It’s July 1974.
The economy sucks, the Presidency is a cesspool, and old reliables like gasoline and hamburger meat seem to cost twice what they used to just a few years ago.
And in one little microcosm of America — an aging, none-too-large home in southern Connecticut — 19 people are gathered to celebrate one thing that national trends and tribulations cannot weaken:
Family ties.
July 6, 1974. The Yanks and Mets are both playing home games at Shea Stadium, and they’re both in last place.
It’s easy for an amateur historian to overplay people’s awareness of national affairs.
Even though the problems of mid-Seventies America loom large in retrospect, Americans didn’t spend all their time thinking about fuel embargos, or the cost of living, or the sorry state of the Presidency.
They did their jobs and came home and had fun and raised kids and drank beer and went bowling, without using the woes of the republic as a dramatic backdrop for all their activities.
That said, I still like to frame this week’s calendar entry in that greater context.
I find it comforting to think of people turning to family as a worthwhile source of support at a time when they were getting screwed, betrayed, or at least mildly disappointed by many of their social institutions.
I like the post-Independence Day timing of the family reunion, too. The fireworks are over, as is the obligatory hype over the Great American Experiment. What’s left? Blood kin, sharing food and companionship, catching up in person and marveling at how big the kids are getting.
(Oh, yeah: A belated note to my grandpa. “Family & Relative Yard Party” is redundant. Family is relatives. In some faraway place, my grandpa is surely regretting lending his bloodline to a professional editor. What the hell; we couldn’t all be engineers.)
So what became of those 19 people gathered at Hope Street?
– Five of them — both sets of my grandparents, and my great-grandma — are gone now. (“Tom and Eve” were my maternal grandparents.) Remarkably, my Great-Aunt Eleanor is still chugging; she’ll be 102 this week.
– Both of my western Massachusetts cousins, Ron and Bob, are long since divorced from the wives they brought to the party. They’re still around, though, as are Ron’s three kids.
– “El and Joe” are my Aunt Elaine and Uncle Steve, who have appeared in this space any number of times. While my grandpa’s writing style makes it look like Eric and Kurt are their kids, that’s incorrect: They welcomed their first child two years to the day after this yard party.
– Speaking of children, young Kurt (son of Rod and Lynn; brother of Eric) celebrated his first birthday the day before the big yard party. He doesn’t remember much about it now. He’s since gone on to become a blogger of no particular repute, and sort of a general waste of space; but he does his thing.
Hopefully, at least a few of you out there have a family reunion lined up over the Fourth of July break — or if not this week, then sometime this summer.
I hope you enjoy it.
Savor the companionship. Ask to hear plenty of family stories. Have another hamburger. And don’t let the perilous state of the republic get you down.
What a poignant glimpse into the past. I hope you emulate Great-Aunt Eleanor! I shan’t be around to read your blog then, sadly. 🙂
Thank you. I am not sure I’m up for 102 years, but we’ll see how things shake out.
You do pretty well DNA-wise re: probability of a reasonably healthy old age. Your grandparents died at 75, 85, 90, & 91, and I think the heart problem that took your maternal grandfather at 75 could be readily remedied by modern medicine and a little less stubbornness. And of course one of your great-grandmothers lived to 107+.
And for your part, running every other day bodes well.
Grandparenting makes it worth sticking around!
OMG! I must send Aunt Eleanor her birthday card! Also, I remember the family event you described. Joe (Uncle Steve) and I watched the fireworks from the road on the way home, after ingesting family food and good spirit. How was I to know I would experience fireworks of a different sort, two years later, to add a new member to the family!!
OMG! I mailed Aunt Eleanor her birthday card late, and then remembered I meant to wish you a happy birthday too. So Happy Birthday to the Blogger! Hope you are like your cousin Brandon, who celebrates all week, at least he used to, before children!
Ha ha, you nearly got me with “blogger of no particular repute,” which I assumed was an offhand reference to a FAMOUS NAME that I would recognize! While searching for further clues I saw your initial. Fun little a.m. exercise for my brain!
For the record, I really don’t think your grandfather would mind having a non-engineer professional editor in the family. I think he admired anyone who put his nose to the grindstone 5 days a week to feed his family. What would likely offend him is how unorganized both of our work areas are; I’m sure he hoped he had instructed the future generations of Blumenaus in the Teutonic mantra of “a place for everything and everything in its place”. He did manage to instill that German angst in me to the extent that I feel guilty about having such a mess, albeit not guilty enough to fix it!
[…] the record, my family visited my grandparents on Hope Street from July 3 through 7, 1974. Either my father was not paying close attention to his dad’s calendar when he visited, or […]