Go Beyond

I have always enjoyed going home — back to the places where my childhood memories were made. I have lost track of how many times I have returned home for a visit since I moved away in what seems like a hundred years ago. And although I have aged since I left home as a young man, my memories have not aged. Memories do not grow old, we do. Memories can, however, fade and become less and less well-defined over the years unless we take steps to preserve them.

I returned home earlier this week to spend time with my Dad. While there, I listened to a 2-hour taped interview between my uncle and my grandfather — a recording made on January 15, 1975. The cassette had been tucked away for years for safe keeping. I leaned forward in anticipation, waiting to hear my grandfather’s voice once again. And then, there it was, that familiar voice I had last heard in 1987. As soon as my grandfather started speaking, memories flooded the room and engulfed me in waves of pensive emotions.

My grandfather (center) and friends. | San Diego, Texas | circa 1911

The interview was fascinating. My grandfather talked a lot about his family. He told the story of returning to his mother’s home to visit his grandfather. While there, his grandfather died. So, he negotiated with the local blacksmith, who also had carpentry skills, to have a coffin made and then arranged for his burial. He spoke about his first school teacher and classmates and what life was like growing up on a ranch.

My Grandfather and Friends | San Diego, Texas | circa 1912

I especially liked his story about traveling from the family ranch near San Diego, Texas all the way to California in 1917. He remembered the route and how difficult it was to drive on the poor and sometimes impassable roads in those days before any highways or the interstate highway system. When he visited Hollywood he learned that they were filming a western and applied to be an extra since he was a skilled cowboy. He also met Charlie Chaplin and other silent film stars. And while on the subject of cars, he also told the story of opening a Dodge dealership in Mexico with his stepbrother and selling a car to Pancho Villa, the famous Mexican Revolutionary general.

My grandfather’s business school classmates.

One of the most riveting parts of the interview was the time he served as an election judge in Duval Country, known for its political intrigue. When a particular election did not go as some in power had hoped, two police officers were sent to arrest him and take the ballot boxes from him before he could get them to the county courthouse. My grandfather did not give up the ballot boxes, asked to see the warrant for his arrest (none was offered), and succeeded in getting the voting results to the courthouse. He was never arrested.

My grandparents, Felipe and Lucy Garcia.

I loved every story he told, including the account of marrying my grandmother, starting the first Boy Scout troop in Duval Country and later in the Rio Grande Valley, enlisting in the First World War, and so many other great stories. Had my uncle not interviewed my grandfather, all of these wonderful memories would have been buried with him. And although I had heard some of these stories when I was a kid, I am so thankful to hear them again as an adult. I appreciate them so much more. They are treasures. They are a part of the history of my family.

1955 reunion of Boy Scout Troop 20, started by my grandfather (front right).

I have written before about the importance of recording family history lest it fade from memory, never to be seen or heard again. In this day of digital ease, there are no good excuses for failing to be a family historian. If you are interested in learning more about how to record your family’s history, then I encourage you to read my posts entitled Mapping our Memories, Be a Family Historian, and The Future of History. Then maybe one day, the next generations of your family will have an opportunity to listen to your family’s history.