that was very complimentary; some of it was true, though.”

That, people, is a good sense of humor and a pretty fair writer, too. She makes me laugh out loud. More evidence is in her March 18, 1913, letter, in which she relates her experience at a local dance:

“We had one awful time. I fell down on my knees in a quadrille. Frank Gould’s feet got in my way. I told the kids his feet stuck out farther behind than they did in front. He’s sure awkward and so am I.”

Like I said: funny.

But there are also rough patches between the two of them. Her May 20, 1913, letter is short and to the point:

“What have I done that you should treat me the way you have lately? If I can make it right I will gladly do it. Will you please tell me what it is?”

Again, wouldn’t it be informative to know what he was writing to her? Her next letter, on June 2, 1913, comes from Thermopolis, Wyo., where I think she worked at least one summer, maybe more. They still haven’t sorted out whatever the conflict was, clearly:

“I received your note tonight. I was quite surprised to get it. I thought you weren’t going to answer mine. I looked and looked for an answer before I came over here, but was disappointed.

“Now, tell me what you heard. I couldn’t imagine why you didn’t come up after I came home, until one day Lilias told me some things she had heard. Then I wondered if you had heard something, too, so I sent you the note. I am sure I haven’t done anything for you to be angry about. I wish I could see you and tell you about it instead of writing.”

In her Oct. 21, 1913, letter, Grandma expresses some frustration about “fastening down” the desks in her Otto classroom. Apparently, someone named Kirk was supposed to do it, or at least be helping her.

“My hands were so sore I could hardly use them when I got through with it. I’ll bet Kirk’s ears were pretty warm all the while I worked, too. He’s the limit.”

Reading her letters sometimes takes a bit of surmising to figure out exactly what she’s saying. In her Nov. 3, 1913, letter, for example, she writes about what I guess are two guys who get drunk. It’s interesting the way she phrases it:

“Billy and Ed Harris went to the barbecue at Basin Friday. They got home Saturday about noon and Oh! They were feeling fine. It took the whole street for Ed to walk in and Billy was almost as bad. I never saw anything so disgusting. Billy was too silly for anything. I kept my front screen fastened so he wouldn’t come visit me.”

The very next day she writes another cryptic letter:

“I think you’re mean, though. You know very well that isn’t the reason I wanted you to release me up home. And I’m not teaching in the same department with John, either, so there! You think you are smart. If I had you here (and I sure wish I did) I’d box your ears nicely. You’re a bad boy, but I rather like bad boys, anyway. You don’t need to worry about the Bishop giving me a recommend, for I’m not going to ask for one. I don’t want to join this ward.”

I’m also intrigued by the snippets of stories she sprinkles throughout her letters. In the Nov. 8, 1913, letter, she writes one paragraph that’s frustratingly vague, but also a little haunting:

“I feel sorry for Bro. and Sister Reid. If I had a child that would treat me so, I’m afraid I’d use a club, too. I’m glad you helped them out, for they surely need it.”

And that’s it. Nothing more. A child? A club? Grandpa helping them out? I’d love to know what that was all about.

Another thing: I haven’t taken a count, but I’ll bet the word she uses most in all these letters is “lonely” or “lonesome.” Being a school teacher in Otto must have been isolating. She’s frequently quite blunt about how she doesn’t like to be alone, and she wishes she could be surrounded by family and friends. From time to time she even writes about her moods. One example is in her Nov. 11, 1913, letter, which she lightens with a reference to Grandpa:

“I’m glad you can’t see me tonight. Ruth says it tickles her to look at me, I look so cranky. I’d probably put on a different expression, though, if I saw you.”

In her Nov. 19, 1913, letter, she speaks of being close to a “hermit,” and says she does OK in the daytime, but likes to stay home at night and not go out at all. Taken altogether, she paints a picture with dark clouds hanging overhead.

And, as I’ve said before, the terminology in some of the letters is fun to read. In her Dec. 1, 1913, letter she refers to what we now call Germany as “Germania.”

In the same letter she speaks of going to a dance for which all the females are expected to bake and take a pie to be raffled off. Likewise, she speaks of a dance she’s been “advertising” for, and calls it a “Basket Dance.” Does anyone know what a basket dance was/is? I don’t have a clue.

She flirts with a romantic line from time to time, too, as in the Dec. 8, 1913, letter:

“Many thanks for the bill you sent. You are a dear, good boy. If you were here I might thank you in the way I’d like to.”

Also, she keeps mentioning “Stringtown,” but I still don’t understand which town that is. Does anyone know?

In the same letter, she writes of a dance for which she played the piano: When she ran out of tunes, the dance ended, but everyone stuck around to pull taffy.

And there is a reference to corporal punishment in her classroom in the letter:

“My youngsters were kind of bad this afternoon; Lou Blakesley and Frank Welch, especially. I whipped them both just before school was out.”

I know this is, as they say, a long drink of water. But I hope some of you find it useful or interesting. It’s been fun for me to read through the letters, and I hope some of you have been taking the time, too. Next week we’ll review the 1914 letters.

Two Funerals: Grandpa Henderson's and Aunt June's

As I've slowly (and chaotically) pieced together the Henderson Reunion Web site, there are items that take us back 100, 150 or more years in our family's history. But also there are others that don't go back as far -- items that I remember. (I hope you'll excuse the personal nature of this blog entry, but it's going to mostly be told through my eyes, my memories.) When I was young, the things that I remember affecting me the most were family deaths and funerals. The first was my Aunt June's, and the next, three or four years later, was Grandpa Henderson's.

Those two probably hit me so hard because I was so young, and because I spent so much time with both of them. June and my mother, Helen, were pretty much inseparable -- at least that's the way it seemed to me. Not long after I was born, Mom, Dad and I lived for a couple of years on the farm with Grandpa, June, Neil and Crockett; Dad helped Grandpa run the place while Reanous was away serving a mission in Norway (ironically, where Dad had served his mission). I was too young then to remember a lot, except that Neil and Crockett hauled me with them a lot while playing around the farm. Grandpa and June just always seemed like they were part of our family unit, too.

I'm not sure as to the timing, but roughly the same time we moved off the farm to Greybull, June -- whose husband Neil (Sr.) had died just before Crockett was born -- remarried and lived on a farm up Shell Creek, only a few miles east of where we lived in Greybull. So we were always there, it seemed, or she was always at our place. During those early years of my life, she seemed like a second mother to me -- that's how much I loved her, since she always treated me so well, and since she and Mom were so close. She was also someone to be proud of in a public sense, since she held elective office in Big Horn County.

As for Grandpa, it was not until he retired from the farm -- after Reanous returned from his mission and married Merla -- that I got to know him very well. He would stay a while with Marie and Spud in Cody -- longer periods with them, I think -- and then stay a couple of weeks in Burlington, a couple of weeks with us in Basin (where we moved after my father became town marshal) and back up to Cody. Grandpa loved to tell stories, and I looked forward to sitting and listening to them. We watched the "CBS Evening News" (he would ask if it was time for the news, then declare, "I like to watch Cronkite"). He'd tell me stories about his youth -- riding his horse to Table Mountain outside of Burlington; as a boy in Idaho seeing Native Americans in their element, on what was left of the frontier; driving the stagecoach between Burlington and Meteetse -- and life in the Big Horn Basin (he was acquainted with, and didn't have a high opinion of, "Buffalo" Bill Cody.

Most of those stories are mere fragments in my brain now. And when he got the urge to walk to the grocery store to buy a sack of groceries, Mom would send me out on my bicycle to shadow him. Once in a while he'd get turned around and head off in the other direction after coming out of the store; I'd ride up to him, he'd figure out that if I was there, he must be confused, he'd be a little embarrassed, ask me which way was home, I'd tell him, then he'd bark at me to get lost because he didn't need any help from a kid. It was a ritual played out almost every time he stayed with us during the warm-weather months.

I loved them so much, and still do. Take a moment and see the pages devoted to Grandpa Henderson's and June's funerals. And, as always, please e-mail me or click on the comment link below to add your stories and memories of June and Grandpa.

Grandpa Henderson's birthplace

When I was young, before the age of 5, Mom, Dad, Grandpa and I took a trip to Basin, Idaho, where Grandpa was born. I really have no memory of the trip, but I quizzed Mom about it and she said it was interesting for a couple of reasons:

There were two homes he lived in before he turned 17 and the family herded their livestock over the Continental Divide to Burlington, Wyo. The first, a log cabin where Grandpa was born, had long since been reduced to something akin to a barn for the animals of the area. When he saw that it was filled with manure, he said, "Hell, I wish we'd never have come."

Or, he said that when they went looking for the home he lived in after the cabin. It had burned to the ground sometime between 1900, when they moved to Wyoming, and the early 1960s when we made the trip to Idaho.

Mom says they visited a cemetery in Basin, Idaho, and happened to run into its sexton/caretaker. She explains that Grandpa, then at least 80, remembered very well the people who had lived in the community and where they lived. Though he did not know the caretaker, they had known the same townspeople.

Mom adds: "That's funny, because he could remember all them, but he couldn't remember my name."

Have a look at the photos, taken from faded slides, of the home where Grandpa was born by clicking here.

And, as always, please leave your comments by clicking on the "comments" button below.