nancy drew

Thankful Thursday: Indoor Camp Meeting ad, circa 1966

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In researching my memoir, I oftentimes slipped into the role of my alter ego, Nancy Drew. I’ve retrieved clues from dusty archives; revisited the vacant fields where my father pitched his revival tents; and reclaimed abandoned artifacts, strewn by the wayside as we followed the Sawdust Trail.

I unearthed this family treasure in the Oregonian archives. Years ago, my father purchased this advertising space, in anticipation of a large turnout for an indoor revival meeting. The venue’s long gone, and the intended audience has scattered. But this newspaper clipping is a voice from my past, harkening me back to my childhood. I remember the murmuring crowds, the rise and fall of my father’s voice in the pulpit, perfumed women and sweat-soaked laborers, gospel choruses and clanging tambourines… same as if it were just yesterday.

Most certainly, dusty pages like this would’ve been trashed, were it not for keen-eyed, good-hearted historians–librarians, genealogists, archivists, and volunteers–saints of a sort, who devote their time and energies to the preservation of our individual and collective stories. I’m grateful to them always, but I think they deserve special recognition on Thankful Thursday. Can I get a witness?

Throwback Thursday: My Brother Roger (1943-2015)

We didn’t stay in any one place for long, nor did we ever sit for family portraits. And while revival organizers sometimes took candid snapshots of my father’s fiery sermons and the like, most of those got pitched overboard to make room for an ever-expanding family. So by the time my siblings and I reached adulthood, only a handful of personal photographs remained.

Some wayward pictures were eventually returned by my father’s associates. Some found their way ‘home’ when I reached out to estranged family members. My sister Sheryll, who shares my interest in personal genealogy, tracked down quite a few photographs on her own. Secrets oftentimes stay buried, but we encouraged more than a few hoarders to share their private stash. And as it turned out, I retrieved a good number of images by climbing into my “Nancy Drew” roadster and following my father’s tire ruts down the Sawdust Trail.

When Roger passed away this month, I felt a hollowness in the places where his voice once reverberated. So precious–then and in hindsight–the times we shared in communion, recounting the highlights of our individual and shared stories. Such treasures, the memories and pictures we’ve managed to archive, for ourselves and future generations. This doesn’t seem to me the appropriate place to write my brother’s obituary, but I’ve assembled a small number of images that bear witness to his life.

To my brothers and sisters, a love offering. That’s already printed on the dedication page of my memoir–in my mind’s eye, at least. Same with the pictures of Roger that you see here.

Roger Baby

Roger Suva was born in Detroit, Michigan in 1943.

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Roger’s standing next to the family dog, facing my father, who has my oldest sister Coral on his lap. A candid (?) snapshot, taken in front of my father’s revival tent in Johnson City, Tennessee.

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My brother Roger’s upper elementary school picture, taken the year I was born.

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A front-porch respite from the cramped back seat of our family car, the summer before his senior year in high school.

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Roger the Bookworm, shortly after college graduation (Wheaton Bible College, in Illinois).

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A Christmas hug from his older daughter, Esther.

Roger and Heather

Hanging out on the front porch with Heather, his younger daughter (Anaheim, California).

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An outdoor enthusiast with an irrepressible wanderlust, Roger’s pictured here in Joshua Tree, watching for Halley’s Comet.

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A vegetarian before it was fashionable, Roger espoused strong opinions about many things.

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We shared a complicated story, and a tangled family tree. Here, Roger’s (re)introducing me to Cliff, whom I’d met on a couple of other occasions but hadn’t yet realized was my brother.

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The VW bus that Roger called home for several years before he died.

#TBT: My Writing Notebook (Looking Back and Moving Forward)

For who will testify, who will accurately describe our lives if we do not do it ourselves?
–Faye Moskowitz, And the Bridge is Love

CanIGetAWitness_MockCoverSoftened

My friend Emjae created this mock book cover for me a few years back, as a loving gesture and gentle prod. “Keep writing,” she told me. “You have a story to tell, a song to sing.” I tucked one copy into an antique church bulletin display box, and slipped another into the clear front pocket of my writing notebook. I’ve spilled many tears drafts onto the page, emptied and replenished several notebooks since. Lucky me, I’m represented now by two, top-notch agents at D4EO Literary Agency, and CAN I GET A WITNESS? is under consideration by several editors. I’m so looking forward to that magical day, when the contents of my writing notebook become a published book, graced with a reinterpreted cover image!

Day 6 of Susannah Conway’s #AugustBreak2015 photography challenge. In case you haven’t yet guessed, the word of the day is notebook. In this overlaid image, my father’s revival tent serves as backdrop. I’m standing in the foreground, facing my future.

#TBT A portrait of my Great Aunt Eleanor, drawn from memorabilia

I know very little about my Great Aunt Eleanor, but these artifacts sure paint an interesting portrait!

Eleanor (“Nelly”) was born in Nottingham, England in 1887. She–along with many of my maternal grandmother’s family members–emigrated to West Brookfield, Massachusetts in 1916.  Years later, Nana told us stories later about the WWI German submarines that chased their ship across the ocean, but at the time of their passage, the United States hadn’t yet entered “The War to End All Wars.”

People described Nelly as “high-spirited” and “adventuresome.” She and her husband, Allen T. Godfrey, were nothing if not enterprising. That’s what I heard tell.

When I steered my Nancy Drew roadster down bumpy roads, I found evidence of that.

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The Golden Rule Lunchroom, about 1927 (via West Brookfield, MA Archives)

Whoa, Nelly!

She died the year before I was born, which makes me wistful in this remembering. I think we might’ve shared some things in common. And oh, the family secrets we could spill, over afternoon tea!

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Allen and Nelly Godfrey, 1946

Although she fashioned herself a writer, Nelly didn’t leave to future generations any poems, journals or books. She did, however, enter lots of contests, many of which she won. “Duz Does It All” was my great aunt’s award-winning slogan for a laundry detergent company.

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Wartime was hard for everyone, with more than enough hardship to go around. Gasoline and groceries were rationed, and money was scarce. Few people owned automobiles in the small town where she lived. But there were whispers down the lane about a certain relative who very much enjoyed rumbling through the streets of West Brookfield,  honking and waving to pedestrians from the driver’s seat of a shiny new Ford. It wasn’t common, back then, for women to slide behind the wheel. But Nelly being who she was, I suspect she felt entitled, being the Grand Prize Winner and all.

I’m picturing all this in my mind’s eye this morning, and oh, what a happy portrait it paints!

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1947 Ford, via OldCarAdvertising.com

#TBT: Indoor revival meeting in Portland, Oregon

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Portland, Oregon Revival Meeting, August 1966

 

In researching my memoir, I oftentimes revved up my roadster and slipped into the role of my alter ego, Nancy Drew.  I’ve gathered clues from the National Archives; I’ve explored the sites of former tent revivals and churches, long since demolished; and I’ve unearthed numerous artifacts, along the Sawdust Trail.

And so it is, that on this Throwback Thursday (#TBT), I’m recalling that other blogging meme, Thankful Thursday. I unearthed this classified ad in the Portland, Oregonian archives. Like so many other treasures I’ve collected, it could’ve been lost to time and decay, were it not for for the myriad librarians, genealogists and archivists who’ve devoted their time and energies to the preservation of our individual and shared histories.

Can I get a witness?

I’m thrilled beyond words to announce that I’ve just accepted an offer of representation from Bob Diforio and Mandy Hubbard of D4EO Literary Agency. Lucky me, to have my memoir jointly repped by such a powerhouse team!

https://youtu.be/cLocKzC80gk

Read this, and you’ll understand just how fortunate I am to be working in tandem with agents of their caliber. Soon, very soon, they’ll be submitting CAN I GET A WITNESS? to publishers. Oh happy day!

How will these next few chapters unfold? Haven’t a clue, but Nancy Drew is on the case! If you wanna ride shotgun, just subscribe to my blog and  you’ll get email notices whenever I post updates on my adventures. While you’re at it, please join me on Facebook and Twitter.

#TBT City of Refuge, woman of courage

Eveline and May Eden City at harvest Shown here, my sweet Nana, harvesting corn in hardscrabble soil for the Pentecostal preacher who convinced members of his congregation to sell all their earthly possessions and follow him to a “City of Refuge” in the high desert. She was 50 years old, or close to it. Even so, she slept in a tent with my pre-teen mother, winter and summer; endured harsh conditions that shape-shifted with each passing season. But if you look closely, you’ll see my maternal grandmother’s personality, writ large. True to form, her shoulders are squared and she’s bearing her burdens with a smile.

I visited the City of Refuge during one of my “Nancy Drew” adventures. This and other discoveries–and the ways in which they intersect with my own story– are included in my memoir, CAN I GET A WITNESS?

Nancy Drew goes to the circus

From the recent files of Nancy Drew:

Do you remember a time when vendors sold chameleons as fashion accesssories? 

It’s a small-ish element of a single chapter in my memoir…one of those flashbacks that make you go, B’zuh? Did that really happen?

Proof! I needed proof! So I posed this question, casting my net far and wide:

Q: I’m wondering if you ever talked with someone who sold chameleon brooches? I remember hearing about them from my older brothers, and could have sworn they said women bought them from traveling circuses.

Obstacles I encountered: It’s a niche question, tinged with ickiness. I unearthed a handful of wild claims curious assertions, but I wanted actual evidence! I worried this bone for a long while. And bulldog supersleuth that I am, I finally located a trustworthy source.

Mystery solved, no roadster required!

Thank you, John Robinson (SideshowWorld site owner), for responding to me directly. I appreciate also that you’ve created a new feature, "Ask the Staff," for other sleuths like me.

Image credits: animalwallpaper.org and SideshowWorld.com

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