Being Amber Rhea

When I was in Augusta last weekend, my mom dug out a tape from the 80s where she’d recorded some things of familial significance. I hadn’t watched it in years, but when I saw it, I knew immediately that this stuff would have to go on YouTube.

First up is my 30 seconds of fame on local television in 1986 (or it might have been 1987; I can’t remember for sure). My parents knew the guy who owned this piano shop and he asked us to be in a commercial. I remember we did several takes. I also remember complaining to my mom that I was too old to say “Mommy” and “Daddy,” and she explained to me that actors and actresses often play characters who are younger. That satisfied me.

Next is an Augusta local news segment from the mid 80s. My parents are in the B-roll of Maxwell’s for a few seconds toward the very end, around the 1:04 mark. It’s funny for a number of obvious reasons (80s hair, 80s attire, etc.) but also because it shows just how little local news has changed in the past 20 years.

Finally, my dad’s winning chicken recipe. Wait, let me explain: In the 80s, “Midday on 12″ was a program that came on at noon on Channel 12 in Augusta. They had a segment called “Lookin’ at Cookin’” where viewers could submit recipes, and a winner was chosen each month. My dad’s honey-baked chicken recipe was the winner one month in 1984. He won a set of really cheap pots that we ended up giving away to someone.

Aside: I love these two ladies’ Southern accents!

I also want to give a plug for Affordable Video Solutions on W. Peachtree. Originally we were going to digitize the video at home, because Rusty has one of those converter boxes to connect the VCR to his computer. But our VCR tried to eat the tape. So we took it to AVS and they fixed the tape (it wasn’t actually damaged; they just had to wind it back into the housing) and converted it to DVD. They were very friendly and fast, and the price for the conversion was $29.95. I definitely recommend them if you need anything like that.

ETA: Ha, the chicken recipe video is already the top hit on Google for "midday on 12" augusta.

…why people believe in God.

Conceptually, I’ve always been able to understand why. Who was it who said that thing about how if God didn’t exist, humans would create Him? Something like that. Anyway, that’s always made sense to me. I think we all want to feel some sort of comfort that we’re not totally alone in the universe and that there is some kind of purpose (even if the truth is actually the opposite). Because if we’re all alone, reality can seem too scary to handle.

But during the last few weeks with my dad’s rapidly declining health and finally his death, I’ve come to understand on a much more real, personal, visceral level why people find comfort in what I’ll nebulously refer to as faith.

A caveat, too: “faith” is one of those words I generally dislike, because so often it’s used as a buzzword, devoid of any real meaning. Other words/phrases along those same lines are “values” and “tradition” and “way of life.”

Anyway, as I was saying…

Over the past few weeks, I have allowed myself to feel comforted by expressions of religious faith that seemed heartfelt and nonjudgmental. And why not? We all need to find some comfort wherever we can. I still do not consider myself a religious person, nor am I comfortable with the appellation “spiritual” (though I flirted with it when I was a teenager) - but I do know that during hard times, comfort and support is important, and there’s no need to split hairs over what form it takes.

I’m inspired by my mom’s friend P., who lost her son (who was just a month older than me) in 2006 when he was killed in a collision with a drunk driver. Prior to that he’d had a severe head injury at around age 11, and in his early 20s was diagnosed with leukemia (it had been in remission for several years at the time of his death). He had recently gotten married. I cannot even conceive of the suffering his mother has endured, and yet she remains so devoted to her faith and so warm, caring, and thoughtful of others. She spoke with my dad a few times when he was in the hospital and then when he came home for hospice, and according to my mom he was very moved by it; she thinks talking to P. really helped him. She has been a source of comfort to my mom, too; never preachy, never proselytizing, but always just there, with a kind word and a sympathetic ear (and not just a trite cliché, either).

I’m inspired by Lia of Star Light Ministries, who as far as I can tell seems to have the same approach to Christianity as P.: just being there, with love, without judgment. And based on what I know about Christianity (and I do know quite a bit, actually, having studied it in high school and college, and done plenty of reading and research on my own), it seems like this is the more authentic manifestation of Christianity, although unfortunately it’s quite rare.

I’m inspired by Denise, the American Legion chaplain who officiated my dad’s funeral service. She showed such compassion and sympathy, in a way that I really believed (rather than just going through the motions like a lot of people do), and she had only just met me! She just had a way about her that was comforting, respectful, and right.

I didn’t pray in the kitchen last Sunday with my mom, her friend M., and Denise, as they were going over what the service should include. I had been sitting at the table with them, but by that point I had gotten up and left the kitchen, and had just come back in to get something out of the fridge. They were about to say a prayer and Denise invited me to join, but I said “I’m not much of a praying person…” and just stood silently until they were finished. And it’s true, praying makes me uncomfortable and I don’t like to do it (and I certainly don’t like to “fake it”); but as for faith as a source of comfort, I get that.

My mom has never been a religious person either, but there she was, praying in the kitchen, and I could tell it was a help to her rather than her defenses going up as they usually would.

When Denise quoted Scripture at the funeral, I didn’t feel the annoyance that I typically do when people quote Scripture. Maybe that’s because most of the time it seems like people are doing it in an accusatory way, with an agenda. But the few passages she quoted were relevant and I could tell she had put some real thought into selecting appropriate ones.

And as I heard, many times, “He’s in a better place now,” or “He’s not in pain anymore,” I didn’t get annoyed. I was surprised because if you’d have asked me before all this started, I would’ve guessed those phrases would really irritated me. I guess I just didn’t have the energy to get worked up about it; I was taking comfort wherever I could get it.

I am still not a religious person, nor do I think there really is a God like the Judeo-Christian God, although there very well might be something; but I get why people are religious. I realize that in the past I have unfairly judged an entire religion by the bad apples who make themselves very visible in its name. I will try not to do that in the future.

And yeah, it might be cheesy, but there is a feeling of comfort to be had in that “Footsteps” poem. I think we all need that from time to time.

Well, I was going to put up a somewhat flippant post about the first day of the Desiree Alliance conference, saying that it was a lot like other conferences I’ve been to, only that people were taking their clothes off. In a totally non-sexual way - the conference space doesn’t have AC, and it’s really fucking hot, so, solution? Remove some of those bulky layers! Pretty awesome if you ask me.

So I was going to write a funny ha-ha post focusing on that, and looking forward to day 2 of the conference. But the other news, now, is that my dad passed away, at 8:20 p.m. tonight (Thursday, July 17). I’m catching a 9:05 a.m. flight to Atlanta tomorrow, and then a connecting flight to Augusta at 1:18 p.m. Rusty will be joining me on Saturday or Sunday. At the moment, I feel weirdly (to other people’s perceptions, anyway) calm and collected. I really only started to get emotional on the phone with my mom because she was so upset and I was sympathetic with her.

We’ll see what the next few days bring, though. I’m sure I’ll do my share of crying and riding the emotional rollercoaster. Password protected posts to come, I’m sure.

Just another quick post… still in Augusta, but will be heading home soon. Two hospice nurses came (as well as a bunch of people to visit my dad) and moved him into the hospital bed in the living room. He seems a bit more comfortable now.

My emotions are all over the place: sad, numb, angry, surprisingly okay, patient, impatient, resentful, disappointed, annoyed, overwhelmed, resigned, irritated, stressed, deflated, exhausted (well, that one has stayed pretty steady)… basically anything you can think of.

I am really looking forward to the Desiree Alliance conference. I’m also really looking forward to SLEEPING, and spending “alone time” with Rusty. (I don’t mean sex, although I’m looking forward to that, too; but I wouldn’t use a stupid euphemism like “alone time” for sex.)

Thanks again to others who have called/emailed since I last wrote. At the moment I feel too emotionally worn out to return calls and such (hope you understand), but I really do appreciate it.

Okay gotta go eat the onion rings Rusty got me from Burger King. Such healthy eating, I know.

Just a quick post. I’m in Augusta, and I’m very tired. My dad came home today (as you saw if you follow my updates on Twitter). It was a really difficult experience seeing him so weak, having to be physically lifted and moved by the EMT guys (who were really great, btw). He had some visitors later… generally he seems to have a good attitude, and still has his sense of humor. But overall it is very sad. I’ve been a lot less teary-eyed this weekend than last, though I still have been on the verge of crying several times. I think maybe it’s because now we actually know what his diagnosis is, instead of being in the hospital, waiting on tests, dealing w/ incompetent interns, etc.? Maybe. I’m sure my emotions and how I cope will be all over the place, depending on the day and the situation.

I’m still going to Chicago next week. I feel kind of guilty for doing so, but I also know I need some “me” time. I’ll probably be coming to Augusta a lot more frequently. I don’t feel quite as anxious about the whole situation as I did a few days ago, now that I know he’ll be getting hospice care. I did some reading about hospice and what it encompasses, and it looks like basically they will do anything and everything you need. So now I don’t feel quite so worried about my mom (even though I am still worried, but just not on that one particular level).

If you have called, texted, emailed, sent a Twitter direct mesage or @ message, or any other form of supportive communication - THANK YOU. I really appreciate it and it means so much to me. I really want to convey my sincerity on that. I’m sorry that I probably won’t be answering everyone individually (due to time, stress, exhaustion, etc.) but knowing that there are people out there who truly do care has made a big difference. ‘Cause sometimes, well, I don’t trust people very easily and I wonder if I’m mostly “alone.” This has made me feel like maybe I’m not. And whether it’s true or not, it’s a nice feeling.

Thanks for meeting us at Waffle House tonight, Jen… that was a fun distraction. Overall keeping a sense of humor (when it’s appropriate, I mean) is very helpful for me. And so is being able to lean on Rusty. I know you’re reading this, GDBF… I love you and I can’t articulate how grateful I am.

Jenny, I’ll try to call you tomorrow. I don’t mean to add more drama, but… well, I know you’re always there (I never have any doubts about “aloneness” with you!) and your text message today made me tear up (in a good way), and I showed it to my mom and she said that was so sweet of you. If I get time tomorrow, I’ll call, and I’ll probably just want to ramble.

I still have this stupid weird feeling like if people see me writing about this they’ll think I’m trying to say I’m the only one who’s ever dealt with a parent with cancer. I know that’s ridiculous. That’s one of the things you never have to think about with an old-fashioned paper journal, for sure!

Okay, I guess that’s all for now… Rusty’s in the shower, I’m just trying to stay awake until he’s done. Tomorrow the hospice nurse is coming over at some point, and they might be delivering my dad’s hospital bed (or it might be on Sunday). Some password-protected posts will come eventually, as will a bunch of scanned old photos.

I’ve told it all to Rusty. I’ve told a good chunk of it to Jenny via IM, and hopefully made some sense amid the typos and inevitable disjointedness of IMing while at work. I’ve scrawled some of it in my real journal (that is, until my hand started hurting like hell; I can hardly believe I used to write 20+ page letters to friends, back before any of us had email).

The original placeholder title of this post was “In the VA on July 4th.” As I said on Twitter, the irony was most certainly not lost on me that my dad was in the VA Hospital on July 4th, with much of the place closed down and only a skeleton crew working, and the asshole intern who looked like he just walked off the set of Grey’s Anatomy (but not in a good way) saying they can’t do anything because of the holiday weekend. There were signs everywhere that said, “Our Mission: To Do Everything We Can For Veterans,” and patriotic decorations of the sort you find in elementary schools, with bubbly cut-out American-flag-patterned letters stapled to those big sheets of paper that come on rolls, spelling out, “We Love Our Veterans!”

That is some terrible irony. I guess the only way it could be worse is if it had been Memorial Day weekend.

“Support our troops” means put a fucking yellow ribbon magnet on the back of your SUV (yes, it’s so cliché to even say it at this point, we’ve all heard it before), not actually providing care and coverage to the infirm. Oh right my dad gets a piddly $200 a month benefit from the government for being exposed to Agent Orange in Vietnam; “oops, our bad for exposing you to a potentially deadly chemical; here’s two hundred bucks!”

And leaving the infuriating irony aside, this whole situation has brought out into the light (yet again) the stark, ugly reality of the divide between the haves and the have-nots. We can spend billions of dollars on a wall between the US and Mexico but somehow we can’t figure out how to provide comprehensive health coverage for every citizen. I mean thank goodness for small favors; at least he’s actually registered at the VA at this point (unlike when he had a stroke in 2006, and was treated like a second-class citizen by the staff at Doctors Hospital [coincidentally, also the hospital where I was born], since he didn’t have insurance). He has Medicare Part Whatever - I can’t keep track of all the letters and what they mean. I worked on a program for it back when it first came out in 2005, and I remember thinking, holy shit, if I can’t make hide nor hair of this nonsense then how the hell is someone who’s elderly and unwell going to navigate this fucking labyrinth of bureaucracy? Oh but at least the web site had large type!

Anyway Medicare Part XYZobtwFU will pay for a nursing home - but only for 90 days. Someone explain that rationale to me! Who goes into a nursing home and then, after 90 days, is suddenly fit and well and ready to go golfing!? Or do they just expect you’ll die before the 90 days is up? If not, go ahead and start spending your retirement savings - oh wait, that’s assuming you have any retirement savings. There’s that nasty divide again.

And yet knowing all this, my mom still votes Republican. It baffles.

I don’t know. There’s more I want to say. I’m on an emotional rollercoaster. And there’s this side of me that’s infuriating even myself, where I start to feel selfish (that word again!) for even mentioning this to anyone, like they’re going to think I’m trying to say I’m the only person who’s ever dealt with a family crisis. Now realistically, who would think that? No one. But that’s my mind for you.

I guess one of the good things about going to Augusta this weekend is that I won’t have to see that stupid psychiatrist on Saturday. I really do not like her, but for now she’s the one prescribing my meds. I don’t feel that I’ve been benefiting from talk therapy lately, but that’s another story for another time.

And I have another post about my dad and such in the works which will come out eventually, but it’ll need to be password-protected. And who knows when I’ll get around to writing it.

Oh and also? Preemptively… please, no comments on this post telling me what I should do or who I should call or what I should look into. Unless you know something 100% definitive and can do the work for me? Well, I appreciate that you might mean well and want to help, but no thanks.

I want to write about my weekend, eventually (probably in a password-protected post), but I’m still processing all of it. At this point I’m just trying to calm the frenetic ongoing narrative in my head. I only took Klonopin once this weekend - I’m glad I was able to manage without taking it more, but I’m also very glad I had it, because I know it helped me a ton on Saturday. And it goes without saying but I’ll say it anyway - Rusty was a huge help to me this weekend. I don’t know what I’d do without him being there for me to lean on, no questions asked.

My dad will have a biopsy and chest/abdomen CT scan tomorrow. Then maybe we’ll know something more. And eventually I’ll write a longer post.

So, my mom is looking for a second job. It needs to be something with flexible enough hours that she still has time to do real estate stuff when needed, and also where she doesn’t have to be out of the house for 8 straight hours a day, since my dad can’t be left alone for that length of time. She’s concerned about finding something that pays a decent wage, as someone her age and with no college education. Of course, age discrimination is illegal, but it’s one of those things just like other insidious forms of discrimination… you have to prove it. Which can take away time and energy people need to devote to other things (like finding a job).

She is looking into a part-time property management position opening up at the real estate office where she has her license; if that worked out and paid decently, it would probably be ideal. I just worry that the broker might try to low-ball her and/or that she’d end up too busy with this added to everything else on her plate.

I suggested Starbucks, because: 1) they pay a competitive wage for that type of job (supposedly, anyway); 2) they are big on diversity; I have seen plenty of people my mom’s age and older working there; 3) employees have access to health insurance if they work 26 hours a week (BIG PLUS); 4) the hours would be flexible; 5) she was a bartender for years, so making lattes would be a cinch.

She said everything she’s been seeing in the newspaper pays like $8-$10 an hour . (She made a comment about that being more than minimum wage but still not enough to live off of, and I wondered for a fleeting second, could my mom actually turn Democrat? But I digress…) She’s probably going to go to an employment agency and see what all is available. I’m worried that she won’t be able to find something that pays much more than that, especially in Augusta where cost of living is low (but of course, “cost of living” estimates don’t include piles of medical bills), and because damn near every job now, even if it’s just working at a cash register, lists a college education as a requirement even if it makes no sense.

So this is a very long-winded way of saying, does anyone out there have any bright ideas? Here is stuff she has done: Realtor in Augusta for ~21 years; before that, bartender and waitress for many years; before that, worked at a bookstore and at one point did a ~6-month stint at Ingram Book Company in Nashville, in the accounts receivable department.

I’ve put my thinking cap on and will be brainstorming like crazy. What say you, blog readers? Help my mom find a job!

With my impending trip to Baltimore, I thought it would be a good time to post an essay that my grandmother wrote when she was 18 years old.

—

The Ship Christening -

January 9, 1943

[written March 21, 1944, at Converse College]

Those who have not had the experience of christening a ship and watching it glide smoothly into the water, can not fully comprehend the thrill of such a beautiful sight. It was not until a year ago last January that I was fortunate enough to have the honor launching a “liberty ship” in Baltimore.

It was a late day in December when I was informed that I had been chosen sponsor of a new cargo-carrier to be named the “James Woodrow”. Just at the thought of being sponsor at a christening made me almost completely delirious with joy. I had seen many pictures and movies of women who had launched ships, but had never dreamed such a thing would happen to me.

Through the remaining days of December everything was centered around the christening. Mother and I spent much of our time shopping for new clothes. We simply had to look our best on such an occasion.

The 9th of January arrived, bringing with it the eventful day. Since the time of the launching was scheduled for 3:45 that afternoon, my family and a few friends and I left on the 2:00 train bound for Baltimore. I was becoming quite excited by that time, and the train wheels seemed to say in a monotonous tone “It won’t be long now”.

At our arrival in Baltimore, we were met by representatives of the Shipbuilding Company and taken in a custom built car to the shipyard. I thought, as we practically flew through town, that in less than 30 minutes I would be cracking a bottle over the bow of a “liberty ship”.

As long as I live, I shall never forget the feelings I had when I walked up those long, steep steps to the platform. Millions of eyes followed my every move, and I was almost trembling with mingled emotions.

Cameramen were there with their flashing bulbs waiting to take pictures of me, which made me feel like an important actress before an admiring audience.

The time had come! It was just a matter of minutes before the ship would be in the water.

Was I going to have good luck? Would I break the champagne bottle at my first swing or would I miss? One of the men stood by me counting the seconds, as the blocks were being cut from beneath the huge ship. Then, I heard the fateful cry “now”, and I swung the bottle easily at the hull sending a spray of champagne into the cold air. At the same moment, the ship slid down the ways, gracefully into the bay. The manner in which it hit the water was the most magnificent scene I have ever beheld. I was so happy that the boat had been christened successfully, because the sailors are very superstitious, and it is considered bad luck if a ship is not launched properly. Another ship had been sent to war, and I had helped in sending it on its mission.

—

How neat is that?

I definitely plan on visiting the harbor while in Baltimore. Jenny informs me (by way of her roommate, I assume) that Fell’s Point is the place to go. I wonder where exactly the Liberty ships were built, though, and if I could go there? I should try to find out.

Opal ring,
originally uploaded by Amber Rhea.

This weekend when I was in Augusta, my grandmother gave me this ring. It belonged to Helen Woodrow Bones, a.k.a. "Cousin Helen" in my family. She was the personal secretary of Ellen Axson Wilson (Woodrow Wilson’s first wife). After Ellen’s death, Helen continued to live at the White House for some time as a secretary to Woodrow Wilson.

The ring is an opal and two diamonds. Opal is the birthstone of October. Both Helen and I were born in October.

I took this photo with my camera phone this morning; I’ll take a better photo soon.

Read more about the Bones family here. If (when) Rusty and I ever take a trip to Rome, we definitely need to stay at the Bones House Inn!

I bet you thought I’d forgotten about this! But I didn’t, and now it’s time for the dramatic conclusion of the full-page story about Gin-Gin’s 100th birthday in 1967.

(If you’re wondering what this is all about, start from the beginning: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4.)

—

Vivid Memories

From her vantage point of years, Mrs. Foard looks back to a Columbia when “the simplicity of entertainment for youth was perfectly remarkable”—with music and singing around the piano, especially on Sunday nights when girls and beaux would gather. “It was desired that entertainment should be at home.”

Then there was the famous Christmas night “open house” at the McMaster home—”customary for over 50 years, omitting one year for death in the neighborhood.”

And the regular family prayers each morning: “Whenever Father was away, Grandma would take his place in leading the prayers.

“She would always pray, ‘O Lord, keep me from vanity and lies,’ and I would think to myself, ‘I’m not vain and I don’t tell stories’ but, my dear, that has been the greatest prayer of my life—for vanity can be anything, and lies can be everything.”

Thoughts on Today

Miss Ginny Lee also judges that “there will always be different classes into which people fall—Christianity, education, culture, experience—make differences that can’t be changed to save your life.”

And when asked for her thoughts on the 20th century, she said, “The devil is let loose in the world today—it goes right back to the Christian home, or the lack of one. But on the other hand, there has never been a time in the history of the world that so much has been given and done and planned for the elevation of mankind.”

Through her own “giving” and “doing,” the spirit of this courageous, indomitable—yet charmingly gracious—South Carolina lady has brightened the world and added to mankind’s elevation.

Cause, indeed, for rejoicing and thanksgiving that the century of her living has come full circle, and that God’s gift of life to his child Virginia Lee has been a long one, blessed with beauty.

—

This isn’t the end of my reporting of the McMaster family story, though. Much to my excitement, I recently received a letter from Jay McKay (to whom I had written in January) and he provided a lot of other interesting tidbits about the family. I’ll scan his letter and the additional info he enclosed and post it soon; there are some really interesting, funny McMaster anecdotes. I’m also going to write him back; isn’t it scandalous, the thought of having an actual pen-pal, with whom I exchange letters via snail mail, in the 21st century. ;)

I’m having another “freaking out” day re: Sex 2.0. I feel light-headed, and I don’t know how much of that is due to stress and how much is due to it being too warm in the office (note to self: go get some water!), but I don’t feel so good.
Read the full post »

Note: If you’re wondering what this is all about, start from the beginning: part 1, part 2, part 3.

I’m doing two sections this time because one of them is so short.

—

Close Family

In the closely-knit McMaster family — unbroken by any death for more than 32 years — there were 14 children, or whom Virginia Lee was the 10th.

Older sisters and brothers were Mary Elliot, Catherine McGregor, Rachel Buchanan (later Mrs. Douglas Mckay, grandmother of Columbia’s present Douglas McKay), Fitz William Jr., Helen Graham, James Macfie, John, Thornwell and Agnes Rice, one of Columbia’s great and most beloved long-time teachers.

After Virginia Lee came George Hunter, Benjamin Palmer, Samuel Buchanan (”Buck,” who operated the famous sporting goods store in Columbia and also was owner of the noted Good Will plantation) and the youngest, Porter Alexander.

A Full Life

Today, Virginia Lee is the last of them. And the 100 candles that blazed in her honor at Saturday’s “open house” at the old family home signified a life that has been full:

—As the nurse who gave 12 years of active service in Baltimore, Md.

—As the Red Cross volunteer over 50, beyond the age for active nursing duty, who paid her own expenses to serve in France with 25 special volunteers requested by the U.S. Government during World War I.

—As the wife and mother whose only child, a son, died in infancy and whose husband was buried on the second anniversary of their marriage.

—As the compassionate woman working with Columbia’s Society of Orphan and Destitute Female Children, and the King’s Daughters, which organized the Columbia Hospital Association in 1892. (”Because of that,” she laughs, “I’m written down in black and white as one of the founders of the Columbia Hospital. That was one of the wonderful things that happen in life—when a little spark starts a big fire.”)

—As a long-time, loyal member of Columbia’s First Presbyterian Church whose records show her baptism there on April 25, 1868.

—And as a vital human being whose zest for life has kept her so active and interested in the world that, even in her 98th year, there was the energy to enjoy a shuttlebus ride on The Carolina Queen, and even to go to the movies. She likes “The Sound of Music” so well she saw it twice!

—

Gin-Gin’s wedding photo, from the article:

There will be either one or two more installments, depending on how I decide to break things up!

Note: If you’re wondering what this is all about, start from the beginning: part 1, part 2.

—
Became a Nurse

When she grew older, Virginia Lee’s sense of duty and desire to use her talents constructively took her away from the family home to Johns Hopkins University; and there she graduated in the institution’s fourth class of nursing in 1896.

“Those were hard times and I felt I had to make a living,” explains Miss Virginia Lee, “so I went off to be a nurse. And such a commotion it caused! Friends of my mother’s, among them the Misses Hampton Sr., came to see her and begged her not to let me go.

“You see, their niece — Caroline Hampton, who later married Dr. Halsted, one of the greatest surgeons of the day — was at that time a graduate nurse of Johns Hopkins and they told my mother all the hard things involved in nursing.”

Thirty-four years were to pass before she returned to take up her life once again in the tall tree-shaded McMaster home in Columbia.

—

Here’s a photo (from the same article) of Gin-Gin as a nurse during World War I:

Also, a few months ago, I blogged a letter Gin-Gin wrote in the fall of 1918, when she was serving in France. (Side note: I think I was using the word “matriarch” incorrectly in that and other older posts. If anyone was truly a matriarch in the family, it was Mary Jane Macfie McMaster, who had 14 children!)

Stay tuned for part 4, to be posted soon.

Read part 1 here.

—
A Merry Heart

From babyhood, she grew a merry heart, keyed to the sounds of laughter through the hospitable halls of the home, whose first quarter century weathered Sherman’s burning of Columbia and the years of Reconstruction which taught that poverty need not breed despair.

From childhood, she built a firm faith centered through the family’s religion-centered life that began each day with prayers and hymns in the parlor of the home.

And now, every Sunday at twilight, there is hymn-singing for Miss Ginny, her nurse and the niece who lives with her, Mrs. A. Wadley Kirkland. She still remembers the words, too, but she personalizes them on occasion: “God will take care of ME,” she sang just last Sunday!

In girlhood, she developed a keen mind and a searching spirit sparked by talk of education from the cultured and distinguished gentlemen — judges, lawyers, doctors, preachers — who were frequent guests in the house and who joined Col. McMaster in the battle to bring about public schools and education for the masses.

(Chairman of Columbia’s first Board of School Commissioners, Col. McMaster was called the “Father of Columbia Schools,” and the old McMaster School, now McMaster College of the University of South Carolina, was named for him.)

—

Here’s a photo of Col. Fitz William McMaster, taken sometime in the late 1800s:

And here’s a photo of Gin-Gin, taken in 1958 when she was 91 years old:

Part 3 will be posted soon!

I don’t think I’ve mentioned it here yet, but when Rusty and I were in Augusta for Christmas, I hit something of a jackpot in my quest for information about the fabled McMaster home in Columbia. Full credit goes to my mom, who for the hell of it decided to get out a box of stuff that was in the hall closet; and among the interesting artifacts in the box was a full page newspaper article about Gin-Gin’s 100th birthday in 1967 (which my mom and Gran went to). This is fascinating enough on its own, but the article also contains a photo of the house at 1429 Laurel St. (!) and some information about its origins.

(Can you believe it was torn down for a parking lot? Shades of Joni Mitchell…)

On Flickr, I’ve posted a photo of the entire article (it was too long/wide to scan). I’ve decided to post the text of the article in a series of blog posts, each one following the section breaks that are in the article itself. The article was written by “Social Whirl Writer” Christie Fant and appeared in The State and The Columbia Record on September 17, 1967. Here’s the first part:

—

A century is a long time — an unbelievably long time — for one life to last.

But when the life has been as bouyant and brimful as that of Columbian Virginia Lee McMaster (Mrs. Joseph R.) Foard, the abundance of years granted is cause for thankfulness and rejoicing.

And so, there was rejoicing on Saturday, the day that rounded out a full century of living for Mrs. Foard, a milestone passed, a capstone attained, in the very place where it had all begun — same city, same house, same room.

From many places came the members of the McMaster clan for the 100th birthday of this McMaster daughter. And they gathered for the birthday merrymaking in the old family home where Mrs. Foard lives, a house which has merrymaking and hospitality as part of its history.

The tall yellow residence stands at the northwest corner of Bull and Laurel Streets, built in 1853 by Virginia Lee’s father, Fitz William McMaster (later to become Col. McMaster of the 17th S.C. Volunteers, CSA) and his wife, Mary Jane Macfie.

Virginia Lee was born in the upstairs room where she now spends most of her days.

—

Stay tuned for the next installment! And in the meantime, I’m still on a mission to find out exactly what happened with the house in the 1970s. Thanks to Gran, I now have the address of a relative in Columbia who will probably have lots of information. So stay tuned for that, too.

After work today, Rusty and I will be heading to Augusta, where we’ll be staying overnight. Then tomorrow morning, we’re heading to Columbia, SC, to continue my hunt for family history (as previously described), take photos of the city, and just relax.

We’ll be in Columbia until Saturday. We’ll probably record a podcast while we’re there; we actually have topics ready for two separate podcasts: one talkie, and one movie review podcast. It’s also likely that I’ll finish Bob Jensen’s book tonight (only a few more excruciating pages to go) and write some sort of book review.

Maybe it will rain in Atlanta while we’re gone.

My Mom has been using The Google - and using it better than I have, apparently! She found this letter written by Virginia McMaster Foard, a.k.a. Gin-Gin, the McMaster family matriarch who lived to be 102 and whom we suspect was the last owner of the family house in Columbia.

Many nurses developed a closeness to the servicemen they cared for, be they American or otherwise. Nurses spoke of the soldiers’ spirit and valor, like Virginia McMaster Foard, 1896, a Red Cross nurse in France, U.S. Base No. 1, Bellevue Unit during World War I. She wrote this in the fall of 1918.

I have been so desperately busy since coming here I have not written a letter, I am what is called a hospital teacher. I answer inquiries, etherize severely sick, wounded, or gassed soldiers and, incidentally, do all I can for anybody, such as giving flowers, fruits, “smokes” and try to ease home troubles of any nature. I visit the desperately ill, and if a long illness, write once a week to family; in case of death write to nearest of kin…

The English soldier has a smile that will not come off when he gets to an American hospital. Our men are fine. The harder they are hurt the more cheerful they are. They all get the grumps when they are neither sick nor well, but that is perfectly natural. Convalescence is a hard period, and when they get away from battle they do not think restrictions are necessary, showing a national lack of discipline. I talk to them like they were bad boys, give them a good scolding, or laugh at them. I feel so helpless, so futile, such an appalling job. I simply can cast myself on God’s mercy and ask Him to use me each day. I believe I am helping. The boys like me and often I am told I am like their mothers or aunties. You need all the tact of a woman of the world, a never failing good cheer and good humor.

Death seems so close, it certainly is “swallowed up in victory”. Immortality does not seem vague to these dear boys.

Fascinating!

My mom also found this after Googling “Katherine McGregor McMaster.” She was my great-great-grandmother and was known to the family as “Mama.” (I guess that makes her a matriarch, too!) She took her three children back to the house in Columbia to live after her husband, James Woodrow, Jr., died at a young age. Interestingly, according to rootsweb the address of the house was listed as 1427 Laurel Street in 1900. There’s some other info there that might be helpful to me when I go back to Columbia in December!

Also, Mama’s daughter, Katherine Hamilton Woodrow, is the one I may have mentioned a while back, who lived in Decatur in the 1940s. Eventually I’ll get back to trying to track down her old house.

I bought some new stationery the other day. Yes, I’m talking about actual paper, for writing actual letters. I’m going to write a letter to Gran asking for some family history details, and I’m going to include a print-out of this letter, hopefully to motivate her. She knows so much, and unfortunately, one day she will be gone and that information will be gone too, unless someone records it. And that someone is me! I might even do a podcast with her, although I think she might be gunshy. You never know, though! I think I’ll spring the concept on her at Christmas.

Here are some photos (because I couldn’t find the AC adapter for my scanner) of documents I tracked down at the courthouse in Columbia. I realize this might be interesting to no one but me, but I’m okay with that. Click through to Flickr for larger versions of all.

Property card from the tax assessor’s office (where, I might add, the woman working there was very rude to me!):
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In my wrap-up post about our road trip, I mentioned doing research on family history. So here’s what that’s about.

I’ve heard references over the years to “the house in Columbia” - most often from my grandmother, and sometimes from my mom. And while reminiscing and/or telling a story for the umpteenth time, sometimes Gran would exclaim, “I know I have a picture of that house! I wish I could find it!” (So far, she hasn’t.)

I don’t remember when exactly I became more than passively interested in this house. I’ve always enjoyed the feel of old buildings; and as long as I’ve known that the field existed, I’ve been interested in historic preservation. So, years and years ago I asked what happened to the house, and when Gran and/or Mom said it had been torn down, I accepted it with a sigh and chalked it up to another casualty of so-called “urban renewal.”

There was never anything more than that to the story, and I never thought much about it. But recently I’ve become determined to piece together the missing years between 1969 and today. It was during those years, of course, that the house met its sad fate.
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