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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