My brother Sam really really likes The legend of Zelda

luckily he knows what he is doing. Watch this and bathe your ears and eyeballs in the majesty that is Zelda.

RIP Uncle Bob

I just called to talk to Uncle Bob and found out he passed away two days ago on February 22 at the age of 96. I hope he is having the skydiving ride of his life right about now. Cheers to you Bob. Thanks for sharing your memories and your work with me.

Enough said

Sioux City, Iowa, circa 1930

Midwest mission part 4: Well hello!

Meet Robert Graves Warfield, master moose hunter, man of international mystery, progenitor of scores of multi-talented individuals. This picture was taken on the Gaspé Peninsula, Canada in either 1921 or 1927, my research lab is working on it.

Happy Thanksgiving world! May your day be filled with love and family and friends.

Midwest mission, part 2

As we are driving I get another call saying that a nurse is able to come last minute to the house so we go back there instead. Uncle Bob uses napkins from the diner to stem the tide of blood. The nurse arrives and she puts on new bandages. Then she puts on another bandage and waits, and then she puts on another bandage and some gauze tape to apply some pressure. She leaves and we finally start to talk a little about family history.

After a while he produces this packet of pictures, that the instant he pulls it out just blows me away. Written in pencil on the envelope it says, “Dad’s moose hunting trip, 1921” and is full of 5x7 negatives, about 40 of them with prints of my great grandfather Robert Graves Warfield on a hunting trip in Gaspe Bay, Canada. These pictures are just incredible and looking through them, seeing my great-grandfather with a rifle and standing outside a tent with the antlers hanging from the the top of it and then gutting a moose with the guides and in a tent with mugs of something warm and a pipe in his mouth and leather boots laced all the up to his knees with jodpurs coming out of them, I really feel I am finally seeing this man. I ask Uncle Bob if I can take this packet with me.

It was getting pretty late and every time I look at his face I realize that the blood is not stopping. I warm up his plate of macaroni and cheese from the diner that he never ate and as he starts to take a couple of bites, I think the movement of his jaw aggravates the cut on his face and blood now starts to drip out of the bandage. I realize that I can’t fix this. I have never met Uncle Bob before. I can’t fix that no one is really taking care of them. We talk a bit more and I say to him that the cut is still bleeding, but he has another nurse coming the next day and he should go lie down and take it easy. I think I have been largely cured of my insatiable desire for family history.

Midwest mission, part 1

I have a photograph in my house that I inherited when my grandfather Donald Warfield Sr. passed away two years ago and it is his father Robert Graves Warfield when he was in the air force in World War One.

I started to ask my father a lot of questions about this man since he died in 1933 when he was 40. My father said, you should call my uncle Bob in Indiana, my grandfathers older brother, who is 94, and would be the only one left who could really answer some questions. I called Uncle Bob, and for 94, he is a remarkable man. He has his memory and does not suffer from dementia or Alzheimer's. I decided I should drive out and see this Mr. Bob, because he is 94 and although he insists on his 100th birthday he will be jumping out of a plane with a parachute strapped to his back he could die any day.

I wake up in Greenfield, Indiana and drive down the little strip that carries every restaurant that is available because in small town America there are no individually owned businesses anymore. You can expect to find a Long John Silvers, a Bob Evans, a Qdoba Grill and on and on in almost every town in America, so I knew there would be a Starbucks and I found it. I got a coffee and as I am leaving my phone rings and it is Uncle Bob saying, “Where are you? Where are you?” I said, “What? I am on my way now.” He said, “My wound..I need to go to the hospital...I am bleeding like a stuck pig!”

I hung up the phone and really quickly realized that this day might not play out the way I was hoping, where I would do a little family history research and take some pictures. Nope. I arrive at Bob Warfield’s two story house in Fortville, Indiana at 9:15am. It is a green house that he had built 39 years ago. The top floor has not been used or visited in about five years. Bob and his grandson, Bobby, who is severally mentally disabled are waiting outside for me. Bob is bleeding from his cheek through a bandage due to a routine procedure to remove a growth and there is quite a lot of blood. He is holding napkins to it and we get him in the car and we drive to the emergency room.

They try to stop the wound for three hours using various methods and eventually bandage it up and send us on our way. We go to a diner back in Fortville. Everyone in the diner knows Bob and Bobby. I start to notice that the white bandage on Bob’s face is slowly growing more and more red. It is making me sick to my stomach. He is struggling to be the same person that he has been all his life even when his body starts to not want to cooperate. It is obvious that it is pretty well saturated and it will soon drip down onto his blood splattered sweater. I tell the waitress that we are going to need to take this food to go. My visions of a walk down memory lane are starting to wash away and I call the hospital and they tell me to call his main doctor and I call the doctor and they have to call me back and they are all talking to me as if I am the caretaker, and as if I will be the one who will be attending to Mr. Warfield in the future. Each phone call is more heartbreaking than the one before.

Sisters

I went down to Zuccotti Park today with Sarah, but I didn't take any pictures. We walked all around the neighborhood, zigzag-ing through the tourists and endless barricades, police and horses. History and the passing of time are the themes that occupy my mind, especially today when we were walking through the tent city. There have been tent cities in New York before. I hazily remember Tompkins Square Park as a kid, and Central Park was filled with people struggling to make it through the depression in the early 1930s. I wonder how history will remember the people down in the park now? I can't say I really understand the message, but my thoughts are with them as the nights get longer and the frost sets in.

I will say this, it is a great country that lets such voices be heard. These freedoms have not been lightly won, and they are to be cherished. There are many places in the world today were you can and would be killed for much less. Here are two sisters, ancestors of mine on my grandmother Roys Jeffris' side of the family. "Aunt Hart" from Connecticut on the left and "Grandmother Roys" on the right. These are probably from the 1860s. Many voices were left out of the political conversations back then, and in the wide eye of history, that was 15 minutes ago.

Wounded soldier

Here is an ancestor of mine. I do not know what his is name is, or where he was born, or what his injuries were. I am pretty sure he was an American Civil War veteran, because this is either a tintype or ambrotype, which were developed in the late 1850s. My family has been here a long time, at least 150 years before this was taken. I wish I knew his name. I am going to try and find out. Can you imagine what it must have been like here when this was taken? The death toll of the Civil War was greater than all the American deaths of WW1, WW11, Vietnam and the Korean War combined, and all in our backyard. What this man must have seen.

Bepop and me, 1979 and a Reindeer

I was going through some more old photos. How many can there be? Millions, that's how many. How cute am I with my grandfather at Brookfield Zoo in Chicago? How sad does that poor reindeer look though? He has totally given up.But now let's turn our attention elsewhere. Was this normal in 1979 in a public place for guys? I mean, he is literally in a petting zoo.Oh Bepop, you are guilty as well...socks and flip-flops. SighAnd then, well, there is this.That was fun.

Fashion Week, Wisconsin 1905

Check out the head gear...it goes way beyond hats...the little lady in the middle has a turban on...what!

Beachfront winter

I love their shoes. I love everything about this picture; it looks like one I would have taken, and someone related to me did take it, maybe 80 years ago. The beach is surely one of the great lakes, not any ocean, but still you can look out and imagine what lies beyond where you are.

Baby it's cold outside....but

not this cold. My family on my dad's side is from Northern Wisconsin. Imagine that in winter, but in 1920s when these pictures were taken. No snowblowers, commercial plows, central heating, Obama, cell phones, heated car seats, flights to Jamaica, Mexican restaurants, electric fondue pots, etc. You know what I'm talking about Kristina?

"Late March of 1923""Winter-sports, Rhinelander, Wis 2/14/26"

September 20, 2010 collages

Here are some ladies that went to high school at Dana Hall with my Grandmother Roys. I got her old yearbooks last fall when I cleared out my grandparents old place. I cut out the heads and made these...I was able to peer into their inner most thoughts and wishes...you can click on them to see bigger!
1.2.3.

New novel

Empire State

Here is my grandmother Roys on the observation deck of the Empire State building with 2 of her sisters and parents, circa 1937 I would guess. You can see the Chrysler building off to the right. Everything about this picture makes me happy. Click on it to see bigger..Roys, maybe 15 years old

my great grandfather Malcolm

I don't smoke anymore but he makes me want a cigar.

Robert and Marjorie

My great grandparents Warfield. WW1. They are so beautiful.

I remember Bepop

It has been over a year since my Grandfather died and I was thinking a lot about him recently, and family in general. I have many of my grandparents family photographs now, from many generations and layers of different families that joined together over the years, so I have lots of ancestors squirming around in nice new photo boxes on the shelves. I feel them with me, walking around with me, watching me, waiting to see what I am going to do. The dead must laugh at all the sorrow we put ourselves through. All we really have to do is love each-other and try to be good to those around us. My bepop, Donald Warfield Sr was pretty damn good at these things.

age 2, so around 1923-4. On the back of the photo it says East 45th Street, Chicago. The south side.
Ok, so this picture deserves it's own little section, but anyway. That's Bepop to the left of Marlene Dietrich in Maastricht, The Netherlands in 1945. Maastricht was the first Dutch city to be liberated by allied forces. Bepop was also at the liberation of Paris as part of the signal corps. This must have been part of Marlene Dietrich's later USO tours. She was German, but a staunch anti-Nazi, and became an American citizen in 1939.
here he is, on the right, in 1965 on a boat, looks like a good party...

passport to everywhere

my grandparents. isn't it amazing how overjoyed he was in every picture? he was like that at almost every moment.
198219861999

I want to go boating

old pictures from my Memom's family in northern Wisconsin, circa 1910-1920?