Archive for December, 2016
There are times in this old house where we wander at night, sleep taken away, stolen by memories of what was and what should have been . We do not put on the lights so as not to disturb those that can find respite in oblivion.
There are nights when the moon close to being full either in the waxing or waning phase shines through the windows like some great night-light.
The moon beams light a path through the hallways of this old house. It is then when I think of Gabriel – his mother and father – and another New Year’s Eve when their little moonbeam- a light that burned so bright for such a short while but glowed with such strength of love in their hearts- was taken from this place but not from their hearts and the memories that were supposed to be.
I know the love they have for Gabriel doesn’t diminish but shines through just as in the darkest of nights , Gabe’s tree at Settler’s Watch breaks up the darkness. Tonight , another New Year” Eve has come, lights will flash, fireworks will drown out the stars in the sky but through it all a little moon beam shines lighting a pathway of love through the tears.
I have decided to put up the last pages of “Clara” that were written on the back of the Lorain Lumber and Manufacturing Co. letter head and then breaking until after the 1st of the year . This will give me and the “History Mystery Squad” time to delve into maps and census reports.
Also, the rest of the pages are written on paper that is tissue paper thin and not on the letterhead. The journey continues to Oklahoma territory ( before statehood) I have contacted the Oklahoma Historical Society to see if the places and names are familiar to them as an internet search so far has been less than fruitful- all except the connection of a name to an “outlaw”.
Dennis tells me the furnace was installed in 1926 into the home at 212 W 18th, so the papers were hidden away before that date. I have to wonder why they were secreted away and from whom? Were they forgotten until too late to retrieve them, and who if not “Clara” wrote them?
CLARA The continuing conversation in the woods : Page three:
” … But in.. spring everything seems to burst forth and have life. And that is the gift God has given all living things “To produce like” and reproduce their kind.
The birds find their mates and build their little nests “That is their home” And then in a short time there are tiny eggs and Mrs. Bird guards them and keeps them warm while Mr. Bird goes out and hunts food, worms and bugs. Finally there is a nest full of tiny baby birds. And dear it is the same with all living things, they mate and produce their kind.
And Daughter do you see all those Daisys ( Flowers) over their on the bank? Well they mate and produce their kind. The Bees go from (one crossed through) flower (to the other-crossed through) and they carry the pollen from one flower to the other and then the next year there are more and more (Daisys crossed through) Flowers. Now Daughter you are beginning to understand and see what life really means And I said “Why yes mother and you mean that human beings are just like the birds and flowers”. And she said “Yes Dear and their lives can be just as sweet and clean and pure. If they are fair and honest with their mates and keep their lives as God intended they should
Someday when you are older you are going to ……
… meet some young man, and like all girls will fall in love and want to marry. But there is one thing I want yu to promise me and that you will always come to me with all your problems and I will always give you good advice, and there is only one rule I want you to promise to keep. And that rules is this, “When ever you are in doubt as to anything you are tempted to do as to whether it is right or wrong . Just stop and say to yourself “Would I do this if my mother was here with me “
And then as I promised she took me in her arms and kissed me again and again. And while in her arms I said ” I suppose one day your mother told you a story just like this one you have told me today?”
And then with tears in her eyes she said No (?)(torn) Dear my mother never told me the story . And for a long time my mother sat and just cried and then I said Why mother please tell me and I will understand. And at last she looked up and said sweetheart I did not intend to tell you this story until I really had to do so, but I think I can tell you now. (You remember dear 4 years ago when) crossed out)
You will see by the condition of the last page this is not easy, there are words missing gaps and this is in pencil . This is the last page written on the letter head
( unreadable and missing) …. Clare(a)? was a small town in Iowa
(ED NOTE there is indeed a town in Iowa named Clare)http://www.celticcousins.net/irishiniowa/clarehistory.htm
Illegible ……one of those places where everybody knows everybody else . I can just remember my
(torn away and missing) my assumption is the sentence would have “mother – she”
passed away when I was six year ( torn) missing my Father’s sister came to keep house for us. I was the only child and I can remember my Father took me on his knee and explained to me about my Aunt Mary coming to live with us and that I was always to be a good girl and always to do as she told (missing)
I can see now that Aunt Mary meant “alright??” but she was one of the kind that I really believe never really loved anyone. You know there are people like that in this world.
( torn and missing assumption is the word Father?? was a Foreman in a Planing Mill
ED NOTE- from Clare History http://www.celticcousins.net/irishiniowa/clarehistory.htm
Other stores were soon completed and opened- Tom Cunningham’s Hardware,
Conway Lumber Co., John Hanrahan Hotel, Kelleys, the center I.C. Company
Coal and Crowley’s Shoe Store.
There was a Lumber Company ( there is that connection to lumber again) and where there is lumber there is usually a “Planing Mill”
The map below is the Lumber Company in Lorain from the 1888 Sanborn Fire Maps and look when it was “Forest: the older street name of 18th Street- Did Clara’s family come to Lorain for work???
and left the house each morning at 6:30 and came home each evening at 5:30. Every ( torn and unreadable) went to Lodge Meeting and torn and missing went down town and paid the ( unreadable) , Butcher and so forth other nights he was always home
the rest is torn and erased through water damage .
So many questions
One is this a family history of a girl named Clara ? OR perhaps a budding writer making notes of a story?
Why did she hide her pages in the basement on top of a beam. How old was the writer ?
Who lived at 212 18th street before the Greggs?
The rest of the pages take us to Oklahoma Territory in the year 1902 ….
To be continued
The last 48 hours have sent me on a journey, and I am not alone, the History Mystery Squad have been delving into what little facts we can obtain on the subject of just who was Clara?
We have, I believe, solved the mystery of C.C MOORE – Vice President of the Lorain Lumber and Manufacturing Co.
My assumption as to the identity of C. C Moore – Vice President of Lorain Lumber and Manufacturing Co – 9th Street on the letter head may be that of his wife “Carrie Christine ( Friends) Moore” whom Leonard Moore married in 1895-
Carrie’s father was Charles F Friend – The information on Find a Grave has Charles F Friend as a tug boat captain and fisherman but also according to the history of Lorain County Charles F Friend was the Vice President of Lorain Lumber and Manufacturing Com organized in 1881 –
That makes sense to me, those earning their living on the lake need to have an alternative source of income during those months when all the lake gives up is ice and rough seas. The letter head definitely says C. C. Moore .
Was Lorain ahead of her time in having women in important positions? I was told that it was quite normal in that day and age , many of the wives of the ship’s captains, for instance, took over the roles of running the on shore businesses as their husbands, fathers and brothers were on the lake and needed elsewhere.
So I believe, the linkage as to lumber, the Moore of the letter head may be solved but on the other side of the page we still have Clara – what was her relationship with Lorain Lumber if any, the lumber company’s letter head used for her story?
You can see the paper mache replicas of the Moore family, including Carrie, at the Moore House on 5th street. However following the links below will take you to photos and more information:
Lisa of Lorain 365 Blog https://Lorain365.com meeting Carrie in 2014
Meeting the Moores
Mrs. Martin had been our House-keeper, sort of a nurse (for(crossed through)to me since I had been 7 years old (and I now to tell her-crossed through).
In a short time we were in Mother’s Roadster and drove to Brighton
ED NOTE: The only Brighton I could find in Ohio and in Lorain County – is Brighton Township and from Wikipedia ” Some say the community was so named on account of it being a “bright spot”, while others believe the name is a transfer from Brighton, New York, the native home of a share of the first settlers. A post office called Brighton was established in 1825, and remained in operation until 1904 The first country store at Brighton opened in around 1839.
and there had a nice lunch and then into the car again and out into the country. Finally we stopped at a beautiful woods and mother said let us get out and explore. We were soon deep into the woods and finally came to the small stream of water. A beautiful day in June and we sat under a large Oak tree and then mother started speaking of the birds, the flowers the trees and spoke of their beauty.
Then she said “Clara I am going to tell you the story of my life and dear it is such a beautiful story if it is correctly told and daughter that is why I have brought you out here today , to this beautiful place.
You are at the turning point in life and will soon step from (girl-hood?) into womanhood (and then she pointed to a bird- crossed through) Clara if you and I had come out her last winter we would have found the trees bare, the grass dead and there would have been very little signs of life, (and-crossed through) But in ………………….
Dennis Flores, 2nd Ward Lorain Councilman , knocked on my door before Christmas with a folder. Dennis has been rehabbing a home at 212 W.18th Street. The home, which at one point must have been a substantial family home, had gone the way most of these beautiful old dwellings have gone in Lorain- dilapidated and forlorn .
As Dennis was taking out the old cast iron ( coal burner ) furnace he exposed a main cross beam. Tucked up into the top of the beam was a shaft of yellowing and aged papers . The paper has ripped , fallen apart in some areas and difficult to read but as I read the first page written on the back of a company letter head paper my eye was drawn to the letterhead.
C.C. Moore (Vice President) of The Lorain Lumber and Manufacturing Co. East Ninth Street. C.C. Moore
Now I was aware that a Leonard Moore was a Mayor of Lorain was at one point on the BOD of Lorain Lumber and Manufacturing Company
and was instrumental in bringing about Lakeview Park
( readers will remember that was the original Gilmore Farm )
and that Mayor Moore’s home is now a museum of sorts on 5th Street . Leonard Moore according to the Lorain Historical Society ”
Moore’s daughter Helen lived in the home until 1980 when the Moore family donated it to the city, Zilko said.
Before passing in 1920 at the age of 51, Moore played an instrumental part in the city’s development, Zilko said. Moore began his working career at the Lorain Lumber and Manufacturing Company, which was located at the foot of East 9th Street, while he was a young boy.
A quick search found that Leonard’s fathers name was also Leonard
Father: Leonard William MOORE b: 9 FEB 1836 in Black River Twp., Lorain, OH
Mother: Amanda Catharine MILLER b: 31 JAN 1836 in Avon, Lorain, OH
so I am unsure of the connection with CC Moore–
But the Lorain Lumber Company and its officers was not the main thrust of my curiosity – it was the hand written pages on the reverse side:
I have retyped ( as best I am able) the contents of the first page
To tell the story of my life, I can see that ( torn) is going to be necessary to first tell of the life of my mother. And to tell of her heart aches and suffering and also to of her courage and fighting spirit.
My earliest childhood (memories( crossed through) recollection is that when I first realized that all the other girls and boys had a Daddy and I had none. And when I asked my mother about it , I was told that my Daddy had died when I was a tiny Baby. But when I reached the age of 14 years I was then told a story that (made me (crossed through)not only made me know and understand life, but also made me love my mother (in a bigger and better and (crossed through) more and more.
On the morning of my 14th Birthday my mother said “Clara I think it would be wonderful if just you and I could have the day all to ourselves” and of course I knew that she had made plans which would mean a trip somewhere and (torn) I was more than anxious to know all of the plans. Mother said ” Well (illegible) we will first tell Mrs. Martin that she need not prepare and (serve??) lunch or dinner for us as we shall be away all day
I held in my hands , gently , the words written over a hundred years ago by “Clara” as she started to chronicle her life, just as I have been doing a century on using the power of the blog. I have not read the other pages – some are in such bad condition but I am hoping I will find more to Clara’s life as I too, chronicle her story a century on in another time ………….
Page One scanned and cleaned up
“If I could work my will, every idiot who goes about with ‘Merry Christmas’ on his lips should be boiled with his own pudding and buried with a stake of holly through his heart.” Charles Dickens – A Christmas Carol
The lights decorating the houses blurred through tears, were wished away. No Christmas cards were opened as they lay on the mat intermingled with sympathy cards- my mother became the keeper of the cards . I wished the merriment over, I wished it all to go away. I had lost hope , my son, my belief in kindness in death (thanks to Tim and Sue Lombardi, their daughter and their “priest” , their “will of control”- that wickedness not forgiven.
What faith I had was taken with his Chris’ last breath and as I saw the faces of his church- going holier than thou in-laws , the look on his brides face, no grief there just a relief there would be no long term dealing with his illness. The haunting of a Christmas past not forgotten as lights twinkle and candles burn.
And yet Christmas comes again and again and once more I am caught up in its intrusiveness . I still “visit” Christmas – how do you deny the children, my grand children, their excitement, their belief in goodness , the love for all the trappings- they refuse to “tone down” Christmas. Christmas for them explodes with laughter and happiness- as it should be.
Christmas has been “managed in this house” – no tree adorns the living room, my mother sends and receives cards decorated her Christmas grotto in her little living room. Gone are the Christmas Past, Christmas present but the world of children’s wonder is visited.
Still the cry – Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas, fought over as to the “greeting- the dogma of belief that your “holiday of religion” is the “real one” and Christian or not you should be caught up in Merry Christmas continues to wreak havoc around the world. .
I shop for little ones on line- and venture out only to get my daughter her special present , the children will receive their over the top present from Chris- the “Chris-miss- present”
On this latest trip to “holiday” as I waited in the line of ” holiday traffic” the radio started playing the “holiday happy music” as I reached to turn it off I realized this wasn’t one I had heard before ( maybe I had and had just forgotten). The song fitted my mood. I listened for a bit then traffic and horns of a different kind were blaring. I came home and went to the computer pulled up the song ( now forty years old )- another decade indeed another century – Vietnam- the Middle East the death and dying continuing. The song topped the UK charts – maybe it didn’t get played here in Lorain – it was controversial- this “Christmas Song” was one that struck home .
“I Believe in Father Christmas” is a song by English musician Greg Lake with lyrics by Peter Sinfield. Although it is often categorized as a Christmas song, this was not Lake’s intention. He said that he wrote the song in protest at the commercialization of Christmas. Sinfield, however, said that the words are about a loss of innocence and childhood belief. Released in 1975, the song reached number two on the UK Singles Chart.
They said there’ll be snow at Christmas
They said there’ll be peace on earth
But instead it just kept on raining
A veil of tears for the virgin’s birth
I remember one Christmas morning
A winters light and a distant choir
And the peal of a bell and that Christmas tree smell
And their eyes full of tinsel and fire
They sold me a dream of Christmas
They sold me a silent night
And they told me a fairy story
’till I believed in the Israelite
And I believed in father Christmas
And I looked to the sky with excited eyes
’till I woke with a yawn in the first light of dawn
And I saw him and through his disguise…………………
And so another Christmas comes and the questions linger along with the pain…..
I, purposely, have not taken drugs to get me through your death – mainly because I don’t think losing my son is something I can “get through” there is no “other side” to the place I now find myself. I could become numb , anesthetized if you will, to the grief should I take medication, but it doesn’t change a damn thing.
Once the drug wears off everything is still there after all these months and now years. Nothing will be changed. You still will have received that crushing phone call. I will still see your face as you walked in the door that day after receiving the news “Cancer”. I will still see you hooked up to poisonous drips , the pain, the hope going, the fear , trying to be brave for my sake , those days in that horrible, factory -like Cleveland Clinic, the tears running down your cheeks silently squeezed out of the corner of your eyes as they prepared to put you in the vent and those terrifying days of death.
Those memories are with me day in and day out, they play as if on some vicious cycle , cutting across thoughts , memories and day to day life.
Somehow, in this state of grief, I have seemingly managed to split myself into sections inside my mind. The loop of your dying days plays continually and the rest of my brain seemingly functions carrying on doing what needs to be done to deal with everyday life . Night and exhaustion will eventually bring sleep but even then the loop continues playing.
My “other” brain tries so hard to put my thoughts and events of the day in some sort of order to file away and make some sense . I have some very, very strange dreams as this aging mind tries to put together a story in which to add to the “memory card”. I can’t explain the process but it seems somehow being fragmented of mind I can actually now watch from another place ( inwardly) as my brain function tries to sort out the sound bites of the day
I seem to have acquired an ability when supposedly asleep to “watch my mind” trying to function as though looking at a computer monitor with more than one browser open and active. I know , sounds like the men in white coats should be called, but I assure you this happens , maybe the neurons are running amuck between my
Reptilian Brain, Cognitive Brain and Mammalian Brain
T.Harv Eker said it this way, “When the subconscious mind must choose between deeply rooted emotions and logic, emotions will almost always win.”
I know on the one level I am asleep and dreaming and I “am” involved in the dreams, but I am also the outside of that part of my mind watching and remembering the dreams as they play out trying to make sense of my day, a multi-tasking mind.
For instance recently in one my many nightly dreams ” I” was a submarine commander ( must have been the Run Silent Run Deep movie I watched ) dealing with transporting turkeys ( guess what that was) to a place where my mother was waiting to board a plane dressed as Catherine the Great. More worrying being Lucille Ball having an affair with Fred Metz….. . Yes! I remember all of the day’s sound bites being lumped story-like for filing in some part of my “storage memory” when I am supposed to be at rest and healing.
And yet, the loop of you, the cancer, the dying days still continues to play over and over at the same time – running always in the background of thoughts.
I believe I know why this is happening – it is because for so many months and months I tried to “fix ” the Cancer, I tried to find a way to keep my promise to you that I would always be there to protect you – a promise I made the first time I held you in my arms. I never gave up trying even that last day- December 3rd- I thought somehow they would take you off that vent and you would wake………. .
I promised you – I would never give up and would move heaven and earth to save your life. I told you that before the SGN 35 and trips to Houston. I was still trying to find a way, somebody, some cure, some solution – even on the day you died.
I gave my mind/ brain a task that February day when you learned of Hodgkin’s Lymphoma invading your body and our lives. The task it was given was to find a successful outcome – there wasn’t one , but it was the most important task given to my brain and I believe somehow my brain, like some computer on overload, is still searching for the solution and will keep searching playing out the problems the issues until it either explodes in the futility of finding that solution or when it is switched off for good…..
I love you and all my yesterdays are today……