ONE GENERATION FOUND

The letter that slipped from the pages of the Marblehead Lighthouse logbooks had been written by Edward as the Head Lighthouse Keeper. Standing there that day in The National Archives, I was holding a letter whose subject, penned by a man dedicated to saving lives would prove to be a profound statement of things to come. Edward was distressed that the early logbooks recorded by those first Lighthouse Keepers had vanished, gone long before he began as an assistant keeper. Emphatically the letter stated he would make every possible effort to make sure they were located. The tone of the letter was clear, this was extremely important to him. Other information within the pages of the logbooks indicated Edward was assembling a history of Marblehead in honor of the descendants of the earlier keepers.

History’s image is like the unfolding of an origami crane. The simple image belies the tiny little folds this way and that essential to construct the final delicacy which rests in the hand of the beholder. Once a flat piece of paper, and now a crane, every fold must be deliberate and done in the correct order or the crane will not be recognizable. The recordings of historical events are written down as a witness to the final image of our existence. The hand on a pen becomes history’s folds. Without the deliberate action of the recorder, like the crane folded incorrectly, it will not be recognizable. The way the crane is folded is an essential art and must be passed on from one generation to the next. There will be no crane if the art of origami is lost. Edward’s letter addressed the art of origami history lost. The fold could no longer be remembered and the crane was no longer recognizable. History is cruel to its own generation sometimes. And so, while Edward commiserated over one lost history his was slipping away forever. Soon I would despair, desperately wishing to see the face of another crane. It would become my one generation and one story lost and I would never, ever find it.

Once again, my mountain was to offer up a surprise only this time the path would be in full bloom. It came in an email from the Lakeside Heritage Society. “I have located in our archives some information about Margaret”. Included in the email was a small list and the possibility they might have more. Was I interested? Perhaps there really was a pot of gold at the rainbow’s end! Emails traveled back and forth. If there was enough material I might plan a research trip to the archives. “Please send a detailed list of everything you have and I will decide if it is worth my while to come to Ohio." my email requested. I was about to be led not only to the pot of gold, but to the rainbow’s very end (Literally)!

Archivists are very dedicated people whether they work preserving national treasures or the tiniest Historical Society memorabilia. Some are paid, many are simply volunteers. Without them little histories might never have the opportunity to become part of larger histories. Kept safely in their hands, many documents have survived unknown to historians. By accident, by purposeful research or by chances and odds, many a serious student of history has unearthed a previously unknown piece of important history. This happens because a dedicated archivist has carefully preserved it and kept it safe for the finding. I was about to meet one such archivist.

It happened the morning I opened my homepage to find the following email. “Perhaps there is other information that might interest you”, the email read. “The archives contain quite a few materials on Keeper Herman including personal items, letters and documents. If you are interested a detailed list will follow.”

The list to follow was only the first chamber in Pharaoh’s tomb. It was also the other half of Captain Edward M. Herman’s collection. In fact, there was so much it could not all be put in an email. What I saw before me was enough to know I was close to the top of my mountain. I knew I was going to make the journey to Marblehead. It was fifty years after I first sat on that stool and I was going to meet him again. My childhood pursuit with letters and valentines was being replaced with logbooks and documents. And, I was being acknowledged it seemed for the first time. Edward's history was calling me. I was answering. Soon I would be handed another gilded plate when once again Southwest Airlines offered an unbelievable fair to certain cities. One of those cities was Detroit and the other one was Chicago.