Do-it-yourself Living History Interview

There are some great ideas out there, and one of them is being promoted by a company called Story Corps. It is a national organization and offers self-help and family starter kits for rent to teach people how to record family histories orally. It is somewhat expensive - you might want to buy your own equipment - but the point is, it gets you started. Here is a quote from their Do-It-Yourself page:

"Record interviews to honor the lives of the people you love, to create your own archive, and to celebrate holidays and family events, such as Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, or graduation. The stories you collect will become treasured keepsakes that grow more valuable with each passing generation."

I couldn't agree more, candidly, as I started this project with this exact sentiment in mind. Your story may interest me and future generations, but the most likely fans of your living history will be those from future generations in your own family.

So often I hear older people say to their friends, children or grandchildren, "I wish you had known my mother (or father, or brother). You would have loved her (him, etc.).  And she would have loved you too!"

Or a relative says, "You remind me so much of your grandmother! She had the same beautiful smile."

I never met my maternal grandmother as she died when my mother was only 18. My grandfather remarried my step-grandmother and they were together for almost forty years, but he would always hug me when he saw me and say, "You know why I love you? Because you remind me so much of my wife!" Of course, it was a bit mortifying that my other grandmother had to bear witness to this I thought at the time, but at one point that grandmother lived with my husband and me. She told me that she was just a girl when she met my grandfather. He was her brother's good friend in the police department. 

This man I knew as Uncle Gene Tobin, who was probably the most wonderful man I have ever met. He was kind and understanding, had a great sense of humor, was beloved when he was the Chief of Police in Everett, Massachusetts and after retirement - because he was so social - became involved with the security department at the Museum of Natural History in Boston. All I remember is taking my kids there when little baby chicks were hatching from an incubator and were on display. Luckily I was tall enough to see over the heads of all the small children who were mobbing the display and could lift mine up to see too.

I am sure my children don't remember, they were small then, but I do. I was happy to see him if it was only for ten minutes.  Everybody was. And my step-grandmother, Joanne, was never jealous of my grandmother either. She was a professional woman - which in those days meant a secretary for John Hancock Insurance in Boston - and she had opted not to have children when Mr. Right hadn't come along early in her life. By the time she met my grandfather she was in her late thirties and my grandfather was a rather tragic figure with thousands of dollars in medical bills from my bio-grandmother's 11 year battle with cancer.

My mother had been jealous of losing her father's attention when he remarried - she was in her second year of college, I might add - and disliked her grandmother intensely because of it. When I adored her, my mother told me she was a 'flapper and wore bright red lipstick'. My mother wore bright red lipstick, too, but somehow she didn't get the connection.  Flappers?  I thought they looked so cool with their beads, short hair, hats and flouncy dresses. That made my grandmother so exciting, as I knew her as an old woman, of course.

Grandma Joanne ended up living with my husband and me for a while when we lived overseas. learned from my grandmother that she wasn't jealous of my bio-grandmother. She'd been 12 years younger than my grandfather and that was a different lifetime that had nothing to do with her. They were happily married a long time and had a good life together. He deserved it and so did she.


It was sad to see this woman who had been so full of life and expectations lose her mental faculties, as it was the first experience I had as an adult with death.  My father died three months later, which was a terribly distressing time for all of us. I still think back and wish I had spent more time with him. How I wish I had asked him about his life, his dreams, his political beliefs, but I was too self-centered at the time, like many young (and old) people. I
I hope you write your stories or record them or preserve them on video. You won't regret it.

Interviewing Older Relatives and Neighbors... Before It Is Too Late

Most of us are complete and utter clods when it comes to asking our older relatives for information. First of all, we hurry them. Many seniors would be more than happy to tell us the stories of their lives, but if we rush them it is harder to remember things and details.

Relatives may be uncomfortable and worried about what other relatives may think if the types of things we are asking could be considered gossipy or private details. As an example, when I lived in Mexico City for three years I realized that Mexicans could role model for us Americans the value of extended family. An aunt or uncle or cousin or grandparent may be just as close and important to a person as siblings and parents. My Mexican friends would not consider saying something negative or critical about any of these people. This restraint is not a cultural predisposition just to Latins, however, so be respectful and let people talk.

Many of your questions will be answered without the need to pry. The first time you talk to them they may stay general, but the next time they may open up. Or the time after that and that and that. Also, make notes or use a tape recorder. Show your name as the interviewer, their name, their town, the date, etc. Good source records are important later when you have conflicting information and you will!

At the last funeral I attended, an elderly aunt had a great time while teasing her daughter and me. We laughed too, but inadvertently she gave me many details about the rest of our family. I made notes on the plane on the way home and used those notes to discover a great deal more history about my old hometown. It should not be surprising that these discoveries led to the surrounding towns. Without realizing it,I had been locked into thinking that everyone came from the town where my living relatives were. These were adventurous people, some of whom had crossed the Atlantic Ocean. Traveling 20, 50 or even 500 miles would not have been out of the realm of possibilities for any of them.

Now it seems ridiculous on its face. However, not one of my aunts, uncles, first cousins or siblings knew our ancestors had lived throughout the states of Massachusetts, Maine, Connecticut, New Hampshire, New Jersey and Rhode Island and that some of them during the Revolutionary War relocated to Nova Scotia. In fact, my paternal grandmother had been born in Brooklyn, which was a complete shock to me. I discovered where she went to nursing school and learned from my one living Aunt that my grandmother was a WWI veteran as she had joined the army after nursing school.

Although they were desperately in need of nurses for the Veterans Hospital in New York, her enlistment had been a problem initially because of her health. This was solved by her waiving medical insurance and coverage. The Army diagnosed a congenital heart defect they thought might eventually cost them money and would not let her enlist until she signed the waiver. She lived to 67, which made the waiver a moot point, but it seemed unconscionable to me just the same. The newest health care legislation makes this story ever dearer to my heart, as my own skinny and incredibly fit father had a massive heart attack at 39 years old related to injuries he sustained when he was torpedoed during his service in WWII. My father's medical was covered, as WWII respected its veterans, but my grandmother's was not. Different times, different values. I am glad I will not have any more stories from this era to tell my grandchildren. Anyone should be ashamed to deny a sick person access to medical services in a country with so many resources for the wealthy. Okay, no more politics, but they are prevalent throughout history, and this kind of blog post adds to that cache.

Another piece of advice I give to anyone who is doing research is simple. Write down names, dates, impressions, towns, professions, nicknames and countries of origin when your older relatives are talking. If your great-aunt remembers her great-aunt Hildegard speaking German, or your inebriated great-uncle swears in Italian, these are clues to your past. Those family myths are probably based on some sort of truth unless your relative is a pathological liar and you will still probably find some grains of truth in the lies.

A few years after my mother died, her first cousin confided to my sister that we were part Native American on the Canadian side. She had been told it was the Mi'kmaq tribe. This made sense, as they were one of the tribes both in Maine and Quebec, during the period she described, and our ancestors and relatives crossed that border with frequency. The Native American ancestor would have been my great-great-grandmother, or my grandfather's grandmother. As an ancestor had been killed during the Indian Wars by members of that same tribe, there was some irony there for me.

My sister, who lives around extended family, mentioned this Native American heritage, by the way, just in passing a year ago as she had a random picture of a Native American woman. It was tacked up on a board filled with a collage of other real family pictures. Inspired, I tracked down this first-cousin-once-removed but as her phone number had been changed, I wrote her a letter. I thought about doing this for months and months before I finally did. One Sunday I worded my letter so perfectly - so as not to offend an 88 year old woman who hadn't spoken to me since I was 13 - as if this was true, I had to make it comfortable enough for her to break the conspiracy of silence about the subject.

I sent her a letter; unfortunately, she received it shortly before her death. It was read to her by long-term neighbors, who were collecting her mail while she was in the hospital. She neglected to confirm or deny the information. Of course, the neighbor was kind enough to send me my letter back, explain the situation, and the only comment she made was that my cousin was "surprised" to hear from me. Mea culpa, friends. I live 3000 miles from that generation and she lived another 300 miles south of most of the extended family, but that was truly lost opportunity. She had no children and so her knowledge, her stories, her memories ended with her.

Call your grandma and grandpa or take your old Auntie out to lunch. Who knows what treasures are in store for you if you work on that 'listening' thing. Good luck!