I look at old photos and hear the voices.
In my head. In my heart. I hear Mom’s call to dinner and Dad’s pointed philosophies.
But not so with older, faded photos with faces I never met. Often I’m left with stories passed on, now testing my memory.
Missing are the stories never recorded. Photos never taken. That is sad on many levels.
This truth wrapped around me when I read the closing lines of a small, thin book written with a simple purpose spelled out in the title.
“Memories from Margaret” by Susan Shetina (covenantbooks.com). The book is about her Aunt Margaret Shelnutt Hinz, who lived to be 100 years old.
Susan explains: “A few years back, my aunt Margaret, at my request, wrote down memories of her and my mother, Doris, growing up in ... Eastern Alabama. As with anyone that has reached a long life her stories are filled with humor, sadness, and joy.
“I love all of these stories because they are about people she and I loved and who paved the way, first for her, then me, to be who we are. These treasured memories are being shared in hopes that those that read these pages can become a part of the unfolding story of two little girls in the world that surrounded and molded them.”
Susan has given her family a keepsake to be passed to future generations. She has given voice to old photos that survived the trip through time. And created images of photos never taken.
Through her aunt she watched her mother, Doris, growing up, meeting her dad, marrying and becoming her mother.
Susan has done what every family should do. She’s added stories to names, dates and places.
I became part of that story simply by sitting next to Aunt Margaret on her front porch swing in LaFayette, Alabama, and listening.
Susan learned about the day her mom was shocked by John Moore, the man her mom would marry.
“One fall day, John and Doris were in John’s car on their way to Birmingham to join friends at a football game. In those days, cars had a vent in the dashboard for fresh air,” explained Aunt Margaret.
“ ... All of a sudden, John slammed on the brakes, jumped out of the car, and dropped his pants on the side of the highway. People in the cars passing by were beeping their horns, yelling, and waving, and Doris was mortified.
“After the strip act on the side of the highway, Doris found out a bee that had blown in through the vent and went up John’s pants leg, stinging him multiple times.”
John studied engineering at Georgia Tech and the firm he eventually worked for forced the married couple to move a lot. Turns out the last move was in 1952 to Joliet, Illinois, where John was in charge of renovating the Joliet Arsenal being reactivated for the Korean War.
Susan was in high school and had started dating Joe, a young man on the Joliet Catholic High football team. That same year her dad faced another job transfer.
“I cried my heart out,” writes Susan, noting she had never lived in the same place more than two and a half years.
Her dad understood the pain of moving and decided to quit his job and stay in Joliet. Thanks to a friend, Stuart Kroesch, a blind attorney who represented the elementary school board, he was hired to oversee updating and building elementary schools in Joliet. He eventually worked for the state’s School Building Commission.
Susan and Joe Shetina eventually married and stayed embedded in the Joliet community. Joe filled a vacancy on the Will County Board but is most known for the 35 years he represented District 1 on the Joliet City Council.
Susan’s story is in this book also, and I admit her stories revived memories of days when I covered Joliet City Hall when Joe was first elected to the Council in the ’70s.
But all the family stories go beyond geography and local history.
On that porch swing, listening to Aunt Margaret, it was easy to feel connected. Which is why life stories should be shared.
“I always encourage others to record the memories they have and ask others for theirs so they are not lost as we lose our loved ones,” she said.
She then shared a lesson to anyone climbing their family tree.
“Here’s one of my regrets,” she said. “My great grandmother was, in my opinion, a selfish, hard, unshakeable woman who intimidated everyone around her. She lived to be 95, and all during that time, I did not approach her asking for her memories to share.
“I have regretted that so many times being weak and hostile in my own right thus losing what she might have shared with me if I could have just sucked it up and stuck my chin out and let the chips fall.
“ ... Now all that knowledge is gone. Just saying, don’t let stuff get in the way when seeking it.”
I’d add one more lesson learned from life stories. The last line in Susan’s book.
“You do not walk this life alone.”
LONNY CAIN is the retired managing editor of The Times in Ottawa and was a reporter for The Herald-News in the 1970s. Email to lonnyjcain@gmail.com.